I once suffered through a movie about a legless bird with no place to land. Identifying with the hero who fed lovers cheap chocolate and beer. Despised all mothers, side-stepped Manila’s claws, bled over the portal to perfidia. What made me different was how I couldn’t lie still on the table. The last remnant of the dream of the book insisting. It had to be enough. I spat out the slug in my throat. Pretended not to recognize my shiny doll face. To escape all my deadly errors, I had to be synthetic. To write as more than I was, to pass through.
Constructed with words from J. Pluecker, Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Jai Arun Ravine, Pia Cortez, Tom and Lorenzo’s tweet (via Kim), Sueyeun Juliette Lee (via Ching-In), and Days of Being Wild.
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Prompts
‘this is the essay this is the fiction this is the poetry this is the novel this is the writing you have been waiting for.’—Theresa Hak Kyung Cha
J. Pluecker:
There are shadows, bait for fishes. A clear day is raining, a love that was never said. Love, ah yes, love, amazing baits are raining from the sky on the shadow of fishes in the sea.
Clear days fall. Some strange baits with clear days stuck to them, with loves that were never said.
The sea, it says the sea. It says baits that rain and clear days stuck to them, it says unfinished loves, clear and unfinished days that rain for the fish in the sea.
Jai Arun Ravine: ’l. Not a tomb but an envelope; not an envelope, but a door; not a door, but a fire escape. m. Not a casket but an envelope; not an envelope, but a window; not a window, but a sigh.’ - Jenny Boully, The Body: An Essay
Pia Cortez:
Penetration into the source. What is the source? Consciousness. What is consciousness? You’re soaking in it, right now. How do you know? Close your eyes for a moment, sit very still, and try to imagine God and the Devil are sitting around a raging campfire making s’mores, and your heart is the marshmallow. There.
Kimberly Alidio: ”I want my writing to be a criminal act.” Pamela Lu from her piece in Poetic Labor. I transcribed her talk here, and the original link (audio) is here.
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Dear Collaborators,
Thank you so much for participating in this project. Reading your fabulous work and writing with you has been an anchor for every day of the past couple of weeks. Your words have moved and challenged me, and introduced me to new sources of inspiration. I’m deeply grateful.
yael
ETA: If you’d like, please feel free to post your poem for today in the comments; no need for more prompts, though.
As you enter that city, you will meet a band of prophets
and they’ll ask if you want to know all your deaths. You have to pay with coffees for each musician and a box of hot wings for them to share. The vocalist with a tambourine is the one who asks you to hold out your hands. Don’t you love a good mystery, she asks her companions. Their skins are all hues of leather from traveling under the sun. While Anita works her companions pinch steaming red wings between their teeth. We came all the way out from Austin, she says, pressing the base of your thumb. Now we get here and my son won’t let us stay with him. You are not impolite, though you wonder how long the investigation of your hands will take. So you got a lot to worry about. I know how it is when you don’t have money. Her finger glides around your palm to show you. You’ll do what you want, but you’ll never have money. She folds your hands into fists and turns them to the side. You want kids? You want to get married? I don’t know, but what about what you said about dying. She touches the folds beneath each curled litte finger. Four here, five here. What did you think I was talking about?
Constructed with words from Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Jai Arun Ravine, Hoa Nguyen (via Kim), Daniel Hudson (via Pia Cortez), William Warren (via Jai), and the Bible.
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Prompts:
That he gave her this particular flower as opposed to that particular flower, that he presented it to her in such and such a way, that the cow’s behavior was odd indeed and cow flops were unavoidable, that although it was a pleasant day, the chilly night air moved slyly in, and that they disagreed about the shade of the dusk sky should not fool the casual reader into believing that the scene was set in such and such a way at random and without purpose. After all, in the editing room, the editor often wields greater power than the director.
—Jenny Boully
Kimberly Alidio: A silbilant tweet: “@tomandlorenzo Why must we always suffer through the Seacrest to get to the dresses? #GoldenGlobes”
Ching-In Chen: “The bus is an aqueduct, a portal for song.” - from Sueyeun Juliette Lee’s Mental Commitment Robots
Jai Arun Ravine: I’m A Cyborg But That’s OK (Embedding was disabled and this version had the best subtitles I could find—yael)
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
Dear Collaborators, tomorrow is the last day of the project! So I’ll save the goodbyes for tomorrow.
