The last couple of days have consisted of boxes, packing and unpacking, breaking down boxes and moving an apartment's worth of furniture into one room. Not possible. Not even close. So bits and pieces were dispersed to my generous sisters who helped me move. I already miss my penthouse studio in Inwood. Not that I don't appreciate having a safety net with my parents but having been independent for so long it's an adjustment.
That feeling of having to negotiate a space that is not necessarily yours. To navigate and reassess what will fit and not fit. Nooks and crannies, drawer-full of stuff, everything just seems to be stuffed to capacity and I'm feeling a little claustrophobic. Wait, not just a little. Sunday I could barely cope and quickly fell asleep for a cat nap. I thought I would sleep for an hour...instead I slept for four hours. I woke up feeling more myself. More grounded. More in my body. That's such a strange phrase...where else can one be but in one's own body, no?
I guess I was sleep walking through the day...people were talking to me and I could only hear scraps of conversation. I was having a Charlie Brown sort of moment, where they were talking and all I could hear was WAH WAH WAH WAH.
Ah well, it's Monday and I'm feeling out of sorts. Don't ask me why? I'm almost done unpacking. There is a research paper to be done. There is prose poetry to attempt...there is four weeks left of classes...perhaps it's the calm before the storm. And not sure I have the energy to get me through. All I can do is take one task at a time. But I can see the tidal wave on the horizon....gathering strength.
Hmmm, I can feel the contemplative face taking over. I want to sit in a quiet place and just gather myself up before class. I'd almost rather skip class tonight but I may need that absence for another night.
Off I go to find a quiet spot...to read...perchance to sleep.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
03.23.09 Renee Gladman
In class tonight Renee Gladman poet and fiction writer came to talk to our class about her writing process. The discussion at the beginning was heady and abstract...needless to say I LOVED IT. I was furiously jotting down notes trying to keep up with the kind of discourse she was putting out. Some of it definitely went over my head...and I'm not going to try to pretend that I get it all yet...cause really she's in another league when discussing her thought process. She reminded me a little of Akilah Oliver because of the way in which she communicated some of these ideas. I want to write them down here to help unravel some of the entwined thoughts.
Renee talked about a relationship to language and how she has become more conscious of the potentiality of the moment of writing ....(my handwriting looks like chicken scratch...can't quite make out the rest of that sentence. ...) let me try this in a different way...
how in the impulse to write the thought there are infinite ways in which to convey/communicate the experience. But language...the translation of those thoughts onto the page turns into something narrow. We write in categories...in linear/logical ways while our thought patterns are more expansive than that.
Establishing a philosophy of time and experience.
The logic of the grammar tells you what to expect.
The logic of the content that can be in opposition.
The logic of the problem which can be ambiguous.
How can you get these three conditions to occupy the same space at the same time.
Can you gather the experience in the breadth of a sentence?
Conceptual way of thinking about narrative.
She creates a condition in the logical flow of the sentence is breaking down on the level of the content.
Prose as a place of experimental narrative
She is conscious of language and sound.
Brings you back to experiences
How do you grasp the experience and make it coherent.
What experiences are accumulated?
She enjoyed Henry James because he circles vague spaces.
He would write about things happening but difficult to pinpoint.
Present tense captures the ongoing-ness of being in the moment
and in the acting.
Being enacted as the narrative is unfolding.
What does prose breach that poetry does not?
Poetry as a genre is not interested in character or turth or lies...
that's not part of the discourse in poetry.
Fiction to be better needs to be more complicated.
The language has to be....
She likes translations of European fiction writers
because of the awkwardness and formality of the language.
Feels the writer interpret and re-envision
sound of translation
White space on the page is a way of framing the language
Part of the conception
Her narrators in her work tend to be slightly confused and on the periphery.
They embody that state of irresolution.
We went back to talking about how language narrows the experience.
You can only write one thing at a time...
However, if we were able to write 8 things at the same time this would approximate what the actual experience is truly like.
How do you translate the many things into one thing?
What does the order in which you tell it... tell you about the experience?
There is a lot more but this was at the core of what I wanted to record on this blog.
Because in these fragments of ideas that I was able to scavenge...something...clicked.
Something about this information gave me an A-HA moment about writing.
It hasn't quite sunk in yet....or it hasn't quite taken root...but.....
