I am beginning to slowly exorcise my old and unused writing in an attempt to open up some space in my very crammed noggin. It's also forcing me to interrogate my old processes & reconsider a few things. So first up, here is 'Cunt', which was written a few years back, & has been edited several thousand times since then. I wrote this in response to Inga Muscio's 'Cunt: a declaration of independence' & because my mind was completely blown by how much inequality is nestled in our language. I have a lot more to say about this subject and this poem. However, this is my floofy blog where I am trying to keep things light-ish. My contact page is always open if you would like to send me any questions or some hate mail. File download is below.
Bonjour, salut, guttentag, etc. Let's try this again shall we? The idea of a blog always seems attractive to me, when I think no one will read it--and I suppose I am in pretty safe hands here as I doubt very much that anyone is reading this. So whatevs - here I go. I have been on writing and creating hiatus for way too long now. I say hiatus, what I mean is that life has horrendously got in the way of everything and sucked out all of my ability to do anything other than go to my bullshit job everyday and be a nuisance on the interwebs and to myself. I feel like I am ready to crawl out from under my proverbial rock now. I took a big step and have arranged to begin hypnotherapy next week in an attempt to help navigate my intense imposter syndrome so I can get the fuck out of my way. Hopefully this new found energy and desire to get over myself will allow me to continue work on several projects that I have in process. Here is an overview, which you did not ask for: The Heart is the Shadow of what is Hunted I actually did complete a poem from this series, which was graciously published in ZARF. This project is somewhat of a compulsive study into the language that I used in a lot of very self indulgent break-up and love poems from my younger self. It segues quite effortlessly into my other project; Necrophile Which is an exploration into nostalgia, desire, and our very human fixation on the past and how we all end up fucking our own dead memories. Obviously, I will refine this into something that doesn't sound like a slurred drunken anecdote. But this is my blog, so lay off. Both of these projects will comprise of mixed media and disciplines. I am hoping to create something tangible to be able to send out for consideration - or publish myself, as it is 2021 and so that is a thing.
Listen to the first album here: coldlandrecords.bandcamp.com/album/gravy-police ....
And then I guess the biggest project of mine, which is all consuming, painful, annoying and a necessity is getting myself out of the rut I have found myself in over the past two years. It is well acknowledged that I made a boo boo of a decision which resulted in the loss of my identity and sanity for a long time. I am not ungracious for this experience. It has taken me on a journey which I very much needed to be on. I am very humbled - even if it is the backbone of every difficulty I deal with lately. However, one annoying facet about me, or perhaps one of my strengths, is that I have unrelenting hope that there will be a brighter day, and I feel as though I am getting there--maybe. I have spent the past two years in a paralysing state of fear which has altered my approach to almost everything--writing has been a big one of them, as I just don't do it. Even writing this blog and being as obnoxious about it as I am is sending me into some horrible frenzy of imposter identity. But even if no one reads this. Even if you read this and judge me immensely. Even if you believe all the horrible things that I tell myself about myself everyday. Then whatever. (She says) So labamba out—I'm going to get ready for the job that I loathe with my entire meh-being and agonise over my next move. Stay amphibian my dudes. |
What am I listening to?(Updated Every-so-often)
The Body Swans El Creepo Big Brave Thou Emma Ruth Rundle Talking Heads Archives
July 2021
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