excerpt from ‘The Weaklings XL’ by Dennis Cooper

I’m the coldest piece of shit in human history but your rotting, stinking corpse is so hot in theory I think it’ll melt me.

 

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rufus666:

Dennis Cooper scrapbooks: http://www.dennis-cooper.net/scrapbooks.htm
inventaire:

Dennis Cooper / The jpegs (from 8 Poems for Jerome Sala)

To Mason, a particular sort of male beauty is everything. It doesn’t exist in the world, but certain young actors and rock stars come reasonably close. Hence his art, which collages together extraordinary scraps of human matter, each body part carefully ripped from a photo or magazine, then glued down on a white sheet of paper and aligned with complementary fragments in painstakingly casual, Frankenstein-ish constellations. It’s instinctive stuff. He can explain it in theoretical terms, but it’s completely obsessive. Luckily for him, obsessive gay art is very trendy at the moment, so he makes a decent living. But his art’s just about his own loneliness, period, whether collectors and critics understand that or not. He’s building imaginary lovers, friends, sons, younger brothers, slaves, gods. It’s a vaguely creepy thing, and it means a fucking ton to him, unlike his actual friends and acquaintances

Dennis Cooper, Guide (via deathdefyingacts)

Time is a construct.

Time is a construct.
Invented so we wouldn’t miss
mass and meals, 
births and bombing raids, 
weddings and wakes, 
meetings and monied accounts.

What is time? 
A false finite; a blasphemy on forever. 

Dennis Cooper

There’s a guy who’s just
shit from his dad when
he’s expected to fuck what
he loves and I’m that shit.

Dennis Cooper (via literary-orgasm)

I drank his blood, piss, vomit. I shoved one hand down his throat, one hand up his ass and shook hands with myself in the middle of his body, which sounds funny, but it wasn’t.

Frisk, Dennis Cooper (via igivupp)

The Weakling

I’m there in case
he’s still my friend
but know he’s not
or there’s no way.

When I say his
name his bean
flat eyes sharp-
en like pencils.

Sometimes I think
he knows his name
but he’s so faint it
could be anything

-dennis cooper

I used to be so into trying to understand myself, but now I just want to do things, and not understand them.

Dennis Cooper, The Sluts (via tenwords)
cacophagy:

from Dennis Cooper’s Scrapbook
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representimental:

Being Aware by Dennis Cooper
davidcorvine:

Guide. Dennis Cooper.

kathyackerspenis:

DC’s: Novel-in-progress scrapbook page #7: Second section, part 3

“Love goes away when your mind goes away and then you’re someone else.” — Kathy Acker

"He warrants more happiness than anyone on earth could feel without exploding or something. But what would make him feel as jubilant as he deserves is too unrealistic, even for likes of fiction. Or it’s not, but the delivery is easier conceptualized than said. Reality’s a border where love, however intricately worded, dissipates into the crux of an imaginative leap or becomes explosive, and I’m that limit’s bitch." — DC