when you are deep in the act of becoming things have to continuously move

  1. tentacular* as an entry point:
    earthbound, creature-like, multi-aspectational, reaching out &
    feeling into holes, searching for newer connections, many-twisted
  2. an alternative to the lineal, patriarchal, polarised thinking that
    has dominated western ideology for centuries.
  3. every-direction slipperiness &
    weird thought-nurturing
  4. ‘what am i’ unless that i is itself,
    ambiguous? why be defined?
  5. less defined, more expansive, oceanic:
    more connected to all manner of odd things**
  6. i have been doing it already,
    been doing it in fact, since i was young
    refusing to be defined, though ‘wild’ &
    even that i see, is now an outmoded concept***
  7. i just was never able to put a name to it
    i have been moving from one tentacle to another
  8. the beauty of it
  9. because it does not have to make sense

*used extensively by Donna Haraway in her book ‘Staying With the Trouble: Making Kin in the Cthtulucene’.

**that is why my bio has been made for me by the predictive text on my phone. i have spent a long time with these devices & it is odd that i have yet to connect with their personalities. how comforting it is to know that they too, have a soul that speaks.

***for nothing can be said to be truly wild on this planet if it is being filtered through our naming of it.

in which i make a mistake so i can find my way back in again

there is a lot of trouble in this bag. there is ever such a lot of trouble.

the most urgent thing now is to stay with this trouble, stay with the mishmash of ideas that have been bubbling under the surface for so long.

but this is not like i can open up everything so that it explodes everywhere, no.

when i was a weaver, every piece of work i produced was under tension, it was under restriction. i could not apply bright areas of colour like a painter or twist swathes of fabric around a body like a fashion designer. the only thing i had at my disposal was a weft travelling across a vertical warp and that was it. there was always an underlying structure and formula that had to be followed or the fabric would have broken down. sometimes even this breaking down could be incorporated into the work but only within the confines of the original scaffolding. and even though the end product could be fantastical,

a bit like nature,

it was only the underlying coding that produced the endless and infinite variation. i was submerged in a world of code when i designed fabric;

/binary /on off /up down /in out /yes no. only that.

that is the lure of poetry. the restriction, the weaving of the weft, the infinite variety produced by the basic premise of words travelling across a blank page. writing poetry on a typewriter is even more creative; the human interacting with the machine. the coming together of two opposing elements under the guise of stamping characters to the page /up down /back forward /on off. writing that acquires one to be physical. that produces a physical result. typos are never autocorrected and therefore cannot be made invisible.

just like the quiet dropping of a single warp thread can alter the pattern of the work in such a subtle way.

navajo weavers made sure that every piece of cloth contained a mistake in order that it provide a way for the weaver to escape out of the work when it was finished. a warning to check our obsessions and monotonies so that we may not get completely submerged in them and never find our way out again.

i propose an updated version of this theory (one that is more apt for our bubbling trouble. as trouble, after all, is a source of great insoriation and to sit with it for as long as possible is a good thing).

use our mistakes to dive back in where we most need to help.

bees, pythonesses, bacteria, space suits, lichen, coral, androids, night herons, giant redwoods, medusas. all come writhing out of the bag at this point.

but dont try to avoid all that squirming; see all this as a way to get straight back in.