Read this at Goddard open reading a couple weeks ago. What a place. What people and their work. A reminder about making, about putting work out there, about messiness and connection and the importance of sharing art even (especially) when I have no idea what it will mean to anyone besides me. Thanks Erin for reminding me- here it is :)
June 15, 2015
Tonight I gave myself the heimlech while naked, thrown over the back of a chair (having aspirated somehow a tincture, magic I tried to slip under my tongue to make up for the long nights of searching for self instead of sleep.) I had just stepped out of the shower.
Suddenly where time for decisions about asking for help and the utter vulnerability of skin was once endless, or nearly so, I suddenly found only thirty seconds between myself and the finite convulsion of lungs
If the chair had not worked (and as it was I had to go back twice, twice I could not breathe the slightest) If the chair had not worked I would have run onto the porch naked and hammered on the neighbors door in the moth-bitten light of cool June, and someone maybe would have wrapped their arms around me so I could have air again.
The absurdity of this situation strikes me like the absurdity of all need, how I have wanted for months to slide closer to the idea of your arms wrapped around me, how I have therefore run in the oppostie direction, thinking time is endless, thinking there will be another day, later, when it’s safer, to clamor onto the stark exposure of porchsteps at night, to splay myself, epidermis and heart showing, begging give me air give me air give me air.