Practice: Three minute free write on three words selected from my previous days writing and/or Brandy’s writing, 15 minutes in child’s pose, 30 minutes improvising, 5 minutes writing.
Clinging: Hands grabbing, fists, white knuckles yearning for something, an unrequited thirst, or maybe simple unavoidable need. We all need something. something to hold, be held, but my fingers hurt from holding on, grip gives in, how much can I let go and still hold on? Attached, compelled without discipline, hands, hands. Everything in me rushes towards my fingertips.
Knowing: Maybe I hold my beliefs as a shield and I don’t know when to put down this armor. I am told. I am young. I am old. A library inside of me, volume upon volume of well defended thought, my inheritance, my dowry for the ever unwed, a stock of ammunition to defend…….my preferences, geometric lines of right & wrong, memories of the roadmap pointing towards pleasure.
Bone: The pillars, the infrastructure, that unseen articulating architecture. Who decides how long, how big, the femur will be? What shapes me? And how much does my use & abuse affect the stability, density, and fragility of my bones. Bones dangling, hanging in space from some godly hook, working to compensate for gravity, clothed by by facia, ligament, tendon & muscle. I’ve never broken bone, I imagine something scripted, something terrible like the US 9/11 phenomenon, supports pulled out for catastrophic effect, that which was designed to flex, suddenly brittle, breaking, collapsing.
Improvising: Eyes more open than past days, allowing myself to be supported by the quality of knowing, when I know where I am I know where I can go. Muscle clings to my bones motivating the memory of 32 years of movement, upward, climbing, permission to cling. Crawling, circling, imagining, in moments, you as the coiled rope softly placed in concentric circles waiting. Wanting to rehearse climbing backwards and rolling forwards, the rope in my crotch, chaffing. Wondering about my bias for the unexpected, the unrehearsed, the new finding, while I sit on a stockpile of unfired sure moves…….
The image that came to me: My brain in all of it’s knowing, is probably very similar in consistency to the marrow in bones, I can swallow that substance of ideas like a delicious and nutritious smoothie thick and viscous down through my throat into the hollow of my bones. Swallowing my mind’s ambitions………
This is the music I’ve mostly been playing for practicing, this song in particular, and the rest of his stuff……will you share sonic inspirations w me?!