There’s a box with a flag on it, a mail box that’s not run by the US Postal Service. You have to walk up to it. A neighborhood, a city, a world shares it. You can stick you hand in it. You can pull out stuff you want. How do you like the sound of that?
A guy friend and I went on a writing spree. We wrote Valentine’s Day notes for you of those who can traverse this street, Traction Avenue in Downtown Los Angeles this weekend. We invite you, we implore you to visit and fetch yourself sweet nothings and paper-cuts, on us.
We put in 39 short works we wrote on our own and some collectively. We wrote them from various genders, places, mindsets over Thursday, February the 12th. We numbered them. One day we’ll get to 666 poems perhaps, over the years. This time, we’re calling this #TakeMe2015. Take me, sex and drugs. They call to you? What calls to you? Tell us. Come get a love note from us to you, from us to Los Angeles and places and people like the ones that surround our everyday.
Each note contains some kisses, some DNA.
found some change on the streets today
gonna rub those round things together.
if i rub you,
will you squirt me w/ your benevolence?
I’m not as cloudy as the future but I live inside a smoky garden you can’t enter.
There are cherubims at the gate with swords made of brimstone, whose chests glow nuclear.
I wait inside a possibility that I’ll see you again, teach you about the way my body is a field where you’ll plant a nation.
I now gather my sighs for the evening, sewing my dreams into a lavender needle – that’s the entrance, honey.
Take this and fold it up
put it in your pocket
sign it like a docket
Celery stalks at midnight
Put it in a locket
Like that piece of hair you removed from my head
amongst other things
in my mouth
point the way
Today I’m the Sargasso, baby – all these things I’m thinking are stuck in slow-motion – you sliding past in such detail it burns. Tonight, I’m your Krakatoa – no matter how far you run, I’m going to cover you in my ash and heat.
My cock is like a lock pick. That’s all you need to know, Fort Knox.
Like Lucy said to Albert, you’re like my chicken and goose in the ride
Glide through the ages like lube. Hold on tight to your pride like how my fingers grab your pubes
Revolution is sex
Juice me like a debutante on a diet
Bruise me like a s&m shrink does a client
Coconut crème, your nectar is a dream
I can go buy it for 11 bucks down the street
with some 50 dollar pillow cases at the sample sale
same old hell
but at least you’re here, my lil belle
ding dong it
Vengeance by mine
breathing dildo be mine
I wreck myself
for 10 seconds
b/c I remembered I’m in LA
I touch myself
I used to write things that sounded like Trent Reznor coughed them up in a New Orleans TB hospital. Now I want to write things more beautiful, like the blood in the handkerchief Shelley kept in his pocket after Keats died.
Beautiful, just like you
LOVE IS HELL
LOVE NOTES FOR SATAN
@CORNELIAEMBERLY + DAMIEN PARSONS LOVE THE FUCK OUTTA YOU
Cornelia grew up in the wooded lands of The Blair Witch and the times of the nineties. She's learning the trials and tribulations of phone app dating on the dirty streets of Downtown Los Angeles, whilst making sure Hollywood stays Satanic and playing the theremin.