Artist in practice. Collage - writing- colour
A long time ago, I was recently D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D. and adrift. Bounced out of the cis-het time loops against my will, no longer with a home that the system pretended was my own, no partner, no cat, no bloody idea what came next. I
Written in a heatwaved Thursday at the queer writing group I co-host. Grateful for these spaces of space, amongst the insanity of the city. A nod to Brum Butch Bar’s recent picnic and the pirple glasses of a good friend ASH. One line pinched from Kamil @kamilpoet as part
Spiral Time Is Crip Time Is Queer Time Is Black Time Is Neuro’d Time Is Wild Time + Lost Time How do the people who have to survive capitalist time - but truly dwell in these times - make life work? I only can because it’s just me, my
make me so joyful, even more so in this exhausting world. So many films are released in one month; I want to see them all and so I don’t get to a single screening. The cost of a taxi there and back, plus ticket plus snack is impossible anyway.
A new phrase to me, as is the idea of fragmentation as crip literature - thanks Char of The Remote Body for tonight’s juicy seminar. I wrote this a few days ago and feels right for blog post #2: Collage as meditation, glue as slime
Is this a blog post…? I don’t know. It’s a start and starting is the thing I need. Some content notes: slugs, sexy stuff, body stuff. Slugs have entered my life. Not quite literally, tho there were a few small beautiful ones on my visit to Balqhuidder in
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