Writing like I talk at the end of a 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 have 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 brings another idea
No hierarchy, no censorship, just ideas that flow
Insights that are mine, not things that I’ve read somewhere else
Art that is mine, not something that I’ve seen somewhere else

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 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 hungry 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, that cannot expand because 
What do we eat tonight? and that make my brain feel like the soup I am serving
Words with the unctuosity of a sauce that penetrates my mind as a plate of pasta
When I don’t need plans, load-bearing walls 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 am 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 feminine of Hélène Cixoux

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 dark of the labyrinth and there is no thread

Where feminine and masculine are not referring to female and male
Writing through the feminine libidinal experience
Not out of your biology but from the lived experience of being
Subverting narration and linear temporality

Writing in a homely bodily way