los sonidos de las sombras

beaudelaine pierre, writing excerpt

i met her 2 years ago, and just recalled her piece that moved me so much. i wish i could read the entire work, but the complete work is in haitian-creole.

there were three birds who kept passing a seed around from mouth to mouth
the seed filled their beaks so it was like they had to pop it back and forth

they were abandoned

sky vibes
absorption

big bird is growin up

staying calm
feels like
floating

the listening project

i bought a typewriter to write it out :) im hoping to have a rough manuscript put together by the end of summer




[novel in progress]
the story of sound, someone who feels the frequencies of everything. colors sing, water whispers, thoughts whine.

morning

dreams still wet with dew

fragile paradises

a butterfly just dove around me
like a plane between skyscrapers

static energy transmission//absorb

fingers full of music
eyes full of love

sittin on the roof

photography
is just being there
and lettin things
speak to you

this is how HUMAN feels like

words

these

tangling auras

sqwak

today a pigeon dived right at me before i could get out my camera. i did the limbo to avoid getting a birdbeak puncture in my head.

i want to drink all the yellow from the street lamps
taste the electric calm of the air

radio mind
teleporting thoughts
everywhere like spores

will you sneeze?

your eyes are mouthing words

liquid ember iris

branding my lips

did you tell them how many bones you have broken?

rings loose on my fingers

T E L E P O R T A T I O N
R O D

interchangeably breathing

virtual teleportation

lurking around myself

artshow pics

field notes

new project.

poetry? drawing?
both

wrote this last night walkin home

walking down the alley pure of paranoia, i dont know why. and feeling all the voices and musics from the buildings on either side filtering through my own mumbling thoughts like radio crossfire

i can only see one star when i look up but i feel all that noise is part of the star, or coming from its song weaving through the warping of spacetime.

and here comes a man walking down the middle of the alley, a silhouette with his arms loose at his sides yet tense as though ready to grip of punch something...but maybe i am just getting paranoid now.

and it looks like hes walkin right toward me and i weave my path a little -- maybe its my subconscious instinct of what you supposed to do when u gettin shot at, or just an action that would lead me to avoid him without bein obvious about it.

and i want to amplify our heartbeats. so we can feel each others' presence loud.

but he joins his friends beside the dumpster, shaggy men asking if someone was "there" or if its just them or something like that. and he said "its just us". (i think). and i did a twirl to coax away any lingering fear and dunked the shimmery plastic wrap from my littledebbie snack in the dumpster one of the men was leaning against with his fluffy orange blond hair and prickly blonde mustache.

and i walked away, trippin on the final dissolving of cream sugar on my lips;
and the dumpsters breathed on me their farewell just as i hit a crossroad and left the alley.

the voices were also carried by the quiet webbing of the sewer, rushing beneath my feet like a physical voice you can feel and hold in your hands. maybe thats what water is -- the most physical yet abstract voice we have ever felt and tasted. next is fire, next, human existence. or maybe im just bullshitting ideas sitting on this toilet and i forgot toilet paper and dont wanna get up.

what i wrote in my sleep

something
bumblebee
something
of dried
flight

cloud rotation