i would like to write more!

17th of June 2024

remember a moment that's both nostalgic and visceral. it can be old or new, but something that feels both vague and like you can still feel it in your skin, muscle, and bones. write about it however feels right.

blessed by the windfall of a slow motion camera
I never wanted to run from a burning building
But god, if i could

11th of June 2024

look for patterns in chaotic & 'random' events, experiences, behaviors, etc. these could be in nature, in our own emotions & actions (or inactions), in the structure of a city, in a computer, in a body. do these patterns uncover an underlying order or meaning? are they coincidental?

("i've been trying to write everything down, let me know if i've left anything out.")
A keyboard of perfumes, I type a strange grip,
i form an awkward geometry to mark the coloured panels on my abdomen
Light comes strangely through starred windows
Dreamlike logic, present to make sure i am involved ("?)
thorax coiling with a rapt eye,
Veering to heat
("Why invite me to a ramble?")
Touching shoulders with uncertain hands
To taking new lovers!, moving through a succession
I have worked hard to revive my patient, we were young and it was a long time ago
Foundations connected with copper hawsers ("stop saying things? i don't care about this,")
A stiffened body in a rictus of hostility and frustration. My ungainly arms are pulled away
I am rushed ("slewed,") forward: 'eager'?
Do i appreciate this?
I must, In my own way
Exposed Skin torn on a trap: lashing waves of an invisible marine
Emblazon my breasts with your mar,
Heavy with no weight,
Busy yourself with a potpourri of unheeded semaphores
Next to a bower in grass seats of chrome and torrent vinyl lianas
A conjunction of chrysanthemum,
I wonder how i could hurt you,
what do they say heals all wounds?
("what is the opposite of right?"
What do you call a fish with no eyes?")
pester,
("What sound does the sun make?")
vilipend all you want
because believe me, no two car crashes are different

26th of May 2024

write about brief encounters, fleeting moments, first impressions. what do these leave behind for us?

I am a dusty necklace of a thousand automobile accidents,
I am a vitrified dune beading ichor from its melting abrasions
the perfect forgery of an Ingres. I am combed, dug into,
squatted upon as i am sifted for loose coins, Rings, and spent condoms
My Fibrous being subsided, i am a wrought iron basin marrying manic-depressive litmus
I will overflow, let me borrow yours?
(is that) 'Fair'? Of all things to ask,
I take up my convalescent position in that field, put out each morning to view the scene of my own cerebral death
Yet you ask me about fairness?
You are not using that basin, so hand it to me
Selfish, hm? (now that is a different matter),
I will not respond to you. You are being Childish.
i will instead think of caravan annexes, your cramped room, the small of my Back
How many steps led up to that building? didnt i bother to count them?
pale painted serpents, mechanical pencils,
i didnt think this was how people were meant to treat each other
Yet here you were, coming to take this little girl away from me
And like mother Mary i still love you despite how i've been dissected
Is that strength? I believe it is cowardice
I had prayed to simply die at the moment of your orgasm
May that alone convict me of my pusillanimity. May it reem out the moments that have created me
In my mind you still watch, and i feel worse. I feel grief, i wallow
If i let you take me up to that roof (like you asked) i know you wouldn't have pushed me over. I think that is what hurts, more than any fall
i am the favourite in gods eyes, I chase pigeons on rooftops alone dressed in vinyl
And i am so very tired of sleeping things away
But maybe i don't mind much, and neither do my bedsheets. nor my body
As that's the sort of cursory frolic i can do well without

16th of May 2024

write about evolution and devolution. how do we unravel & re-ravel? think about what histories our bodies & communities & species & worlds are made of.

My words were chewed with anguish, i hope they still are
I ask, oh may i,
be the tumour on your side? A complex interchange of litmus within your soft viscera? i would swim through your intestines, i would not come up for air
May i be re-conceived within your mind? I know you wouldnt let me
Because instead i am A haemorrhage in your sun, let me grow and strangle the light that fills your eyes
maybe i am less
Maybe i am gone for you
I am stitched together in your textbook of plastic surgery, in an image i am yours
Let the bruises appear on my arms and shoulders, mark my collarbone and grow towards my soul. why hadn't you seen me?
Am i a familiar sound in foreign territory? A leech within your swamp? You wish me gone, i know that much
Yet after all this, you know i would give everything to swell with you once more
In the wake of all you've grown on me i believe i am owed at least that
The lichen that sticks to every part of me you crossed. A crown of thorns placed in my hair like they did your son
So i will pray
I pray i will be less wounded in death
My many eyes i was born to watch with, i pray my punishment will be a weight of blindness. I speak in a voice that is not yet a voice, for fear i become its creator. How have i come so far without doing so? With the burden i draw and the pain i read and yet everyone evolves without me
I am not selfish, though born with such gift. there are enough of me already
i repeat without aim
It is all obvious, i know that, yet still i ask why
I build my sovereign state from your exertion, and i dont change. Nothing lives within my walls, my kingdom is barren. the plains grow stones instead of flowers ,yet still i lay among them
I am not rage, not fear, not regret, not worry, i don't know. how do i describe something i never met
I am a feather under a fingernail, i am tomorrow, i am only a day
I am hurt
I cut my palms and crush what little is left of the world. Its eyes and wings have rusted. It grazes my skin
I shape, i work, i wedge and knead, i pinch and tuck and force out the air pockets
A human form to contain my memories, textures i've touched, the souls I have reached, sounds ive heard, things i was meant to do. Moving like a mans first stumbling steps, alone in a grass field, seeing the sky forever
The sunrise looks nice this morning, doesn't it? Perhaps it would be better to focus on that

10th of May 2024

consider 'trace elements'-- barely noticeable things and what they change. think butterfly effect! are their effects expected & small or disproportionate? is a 'trace element' an extra bit of DNA? is it some milk in a loaf of bread?

i think of the present and it confuses me
I exist from an infinite scroll of present times passed long ago, or gone in just a second. My actions: a calcareous shell whorled in a spiral around my own columella. My slow eyes reach out to the oozing future, mucin covering the grains i pass over. They stick to the undersides of my body
yet still, i am grown in the womb of the past as my here and now is prepared. i am watched and cared for as i sleep, my hair is brushed from my face. outstretched arms compose my future, my everything, and i feel at home amongst a shrouded tapestry of soon.
i am not what happened before, yet i make up what i experience now. Oh, how the world lives by the past and present. if only we could pick one ?
brothers in union, Cold i lay
I think of roadkill. vinyl seats and accessories hung from a rear-view mirror. a carrion cluster stained with someones negligence, their sun and sin at my feet. i kneel beside it, a stench of rotting iron and cornstarch. something new, young, barely born (yet barely past?). eyes set in a cold appraisal of hoped-for wounds, i pray for its breathing to stop. it has been a trying day, im sure

5th of May 2024

write about or use asymmetry in your writing. what is the intrigue in imbalance? maybe work with different-sized stanzas or long, long sentences followed by short ones, or think about how no two bodies are the same, nor two halves of the same body, or how the feeling of a painting shifts with where the objects sit.

silver plumes trill within the heart of an ivory spoon,
how broad (?)
rings are rusted, sickly scores left at the base of fingers
blemishes erupted into bodies that do not fit them, the new world is a whole one
endlessly shifting feathers
mercy, porcelain, salt, pearls amongst honesty, and it hurts