∆recorded 18.2.18 states of self. None anticipation. Trust. This is what I need to do to trust to love to feel to exist. This and the space in between this and dance and wake and sleep and fuck and cry and eat and shit and piss and touch and trust the space within me, the space in front of me, the space within you it is all the same I am both the waterdrop and the ripple radiating outward ∆recorded 19.2.18 shedding to move more freely, more consciously, with more curiosity. Feeling I am in the forest canopy, morning sun warms my snake body. A stem heavy with orchids bobs under the weight of its iridescent petals. I am inside though, the stem is still, the trees beyond my window maintain a subtle sway ∆recorded 20.2.18 a kink in my back and an inner weight that will not drop. A resulting desire to stretch out on floorboards, cat-esq in that pool of sun. Willing the honey light to stand still and patient on my skin. Will never stopped celestial bodies though. So I climb down and plan this day’s inchworm-journey, east to west ∆recorded 21.2.18 i watched the inchworm-journey of a sunbeam through tunnel-vision of anger and fear. I was a runaway horse you fought to mount and mend. I will always refuse the bridle unless I place it on myself, even as I canter off a cliff. You will find me in a meadow though, calmed and eating wildflowers, and I will lie down to look you in the eye. I will offer you my trust if you do not chase me when I run ∆recorded 22.2.18 mind mussed with money matters draining this day of beauty. Then I notice how the water in your glass vibrates with the bass and with your voice, and I am reminded that the effort to uncover inspiration and love is, each and every time, worthy of the labor ∆recorded 23.2.18 sun keeps returning | enticing me to skip out | into a cold blast ∆recorded 24.2.18 an end a beginning, one door closes another opens, so the sayings go. I am in the door jam, in limbo, the unsure, the in between, neither here nor there. Now, only now, just now, now or never ∆recorded 25.2.18 tried to slip into my shadow. But she scampered ahead, reappearing, tall and flat and always just out of reach. I want to recognize my needs and move from a place of consciousness, not reaction. Such a simple and personal task, to know oneself, to understand one’s needs. Yet this task, time and time again, feels like the shadow of a mountain, drifting on a cloud ∆recorded 27.2.18 this night’s air, a blade | shaving skin off my forehead | cold has been sharpened ∆recorded 1.3.18 a new space to live | space to breath, to play, to love | Ali and Mal move south ∆recorded 2.3.18 putting things in place | stuff piles up and over | I forgot myself ∆recorded 3.3.18 pivoting on the needle point of alone and communal. Who are these people who surround me? Who is this ‘me’ who surrounds the ‘I’? Never sure and satisfied. Never safe and secure ∆recorded 4.3.18 i was dropped out of a web of sound today and it was perfection. Thank you to the spider who wove that web. I have not laughed so joyously in a long time. Thank you to the partner who is teaching me to trust. I sank into myself and experienced beauty and love. Thank you for giving yourself the time and focus you needed ∆recorded 6.3.18 Focus on the space | Before me or inside | Taking conscious care ∆recorded 7.3.18 A gray day’s crescendo is imperceivable. No shadows slithering on floor boards. A flat clear light shifts from warm to cool. Noon snuck by without commiseration though I am grateful for the uninterrupted hours ∆recorded 8.3.18 Neanderthals turned to the cave walls, brought the dirt beneath their feet up to eye level. They equally relished in the cool and gritty sensation under nails, as in the images which were forming from the tips of those fingers. They smiled as the brown slime dried to a warm yellow, and one began to swirl fingers and form a large orb. Smiles grew wider. The orb outside had not shown itself for days. Water fell and fell and fell. Now they had their own orb inside the cave and it became more yellow with the fire’s dance. Waiting for the water to stop falling turned into a time of closeness in the cave. For moving dirt onto the walls. A time for touch and searching for touch that created smiles ∆recorded 9.3.18 Building up the courage and confidence to ask for what I need feels like preparing for battle, feels like bracing myself at the beginning of a race. Anxiety, fear, doubt. There are no beautiful metaphors I can attach to this state ∆recorded 12.3.18 I dreamt of beached whales. My mother and I stood on a spit of sand, waves rushing toward us from three directions. Masses of carcasses began to plummet the the sand, their weight resounding like a low drum. The tide came in and we were on an island of death. The rubber-like skin and fat and muscle was flung at us, into us, by an ocean taken by its rage. I knew the whale bellies were swollen with plastic. I knew we deserved this flogging. The sand pulled