when the fever broke.

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it has been an interesting number of weeks for me. like tumblr once upon a time, instagram has become a safe space to document experiments with lots of different things- natural light, video, physical art pieces, minute moments.. (click on the videos to play them!)

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things converge to create such a particular mood, moment, influence. spending time in emotional darkness, in physical sickness, days without blue sky. watching movies like gaspar noe’s ‘love’ and ‘to the wonder.’ returning to the proust chapter about memory (a memory is altered everytime you recollect it) in the ‘proust was a neuroscientist’ book.. walking over the triboro bridge to randalls island, again and again. looking at everything from high up. experiencing that particular feeling that hits me every year at this time- threshold. lingering light. possibility.

several things are on the horizon- i want to curate and perform in a different way, playing with poetic theatre hybrids, video editing, spatial exploration. i feel lucky to have new possibilities beginning with the incredible IDENTIFY show starting next week, and with my dear friend mwest this summer on SI.. it’s why everything has to fall out from under us, sometimes. sometimes seeing nothing, nothing at all, for awhile- is the only way to see things differently. to remember the vocabulary that exists in your hands, your body.

even thinking of ‘self-love’ in a different way..

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wonder directed inward. inward(,)seeking wonder

my overwhelming need to build castles triumphantly is sabotaged because i don’t pay attention enough to not keep building them so close to the sea. one castle falls after another and i am enraged, heartbroken, impassioned, and blindly inspired to keep building, again and again and again.

you can still build the sandcastle. just be cognizant of the foundation. of where the tide comes in.

and that’s what i have to look at, now. the foundation. which comes with examining patterns without judgment.

what is the cure, the elixir of life?

having the patience- although part of me doesn’t want to use that word because it feels too conscious- to live through the days even when you are robbed of existence. even when you feel ‘you’re wasting your life’ – that is your life. right? it’s something you have to walk through.

i am a proclaimer, i love to feel strong and overcome and get to the end of something. but you don’t get to the end of this- it’s not neat, it’s fucking jagged and awful and meaningless and makes no sense. but it also just is.

we have to retrain ourselves to feel these things. accept them as whole, full, meaningful stimuli- instead of always seeking seeking seeking something more, something else. this is even about me, feeling myself. appreciation of the tiniest meaningful gestures- no one else can explain that to you.

i write these words while knowing in some days’ time they may be robbed from me but i guess that’s why we write, or create. not for continuity’s sake but to capture the feeling of a moment- i was here, feeling this.

every moment we can just stand here and say- this i what i am, right now- whether or not it is incongruous with our legend, what we want to be percepted as.

can i find the wonder in the small things? let everything touch me with profundity- the grace in what it is, not what i want it to be or wish it was?

birds outside the window, in the light. to take things as they are.

we are the only ones who can unravel our own illusions.

we are learning everything- painfully, by crashing into it, by watching it go.

i trust that i am supposed to learn from these golden moments instead of always “having what i want.”

because then everything gets numb. no wilderness, no sex, no recognition, no sunny days can fill you if you lose the ability to be filled.

gratitude is a word we all say so often. wildness, too- everyone is wild now. perhaps this is my journey to really uncover what they mean- by going slowly. seeing miracles. unravelling the dissatisfaction. and truly feeling again.

because from inside the gold of the moment- it just is. you are most grateful for your breath when you are breathing, fully, not thinking about it. you are most grateful for your life while you are just living it.

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this week i will be standing onstage again. i’m hosting boundless tales on thursday and on friday i’ll be performing a brand new piece from this time at an event i’m so looking forward to- the wonderful joan becht willette‘s celebrating queens women artists event at queens council on the arts! it gets me thinking so much about history, HERstory, identity, perception. all themes running through my mind, my creative production at this time.. i want to explore this further and push past some edges i previously stopped short at. what does it mean to be vulnerable, to fully share? what about the space between the words? what about the power that comes from not always being the loudest or the most outwardly powerful or explosive? this is what i want to experiment with. how sensual, how gentle, how tender, how graceful. slow. nuanced. there is power in that.

after being in the dark you become obsessed with the light. physical light. feeling it on your face, the shapes it casts on walls, the way it warms bricks on sides of buildings, tied to some memory you can’t quite place, something from childhood, something sprang from goodness- something you somehow know- that even after all this– you believe in. you can remember what believing means. it is effortless, when real. the light. and even the light in the gradual fading of it to twilight and dusk, streetlights winking on, the sweetness of gradient. all the shades in between- we are.

i am easing up on the weight of the illusions- baudelaire, ‘to every man his chimera,’ stooped low, carrying.. i want to give my back a break. stand up and feel that light on my face. experience the gradients. not the violent highs and lows. the moments i have been too afraid, too restless, too impulsive to inhabit. i will be there.

springtime- in mind, in body. as always. so welcome.