I would tell you to come back but that’s my jacaranda talking. You have followers now, and you wield coarse weapons with grace. I read your latest dispatch in a pamphlet hidden inside an American romance paperback, your fury pouring out and out. I felt a little ashamed at not choosing the way you did. The novel has several stained pages but what I can decipher is good. // I read about the ‘aqueduct’ op in the paper. How strange to hear people talk about you like you were a character in a story. I remind them of our acquaintance. Then they talk about me when I leave the room. But I’m proud to know you. I’m happy you can be another spirit in an army of invisible troublemakers. // This card will be late. I guess you’ll have a new address.
Constructed from the words of Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Pia Cortez, Jai Arun Ravine, J. Pluecker, and Robert Whymant on Maria Lorena Barros.
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Prompts:
Anino Shadowplay Collective’s ‘Bukidnon Myth of Creation:’
Kimberly Alidio:
Where am I in this landscape: import, displacer, gulping too much water? In Austin, I drive my car. As I write this, a machine washes my clothes and I watch the trees for birds. I hang my clothes on a drying rack. I marinate beef for Vietnamese steak. I write poems and watch the weather.
Why won’t the Waxwings come this year? Will it be another drought year? Will invader and native interplay?
Ching-In Chen: ”These roads are emblems of narrow and nothing.” - from Bryan Thao Worra’s “Our Dinner With Cluster Bombs”
Pia Cortez:
Before you go on to projects like, building galaxies, say, or managing a hotel with an infinite number of rooms, factor some advertising into your budget so that people can actually see the wonders of your universe. If you just broadcast the existence of your newly invented universe to all and sundry, people will likely see you as a crackpot, so we don’t recommend that. Instead, try the poetic approach, e e cummings-style. Whisper to your companion, “Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door; let’s go.” Worry about where exactly “next door” is when the time comes.
Make sure, too, that your universe has its own laws of physics. Keep them hidden so that any future scientists who evolve in your universe can have the joy of discovering them. Everybody loves a good mystery.
You should also decide if you actually want anyone to know about your universe. There’s a lot to be said for having your own secret universe. Those people you see on the bus smiling while listening to their headphones? They’re probably smiling about their own secret universes too.
On Easter Sunday afternoon in 1967, James Thompson, the renowned American from Thailand, vanished into the jungled mountains of Malaysia’s Cameron Highlands. His vacation companions at Moonlight Cottage assumed that he was off on one of his frequent solitary strolls, but they grew alarmed when he had not returned by nightfall. The authorities were alerted, but their search parties failed to uncover a single trace.
- William Warren’s “The Legendary American: The Remarkable Career and Strange Disappearance of Jim Thompson”
J. Pluecker:
From what has been lost, from the irremediably lost, I just want to recover the daily availability of my writing, lines capable of grabbing me from the hair and pulling me up when my body would not want to hold anymore. (Significant, said the foreigner.) To the human and the divine. Like those verses by Leopardi that Daniel Viga recited in a nordic bridge in order summon up courage, that way shall be my writing
- Roberto Bolaño, as translated by Natasha Wimmer
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
Dear Collaborators, yesterday we hit our two week mark on this project. You all are amazing! THANK YOU!
Slanting into agitation because that’s where I need to be. Knocking out bricks of casual chores as long as
I keep my teeth set. Even phone calls about money can be borne with an absent mind. I only fear
reading the letters too much. Already that video has replaced my memory of riding the BART to Oakland
with you. This time he’s not afraid of me, of what I can do without permission. Because I believe the work,
I give my labor. Read, write, run, decide with attention, speak from an expansive center I don’t have when I’m alone.
Something delicious, exhausting. I help myself to a paper bowl full of slowcooked tendon and leaves. Eating what you catch
dwells in another sphere, lets you know yourself anew.
Constructed with words from Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Pia Cortez, Llasa de Sela (via Ching-In), and Italo Calvino (via Jai).
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Prompts
From an episode of This American Life about Superpowers:
John Hodgman So who chooses invisibility and who chooses flight? In my experience, though there are lots of exceptions, men lean towards flying, women to invisibility. And many brood anxiously over their choice, switching from one to the other and back again. And that’s because, more than the ability, say, to burst into flame or shoot arrows with uncanny accuracy, flight and invisibility touch a nerve. Actually, they touch two different nerves, speak to very different primal desires and unconscious fears.
My friend Christine chose invisibility.
Christine One superpower is about something that’s obvious, and the other is about something that is hidden. I think it indicates your level of shame.
John Hodgman How do you mean?
Christine A person who chooses to fly has nothing to hide. A person who chooses to be invisible wants clearly to hide themselves.
John Hodgman Do you feel that you want to hide yourself?
