writing class wrap up

 hey future self! you are about to post all your prompts from this creative nonfiction class so far because guess what it's kind of what today's exercise is about! called look at everything we wrote and try to connect the dots. images, themes, etc. so WHAT BETTER TIME to carefully arrange these bread crumbs?! little lost loon. 

also i am telling you right now that you are NOT gonna be freakin ridiculous ocd about this like usual and put the exact time of day i wrote/posted these. no no no you are not. just get em in here, welcome welcome. 

also guess what, blogger fucking sucksssssss bc goog killed it dead and you have gotta get out of here. you know they fucked up the formatting on all your old posts. and now they have this nightmare box where you paste anything in from gmail or wherever and it automatically includes the background color???? what fresh hell is this! the old blogger would never be so stupid, as it would have known we all want our pink and tan boxes set up just right. please. cmon. goog. why. 

well you've looked at substack and patreon and ghost and blah blah blah 

no one wants to read any of this anyway

well maybe they do! what do you know about it! 

these little scrapples even? this stuff from class? it's just dribbles. blots. 

okay so they're blots. okay so what. you have been getting a lot of good feedback and maybe there's someone who wants to read this aka SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE as i keep trying to remind myself, yes yes yes there's certainly an audience for everything. because that is just the way the world works. i'm not so unique as to be unrelatable to every other person crawling round this rock. cmon. 

okay so shut up and post the posts and dont worry about the formatting like we said 

okay fine

p.s. you should also save the prompts you didn't write and maybe do those some time when you are stuck

just thought of another disclaimer (3:10pm) called i really am not bothering to post these on the days i actually wrote them. i'm just posting the prompts. sometimes i did 0 and sometimes i did 2 or 3. so dont go using this as an excuse of like ohh look when i wrote every day bc you fuckin diddnt

you couldn't take it anymore and you had to fix the formatting. and you thought no one (brett) would ever read the posts if they look so bad. so it's taking forever and you haven't done the homework! (4:19pm)

the walls stay wet

 

rat trap night sack

sometimes i forget about how the page used to offer lines. the clear distinction in my mind between lines and the huge block of a never ending paragraph. like the stories didn’t require it so they didn’t receive. and the poems had a whole different vocabulary, different shape.

i have to remember to read more shapes. more poems. more weird words.
rex’s book. angela carter. poetry all the time. what am i doing.

actually these video games are funny sometimes with their lines in a way i can get behind. i didn’t expect to be so drawn in by the words.

(but also there are other words, there are other worlds. we can’t forget to visit.)

i’m up late carefree silly on a thirsty thursday. a pushback against feeling yet again a failure for my parents? a finding fun pushback to jerel playing their new game where i have an excuse to be silly / seen?
i’ve been reminding myself to look for the signs. see that everything is speaking. tonight i saw a lot of words. i saw images i can’t imagine where i found them in 2001, 2012. (“a circus orb” et al.) what were they saying?

do i want another smoke actually or do i want the cool outside alone? can it be both or what is healthy? this drink is probably already too much so maybe it’s also enough. pasta and white wine with the fur family in the museum and broad city episode about hoarding - is it weird that it didn’t hit closer to home? or did we feel it without fully comprehending? was there intention in the writing to actually touch the subject or was it just a vessel for poignancy and laughter? how cloaked can you go?




the remembory is that it can’t be forced, the remembory is that it comes in spurts. we seem to work in sprints. (is this a “good” thing? is it even “okay” or do we keep needing to fight to find some perfect balance? the correct timesheet planner equation? doesn’t it feel too much dependent on yr brain and body and mood to predict? hasn’t it always? how do we leave room for it and still do all this other garbage mess?)

all we really want is a _____ train

stop being obsessed with yourself you prick





listen at least yr writing at least you got to here. this is where you will meet them.
(hello train. hello night. enter smoke. enter game.)

is the place where i have been going
-when i have been able to get there-
the place? where others go
i know there is a stream
many streams
to look and dip and lick
have i found any access points
or is mine a secret chest

(there are rhymes wanted that i do not choose. there are lines waiting that i should not lose.)
((can i be a one to flow through? can my fingers make my mind true?))