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to the wonder,

XO

a.

[.upcoming

3/10/16 – Hosting for Queens’ longest running reading series, Boundless Tales at the Astoria Bookshop, 7-8:30pm [Facebook]

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3/11/16 – Featured poet at Celebrating Queens Women Artists Event organized by Joan Becht Willette for Women’s History Month at Queens Council on the Arts, 6:30-9pm [More info]

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4/7/16 – Performing for Queens Book Festival/Wendy Angulo Productions in Long Island City at the Q-Boro Lit Crawl! [Facebook]

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4/16/16 Poets from Queens reading with Queens Poet Laureate Maria Lisella and other distinguished local poets at Queens Library in Flushing (auditorium), 1:30-3pm!

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And later that night… 4/16/16 – Featured poet at UNDER THE INFLUENCE: The Inspirational Legacy of a King from Queens honoring Astoria graff legend DON1 with Louie “KR.ONE” Gasparro at QNS Collective, 7-11pm [Facebook]

[all events, past & present, always listed HERE

go slowly.

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you are the only one who can decide what is healing to you and what that actually means.

sometimes you can’t accept help.

sometimes help is the thing that turns you further and further away.

sometimes you know you’re spiting yourself. isolating yourself. hurting people you love. but there’s nothing you can do.

for me, i’m such a hyper-aware/obsessive/fixating person that my cognition is on overload- what is the reason? how are we processing this? what comes nextnextnext?

the greatest thing- the only thing- we can do.. is just show up. as yoga teaches us every time we arrive.

just be there, in some situation out of the ordinary. with no expectation, cognition, pressure, NOTHING.

applaud yourself for the days you move. smile. go outside to touch a tree. look at the stars.

don’t guilt yourself into or out of anything.

just show up at yoga. start making some crazy collage. make a therapy appointment. go for a walk. make yourself a meal. any small thing. and then just be there. be in it. receive it. because the healing just happens. i feel it right now, 3 days back into yoga.

you can read self-help and advice books until the end of time- and i love them too- but you have to just embody it. get there. be there. get out of bed. or go to sleep early. and show up.

sometimes teachings work backwards for me because i constantly beat myself up- i know this. i know better. you feel the pressure, the expectation, the guilt, shame, time slipping away.

so- i am just writing to you lovingly from a moment outside the darkness.

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just show up.

because the possibility of transformation is so much more pure and REAL than any kind of cognition, reasoning, logic, grandiose or complicated process your mind wants to implement.

right now- that’s all i can ask of myself. showing up, everyday. some consistency that i have never had in this increasingly bewildering world.

our lives feel meaningless because we’re always waiting for the big bang, so overstimulated it’s only the big things that can touch us anymore. what about the sensations of being alive, the sights and sounds, awareness?

as my best friend said so perceptively.. we are pulled over on the side of the road fiddling with our GPS, google maps, and wifi signal. instead of remembering- WE. CAN. JUST. DRIVE.

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here, my heart goes analog.

“go slowly, and you will find the way out.”

XO

a.

only.

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of winter and the war. at this point i only care for what will bring me back to life.. happy (belated) snowstorm, nyc.

“you must not give way to desires which you don’t believe in. i know what you desire. you should, however, either be capable of renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. once you are able to make your request in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come. but at present you alternate between desire and renunciation and are afraid all the time. all that must be overcome.”

“i have been and still am a seeker, but i have ceased to question stars and books; i have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. my story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams- like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.”

-hesse, ‘demian.’

