“to every man his chimera.” -baudelaire
art by ben cauchi
there is always that one person. the alchemy you created together cannot be undone and you still feel the effects in your bones. the way you did from the start, the way you knew.. you felt it there. in the marrow. and maybe suddenly it makes sense – why you had to meet and destroy each other the way you did.. so that you can draw upon it, the endless wellspring. draw upon it as if it all happened just a moment ago, because as far as this surreality is concerned – it did. you are eternally reignited. eternally present.. the wound scars over but somehow it still bleeds. new blood.
the art above caught my eyes immediately. all i can think of is breton’s nadja – so mystical and dismantling. how it will always be the story of us..
while this town is busy sleeping,
all the noise has died away.
i walk the streets to stop my weeping,
cuz she’ll never change her ways.
don’t fool yourself, she was heartache from the moment that you met her.
ah, my heart feels so still as i try to find the will to forget her, somehow.
ooh, i think i’ve forgotten her now.. -jeff buckley
just when i think i’m out from under you
just when i think i’ve stopped the ringing in my ears
i stopped turning around to try and find you
but in that moment –
i was bringing flowers to my mother and i watched
the gait of the man before me
the soles of the feet hitting the earth
the dark shine of the hair turning ’round corner
slowly i followed, hanging back, watching
in the darkness and only the streetlights
it was just you and i, apart on the blacktop,
unbeknownst and you began
when you were mine you never
sang for me and now you
give your gift
on stages again and sometimes
i wish i could just hole up in the back and watch
but i can’t be that girl anymore
i can’t keep
prying open the locks with bleeding fingers i
somehow in the blindness of that night
i wanted to still that moment
awash in the sentiment of
watching you from the
other side of the glass –
my god, the way you always
make me forget the hurt..
headphones on, your voice echoing
against blank warehouse walls and
i don’t remember anything except
the rawness of your beauty which i think is why
you were always so dangerous.
you are a shadow to which i
cannot find the light source
and i keep adjusting my position but
you always find a way to
cast your darkness over me..
you turned slightly, i thought, to see me and i
stopped dead in my tracks like
the animal you made me
caught in the crosshairs
of your eyes again.
always struck in that moment and
arrested, all blood slowed to the pound of
this possibility, the overarching reality like
the belt of a comet cinched too tight on my
universe, i – couldn’t let you see me
i had to say something, i couldn’t
do this to you, i couldn’t do this –
then you disappeared.
i asked my father, standing outside the house,
the direction i swore you had moved in,
braced myself for the run-in, didn’t you hear
that singing? i said, wide-eyed and heart still
clattering in chest, i could’ve sworn it.
you are more of a ghost than i
could even realize – i still believe in the light
that casts your shadow..
why, when – i know at the core of me that you could
never say yes, you were always telling me
no, goddamn, and no – but somehow i still loved
orbiting you like circling the god made
of marble i could never graze my clumsy
mortal fingers against..
poetic in the way i don’t think i will ever be able to
purge from these pages, rub from my hands,
rip and tear from the dirty patchwork of memory lining
the walls of my heart.
i gave these words to the world and i said
fly away, baby. this one’s for you.
and like clockwork, synchronicity strikes
to gut me –
i saw a photo of you yesterday and you had wings.
upturned to the sky,
that stray lock of hair against
your cheek, that
face i stared at night after night
wildness tamed to
you can only love me
but i am still one for stubborn archaic dreams –
i saw a photo of you yesterday and you had wings..
my god, how
can i still believe in the light that casts your shadow?
why – is it so impossible
there’s something strange that rides on the edge of disaster.
a kind of hope, in the distance, in the blinders.
in the windshield promise of the open road.
the fact that even in the heartache..
again – we were in the car, me shotgun, outside my house. impressionable in college, anyway. i let you cut my hair and you butchered it. but you said: “if nothing changes, nothing changes.” your mom, passed on, told you that. and you still wore a few strands of her greyed hair inside your necklace.