Christine I want to— I’d like to not— I’m not going to answer that question.
Woman 3 It all has to do with guile. Wanting to be invisible means that you’re a more guileful person. If you want to fly, it means you’re guileless. And I think the reason that I’m so conflicted about flying versus invisibility is that I have guile, but I really wish that I didn’t.
John Hodgman Flight is the hero— selfless and confident and unashamed. And invisibility, the villain. Almost everyone I talked to called invisibility the sneakier power.
Man 8 Flying is for people who want to let it all hang out. Invisibility is for fearful, crouching masturbators.
Woman 1 First of all, I think that a lot of people are going to tell you that they would choose flight, and I think they’re lying to you. I think they’re saying that because they’re trying to sound all mythic and heroic, because the better angels of our nature would tell us that the real thing that we should strive for is flight, and that that’s noble and all that kind of stuff.
But I think actually, if everybody were being perfectly honest with you, they would tell you the truth, which is that they all want to be invisible so that they can shoplift, get into movies for free, go to exotic places on airplanes without paying for airline tickets, and watch celebrities have sex.
I dreamed my mother collapsed inside of me and nothing else was true. I was still and I cupped my heart’s stream into my heart’s mouth and I could do nothing. This is to say I was a child.
And here I am twenty-some years on my shoulders length and rhythm of my days predetermined
—tamed and clinging to time.
(Self-Portrait by Daisy Zamora)
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
You can read about them over lunch break in Hing Hay Park.
You want to tell her it won’t end here but you can’t force the underbelly open.
Exiled for the sake of having a home.
Left to the earth, rootlets pull forth through decalcified skylights.
Prized comedy 1: charming leads, a caretaker who steps on a rake, and a sad sucka petrified in the basement.
You don’t wait for the call anymore but expect it like the young men’s allegiance.
This scares you. It inflames the joints of your fingers.
Prized comedy 2: a menace and his crew hide a putrid suitcase at his menopausal sister’s wedding.
The boys will praise you for your anger, not knowing how it collapsed your nights.
You think about the girl from Ateneo again.
You called on her birthday for over a decade and then just stopped.
Knowing there would be no warmer friendship.
Running out of good news to invent.
Constructed with words from Bushra Rehman, Kimberly Alidio, Jai Arun Ravine, Ching-in Chen, Akilah Oliver, and Italo Calvino.
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Prompts
“I think the technology of the poem, its ability to be honest yet deceptive at the same time, allows us a space to say ‘I’m sorry.’ I think most of my poems are really just apologies—often to myself.”—Ocean Vuong at The Collagist
Sarah Gambito reads for the PAWA Arkipelago Reading Series (November 2009):
Bushra Rehman: “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.” Harvey Milk
I will not remember, only describe. This is the first time I’ve really wanted to be accurate.
—Lisa Robertson, “Face/”
Jai Arun Ravine:
I pulled out my copy of Italo Calvino’s SIX MEMOS FOR THE NEXT MILLENNIUM, of which the sixth was unfinished at the time of his death. In “Exactitude” (I wrote “!!!” next to this paragraph circa 2002-3): “The word connects the visible trace with the invisible thing, the absent thing, the thing that is desired or feared, like a frail emergency bridge flung over an abyss. For this reason, the proper use of language, for me personally, is one that enables us to approach things (present or absent) with discretion, attention, and caution, with respect for what things (present or absent) communicate without words.” (Reminds me of our (silent) thread.) In “Multiplicity”: “In the tram going home [s/he] remembered this.”
Ching-In Chen: My heart is breaking / I cannot sleep / I love a man / who’s afraid of me / he believes if he doesn’t / stand guard with a knife / I’ll make him my slave / for the rest of his life – from Lhasa de Sela’s “Anywhere On This Road”:
Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
The people of this planet all have dreams to run away from. When you think something could be yours, you’ll swim into the sea. This happened to me too, in your future. Your pawn reminds me of my handheld quartz. Two doors leading to the same hallway and still having to choose. I didn’t know the cost of a glamor so they threw me the fuck out. This happens all the time. It’s so easy to fall for a city. You can eat eleven families of flowering plants, all in a day. You can adopt a swing to your vowels, talk their talk. I recall you grabbing their hair at the roots to circulate the blood, turn all your faces to the sun. You never bothered with the harlequin; I apologized all the time. I can’t say who was braver. But I wish you were here. Maybe we could’ve helped each other. In the beginning, at least I could’ve been your legs.