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when i dream it’s of us looking down, watching everyone else from the heavens.
-s.w.

i kiss you in the space
where wings should be
place my fingers
on your ribs
where candles could be
you’d think our hearts
would be tired of this
by now
but the snow is enough
pull up the blankets
fold back into
the memory.
there are never enough
words about you
scribbled in half-light
with white-out outside
slipping in like
reality under sheets of
perception
you have always been
beautiful enough
to make me forget
everything
else-
and so i
fit myself against you
like a prayer
i somehow still remember
how to say.
your body-
tones to some
other world
i am following
my own
sunken footsteps to
winter, reprise-
again.
how many times
can you write and
rewrite
your skin it
makes these
words, my
body remembers
to trust you
in these
frigid days
the first and last place
to ever truly find
the only warmth that
could receive me-
only.
i am writing you again
when i swore i wouldn’t
your flesh under my pen,
hot.
like the whispers you make
in sanctuary,
half gracious, half afraid,
when something other than god
breathes the chill
into the wind-
our legends are dead..
sleep until
the winter light
seems brighter
than the rest-
no page could contain
you..
your foot against mine
twitches
sinking into
snow footprints
on the other side,
are you
following me
this time?
if i could
slip this pen
between your
bones i’d say
leave it there
because
there’s always
something else
to be written,
rewritten
black ink, my
name
scribbled over
lost fingertips
of those who
touched you
while i was
gone
is it
possible
to rewrite a
memory?
trust my
hands
because
the words came
from there too
and the hands
take work
the ways they
make you
understand
in ways the
heart never
could
i am doing
this work
right now
for another winter
too long to
remember
separation
too short to
ever
ever
forget.
i kiss the space
where your wings
should be
because i still
remember
they could.
words are hands
and hands are
prayer
alive, tonight.
i light the
candle where
your rib
should be
god’s unsteady
hand
cracked
that bone
when he made
me.
he knew
the two
of us
wouldn’t learn
enough
if we were
complete..
sleepwalking
back
to the origin story
in a blizzard.
isn’t that just
what we
always
do?
trust the hands
when the
heart
can’t see-
another winter
in our
muscle
memory.

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om agnaye namaha,

XO

a.

for the times it arrives like a thunderbolt.

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yes, there were many joyful things mixed with the blood. – clarice lispector.

sometimes all we can offer are the words. sometimes all we have are the words. and for that i am grateful. this came to me like a wild mother, like a hand of profound power and gentle grace. she is what is comforting me in this moment of uncertainty- all deep breaths and strangeness. below is only a portion of this piece- my hand wouldn’t stop moving. i know this will play a part in annunciation, my third offering to the world- this word that has been following me around in different forms, different adventures, different creatures- since the summer. a friend and fellow poetess told me that doing the polar bear plunge is “good for the guides.” i had no idea how right she was. the door to this opened when i tried to start writing about myself in a loving way.. no coincidence. this is as much for you as it is for me.

**

the eyes that have been wearing glasses since childhood but only so the heart can see clearer. in the mists of the night, the reflected deer soul crossing your path. i am going to make a work of striking, strange oneness. like reality percepted itself. HEART that loves to the point of ruin, stands in the fire city, recreates it from mud and ash again, not blinking. not asking for anything, but THIS, always this. earth city, mud city, the hand palms and feet soles that bless the wounds and suck the energy from sky, air, ground, trees, dirt- drink it desperately like GOOD MEDICINE- the only kind left- the body you once extricated, criticized, now crashed to wholeness by the perfect sea- i am salt and longing, fragmented light still twinkling with magic so ancient from before i was born this way- it constantly tells me i’m okay and some days i feel pure enough to believe it, my hand going to pins and needles as i write this, my body born again in the shock of aliveness, perfect frigid waters, crying and laughing, howling, this is how we were born- and some days i feel wild enough to believe it. near to the wild heart i am cleansed by my own blood spilled, i want to look at it in my hands, know i died for something- gasping, gaping, the way an open wound breathes open mouthed just before healing- twinkling, i had never felt my lungs before, i had never heard my heart before- I AM. like she before me and all the animals i am still a cave painting swirling wind, fur and belief- fossilized in crouched cocoon i can feel myself at the river’s edge- I COME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE and that place has healed me. make enough space in between your bones and ache for the incantation to begin, this is how we turn salt to sinew, memory to surrender to what is greater, wordless- i am always edging the notion between words and sleep, stretching like fingers towards the whole damn world’s oblivion, even jesus the christ had to leave to come back, you always wander to return, RENEWED. bless this heart, these hands, these teeth that love too purely, salt in the fierceness, the wound, the truth, the library- all i can do is scribble at the doorways in my head, i will unlock them all with heart fire the way a blaze never asks permission, it just comes to return and then leaves as if it never left, this is eternity in the flesh- can you feel it? burning boats and bridges, sweet algae climbing on the sides of memory, grasping, drinking, gulping the marrow- i will stay close to the lupine heart, i will be rock and moss and teeth and shadow- i will be the sunburst on the water, i will sing with eyes electric, i will stand at helm of fearful generator but in GREATNESS- I AM.

