I’ve been having a hard time sitting down to write lately. Not because I lack time, but because I lack empathy for my own process therefore how could I hope to have empathy for anyone else’s. There are a lot of things I could say about depression and creativity and in fact I already have said some here, but I don’t have the strength to go there right now. I am writing to here now to give the smallest of updates and the smallest of motivation to myself to keep going, to keep writing. Because in my experience writing helps put a frame around my experience to be able to look at it from that place in the mind that does not experience pain of living, the essence of being if you will. I promised you two books of poetry exactly a year ago, and truth be told I’m scared to release them. These poems were written in a very dark period of my life, and at the time they gave me a reason to keep on going, to keep on writing, but reading them now is painful. Painful that I hurt so much, and painful that I would wish to share that sort of hurt on the world that is suffering so much already. It’s a hard thing for me to reconcile with myself in my current black disposition. I have made a promise to finish them by the end of this year regardless because people have directly asked me to, people I respect, and people that have paid me money in order that I might keep going, keep writing. If it weren’t for these people that have invested their good faith in me I would probably give up on the project entirely. Which is depressing in itself. There is this idea that the only kind of pure art is art for art’s sake that the artist creates in this vacuum regardless of who will appreciate it, but I also believe that the creative experience is not complete without someone to receive the expression of the soul. It’s like trying to have a conversation while no one is listening. Between these two beliefs I feel a little lost about how to feel about the release of this body of work. It is coming though regardless if only so I can practice having empathy for the parts of myself and my work I do not like.
A powerful resin of energy is waiting to be released. Right in my chest. Already a morbidly dark time of year fascinated equally by death and celebration, and my mood is no lighter for it. Unripe fruit spoiled by holy ghosts. Winter’s icy grip at our throats. This hallowed ground where forgotten blood baths lay. Here are some things I’ve been considering in the witching hours.
- For Northern Girls via Moontime Warrior an important poem inspired by these tragic events, and breaking today a fifth death
- Chelsea Wolfe – Unknown Rooms: A Collection of Acoustic Songs via Spotify
- New Moon in Scorpio Spells inspired by Pam Bustin who shared this post here
- Playing God via Radiolab
- Silent Era – Punching Out The Poison via Chelsea Martin of Man Meat infamy
Love is a four letter word spelt like ‘home’.
That sounds like ‘echo’, a part of myself both familiar and forign.
That feels like ‘safe’ to let my guard down and relax into like a warm bath.
That tastes like ‘fire’ a fierce force of nature that can’t easily be quenched.
Love sticks to my ribcage like a good meal, and nourishes the essential parts of me in a way that ‘liking’ just never will. I can like someone very much, because indeed they’ve given me no reason not to, perhaps have given many pains that I should form a favourable opinion of them, but that’s all like is to me, an absence of dislike.
Love can withstand the seasons of like or dislike. Indeed I dislike many things about many people I love deeply. Love is a homing device that attracts ‘your people’. I know it is love because of how part of me fits with part of them to feel more whole, there is a sense of belonging beyond pleasure or pain, love enhances the experience of connection, and reflects back parts of my soul I could not see without them.
I am not guarded with my love. I fall deeply and soundly in love with many things and people everyday: the smell of lilacs, taste of fresh bread, a moving piece of music, a new true friend. One is not less than the other for they each make my life more vibrantly abundant.
I found this in a draft on my phone from May. A friend asked how you knew whether you were in love & this was my response.
Always be hustling to unleash that magic flow on the world.
- Alan Watts on the Hocus Pocus of Money via late night google – a reassuring way to think about income when my brain starts to spin
- Aesop Rock interviewed by Pitchfork also Impossible Kid is well in the lead for my favourite album released this year
- I recently picked up milk and honey by rupi kaur and fell instantly in love – you can check out her insta poetry here
- Anias Nin on the fluid self via Brain Pickings – a gentle reminder, an invitation
- The Science of Using Yoga to Heal from Trauma via Bitch – my body is the only place I’ve ever felt at home & I want to get back there
- New track Train Song by Shirley & The Pyramids – love these guys & they’re out conquering the Canadian tour circuit now so check that shiz out
A woman maps the emotional score of children as a path to connect her lonely heart.
A woman writes with indelible marker across the face of history busy looking the other way.
A woman unwraps the possibility of living between us.
A woman casts a spell to absolve her sisters suffering after decades of fear.
A woman sees a future of fierce compassion through the lens of reclamation of voice.
A woman collects the sparks she needs to light the flames that will consume her.
- Song of Seven: Biochoir via Erin Gee a phenomenally powerful piece still vibrating in my core. Erin Gee describes the piece and her process: “Since working with robots that make music effected by physiological markers of emotion, I started feeling a little lonely, so I composed a project for children’s choir and my own DIY Biosynths. Hardware synthesizers are a bit complex and particular though so I focused on the music and made the synths very simple biosonifications of emotional engagement for each child.Making this work I thought about how no one takes children’s emotions seriously: yet when we are young we are extremely sensitive and emotional. I wanted to highlight the large emotions of children while they also empathized with each other.
The score for this work is graphic as well as traditional, hand-drawn on graph paper with markings where sounds are activated by counting heartbeats and sweat bursts rather than traditionally notated.“
- UK Rapper/Poet/Artist asks “How Much Are They Paying You?” via The Creators Project
- Adrienne Rich on Lying, What “Truth” Really Means, and the Alchemy of Human Possibility via Brain Pickings – she so beautifully articulates one of my fundamental values in life & art
- Sexual Assault Cases Are Our Modern Day Witch Trials via Establishment and then days later this article surfaces as if to underline her point.
- These Haunting Photos Are a Tribute to Hysterical Women via Bust
As Alice waddles home on her new found seeing legs, I too have landed securely back in the familiar belly of daily life. Still reverberating with thoughts, questions, ideas, and love stirred at the lab, I am holding space for the silence to echo back the most powerful chords touched. In anticipation for holding space, and some oblique strategizing in the boreal forest, I’ve gathered some things that have come to my attention in the last week to be added to the simmering aesthetic melding pot.
- Tinder via Shane Koyczan
- Life Hacks of the Poor and Aimless via Laurie Penny
- Viper’s Nest via Kaia Kater
- Empathy is Actually a Choice via The New York Times
- Leisure as the Basis for Culture: An Obscure German Phillosopher’s Timely 1948 Manifesto on Reclaiming our Human Dignity in a Culture of Workaholism via Brain Pickings, compliment with a brief word from Alan Watts on Work as Play
I built a language but I don’t know what I’m saying with it
Everything is loosing meaning
Everything is ultimately meaningless
Yet meaning is observed
I strive to create order out of chaos
I am falling thru the rabbit hole
A riddle with no tongue
A light illuminating darkness
Everything that is not nothing
f a l l i n g
f a l l i