20. October 2014

 (Tiff has forgotten what it is really like to have a heartache, so I said)

I am happy to tell you what (little) I know about (real true) heartache.
I am happy to remind you about what (little) I know about (real true heartache), given recent events.

I am pausing for a moment.



we were in the process of figuring out what we want and how to get it. I felt a slip in dimensionality. privy to core, tiff.

 we discussed degrees of performativity at length

I felt pronounced and heady. we lied vertically but felt laterally. It wasn’t the mist mist mist of great secrets but the jadedness was there – saccharine, scintillating, ivy.


i too was moved by my inclinations and
this time around
heeding your words, in a multichannel kind of way
i said to him
that I was ready to be a level-headed wader into the pool
checking the temperature at times, not blindly diving the way I used to. but also
not turning away because the initial impact is

he agreed that the alternative mode
perpetual dissatisfaction, constant stream, digital inundation and
“is this as good as it gets?” was a
bleak way to think

| function and dysfunction |

shortly thereafter it was proclaimed dead, except there was no corpse nor a proclamation.

I am not someone who jumps to conclusions to save herself from the process of self-examination.

______ . ________ —— &&•••••• à                                                          


And so, knowing I had nothing to lose:

hey _____, 

hope this message finds you well 
if im understanding correctly this—however we define this—seems to have dissolved, which sits well with me. 
I do have a request tho; was wondering if you could elaborate on what actually transpired, what trepidations you may have had. my hope is to gain clarity not via a lens of pattern recognition / trope) but bc I thrive on self examination. I am a malleable creature w interests in conferring meaning. 

would greatly prefer in person clarity too, if you can spare some time 

thanks for hearing me out 


but, in the spirit of being revelatory (always) and transparent  (dimensionally. always.) I am sitting here a day after I composed the cranium of this message that is These Words and I feel as if I’ve regained some compassion for myself 

not really sure how that happened but

it’s nice.

ah so the need to request clarity. Obliterated!
I’ve nothing to lose, still. Tiff, when I say dissolution I mean deliquescence. I am sourcing clarity not from literary patches (never even frameworks) but from those misty misty misty, those hair follicles, the way I stepped on a stone early this evening.

 Socrates was right to be unequivocal.

I resisted the urge to assert:

SORRY honey but there are two revolutions at work, here
gonna have to terminate the one

it’s easier this way—-false self preservation

This entire unwieldy process has made me realize that I am ‘Possibly Maybe’ Bjork but, as you know, I am led by my compulses, so I am really truly ‘Triumph of a Heart’ Bjork.

I’m really unabashedly pleased with my turnaround time, this time.


well Tiff, I suppose there was no real heartache, was there.


I splurged on a new vibrator.
There’s a Sandalwood candle burning in my peripheral vision.
I sunk and felt.
There is now an 8 foot by 8 foot erect structure sitting on four clumsy ply limbs.
I am entertaining the idea of spending Wintersession in Berlin.
In very romantic fashion, a boy ran after me the other day. He asked my name.







silly fun



13. October 2014

you silken slippery thing you


This time around leaving the city was “watching the city leave slink away but its tendrils were still slippery on me still.” 

It’s meant for a queen and I am a queen.

Let’s discuss our relationship to locale:

The crossroads of east and west meet thoroughly with (the birth and) subsequent convergence of two Belarusians transplanted in Miami, Florida because of some unpetty anti-Semitism, a delicate Craft.

From then on it has been a matter of straddling when to insinuate high-context diversions (some might say: subversions) with low-context intake (consumptive flutter?)

An example:

Let’s discuss our proclivities.
Let’s let it fester like an open wound, scarification, some butterflies in the mix—our conversation.
Mom, it’s queer. No, a switch is no less ingenuine.
Let the whole thing swallow you whole so that you’re left dutifully bound to duty.

And finally, a Russian proverb:

Где двое, там третий лишний
«Two is company and three is none»
«Two is a couple, three is a crowd. »


now that we’re able to thoroughly assess the situation I would like to begin by reminding you that new york is a gem, apprehensive, reproachable, and slinky.

Typically it is the bus over that sends me (one) into (one’s own) monologue. This time around I was concerned with my meaning remaining provocatively latent.

My inclination was so close my eyes and so I did, because I am moved by my inclinations.

 I could be.

Regardless, I successfully wondered plenty about Robert Gober, good considering it was his retrospective, and maybe I could be a veritable poetess after all? I mean really why delineate??????
(I pick my nails so I’m definitely jaded enough.)