XO

a.

for the one who needs to climb to understand.

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“when we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: be still! be still! look at me! life is not easy, life is not difficult. those are childish thoughts… home is neither here nor there. home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.” -hesse

trees are extremely close to my psychic sense of self.. in fact, on a morning in which i had given away some keys to an old life- i climbed the tree in that photo at the edge of astoria park and found- another key, tied to a red string. life is all about the symbology we apply to it, the meaning we ourselves ascribe.. or else there is nothing. i will never forget how- in my heartache and restlessness i sat, read, communed, and wrote stories up in my favorite tree in fort greene part in brooklyn (which i later discovered was named by a little girl i ran into as ‘the grandmother tree’.. perhaps my nana sent me another grandmother on earth..?). i have beautiful memories of climbing trees with my brother and sister in rainey park in long island city- teaching my sister how to trust her wildness, my own self being spurred on by her presence to climb higher, abandon my fear. this piece came out of an interaction this morning- and i was just thinking of how i haven’t posted something non-event related in awhile.. here you are. thanks for the inspiration. and thanks to my brothers & sisters. the trees.

**

i am doing what i know. i cannot do what i cannot know. and so i do this. do not tell me not to climb the trees. to touch them, to trust them with my body, to be held by them as they hold me in psychic spirit, to rest, to receive. do you remember your girl-self, the explorer, who could only touch to understand- to press against, to peer, to look, to feel? eyes are hands sometimes. bodies are all points of an eight-sided starburst, each point a perceptor, antennae- in my vision the bears and birds gave me their feathers and furs- i am just beginning to remember the reason why. do not tell me not to climb the trees- how you anchor my movements in ego, the cement that sticks to my wild bones, hardening, separating- my soul from sinew, my song from self, the trees i give, they give, we give to each other. i feel their LIVING HEART, not as mere idea, but BREATHING- we complete the sacred circle, i hear their energy in my head. have you forgotten the will of palpability? of feelings beyond discernment from afar, ribbons of judgment cast down from lofty windows, tangled in branches of trees- why yes, i am sitting in. i feel as creature, i must do as creature, this is what makes me think without discord, perceive without pretense, REMEMBER that i can talk to souls that communicate without limiting sound-words through limited language i can no longer hear when my chest is pressed up against the bark so tight we can feel each other’s intention. love so purely encircling it is like the infinite warrior guardian i want to know how to be.. can be. if the trees teach me this, teach you this- why halt the force of echo, remembrance? i can only do what i know, just as you can. and this is what i know: i will climb the trees until my body can no longer. wild and grateful, still, to be healed by the medicine of my memory. do not pretend to know more than i know about the earth and what it wants, the trees and what they feel, my heart and what their hearts need to feel. i can hear them and so can you. we all know the same, we all know nothing, we are all prostrate before the altar of learning, listening- what you hear is different from what i hear, and that is okay. let the trees be. i am, i say, i am. i am feeling, holding, releasing, dreaming, reading, gazing, blessing, infinitely talking, feeling, seeing. to them, with them, as them. i hear them too loud to let them be. they hear me too loud to let me be. we are. being. .. are you?

XO

a.

are you ready, brothers & sisters?!

mashups

tis the season for thanks and i’m grateful for new opportunities to STRETCHHH those creative muscles, especially as the fall & winter set in. don’t let your heart go cold! the photo above is from the first ever MASHUPS performance (an interdisciplinary experiment of artists collaborating on the spot!) at queens council on the arts which was a night i will NEVER forget- MASSIVE love to my collaborators & the audience we vibed with <3

nature of the muse

TONIGHT! 11/12 7:30-9:30pm
NATURE OF THE MUSE reading & live writing show
by the FIRE in the carriage house at LIC Bar @ 45-58 vernon blvd in LIC
[facebook invite] *flyer by gianna ligammari!
feat: writers yi wu, tippy rex, sydney hartlove nichols, timothy bell & steven licardi with special musical guests janna pelle & luca difabio!
called ‘one of the most exciting literary events in the city’ by BORO mag, 5 writers will share their previously written work and then write LIVE from random prompts written by YOU, the audience! plus fantastic musical guests. ignite your MUSE with us!