i wonder what i would do if i could pull apart what we are – what parts would i take? wear around my neck? crystallize? lift up to the shelf where all of our myriad objects from journeys get left.
i was moving my clothes and your terracotta incense burner shaped like a church fell. and broke.
the heart is not a metaphor, they say.
what about everything else?
there is a strange promise in the artery of heartbreak.
even in the severing, you take comfort in the fact..
you’ll bleed new blood.
it doesn’t mean -
never trust again.
it doesn’t mean -
never love again.
it just means..
there are more mirrors in this house than i expected.
but i realize now how easy it is for you to look past your own reflection.
isn’t it funny, how we all always say -
i thought i knew you?
maybe it’s not even possible – to know.
it’s just whatever strand of light hits the glass first.
my girl, my girl, don’t lie to me. tell me where did you sleep last night? in the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine. i would shiver the whole night through.
sometimes i think – i need to disappear into the woods.
hollow out a space for my bones, curled up into a tangle of fur and paws and tears.
even the beasts cry, sometimes.
especially when they don’t want to.
i am not foolish enough to believe that anyone can be what you need them to be.
i remember his mother telling me that, a few heartbreaks ago, from the driver’s seat of her car on the island.
she said it in passing but it predicted the end – of that. of – so many things.
this sad zodiac.. my stars shattered into a bowl, mortar and pestle, feed me my wishes again so i can stay.. alive.
it all comes out in the grinding.
in the working of the words, of the bones, of the promises.
where is the line from acceptance to acceptance? what makes it surrender? what makes it holding your breath?
i am not a guru sitting in the woods, eyes closed, hands folded. sweet smile.
i am the beast in the burrow.
i don’t believe you.
acceptance is not surrender in the usual sense. funny, these guises of words.
all guises. all words held on posts against faces. we promise. and promise. and close our eyes again.
but it’s not important enough, is it? is it.
you have lived this long enough and i am not understanding.
i think i know enough to say – i don’t want to..
maybe i should keep it. myself.
let you remember how the lone howl fits in your throat.
leave you with the cup. the lighter and matchsticks.
i don’t believe you.
even the beasts cry, sometimes.
waiting for another dream.
i want you to try and remember what it was like to have been very young. and particularly the days when you were first in love; when you were like a person sleepwalking, and you didn’t quite see the street you were in, and didn’t quite hear everything that was said to you. you’re just a little bit crazy. will you remember that, please? – wilder, “our town”
there are those moments of the infinite tucked into the everyday – when suddenly he looks at me as if he was seeing me for the first time, really seeing me -
“look at you. you’re so beautiful..“ he says. “you glow.“
and i am touched by that thing that reached me, now long ago, at the beginning – not quite ever-present, fully, but there – just out of reach.. to stumble upon, an infinite number of times – always, somehow, beautifully new.
i remember, i remember being seen again, finally seen – the way we all long for, after so long. after so long of being looked right through.. and we are in the airport and i am trying not to cry, burying my face in your neck.. “you make me glow,” i whisper.. and you do.
the way the current connects without a second thought – just gives light to light to light. holding you in my arms, at moments i am suddenly in awe that i am on the side of the glass where this exists. where you are real. and your life breathes life into me, and on and onward.
sometimes, sudden, we look at each other as the way sunlight pools and fills the pure expanse of closed eyes. beating. radiating. red, orange hues, the heat on your face, the warmth, the curve of your lips sent up into the ether, that’s – how i see you.
and i know that’s how you see me.
i am no longer dealing in apparitions.. even when you are not physically beside me, i can lace my fingers with yours, feel the pulse of your energy, the colors pooling. the only sound – the slight squeal of the door to the cage swinging open, the puff of air on your face, the held breath – finally, sweetly – exhaled.
you are the beginning and beginning and beginning again – every time, the key in the lock, the look in your eyes – silently, wholeheartedly, understanding.
knowing me. seeing me.
setting me free.
thank you for giving me my life back.
thank you for reminding me –
what VISION really means.
