As heart of a waitress, but in air. As a take-off, landing, a journey anywhere, like an ad. Heart of a passenger with a mission of moving ahead going somewhere and coming back, a plan to leave. An experience, something that is more fun, enjoyable, would be enjoyable to remember. It is a beat, a calling, a seduction, a vacation, a job, moving of a body and mind. It takes a lot to make that beating of a heart as it continues, on and on, and why the muscle hits with the rhythm of the same, with pace of similar but individual. We recognize it and think we know it. Beat of choosing, pushing the button of a destination on computer screen. Palm trees and going there, arriving there, exploring it there, learning it. Having a good time there.
Heart as warmth, a symbol of love and strength, a warm bloody gushy sounding organ inside her makes you vomit, it is so profoundly familiar and too close, kindness and hospitality, a smile on her and the blood. For passengers to ask for help, to place trust upon as you paid for it, someone to count on to bring a blanket. Moving on with a cart with drinks and snacks. Sitting down to rest her feet. Hearts of many air hostesses moving back and forth on passages in the air to take care of passengers.
art
Accuracy of breathing
Holding breath, inhaling as deeply as I can, holding breath, exhaling through my nose as I think how I breathe, as I think I know how to breathe and where breath goes, what does it do, what is in breath, the quantity of air near me, the quality of air pulled and pushed, moved, circulated fresh, used, in the air that I must have in me that it is not just Oxygen, but Carbon dioxide, Nitrogen, Argon, water, Neon, Methane plus pollution. I don’t have to know the technique of breathing, but I can develop better at breathing and I can think what is it I pull in my lungs, in my cells and my blood. How what I have been breathing becomes me, how it can be measured and calculated and what it can tell about me as an organism, an individual and a human. How many times I breathe when I do not think about it, how long can I hold my breath, how long can I run without losing breath.
Things that breathe has, people and animals having breath, breath entails, it hides, breath that smells, breath that has speed reveals us, keeps us living as parts of this world breathing particles of the atmosphere. Vapor of breath in cold weather, heavy breath. I have to puffer and blow to make a visible steamy mark in the air, something I like doing. World is under breath, we are under breath, us breathing, under a breathing monster with big vicious looking mouth that we fear, many monsters with mouths channeling air and lungs breathing the same gas. To end up in a mouth of a monster is like being connected and disconnected repeatedly. The contradiction as we think the hugeness of a monster when it is in the little particles in the air. The thought that there is a monster, where is it and what is it like.
There is no danger, no hurry in breathing. There is this relaxed moment of having unconscious movement of lungs, me observing my body doing its thing, keeping me alive, realizing its nature, my nature. The many times I breathe per minute and how short a time it is that I lose my consciousness if I cannot have a breath.
Not adopting any method to be faster, not adjusting myself according to what is, but still I am.
drop something, pick it up
drop something, pick it up
drop something, pick it up
turn the lock, open the door
turn the lock, open the door
turn the lock, open the door
move the chair, sit on it
move the chair, sit on it
move the chair, sit on it
sit on a chair, straighten your back
sit on a chair, straighten your back
sit on a chair, straighten your back
do it backwards, open your mouth
do it backwards, think about your mouth
do it backwards, show me your tongue
When all one can do is to create. That is quite much, the urge to create, have an idea and act upon it despite whether the urge is melancholy or not, despite the pressure there may be, despite does someone else like it or not.
Woman.
Dark side gets darker.
As long as feminism is spoken and addressed by middle class only it has value of marginal jargon. Academic talk does not reach those whom it should benefit, whom feminism was made to benefit. That is the drawback of academic philosophizing and towering. Meaning of ideas and core of any worth while idea is in action. Value of feminism is how well it functions in every day, for every person and makes the grass root. How well it manifests itself there where people interact with each other. Without action feminism is dead. If people are afraid of feminists, of declaring feminism, being feminists, good question is why so. To deny feminism is to deny human rights from women. Why feminism has become ’unfashionable’? Women who fight for their human rights are unfashionable? We better change the fashion.
Being a good sport and playing it safe do not make the wanted effect. Revolution is in action. To play it safe is what academia does. Talk is not trustworthy enough, it is not good enough. People who play it safe are not trustworthy. Universities do not risk finance, reputation, status, jobs nor continuation of academia as it is for ideological fight.