Constructed from the work of Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Jai Arun Ravine, Joan Roughgard (via Jai), Akilah Oliver (via Ching-In), Maya Deren’s ‘At Land’ (via Kim), and Nara Denning’s ‘Madalien the Small’ (possibly a retelling of ‘At Land?’).
‘For those who pass it without entering, the city is one thing; it is another for those who are trapped by it and never leave. There is the city where you arrive for the first time; and there is another city which you leave never to return. Each deserves a different name; perhaps I have already spoken of Irene under other names; perhaps I have spoken only of Irene.’—Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities
Kimberly Alidio: What phobia or craving transports you to a dream state?
Ching-In Chen: because I can’t get over Akilah Oliver ….
in my own way there a was a time when i stumbled over a tense: says/said now, bereft, in anticipation of how night collapses into its own effluence i conjugate occasions, ask just for time, just a little time to get love right
Jai Arun Ravine: ”Is the body the place where the sentence ends?” - Akilah Oliver, from “a(A)ugust”. I don’t want her dead, but I understand.
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
Fade in the shimmery curtain. The snarls of her hair.
When she reads about lions, it’s because they’re captured or killed.
Rehearsing. How to wash her own face with tenderness reserved for strangers.
I associate with others devoted to wounded web.
We would say it’s a need. Ordinary as dancing hungry animation.
Her precise gesture meaning shields down, three minutes til the house opens.
Late night labor because I want to.
I’m drinking out of ten different cups.
Reconstruct the punctured testimony with a donation of your see-through.
The shadow on every dollar a censored kiss.
She gives it back. We adore ourselves in every strange lifetime.
Constructed with words from Kimberly Alidio, Jai Arun Ravine, Ching-In Chen, the Orlando clip (via Jai), Newsha Tavakolian’s Listen installation, Alexander Chee’s “The Querent,” and Little Dragon.
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Prompts:
To [Crowley’s] credit and Harris’s, the deck was, per their wishes, not published until after their deaths. As a gesture it reminds me of E.M. Forster’s decision to keep his novel Maurice back, the novel an open secret he allowed only his friends to read, published after his death. On reflection, it seems to me much of what I love about literature is also what I love about the Tarot—archetypes at play, hidden forces, secrets brought to light. When I bought the deck, it was for the same reason I bought the car—I wanted to feel powerful in the face of my fate. I felt too much like a character in a novel, buffeted by cruel turns of fate. I wanted to look over the top of my life and see what was coming; I wanted to be its author.
If I were in fact writing a novel about someone like me, of course, this is exactly what would lead him astray.
Kimberly Alidio: Thoughts on Maya Deren’s “At Land”? The title: “(Silent)”?
Jai Arun Ravine:
In a tropical ginger from China, some individuals are male in the morning, making pollen, while others are female in the morning, receiving pollen. They switch sexes in the afternoon. This phenomenon, called flexistyly, is known in eleven families of flowering plants. The ginger’s diurnal sex change is not too different from how hamlets mate, where members of a mating pair switch back and forth between male and female once a minute.
- Joan Roughgarden, “EVOLUTION’S RAINBOW”
AND Tilda Swinton as ORLANDO (1992):
Ching-In Chen:
I too have admired the people of this planet. Their frilly, ordered intellects. The use they’ve made of cardamom, radiation as well. How they’ve pasteurized milk, loaned surnames to stars, captured tribes, diseases, streets, and ideas too.
- from Akilah Oliver’s A Toast in the House of Friends
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
Who can blame me for scathing tongue. The work happens in the dark. We joke about being one paycheck away from winning the lotto. Frenzied suppression. Whatever I can get away with. The television snowy from hypoglycemia when the ports shut down. From a distance our problems shove off the rails their blessed train. The work of giving her kids something to hang on to. We’re accused of standing too close. Here is a blanket to cocoon your feathered limbs. Odd horrors endless. I thought we could make another home. But my one body is here just to be counted. The work of disobeying. I can lend it out.
Constructed with words from Kimberly Alidio, Ching-In Chen, Jai Arun Ravine, Pia C., Cathy Park Hong, bell hooks’ Wounds of Passion, and St. Faustina’s Wikipedia page.