There is so much I want to say about TRAVERSALS, the launch, new adventures and struggles and challenges, but first.. This.
Remember the way it was when you were a kid.
I like this concept of the personal essay. I don’t like that my computer is forcing me to use upper-case I’s. But I digress.
I can’t stop dipping back into the past. But with recent readings I feel better about my constant sense of longing. I am at odds.. I am the ennui-obsessed artist constantly stretching fingertips towards the sky. However I also have been so lucky to learn about Eastern philosophies and all of those New Age-y teachings that have thankfully become so much more prevalent now.. BE GRATEFUL. For what you have. Inherently does that mean – don’t REACH?
I feel bad for reaching. Guilt. Something I always tangle with.. How can I be the fully present, open-eyed, grateful yogini while also grappling with the sense of ennui that makes me create? (And get into trouble…) I think I need to accept – they are both part of me. There is no grand transformation that is one day going to occur to make me think and feel the way I’m “supposed to” to live a better, fuller life.
I am a wildchild. That means many things.. That means embracing all parts of myself – the stillness of the forest, the tumble of the river, the CRASH of a waterfall.
I am everything.
And this is why I cannot stop reaching towards the past. Although I was not exempt from anxieties, fears of mortality, insomnia, boredom, etc etc etc – there was something different. Something us “grown-ups” are always trying to get back.
When you were little – when you wanted to do something, you did it. Even though you had no money of your own and little means besides imagination, household objects, and whatever your parents or loved ones gave you.. I remember. Without training or schooling or funds or qualifications – you just were.
If you wanted to be a photographer, you took pictures. If you wanted to be a dancer, you danced. An acrobat, a writer, a choreographer, a teacher, an explorer, a singer.. There was no knee-jerk reaction to stop yourself and say, waitwaitwait – I can’t be THAT because I am THIS. Or I don’t have enough money, time, resources, influence, on and on. And my personal favorite – who am I to think I can be X, Y, or Z? Who the hell do I think I AM?
Why, would you look at that. Who the hell do I think I am? Whatever I want to be.
I feel like the actions we took when we were little are a wonderful compass to follow when it comes to direction for the rest of our lives – because we truly did what we wanted to, without worrying about what anyone else would think. At least I did.
I was Renaissance woman before I even truly knew what the Renaissance was. I was a singer, poet, playwright, director & stage manager, athlete, obstacle course organizer, amusement park builder, adventure leader, teacher, circus coach. Imaginary figure skater. Radio DJ.. I always come back to this because I need to REMEMBER. We all do.
When we are spinning out in life.. Trace your way back to your little self – the being who did whatever gave them JOY. Would your kid self waste time with things they didn’t want to do? Naw. And I’m not talking about quitting your job! Running into the hills! Never paying bills! I’m talking about.. Connecting to your true self, which I think is so pure when you’re a child. Connect to that self, and dream boldly the way you used to. Do what you can, where you are – the way you did when you were a child. A blanket becomes a fort. Your living room becomes the woods. A pile of pillows is the ocean to dive into. Need palm trees for the beach? Draw them, cut them out, and stick them up on the wall. Not good enough? We didn’t even have a second to consider it..
It sounds so rudimentary but with our world constantly beating us up and dumbing us down and distracting us – we FORGET! Ah, God, always – we forget. We clutter ourselves with CONDITIONS, CIRCUMSTANCES, dare I say EXCUSES! But you know what?
Because just like you changed from a mermaid into a unicorn with the flick of a wrist when you were a kid – you can change your circumstance. The slightest, tiniest efforts – they matter.
Some days – they just suck. You know it. I know it. But infuse your life with that little kid magic.. You haven’t lost it. Even if you have to search down deep in the darkest caverns of your mind..
Your inner child is waiting with a lantern.. and the promise of ADVENTURE.
fire. fire. fire. FIRE.