To take action for what one believes in and most of the society does not is putting all at risk. Nothing will change unless we take such risks.
Without her she gets made, a kind of other, malformation of sex. She needs persona and identity of her own. What does she make of herself, of this lot? Out of these forms of hers. She must build herself.
Character of mist that makes you feel cold inside. Her reputation precedes her, irregular person, despicable. She is what you heard, you think. What you made of her in your mind via your and other people’s speech. Isn’t she. Talk works like clay. Story of her could be continued in this way unless she would not act for her defense. Get that clay into her own hands. She needs herself to oppose, resist and defend herself. Nobody else does it. Nobody else is interested in her life. Her life what it really is, what she really is like and able to do. Her reality is not interesting to anybody but herself, she lives it, not you and makes it interesting. She makes her life even there is discouragement, contempt, laughter, ill talk, threat, there is so little faith in her that it is unbelievable and unbearable. To accept passively what goes on and on, because others accept it, it suits them and they say there is nothing one can do, for her it is not an option. That is her exceptional quality, active resistance, energy of hers.
Evaluations, descriptions, adjectives, measurements and comparisons, faults, flaws, drawbacks. Qualities we need. Qualities we have made us and what are they worth, how do qualities change. We imagine, make, consume and refine ourselves.
She is not right. Characteristics that is stated as a fact without further evidence than hearsay. Demonizing her to people who listen. Who asked about her. Without her she gets made. As if she died. Character of mist that makes you feel cold inside. Is this the same world we inhabit? You speak of me, but you do not confront me nor speak to me. How little respect there is, how little trust. She is what you heard as a fact. To think otherwise would be unthinkable. Thinkable pleasure, envious joy of dragging her down speaks mountains. She is not right.
She is not right. To kill is to entertain. It is to better yourself. To paint a picture of malicious woman is to draw a separating line. Pointing her out from above, from a distance, from acclaimed perfection, from accepted shameless perfection undeniable.
To know her is to say what she is. She is loud, she is noisy, she is quiet, she is broken, she is tense, she is irrational, she is shameless, she is lost, she is dead.
Sentence, a punishment
Out of focus, to a point. There is a visible image, but you can see structure of particles that image consists of. It is an unacceptable error in a world of HD. The more high definition we have the more we need it, because we need to see exactly into things, insides of things pictured via perfecting a two-dimensional object which is a photograph in where things are captured in a moment. With all the high definition and looking Still we live in not understanding, in unawareness, looking at a grainy image and feeling inadequate. Distinction, originality and touch of professionalism must be there to function as proof.
Strength of Poetry now
It is as if poets have vanished. Vanished into an old world making way to ’progress’ and ’development’. In need of being an absolute professional poetry is in distress. In desperate need of stating total professionalism a poet is something incomprehensible (how do you make a living. Do you get paid for what you do?), because anything else than professional money-making is ridiculous. Same goes for fine artist of course, but it is obviously more rare to be a poet. It takes something else. To say I am a poet and publish my work online is a hobbyist way unless one makes money. I personally resent the idea of professionalism since my professionalism has been under suspicion always, whatever I did, whatever position I had. It is not enough, never enough. At worst it is nothing, my art is not art and there is always a consultant telling how to make things so that I would be convincing to those who need to be convinced. To be an artist, a female standing alone and do art, should be finding a role of a saleswoman, advertiser, entertainer and please. Poetry to me represents the opposite of that role. I don’t have to please in any way. That is what I am set to do. I enjoy the marginal outsider position for that reason. That is freedom. Professionalism as such is not something of a goal at all. That itself is a flawed way of seeing making art.
Strength of poetry now is to break the need for absolute professionalism, to disturb a search for stability and getting entertainment to keep politics, activism, feelings and other distresses aside and away, to absolutely jeopardize contemporary consciousness and threat the norms. To question the mindset of absolute money-making machinery, ideology of winning, the exceptional of it, smugness of it. To bring anarchy into writing in the net, to making art altogether. To question the ways of making and why make.
Even within the fine arts it is not self-evident there is interest or knowledge over poetry. It is somehow below the image, below the hype and contemporary ’self-evident’ excellence of educated and notified skill and talent.
http://www.cprw.com/stalking-the-typical-poem
When I tell people I teach and – God help me – even write poetry, they often say, “I wish you could explain modern poetry to me. I just don’t understand most of it.”
Majakollektiivi Timanttimetsä 