Wednesday, August 27, 2014
The palm of my hand cupped your shoulder and my fingers fit perfectly over your bones and my other hand was on your hips and there was a world of things that I didn’t understand about dancing but you were a patient teacher and I wasn’t necessarily scared, just bashful. When you look me directly in the eyes it only makes it harder for me to concentrate. Again—not because I’m scared to learn, but because you just don’t have any idea how pretty you are and that completely confuses and confounds, on a really astounding fucking level. For what it’s worth, I recommended you to other people in the neighborhood, because there’s others (lots of them) who you’d be surprised can’t dance at all; there’s like, the whole two-left-feet syndrome alive and well within the body and soul of a rather shocking percentage of the masses. In retrospect, considering how much I enjoy dancing with you now, I’d like to think that if given a second chance, I’d have started practicing much, much earlier. Probably around last Christmas.

BRONCHO at the Observatory
Santa Ana, CA
26 August, 2014

Your friend,JARET.

The palm of my hand cupped your shoulder and my fingers fit perfectly over your bones and my other hand was on your hips and there was a world of things that I didn’t understand about dancing but you were a patient teacher and I wasn’t necessarily scared, just bashful. When you look me directly in the eyes it only makes it harder for me to concentrate. Again—not because I’m scared to learn, but because you just don’t have any idea how pretty you are and that completely confuses and confounds, on a really astounding fucking level. For what it’s worth, I recommended you to other people in the neighborhood, because there’s others (lots of them) who you’d be surprised can’t dance at all; there’s like, the whole two-left-feet syndrome alive and well within the body and soul of a rather shocking percentage of the masses. In retrospect, considering how much I enjoy dancing with you now, I’d like to think that if given a second chance, I’d have started practicing much, much earlier. Probably around last Christmas.

BRONCHO at the Observatory
Santa Ana, CA
26 August, 2014

Your friend,
JARET.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Monday, August 25, 2014
"When placing these two notes together on the table, finally having studied them side by side, it was then understandable how a person might retain both sheets within the span of a week only to file each away separately in accordance with systemic rote without second thought. However, side by side, studying their letters’ sweeps and curls, it was clear to the common eye (discerning or no) that the individual authors were indeed the very same individual. In basic study of the two signatures alone—even regarding altered and elongated flourishes—their similarities were perhaps as apparent as a fresh streak of paint striped across a wall previously worked upon from the same paint can though since dried. It would be akin to stamping a left thumb print across that of one’s own right hand; there is a physical difference in the lines, but only separated from the whole in design.”

- Passage: Juliana Petersen-Marina, from her essay ‘Patterns of the Subconscious Mind: Dissociative Identity Disorder in the Modern Workplace’ (1981)
- Photography: Jaret Ferratusco
- Featuring: Blake Carrillo, from Cinema/Minimal

Thank you.

"When placing these two notes together on the table, finally having studied them side by side, it was then understandable how a person might retain both sheets within the span of a week only to file each away separately in accordance with systemic rote without second thought. However, side by side, studying their letters’ sweeps and curls, it was clear to the common eye (discerning or no) that the individual authors were indeed the very same individual. In basic study of the two signatures alone—even regarding altered and elongated flourishes—their similarities were perhaps as apparent as a fresh streak of paint striped across a wall previously worked upon from the same paint can though since dried. It would be akin to stamping a left thumb print across that of one’s own right hand; there is a physical difference in the lines, but only separated from the whole in design.”

- Passage: Juliana Petersen-Marina, from her essay ‘Patterns of the Subconscious Mind: Dissociative Identity Disorder in the Modern Workplace’ (1981)
- Photography: Jaret Ferratusco
- Featuring: Blake Carrillo, from Cinema/Minimal

Thank you.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Sunday, August 24, 2014
An Essay On Conversation: “They’re the strangest dreams,” she said distantly with one shoulder to the inside of the car door and her head against the glass. “They take place right now—in the now—but the things happening are distinctly how they would have gone maybe five years ago. Seven. People I know now—even you—look like you did half a decade ago yet you’re living the same lives you are now, in today’s era, only going about it the way you used to go about things, not the way things ARE now. You get what I’m saying?” She didn’t look directly at me, but she could tell I nodded. Lately I’ve been having those same dreams too, and the same things are going on; things about stuff that’s happened only lately, but it’s like we’re dealing with it five years ago. It’s hard to explain, you just have to be there. But it’s not like I can admit it to her I’m having the same dreams too, because she’ll only think I’m lying about it. She never believes a word I say.

