On (Maladaptive) Daydreaming

— Susan Sontag, Death Kit

Hugh Steers (1962–1995)  Embracing representational painting and figuration at a time when such approaches were deemed unfashionable, his intimate compositions are poignant symbols of life under the specter of AIDS. 

“Where does such tenderness come from?”

Image by Hans Erni

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Song for My Lover

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If I could be an angel

I’d hang out on your shoulder

and sing into your ear.

I’d protect you from harm

and scary women.

I’d introduce you

to

every single star in the sky

so you could brag to your friends.

Even the moon

would be envying you.

Each night as you

slipped into sleep

I’d cry a single tear

filled with love

and place it right into

your heart.

Then I’d lay down beside you

and hold you in my wings

until dawn.

“Maybe the desire to make something beautiful/is the piece of God that is inside each of us.”

GOD TEACHES ME HOW TO EAT A POMEGRANATE WHILE THE NEIGHBOURHOOD BOY TEACHES ME HOW TO SING, by @iloveyouandyoudontpayme (Me)

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GOD TEACHES ME HOW TO EAT A POMEGRANATE WHILE THE NEIGHBOURHOOD BOY TEACHES ME HOW TO SING

It was two summers ago that I learned of pomegranates. I’d skip along to

God’s house, back when I would still visit,

And he showed me one. Red and crowned, glossy.

Impregnable.

:

I met him that same summer. I would go to the basement

Of his brown house

And we would sit on the couch and watch each other.

Inscrutable.

:

He told me that eating a pomegranate is the

Most difficult thing you’ll probably ever do.

You can swallow the dark,

You can smoke a cigarette.

But a fruit is the most complicated of His inventions.

More complicated than Persephone? I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

:

He says, “Relax your throat.

Breathe deeply. And remember,

Above all,

Singing is about being free.”

I asked if he was free. He clasped my hand

And said Yes.

:

I held the pomegranate, and it reminded me of Him.

:

I opened my mouth, and it reminded me of Him.

:

I wanted it. I couldn’t have it.

:

I would watch Him tear the fruit open

With superhuman hands. God did not

Own a knife. He was afraid of what he might do with it.

:

I would watch him while he sang. I would stare

At his lips to make sure I got every note

Exactly right. He would stare at mine.

One day, he told me

That my eyes reminded him of knives.

:

One day, I slipped into God’s house when he was

Not home. I picked up the fruit and

:

Knifed, again and again. He

Fell apart like warm cake in my hands.

:

God found me. God saw the knife.

God saw that I was hungry and

:

I put Him in my mouth

I put Him in my mouth

I put Him in my mouth

I put Him in My mouth

:

I ate Him. He did not mind.

He did not yell. Or take the knife.

He gave me what I wanted: to consume him,

To consume anything, entirely, undebatably,

And yet be granted clemency.