if always the revelation is about the revelation then we can’t go nowhere.
if you can’t get the fuck off this one stair then we can’t walk anywhere can’t move can’t do can’t speak can’t teach and then who are we for? still only ourselves still ever our cells still nothing that sells still
there is a something which will creak
there
there yes i’ve heard it
there yes and the word yes it’s singing
creak and sing
teach and bring
let me be a nothing thing
let me be lip to lie on
let me be a lid pried open
let the softness scream our songs
let the darkness live along
and when we dream of day again
we know that we can take the pen
and when the day is vast and open
we know that we must make the potion
(we know that we must never read
the words that we never did speak
we know that lines can come alive
before our hearts and minds divide)


maybe i can open the connection but i don’t know where to go. maybe i’m so worried that it shouldn’t be me. maybe i’m convinced that i’m just an instigator, enabler, facilitator, translator, assistant, nodule, fake. was i even supposed to be here today. was i even supposed to eat any cake. surely only sitting in to sit the wings and make the smoke.
how do i find what the house is about
i want to be the vessel
how do i receive
(if you want to be the muscle
you must first be meat)
and how do i muster the sounds of the moldy
and construct what’s left behind when i’m left lonely
what do we do with the ones who’ve abused
what have we done when we’re forever snoozed
listen
listenlistenlisten
you’ve never seen the kitchen
listen
the critter creaking over there
the sirens trains machines that take the air
we’re sure you haven’t seen much greater
so get off the elevator
quit yr game of rising high
lick yr knuckle spit dry and listen listen listen
hi
if you’re not watching who is ?
who is stewarding this land
who would kiss a possums hand
shut up with that i’m not a savior
but look at what the good gods gave ya
if i can’t get words for all
maybe my own aren’t so small
listen
listen
train train plane rustle car rustle TRAIN car TRAIN central air train train drip drip rustle wind rattle rustle rattle hush rattle rush rustle rustle come to me rustle rustling one so free will you be raccoon or cat will you be possum or rat will you be a friend or foe will you be which grazes low
rustle drip rain falls now rustle train rattle brain slow small cloud drip car drip fall slow soft don’t snow rustle dribble birds quibble cars rush birds hush a light to shine a sounding line an awkward caw a swaying soft the rustle leaves although i’m looking the tussled trees continue cooking

coocoo
cakoo
coocoo
cocoon
speak speak speak
tweet
sleep
squeak
some small holler far away
some life will leave and some will stay

a newness

I'm tired of acting/living from a place of fear and bitterness and confusion.
I want to love more, better. Now.
I want to have patience, be more kind.
I want to write + take time.
I'm afraid of how some elements in my life make me feel -- screens, adderall, etc.
Am I losing all my empathy? Patience?
How can I slow down? How can I do better?
I ordered a new planner for some reason-- always the thought is "This will really get me on track!" It's just a tool, not a solution, but maybe it will help (if I let it, if I don't let this little fire die.)
Already, today is the start of (another) new era. Jerel is training for their new job at Wizards, and I have my first case at UT on Wednesday. After spending the last few days alternating between mega evil tax hell and total vegging out, I'm in the mindset to take charge of my finances and my records, to do better than I've done before. Wanna get on that hustle!

imagining myself upstairs, typewriter click clacking, glue licking. can we follow the aesthetic of 2017 clown "Grimoira" style of floral print, rich reds + purples, piles of books, LAMPS?
(how important is a color scheme, really? in my imagining it's often very clear, such a MOOD, such a way to shift into a new reality. new realm? is it mre about the style or the space? schedule? is it back to one notebook lifestyle or would it help to have a planner? def need WALL CALENDAR and visual lists.
DESIGNATED SCREEN TIME. HOLY SHIT.
sun and lamp light. an unnecessary amount of fabric. (does a studio have art on the walls or is that just distracting? what is good enough to look at all the time? a bedroom certainly can have full walls -- posters, postcards, drawings, lovely things. a collection that feels like myself, not holding onto something for someone. not an ARCHIVE but an expression. but i suppose too the lists have to go somewhere. living space or work space? CAN THERE ALWAYS BE PAPER? Can i start to actually use it?)
Opened the box of the Numinous tarot, seven of candles (wands) comes flying out -- the card i drew for the new year (unknowingly kinda) on Samhain (but of course i did -- also need to call on the High Priestess / The Diviner more often to trust, to follow my intuition and let my body go first. Mind will catch up. Move my hands to move the cards. Find it with a feeling. /// Looking for a feeling! The body knows some things the mind doesn't!! /// I'm now wishing for space to MOVE, dance, sing, play. Wishing for knowledge + skill to teach Pochinko play. (Could I really go to the clown farm?!) Making this year about -- courage, expression, light, opening, creation, strength in self, support in community, FIRE. resistance. power. commitment! positivity?! SUCCESS?!?!
also, drink less.

