A Body at Work
Newsletter 24
Hi readers!
A lot emerges when you’re able to take in silence. Our world is full of noise and static, blocking out the messages we need to receive from deep within ourselves. I’ve gotten the chance as of late, to think about being alone and being silent. In this newsletter and the next, I’ll be talking about the important realizations I’ve gathered.
I wrote poem with the prompt of “luxe” in my writing group a few months ago. Right away, I’ll bet you imagine some degree of luxury, some indulgence. The word gave be a sticky sweet feeling I hope comes through here.
The door slams with a heavy thud and everyone is gone
The space is mine and I glide across the honey grains of lacquered wood
With my feet lightly touching it
I pause and the room resonates with the hum of a home softly breathing
It’s sleeping
But I am alive
I turn off the fans and let the temperature rise
My writing room becomes a cozy and still comfort
Where the music in my head begins to get loud
I am ready to write
The melody moves me as my fingers fly
The composition is natural and emanating in joyful bursts
It’s getting hotter and I’m in love with the stickiness of the air
Cool beads of sweat form all over
And I am slithering with this delicious rapture
I am in my body and gushing with romance on a page
The work is angry, it is fearless, it is a disrespectful fuck in the family room
While your mom is in the next room
Alone and wrapped in rhythm and sweat and this love of my words
I am in my body
And consumed by a power that does not fail
I float down and down, drifting off
Passed hesitation to truly touch myself
Taking my time with what comes
From my fingertips
Slipping deeper and deeper into imagination
Quietly surrendering my heat to the cool
Of a waiting pillow
While it’s still quiet I roll over
And orgasm in my sleep
After reading this poem aloud in my writing group, host Leigh, was reminded of a departure from the usual dramatic structure of Freytag’s pyramid with introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution (or denouement). This poem, they suggested, flipped that structure upside down and recommended the book We Were Witches to give me more insight. I immediately bought it on audiobook to hear the author, Ariel Gore, read it herself (and her cadence makes it a good listen). In chapters 3 and 4 , Gore recounts wanting to buck against the phallic structure of the pyramid and instead “put a vagina in the middle of my story”. It was the knee-jerk rebellion of a young woman finding her voice to tell her story amidst the shame of teenage motherhood. The initial idea was a conduit into something else entirely, however. What if the opposite of that pyramid was another shape altogether?
Gore asks how we can reimagine the “shape of experience” and I often think of geometric structures in which the lines fall apart then align. Such is the serendipity of our interactions. I stumbled upon something with this poem and have a new avenue to explore in terms of creating my own paradigm and permitting myself the freedom of enjoying my individual experience, whatever form it takes.
Gore also suggests “symboliz[ing] creativity as a body of work”. I think of The FLARE as a body of work, of twists delving deep, levity, and tranquility all at once. It is not merely one thing, but a visage of me as a developing writer becoming who I need to be. I want my work to tell stories with weight, stories which have fury or quiet rage or warmth. All are part of that body, one which changes with time.
This piece is powerful, sensual, and also challenges the oft paired sentiment of sadness with aloneness. The character is happy to be alone and the silence offers a pleasurable experience where they can be wholly themselves. It’s an empowering thing to invest in oneself and find what you need inside yourself in that moment. While I value community and connections, I am learning to value myself more. I cannot be part of the whole in a real way if I cannot be myself first.
What speaks to you when it’s silent?
How do you symbolize your creativity?
Don’t forget to submit your follow-up to my short fiction piece “By Chance”. I’ll be premiering the selected story next month, so there’s still time!
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The remarkable thing about this poem for me is its ring of authenticity. Your words move rhythmically and the cadence quickens as the orgasm approaches and the writing of a poem becomes a part of creating a new being. While the poet is alone in a room, the poet is not alone in a house. Mother is in the next room. Beautiful work.
Love this! I recently wrote a piece about how much I enjoy cooking in complete silence. Feel free to read it here: https://structuredrambles.substack.com/p/cooking-in-silence