power of word

so here we all are

Collageadditions72120Last week I found my way back to paper collage.   You might recognize the bones of the above because it was my Above/Below/Within creation during the collage challenge.  Within the remake I'm speaking to the experience of my uncovered eye gazing out at the inferno of psy-ops and dis-information.   What I can personally do to counter-act it, sure, but for me the true lede centers on the fact that it's a pic of myself when I was quite ill.  In re-working the original statement I see that Below hovering somewhere between my sense of energetic taproot and a constantly roiling sense of fragmenting reality/root chakra I remain sickened. 

I mean ... I know that intellectually and experientially.  I also think at this point I'm perceiving everyone I talk to or email in a mutually honest way to be sickened.  We often use the word repeatedly.  Some are very clear what it is.  Some don't know but they realize it isn't any closer to normal than it mirrors their organic comfort zone.  Some are painfully aware of their escalating mental health issues.

When this whole debacle first started debacle-ing there was only one thing that was really clear to me.  We'd all collectively been thrown feet first into an abusive relationship (a-hem...) the [utterly pathetic] likes of which the world has never seen.  And given that fact pretty soon the whole world got dragged into what happens when you let a country simmer and stew in its own exceptionally un-exceptional juices for far too long.

The entire planet and all its life forms are now engaged in an existential corridor of life: not-knowing when or how exactly but being unable to always completely forget that It is out there.  And now it's got the overt totalitarian paramilitary backup Howard Zinn illuminated as inevitable once a country lets such a regime gain a viable toehold.  I think about those lectures a lot - and I think of the direct impact it had on me and all his other students through the years.  But especially then being carefully and thematically awakened back when the world seemed fully dystopian to our still-young eyes circa '80-'83. 

WhatisaliciaThis is the first collage I made after a 4 month absence.  The ongoing farce of meaningful existence in the face of an endless bad news monsoon season has baked my noodle to the point of one night telling J I need an entirely new brain while you take this one through the car wash for me.

2020 being the absolutely brutal annus horribilus that it is I found I had no taste for taking pieces of things that used to be whole and recombining them with other no-longer whole things.  In order to express what, exactly?  And why was it my job to do this kind of work?  Shouldn't, I don't know, this be added to a certain son-in-law's portfolio or something?

Projection, internalization, personal grievances galore endlessly piling up in my psychic mudroom because I left them there to wither-down before I dealt with getting it all composted.  Creatively I found myself with a bad attitude.  not a vibe I wanted in this space - not in my home/summer studio or up here in the real thing on cool enough days - that's a haven for much light brought to bear upon dark things.

LettherebelightA lifetime of somatizing disavowed feelings has taught me not to do it anymore.  But what could I do?  Where could I put the stuff that was my honest response to insanity layered-over with all the unique strength/endurance qualities those of us who are trauma survivors have been leaning into all along?

The voice I heard the loudest wasn't even my own.  It was a considerably younger subset alterna-culture voice - the voice I most identify/empathize with in today's world three quarters of the time for sure but definitely not my own.  This merged with Dee Mallon suggesting my fictional characters might be getting restless.  Well hell yeah, yes they were!  And one of them was top dead center the loudest voice I heard in my head.  So my imagination swiftly gave him a brother in arms level of friend that could solidly (reading and writing-wise at least) ground the narrative by spinning through the necessary thematic calls and responses in between major plot exposition points.  Or maybe at least in part so a reader wouldn't notice that mechanical moving along stuff happening quite so much.

And then!  I was driving home from an errand when I was struck with that all too rare but also true pure creative thunderbolt of awareness that the person who'd just helped me in a store was also part of that call and response.  BAM so okay.  As I'm driving home I felt my mind reshaping absolutely everything I thought I might be doing in the fictional sense.

But that was last week which feels like several by the now.  So I'm relatively adjusted to the reality of doing something new and mildly terrifying if only because it boils down to meaning I wasn't really very deep into my characters until this other character showed up fully formed so as to fit right in and amplify the true terrain of a story that hadn't quite articulated itself upon its initial resurrection.   Kind of happy and gratified to be pressing forward with a more fully layered tapestry of generational skews.     the next time I post concerning my word slinging ventures you'll see some of the results in a bigger chunk of text that relates to itself sentence by sentence. 

hopefully anyway.  There's a piece right past the middle of the section I thought it would be fun to share that's still pretty murky in a way that clunks rather than evoking mystery, magic, or even plausible mayhem among the sentences.

