An ongoing collage containing texts from Craigslist's Missed Connections section and images found on the internet, to convey emotional voids and ephemeral moments within our technosocial community. It is about the musings, lamentations and encounters (romantic or platonic) that get lost and archived on the internet.
I was also like a potato but not as much as you, either way we had a lot in common. We were on the subway or not, I found you potato which was nice.
If you ever see this, I was wearing brown pants and a brown shirt like you.
You were on a tandem bike up 6th Ave in Manhattan around 14th st. You were in the rear seat, reading a book, while a man pedaled. A big old book, a tome. You looked so leisurely while he sweated and peddled hard. What were you reading? Were you reading out loud to him? If I pedal, would you read to me?
A chain of circumstances brings you back with the rain that we never heard together. The months and the years do not erase you from my imagination.
Just reaching out into cyberspace to see who's out there. Attached guy seeking another ghost in the void we call life.
You hang art in the gallery on the corner of Avenue B and East 4th. I lived nearby. I would stare in as I rounded the corner. I wanted to talk to you. You were never there when the door wasn't locked. You looked at me once when you were having a smoke, I was carrying groceries, it was winter. A small tattoo on your shoulder. My hair is bleached, and rather short. That gallery was too empty, it was eery, the QR codes. I considered leaving a note. I considered many ways to greet you.
to the person who left a very large curling rod and canned minced clams outside Shipwreck Beads..... Are u good?
This is not code for anything weird or creepy. I just like cheese. Why don't more people share their love of cheese? Do you ever find yourself missing cheese?
posted to the district of columbia july 15th 2010
then when i dropped my head in your hands and forgot myself
should i have given my forehead to your hips instead, jagged with relief?
in literature, that substitution, the one event tacitly replacing the illicit other, it’s called something. i am lacking a more complex vocabulary when it comes to naming metaphor.
words don’t capture your complexion,
neither the composit of your gaze,
and these, after all, lack materiality and its reciprocal assignation of longing.
so why not later, later on, far from here, out past any hint of my existence, disruption, or inconvenience ... listen in the dark alone some night to at loose ends by herbert brün, and weep.
name me this. yoko ono, thin ice
sincerely, and in answer to your question, i wrote poetry, impoverished as it was.
Opportunities are made. Our creativity allows us to capitalize on them. So paint me a picture of our lives by the sea! Honey, you can always sell any dream to me.