Going to art openings I can’t help but feel everyone feels an outsider, even those boundlessly and inextricably linked feel it too or are
on the verge

i guess
you are jolted it’s a curse
for you because
it might be true

It was actually an incredible coincidence seeing the same 99 cent store employee in downtown Brooklyn off the Fulton G as in my own summer haven of the Jefferson L, really felt like the terrible wonderful beastiliness came full circle

 his old sunken in face has a way of unclosing you


I left the city at
night’s prime
narrowly escaped the prime bustling

rolling away from such
fucking activated
space, I suppose it confers
some kind of meaning.

I did feel awash when
finally we hit the BQE and
I could see those long, slinking tendrils engulf me and hold my gaze and even
surpass far surpass my peripheral vision.


what a site it was

This city that had afforded me so much yet left me so little. It’s not really a monolith. Well, you’d be surprised. 
"It’s nothing more than feeling", you see, the tendrils of city-scape sliding away my optics as I turned to face forward.

"I don’t want to let you down." man, she knows what she’s working with.
you silken slippery thing, you.

7. October 2014


I wrote a piece, which actually began as a response to my own initial email, of which the words remain in stillness, here in this digitized coven.

I’ll attach it here, just because.

 <i lied to you tiff.docx>

I guess I should thank you for unknowingly siddling, sliding, and bouncing (beautifully) into my collective consciousness—-you are a veritable poetess, a sulken one: performing roles— sidekick, protagonist, addressee, friend, deep thinker-poet, humanoid in the world, the lost, the weary, the pink yellow-polka dot dress of youth. you wear the hat of multiplicity so well. I too have become aware of my limits (and mortality) through performativity.

This self-label of myself, and you, as performer is not to suggest that we function as tourists or actors of processes, of this mental labor, of physicality, of humanoiddom. Merely what I am saying is: I have an awareness of what I do not know.

I think we are working off parallels.

I can’t tell you with enough fervor: I am so happy to hear that you are free. I feel as if I’ve been in a constrict bind lately, and my complicity dissolves with your recognition: you are free.


Things clouding my judgement lately:

Agency. I struggle in its exertion, its breadth, its monoliths. where do I exercise it? Where does one as a maker? There are so many flavors of agency, so many expressions and exercises of it and also its lack. I realize this question, this issue, of agency circumambulates a lot of the nooks and crannies that everything I am emerge out of. How to slow down and watch something unfold on my own terms, truly? 

The social. In my discovery of agency as being a vital and missing ingredient for myself I am having a tasking time reconciling…

It may be absurd, or very valid, or a bit of both, but I almost see it as a polarity: either I de-value those around me for the sake of my self preservation (internal monologue: oh that’s so difficult easier said than done why how have you not learned to live with yourself if you do so do you have a ground to stand on) or do I exert agency upon them, challenge them, hope they’ll reciprocate in this greasy value-exchange? (that is: I value you, you value me on your own terms)

Simply put: I’m on a see-saw.

I want to play on the slide, but I have a particular fondness for the see-saw in all its dimensionality. Its quirks, that rusty-spoon sound it makes in upwards incline… the vertigo of downward motion. Violets in my peripherals, it couldn’t be any other way.
But my position in space rests in the awaiting: awaiting your, his, her, their weight to act on me
They leave, I stay.

Creaky eeriness, that bump was a rough one on my tail bone and now here she’s back.



I value such slippery things!!!!!!




I think—in the wake of our conversation about lightfastness, I’ve taken a particular liking to the non-virtuosic.

 It helps me, me-as-a-maker, to place my value in painting in the non-virtuosic (perhaps related to my struggle with agency—-doing so takes accountability into the equation. Hmm.)

On the one hand, though, it can only be a render of the non-virtuose; there is so much hand and too much glory in that hand.

My question is: how to delineate formlessness? My notion of an artistic practice has expanded yet…

Things clouding my judgement, and the theme is forever: how to reconcile?


the things I see move my inclinations. I’ve not heard truer.

Tiff, what are those inclinations?
Tell me.

 I’ve been so curious.

I’m so very fond of you—-I know it’s a null point (or—-likely, wearily, it could never be a null point) but, in some ways, you are my center of gravity, here. Worlds apart and torn away from immediacy I find myself enamored by your posits… you syncopate time: articulate the stillness in between movement, whereas I scrutinize the gestalt. I’ve thought plenty on your cyan shoes. Reebok.

I am sorry this is so long overdue—

I’ve been in communication with you in this time though, I know it. I have felt the presence of our exchange. Words cannot articulate it besides render that it happened, but my being drifts constantly to you, and you’ve visited me here. such joyous occasions.

please keep in touch. you are a true beauty.

- eliz.

6. October 2014

Cognitive faculties and all their folly!

