Julia Cohen & Jeremy Schmall – Talkin’ About My Generation

Two Takes

Julia Cohen:

“I was born into a generation that hasn’t happened what hasn’t
happened is fascinating death & our own ashes”

Jeremy Schmall:

“Ends have stopped their charity
of flipping into new beginnings
& you know what that means for my generation.”

A bag, a cute outfit, a fan. A glimpse of something approaching.

Jeremy Schmall
Jeremy Schmall & the Cult of Comfort

On the Same Day the Government Sends

you a check a neighborhood kid
rings your bell just to call you “dick face.”
Go cry to your mentor.
There’s worse things than functioning
genitalia out of context unquote
is going to be the committee’s
official position on this.
You eat romaine lettuce everyday for seven years
& suddenly realize what you’re eating
comes out of dirt.
Stop sobbing & finish your story.
Whose wake is this again?
I was promised a chandelier.
I was promised 100% RAW SUGAR.
The crime is the punishment or vice versa.
You punch the whale
—hooray!—
then you’re dead on a tennis court
in your tennis whites.
Nobody is laughing.
Or they’re all laughing
at the magazine your daughter discovered
in your sock drawer.
Ends have stopped their charity
of flipping into new beginnings
& you know what that means for my generation.
We don’t even understand enough French
to be mired in a moral crisis.
Try a crisis of company morale.
A crisis of inefficient organization.
You put an empty wheelbarrow in an art gallery
& you expect us to criticize you?
The vacuity is real, but the people are just drunk.
I want a sandwich.
I want a sandwich.
A smoked turkey sandwich on rye.


Julia Cohen
Triggermoon Triggermoon

The Ride That Is More Music Than Ash

Scramble over the runway to camp on water where the eels are lucid
I camp on the lost acre where nothing is skin though I’m told I alternate

Where can I echo-surface the metronome into animal blur
To camp on the diagnosis that is this finger with algae underneath

More than the biographical dinner

I was born into a generation that hasn’t happened what hasn’t
happened is fascinating death & our own ashes

Walls where I am not bounce behind me
I peddle to the pond & watch kids masturbate each other into the ride
they may or may not be ready for

Strange ash our own human attractive
A method of foreign invitation with music in the head

My only guarantee is what I am deficient in I will make up to you in another way

Forgone dignity of the third button
I’m dropping grapefruits on the grass I’ve got bruises that bleed through the sheets

I’ve moved my camp away from where my excuse is ‘it was easier to say yes’

Avoid an exclusive change on paper
I want to see the convergence on the most certain process an actual declaration

Our tonal age as strokes of the bow on a dead stage
A practical justification other than warmth

A rooftop, a bow, a present. (To the left, already in the past.)