a tidbit from the "other" immigration problem

"I'm a German citizen for two decades already. I took up responsibility for the German society. I'm serving the German people as a parliamentarian, but I'm still 'the Turkish guy.'" -Ozcan Mutlu

noctuids amidst the noria

we, in vile morbidity, are the moth’s wing,

as it hovers over the post-party debacle

surrendering to the cordobesan feria.

its departure from light like a tree shedding leaves

amidst the veracity of a summer storm.

we, the tornado’s rapture, in a midwestern gully,

before it takes house and hut, family, friends.

yet our embryo so subtle, so clandestine,

its appalling lucidity devoured,

taken by the rusted pipes and flaking walls

of these aging antiquities, in vain.

this is us, seeking such secretion,

feigning to be heard,

where the clamoring racket of crickets whelm,

chirping wildly in the grain.

we do our best to let splendor suffuse,

as the lavenders induced, adorned,

coax pollen and bees

to rove and fuck just for fucking’s sake.

yet the sweet sweat drips, it drops,

as we sneeze and bustle in a deadened street,

on our fashion strips,

in our simple, stupid dreams.

stoned by booze and tiny pills,

by ferris wheels and cheap food,

by the woo of french dames and salsa steps,

of the moth’s decaying larvae.

but we loll as hastened hiccups,

not really sure what we are,

we are rushed to finish something,

the great capitalist renaissance.

gloomy and bleak, the choir

of monotonous replication,

it’s the nihilist’s cry of naught,

while we’re awoken yet again.

we are that moth’s adulteration,

scavenging the sky,

we are the onlooker’s protrusion

while our heroine languishes in her disguise. 


Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011

void nor valid, fallacious nor fictitious

a cock crows

as the sun rises.

a cliché only true

in extremities.

its cries of depravity

invoked harshly from

the corner-stoned roofs

of our contently middle-class canaries.

i forget what it was,

because i’d be quite content;

to do just this,

to just settle down,

or up,

wherever it may be,

in the mountains,

alone with the strata, the sun.

to revel in a chorus

of adolescent amphibians,

as we pass through the brush

and i hold your hand.

mind your step: delicate, careful step,

while our youth pervades

imposed with an austere maturity.

we’re old enough to know now

that we can break precedents,

but we choose to stay here,

so comfortably,

only teasing those hazy, dotted lines;

when "sin", when "boredom",

toys with our menial, ruminative thoughts.

lo que se pasa acá, se queda acá,

they continue to preach to me.

yet what happens is so normal, so sane,

it's why we keep chasing your savior supreme.

that humanized conjecture,

with two hands and a click,

so central, so trivial,

with just two audible consonants.

void of substance,

your so-called, profound, ethical calculations,

based off that antiqued, eschatological hyperbole. 

just the same back and forth,

before the calm at sea.

as we sway, we sever,

as the waves tear at our anchor.

we’d rather watch the phoenix fly

while drowning solely amidst the tides.

yet holding on to something,

something that has meaning, 

void or valid, fallacious, 

even moreover fictitious. 

it’s a reminder of home,

of those who’ve past,

of those in our stories,

while they tear at the mast.

again we follow script,

the same tragic story,

for a headline, for a postcard,

for the same bitter tears,

in the same rendered state,

of such grave tragedy,

such a heartfelt fit of saddened tragedy. 


Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011

Allure on the Northern Nowhere

Shadow, somber, ember passing through,

From the canopy of the Cordobesan barrio;

Tiny pebbles kicked, among tampered foliage,

Amidst the maundering words of a passerby;

I long, I do, I reminisce of your touch,

So delicate, yet prevailing that it makes me muse;

And as the remembrance of your thick tone stirs,

It brings me back to that reposeful countryside.

The one where we spent, engulfed in a choir,

Of frogs, of cacti, of the Canarian coast;

Where the rampant waves splashed, against the bare reef,

Distracting me for a breath, before I arose once more;

To your freckles, your whispers, like songs, like wind

To devour all that was and will ever be

Where your fair skin, still burnt from the day before,

Hints at, it pleads for such osculation;

Derived of the most passionate, so subtle,

The most endearing and persuasive kind,

Submerged me helplessly, so menial yet so alive.