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Renee talked about a relationship to language and how she has become more conscious of the potentiality of the moment of writing ....(my handwriting looks like chicken scratch...can't quite make out the rest of that sentence. ...) let me try this in a different way...
how in the impulse to write the thought there are infinite ways in which to convey/communicate the experience. But language...the translation of those thoughts onto the page turns into something narrow. We write in categories...in linear/logical ways while our thought patterns are more expansive than that.
Establishing a philosophy of time and experience.
The logic of the grammar tells you what to expect.
The logic of the content that can be in opposition.
The logic of the problem which can be ambiguous.
How can you get these three conditions to occupy the same space at the same time.
Can you gather the experience in the breadth of a sentence?
Conceptual way of thinking about narrative.
She creates a condition in the logical flow of the sentence is breaking down on the level of the content.
Prose as a place of experimental narrative
She is conscious of language and sound.
Brings you back to experiences
How do you grasp the experience and make it coherent.
What experiences are accumulated?
She enjoyed Henry James because he circles vague spaces.
He would write about things happening but difficult to pinpoint.
Present tense captures the ongoing-ness of being in the moment
and in the acting.
Being enacted as the narrative is unfolding.
What does prose breach that poetry does not?
Poetry as a genre is not interested in character or turth or lies...
that's not part of the discourse in poetry.
Fiction to be better needs to be more complicated.
The language has to be....
She likes translations of European fiction writers
because of the awkwardness and formality of the language.
Feels the writer interpret and re-envision
sound of translation
White space on the page is a way of framing the language
Part of the conception
Her narrators in her work tend to be slightly confused and on the periphery.
They embody that state of irresolution.
We went back to talking about how language narrows the experience.
You can only write one thing at a time...
However, if we were able to write 8 things at the same time this would approximate what the actual experience is truly like.
How do you translate the many things into one thing?
What does the order in which you tell it... tell you about the experience?
There is a lot more but this was at the core of what I wanted to record on this blog.
Because in these fragments of ideas that I was able to scavenge...something...clicked.
Something about this information gave me an A-HA moment about writing.
It hasn't quite sunk in yet....or it hasn't quite taken root...but.....
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
03.23.09 4:02 pm
I have a hard time asking for help. I really do.
But when I ask for help and it doesn't come through
I feel like a petulant child about to pitch a fit.
I mean...full-on red-face, crossed-arms, ready to
stomp my foot making my pig-tails flip up. What
is it about this academic environment that makes
me regress? I get this head of steam out of pure
frustration. I need help and I can't do this on my
own and... I can't keep asking only to find more
rejection. You would think after all these years
I would have learned this lesson somewhere along
the way. Apparently not.
I have to write 250-words on what my research topic
for my Methods paper will be. That's all it is!!
I have done basic writing exercises to help me
narrow down my topic but I don'tquite have it yet.
I get that in the grand scheme of things
this is not really important....I do understand that.
There are more dire matters out there in the world
than this stupid paper. But right now, as I sit here,
writing about it...I can feel the desperation clawing at me.
I am being completely serious...look into my eyes...do
you see the "crazy" swirling back there. You see it, cause
it's there...It's 4:02 pm in the afternoon and I've been
working on this problem too long. Two weeks to be exact
and being no closer to the topic that I want to write about
makes me feel a little nutso. Yes, you read right, I used a
Fonzi term. Damn, I'm old. Okay, that just made me
giggle. It did, 'cause it's all so stupid...even writing on my
blog about it. COME ON! It's not that serious.
All right, back to work. I need to make some headway
before I get to class tonight. I'll work on it some more
when I get home. I just want a running start before I
get there. Better to have something than a whole lot of
nothing, right?
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
But when I ask for help and it doesn't come through
I feel like a petulant child about to pitch a fit.
I mean...full-on red-face, crossed-arms, ready to
stomp my foot making my pig-tails flip up. What
is it about this academic environment that makes
me regress? I get this head of steam out of pure
frustration. I need help and I can't do this on my
own and... I can't keep asking only to find more
rejection. You would think after all these years
I would have learned this lesson somewhere along
the way. Apparently not.
I have to write 250-words on what my research topic
for my Methods paper will be. That's all it is!!
I have done basic writing exercises to help me
narrow down my topic but I don'tquite have it yet.
