snippets of the past year (and this)
i stand in an open meadow and suddenly i see a tree, electrocuted. the meadow is round, the sky, a perfect sky blue. no rough cloud in the sky. yet, the tree buzzes, and all its leaves fall off. one by one. they don’t pool, they vanish. as if charred to dust. the air remains perfect blue. clean. as the leaves quietly disappear. the tree looks as if it’s splitting. in the middle, on the sides. stretch marks. like stretch marks, instead of collapsing, it grows slowly. against the perfectly blue sky. i’m not alone in witnessing this, as i thought. there is a crowd beside me. humans, not necessarily. i can’t say. i just know i’m not alone. together we wait. for new leaves, new marks, till one day, they, inevitably, shed.
*
I haven’t written in a while. I wanted to. but I haven’t had anything particular to say. Or to be more honest, like always, I’ve managed to threaten myself away from yet another try to put myself out there.
I have started writing this newsletter plenty of times, struggling to decide whether I should even recognize the form of a newsletter or how much time was taken between my last post and this, or should I just act as if nothing has happened, just start from wherever I find myself. I don’t think I’ve decided just yet. Somewhere between the form and finding myself.
But for the most part, words have been escaping me. Sometimes I catch phrases out of myself which I then jot down on floating pieces of paper. I keep them close, till they fade or lose meaning altogether. I think this is because I have not been feeling connected to myself. Connected to the reflective part of myself. Which is not necessarily a bad thing; I’ve been living, more caught up in finishing rather than starting. I have also been on the move, which hasn’t made it easier to confront things as it is. The new that has risen from the ashes hasn’t fully had time to manifest just yet. And the soon-to-be old isn’t old enough to reminisce.
*
Thursday 15 December 11:06
I don’t think I have ever been confronted with humanity so intensely before being in Mumbai this November. Maybe it was the sheer proximity of it all. Tightened with heat. But right now, Mumbai remains distant. In the past and the future. I can’t believe I’ll wake up tomorrow and be done with Paris (for now). No plane, no big journey. Just a four-hour train ride. I’m slightly pissed I don’t get a big goodbye. I can’t believe I have taken my final sleep here. And it didn’t seem significant at all.
*
5/01/2023
Vienna, Albertina Modern
I have just seen my first Rothko (I think, I’m not sure, I have a vague memory of another).
I feel troubled. There is tension, almost electric, in my back. I feel emotionally spent. I feel as if every cell is engaged in holding up my body. I barely slept last night. I am soaking wet. My jeans are almost dried but my leather jacket is waterlogged.
In Rothko, the emotions are in the edges. Edges of the blocks of color as they meet one another. Emotions are in the absence. Emotions are in the becoming of. Emotions disappear in the presence. I guess that is meditation.
When I see Rothko, the tension quietens and grows tenfold. I don’t know whether I want to hurl or keep staring. The water is reaching my socks. I fear what my feet smell like.
*
Parental love __ comforting This house comfortable, spacey, wide, welcoming Water light, smelling like salt and sunscreen __ tense, keeps me on edge, laughter, heaviness what are relationships? how do you want to relate to others? map your relations through senses how do your different relationships feel in your body? I really dont know Relationships feel They dont feel I feel loved How do I make someone feel loved I feel detached right now, I feel detached when I think of these things
*
i feel like i find myself second in every relationship. like my emotions come second. most of the time i’m fine with that. i think i put myself in that position as well. but right now, it is really getting to me.
*
After a bit, I found Rothko again. This time I found Rothko in the expanse. The yellow allowed me to be consumed. With difficulty, I pulled myself away. I think I left a piece of me in there. Not my heart, that would be too cliche. A piece or a chunk, an organ perhaps? I keep reminding myself to breathe.
I found Rothko again. This time, on the edge of the canvas in the red. Untitled red.
*
When I draw, those are the only times I can say with conviction that I might be a writer.*
Going back over a good part of my writings from the past year, I realized I kept saying I don’t know what to write, or that I don’t have anything to write about. But maybe the most writing I’m proud of from the past year are the phrases lost, that don’t make sense to anybody who won’t take the time to make sense of them. A critique I get often with my writing is that it holds back, it doesn’t reveal enough. But I don’t want to reveal everything the way it is. I’m not concerned with writing about how it happens exactly when it happens. In Lee Krasner’s biography by Gail Levin, it says she wasn’t interested in the accessible in arts. I suppose I feel the same way about my writing.
*
to end with: a love poem for no one Baby, When u move, I feel u move in me, around me , I shift when u shift Baby, As something is mine, so it is urs, forever, for some time now Baby, I hate calling you that, you’re older than me, and it feels cheesy Baby, I wish you called me that, I feel cold now, you withholding the warmth Baby, aby, by, y Let me take you somewhere, between city and country Somewhere i was born as u were once. babyyy Tell me something? Anything? Ur silence hurts me Its my Venus in cancer Cancer in venus? I know it makes me feel like a Baby Babe, baby Do u even know me? How could you, when I haven’t told you anything Shown you anything I know you, I know what I think of you, feel of you Like I said, When u shift, I shift twilight When you move, I feel you move in me, around me.
Tarot blessing for today:
0 The Fool
*