Structural Instructions

Posting Order

Here is the order that Rachel sent out July 14th. We are now off the order. Last week should have been Chandra. She didn't post, but Dash posted. This week was my turn, so I posted "Structural Instructions". I thought that the "Post person" posted a new work by Sunday and then we all have a week to respond. Is this correct? I'm the newbie here, so let me know if there is another way intended by the elders. Thanks, Jeremy

Rachel

Dash

Matthew

Nureena

Bronwyn

Molly

Elisa

Chandra

Jeremy

Sometimes You Get So Close

i am confused!

it's true.

are we responding to dash's piece? i like jeremy breaking the format.

this is the tone poem in my brain:
bzzzt bzzzt bzzzzzt

Response to Structural Instructions

Instructions to my Colon

Structural Instructions

Instructions come in many forms. Syllables issuing forth from lips, riding on winds propelled by the shrinking of space between spine and ribs... Two dimensional line drawings depicting left or right, up or down... Light refracted through lenses, hues, saturation, frequency, repetition signaling and signaling and signaling...

Nothing sends a message in such universal language as bars and a wall. Whatever your ethnicity, your socio-economic class, your language, your upbringing... bars and walls separate the space you are in from the space you imagine to be on the other side.

Light steals through bars giving an image for the mind to play with. What is that over there? Should I go see? Do I go around? over? under? Can I squeeeeeeeeeezzz?

Walls present a different challenge. One wonders what might be on the other side with only relational cues as clues. Hmm... I've seen this kind of wall before... must be a building or parking deck or privacy fence. What's on the other side?

I want to know.

Structures instruct us in concrete ways. Light is a bastard showoff. Shadows hide mischief and lingerie.

Sometimes You Get So Close

The process is one of constant death, in my humble opinion. You have to figure out how to generate perpetually, even if it means destroying parts of yourself.

Sometimes, if you don't generate, those same parts destroy themselves on their own. It's a strange space we have to occupy.

I've drank or smoked or gone without sleep or food or water or sex for inspiration. It hurts, but it helps. Creativity is a painful process, one that requires a certain amount of willingness to

endure the worst for what may not even turn out good. The best is something none of us can achieve, and yet we strive for it. I'll drown for an idea.

I'll jump off a building if it means I can describe falling that much more accurately. I'll fall asleep and forget to wake up and wake up and forget to fall asleep

I'll stare at walls or screens or pages or anything blank a hunger to fill it gnawing at my insides
and when I can't fill the void with words or feelings or sounds I'm filled with emptiness.

This is how deafening silence can be, how soothing the harshest noise can feel, how calming turbulence can be, how frightening stillness is.

We search for meaning in words, knowing that words mean nothing. We all know their “uselessness,” Harjo says. So why do we continue?

How could we/I not?




this poem is based on/inspired by a poem called "bird" by joy harjo as well as the ideas i wrote about in my king cobra post.