“Audrey Dimola is the personification of creativity, talent and light […] The book is no doubt a reflection of the energy and light Audrey emits, and reads fluidly and vulnerably. Though the book began with the loss of her own personal firecracker, it is an embodiment of fireworks depicted on paper – words exploding and erupting with each turn of the page. TRAVERSALS is both empowering and moving.” – Give Me Astoria
The day is finally here..
My second collection of poetry & prose, TRAVERSALS, meets the world.
CLICK HERE to order a signed & dedicated copy directly from me, securely via PayPal (please note you do not need to have a PayPal account).
174 pages of original poetry & prose!
if you can’t move, let the breath move..
if you can’t be the ship, be the oar.
if you can’t be the oar, be the compass.
if you can’t be the compass, be the slightest stirring
in the voyager’s heart that told him –
i will not waste this day like all the others.
if you can’t be the voyager, be the faintest flickering
of the arrow magnetized towards whatever is greater –
whatever you can see in that last moment,
with your eyes widened and the water in your lungs –
that suddenly makes you forget how to drown…
“the backbone of this book is a celebration of the knowing + the unknowing in one life + heart. of memories + freedom. a call to those warriors we meet on the paths we take who bring us light. that stranger who becomes a lover who becomes a ghost. the one who leaves an imprint in our desert for the rest of time like the eroding of rock turned river. the ghosts of our past, of ourselves, of promises long broken. and what we choose to do with these ghosts…” -nick neon, film + music video director, screenwriter & creative director @ rollthedicepictures.com
“Audrey Dimola uses words to harness light, and this collection of poetry and prose brings that light to dark places and broken spaces. With her native New York feet, wildchild spirit, and poetic fingertips, the author selflessly cuts open her own scars to reveal that beauty can emerge from pain. Using her writing gift and keen understanding of the human condition, she howls at the light of the moon so that the reader does not drown in darkness. The beauty of the moonlight remains in the reader’s heart and mind long after reading the words.” -maria karaiskos, nyc teacher
From the author: A series of events in my life that began in that Fall of 2011 spurred it on. It was unavoidable. I lost my beautiful firecracker of a Nana and then my longest relationship, left my solid job, and then met the explosive muse who struck the arc of TRAVERSALS. And it went on after that – dazzling highs and startling lows, wildness and bewilderment, adventures with beautiful souls I will never forget. That’s what TRAVERSALS chronicles, what gets left behind and how we honor what we have experienced – the people we’ve loved, lost, suffered with, and let go; the brave hearts in the trenches beside us; the ones that breathe new life into us; the ghosts we are haunted by and the ghosts we become in the lives of others.. At the end of the day TRAVERSALS is really about the resiliency of the human heart – trusting the process, trusting the journey when it comes to life and art.
And if you’re in the NYC area, please join me for the BOOK LAUNCH & PERFORMANCE PARTY at the brand new Q.E.D. venue in Astoria, Queens!
Thursday, November 13th
at the brand new Q.E.D.: A Place to Show & Tell venue
in Astoria, Queens!
(27-16 23rd Avenue, Astoria-Ditmars Blvd N/Q stop)
Join Queens-born poet/performer/firecracker Audrey Dimola as she celebrates the release of her second collection of poetry & prose, TRAVERSALS. Known for anything but perpetuating the traditional reading format, you can count on an interdisciplinary love-fest, semi-inappropriate jokes, and tales of the triumph of the human spirit.
Talented friends of the poetic, musical, and dancey variety will be on hand to perform and debut special collaborations (and books will be for sale, of course!): Poet/singer Valerie G. Keane, dancer/choreographer Kymberly Nolden, musician/actor/dancer Jacob Horstmeier (with violinist/singer Margaret-Ellen Jeffreys!), poet/musician Marc Montfleury & playwright/musician Tyler Rivenbark combine powers with Audrey herself for an evening both fun and heartfelt.
RSVP at the FACEBOOK INVITE!
Thank you ALL endlessly for your love, light & support.. The journey begins again. XXOO