8.18.11 for the stones which love us: collaborative generating #11

8.18.11 for the stones which love us: collaborative generating #11


lesson four :: you never did know

the stone loves you. I distributed

them equally :: three unsent letters ::

gamble extracted :: found

among your summer body. They sip

henn and smoke, brighter

than your harder wish. Then, no. You

mottled, dulce song that short-



Say flesh :: never touch there, granite

flake. If I burn the skin of language

from the inside :: say balm :: the way I stuttered, I

am a thousand years old, Kali’s

minstrel blood. Down

to the last cup of flour, she

decided for me.


We rise and fall among the weeds.


(made from the words of Carol Gomez, Dani Hartke, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Claire Donato, Serena W. Lin, Andrew Anastasia, Melissa Sipin, Yael Villafranca, Melissa Morrow, Todd Wellman, Bushra Rehman & Clarissa Rojas)



Promptings for your writings:


Miko Kuro’s Midnight Tea – Year of Teas:





{lines off a Kundiman postcard}

.. Every day this starting

again, to believe

in beginnings as a child

could. Don’t tell

me how easily

we slip, how easily we fall.

    • Tamiko Beyer



Worn, partially submerged, a billion years old - still happy. (nonesuch shale, Porcupine Mtns, MI)

{via Dani Hartke}



What I’ve come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion, everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa they have a phrase called ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me.”— Chris Abani {via Hari Malagayo Alluri}


To restore silence is the role of objects.’ – Samuel Beckett {via Claire Donato}


Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:

I see the island,
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:

Wave of sorrow,
Take me there.

-Langston Hughes {via Serena W. Lin}


Alice doesn’t. – Andrew Anastasia


Others never see you: they surmise about you from uncertain conjectures; they do not see your nature so much as your artifice. So do not cling to their sentence: cling to your own.” – Michel de Montaigne, “On Repenting” {via Melissa Sipin}



Modem not working, probably the result of last Thursday’s lightning flash. Tried several times to reconfigure it, but to no avail. Trying to calm myself down at meditation, I realized I had to remember this is simply a machine, more fragile and imperfect than people, and that it is its nature to break down, a fact that shouldn’t agitate me so.” —Eric Gamalinda (from his experimental novel Exit Music, which you can read the whole amazing thing online starting here: http://ericgamalinda.tumblr.com/post/3865661545/exit-music) {via Yael Villafranca}



(more from the mind of Zack Snyder–this time, a clip from Sucker Punch)

If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.
(credited to Alexander Hamilton, Ginger Rogers, or Malcolm X, depending on who you ask) – {via Melissa Morrow}


How do you sweeten the words of a three year old cherub child from screaming fuck you bitch to singing the gentler tunes instead? – Carol Gomez


What happens when the breathing stops? – Bushra Rehman


17 Responses to “8.18.11 for the stones which love us: collaborative generating #11”

  1. Monica Hand Says:

    Every day this starting again
    when the breathing stops
    what then
    wave of sorrow
    do not drown me now
    now that I finally learned
    how to swim
    without paddle or fins
    now that I have learned
    the world
    is soft, gentle invisible
    acts of compassion
    how easily we fall
    into self loathing
    towards the stones
    that hold us half-submerged
    but every day
    this starting again

    (made from the words of Tamiko Beyer, Ching-In Chen, Chris Abani, Dani Hartke, Langston Hughes, Bushra Rehman)

  2. caroljg Says:

    the stones which love us

    in our secret language we giggle
    like five-year-olds
    ha ha!
    even just thinking about my playmate
    lover, best friend, cupcake, sweetiepie
    pumpkin, poochie, darling,
    petlet, chattambee, munchkin
    makes me break out grinning
    like someone slightly senile
    wrinkles smoothed out, dimples shining
    hee hee hee!
    silly, playfulness, jostling, tumbling
    cuddling, nuzzling
    like kittens
    rolling around and tangled up in play
    forever wonderment
    reflecting my humanity back at me
    everyday this starting again
    100 thousand moments of bliss
    eighty two year old kids
    as old as the stones
    in love

    loveliness in motion: ching-in, monica hand, chris abani {via hari malagayo alluri}

    Gratitude in Abundance

  3. caroljg Says:

    Oh PS: How I wish I were living in Milwaukee in September to take part in your brilliant community event!

