inside/outside: transitioning the personal lens.

December 18, 2010 § 1 Comment

Things have been really amazing on a production end. I’m taking photos and composing new worlds on the page.

Old faces:
went shopping with exboyfriend for his mother’s christmas gift. he took me to dinner and we had the standard chat.

“I want to be at your wedding and read a poem for you” I said.

“Sure Rebecca… but will anyone understand it?” He replied, glasses perched purposely in a fashion that gave me the gigglefits.

It was an inside joke concerning my somewhat cryptic placement of details upon the page. No temporal order: all backwards sequencing into a place of feeling. I keep thinking I’ve changed that- then I wake up and see what I’ve written at two a.m.
It’s a breached birth,
arced whale:
timespout of words almost fluid in
tailwhips of a tired hand.

Last night I drove Lucille (named after the Chuck Berry song) down Main Street. I took a few backroads too and from. Curves that pinned my shoulder to the seat frame. I could’ve been in Woodstock. I could’ve been where the light doesn’t leak, pollute, and hover in a drowned glow.
I’ll never leave,
I’ll never leave. And yet-
it’s when I become
insistent:
I use myself to warm myself
in motion.

Olympus XA 35mm / December 2010

I just read These Blocks, Not Square by Thomas Glave. The descriptions of the Northern Bronx, City Island, and Pelham Manor really tugged on this chord that I usually find inharmonious amongst the symphony of people who live here. Being his reader made me feel really blessed at moments.

Nikon FG 35mm

 

I just pulled a Mitch Hedburg and put a sweet potato in the toaster oven- knowing that after a shower and some writing I’d be hungry. This apartment has too much static electricity. I may go write at Slave to the Grind tomorrow- then off to a writing date with Emz.

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Project Expansion: Energy #1:

December 8, 2010 § 2 Comments

I feel like my insides are about to crush. This is how diamonds are made.

There are oddly acting carbon atoms arranging themselves into the unbreakable.
Etched in my abdomen backwards:
“I overpower, I tame.”
(but in traditional Greek that seems more like the smooth clawing of something that has just grown fingernails).

I want to photograph the curly haired girls.
I wish I had learned color developing. I want to ruin the chemical pool with summer Cyan.
I wish I had the resources to do this. (Gone are the days of smoke breaks and the SUNY Purchase photo labs: Brian on my hip and the Hutchinson River Parkway sending the speeding student into hydroplanes.)
I wish women were not so controlled by over-analytic misconstructions of past scenarios and realize the present was not meant for them if they can’t brightside their best prompters into a positive space. We are supposed to be each others support and advocates. No one is going to actively seek the company of a a gnarled tooth that mimics a weak root. Your teeth are pretty bad: we’ve all heard you complain. We are not your teeth: we borrow from more aggressive animals.
Do you see what I mean about over-analytic?

There are so many things that need to be oiled… so many precious things that need to be photographed before they die.

Working on a project that is filling me up and bursting my capillaries while I sleep. A good nosebleed means I must have had a good dream.

Weird things I do: Installment 1.

December 2, 2010 § 1 Comment

I often draw while a poem is being read aloud. I can look back on drawings I’ve done and recognize what poem I was listening to.

This was drawn to Muriel Rukeyser’s Waking This Morning.

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