smudging halts erosion

pleasure mechanics

Notes I took today from LA Warman's workshop "Writing the Erotic Body", enlarge image to see clearly






Uses of the Erotic, Audre Lorde


Screenshot excerpt of an anonymous group writing exercise we did

some communication styles are not communication they are just...punishment. 

malarkey.biz

the most defensive person you have ever met . ?

sheer lining by the window w/o a screen, Tabby says she prefers a slow burn .
more people need to tell me what they prefer.

Tell me how you want it . 

I would like to perform the Mayer writing experiments w/you .

Tuesday tastes good but Wednesday I am afucking saint

listening to Ariel Pink and finding my own command . Feed me your fears

I want to end this pain, right here

I am turned by tendrils adrift . Some people really do prefer a life in quarantine, some peoples lives have barely shifted . 

Judith told me she missed me after I showed her how to do the Pelosi clap back

Defense as a form of survival . Trying to be good in our tacit agreement but what's the difference in standing your ground . forming an opinion / defense

CD stood his ground

Shirt said "take me Im yours"

Hours of practicing my sighing lies ahead 

Men just want one thing and it's disgusting: videos of me jumping on my trampoline

JFC!!! K wrote me a really good poem, it's not the move tho, no I cannot bare it
"What are years?" I hope his niece never learns what years are. I regret learning about years .

I will always choose flames over diplomacy

Sure bets usually bad biz


Suzanne Buffam

my friend Maren's work

thedustspeaks.net 

You handed me a pillow after I handed you a problem
Reflect, if you can
The most unreasonable relic of our time
The most romantic gift being time
On the cavalcade of moments 
That relieved you of your jazz
How long can gravel stay on fingernail beds
How long does a tick have to suck 
In order to get a rise. I have come to see
My private ego is of no consequence 
Language keeps butting in my pilgrimage 
To the center of silence 

last few days

"Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed" -Emily Dickinson

I'm a success if no one puts me down nor envy rears its ugly head.

Plot twist: They are asking if we rather do our thesis in the fall (presumably online) and then have the Spring semester to resume class as normal. Usually its the opposite. This new proposed format doesn't make much sense to me. Everyday a new normal I have to grapple with. 

I am picking black tar from nails and I'm thinking how the sun makes my skin smell. I pace on the rooftop, jumbling my words and feeling myself grow sterner and sterner. I feel like a fool but I'm having fun.

I think about what Katie said about how perhaps this relationship will be the best one I have yet because I've had time to mature and learn from the past. If I may, if I'm allowed I--

I feel like taking a bit of shrooms but it's detox week and I don't know if that's allowed. 

Jo and I traded mixes and responded to one another via our blogs, it feels like we are adolescents and it's 2003 again. 

People say navel-gazing like it's a bad thing. I would suggest Kathleen Stewart's, Ordinary Affects, does a fair amount of this but it's for a reason. The reason being that form follows function, transient thinking calls for hybridity thus transient vignettes. It’s being in tune without getting involved. A light contact zone that rests on a thin layer of shared collective experiences.

She writes:  
"A fantasy that life can be somehow seamless and that we’re in the know, in the loop, not duped. That nothing will happen to us, and nothing we do will have real consequences – nothing that can’t be fixed, anyway.

The experience of being “in the mainstream” is like a flotation device."

it feels twee to talk about myself during the pandemic

as a patient in Lacanian psychoanalysis we are taught that non sequiters (sp?) don't exist. That the mind knows exactly what associations to make even if words can feel disparate. In half slumber you mentioned wanting space ,something you haven't said to me in waking life. We are also taught that our dreams are a place where we lose control where our mind freely associates. When I asked you about what you said in your sleep you claimed I was talking to you and not the other way around. I felt stumped, baffled and humored at ones ability to even gaslight during half slumber. It bothered me throughout the night. I didn't sleep well. Do arguments prove we are not the same?

We end up talking to ourselves.

I'm lacking grounding lately and I suppose its a stage of grief, I'm mourning the "myth of certainty".

I don't mind our differences but I wonder if you do. I've become increasingly weary at the notion that perhaps I am moving too fast, saying yes too fast, going through the motions with little agency. My rhetoric being "well, why not?". I want to pull back and see what I'm working with, what I'm doing though it feels like nothing recently.

Sally and I caught our third mouse. I want to be a cat mom again.
Again, I'm not sure if I'm being impulsive. I want to care for something, I want to be needed again.

I realized it's the first time in years where no one needs me. I'm not even sure if I need me.

On your couch I told you about my incessant tiny void.

Before going to bed we told each other ghost stories.

sometimes I wonder if sex is my only magic