I started watching this semi-excruciating flying movie with Gwyneth Paltrow as starry-eyed wannabe air hostess simply because I wanted to imagine being in the sky hard knowing it was the way to ugh you know it. My heart simply was a necessary flying. I didn’t want to claim its property, almost too light to hold kind of beating against a pale blue membrane. Every single version of ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’ is correct. I went to bed and flew each night and woke up not having landed, not quite. Flit. Thinking my bonnie my bonnie my bed my boy my bonnie my bed.
There are these fistfuls of infinity berries that go like: because it’s true / we can afford them. Squishfruits fell out of my fridge from weeks ago.
I can’t remember my dreams any more. Did I give up their supplement to pay other attentions?
The carbon credit was to be discarded because I had really grown wings and could fly (more luridly than ever before).
Twas a lullaby we learned when young in our bones enough to know. I felt then the only thing that could do as was true must have been classical, dishevelled and charming in its way of upsetting the absolute. I knew nothing of where I was and only looked at those kids old enough to know their way out. Which is why I accepted their gentle gifts of Glen’s and cigarettes. One single grain of salt worth a beach. I took home from the autocorrect gone. Gone home. I’m gone. Home. Home and gone and away like the here/there sculpture of Berkeley that Sophia kindly explained to me.
Home could be in two big places. It was a compact piece of shell I once licked as a way to the heart. Having wanted to do this for days, like walking by Golden Sardine and thinking “do I want a glass of wine of my heart”
iridesce!
What did I scheme of that?
I partook in rose accelerants and knew
anhedonia be gone
fred said after the Bulb reading that they wanted to blurb my next book like “Maria is Tom Raworth for girlies” so I guess I need to have a next book pretty soon
I read that poem about ‘The Hungry Tree’ thanks to Laurie for telling me about that tree and for the aweful people of tripadvisor who gave forth their opining
“Sorry for being so lovesick at the residency”
We need to have more places to collect in public. They are a currency of summer. O look this berry. You missed a spot. The fact that you can acquire them here in winter is at considerable cost. Cloudberries. An idea. Coffee.
Add them to the celestial smoothie bowl. It’s our Californian version of the famous porridge. If you know you know. girl & boy variety of blueberries
Sydney would eat the whole world anything
Elliott Smith – sweet adeline.mp3
In my new lilac gingham notebook a gift from Sophie I want to write ONLY VISIONARY THINGS.
Magnesium supplements and chasteberry and a stranger recites the phrase lapis lazuli ~
There was everything new. I assembled a plain white table and chairs. My wrists hurt from screwing. I bought a new glitter shell plastic phone case because I had this new relationship to my phone: it was the ocean’s telecommunique, bearer of heart swells, bigger than it really was in my hand the size of an almost sexual distance
so amazed at how it had lifted
‘A kiss on the eyes—lifts sleeplessness.
I kiss your eyes.’ – Marina Tsvetaeva
speech acts for touch
the bubbles Claire said beware they are so sticky and she was right they had like a latex tendency to pop in your hair a trace viscosity sort of like synthesised insects
is this true fat or water fat? i pinch myself to stay alive
do you say hello to your demons?
that lady I saw on Buchanan Street with the midlands accent wearing lavender and the flop-haired boy texting from outside the station and the nerds with flirt rucksacks holding a kissingness close to their knees or their memes I kept taking the wrong direction
looking for nessie
how could I feel so light while carrying around this diamond!
wee boy on the bus poking a glowstick into his eye
decided the new subways are terribly designed. makes me feel sick ricochet. quiet, but where to put my my hands when I want to clutch the overhead and pretend I am flying
else
stoned and assembling furniture
I found myself adding spirulina to miso soup and eating smoked cheese and strawberries and this spirulina miso all the while listening to Anne Waldman read at the Poetry Project my little ears prick up when she says cinders
and also i like her phrase ‘elders of softer places’
can you please try to unzip this?
i am enamoured by what’s in my email
blessing misspelling
I need to go to Helensburgh
run along the beach with dogs
keep talking to me in the wrong direction
it’s not a poem it’s
a poem poem
the total surf
‘No daylight comet ever breaks
On so sweet an archipelago’ – W. S. Graham
∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷ ∵∴∷
The new Cloud Nothings album, just enough screamo, did I put them in a poem once for their namesake seemingly when I was crying on the way to Los Angeles next to the tween who was obsessed with clouds, taking pictures of their pastel alacrity and even when the air hostess told her close the window blind she put it up again — just one more photo of the seraphic peach cobbler please miss!
I’ll go listen to pop. Diagnosed with variable tenses. The citational declarative we discussed in class like no single I love you is the same as before except decorated with echoes of the rest it might mean more?
(That pale blue-green exchange and the typing indicator) I kept clutching my phone to my breast in an ecstasy comparable to those eighteenth-century wenches in total novel love, why not
∵∴∷ ∵∴∷
After six years, A+E Collective are going on a soft dissolve. Ane, Finn and Lucy (and formerly Marie) have been my comrades in thinking ecologically all of this time and beyond. We have spent afternoons agonising at riso and lying on the heated floor of the Lighthouse easing cramps to make work, marathons in cold studios and performing,
performing,
the first time I did something for them was in 2018, that sound poem I composed with Vas and what they invited me to do was to think about all of this hot hot world anxiety at the level of the daily and so by design we’d gently invite others to do so, it was the year of the IPCC and my phd and the year I lost a lot of innocence it’s fine, hi Greta (Ane spotted her on the scotrail at COP26, eating a meal deal) the year after that something sweetened and I started to know what language was capable of being its only loving thing accordant to living but is that enough? for a while I lived on saltwater crushes
nothing planetary at all about that except
who would go on living?
People thought we meant the accident and emergency and in a way we would incubate the waiting room of our lives to make this work. Don’t be worried, I’d say, be a whirlfriend to someone. Once it was everyone. I learned so much from these artists about how to collaborate truthfully like in the service of radical listening to move things very intentionally around the page, to look at art, to show up for stuff because you never know how it might change you, or the conditions for who you are. We ventriloquised the fly agaric and made a film about the special Mull sand that was also found on Mars and we tried to make it all about the more-than-human but we couldn’t erase the little shadow of Marie in the reeds.
∵∴∷
keep thinking about the katie dey song and the refrain about losing specialness, specialness
I wanna go to victoria’s secret bombshell isle
saying it’s the bomb because I spent a week that way
chairs are beautiful even when we don’t sit on them
sorta miss working from bed
the load perfume of anomaly
now the air smells of sparkling pears
mariaology 