My first eruption of this ash-flavor was in our ’92 cherry red Nissan Altima, eyes glazed toward the Checkers on 16th street and Biscayne blvd, a manageable but never exercised prance’s worth of time away from the Miami Dade County Public Schools facility annex.


Aleksandr my Slavic born and bred father worked in the research and evaluation department of the public school system where they posit to give our students the world—a lofty task. Tasked with that much loft, it was no wonder that Aleksandr grew bannisters made of clay on his shoulders. Alla my Slavic born and bred mother was in her own woeful way tasked with the loft of allocating that world-space to me.

so, you see
I was born to two volcanoes and am myself a veritable volcano, unwieldy, full of lust.

Checkers Drive-In Restauraunts Inc. was founded in 1986 in Alabama. Interestingly, Checkers also went by “Rally” at the time, and the first Rally opened in 1985 in Louisville Kentucky. In June of 2006 they merged with Taxi Holding Corp, an affiliate of Wellspring Capital Management.

Plenty of time syncopated but the slogans went
“Bag a Bigger Better Burger Bargain”
“You’ve Never Had It So Good”
“Well at Rally’s, You Still Can”
“High performance Human Fuel”
“You gotta eat!”
“Devour the night!”
“Feast On”
“It’s in the bag.”

The red and white checkers pattern
had me disillusioned for
a little while as I
struggled to reconcile
facts such as:
I can’t understand how they can take so much blood out of a humanoid truly
it’s not that I hoped and hope to garner pity but such
vivid red entrails
like she wasn’t even done erupting! like
the smoke did not rise but rather
out of that tiny corridor
I mean it was never an issue because there was always the promise of a 

 and better yet, when the time finally came
when it came
to it I would be getting the new
Jenny from the Block
album, all I wanted.

The first time I saw the video for Love Don’t Cost a Thing, set in precarious and glacier-ridden Miami, I became privy to another’s magma.

The char-ridden tone of J. Lo’s voice when she asks for clarification, over the phone (this is after he admits to her that he wasn’t going to make it  ‘but did you get my gift?’) was dismantling enough. I figured she was a veritable volcano, too.

Magma happens as we become privy to soft boiling points
hers happen in the wreckage
the fourth wall is left in shards on the sandy shores of Miami Beach as J. Lo denounces transactional, private relationships

Does fully loaded flavor get you excited?
Were you born to manage people in the pursuit of flavor perfection?
Is full of energy your middle name?
Are you quick on the condiment draw?
Do you live life over-the-top?

I didn’t understand the concept of stakes, at the time.
Again glazing over (wistfully, always wistfully) at the Checker’s from my cherry red ’92 tectonic plate
Nostalgia, you funny prickly-pear flavored thing, you

I know I’m a scrawny monolith

convergent / divergent plate boundaries, lava domes / cryptodomes (cryptodomes, you wouldn’t believe my cryptodomes), erupted material
my hotspots are a main stay.

Imagine standing at a corner with two rooms perpendicular to it
Music from one room, silence from the other
How do you reconcile?


I was distinctly riled, having never had my chance to sample Checkers.
I wondered if neutral colored food yielded neutral tasting condolences.


who knows


I did take a walk the other day with Deep Sea Double Burger.

It didn’t sound like he lamented his toasted bun, but he did mention that he missed a time where there was only the one golden crispy fish filet—that one clay bannister—on his shoulder, and not the two.

 I didn’t know what to tell him. We hit a lull in the conversation and eventually Deep Sea Double had to leave to his perpendicular corner perch of his own.

he’s a good warmth, that one
a little lost but so is everyone in the city
the worst is when they leave and condemn it to hell
so it’s left floating on its last few glaciers

if there’s any take away from these sorts of things it’s that cold hands are the consequence of poor blood circulation
and also to
keep calm,
disastrous and
admire your own checkered-
patterned lava.

29. September 2014

Sunday morning opulence, embodied in the embarrassment of having had to request clarity ;

What does it mean when someone tells you, me, “Look, I’m writing this fucking novel thing and I’m looking for an interesting muse to fuck and have some fun with for a while. Just one, I’m not a huge man slut or anything. You just seem to look like exactly what I would imagine that to be ya know?”

my fingers smell of slinky salmon

Dancing for my snake to Ciara’s “Body Party”, doing an awkward burlesque dance to Madonna’s “Secret” (Edit) I realize I am the Jennifer Lawrence of burlesque and also a fine conduit of culture.

But it’s true, Andrew Durbin is absolutely correct in saying that “Ride” is consequential.


Don’t worry – if it’s a legitimate hurricane, the ecosystem has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.

He’s restless in his cage, the damned thing.
Too many soliloquies serving as reminders of self.