in which I am excited about writing a book I think I can finish, at the same time that we alight in a little apartment between the bay and Gulf, a peninsula off of a peninsula, an old building that keeps the air moist and salty as a sea. and, new ways to let go of certain traumas or meet physical pain where it is really at.
to be excited is an act of particles moving, neither comfortable or predictable (learning things about FL mental health system) but connected to flow, and this writing might be the kind of bodywork i can really practice, for myself and others. outside of originality, of completing a new manuscript and being it's author, but through Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, Hello, the Roses,
If matter is trapped light, by seeing yellow flowers you restructure molecules and you're not a solid.
and it is all pulled in through color as a structure for a book of poems/experimental prose and a way to make sense of being in Flordacana, arising thanks to Bhanu and Kapil Muni, but also so many others.
the colors are not so much colors, as currents, where i am as coordinate making arcs wiht other coordinates.
grouped as they might be known, according to the standard spectrum (Arco Iris is not just a Cuban-Chinese restaurant in West Tampa, but a profusion), ROYGBIV, a kind of rough Dewey decimal system for pointing to presence. as in, for instance, the first two--it is not that red isn't vital or in there, but is not the way it is usually most available to me.
the colors are: bonecream limestone, pink, anaranjado, citrine, tannic, verde que te, in pools, storm/bldg., noche, estrella. the book, or the process as documented, is hopefully, coming all the way through soon.
("Shrimp must look very sexy to other shrimp...because they are just giant muscles, flexing around the sea.", in which Artie Glove contracts his bare and noodly torso once, minutely, for emphasis, before resuming the task of delicately peeling the tail.)
without me needing to explain the urgency for a collaging space, Welo set about wrestling this corkbaord into the concrete walls with great vigor, wearing a fab ultra coral shirt at that.
because of contrails, I could pull it in as neon sherbet or hot peach, as in mess, but that was not quite accurate.