[look how even the pencil breaks, refuses to work, doesn't even cooperate to erase. the words must stay. of course the only pen I find is PURPLE of course. thank the gods of course of course]

GIVE UP GIVE UP GIVE UP
no one wants your words

my words feel so inadequate for what i mean to say

this hell scream

here i am way too late reaching out for nonexistent connections when all i really need is paper paper paper. i need to share and no ones there. it's too dark actually to write right here.

some man with curly hair and mountain talk put his hands on my legs, said "you look good tonight," said, "i like your skirt," so i spent my evening being nice while putting myself at a distance. what could i do. i did my best. what could i do. couplet i have done more. what could i do better. what could i not fail at. what could i
how could i not
how could i

man i'm having another rough day. i've been trying to sort through papers and finding a lot of intense writing from this past year. i'm kind of leaning into the feelings and doing a lot of looking back which might be dangerous but i am telling myself it's important to piece it together and process it. like if i let myself fully feel it now, now that i can actually look at the past without having a panic attack, i can just get it over with and put it to rest for good?? is that how this works ??? 

everything you are is a lie.
i've gone invisible. i'm back down the well, i'm going all the way.

the problem where it's in my head so it's already true. being bored with everything. nothing being good enough. i see it with clarity how it could be better, should be. so why am i not doing it?

but how can i do it alone ?????
everything i want is dependent on others. i thought maybe i could make it work here but clearly i can't. this has been the problem all along. i couldn't find the support among my friends, so i sought it externally and i crashed + burned. dependent and dead.

i thought i had some good ideas over the last couple days. i was so fired up. i needed anyone to fuel the flames. all responses (except rex my love) were lukewarm. i was shattered. i broke apart. i became again dumb, useless, unimaginative, incapable, etc forever. i don't know what's true. i don't know what's real. i'm so busted apart with self doubt and dissociation that i don't know even about reality.
i want to talk about it but i'm a pretend artist working without a practice. my mode has been to instigate others or to glom on later. i have no solo. i have no way to know. i consider being alone in my bedroom trying to "work" and i throw up in my mouth, i can't eat for hours. (do i eat at all?) it's as if i'm supposed to have seen everything already but actually not, oh it's better if you don't, just be yourself. it's as if i am supposed to know how to funnel this brain crash through a gold pan and discover my own secret brilliance, eventually. elsewise i guess i'd better sell my (l)eggs to go to school and have them tell me how to be. i'm at a loss. i'm done for. i want to move to a new town and die. i want to disappear or explode.

LIST OF DEMANDS

• always pen + paper
• only clothes with pockets
• good art, better art

(sloppy words found on an envelope, some time during or after clown class, spring 2017)

i always stand there thinking I COULD DO THAT so why not?

it must take a massive leap. no more pretending to be REAL, no more faking.

i'm tired of being the Responsible one. ugh

kiss them up dearest touching (????)

kiss face to wind to sip or spin

kick up the dirt that isn't dancing

if i can't go now, i never will go

if i can't know (?) now, who will fucking tell me?

no one will mourn nor remember you

it's already too late

oh to write the things that think

before the thoughts are formed

BUT how to be so quick?!

somehow all this bland shit is just
pressing the pause button
in between what is surely
the greatest show on earth or ???
I'm craving (?) to get out of
this version of myself.
NOTHING I WANT is allowed.
is that me? or is that just
totally pathetic. i'm tired
of feeling totally pathetic.
i want it all to be a rush (?????)

i have a lot of work to do.
realize these notes will never be read.
even you will not read them.
become as indecipherable as possible.
you are not made to last.

i want to make everyone believe in magic
that is hard + true + dissonant.
i want to be bugs + dirt + children +
death. how can we bring it.
it's not here in this place with these people.
you didn't find the thing you thought.
it's not your fault. you had to try.
it's not a place, it's a feeling + a purpose. you
know that. you can't rely on a new location.
how is it that you feel more bright and
alive now that nothing is real, no one is
awake, and you've got four drinks inside?
not even blurry silly, just convinced. This is
not the hovel you're looking for. the right
answer is not gonna come in a flask. there
is no right answer. but you have to kill the
feeling that something is wrong + find out

happy 15th birthday, bloggy!

(found words on an envelope, winter 2016 in Baltimore at Cafe Hon)

they want you to leave the restaurant. they're talking
about you and you can almost hear them. am I making
someone uncomfortable? what happened now?
too ugly? bookish? poor? smelly?