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Prompts
“If women in Iran are forbidden to sing solo or record music, then nothing stops them to perform in silence. Tavakolian lets them act out their dreams in front of her camera, and provides them with the stage they so ardently seek. Her portraits show these singers when they are at their most unprotected and vulnerable as they descend into concentration and focus on the music. At the same time there is something powerful about them.”—From the blog Mrs. Deane
Kimberly Alidio: A prompt from a very prominent person whose name I’m dropping: Write about an encounter with another person from both perspectives, giving the other person twice the amount of space
Ching-In Chen: The Joy of Books (via Iris Law)
Jai Arun Ravine: ”Of course witnessing poverty was the first to be ticked off the list. Then I had to graduate to the more obscure stuff. Being in a riot was something I pursued with a truly obsessive zeal, along with being tear-gassed and hearing gunshots fired in anger.” - Alex Garland, from “The Beach”
Pia C.: ”Pen, I feel right at home in your ink doing a pirouette, stirring the cobwebs, leaving my signature on the window panes. Pen, how could I have ever feared you. You’re quite house-broken but it’s your wilderness I am in love with, I’ll have to get rid of you when you start being predictable, when you stop chasing dustdevils.” (Gloria Anzaldua, from “Speaking in tongues: A Letter to 3rd World Women Writers”)
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
As an exhausted silence settles over the table, well into my cups, I\’ll look straight at camera and sarcastically say, in my most unctuous, television \”host-sums-up\” voice, \” So….What have we learned today?\” This is a cue to producer and shooters that I\’m fucking DONE. That it\’s time to \”get some wides\”, meaning, the crew steps way back and shoots some generic \”wide shots\” from a distance.
“ …. into the lap of woods. Roots trade many stories; branches cradle secrets; birds, on the other hand, do not trust birds.
—from Arlene Kim’s What have you done to our ears to make us hear echoes?
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
The one who escorts her home and combs out the knots in her calves.
Who’s in a crash course for rich-people eating, new england exorcisms, and a little piano. Who peeks at her calendar and commits all free nights to memory. Who engages in her ritual emptying out of poisonous thorns.
She taught me the cardinal techniques.
I worshiped her eye opening as she turned up from the pillow.
Immersive as a spy.
Scouring the the city for a mesh bodysuit under $100. Paying full price when I can’t find one. Eating cheese half-sandwiches for a week.
hello my funny face, remember not to drink anything the day before we shoot.
One leg (her left) is a little longer than the other. The ULAN characters on her hip are 11 years old. I was in the Mission Girls Chorus at the time. Who arose as the new beloved upon squirting.
Only the second time in my life.
She said, I can’t imagine leaving this room.
I said, I want the job. Tell me how to keep it.
Constructed with words from Kimberly Alidio, Jai Arun Ravine, Anna Leonowens (via Jai Arun Ravine), Ching-In Chen, Pia C., and The System.
* * *
Prompts:
‘What can it do but surge through me: your pain? What can it do but find a home here / in the pools of my eyes, the corners of my mouth? Where / will it go next?’—Niki Escobar
Jai Arun Ravine: ”Because no matter what story I tell them…writers invent things about me, and once they’ve invented them they believe them.” - Yul Brynner, via “Yul: The Man Who Would Be King” by Rock Brynner
Ching-In Chen: “Everyday it happens or doesn’t happen. The I struggles to become a part of the reeking body. The body drifts off to fuck like a ghost. In countries with barriers, an attack, unwarranted. Wrists held tight behind the back. Great views from the wooden window toward whatever.” - from Dawn Lundy Martin’s Discipline.
Pia C.: “A torpedo cruising in the ocean, and soon it’s due.” From:
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
Hello to all you new followers on Tumblr and readers on the Internet! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the company of our words as you eat dinner by yourself oh wait I’m just projecting. If you’d like to jump in and write with us, you’re totally welcome.
I know this post went up quite late. This one brought up a lot of old feelings and was hard to write. But I will try hard to be more mindful about the time (and time differences!) going forward.
For the Dear Collaborators who have been in for most or all of the past week, how are you feeling so far about your writing/process/ how’s it going? Just want to check in.
Ching-In Chen: “Nevertheless, reading these words, I can’t have them in my house. And so I open the door, flinching from the blue fire of the individual blades of grass, the bonds of the plant material that release a color when they are crushed. When the book hits the ground. A sub-red spike without a source.” - from Bhanu Kapil’s Schizophrene
Tamiko Beyer:
strange code
being old far from friends home
tongue turns to stone
—Jeffery Yang, from Vanishing-Line
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Housekeeping
Please post in the comments section of this blog entry with: 1) your writing in response to today’s writing(s) and 2) a prompt or question to share for tomorrow.
And if the comments are down, feel free to send your work to arkipelagirl [at] gmail.com, and I’ll post for you when the comments are fixed.
Full info on the process and this project can be found at this page.