away from me and the water pummeled over me. I gave up and was sucked into the surf which was more whale bodies than water, and they beat me with their ugliness and I surrendered to my ugliness ∆recorded 13.3.18 I need to be the mirror of what I wish to be met with. Kind. Open. Trusting. Loving. I want to be the mirror of what I wish to be met with. I meditate on Nikki, her nature. She left us almost twenty years ago. I can carry her in me. I can find her. I can be her. Kind. Open. Trusting. Loving ∆recorded 14.3.18 Testing new ground, treading new waters. Floating and feeling full of trust ∆recorded 15.3.18 Dreamt of a red dress. Dreamt of an old friend. Through my dream, another time and place settled like frost in the night, on to Berlin. And her voice followed me through the day, echoing back from our Boston studio, echoing back from ten years. And her songs are in my mind, and her voice is in my chest. Time and place collapse and I am grateful for the experiences which I carry in me, always ∆recorded 16.3.18 Communal sweating | With voice you lead our bodies | Deep into themselves ∆recorded 17.3.18 I wrote of trust days ago, I wrote in trust days ago. To myself. Today I shared. Today I share. ∆recorded 15.3.18 With a pink tipped pen | I sprinkle words on Berlin | Fairydust of Trust ∆recorded 18.3.18 I gave the energy. I initiated a wave. There will be a receiving and a transformation of this energy. And I will and I must accept the retuning wave. As it always is, irrelevant to our desire, the opposite and equal reaction ∆recorded 19.3.18 The taste of water, is bountiful and beautiful, for me. It is not a source of pain or worry. The taste of water, on my face, in my nose, is delicious. The glaciers melt, the oceans rise, the rains cry. We poison our sweat, our salivations, our seas, ourselves. The search and the wars for delicious will arrive, unless we come together, to protect her delicious, her waters.
∆recorded 20.3.18 Testing the waters. Stretching my hands. Settling into the idea of making again. Reaching for the needle and thread. Turning toward my body for inspiration. It has always been here, my most constant subject. Until it is gone, but then, I am gone too ∆recorded 21.3.18 Attempting to write. The story is in a state of fragmentation. Like plankton rising to the sea’s surface, countless bodies are drifting with the current. Too many to comprehend their numbers. Too grotesque in their individual forms. Attempting to write. I must entice my attention away from the details and simultaneously emerse my mind. Into the frigid water I plunge, into my story I plunge, and I know it will glow with my presence. I, and the story, and the sea, and the ancient creatures, we will paint neon swirls in the night ∆recorded 22.3.18 We’re all imperfect | And it will all be alright | Forgive yourself first ∆recorded 23.3.18 You spit out your hate | In the face of difference | I spit it right back - There is no room here | In Berlin for ugliness | The kind fed by fear ∆recorded 25.3.18 The whirlwind of input and inspiration. Not clear, not aware, not really concerned with where reality ends and my interpretations begin. A positive feedback of magic and sorcery ∆recorded 31.3.18 Do the work, I remind myself, this morning, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. It is never ending. Pick up the mirror. Be inquisitive, be kind, be patient. Do the work to love myself. I think only then do I have the capacity to others ∆ recorded 1.4.18 Slow motion functions better than high speed. For me. Caffeine and any uppers beyond, get me in trouble. Water droplets sluggishly slip down the window pane and in the distance snow and rain scurry in vertical queues. We all move toward the dirt, one way or another, forced or chosen ∆recorded 3.4.18 I write and I am isolated in a world of invented strings of letters attempting to translate emotion into words, attempting to transfer my reality beyond my mind. And I miss the sunbeams growing stronger beyond this screen. I hear a ticking. I wonder why a clock has only now began turning its gears. I stop interacting only with myself. I look up to see rich green leaves bathed in light. Both an intensifying of color and a washing out of color. A solar powered owl is sitting in a sunbeam. Two spheres of plastic are clicking away. Little plastic wings bob up and down and little plastic ear tufts bob side to side. It doesn't know it is nocturnal ∆recorded 4.4.18 I thrust my vision | On external surfaces | Today into skin ∆recorded 5.4.18 A conversation that acts as a mirror, that acts as a catalyst. A reminder we are all fretting, trying, trusting, growing. And that we can find this process, this state, this now, either beautiful or terrifying. Or I guess, mundane. Though I happily haven’t been there in a while ∆recorded 6.4.18 Failing to find peace | I turn my mind to my needs | In turn hurting you ∆recorded 8.4.18 States of self, each of us a shifting sand