how to talk with strangers: collaborative generating #2

collaborative generating #2

one seed

loneliness is a country the spaces between words

I am surprised to have slipped under

his bloodlines

I the dark-haired bitch the fence

grew hot and angry

said I did it for money

a deer walked as if

Silence conveys oxygen to the heart.

the sound of the forest breathing

hid me she scattered

If such movement is fractal,

as did her hidden

father was a rolling stone.

to write in the remittance

companion I sing if inorganic family

embarrassed when a man

produced degenerate twins

sheepish pulling

a mixture of manglish and chindian,

a dog by the neck

of dark-skinned and of honey brown,

walks to the poet’s grave

mosques and temples, churches and shrines and back alone

until a stranger

intrudes

(words from Carl Ferrero, Melissa Sipin, Paul Ocampo, Melissa Morrow, Monica Hand, Rachelle Cruz, Tamiko Beyer, Todd Wellman, Serena W. Lin, Shaw-Tian Liaw, Carol Gomez. Inspiration from Jai Arun Ravine and Edna St. Vincent Millay)

*

Promptings for the next ….

. mulatto. why are there so few
hybrids on the road? Because …. – Evie Shockley

When you have no voice, what else can you say? – Melissa Sipin

If you are not born into the blood are you of the blood. What claims can you make of the blood. – Monica Hand

What is your map of mythology? Can you tell it in 25 words? – Rachelle Cruz

You’d like to have a group of people make lovely clapping sounds together. – Todd Wellman

Where were you before the rewrite began? – Serena W. Lin

What is the purpose of your visit? – Shaw-Tian Liaw

Can you hear the cries of those in exile? – Carol Gomez

***

{a reminder to: post your writing in response in the comments section of this blog entry + provide your own generative question or prompt for tomorrow. here for the full write-up about the process}

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14 Responses to “how to talk with strangers: collaborative generating #2”

  1. Nikki Wallschlaeger Says:

    she, i , 2nd person split. see, we’re like bowling. a sport of territory
    the long smooth lanes a panel of hair orchids guord secrecy

    prompt: not enough people sleep with trees

  2. Bushra Says:

    from rachel’s prompt

    why would I not face the river
    the wet stones that bear filled compost
    why would I not face the river
    its sad sounds
    why would I not face the river
    the crows have driven all the birds out

    the river, the cicadas build a wall of sound

    allah forbid, I become a nature poet
    and then cease to write all together
    like all those who came before me
    who lived facing the river
    in the north west frontier of Pakistan.

    my prompt for tomorrow:
    why don’t you face the river? (or add any body of water)

    this is very helpful for postcards too!!!!

  3. racruzzo Says:

    Allah forbid, I traced my toe
    on the hybrid brick road.
    Where I began before the rewrite began.
    The purpose of my visit is this:
    a bucket of sidewalk chalk, a scraping
    of bone in the backyard, a pocket
    of dirt, a panel of hair orchids,
    a cloud in the shape of my mother’s
    knees. This, and the river. This,
    and the cicadas build a wall of —
    I don’t know this song.
    Can you hear the cries of those
    in exile? The dreamcatcher
    above my bed traps them.
    On the pillow,
    an orchestra of twisted
    leg hums.

    What are your dead trying to say to you? Can you make out their cries, whispers, shouts, songs on paper?

    (with words from Nikki Wallschlaeger, Bushra Rehman, Serena Lin, Shaw-Tian Liaw, and Carol Gomez)

    -Rachelle

  4. Addie Says:

    My prompt for tomorrow:
    What broken bodies are among us?

  5. Melissa Says:

    Where were you before the rewrite began? – Serena Lin

    I was sleeping between words,
    between syllables, a river in flux.

    Our house sits next to a river
    But only when the rain falls.

    The cicadas come every summer
    to build a deafening mythology,
    only when the heat drizzles rain.
    They tell my story with their song.

    When I wake my
    silence is breath.
    It has become my
    wall of sound.

    We are always vibrating
    in our bed, listening to the bugs cry
    every night when the sun dies.

    I was not born of your blood,
    I tell you, but I am the space between the words.

    When you get angry, you say,
    “Breathe so you can speak.”
    But I close my mouth.

    I am running away from a story, a story
    that my lola told me when I was young.

    “When you fall in love,” she said,
    “Build a river, build a wall of sound.”

    I am always here, listening by the
    river. By the porch. When the rain falls.
    Silence conveys oxygen, I tell myself,
    silence that smells like rage.

    Do I not speak because I am not myself?

    Word credits to Serena, Monica Hand, Paul, Tamiko, Racruzzo, Bushra, Toddw.

