reality flattens out.

Ask me anything   the works and inspirations of japey emig.

drama king 

maybe nothing concrete ever comes out of

addiction produced insomnia

or deeming oneself a drama king 

- but so be it.

perfection is a mindset,

cynicism a humor.

human conversation can leave you jaded;

and most of us will always be outsiders.

luckily,

masturbation is not our only outlet of relief!

there’s always art or music or booze

or fantasizing about an impending apocalypse.

the judgement of the white man’s god

just isn’t all that dependable.

so I guess we rely 

on time

for that. 

- japey emig

— 8 months ago with 19 notes
#japey emig  #poetry  #spoken word 
"

in the hollowness of night
my grinding neck can now echo -
syncopated with the grinding teeth of a
candy-headed little boy
who files her bones in the ether of dream state,

whimpering,

contorting,

moaning,

so vulnerable in my bed of blankets.

we deem our sun room the fun room
and flip dominoes that clink and clatter
like handfuls of marbles,

or teeth.

we play dominoes,
but I don’t know
whether or not I penetrate into your darkness
as you play your slumber films
beneath those eyelids,
frantically fluttering.

or how my solitude has left me now
gesture dyslexic,
unable to decipher
moving lips and waving hands.
I cannot recall your signals.

I cannot unravel the strings so easily.
I dare not let you in.

I dare not mock or correct
the minimum of two glasses you daily overturn
or your inability
to follow
simple linguistic direction.

you would cocoon yourself into the pit of my arm
weaving a nest of hair drenched
and unmasked,
and there you would live blissfully.

oh! and for this, I adore you.
I would show you the truth of lips upon lips,
of lovecup and lightning,
or flesh in ecstacy.

- but,
I study hands romanticizing creation
and I tremble in wake as
fingertips softly touching
frighten me
as equally as I yearn for them.

I would carry you upon my back
in preparation for your rationalized apocalypse,
respecting your slack
and training to make perfect aim
when the whirling smoke of hell,

opens up.

- but,
deficient, disordered, and deranged -
dead one walking.
I obsess over decay,
the great unknown,
the withered profoundness of vanishing.
the normalcy of ceasing,
to be.

to be honest,
I cannot guarantee I will last long.

"
candy-headed little boy by japey emig
— 9 months ago with 1 note
#japey emig  #poem  #poetry 

cupped palms 

you covet the malice of your own

misgivings,

offering out cupped palms

unwillingly to admit the gestures

of giving;

or taking.

the pale wax of ritualization

masquerading as a blind saint.

arranging flowers in pseudo-significance

melting down sinful faces,

preaching to the choir.

you slur language in cult-like insanity.

the judgmental messiah,

who delivers nothing.

spew rhetoric as an infant,

choreograph belief in 

spectacle absurdity

and condemn the rest

to hell.

- japey emig

— 9 months ago with 12 notes
#japey emig  #self.  #poetry  #cupped palms  #spoken word 

Japey emig. Untitled. Rust print on fabric with soy wax resist mounted on wooden panel. 2013.


Currently displayed as part of “The Sidework Series” at Metropolitan Gallery 250.

— 11 months ago with 15 notes
#japey emig  #rust printing on fabric  #the sidework series  #metropolitan gallery 250 

japey emig. impairment. steel, found stool, silk rope, white sheet. 2012.

— 1 year ago with 12 notes
#japey emig  #impairment devices  #impairment  #kink  #bdsm  #sculpture  #metalwork 

japey emig. impairment. steel, found stool, silk rope, white sheet. 2012.

note: this series of devices is ongoing and will continue to be paired with other objects in an attempt to explore connotations of impairment as well as sexuality.

— 1 year ago with 7 notes
#japey emig  #impairment devices  #impairment  #found objects  #kink  #bdsm  #sculpture  #metalwork