- Jaret Ferratusco, Carol Atlantis, Parts 1 & 2.

An Essay On Conversation: “They’re the strangest dreams,” she said distantly with one shoulder to the inside of the car door and her head against the glass. “They take place right now—in the now—but the things happening are distinctly how they would have gone maybe five years ago. Seven. People I know now—even you—look like you did half a decade ago yet you’re living the same lives you are now, in today’s era, only going about it the way you used to go about things, not the way things ARE now. You get what I’m saying?” She didn’t look directly at me, but she could tell I nodded. Lately I’ve been having those same dreams too, and the same things are going on; things about stuff that’s happened only lately, but it’s like we’re dealing with it five years ago. It’s hard to explain, you just have to be there. But it’s not like I can admit it to her I’m having the same dreams too, because she’ll only think I’m lying about it. She never believes a word I say.

- Jaret Ferratusco, Carol Atlantis, Parts 1 & 2.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Hands Across One Side of the Country:Corpse On Pumpkin on tour with BRONCHO:

8/25 - San Diego, CA @ Soda Bar
8/26 - Santa Ana, CA @ Constellation Room
8/27 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo
8/29 - San Francisco, CA @ The Independant Sf
8/30 - Portland, OR @ Crystal Ballroom
8/31 - Seattle, WA @ Showbox Sodo

www.corpseonpumpkin.comwww.bronchoband.com

See you on the road.

Hands Across One Side of the Country:
Corpse On Pumpkin on tour with BRONCHO:

8/25 - San Diego, CA @ Soda Bar
8/26 - Santa Ana, CA @ Constellation Room
8/27 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo
8/29 - San Francisco, CA @ The Independant Sf
8/30 - Portland, OR @ Crystal Ballroom
8/31 - Seattle, WA @ Showbox Sodo

www.corpseonpumpkin.com
www.bronchoband.com

See you on the road.

Hands Across One Side of the Country:Corpse On Pumpkin on tour with BRONCHO:

8/25 - San Diego, CA @ Soda Bar
8/26 - Santa Ana, CA @ Constellation Room
8/27 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo
8/29 - San Francisco, CA @ The Independant Sf
8/30 - Portland, OR @ Crystal Ballroom
8/31 - Seattle, WA @ Showbox Sodo

www.corpseonpumpkin.comwww.bronchoband.com

See you on the road.

Hands Across One Side of the Country:
Corpse On Pumpkin on tour with BRONCHO:

8/25 - San Diego, CA @ Soda Bar
8/26 - Santa Ana, CA @ Constellation Room
8/27 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo
8/29 - San Francisco, CA @ The Independant Sf
8/30 - Portland, OR @ Crystal Ballroom
8/31 - Seattle, WA @ Showbox Sodo

www.corpseonpumpkin.com
www.bronchoband.com

See you on the road.

Thursday, August 21, 2014
A paper child was placed in the street and other vehicles swerved to avoid running it down as traffic picked up. The heavy-handed arc of the sun covered these sharp but delicate folds of construction paper in auburn welts over the course of the afternoon and it gave us the idea to have a real child, together, and to keep it safe from all such things as witnessed with the paper-fold in the middle of the street. We decided to share our lives together until one of us passes away. We made an agreement to never let harm come to us or our child, and I made a pact with myself to cut up the first person to try getting in the way of you and me.