GET RID of regular pop culture in yr life
there's no room, no time. RETREAT. go back.
no point in gross fascination anymore. there's more for you to do!



why do I relate to the words of survivors?
what fucking happened to me?

• the world is old and movements are bigger than right now.
• reconnect to history
• dissociate from self
• devolve
• remember fairy tales 
• research OLD SHIT
• Magic beyond religion, beyond time - learn what this looks like. 
• WRITE
• read alt histories
• plays/scripts about rad ladies/queers
• READ MORE
• Angela Carter
• Jack Zipes

the porch problem

when you think you are performing for someone but there is in fact no audience 

when you try to create something for yourself but can't stop thinking about the impossible potential audience 

why I never write anymore 

why I sing only during dishes

when will I learn 

or figure how to forgive myself

amy and I talked about the selfishness of artists and wondered if that's what it takes to make anything worthwhile. do I have to stop everything else? not that it is anything but I haven't written in weeks, months, years. what do I want anymore? can I blame the place or the job or just me?

a borrowed beer on the porch, a beer too often. a smuggled smoke, ashes again. 

these small sacrifices grow a larger harvest. they don't answer the questions or the problem. 

where can I go? my home under the hill? I've almost stopped believing. 

there's truly no place for me. 

the truth is I'm stuck again and I hate myself for it. the worser truth is that I don't see any way out. even though there are people out there waiting for me, wanting me to bring the fire, I can't believe that it's the right fire. I only have one flame and it's gone out. nothing to be done now. 

have another smoke, another drink, don't think.
the porch is the only place you'll ever be, there's nothing here but what you see. 

is that your glass heart clinking?

if I tend to write only when I'm alone, then I'm never gonna write anything again living in this damn co-op. sometimes in the shower or in the car, I have ideas, but there's so much jumbled into my head immediately stepping out of those places and into this confusion called my home. generally I really like living here, the hustle and bustle, interacting with so many different people on a daily basis, priding myself on figuring out these puzzles, these people, and getting them to talk. HA! it's true, I won't deny there's a little bit of skill there. but at the end of the day, who makes me talk? who wants to know my ins and outs, downs and ups, tos and fros? none of these people can read my subtle signals, though a couple can see the larger signs-- when I'm drinking more than enough, when I'm overly critical of something small, when I've been hiding in my room for days. and if and when they see it, it's so easy to run away, don't worry, it's nothing, I'm fine, I'll be in my room with the pillow and the cat. they leave me alone like I want them to. but you know better-- you understand the chase. you know the chase as well as I do. I'm practicing a small pursuit on all these people every day, how can they not understand? but they don't want to work on a puzzle, or find that the end reward is no good thing. I try so hard so often to be easy, kind, generous, considerate, patient, amusing, good. I try too much, I unwind the web so smooth, make it all gentle, and they don't see the handiwork. do you know how I am a new creature for every person? how I will mold to fit and nestle in your comfort zone? is it so well done that no one cares enough to talk when I've hit bottom? but this is not new, even though the place and people are. I insist on distancing myself (and my truth, and my heart, and my hurt) from even my friends, then I'm dead and dumb when they can't connect. did I make it one way? I'm convinced it's that they never ask, never ask right, don't really want to know, rather than that I am a closed door with impossible locks. they think animal rescue is my life's work and that I love cats maybe because they're cute or because I'm so good and selfless or because I'm a future hoarder of more than paper. they don't know that I love cats because I hate myself.

why does the truth always sound so dumb?

listening to: xiu xiu - ale

at the dealership

i sit here all fucking day just staring into space no smile on my face. what the fuck am i writing? i am trying to escape from the latin language and ms. haughton's evil eye. but it's a good day because i made a couple people laugh even though i annoyed several more. i always just wanted to create some emotion get some response as long as i'm still me. it's not that i feel like it's my duty to be happy. i enjoy it so much i can't waste this 2o minute oasis like i wasted this paper. i think this girl i know hates me now. i was always afraid of this because she is so fiercely adamant about hating someone but she is so nice when she's talking to them. there were always two kinds of food-throwing situations. friends as jokes or she's sick of that person she wants to throw some baby carrots to signify how mad she is and laugh it off. she threw fruit at me during lunch. it's kind of funny but i don't think she meant it kindly this time. i think she doesn't want to tell me to go away because for that she would have to speak real words to me. that's okay. i liked my 2o minutes.
fuck! i lied. i just smiled.
something funny happened and i didn't even see it, but cody behles who looks like a teddy bear, burst into a huge quick laugh so different from his usual giggle. plus i'm bored of gladiators and this day is too long.