I get that in the grand scheme of things
this is not really important....I do understand that.
There are more dire matters out there in the world
than this stupid paper. But right now, as I sit here,
writing about it...I can feel the desperation clawing at me.
I am being completely serious...look into my eyes...do
you see the "crazy" swirling back there. You see it, cause
it's there...It's 4:02 pm in the afternoon and I've been
working on this problem too long. Two weeks to be exact
and being no closer to the topic that I want to write about
makes me feel a little nutso. Yes, you read right, I used a
Fonzi term. Damn, I'm old. Okay, that just made me
giggle. It did, 'cause it's all so stupid...even writing on my
blog about it. COME ON! It's not that serious.
All right, back to work. I need to make some headway
before I get to class tonight. I'll work on it some more
when I get home. I just want a running start before I
get there. Better to have something than a whole lot of
nothing, right?
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
03.22.09
Today it's about fragments and words,
post-it notes and colored flags.
Random research bits and messy poetry.
I want to write about s.e. but that would mean
wearing my heart on my sleeve
andI'd rather lock it up tight in a box.
Lock it up and throw away the key.
Even cliches...are thrown in for good measure.
There is nothing new to say...it's all been said before.
I spent the day in silence...reading texts, poetry, essays.
My eyes are weary, my notes are mounting and my brain
won't stop going to the past. Trying to decipher between
history and myth. Trying to make sense between poetic
license and actual memory. Strands that bind.
Knots are unraveling. Who writes when the poet sleeps?
I can't remember my dreams these days
and that always puts me out of sorts.
No sudden movements.
I keep trying to write about the past
but there seems to be a strange wall
that I keep hitting my head against.
Do you think if I keep hitting it I'll
break through? Then I wonder why
my head aches and why my heart
breaks. I held on too tight for too long.
So I spend a lot of time alone
because I have no patience for
I-told-you-so's that seem to echo...
adding salt to the wound...
they say time heals all wounds...
but when exactly does that happen?
how long does it actually take?
can someone give me a time line
because I think I'm long overdue.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
post-it notes and colored flags.
Random research bits and messy poetry.
I want to write about s.e. but that would mean
wearing my heart on my sleeve
andI'd rather lock it up tight in a box.
Lock it up and throw away the key.
Even cliches...are thrown in for good measure.
There is nothing new to say...it's all been said before.
I spent the day in silence...reading texts, poetry, essays.
My eyes are weary, my notes are mounting and my brain
won't stop going to the past. Trying to decipher between
history and myth. Trying to make sense between poetic
license and actual memory. Strands that bind.
Knots are unraveling. Who writes when the poet sleeps?
I can't remember my dreams these days
and that always puts me out of sorts.
No sudden movements.
I keep trying to write about the past
but there seems to be a strange wall
that I keep hitting my head against.
Do you think if I keep hitting it I'll
break through? Then I wonder why
my head aches and why my heart
breaks. I held on too tight for too long.
So I spend a lot of time alone
because I have no patience for
I-told-you-so's that seem to echo...
adding salt to the wound...
they say time heals all wounds...
but when exactly does that happen?
how long does it actually take?
can someone give me a time line
because I think I'm long overdue.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
A Steep Embankment
relentless upheaval
implode in a wheat field
absorbed into the sky
yellow tumultuous landscape
fierce in the contempt
restrain the birds
press hard and break wings
feathery-down graves
the sound of water
a beautiful voice
the stars are blind
grasp ribbon-tails
visitors need not attend
deliver the pleasure
in memory of
a smoky illusions
wafting in
a languid reverie
thrash about like pantomime
splayed about in an irreverent
manner, muttering fragments
beyond surface appearances
losing sleep over
tinges, pings, plucks, aches
brooding in dark corners
a preying mantis
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
implode in a wheat field
absorbed into the sky
yellow tumultuous landscape
fierce in the contempt
restrain the birds
press hard and break wings
feathery-down graves
the sound of water
a beautiful voice
the stars are blind
grasp ribbon-tails
visitors need not attend
deliver the pleasure
in memory of
a smoky illusions
wafting in
a languid reverie
thrash about like pantomime
splayed about in an irreverent
manner, muttering fragments
beyond surface appearances
losing sleep over
tinges, pings, plucks, aches
brooding in dark corners
a preying mantis
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Friday, March 20, 2009
03.20.09
There is a curving
artifice to the slanted
smile. A yearn runs
deep when momentum
strikes in opposite
directions. Discordant
notes play a thin
melody, reminders
of vanishing indigo
fantasies. Inside-out
exposure to find
tenderness lying
stripped clean.
