i said beetroot three times the next day and each time the person said the same thing back. beetroot is, apparently, another acquired taste. Jazz is my answer to the question that no one has asked me explicitly how are you so intellectual yet you do not get classical music. Later in a taxi the mascot flippantly refers to her ghanaian colleagueĪfter the candlelit dinner i scribbled on the inside of my left forearm Sapiosexual crushes crash and burn this way, for the best You really believe what you are saying but you are bullshit (these arent even the intelligent points that were made much later)īack in the room the conversation had moved on past any graspable reference those are the moments were gesture cadence inflection expose an orator’s salt Thought about cutting off some in order to speak to others and also the reason why power is because it necessitates even demands acknowledgement and power would not be power if i could turn away from it so elegantly plus what of the well meaning leaders of your institutions and in fact the up and coming persons so dissident so deviant is this why frank ocean says barely anything at all also because he can not Squirming in my seat before committing to a third fake trip to the bathroom You can speak to allegiances (gazes off stage right) You can speak to power, sure (turns sharply, now facing stage left, looking upward) or Rose petals are also good for cleaning mature, dry skin.įinish by writing a word on your elbow that will still be there tomorrow. Is from the ground, it is self protected, it has thorns. I was running through the restaurant up its steep sloping floor, throwing food and screaming.Ī hot drink of warm milk, cardamom, cacao and rose petals. Do I write before or after I know something? I write to escape the thing I assume I know, and get back into the space of a question - or write into a loss of knowledge? Before long, you know yourself. The point is that writing starts from desire rather than knowledge (even if it is desire to know). Composition is phenomenological and affiliated. Every act of composition in writing situates a desire to write within a grain of time and gesture. It is composed of desires, which are completed by the object it is formed by. I am composed of a sexuality that is completed by the one I desire. We are drawn to the subject of writing to conjure forms out of our mouths and the shape of our mouths in our dreams. Writing is inquisitive and libidinal – but that’s not the condition of subjectivity of any given text. It is our orientations that form that desire into – what? legibility? For whom? Our affiliations? Our orientations include affiliations - associations, institutions and communities - but also hard apparatus such as environment, and soft apparatus, such as uncategorizable identity, sexuality, and whatever shapes our bodies or curves our arcs of meaning. The second question presumes that desiring to write is a given. My writing reaches to you not as a demand for attention but as a pleasure-pain ritual of your absence. I will find objects of desire shaped by composition. I, as I write me, am composed of desires. We write no matter what but that writing extends and bends towards our desires. The first question takes as a given that writing is inescapable, or unstoppable. What desires orientate our writing? Is this the same question as: What orientates our desires to write? It’s difficult to think when you are tired. It was cold outside and the end of a hard week, at the end of a hard year. On one level, it is a poem about an abortion – a "banal and farcical one", says Pester, and also "hopefully part of the history of poems that translate that bodily-yet-politicised experience into an ongoing collective thought".A bowl of pistachio nuts bottles of beer poured into glasses plates of lentils and coconut milk with buttered naan bread. If her poem Comic Timing is a joke, it's a dark and deadpan one. Pester's unpunctuated, knowingly prosaic lines capture the soulless trappings of the modern gig economy – Uber, AirBnB – while also dealing with different kinds of pain and numbness. Her hypnotic album Common Rest (2016), creates strange lullabies from chopped-up speech and ambient sound, while for a 2014 art installation, she recorded a "telephone drama" that could only be heard by one person at a time, listening through the receiver in Britain's first red phone booth. Today's poem comes from Holly Pester, whose experimental work moves between the worlds of poetry, music and performance art. Ahead of this year’s Forward Prizes for Poetry, The Telegraph is publishing the five nominees for the Best Single Poem award.
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