Zero Tolerance Machine
Chekhov’s serve 🎾
Hello hot poets.
How do I even start (or keep) writing this?
If you’re anything like me & Kelly (and you probably are because you have stayed subscribed to us), then you know the feeling. I recently saw a screen shot of a tumblr post about doing laundry in the apocalypse, barely. I can’t bring myself to look for it. I recently had a meeting about my upcoming solo show, and we talked about how important art is. I can’t bring myself to remember why. I recently sat with Kelly and we talked on the phone about all our upcoming projects, how exciting it is that we have so many poems to review from our open call. I can’t bring myself to look through them (just yet, let me finish writing this and you will hear back from us soon).
All meetings and attempts at distraction are going the same, little flashes of reality sharing breaths with attempts at work; “did you see the protests?”/“let’s talk budget”/“they are pushing for a ground offensive”/“we need to give proper feedback on the social media strategy”/“they lost everything in the floods”/“should we make a GANTT chart?”/“climate colapse”/“my iCloud storage is full”/“I feel hopeless”/“We need to promote this event”/“Free Congo”/“I should probably get a new company computer”/“world tragedy”/“personal development”
I watched “Challengers” on Wednesday and felt collective giddiness in the shared cinematic experience.
On Thursday I spent my morning in bed crying.
I went out on Friday and decided to spend too much money on fancy cocktails. I smiled and laughed until a friend had a panic attack and I went home crying wondering if my own need to pretend for a night had triggered it.
On Saturday I spent my morning crying of joy and filled with love at my 3 year old goddaughter’s school because of a lovely mothers’ day celebration. I spent the afternoon at home crying about dead children.
I talked to my sister on Sunday. She was delivering aid to her former university’s Palestine Solidarity encampment. We talked about all the sad things until the sadness became silence and she asked us to change topics. We changed topics and talked shit about our dad.
On Monday I responded to emails, made spreadsheets, assigned roles and responsibilities. I worried about my crush not texting me back.
Yesterday I packed donations of blankets and bedsheets for those affected by the floods in Brazil. And then I painted my nails crying about climate change as I added little non biodegradable glitter stars to each lacquered finger.
Last night I sent Kelly the following message:
Today I write this post.
I am trying to find the best words and the best actions while knowing there’s no such thing. Hoping to keep a clean house, hoping not to miss this deadline, hoping for a ceasefire, for my crush to text me back, for the end of capitalism. Hoping to like my new haircut, hoping for change, hoping to have an impact, hoping to minimize my impact.
Hoping to Hope.
Anyway, there’s not resolution, only doing laundry, barely. Making art, barely. Writing poems, barely. Hoping, barely.
Zero Tolerance Machine
Chekhov’s serve Compulsive photography Semantic satiation Infinity mirror Tell me to go home & I
Thank you for being here. We will respond to you all re: the open call soon.
We only have each other. Please remember collective action, collective hope, collective effort. I am proud of you for hoping, even if just barely.
L
I felt this post my bones, you are not alone ♥️ This is the reality of many sensitive, creative, and empathetic people right now.