  4. hari malagayo alluri Says:

    two ravens called outside my window, warbled, gargled,
    wailed into my morning. i couldn’t answer. my stovetop
    espresso-maker tried but it was too late. they flapped off,
    their wings complaining to the traffic that i have an iron
    tongue that burns the feathers of their language
    with curse words like history, time, and place as if they’re separate
    things instead of a single verb. to restore silence is the role of objects. i blame my iron tongue for the loss of nine languages.
    it prefers the taste of smoke in parking lots over the sounds earthtones, volcanoes, calamansis and tamarinds make when they
    sing kansiyunans and suprabhatams to the rivers that run
    into the oceans between my parents’ homelands.
    here, on the edge of these salish seas,
    french and spanish notes roll off the balisong in my mouth
    casual as the movements of an escrima goro who translates
    the meaning of the name bodidharma
    into the movements of his limbs. the ravens say, do not cling to
    sentences. sky red only as grass. the pidgin of my birthplace
    forge deeper folds hollows below my flesh i know
    it’s impossible to conjure a lion’s roar from a spitting cobra’s belly.

    cypher: bushra, ching-in, melissa, carol, michel de montaigne, tamiko, samuel beckett, claire, langston hughes, serena, monica.

    nothing you can see is not a flower
    nothing you can think is not the moon
    – basho

  5. Mel Says:

    Two Kinds of Lodestone

    stones who claimed me
    sang songs of short-circuit
    submission in listen
    tongues clipped wings
    desperate verb need
    buried beneath flesh
    are chasm hollows
    to pay my mother’s
    karma for her, broken
    give without receive
    every day, this again
    comedienne without
    punchline, surrounded
    in falseness, to wit-
    ness the hold out
    of wearing lives
    I don’t want
    to think about it

    I want to think
    about this: willful
    sharing of lives
    the excellence frequency
    give automatically back
    sip henn, fuse lit
    drama into comedy
    every day, this start
    like kittens, give back
    before give, earn
    karma in sweat equity
    limb movement now
    learn to see world
    as soft fall
    easy into acts
    of compassion
    tangle up in play
    flesh makes gneiss
    with lessons old
    stones who calm me

    all horizons around the sun
    moon to sun too soon
    burns decision of skin
    into balm language
    engage in consecutive
    acts of subduction if
    this is a machine, well
    head for breakdown,
    but if animal, plant
    mineral, have the
    iron tongue to curse
    words like history, fate
    stasis, give false-forged
    sentences back to birth
    place pidgin inside
    this hide, witness
    through Other
    eyes, dream into
    Other skins, learn
    to see Others
    learn to see without
    seeing, do not trust
    lithification to maths

    (symbiotic lines, in partnership with: Ching-In Chen; Carol Gomez, Dani Hartke; Hari Malagayo Alluri; Claire Donato; Serena W. Lin; Andrew Anastasia; Melissa Sipin; Yael Villafranca; Todd Wellman; Bushra Rehman; Clarissa Rojas; Miko Kuro; Michel de Montaigne (via Melissa Sipin); Eric Gamalinda (via Yael Villafranca); Tamiko Beyer; Chris Abani; Langston Hughes; Monica Hand; Eddie Vedder)


    My prompt for today is collaboration in the form of the following progression of three videos, posted here in order.

    A little background: the theme was created for the show “Game of Thrones,” which is based on the fantasy book series, A Song of Ice and Fire by Gorge R. R. Martin (first book published in 1996, the fifth book just published this summer, the story not yet finished and ongoing into the future).