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NEXT WEEK! 11/18 8:30-10:30pm
THE RISE OF NEON REBEL/ a gathering of creatives
Q.E.D. a place to show & tell @ 27-16 23rd ave in astoria
[facebook invite]
my BFF & fellow rebel artist nick neon is returning from korea after 7 years and we’re formally kicking off our NEON REBEL collective of wild hearts making their own luck, supporting each other, and changing the world with their work and art. BE A PART OF THIS!! we’ll be partying at Q.E.D., sharing, inspiring, discussing, presenting, plotting future projects, and enjoying special guest speakers: sam from good.clean.fun, kenny from road to greatness, valerie from naked in alaska & monica from museum of impact PLUS music from spells & curses and other shenanigans!

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if you are constantly dreaming of ‘somewhere else’ – FIND that somewhere else. i promise it’s out there. because when you take steps in the direction of those things or places that bring you joy, you realize it was never about locating that somewhere else on a map. it was about FINDING YOURSELF and thus unlocking one of the most precious gifts of all- being at home everywhere. with all people, all things. wandering, far and wide- it doesn’t matter. you realize you’re not running away from anything, like they said you were. you are endlessly seeking because you are seeking yourself endlessly and perfectly reflected in all things. yes, this is the journey that never stops. why should it? you find yourself- your true self- over and over again, in doing the things you really love. in daring yourself, shattering the ego, doing the work, taking the chances, pushing the edges. REALITY IS MALLEABLE, PEOPLE. and the more you purely push and investigate your mystery, the more you’ll see the rules bend until you forget what rules were in the first place…

‘ordinary life does not interest me’ ..

are you coming with? ;)

XO

a.

never a dull moment.

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today is my beautiful little sister’s 18th birthday. man! time is flying. why do we always say that? i’m grateful to be here in this moment.. so grateful.

this past summer has been one of, if not the, most important of my life. i have learned that you cannot fight or force your feelings. every bit of anxiety, restlessness, electricity, emotion- comes from somewhere. and it’s up to you to stop resisting and start listening to what your body and your emotions are trying to tell you. the resulting journey may dismantle you, make people worry a lot about you, question your every move, and fracture the very ground you stand on. but i promise you- it has a purpose.

someday you’ll know why you were never satisfied.

here i stand, in the knowing.

i’ve started a journey to becoming a wilderness guide/educator and also realized how much i love talking to the newer generations about positivity, potential, and the power of words and thoughts. there have also been many moments in the months since the summer that have been downright pitch black. dizzying. soul splitting. but you realize that- this is the point. to push ourselves to our edges and then find the strength to push right PAST.

speaking to a room full of kids, exploring with new souls, sharing my art, taking risks, putting my process on display, going into the woods, learning brand new tasks, trudging up a mountain.. it’s all destroying the parts of me that aren’t golden. aren’t infinite. stripping the useless husks of ego.. to the eternal bloom of light that lies within.

i feel so grateful to everyone i’ve met on this path, whether still with me or not. whether long-standing or brand new. i feel like the universe is placing my steps.. and as scared as i get. as much as that darkness beckons. as much as the questions and the uncertainty whisper to me from the edges.. i know i have to push. and keep pushing. for myself, for everyone. choosing energy. choosing passion. choosing self-expression. choosing wildness. CHOOSING LIFE.

i wrote the piece below for the WORDS WITH WINGS show at THE GRIND on 9/30 that was my first step back into curating and performing after the summer. i also performed it for 10 classes in a row at my high school recently, and its meaning was solidified..

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i am walking forward, INTO THE WILD. events are coming up including MASHUPS on 10/28 at queens council on the arts, a wild rumpus night of new work and free creation featuring visual art, music, poetry, dance, and a wildcard theme of tarot! i will be pushing my own edges this night and we will be responding to each other, to the themes, to the audience, in the moment.

my third book is breaking its own edges.. i’m looking at early 2016 to heal wounds and honor this stretch of the journey since the summer. the process is beginning..

words are going up around my neighborhood and beyond as i re-embrace my duty as messenger.

i will keep challenging myself. and i will stay free. as my family has said, time and time again.. NEVER A DULL MOMENT. but how could there be?