  6. how to talk with strangers: collaborative generating #2 « Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Says:

    […] Collaborative Manifesto Project: here. […]

  7. Matthew Trease Says:

    An apron hangs on the hook:
    the blood on it smeared into a map
    of the great continents of a dream within
    a dream I believe I have reestablished
    the primordial organization, I have translated
    the entire work: I am him who has ceased to recognize him-
    self within the psyche of a post-Hellenic
    turpitude, recognizing my brooding
    body within the picture which is not
    in colours sometimes it sets my teeth
    on edge other times it helps me control
    the chaos. No blood. No sticky, hot, mess
    no blood at all. Why hadn’t I thought of that? No
    blood. What a beautiful idea! People fake a lot
    of human interactions, but it’s in the way you move
    your hands and this is the room
    one afternoon I knew I could love I
    don’t know you and here is the room
    where your brothers were born indentions
    in the sheets too many lost links
    in a chain but now we must pack up every piece
    of the life we used to love just to keep
    ourselves individual not to be understood as
    a recurrent unit but as something
    unique and singular which in the last
    analysis can neither be known nor compared with
    the great rivers and oceans of blood

    Prompt:
    My hands have lost that handmade feeling. What are the signs you have been sold an old world?

  8. serena w. lin Says:

    What is your map of mythology? Can you tell it in 25 words? – Rachelle Cruz

    mulatto — my lola told me the crows have driven allah out. exile? i mumble, soft breaths, wide eyes, 1001 fables bouncing around my skull. Dragging a bucket of chalk along the sidewalk until Pakistan, i drank an ocean. Spite the dreamcatcher, build a wall of cicadas, oxygen, and rage.

    Do not believe a word your lola says
    Do not believe her mulatto silence
    Not singular, Not unique, A recurrent unit
    Do not believe the hybrid orchestra

    mulatto — my lola told me not to trust the poet. exile? i run away rips, smear, scar. Vibrating my bone broken in the backyard, collecting a spray of orchids in the shape of a cloud, i swallowed the cries of the river. its sad sounds. Spite the dreamcatcher, build a wall of cicadas, oxygen, and rage.

    (Collaborators Nikki, Bushra, Rachelle, Addie, Melissa, Matthew)

  9. Paul Ocampo Says:

    Can you hear the cries of those in exile? – Carol Gomez

    I drank your mulatto silence
    because there was no blood, no blood at all.
    I close my mouth
    in shame.
    I do not know you.
    I do not even know your name.
    You are a wall of sound
    You are the cracks in the psyche.
    You are the silence
    That smells like rage.
    Tell me how I should speak
    To you.

    Collaborators: Melissa, Serena, Matthew, Rachelle…

    Prompt: What happens when you don’t tell the truth?

  10. serena w. lin Says:

    oops keep forgetting — Prompt: what would lola say?

  11. caroljg Says:

    What would lola say?

    …..why …”how fair is she of course? she only need be fair and lovely, preferably looking for a suitable bride for her very educated bachelor son, the eldest brahmin boy. she must be modern with her education, but when it comes to her personal life she must have traditional Indian values, with a modern outlook. she must be a girl with simple thinking and simple living….”

    …….”my son”, lola would say, “can only marry a girl with high moral values, she must be able to play the veena, she must tell her story with her song, be trained in bharatanatyam, cook vegetarian food. She must be smart, fun loving, friendly, caring, straightforward and down to earth human being. For her, family values must be on top. oh…and she must be fair-complexioned and good looking. no going out in the sun and all. mulatto, brownies and dark-skinned types…we are not interested.”

    and of course, she must be a brahmin. if you are not born into the blood….then what claims can you make of the blood?”

    An old amma holding the hand of a prospective suitor comes to the compound in the evening.
    What is the purpose of your visit”, lola asks. The young girl replies, “i am girl with simple thinking and simple living. i want to marry a person who can take care of my mother more than me. because i’m the only child of my mother who can take care of my mother more than me. because i’m the only child of my mother”

    Servants watching make lovely clapping sounds, as she sang for them, embarrassed…lola pressed on,

    “…but can you play the veena?”

    Inspired by: Serena, Melissa, Monica, Todd, Shaw-Tian, Ching-in (…and shaadi.com 🙂

  12. hari malagayo alluri Says:

    “What is your map of mythology? Can you tell it in 25 words?” – Rachelle Cruz, in cypher with “You’d like to have a group of people make lovely clapping sounds together.” – Todd Wellman

    one armed archery requires another
    reach into your quiver place
    arrow on your fist draw back string
    let go all while you hold your aim

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