dune, not just me. I knew you. I did not search out the space to see through your eyes though. To feel through your body. I imagined how I would feel, in your position. Not how you might feel in your position. They have burst open | A clenched fist succumbs to peace | Buds transform to blooms ∆recorded 10.4.18 In my sleep, you climb into my throat, sneaking into the bed under a guise of cold sweats. You know if you can plant that seed, it will flourish under my current condition. It will reach deep roots first, into my stomach and then the heart and when I open my mouth a black gripping vine with barbed leaves will have poisoned my tongue. I wake to split path waiting before me and do not hesitate as I walk away from you, from fear ∆recorded 13.4.18 Treading softly forward. Surprised at the ease of movement in the absence of fear. Does the beast sleep or has it been slain? ∆recorded 17.4.18 The beast is never slain. It must be killed or coerced or sedated every single day. Every single choice. Every single splitting of the pathway. And then there are the times when others feed the beast, rouse it, edge it on. Exhausted, I beat myself so I can feel the pain I can not name. So I can look at it. Self inflicted or otherwise, pain is an ugly slobbering worm ready to burrow with the seed of hate ∆recorded 18.4.18 I have negative fantasies and I indulge in the emotions of anger and righteousness through them. How someone will let me down and hurt me, I figure it all out, and expectantly wait for reality to follow suit. I enter the present having already been disappointed by it. I want to shift this habit. Desire is the first step. I want to create positive fantasies. To indulge in the emotions of joy and gratitude. To enter the present with openness, hope, and with a hunger for reality ∆recorded 24.4.18 The external world moves fast and pushes in on me. I hurt myself when I try to keep up. In response I aim to slow down, to expand the space around me, to create an equilibrium. Before moving, before reacting, before speaking, I pull the air in. I pull it down through my lungs, into my stomach and hips, down each leg, into the ankles and the long bones of my feet, all the way to my toe nails. And only then and there, I release the pull, release the effort, release the air back through my body. And the air returns along the path I have initiated, departing through my nose. By utilization my own inner expanse I form a bubble before me, that I might move into, with words or with action, with consciousness and at my own speed ∆recorded 30.4.18 Nothing is flowing naturally today. It is as if I hiccup each time I try to speak, or trip each time I try to walk. Am I not listening or seeing? Do I have too many expectations? Feeling clumsy and a little lost. That is not so bad I suppose ∆recorded 1.5.18 I was trying to | Fit you into a story. | But the story changed - As it always does, | From this moment to the next. | So I stop trying, - But staying so still | Continually leads me | To isolation. - Leads me to myself | Telling my stories, dancing | On the edge of now ∆recorded 15.5.18 These lines no longer | Suffice. Drawings are dead to | Me. My mind and hand - Reject their nature. | Representation for me | Is a pointless act. - I’ll write dripping words. | Vinegar or honey to | Lick from my fingers. - I’ll breastfeed you thoughts. | Paint my anguish and pleasure | Without your colors. - Spoon feed you baby, | So you can feel each morsel | Of sugar dissolve - On that moist tongue of | Yours, salivating for my | Imagination. - I’ll make you wet and | hard and so full you will cry, | Pleading me for more. - You invite me in, | To your mind, stomach, and chest, | And there we learn trust. - Because I enter | Only with consent, I ask | If you will read me ∆recorded 18.5.18 Faultless poisoned fangs | The snake coiled within | Every throbbing heart ∆recorded 21.5.18 Oil my own body | Engage in a ritual | From and for myself ∆recorded 3.5.18 You don’t know what this • Body can be when freed from • Expectations’ cage (around 8 hours later..) No I’ll never kill • My darlings dear. I’ll plant them • Alongside my fears ∆recorded 27.5.18 Why does she take so • Long in the bathroom each day • Before we can leave? | Doing herself up • Getting pretty getting hot • Getting beautiful | Soft shiny skinny • Voluptuous lips hips ass • Tall tight perky pink | Hairless legs armpits • Upper lip chin pussy ass • Wrinkle free happy | She’s hiding from you • And the mirror that’s never • Satisfied with her | Behind the door she ¨• Hides from society’s hate • Capitalism | She touches places • That she loves and sees beauty • In her true body ∆recorded 31.5.18 I asked for healing • She said “I need to take care • of me”. Her healing | Is passed, a baton • of knowledge. No chance for peace • Without inner peace. ∆recorded 6.6.18 A lone tent along • The Spree. A lone man along • The tracks. A lone me | Watching from this train. • Their