‘without enchantment, the rest is useless’ (borges) —

XO

a.

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***

this. is. for. you:
it doesn’t matter how old you are
what you’re deathly scared of
what is hurting your heart.
it doesn’t matter how many times
you wake up feeling anxious
how many times you reach for
the pen, the camera, the brush, the computer,
the door- and feel it’s pointless.
you. must. go. on.

I BOW ONLY TO THE FIRE INSIDE ME &
THE WINGS ON MY BACK.

even when your palms are bleeding- open your hands. you must go on. your search for meaning amounts to this- above all- it is whatever you create. whatever meaning you ascribe, you are the scribe, the wild messenger. plunge your restless fingers into the dark and with all your heart, pry yourself from what you cannot belong to. put your paws in the earth, hang your fears on tree branches, and go.

if you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror, smash it. if your key doesn’t work, put your fist through the door. if your heart can’t possibly shatter any further, put a lantern in your chest. light a match in the endless tunnels twisting inside your head. IMAGINE a way out, the way you did when you were only a child- you had it right. all those monsters run away if you can shine a brighter light. so SHINE ON, my friends. as bright as you can. conjure your own spell for resurrection, believe again in your alchemy, necromancy, turn the blood to gold and gold to armor, you will live again to fight another day.

wander the desert. pick through the bones. sing in the forest. keep anything that echoes. let the ocean beat against you, let the steepness of the cliff dismantle your ego. and start again. and again. and again. and again. this is the wilderness codex, the code of living forever. dying as many times as you have to. the moment you hit the ground is the first breath that you heave again. if you can’t get up, can’t go on, can’t walk another step, just WILL YOUR WINGS TO WORK.

I BOW ONLY TO THAT FIRE INSIDE ME &
THOSE WINGS ON MY BACK.

so many of us are walking around powerless. i am calling to you, my sisters & brothers, my wild souls, my rebel poets, my warriors of the light.

wear no shoes, climb up to a roof, speak to your city, ignite the mic and as long as it comes from your burning heart don’t regret anything you have to say.

stop disappearing into a faceless army. stop going back to your apartment, doing your job, going to sleep. that tingling in your throat, it’s starting something. it may come out hoarse but it’s a beautiful beginning. the messenger gave you a legend, a scripture, a tale to tell around a fire the way we did in ancient days. your words can turn ash to ember.

BELIEVE it. NOW BLAZE.

***

EVENTS COMING UP:

10/28/15 – Audrey Dimola presents MASHUPS! performance & workshop at Queens Council on the Arts in Astoria [Facebook]

11/12/15 – Nature of the Muse fireside reading/live writing series returns to LIC Bar [Facebook]

11/18/15#neonrebellion kickoff with Nick Neon arrives at Q.E.D. in Astoria [Facebook]

{{thank. you. one. &. all.}}

start a fire this fall

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“IT IS NEVER A MISTAKE TO SEARCH FOR WHAT ONE REQUIRES. NEVER.”

“the hallmark of the wild nature is that it goes on. it perseveres. this is not something we do. it is something we are, naturally and innately.”

“the most important thing is to hold on, hold out, for your creative life, for your solitude, for your time to be and do, for your very life; HOLD ON.” – women who run with the wolves

it’s been a helluva summer.

i bless myself with this pen and page. your heart can’t beat when it’s stuck in a cage- GET OUT. get out. breathe. live. do. BE GRATEFUL. we feel lost because we don’t see a path but we forget that’s because WE have to blaze it. don’t like where you are? change it. grind against what’s killing you, shed your skin, begin again. it’s never too late for a new origin story. the dark is real but so is your armor- reflect the light and keep getting stronger… i bow only to the fire inside me & the wings on my back~*

HELLO BEAUTIFUL HUMANS. i’m riding the lightning & last bits of this thunderbolt of a summer. i haven’t done any curated events of my own since june but HERE COMES THE FALL!

please join me for these shows because they’re not only meant for presentation, they are meant for PARTICIPATION. i’m in the mood to keep brewing and hope you are too ;)

want to:
– create a pair of wings made of positive words
– respond in the moment to your fellow cross-genre artists
– cozy up by the fire for mayhem & magic
– experiment/engage/build community?!

i gotchu.

