This seat on the couch – I am mixing up the morning to see what comes of different postures. Provoking a new strand of this thread of Willing-by-Ink on dead trees. The surface texture broken on the plain expanse of cream-colored paper – a lined, effortful intent.
And there it is again, tension in the upper back and neck. Relief happens with a shoulder hunch and neck revolution, accompanied by a slight crinkling when tendons flex. The stretch is THERE… right in the middle of my upper back.
Realizing success in perseverance, in the effort of continuing the flow of inspiration, an overcoming of the inertia of decades. No regrets, but why did I not take up this from of art before? Was I betting on the lottery of slothful indulgence to pay off in the end?
The problem, the Buddha said, is that you think you have time.
Spirited through time, riven we make our meek adjustments, deferring to the feeding frenzy when communal touch and slow dinners are what we really crave. Clacking skeletons of capitalist spectacle drown out our warm mammalian needs, dance on our graves blot out the sun.
Feelin’ all sassy and limber today, a good bit of work done. It’s been a busy week or so, and I’m really pleased with how well the Write Like You’re Alive 31/31 creativity challenge is going. Today, I finished up editing some draft pieces from last week, finalized three pieces from this week, and I’m completely up to date with the sprint.
Also, taking risks and being more vulnerable in my work – one aubade I feel comfortable showing, and several edgy, funny ones too, if I do say so myself.
Can’t share any here yet, but I’ll probably find time to do something more substantive and stand-alone, to post here on my blog. This writing stuff is addictive!
FIRST, A QUEST. The image above, if carefully examined, displays three differently animated levels distinguishable by their relation to velocity and, by consequence, Time. This animation device has been used to display certain feelings in a much clearer way: her face is animated carefully and slowly, every frame is fluid, to inspire serenity and […]
“…never let me lose what I have gained, and adorn the branches of your river with leaves of my estranged Autumn.”
Today is the birthdate of playwright and poet Federico Garciá Lorca, born in1898 in Fuente Vaqueros, near Granada in Spain. Check out the link below to read more about him on Poets dot Org.
There’s also a relatively new translation of Lorca’s work – Poet in Spain – that was published last fall by Knopf.”
“Riveting . . . Lorca’s poems from Spain are a poetry of dreams and journeys and glimpses from balconies, of sunbaked meadows and realms of erotic yearning . . . Arvio is a supple translator, and she has delivered a personal book . . . [Her] rich and gripping retranslation of ‘Blood Wedding’ [is] of a piece with Lorca’s blood-warm verse.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times
Federico on Poets.org
In 1936, García Lorca was staying at Callejones de García, his country home, at the outbreak of the Civil War. He was arrested by Franquist soldiers, and on August 19, after a few days in jail, soldiers took García Lorca to “visit” his brother-in-law, Manuel Fernandez Montesinos, the Socialist ex-mayor of Granada whom the soldiers had murdered and dragged through the streets. When they arrived at the cemetery, the soldiers forced García Lorca from the car. They struck him with the butts of their rifles and riddled his body with bullets. His books were burned in Granada’s Plaza del Carmen and were soon banned from Franco’s Spain.
“Verde que te quiero verde”
Featured image illustration by Natalie Matthews-Ramo. Photos by Thinkstock, Universal History Archive/UIG via Getty Images.