presence gives me strange hope. • Lone hound’s silent howls. ∆recorded 20.6.18 A field which smells of • Childhood. Another country. • Nature’s same decay | The sand of marshes • Finds its way into my shoes • I’m drawn time again | To wander and roam • About these wild gardens just • Beyond my home’s door |– Drag queen on the bench • Glad to be back in Berlin • With my darling weirds | I went north looking • For what? I forgot south is • Where my moon’s at now | Back south of the Spree • See the dance diversity • Drag queen’s made new friends | Three freckles, three birds • On and outside this body • Dissolves as I watch | Differences shift • Into patterns are revealed • When membranes, borders fall | As I walk from sun • Beams into trees sweet shadow • Neither hinder me | And here in the core • An ecosystem, garden • Built, kept by man | I orientate • Toward earth moon sun sky, body • Reaching and touching | I feel and follow • Muscles and pumping heart, breath • Moving air reveals | The negative space • Blue atmosphere framed by white • Vapor, swirling | Cycle of exchange • Of energy. I’m my core • And each is but one |– Upon my return • Through taking a new path • I discover a | New world was waiting • Just beyond the oldest trees • Buds, beings to meet | A stoop to sit on • A corner to rest against • While inspiration | Spills over, into • My hungry eyes, thirsting heart • Out this mouth and hand | For I whisper as • I tell these tales to paper • Pen scratching of love | And I laugh as I • Realize Black Hole has pulled • Me in again. Mind lags | Behind body breath, • Heart swinging feet, this skin a • Vessel of balance | And those birds, the ones • That collect shiny things and sing • Other’s songs, follow | Me through this city • Even though I’ve nearly cut • All ties to that life | I lived before, that • Beautiful human, that role • I did believe in, | In that time and place • When half of my desire • Lay under a rug | Dust collecting on • Shame moldy with self hate, they • Suffocated in | My youth, I could love • You, just not myself, my own • Sexuality |– And I find myself • Atop one of eighteen stones • Perched to watch sunset | After a days path • From South to North to South to • Lead me home into | Myself, my now is • A solitary journey • The only one the | Only thing I pull • With this mind is this body • A constant vessel | And tool and toy, but • Not solitary. Nature • Pulls, gravity dance | I do, meeting yous • Along the way, silhouettes • Watching the star set.∆recorded 21.6.18 Berlinisch solstice • Wouldn’t be complete without • Some black, clouds pissing | On us and pissing • Us off just enough so we’ll • Dance even harder! | Dance the pain away! • Stomp the brain switch, off the mind’s • Persistent pushing, | Our boundaries. No you • Are not entitled to my • Cunt nor my self worth! | Just in the nick of • Time, keeps dancing as do I. • Meet you at sunset! |– We danced and missed the • Star sinking and darling moon • Has floated up high | Before we emerged • Out of red embers, between • Anxious hips in bliss. | Before we emerged • Into new space, rhythm, each • Other in night air. ∆recorded 25.6.18 I notice mushrooms • Accompany this weather. • I notice beauty. | The growth so rapid, • A whole being comes to bloom • In a few days time. | I sit still on the • Damp grass, air emanating • A field of coolness. | I eliminate • My sense of sight to somehow • Concentrate on now. | To not look at the • Orange I am peeling, I • Suddenly feel the | Fruit so vibrantly. • Its oil misting my skin, • Its rind moving deep | Beneath fingernails. • Touch and sound move out of the • shadow. I perceive | Their colors emerge, • From gray tone to neon hues. • A new ritual | Facilitates my • Commitment to stillness, my • Trust in trust itself. ∆recorded 28.8.18 Each encounter holds • Potential. Collaborate • With moments. Make peace. |- A black hole appears • Before me. The space amongst • Thick June foliage. • It vibrates with the • Wind, edges always shifting, • Eating, collapsing | Into shadow’s core, • And illuminating contrast, • Foliage, color. | And my eyes shift back • To those named things the sun • Is reaching, telling | Me a story of • Leaves, stems, bark, trunk, tree, forest, • Lake with these human | Beautiful beings. • Sun reaching water’s surface, • Reflecting us all. ∆recorded 2.7.18 Time folds. I block the • Sun with my raised left foot and • Hear something fall from | A tree. Butterfly • Graces my thigh and waits as • I sit up to write | These words, these moments. • Tracing them before they melt • While all the while this | Butterfly holds on • To clover, turning toward me. • Pivot or sleep or | Fuck, just don’t get stuck • Capturing, hoarding, wanting • These moments before | You even feel them, • Taste them. Witness the world in • Butterfly’s wings, a | Tapestry. Blue gray • Gold orange black white. Two wings • Clasped together twitch | With wind, bounce clover, • Catch sun’s light then disappear • With a cloud. But how? | Close wings to become • Something new all together. • Another version. ∆recorded 4.7.18 ∆We held buttercups below our chins to reveal their yellow light which was cast upon our skin∆ ºIt is as if Iº Am thrust out of my bodyº In proximityº ºOf your certainty,º Intelligence, eloquence.