COME OUT:

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9/30/15WORDS WITH WINGS, co-producing/hosting all-poetry show with THE GRIND in LIC & its amazing founder, spoken word poet/motivator SAFIEL VONAY (this girl is bonkers, check her out). this is the kickoff & the fireworks show!! feat. thomas fucaloro, shafina ahmed, steven licardi & others, special intro by safiel & i, plus more: live art/feathers project/mini open mic/artists to support including my amazing sister april tigerlily! let’s start the fall on a good foot & remember our WINGS. 11-27 44th rd LIC, doors at 7pm, 7:30-11:30pm [more info]

10/28/15Audrey Dimola presents MASHUPS! performance/workshop at Queens Council on the Arts in Astoria. it’s been a longtime dream of mine to feature artists responding to each other across genres, in the moment (!) – visual art, dance, poetry & music. this is the first & if you’re into it, please attend/email me for future events! feat. dancer caitlyn casson, musician jacob horstmeier, & more. 37-11 35th ave in astoria, 6:30-8 or 8:30pm.

11/12/15My Nature of the Muse fireside reading/live writing series returns to LIC Bar! this show is my very first baby & i’m so excited to bring it back to LIC bar a little earlier this year! five writers share their previously written work & then write LIVE from random prompts written by the audience. did i mention it’s by the fire?! feat. alicen grey, timothy bell, tippy rex, hala alyan & yi wu, w/special musical guests katelyn richards & luca difabio. 45-58 vernon blvd in LIC, 7:30pm.

11/18/15#neonrebellion kickoff with Nick Neon arrives at Q.E.D. in Astoria. want to be a part of a new supportive community of rebel-artists sharing work, asking questions, taking risks & encouraging each other to make art? stay tuned. we about the rock the joint. 27-16 23rd ave in astoria, 8:30pm.

***PS***

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thanks to my awesome brother i’m returning to my roots in journalism with a new arts interview webshow (!!!) called ART FOR THE WILD produced by colored in black productions, shot & edited by my aforementioned videographer/editor brother dominick! debut episodes feature one of my favorite collaborators & humans in general, MARC MONTFLEURY! check it out! can’t wait to share more stories & performances of the amazing folks i know & love..

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i’m SUPER proud to announce my story is appearing in an amazing book & initiative from my fantastic friend josh rivedal called The i’Mpossible Project: Reengaging With Life, Creating a New You. there are essays from myself and over 40 other life-warriors who have overcome tremendous odds, like josh himself who turned tragedy into new beginnings and ways to help others. preorders start tomorrow, more info is here!

***PAYING IT FWD***

my girl monica montgomery is launching the world’s first mobile/pop-up social justice museum, the MUSEUM OF IMPACT, this sunday 9/20 at 4pm in harlem! please come and help make history! it will be popping up from the launch until 9/24, so come for events each day like five boro story project’s uptown social justice story share 9/22 (from my other wonderful friend bridget!).

growing heart farm in upstate NY gave me so much this summer by accepting me with open arms & allowing me to work & stay in nature, and i want everyone to know what magic and healing they bring. please join them for an open retreat weekend with exploration, movement, yoga, and farm food (!!) oct 2-4. more info is here!

***LET ME TELL YOU Y’ALL***

THERE ARE NO MISTAKES IN ART.

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(new handmade versions of compass project poetry!)

stop disappearing into a faceless army. stop going back to your apartment, doing your job, going to sleep. that tingling in your throat, it’s starting something. it may come out hoarse but it’s a beautiful beginning. the messenger gave you a legend, a scripture, a tale to tell around a fire the way we did in ancient days. your words can turn ash to ember. BELIEVE it. NOW BLAZE.

go north / go forth,

XO

a.

QPTV “Art of Poetry”

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my longtime dream of appearing on QPTV/queens public TV is being realized very SOON!

thank you so much to maricor and empyre media productions for believing in me, the whole crew, my bro for helping, and of course gail lewis for hosting :) XO

“EMP’s ‘Art of Poetry’ with Audrey Dimola is now scheduled to cablecast on QPTV.

Here’s the schedule:

June 8, 2015 Monday- 10:30 am
Time Warner, Ch 56 / 1996
RCN, Ch 84
Verizon Fios, Ch 36

and

June 21, 2015 Sunday- 7:30 pm
Time Warner, Ch 56 1996
RCN, Ch 84
Verizon Fios, Ch 36

Note: This cablecast schedule is for Queens Borough residents only.

