My whole life, evenings have been a time of creative rebirth. A time to explore my internal web after the dull exhaustion of a 9-to-5 job and post-work chores. I seek activities that help me lower the walls of my mind and access the ripest parts. In general I am happiest with the writing I seem only able to produce during the witching hour.

Lately I’ve been throwing away this opportunity in favor of starting just one more Netflix series (okay, really just re-watching Gilmore Girls for the 17,000,000th time), and let me tell you, the shame has become…invasive. I am not only rusty at my craft—I’m more like its least-favorite estranged relative.

“The real writer is one who really writes. Talent is an invention like phlogiston after the fact of fire. Work is its own cure. You have to like it better than being loved.”
― Marge Piercy

So tonight I sat down on one of our tall, uncomfortable kitchen stools (these days I have to be pretty careful as I’m apt to fall asleep on anything resembling a couch/bed) and waded into my stream of consciousness. I wrote a whole page of nonsense that picked up nowhere and left off somewhere between Memory Lane and Pith Avenue. It was total garbage, and it felt GREAT.

Instead of deleting the file or saving it to the Bermuda Triangle of my hard drive, where many of these random one-off nights of writing have mysteriously disappeared and/or gone to die, I decided to experiment with erasure, or found poetry. Whether or not it can really be considered “found” is up to you, but in the spirit of phlogiston, here is something like a poem (reproduced below for readability) :

Screen Shot 2017-06-21 at 11.05.00 PM

Here we are, already asleep. You fill again, again, streaming light, warmth, color, oxygen. Let yourself be this, the elixir of your life: gone softly like leftover rain (and not). Pay attention, are you coming? An orchestra is rattling in your teeth. Listen for the absence of aching in one single moment. It only takes one to eat you whole. Now you must live inside the pages, learn the way they feel in your mouth. Open yourself towards something or decide you never existed at all.


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2 Responses to Streaming

  1. Jess Denke says:

    I relate so much.


  2. mjantoinetti says:

    Unsettling! I like the mouth orchestra.


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