A paper child was placed in the street and other vehicles swerved to avoid running it down as traffic picked up. The heavy-handed arc of the sun covered these sharp but delicate folds of construction paper in auburn welts over the course of the afternoon and it gave us the idea to have a real child, together, and to keep it safe from all such things as witnessed with the paper-fold in the middle of the street. We decided to share our lives together until one of us passes away. We made an agreement to never let harm come to us or our child, and I made a pact with myself to cut up the first person to try getting in the way of you and me.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Something is always forever now, witch is fine by me.

Something is always forever now, witch is fine by me.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Coming back home after so long made me feel completely out of place, to the point even—to the point where I thought the airport clerks and personnel were giving me a suspicious eye.

Coming back home after so long made me feel completely out of place, to the point even—to the point where I thought the airport clerks and personnel were giving me a suspicious eye.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Tuesday, August 19, 2014
'Shut the Windows in Strawberry Staircase'

Photograph: Jaret Ferratusco
Model: Floofie

Thank you.

'Shut the Windows in Strawberry Staircase'

Photograph: Jaret Ferratusco
Model: Floofie

Thank you.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

Saturday, August 16, 2014
Beneath your tongue was hidden a special key whereby the entire puzzle might be solved. I traced my fingers across the contours of your face slowly and methodically, slipping middle and ring finger beneath your tongue in an instant unseen, at once claiming the key into the shadows of my hand. I held it on the inside of the two clasped fingers so the audience would not see, know of, or suspect it. And when the lights came up a notch, I lowered my hand to your neck, over the collarbone, hovering over the middle of your bare chest, at which point I slipped in the key and it opened your sternum like a wardrobe. I pulled the rib cage open wide so that your pale but bright heart was prominent, spotlighted from the amphitheater lamps. The audience cheered at the open nest of organs as blood trickled down between your legs. Our performance was rewarded with a full-house standing ovation as the curtains fell. I closed your chest back up, wiped away the blood trails with an alcohol napkin, and we made our way to the front of the stage through a slip in the curtains to gave a bow to the audience. We returned backstage so that we could be paid for our performance by the theater manager, who’d become sick sometime during the performance, forcing her to miss the end of it. "Heard you showed somebody’s heart," she said. "Mine," you said. "Really?" she asked. "Oh yes," I said. "It’s a magic trick." The manager paid us in full and we celebrated at a hotel off the interstate, with conjoined rooms and a pizza, and we watched television together until around midnight, then retired to our respective beds with a pact to get up before 8am for once so we could head on to the next town a bit earlier. There a museum there we’d been wanting to visit for a long, long time.

A photograph by Jaret Ferratusco.

Beneath your tongue was hidden a special key whereby the entire puzzle might be solved. I traced my fingers across the contours of your face slowly and methodically, slipping middle and ring finger beneath your tongue in an instant unseen, at once claiming the key into the shadows of my hand. I held it on the inside of the two clasped fingers so the audience would not see, know of, or suspect it. And when the lights came up a notch, I lowered my hand to your neck, over the collarbone, hovering over the middle of your bare chest, at which point I slipped in the key and it opened your sternum like a wardrobe. I pulled the rib cage open wide so that your pale but bright heart was prominent, spotlighted from the amphitheater lamps. The audience cheered at the open nest of organs as blood trickled down between your legs. Our performance was rewarded with a full-house standing ovation as the curtains fell. I closed your chest back up, wiped away the blood trails with an alcohol napkin, and we made our way to the front of the stage through a slip in the curtains to gave a bow to the audience. We returned backstage so that we could be paid for our performance by the theater manager, who’d become sick sometime during the performance, forcing her to miss the end of it. "Heard you showed somebody’s heart," she said. "Mine," you said. "Really?" she asked. "Oh yes," I said. "It’s a magic trick." The manager paid us in full and we celebrated at a hotel off the interstate, with conjoined rooms and a pizza, and we watched television together until around midnight, then retired to our respective beds with a pact to get up before 8am for once so we could head on to the next town a bit earlier. There a museum there we’d been wanting to visit for a long, long time.

A photograph by Jaret Ferratusco.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)