WRITING LIKE I TALK
AT THE END OF THE DINNER
WHEN THE NIGHT FALLS DOWN
AND I SHARE MEMORIES
WITH PEOPLE THAT I’VE LET IN
BECAUSE THE FOOD IS GOOD
THE LIGHT IS SOFT
THEIR EYES ARE INVITING
AND I’VE LOOSENED UP
WRITING LIKE I SIT ON A SOFA
MY FEET RESTING ON A POUFFE
WHEN MY MIND
IS A SUCCESSION OF THOUGHTS
HOME IS A PLACE WHERE I CAN THINK
MY THOUGHTS ARE VALUABLE
EVEN AT HOME
ESPECIALLY AT HOME
WHEN AN IDEA BRING ANOTHER IDEA
NO HIERARCHY, NO CENSORSHIP
JUST IDEAS THAT FLOW
INSIGHTS THAT ARE MINE
NOT THINGS THAT I’VE READ
ART THAT IS MINE
NOT THINGS THAT I’VE SEEN
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
WHEN I CAN SHARE MY ANGER
AND MY NIGHTMARES
WITHOUT SHAME
WHERE I FEEL THAT LOVING PEOPLE
INVITE ME TO TALK
TO DEEPEN THINGS
EVEN IF THEY ARE UNPLEASANT
WHEN I CAN SHARE MY ANGER
AND MY NIGHTMARES
WITHOUT SHAME
WHERE I FEEL THAT LOVING PEOPLE
INVITE ME TO TALK
TO DEEPEN THINGS
EVEN IF THEY ARE UNPLEASANT
OR AN EMBRYONIC MISHMASH
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
LIKE FRANCES STARK
IN THE ARCHITECT AND THE HOUSEWIFE
TO SPREAD UPON MY BREAD
I’M FORCED TO POKE THIS KNIFE
INTO MY HUNGER HEAD
I BET INSIDE THERE IS MAYONNAISE
AND SOMETHING LIKE SMOKED HAM
MY EYES CAN SERVE AS OLIVES
TO GARNISH THE SANDWICH I AM
THOUGHTS THAT ARE MIXED
WITH THE CONTENT OF MY FRIDGE
THOUGHTS THAT ARE INTERRUPTED
THAN CANNOT EXPAND BECAUSE
WHAT DO WE EAT TONIGHT?
AND THAT MAKE MY BRAIN FEEL
LIKE THE SOUP I’M SERVING
WORDS WITH THE UNCTUOSITY OF A SAUCE
THAT PENETRATES YOUR MIND
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
LIKE FRANCES STARK
IN THE ARCHITECT AND THE HOUSEWIFE
TO SPREAD UPON MY BREAD
I’M FORCED TO POKE THIS KNIFE
INTO MY HUNGER HEAD
I BET INSIDE THERE IS MAYONNAISE
AND SOMETHING LIKE SMOKED HAM
MY EYES CAN SERVE AS OLIVES
TO GARNISH THE SANDWICH I AM
THOUGHTS THAT ARE MIXED
WITH THE CONTENT OF MY FRIDGE
THOUGHTS THAT ARE INTERRUPTED
THAN CANNOT EXPAND BECAUSE
WHAT DO WE EAT TONIGHT?
AND THAT MAKE MY BRAIN FEEL
LIKE THE SOUP I’M SERVING
WORDS WITH THE UNCTUOSITY OF A SAUCE
THAT PENETRATES YOUR MIND
AS A PLATE OF PASTA
WHEN YOU DON’T NEED PLANS OR BEAMS
WRITING WITH NO STRUCTURES
ECLECTIC THOUGHTS
WHERE HANNAH ARENDT JOINS ME
WHEN I’M HANGING LAUNDRY
OCCUPYING MY MIND AND MY HANDS
ANIMAL LABORANS, HOMO FABER, ACTION
SIMPLE REPETITIVE GESTURES
THAT BREAK THE MONOTONY
OF SITTING AT MY DESK
THAT MAKE ME THINK BETTER
BECAUSE I’M IN MOVEMENT
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
ARTISTS, WRITERS, PHILOSOPHERS
THAT COME AS GUESTS IN MY TEXT
WHO ARE WELCOMED IN THE INTIMACY
OF MY EARLY MORNING THOUGHTS
IN THE WARMTH OF MY BED
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
USING THE ÉCRITURE FÉMININE
OF HÉLÈNE CIXOUS
IT MAKES ME CRY
I WANT TO TALK ABOUT SOMETHING
I AM NOT SURE I CAN TALK ABOUT
I WANT TO TALK ABOUT
THE INSIDE FROM THE INSIDE
I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE IT
I AM SO HAPPY IN THE SILKY DAMP
OF THE LABYRINTH AND THERE IS NOT THREAD
THAT COME AS GUESTS IN MY TEXT
WHO ARE WELCOMED IN THE INTIMACY
OF MY EARLY MORNING THOUGHTS
IN THE WARMTH OF MY BED
WRITING IN A HOMELY WAY
USING THE ÉCRITURE FÉMININE
OF HÉLÈNE CIXOUS
IT MAKES ME CRY
I WANT TO TALK ABOUT SOMETHING
I AM NOT SURE I CAN TALK ABOUT
I WANT TO TALK ABOUT
THE INSIDE FROM THE INSIDE
I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE IT
I AM SO HAPPY IN THE SILKY DAMP
OF THE LABYRINTH AND THERE IS NOT THREAD
WHERE FEMININE AND MASCULINE
ARE NOT REFERRING TO FEMALE AND MALE
WRITING THROUGH THE
FEMININE LIBIDINAL EXPERIENCE
NOT OUT OF BIOLOGY
BUT FROM THE LIVED EXPERIENCE OF BEING
SUBVERTING NARRATION AND LINEAR TEMPORALITY
WRITING IN A HOMELY BODILY WAY
ARE NOT REFERRING TO FEMALE AND MALE
WRITING THROUGH THE
FEMININE LIBIDINAL EXPERIENCE
NOT OUT OF BIOLOGY
BUT FROM THE LIVED EXPERIENCE OF BEING
SUBVERTING NARRATION AND LINEAR TEMPORALITY
WRITING IN A HOMELY BODILY WAY