I love sitting down with a box full of random words, pictures, colours, old magazines and making collages. Sometimes they turn into zines and other times it's a one-off. These creative moments, especially now during prolonged social distancing and quarantine, are therapeutic as f.
Creativity is like a deep well, and as long as you keep it nourished, its waters will be there for you.
During this time of self-isolation, I realized I need creative time to play and get away from screens. So, this series of poetic interventions into my day, via my fridge haha (thanks magnetic poetry!) is meant as a creative outlet.
Here's the first poem. But technically this is Day 9 of self-isolation.
slather language here miscreant missives
a system for fecund ennui
(N is for Neville who died of ennui - Edward Gorey)
This piece is my first attempt at being a poetics pirate! I’m trying my hand a unique form called Plunderverse. It’s an “Expressive Subjects” prompt that I’ve been meaning to try for a while. The idea is that you take a poem or a piece of writing you like, and you take out bits and pieces from it and make a variation of the original. In my case, I’m not even using a poem. Instead, as I was listening to the audiobook of the book Beautiful Boy (a father’s memoir of living with his son’s drug addiction), I took notes on words and passages that I liked, and made something new. -- Both homes seem illusory. Teenagers complain, integrate their lives badly, a flaw in their character A flaw in their lives. Books, quiet, low-grade melancholia Two weeks to cram in surfing Re-enactments & the vanishing act. Wait for the shuttle, trailing minors with magic markers. Open cardigan. Suitcase of your things. Warbling lyrics through the airplane. Scary eyes, woo-woo chorus, percussion, cacophony, pounding. Howling Test drive the minivan for your growing family Less trampled beaches Rolling in the waves Seaweed crust Waiting for the next wave to crash down On the way home, ceaseless back-and-forth Worldly, sagacious child but with emotional chasms. Meagre consolation. Welcome to the dollhouse.
Building storeys lines of text, layers of sedimentary rock of sentences building an edifice of a tower of babel, skyscrapers built on air sand castles of stone Stories are set in stone until they grow wings and shatter the sculpture block We tell ourselves stories to make sense of the chaos around us, within us to throw meaning against the wall We store parts of ourselves in our stories, like squirrels store nuts in their cheeks and forget where they buried them stored inside a vessel, an amphora of oil secure for millennia in Socrates’ grave keepsake in a sealed jar, a boat built inside with delicate precision set adrift on ocean waves seagulls have stories they keep to themselves swooping to peek through smudged glass Refracted stories ride infrared waves beyond vision distort memories light up recesses and buried treasure cover like a down duvet goose flesh across your arms as you hear a story [refracted] hitting its mark on the tender spots you pretend don’t hurt Picture frames expensive and heavy mounted on walls to showcase that you’re worthy of oak Framed like pictures snapped on iPhones filtered for effect Clarendon & Juno to manicure our moments stories built up in sediment