    Video 1: The fully orchestrated theme, as created for the HBO show:

    Video 2: A fan’s interpretation of the theme on violin:

    Video 3: A fan’s interpretation of the violinist’s interpretation of the theme, posted on YouTube as a “heavy version”:

  6. serena w. lin Says:

    2 prompts:
    “What I’ve come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion, everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa they have a phrase called ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me.”— Chris Abani {via Hari Malagayo Alluri}

    {lines off a Kundiman postcard}

    ….. Every day this starting

    again, to believe

    in beginnings as a child

    could. Don’t tell

    me how easily

    we slip, how easily we fall.

    Tamiko Beyer

    Everyday footsteps rousing me from sleep beyond the iron grate
    the wooden door, hollow
    metronome fan burning my dreams::paper bits ashes and clean
    the sheets have stripes ——— they stand up, rushing, twist between my legs
    Everyday the toothbrush, the floss, the yellow peach, the coffee, the knob is twisted until it opens
    Everyday 7 paces down a wooden floor, the switch clicks on
    the light
    A couch, a mystery, a television set, 2 and a half walls, the ponderous moon catching up the sun
    everyday i swing the door open
    race to greet the porch, the grass, the cement path, the cracks in-between
    everyday the ignition, the first sigh after a buckled seatbelt, the quiet before leaving
    everyday i stop, rush back inside, check the windows, secure the locks,
    finding nothing but what i left
    everyday retrace your steps point your toes toward yesterday
    everyday speak poetry.

    made from kundiman postcard via tamiko beyer, ching-in chen, chris abani via hari malagayo alluri, melissa morrow, monica hand

  7. Evangeline Says:

    Inspired by Miko Kuro’s Midnight Tea – Year of Teas (words by Khadijah Queen, performed by Natasha Marin)


    this blue light, dark notes in the same place where {I wish you
    could hold me / surrounding myself with} whatever myth my body &
    everyone else’s hands, don’t you know we’re down to the last?
    water my own death {I’ve engaged in consecutive kinds of
    submission} we have to kill without there to forgive the ashes
    stuttered soul, rubies, spoon full of rice wrenched apart into air
    summer awaiting winter’s echo inside come gentle
    {I wanna see myself through your eyes, I don’t,
    never through your eyes} blue light come gentle, lay
    a storm, dark notes come {witness
    the wearing out of whole lives} this life of stairs without anyone
    to mourn {I wish you could hold} my spirit so moved in multiple
    lines, my fragment of blue light unsent love {act the opposite
    of intention} yesterday light, without your fingers pressing into


    with the words of: Ching-In, Monica Hand, Todd W, Rachelle Cruz, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Claire Donato, Andrew, Melissa Sipin, Yael, Melissa Morrow, Clarissa Rojas, Bushra Rehman, Serena W. Lin, Carol Gomez, Dani, Khadijah Queen



    I’m traveling in some vehicle
    I’m sitting in some cafe
    A defector from the petty wars
    That shell shock love away
    There’s comfort in melancholy
    When there’s no need to explain

    But you know I’m so glad to be on my own
    Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
    Can set up trembling in my bones
    I know – no one’s going to show me everything
    We all come and go unknown
    Each so deep and superficial
    Between the forceps and the stone

    – “Hejira” by Joni Mitchell, sung by Cassandra Wilson at the Hollywood Bowl, August 17, 2011

  8. Melissa Says:

    for the stones which love us: collaborative generating #11

    When you board the redeye flight to Los Angeles, say flesh:
    I’m coming home. Say flesh, lesson four is the deep-cut
    pamilya circuits around your ankles, attached to your soul. You have kept your voice silent, letting those blame you, dark-haired
    awang. But say flesh this: I’m coming home. When you color
    your tongue Tagalog, you’ve extracted a gamble. You’ve let
    yourself wish harder then a mottled, dulce song. You have opened
    your hands, found summer among your body, remembering
    his nephews and nieces who grab you from the inside. You’ve
    let them run in the rye, let them hear the voices of their
    parents, sisters of those spiteful circuits, let them blame
    the pretty mouth, the green your eyes, things you’ve sipped
    for your lola told you so. But say flesh this: I’m coming home.
    A kingdom awaits in three unsent letters, they form a cyclical
    mouth, a wave of apology. The way you stutter makes you
    a thousand years old, you are only an awang among awangs.
    But say this flesh: you’re coming home. The rain has never touched
    your mistakes. You remember now the streets of Dolores,
    the sampaguita garden in the middle of the front yard, the
    cactuses lining the pavement. You remember brown, flailing arms,
    your ate’s sigh, your father’s long sigh, your lola’s voice, who says: anak, you are home.

