I stood in the bath tub and looked at the mouldy ceiling, while waiting for a hot water. Like the other day, there was just about enough water to pee, lather up and sort of dampen the hair.

I thought I’ll turn off the tap so that boiler could heat up a bit. All soaped and freezing cold I waited for that mother fucking heat. I thought maybe it has something to do with my neighbour because I swear I heard his pipes working too.

I also remembered the childhood in a big soviet block house. There was always a shortage of the hot water just before the big holidays; every neighbour was taking a shower, shaving, cooking, cleaning carpets and just using shit loads of water. There was not enough pressure for the water to reach the upper floors and my mother used to be very pissed about that as we lived on the 5^th floor.

I watched my blue wrinkled hand under the ice cold stream of water and thought about that fucking plumber who swore by jesus that everything was alright even after I figured out that it wasn’t a German combi boiler he promised but a Chinese copy instead.

If I met him again, I would probably say how fucking thankful I am and all and how I wish he could flush himself in one of his cheap toilets.
__________________________________

Hello!

Big day for THATSUGARBEET because it’s going home for

The Deepest Hole In The Pacific Ocean
__________________________________

spitting babe
__________________________________

‘Are you ok?’
‘I think I am a retard’
__________________________________

pump babe
__________________________________

caddy babe
__________________________________

Happy Cosmonautics Day
__________________________________

A plane crashed through my window
Raising at once images carved into my brain
Of my life taking off
And landing
Before and after the dawn
Images of San Francisco
Mexico City
The Alps
The Piedmont
Morocco
Cuba
Brazil
The
Philippines.
Tokyo
And Kalahari Desert, of course.
[The geography, I have fallen in love.
The empathies of the sky, marked by geography.]
My memory acts like machine
My memory is a plane
Bombed by terrorists.
Fragments of places
I have never visited.
Of people
I have never met.
Explosions of
Paper planes
As dangerous
As the real ones.

Maintenant Poetry: Celebration of Contemporary Avantgarde Poetry | 31.3.2012 London

Words by Gabriele Labanauskaite
Collage by thatsugarbeet
__________________________________

I work on weekends and public holidays.
I’m on my period too.

I hope it will rain or I’ll drown you in my menses.
__________________________________

‘Heeeeey, how are you? Having fun? Have I introduced you to Joe? Oh wow! So yeah, this is Joe, he’s a DJ. We met together while I was dancing… I don’t dance anymore. Like, I really want to get into acting. Joey says I have skills, you knooow… heheheheheh heh ’
She continued about some university crap, how we all went to school and how we never had a chance to go out all together and how upsetting it is for her.
I pushed the index and middle fingers into my mouth and vomited out a compliment on her pearly high heels.
We both were very happy to know that nothing has changed.
__________________________________

-Since my early childhood, I’ve always wanted to put a mic into my mouth. I wonder how Freud would comment on this?

-Freud would like to be every single mic in your hand, baby.
__________________________________

Last days to see In Numbers at ICA.
It’s a collection of serial publications from artists all over the world since 1955.

Rough. 

A note from ICA: This exhibition contains provocative material that may cause offence and is unsuited for minors.

Very well, then take your kids and have a nice day!
__________________________________