Police state violence on repeat but no one new listens. The Earth swallows a city whole and I swear I hear their 5,000 voices kicking from inside her dark belly. Personal bereavement: the same story of mourning multiplying itself with each new death, no answers to the oldest "WHY?" ever asked. And always the huge pile of "shit that needs to get done" flickering in and out of meaningfulness.
It feels like every time I open my eyes, the world before me is breaking. I have to close these eyes and sit there a while in the dark, trying to make the world whole again. Now I spend so much time in that darkness that I sometimes forget the reason why this world is worth being put back together.
This is the way it was meant to be, or so I've heard. It depends on who you ask.
I'll resurface briefly from the dissertation abyss to give a talk for the UC Davis Department of Native American Studies' Spring Quarter Brown Bag Lecture Series. The lecture is titled, "Beyond the Oral/Text Binary: Breath, Sound, and Lexical Personhood in Contemporary Native American Poetry."
Wednesday, April 8th, 2015
Risling Room (3201 Hart Hall)
writer. poetry filmmaker. professor. language feelings.