The Figment
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Inner Monologue – a poem for the blog because it’s long
It is quiet when I close my eyes.The monologue that turns like tank treads through the mud of Today ceases as often as mans greed is slacked. But here I am tonighta master swordsmithshoeing hooves blindfoldedhaving started work predawnand it’s not long pastthe wintry duskeyes slacking into the glass and electricity of this screen and hark!is…
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I love surrealism.
I love the bends and gasps it makes in my brain, melting this and stretching that. That flower is a beautiful face, and those spiders will shelter us from the desert rays. I love the painters of surreal paintings: Miro’s playful lines that lead the eyes to newness, Magritte placing objects in my face, Kandinsky…
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Big Feelings
Big feelings are absolutely a hallmark of writers. Despair Ecstasy Joy I’m sure even writers who mechanically pump out a new book every 6 months to a year (Kristen Hannah, Steven King, Colleen Hoover, Raymond Chandler, etc.) feel massively in their chests and limbs the loves and fears of their characters. The secret is being…
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Water Makes a New Path
I watched an episode of a murder solving show once, one of the ones where the audience is supposed to want the detectives to hook up. Worse, one of the ones where the audience is super comforted by the murder show, I think the term is cozy murder or cozy mystery. Calling it mystery is…
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Specializing and Girlhood Dreams
My first love was painting and even now when I am tired thinking in words can feel like a barrier — but some charcoal, brush, or ink feel like extensions of my body. All intuition. Pure expression. But a blank page or canvas daunts me now, like words did back then. What is this reversal? …
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The Sound of One Hand Snapping
Poetry and lit readings have some weird stereotypes, starting with the berets. Of course we all wear berets, and I must say I own 4 different berets, wear them often, and look forward to buying more should they appear at flea markets. However, I find myself in the extreme minority with the berets. More common…
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I love working.
My brain is like a dynamo that highschool students present at science fairs. It is crude but unstoppable. It fits neatly in a diorama and I am dying to show it off. And because my brain is always moving (shark) so too are my hands; such stubby fingers typing, clicking, dialing, waving a wild dream…
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Look for the poetry that stirs you: Words
For me, that’s always going to be language heavy. Like, I read a lot of poems in books and on the internet that just sound like day time talk show guests things to introduce themselves. It’s bland in word choice (not to mention forced in intention and energy). Where are my fellow poets who crack…
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All the aesthetics…
At no time in history before has it been possible to “choose” an aesthetic. Maybe the last ten years. Oh, sure, kids and adults in the 19 twenties could choose this or that outfit, this or that makeup style, and build a kind of an aesthetic. Girls could go full flapper, for example, in the…
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I do not, at my core, like AI that makes art.
I am an artist, and it takes me time (precious to mortals) and money (precious to us hedonists) to write this and everything else you see here. Every time a human has created a tool – forks, lingerie, code breakers – it has been invented to make our lives easier, cleaner, more full of time…
Erin Oubliette 