I headlined at Here Comes Everyone Magazine’s Fire&Dust Online gig tonight, and did that thing where I write a piece referencing everyone else’s piece and random stuff around the gig. So, here’s what I wrote for them. Hope it makes sense!
Sparkling lines of vibrating texture guide us,
alchemising the negative into something magical,
renewing knowledge of youth and warmth,
mystery threading landscapes through our heart,
time travelling to wave-rides and the braw froth of
the sweet visions weaved by a wain’s imagination.
We are comorbid, mounting in spirals, woven into
subterranean caves, listening to the tink-tink-tink of
reasonable hammers. And even with the difficulty
of narrow bandwidths we can lever prophetic flight from
rocky starts, starlight rhythmic as tsunami.
Early morning prayers sing us home, familiar as
hugs, shameless as true love, tugging at our roots.
We can duck awkwardness, dodging the bottles of
what-if, glancing over our shoulders, moving to
turns, wild and free, unfettered by strings.
Chanting trips into a bridge-tight hair-trigger,
summoning up dissolution, letters to internal
editors, and apologies are bottomless. We have a way,
negotiating meanings, slaloming through salvation
and the layers of elucidation.
We light time, primal as water, anger, sanctuary
peeking through the failure, hand to hand, candle
to candle, ascending amiably through consonants
that my family lost in too many moves, leaving behind
the texture of drumlins, exchanging them for valleys.
Tá brón orm. Mae ddrwg gen i. And you are our poem
and we are your poem, homecoming and hiraeth in
one package, arms wrapped around each other,
the redemption of pain and healing.
We map the details, plotting efficiency, signalling the
wilderness, hinting at mysteries, a beautiful shield against
selfishness. We are the best type of pretentious, overwhelmed,
yet intent on honouring the gorgeousness of divergence,
inventive in the face of indifference, hitching names to
faces, taking pieces of peace, breathing free of sickly-sweetness
clawing at new embarrassments, coursing through our veins.
Messy twenties a lesson for all of us, a course of penalties.
Or psychedelics, it’s difficult to say.
We point upwards to the ones before us, catching the web of
silk-strong love, raising beauty from the barren, astronomical,
hotter than fire, injudicious. Boiling rage floats masterfully,
navigating straight-edged friendships in the best ways, waves
of nostalgia buoying a connection that stretches across divides.
Cheek by jowl the intersections bless us, one world and another,
one word and another, a chain of absences, better than never
having met.
We have touched, minds and voices, seeking exit points, biting
wits switch-hitting themes, unhinging spectres, triggers content
in honesty. Abortive starts stutter into sympathetic syncope,
wide open and broken, boiling tears into hilarity, opening
the next phase, phrasing lovely lists into inferences of quality.
And we flower into flame, taking our place in loving dust,
waiting for the next breath to bring to the light.
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| From “Protecting the Plant from Catastrophic Combustible Dust Explosions” by Doan Pendleton |
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