These bites barely
show teeth. Discard
the skin.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
artifice to the slanted
smile. A yearn runs
deep when momentum
strikes in opposite
directions. Discordant
notes play a thin
melody, reminders
of vanishing indigo
fantasies. Inside-out
exposure to find
tenderness lying
stripped clean.
These bites barely
show teeth. Discard
the skin.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Subtle Presence
The night trembles
shadows skitter
across the earth
Heaven is in the simple
things, wind caresses
naked branches
Empty space
creates lonely sounds
in paper-thin tissues
Subtle light and dark
morph grey
charcoal sketches
Lines weave and tangle
into blossom knots
creative nest
Seedlings tumble
and part the earth
in pin-prick slices
A catch in the night
air keeps
disintegration at bay.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
shadows skitter
across the earth
Heaven is in the simple
things, wind caresses
naked branches
Empty space
creates lonely sounds
in paper-thin tissues
Subtle light and dark
morph grey
charcoal sketches
Lines weave and tangle
into blossom knots
creative nest
Seedlings tumble
and part the earth
in pin-prick slices
A catch in the night
air keeps
disintegration at bay.
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
03.18.09
I am having one of those moments...when I am writhing in my own skin.
When the glorious mild March day is wasted away on this abject bad mood.
When the writing is not coming along and anything I'm reading is barely delicious.
When there are things to be done and errands to be run and I can't face it...any of it.
I want to scream from the top of my lungs because it's the only sound to slice through this meekness.
There is raw tension along my jawline and I want to press it away.
There is tension held in the back of my throat....it's like an ache...right before a good cry.
It's frustrating. It's like losing a sense of one's self.
Turning myself inside out and wondering why I feel so naked.
Perhaps I take things too seriously...this is what I hear from friends...I think too much.
Really? What does that mean anyway?
Perhaps, I am too close to the material.
Perhaps, I don't know how to create enough distance between who I am and what I write but that's where I am right now in this process.
To try to break that enmeshed reality is to try to pry it apart with a crowbar.
Dents in the surface. Deep cuts along the bruised ego.
Damn ego needs to go.
*****************
Jumping ideas....because really this is the way my brain works:
I've been reading Wetlands by Charlotte Roche and it's strangely fascinating. At times it's too gross for my very sqeamish stomach but it makes me laugh out loud at the strangest times...for the weirdest reasons. I understand the dichotomy of this modern world and ultra-cleanliness and how this book is breaking all the boundaries by using bodily fluids in direct contrast throughout the narrative. The main character Helen just has a unique way of interacting with the world. All messy, naked and spreading her bacteria all over the place. Ick!
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
When the glorious mild March day is wasted away on this abject bad mood.
When the writing is not coming along and anything I'm reading is barely delicious.
When there are things to be done and errands to be run and I can't face it...any of it.
I want to scream from the top of my lungs because it's the only sound to slice through this meekness.
There is raw tension along my jawline and I want to press it away.
There is tension held in the back of my throat....it's like an ache...right before a good cry.
It's frustrating. It's like losing a sense of one's self.
Turning myself inside out and wondering why I feel so naked.
Perhaps I take things too seriously...this is what I hear from friends...I think too much.
Really? What does that mean anyway?
Perhaps, I am too close to the material.
Perhaps, I don't know how to create enough distance between who I am and what I write but that's where I am right now in this process.
To try to break that enmeshed reality is to try to pry it apart with a crowbar.
Dents in the surface. Deep cuts along the bruised ego.
Damn ego needs to go.
*****************
Jumping ideas....because really this is the way my brain works:
I've been reading Wetlands by Charlotte Roche and it's strangely fascinating. At times it's too gross for my very sqeamish stomach but it makes me laugh out loud at the strangest times...for the weirdest reasons. I understand the dichotomy of this modern world and ultra-cleanliness and how this book is breaking all the boundaries by using bodily fluids in direct contrast throughout the narrative. The main character Helen just has a unique way of interacting with the world. All messy, naked and spreading her bacteria all over the place. Ick!
All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.
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