Racing with the Moon, Barking at Austria. Jambalaya very much.
Overlapping Orange Thought Balloons by Cocteau easily GLAM as volcanic ash whipped-by-the-wind into passionately aeolian contours. And, keeping that in mind: because she went off on
Author: cocteau2
Go Past the Southview Sleep Lab…
Go Past the Southview Sleep Lab/ Down to the End of Graceland and Over to Lamplighter Square Shopping Center Where Tailfeathers Flash White in Flight!
Scraping Blackboards in a World Without Love
Scraping Blackboards in a World Without Love and/or: Short Waves in the City of Light, Scraping Concrete, Dancing on Myth, Swallowing Up All the Mercury
Aarrrgh! as Experience
A postmodern artist or writer is in the position of a philosopher: the text he writes, the work he produces are not in principle governed by pre-established rules, and they cannot be fudged according to a determining judgment, by applying familiar categories to the text or to the work. Those rules and categories are what the work of art itself is looking for. –Jean-Francois Lyotard
The Idea of North
The Idea of North by Cocteau The Idea of North. Â Coldly practical. Why are we drawn to over-the-top-stair-seriality merely to drift into an impression of
Texting Spiral Jetties
Them! by cocteau Physics & labia, pocketa-pocketa. G=L=O=R=I=A~ The fascia of every object/ consumes the colour of its adjacent. No event is innate in/[or] its exclusive
In Miniature– Sort of a Monster Mash-Up
Plymouth Rocks, the Grey Album by cocteau “All wordz/ belong to all people [‘cept these].†— Marty Esworthy History, c’mon, tell me a story: GAUL!
When Earth Bathed its Sidewalks in Octobery Chalk Strokes
When Earth Bathed its Sidewalks in Octobery Chalk Strokes by cocteau A chalky, palm-printy arc of the rendering is believed to be the progenitor of
By Aeroplane to Iceland
By Aeroplane to Iceland by cocteau She looked down to the tea table, humming. Remembering. All bird songs are learnt within the first month after
Ascending Degrees of Mirage
Ascending Degress of Mirage by cocteau Decending Scales of Trance  O, it’s a hot damn day, yet, it would take 700 suns to span the