Month: September 2008

  • madison at state street













  • 01010



     


    how these godless stars align
    over the distant atlantic-blue,  
    how they fall into a sparkling chime
    under this serendipitous doom ...

     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 01001



     



     

    I was once contained, heavy with water, soaking up rain and puddles, tide pools, brooks.  I melted snow on my back to drench my thirst.  I rolled as a trickle and absorbed like a sponge: full, billowing, taut but ever-parched. 


    Before I spilled forth and began to gush, I was cut clean through by phantasmic beams, sun-soaked rays exposed my murky depths, painfully bright, warming my blood, creating light.  Inside I effervesced, percolated.  Beauty bubbled and wafted upwards like vapors -- apparitions and animus, there and then gone.  Surfacing, I hide among liquid to see the illusion. 


    A figment pulled from the bottom and held up to the light is less than transparent.  It can fade in my webbed fingers. 


    I sluice forward and swallow it whole.  I muse until it grows again. 

     

     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • update: week 39.





     

     

    you can also find me at:

    soNOTcool :: flickr :: twitter :: daybook :: video

     

     

  • 01000





    It is true that I am scattered.  I have spent seven years falling apart. 

    I cannot gather in hand, nor thought, nor photo, nor words, the person that I once was.  And, certainly, not the disassembly that I now am.  The nature of 'mystery-disease A', is that it destroys and, thus, fragments connections. 

    The class does not understand:
    I. LOSE. DAYS.

    And, now.  I lose something important, that only moments ago I remembered.  My memory is a deficit.  I blink.  Then, things go away.



    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 00111



     

    i wanted to explain to you then
    about breathing. 

    how my belly is warm with coffee
    and my breath is slow, 
    heavy;
    how, while drawing in,
    i do see these petaled-stars,
    grailed moments, 
    twined-holds;
    how exhales travel
    in earthquake waves
    along the fault-line pattern 
    where these two plates meet.


    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 00110



     


    the moment is coming. 

    tearing everything in half
    is necessary.  things will spill
    onto the floor.  marbles
    shall fall and scatter, rolling 
    against toes, under furniture,
    milling out the door. 

    the pots and pans are going to clang. 
    we'll see papers shuffle, the filled
    years built -- collapse
    in a mundane roar. 

    i tried super glue, nail and hammers,
    cement screws.  i have sandpapered, 
    shimmed and painted
    until nothing original
    is still recognizable anymore.

     


    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 00101





    It's not that I stumbled, fell, and scraped my knee.  Nor, was I simply bludgeoned upside the head, knocking my body to the ground in a swift and sudden thud.  (That was my first guess.) 

    Have you ever seen leaves separate from the branch of a tree, begin to drop, then lift up, very slightly, with the movement of air, before scattering apart to the frozen ground? 

     


    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 00100





    i inflict pain. 

    unintentionally,
    but in a tensioned way. 

    the train rails are vibrating,
    and common sense should
    tell us
    "step into the dappled shade".
    the ties and gravel are jumping. 

    i inflict pain. 

    grappled this,
    but minking back again. 

    the thin, tall shelf is tipping,
    and when observed peripherally
    the rush
    of books is not so strange.
    the tightly-bound papers are falling. 

    i inflict pain. 

    mingled in the fog,
    but brightly lit with shame. 

    the water tower is in my view,  
    and its height my sight remarks
    upon 
    throughout the vicious days. 
    the structure is deceiving. 

    i inflict pain. 


     

    © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • update: week 38.





    (Photo above:  Kirsten [knitsteel at Xanga] and X.)

    After reading your input and mulling it over (regarding my recent announcement), I have decided to make one addition to that initial statement, which is a weekly update that will list the topics covered at my other blog during the previous week.  That way, you can still keep up on things a bit and click on only what interests you.  I hope that pleases everyone. 

    If you're indifferent about it, I'm quite okay with that too. 

    Below, week 38: