lungless

once upon a time

i was a writer. i wrote what i felt, thought, and saw. past, present, future, good, bad, dark, bright, right, wrong or in between, it didn’t matter.

then people started reading my reading. people sagged in the dark. people rose up in the dark. they had feelings. they wrote me.

they wanted me to write about them. or to stop writing about them. they asked that i choose particular endings or beginnings.

now

my writing is immediately scanned for proper allegiance, reverence, homage, feeling, orientation, and secret plans.

this ability of mine is not constructed of steel. it wears the skin of roses, breathes the air of undiscovered planets.

it is dying under scrutiny and demand.

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You’re currently reading “lungless,” an entry on house of nezua

Published:: 09.10.08 / 6pm

Category:: arte, the human condition(ing)

☚ the lidless eyes of heartbreak | ☛ Declaration

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Scraps 09.11.08 / 6am

It is also scanned for fairness to spiders.

(Do jokes help?)
theriomorph 09.11.08 / 8am

Nez? DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN. Seriously. It will destroy everything creative in you. And then you will feel like you are choking and a fraud and in a shrinking, claustrophobic world and your work will shrivel up and your heart will break.

And you know, that will only sound ‘dramatic’ to non-artists. Every artist learns it’s true (sometimes painfully, sometimes over and over).

My sister and I were talking recently & she said “art is not a load-bearing structure.” It’s a damn good way to put it. If expectations, demands, social manipulations, or any other bullshit gets piled onto it, the art collapses. If *we* pile expectations on it ourselves, the same thing happens.

Take care of your creative spirit, please, my friend. It deserves the room. (And I know all too well that finding all the various necessary balances is intensely difficult - just sending my support of your work and its right to emerge unhindered by Other People’s Shit. OPS is fatal.)
nezua 09.11.08 / 9am

thank you scraps, yes jokes seem to help.

–

therio, i appreciate this very much. i would write that three times if it could make my gratitude clearer.

the problem is, as an artist, i do feel things pretty intensely. so i understand when people feel hurt or whatnot by my writing, i can’t help but understand the roots of OPS. and yet…that cannot be my concern when i write…its so hard. i can’t write for anyone else…but the more relationships you gather, the harder it becomes to say what you need to. people need to understand that (my) poetic/fiction/otherwise writing is not a literal letter for them to read regarding lifemaps. it is a window, if we want one. one i need to open for myself, to let my spirit free. if i keep that window shut or only cracked…yes. i wither and die. or become blind, cataracts shining, voice but a mumble.

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i’m a fly in the blouse of god. i’m a flake of fishscale in the house of nod. i’m a citizen making a zookeeper’s arrest because i saw a monkey snatch a homo sapien’s job.

just so that’s clear. anyway, i’m writing here because the place where most are used to seeing me is a demanding place. it demands a certain character, it isn’t the place for all i’d share, and in general it contains many limits on my expression. this is not a complaint, i am the one who arranged those limits when i made the blog, and i did it with full awareness. in my bio at that blog, i talked about a “journey.” and that’s what that blog was made for. and that is what purpose it has served.

but of course, that’s not all i am. and i don’t know all that i am. but if you’re new to the joint, and we’re gonna throw around labels, i suppose we could use artist. that’s the one that feels least binding to me. and of course “nezua.” that’s the one i answer to out here. and out here, i’ll just be writing and musing, and posting fotos and video. i don’t plan to be following the news as much here, so please don’t expect that. i’m feeling a little burnt on it. this place is more for my artistic expression/experiments, and maybe just chronicling my life. we’ll see what happens.

(Also see here.)

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lungless

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