Just please, my dear, listen,

Through feigned verses of empathy,

While I ring assured, from depths of heart,

With the wind on your shoulders in the sea-stained air,

That I will deliver such purity to yours.

Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011

arthur rimbaud and my best weekend ever.

Vowels

A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue: vowels,

I shall tell, one day, of your mysterious origins:

A, black velvety jacket of brilliant flies

which buzz around cruel smells,

Gulfs of shadow; E, whiteness of vapours and of tents,

lances of proud glaciers, white kings, shivers of cow-parsley;

I, purples, spat blood, smile of beautiful lips

in anger or in the raptures of penitence;

U, waves, divine shudderings of viridian seas,

the peace of pastures dotted with animals, the peace of the furrows

which alchemy prints on broad studious foreheads;

O, sublime Trumpet full of strange piercing sounds,

silences crossed by [Worlds and by Angels]:

–O the Omega! the violet ray of [His] Eyes!

Voyelles

A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu: voyelles, Je dirai quelque jour vos naissances latentes: A, noir corset velu des mouches éclatantes Qui bombinent autour des puanteurs cruelles, Golfes d'ombre; E, candeurs des vapeurs et des tentes, Lances des glaciers fiers, rois blancs, frissons d'ombelles; I, pourpres, sang craché, rire des lèvres belles Dans la colère ou les ivresses pénitentes; U, cycles, vibrements divins des mers virides, Paix des pâtis semés d'animaux, paix des rides Que l'alchimie imprime aux grands fronts studieux; O, suprême Clairon plein des strideurs étranges, Silences traversés des [Mondes et des Anges]: —O l'Oméga, rayon violet de [Ses] Yeux! dear self, imagine yourself on an island, off the coast of africa, with three pretty girls, for three incredible days, in absolutely beautiful weather, overlooking the coast of some small spanish town, frogs singing in the background, the sun setting, enamored by fauna and blooming flowers, while a cute little french girl with freckles whispering this to you, accent and all. that was your weekend. life complete.  brandon.13-16.5.2011

playlist for may

björk - where is the line
fatboy slim - praise you
frank ocean - we all try
the weeknd - the party and the after party
radiohead - nude
sensorama - star escalator
disclosure - carnival
SBTRKT - wildfire
tune-yards - gansta
balam acab - oOoOOO
jamie woon - shoulda (this guy is so good)

also, in the last couple weeks there was great mixtapes from:
jamie xx and oneman
canblaster
how to dress well
...go look for them...

richard hamilton.i'm dreaming of a white christmas

Richard Hamilton - I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas (1967). Screenprint, Sheet 30 1/4 x 40 15/16" (76.8 x 104.0 cm) Comp. 22 1/8 x 33 7/8" (56.2 x 86.0 cm)(irreg.). Celeste and Armand Bartos Foundation Fund. © 2011 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London

rauschenberg.black.market.1961

Robert Rauschenberg
Black Market, 1961
Combine painting: Oil, paper, wood, metal, rope on canvas, plus four metal clipboards and valise with rubber stamps and variable objects.
49 x 59 in. (124.5 x 150 cm)
Museum Ludwig, Cologne, Germany.

knot a man, but knot yet a god

roughly around 34.7% of my trip to germany, the netherlands, and belguim was spent doing exactly this: watching frank tie his shoes. i still prefer the loop, swoop, and pull followed by the double knot. get it together frank, get in together. 

lush.2011.(no photoshop).

in the midst of the humid andalusian sunrise, this baby moth passed away from alcohol poisoning. i wasn't there to witness it, so i can only suppose what torture ensued as a result of his irrevocable decision to indulge in such monstrous behavior. may this be a lesson to us all that we are nothing but slaves to nature and it's hegemonic chaos, especially when we're young and naïve. don't drink and fly. amen. 

Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011