For those residing outside Queens borough, please watch the Episode on Empyre Media Production’s Vimeo Channel.
We shall post it, in sync with the cablecast schedule.

Please mark your calendar. Happy viewing ;)”

XO

a.

EDIT! THE EPISODE IS NOW AVAILABLE ONLINE :)

i feel so grateful to have been able to share my work and my thoughts on this empyre media productions episode, infinite thanks to the wonderful maricor fernandez and her crew and gail lewis who gave me an amazing interview! watch the clip for some live poetry from my last book ‘TRAVERSALS’ (& singing!), discussions of wildness and the unexpected, my guerrilla poetry sticker project, my feelings on poetry being for EVERYONE, dispelling the indie artist legitimacy crisis/stigma against self-pub, the impetus behind THE WILD PAPERS project, queens love & more. shoutouts to everyone for the photos & video used in the clip- the beginning is the debut of the dance/poetry collab MIRRORS at LPAC in april ’14! bless to all. i love this. <3

sea shanty

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things have been tumultuous.

today, on a whim, i got in a cab and told the driver: “anywhere in coney island.”

in my entire life, i don’t think i’ve ever been to the beach completely alone.

after having so much trouble writing.. relating. feeling. loving. believing.

in the sea, by the sea, as the sea- i was accepted, broken.

and in the space- i wrote.

i.
it is always as if- i am
seeing it for the first time.
i must believe as the first man did
god is in the ocean.
god is in the earth.
i no longer believe in one god.
i do not know of omniscience.
i only remember what healing is
when my feet touch scorching sand
particles glittering in a force
as wild
as i am.
nature is my only echo.
i am part and parcel.
crash of wave in my roiling heart.
murky depths.
unexplainable.
home to everything.
home to nothing.
home- forever changing.
i must have been a sailor.
because i can’t remember
what it’s like to not be in motion.
dwarfed and frightened and
awed by
majesty beyond your
mortal life.
when i arrive here:
I Arrive.
seagull shadow on
pen and paper.
leopard crabshell
discarded on the beach.
i want to walk
straight out into the
water
and never look back.
as hard as i try-
i cannot understand
anything else.
my heart on fire
has cooled
to floods, to this-
giving and taking
away, giving and
taking
away.
my mind which
never lets me
rest now
dissolving to
foam, bubble,
fragments. seabirds.
i know now
even the barnacles,
the ocean moss, the
crusted shells in
cluster-
have a place here.
i, too, would
latch on
and never leave.

ii.
i love
everything about
the ocean.
even, suddenly, things i couldn’t
bear to behold.
here there are no
notifications.
no guilt, no
smashed
hands or
phones.
you cannot force me
to feel.
i, who in these moments
have felt nothing,
now feel
all.
or at least-
the smallest glimmer
from a match-flick
of something.
an ocean whisper-
don’t leave us.
not yet.
we still have
things
to say.

iii.
if i could lead you
into a poem that is
my life
right now it would be
sounds and
only
darkness.
the slightest shrill of
wayfaring birds, the
slightest swing of
contained flame
in the distance
on the end of
an
outstretched arm,
the prow of a ship,
a billowing sail
saying only- i can
do this.
you must try
to move with me
in the dark.
walking will
do you no good here.
nor any knowledge
of four walls.
only sandy stretches
glittering like nebulas
a sky made of
bluing mussel shells
and fading
footprints.
there is no way
to make me see
otherwise-
the worldly things
besides
ankles tangled
with seaweed,
the crash of wave,
the
infinite
motion.
please do not
ask me to
stand still.
please do not beg me
to feel something
when i am curled
inside
these shadows.
only remind me
of the cycles.
the dusk and dawn
of the sea.
remind me that
these waters
in my heart
my head
this poem
are home for all
who have no
other place
to simply be.

iv.
i feel so infinite and
at peace.
like nothing exists
but this.
if i have to, everyday
or every other day or
every friday
i will return to
this ocean.
i feel as out of place
in the world as
a girl with fins
on land.
i am singing my own
sea shanty
in my heart
always.
i told him this morning
my heart feels like
a piece of driftwood
with the ocean crashing
against it.
and now here i am-
standing in the
water.
calmed by the sea
crashing into
me.

v.
this glittering sand
feels like
the most beautiful thing
i have ever seen.
it reminds me what i am a
part of and
what is a part
of me.

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thank you, coney island.

XO

a.