Listening to William Orbit and Beth Orton’s Dice this morning, an oceanic remix, trance, it’s beautiful how it waves like the swell of a roller at sea.
I’m feeling some poignancy, an ache, excitement about the day …but struggling to focus crisply and with clarity on the manuscript on masochism as a way of life, a life aesthetic, that is completed, but that I am organizing and pulling together..
I am so excited about this manuscript, it was an odd project, it did not begin with intent, I realized it had cohesion as a work after a year’s worth of musings were pulled together and in the hand.
I write on napkins, yellow lined paper pads, lipstick on the mirror, hell on my body if this is the only place to jot a fragment of poetry, a phrase.
Metaphor is everywhere for the tongue, the eyes, the heart.
I have longed to do some performance art for a few years now, my writing in prose poetiks is for my mouth and for your ear, it is begging to release itself thru my body as text and multimedia.
Story telling, the art of, is shamanistic..and my body must speak..static photos do not feed my urge to bring motion to sound.
A leap, but one I am ready for, and I am eager to connect with other performance artists for idea exchange, mentoring..
Art leaks, bleeds, it is my native vernacular…
Talk to me. contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org