writing

Move Breathe Move Sleep

I went to DC to attend Split This Rock despite a hell of a hectic schedule around the close of spring semester. It was well worth it. With Muriel Leung, I co-ran a workshop session on play and pedagogy. It was energizing: we moved, swayed, scribbled, colored, marked, tore, asked questions, and tried to make sense of the places from which poetry can originate. Then monsters, and slaying them, and mutating them, and accepting.

Some things in me loosened up, and then a day later, I was back in Louisiana, too far away from all this:

 

Screen Shot 2016-04-19 at 11.22.14 PM.png

Advertisements

“We gave birth to so many babies that our uterus slipped out and we had to wear a special girdle to keep it inside. We almost gave birth but the baby was turned sideways and all that came out was an arm. We almost gave birth but the baby’s head was too big and after three days of pushing we looked up at our husband and said, “Please forgive me,” and died.”

(The body as foreign / grotesque, the body as impending death.)

Time passes just as well whether or not I document it.

I used to approach journalling as a means of getting rid of thoughts in my head, the adage of “getting the crap down on the page” so that it’s not clogging up the “real stuff.”

But really though, sometimes documenting just feels like creating. It’s not that you are writing what’s already there, instead, when you write you are creating something out of nowhere.

Which means, if I’m getting too much junk down on the page, haphazard, bonafide, junk, then, instead of clearing my head, what I end up doing is causing chaos, making messes.

Better not document. Or, better yet, better document differently.

I met with a friend today and we tried to talk poetry, somatics, creating with/in the body, all of which ended up giving us headaches.

Didn’t take too long to ditch that, shut up, do 5-minute speed sketches of each other, instead. Quietly, quietly.

IMG_20150323_195713

What I drew of her

IMG_20150323_195640

What she drew of me