audrey dimola[art for the wild]

Posts Tagged ‘memory

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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.

sparkler

i wrote this for someone very dear to me, in remembrance of someone dear to him. their story, her story, hit me hard. the details. realizing yet again that all we have is this moment.. and everything we leave behind. the impressions we make on the people we love – and even people we’ve never met. sometimes a star is just that bright..

this is for sweet alex, with love to her.. and all those we are left staring at the sky, wishing for.

“life is beautiful, go tell everyone”

this is for you, dear beauty
i’ve never met-
because the wildness makes
us all sisters.
the universe doesn’t always
make it easy but
souls still burn
even in absence. sometimes
even brighter..
never contained. only memories.
only purity. only song. only
golden strands & flecks of
blue. you.
this is for you, beauty.
who had things to do
on the other side of silence,
your path redrawn abruptly-
all of us
lighting candles,
watching for your spark
inside the flame.
the last thing he
said to you was a sweet
promise to keep
“until next time” –
now saved
for the clouds..
a thousand candles,
a jazz band
bumpin’ so fine
you can dance
as long &
as joyfully
as you damn well
please.
& that is what we
will do,
beauty.
we will look at your
smile in photos
& post words you
can’t read & title
as-yet-unimagined artworks
after your mexican
standoff eyes in the
19th century drawing
room of your face.
& we will go on.
all the strange &
simple things-
the dusting of snow,
soggy cereal, the
sighs on the other
end of the phone..
we know you’re still
working, out there.
& we must too.
you are part of the
wild now.
the endless whirling in
our heads when we
try to sleep,
where we go
when we get lost
in brushstrokes,
the feeling that
makes us dance &
dance until we cry
from laughter,
from ache..
how lucky are we
to have seen a
shooting star?
some souls have
forever to make a
move & never do.
others streak across
our sky but once
& we can never
ever
forget.
travel well,
beauty.
we’re curling up inside
the space you left
this winter..
the glow of your
remembrance
will keep us warm.

XO

a.

“to every man his chimera.” -baudelaire

burning-hand 10478114_735356976547373_716682159052866324_n
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 –
you appear.
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
to sing.
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
can’t keep
taking chances.
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
bare trees
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 –
to me.
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..
it’s still
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
bewilderment,
that face
i remember,
i know,
you can only love me
in ruin.
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
to
forget you?

XO

a.

 


Into the wild wonderland…

Celebrated as “a wildfire in a world of fluorescent bulbs,” a “poetic force of nature,” and “inspiration incarnate,” Queens, New York City native AUDREY DIMOLA is a poet, performer, curator, messenger, local arts advocate, community organizer, and lifelong artist, as well as Director of Public Programs at Long Island City’s Socrates Sculpture Park. // Thanks so much for stopping by! You’ll find all my work on this website, past and present, as well as new blog posts. Poetry, prose, videos, events, photos, articles – it’s all here. // STAY WILD, STAY GRATEFUL!

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