SameoldcavalryThis is my favorite movie quote to include in visual journals.  It's from Thunderheart and over time I've used it as a tl:dr footnote of administrative terrorism and 'soft' forms of genocide.  


the studio is morphing in its basic purpose/need equation

Studiowindow60920

Nearly everything plant related is out of the studio for the summer season.  This always opens up the space creatively as well as spatially.  I anticipate this yearly marker with a lot of building/gathering energy making itself known from mid-winter forward.  Never knowing for sure what form it's going to take but understanding it's always something meaningful creatively.

  What's happening in this particular season's iteration involves word-slinging in a capacity I've not seriously attempted in I don't even know how many years.  Every day for almost two weeks now I've spent the bulk of my studio time writing.  It seems the closest I can come to sorting out my own thoughts, feelings, and opinions about life as it's changed and continues to put everything plutonic and massively uncomfortable right in our faces is to run deep into the wild and wacky hills of fictionland.

it wasn't a decision - or even a reflex- so much as an inevitability.  The experience has been a collaborative effort (or so it seems) because I've been living with this imaginary group of people for a very long time.  Dee Mallon somewhat recently encouraged me to talk about this/them which I did after inwardly scoffing that I didn't 'need' such talking.  Then I scoffed while writing out some - not exactly pointless but ultimately known by me to be irrelevant - plot point noodlings in a couple warm up/character voice reconnection files. 

true story:  right at this point, of which she knew no details, Dee remarked that it seemed my characters might be getting restless.  and in response I had a sense of them  (the non-existent people in my head) collectively experiencing gratitude and relief to be understood.   I actively imagined the patriarch of this clan saying I've always liked that Dee.  She sees what's there.  Nutty af but totally run of the mill fiction writer stuff. 

considered - albeit belatedly -  what's involved with writing a novel.  Realized first and foremost I'd have to get and remain diligent about committing to words ONLY what I actively saw and felt to be truly The Story.  In relation to what I knew inside my head, sure, but also what I understood/saw/felt at the heart and gut level.

this development dovetailed with:

me reaching a specific but now indeterminate mentally & emotionally unacceptable point in the past 10 or 11 days when I abruptly opened my laptop and checked all the way out because by then I was as restless as my characters. 

So there's that and all it entails going on.  Have been also considering ways I might develop a sustainable system of organizing/clarifying my thoughts on a few key non-fictional/spiritual topics of interest to me.  With the ultimate goal being a series of essays or as I'm thinking of them relatable modular units.  At the moment most manifestation of said units is at a mind-map stage with the details on that level growing a lot more focused and coherent. The main point where non-fiction writing is concerned is that I'm thinking like a communicator.  Wasn't sure if I could (or wanted to) do that anymore.  But now I am - both sure and able.  am not at all sure why but it's what is happening.

***

 have also accessed another piece of automatic grief moon writing.  This grouping pertains to both my recently observed and internally experienced forms of white fragility.  It's fairly unusual for me to let myself sit in the parts I embody without reflexively working to shade, shape, and otherwise alter the overwhelming sense I'm being swallowed alive by ideas and certainties, expectations and unresolved needs that are not authentically my own.

and yet they are quite thickly pooled within the matrix of how that authenticity has learned to recognize and define its other-ness.  not just trigger but also cause.  that's a huge perceptual shift.  Not just trigger.  Also cause.  Puts a whole new spin on acts of self-sabotage and why/how they may occur specifically when and as they do.

***

moons of realizing we are nothing like we imagined.

moons of cherished narrative and our very best

myths of origin crashing with elegant finality.

moons of disavowed emotions squirming like snakes.

slithering throughout what we thought

we knew. believed in.

and felt to be of value within ourselves.

moons of clarity we never sought

and may never learn how to embrace.

moons that laugh shrilly

at the moments when we

most need peace shrieking

youfoolyoufoolyoufool