Friday, January 6, 2012

new stuff

new stuff stuffing its way into becoming who it must be as it emerges under blankets of not snow.  there is something under the f.  there is something keeping the f from pronouncing itself in the space of sentences.  there is something. there is something.  what is that something? here in this now of time i am under blankets preparing to revisit the paper storm of the last century--okay--last year--and i am not yet ready in my readiness to find what i have found.  what? i am writing to write.  i am waking up to put my fingers to the keyboard and move them up and down and around and to the side just like i was taught in perhaps the most useful class i ever took--typing--in high school--at shawnee mission northwest--there, off the mall of places to sit on concrete benches in the new looking early eighties architecture of the place that i lived.  why is that back in my consciousness? the need to drive away from it--to leave it--to let it go where it has gone by way of over.  i am here now.  i am here under the blanket of this white gift and i am bald--peering over the laptop with my blue eyes and round head.  i have a very round head.  who knew? and now, because i can, i am considering making breakfast and eating drippy yokes and sopping them up with white bread toasted to a kind of crispness that leaves lots of lovely crumbs.  lovely crumbs.  i am considering this life of mine--already up, already painting--already re-arranging old works to tell new stories--already feeling alive in the feeling aliveness of this time out of mind.  time out of mind.  ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, how i love time out of mind.

and in the here of this now, i am doing something--what? writing words, so that i can cast the shadow of black marks on the white page.  virtual.  white.  i am starting again, bald and white.  gifts from the roommate--of white clothes for the journey of white stories in this white year.  white.  i am covering planks of board with white gesso.  i am carving women and trees into the thick icing of the stuff.  i am layering it on with a kitchen spatula? is that what that thing is called? the thing that spreads icing on cakes? i am using that. 

i realize in this moment that laying out art materials is my very favorite thing to do.  it is my feast and banquet table.  that no one can eat them is of no consequence.  they are the things that keep my hands busy and nourish my soul.  someone else will always attend to the food for the body--and in the circles i travel, they will attend to this food mindfully, intentionally, organically, vegetarianally.  i am not any of those things about reeses peanut butter cups and cheap wine.  but it takes all kinds of us, i suppose, to make a world.

i am here now.  hearing the something of a hairdryer for the people i live with who still have hair.  i am out of the band now.  we thought, for a moment, we'd form a hair band. 

but now, i'm out.

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