Wednesday, 28 September 2011

LOVE IS THE DRUG









Shoot for Issue 5 of Twin i worked on, shot by the main man Jason Kibbler on location in deepest darkest Brooklyn in NYC on the hottest day of the year in July! It was hot as hell out there, the sun beat down upon us like a witches broom. We drank the ice box dry three times and all lolled around in the air conned Winnebago silly with the heat like meerkats sheltering under Boabab trees. Yuri very kindly introduced us to dinosaur porn on X-tube in the interims between dressing. Who would have known a man dressed up as a pterodyctl could be so sexy.

I love the love in this shoot and god knows I love love, I go about it enough. Here is my favourite love poem ever it's called Cascando and it's the only one Samuel Beckett ever wrote. It kills me.

Cascando

1.
why not merely the despaired of
occation of
wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren

the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives
2
saying again if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love lovethud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending

I and all the others that will love you
if they love you
3
unless they love you

2 comments:

Stendhal Gumption said...

Poem! Pheeeeeeewwww. Jesus. AHHHHHHHH.

pussmunch said...

Awwww gawd i know...it's like a shovel, a coffin and a plot, that poem. It kills me.