º The things I wish toº ºBe, to resonate.º And so I lose my footingº And fall in your sea‘sº ºUndercurrent. Iº Lose my weight in salt water,º Lose my breath belowº ºYour surface. I wishº To choose to float or diveº Into your crashing waves.º ºI wish to emerseº Myself by choice, with love andº Trust, in your shallows.º ºTo lie down at theº Edge of your sea where waterº Explores me everº ºFurther. And sands shiftº Below, a response to bothº Of our presences. ∆recorded 9.7.18 ºOne ant keeps climbingº Up my bare leg as I sitº On this old airport.º ºGrass grows as high asº Childrens’ eyes, or mine, lookingº Out from this blanket,º ºFrom a spot I couldº Simply not have sat, it wasº Impossible someº ºYears before. This hereº Was forbidden to me, wasº Private, in conflict,º ºOccupied. I wasº Not allowed, though now it’s soº Simple, natural.º ºAs natural asº These wild flowers blooming nextº To sun bleached grasses.º ºAs natural asº This ant crossing onto myº Blanket, up my leg. ∆recorded 11.7.18 ºWhy don’t the birds singº In the rain? Do they listenº As well, to the songº ºOf the countless dropsº Which have no idea just howº Lovely they sound? Ohº ºTo be ignorant!º To be beyond even theº Ignorance of aº ºBird. Rather to beº That drop who does not evenº Know a tree which itº ºWaters. Who does notº Remember the cloud which itº Was, and which it broke.º ∆recorded 13-16.7.18 ºI head to the northº To dance under the moon’s spellº And with her echo.º ºThe things I carryº With me, feed me. No burdensº Are hitchhiking here.º º From a still, openº Mind, and with a free bodyº I swing in this now.º ºAcross parched fields,º Through flat white fog, toward a wideº Golden horizon.º ºInto spaces vastº And compact, I face habits,º Clear new pathways.º º Finding my centerº In an ignored, in-betweenº Space, where mixing soundsº ºCombine into newº Possible harmonies andº Passerbys slow downº ºTo relax in theº Calm. I witness resistanceº In us all, dissolve.º ºI am enticed throughº Tunnels where I float like slugsº Across a warm road.º ºBack to wheat waves, combedº Corn-silk hair of the wizardº Child within me,º ºWho always turns toº The sun, her angled rays strechº Back to my dancingº ºFeet, waking roots toº Join me in an upheaval,º To Take back my now.º ºHere, where thistle thornsº Are bursting with techno bloomsº Over fine poppies.º ºHere, this claybed seaº Where flocks of miniscule snailsº Float by wading legs.º ºHere, where robust snailsº Perch under pale tree’s shade.º One leaf spins in space.º ºAnd I know now, theº Leaf feels my beat, my body,º Its awakening.º ºAs the lapping seaº Reverberates with the train’sº Roll. No boundaries.º ∆recorded 8.8.18 ºOpen my bodyº To your deep bass howling ofº Raw desire don’tº ºWon’t let an oceanº Silence this energy buildsº Will crash smash their hateº ºWith naked skin loveº Is booming burning hotterº Dance feeds this fireº ºIn pumping hips heartsº Beat faster and sync up riseº This army of freaksº ºBeautiful in ourº Diversity of ways toº Be see move do knowº ºWe will uphold theº Rule respect each body asº If it were your ownº Skin melts merges borderlessº Beings when otherº ºBecomes obsoleteº Is the hateful hand holdingº A whip and chain nowº ºTools of pleasure whenº We give no space for egoº Snarls under feetº ºStomping out technoº Witches take flight from Berlinº Breaths revolutionº ∆recorded 31.8.18 My mother brought me to yoga and my mother brought me to this book of daily meditations. They are often just what I need to remember to choose positivity over skepticism, to choose love over fear. Today when I woke doubting my choices, the meditation gently reminds me that following my artistic path is exactly what I need to be doing, but more importantly that this path must be rooted in self love. The myth of the suffering artist must be expelled. We suffer because this society does not value creativity and expression without monetary compensation. Do not drown your voice, your perspective, in doubt, in booze, in fear. We need your voice just as much as you do. Diversity of the ways of understanding and experiencing are necessary for peace ∆27.10.18 upsidogi will drape-dance the harness. upsidogi has drape-danced the chain. upsidogi has done the upsidogi-dance without the chain and without the harness. with only upsidogi. upsidogi has scales. upsidogi sheds and grows scales. they are a part of her. she is a switch-shape-shifter. she feels humans stop-watch-learn upsidogi. she desires to wear-explore-know these scales with another switch-shape-shifter. upsidogi desires this human touch-hold-knowing. this part of upsidogi is lonely.