    Words inspired and indebted to: J.D. Salinger, Sean “P. Diddy” Combs, Chin-In, Paul Ocampo, Carol Gomez, Dani Hartke, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Claire Donato, Serena W. Lin, Andrew Anastasia,Yael Villafranca, Melissa Morrow, Todd Wellman, Bushra Rehman, and Clarissa Rojas


    P. Diddy: “I thought I told you that we won’t stop.”

  9. for the stones which love us: collaborative generating #11 « Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Says:

    […] Posted by Melissa on August 19, 2011 · Leave a Comment  Collaborative Manifesto Project: here. […]

  10. toddw Says:

    “stones who claimed me” – Mel
    I’ve been reading Raymond Carver so much // that it’s odd that I don’t want to write exactly like him // I just want to breathe his air // but I don’t want to have those endings // I wonder if I would want to chat with him // If I’d want to place his books in my pockets, to weigh me down, like stones, ones who take me // ones who swing with me // ones I feel as they slide against me.

  11. Bushra Says:

    First, Ching-In thank you for starting this amazing project!
    And all thank you for your words and prompts. I am so grateful. .

    ‘To restore silence is the role of objects.’ – Samuel Beckett {via Claire Donato}

    rainwater in my sandals
    would you walk the other way for daisies?
    I think you say you would,
    but you wouldn’t

    even in heaven there are to-do lists
    even in heaven, a baby cries

    blue heron visited this morning
    I was so busy trying to reach you
    I didn’t see him fly away

    my mouth in an agony of silence
    my heart at peace

  12. Bushra Says:

    or prompt: “I’ve seen God in the sun, I’ve seen God in the street / God before bed and the promise of sleep.” Belle and Sebastian

    or the way I heard it: I see God in the sun, I see God in the stream. .

  13. racruzzo Says:

    to restore silence is
    to see the island
    mottled waves
    mirrors that were
    not happy
    so do not cling
    so do not try
    to calm yourself
    here you are,
    throwing your teeth
    across the river
    for the pithe and bark
    the sign glowing green
    enter the exit music

    after everyone here.

  14. yael v. Says:

    I had that dream again: gloaming

    in the stolen green dress,

    your gentle invisible searching
    for my face in the paneled vanity.

    You’ll stand behind my shoulder. We will not

    speak: just the deluge outside, the lilting
    mutter of public access turned low. Yes

    climbs my throat with steps of fire
    yet who is there to forgive. The ease

    of acting tumbles into itself
    in another lifetime.

    There is no balm for this. Why can’t I wake up.

    Who belongs to me.


    constructed from: Ching-In Chen, Bushra Rehman, Monica Hand, Melissa Morrow, In the Mood for Love (dir. Wong Kar Wai).

  15. clarissa rojas Says:

    we came
    a million
    bones cracked
    like earth
    not to say
    goodbye to twist
    time tilled
    to breathe
    the light
    of dawn devour
    errors on their way

    conquest made
    of people
    and the stones
    made people too
    the deep crane
    lifting yesterday
    into today
    ask for nothing
    the love
    that gives
    shasta daisy
    pushes up
    because of you

    i am traveling
    to restore silence
    to the river
    to the heart’s agony
    of peace
    since summer’s loss
    fingers pressing there
    ‘till blue light come
    to believe
    in beginnings
    to wings of flesh
    to rise the fall of weeds
    ’till blue light come
    to believe
    in beginnings

    thank you ching-ing racruzzo bushra evangeline serena mel

  16. clarissa rojas Says:

    prompt: to honor night

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