breakingsod.com

My friend Svadesh wrote this poem in response to his recent heart attack and the resultant outpouring of love and protest from his friends. I must say, we’re awfully glad his mortal conglomeration decided to stay conglomerate for a while longer. As conglomerations go, ’tis one of the very finest.

I didn’t know before it happened

You brought the flower to my door

My funeral had begun

The voices intoning their concern—

Their love.

On the gurney you don’t know

Your fate, the part of breath you’ll be next hour

The mechanical magician working on my form

While I watch the rivers and brooks of my heart

On television

And then,

Back into this body once again

Feeling the life

The way I like it.

Your emotions and thoughts trekking through unseen space

Touch me tenderly with that feeling we all know so well

And forget and remember … again and again.

Thank you dear friends

No wake for this mortal conglomeration now

The funeral has been delayed so further experience

I may gather on the soul’s path into the great unknown.

Svadesh

My show opened last weekend. It was glorious and fun and delicious.

So cool to see all the paintings and sculptures I’ve been working on all spring proudly sprouting up on the walls next to Sophie’s haunting impressions of dilapidated industrial spaces. So wonderful to be surrounded by my friends and community.

I’m a lucky girl.

The performances were awesome, passionate and inspiring. My momma read my favorite poem of hers while Maris played the flute and Jean danced. My chi gong/meditation/massage teacher, Svadesh honored me with a participational chant and a reading on the Tonal. Cody and Amy danced a delightful, hilarious routine on love and bologna sandwiches, Alex and Vanessa did a wild yearning butoh piece, Courtnee sang her lovely Last Breath song and Jean finished us up with another gorgeous dance. The food was luscious and abundant(thanks Kim!)-indeed, so abundant that we’ve been eating it happily all week! Mmmm… Cherries and chocolate.

Yay for creative friends! Thank you all SO MUCH! I love you.

Oh, and I read my artist poem:

I’m an artist.
Or so i remind myself
when i get those looks.

Wrinkling with incomprehension
as things fall out of my mouth
in less than discernable order.

It’s all grippable though,
I have to believe that, even if
so much fertility is hard to handle.

Winter’s frozen poetry thaws
on my tongue, trickling a thin line,
tart and sweet across the canvas.

Big, strong, veiny hands spreading,
stroking, caught in their
fervent reverie.

The squirming painful surges
every bit as dynamic as
pleasures hottest urges.

Don’t worry my bones into
a semblance of sense,
just look, touch, taste…

Soak it up or leave it
flapping vexatiously in the periphery
of your week’s routine.

Until you’re ready to yield
some part of yourself,
some of that nagging conviction perhaps?

Don’t fret, you can always snatch
it up and put it on again
(if it’s not too tight).

Take my hand for a moment,
Perhaps it will help to know
I’m here too.

Playing in the dark.

There was much art viewing, mingling and sparkling conversation, I sold three paintings(woot!), we cleaned up(hurray for Delayne , king of dishes and humming), goofed off and then, came home and had a wonderful bonfire party! D got the fire blazing whilst I threw together a lamb spaghetti sauce and pasta(I’m told I can’t call it spaghetti iffen it’s not actually spaghetti noodles) dinner and we all toasted our toes, drank sake and port and told silly jokes(really silly-we had to ban poop as a subject-much to Jason’s chagrin).

More show pics here.

It’s almost here!

If you’re in Seattle May 18th, come and see what my three month long painting frenzy has yielded.

Sunday, May 18th, 1 to 6pm

You are joyously invited to ‘Invoking Drala’ at the Little Red Studio Gallery. The art of Zan Edson and Sophie Brunet.

Trees, roots, rocks, earth, water… The natural world calls me and collects me, bringing my often furiously swirling human mind back to the moment, back to the breath filling my chest, the ferns tickling my legs, the warm rock, or rough bark against my cheek.

In celebration of this intimate, priceless, abundant, endless source of connection and in gratitude to Drala(a Tibetan word for natural magic or the spirits of nature), I’ve created a series of paintings and sculptures.

My friend Sophie Brunet will be gracing us with her Industrial series-paintings of crumbling industrial spaces-which both compliment and contrast the rooty glory of mine and remind us that beauty is also found in the least likely places.

Please come and enjoy! The opening will be from 1 to 6pm,with performances beginning at 5pm, so stop by at your leisure to peruse the art from 1 to 5 and stay if you like, for some amazing dance, music and poetry. Refreshments will be provided by Chef Kim, so they’re sure to be yummy!

Love,
Zan

Invoking Drala
Sunday, May 18th, 1 to 6pm
The Little Red Studio Gallery
406 Dexter Ave N

This ain’t crystal clear,
and I’m not about to edify you.

You think I must be angry
because ani is blasting again.

Blasting them all for me
with her mighty gun.

I’d shed some light on your confusion, dear,
but right now I’m all ears and fangs.

Cuz her confident derision
gives me hope.

And you’re gonna have to roll with it
if you have the balls.

Just step back and
leave me happily ferocious.

Skin prickles,
head throbs.
Hot and wired,
sweet sparks
fly tonight.

Such magnificent bounty!
bursting incandescent,
filling me up,
more than
I can possibly contain.

Burning with delight or,
perhaps, fever caught
jumping the fence
to bring my sick neighbor
birthday turtles.

Lay down girl,
lay down, child.
Let your head explode
into the welcoming arms
of the velvet night.

Gather it,
squeeze it,
bend it to your will.

Shape it, round,
smooth and taut.
Push it up against your palm.

Smack
’til it whimpers for release
and then…

Deny you had anything to do with it.

Sometimes it itches, snarls, struggles-clobbers you on the way out of your head and it’s kind of choppy, gnarly and raw.

Like this one:

Maybe it was the moon,
Brilliant,
full, staring me down
as I sagged into sleep.

Or perhaps, some subtle hole,
suddenly gaping cavernous, invited this
sucking, wrenching
inversion.

One casual, innocuous
moment of unconscious thought bit hard,
slithered, virulent and unappeased,
into my waking day.

Just unpacking leather, lace
and velvet, putting my finery away.
Everyone acting
as though it’s perfectly acceptable.

This tiny impossible closet,
this futile trailor slams me silent.
Fetal screaming-curling inwards,
defiance is not tolerated.

Knocked,
plunging skewed,
gasping at the vicous
fragments.

Collapsing synapses
shearing swift impulses,
cutting snap and
confidence.

Not anymore, not now, not here,
not me…
But still it violates,
shrivels, cuts to the quick.

I want to leave this place,
leave work,
get on the freeway
and drive.

Drive until there’s
nothing and no one
and I can
hear myself scream.

I’m writing buttloads of poetry, most of it unconscionable, or at least unprintable.

This one, however is (mostly) printable, so enjoy!

You can talk all you want,
exert your fine mind in towering feats of
mental masturbation or blather on about
tv shows I’ve never even heard of.

I won’t stop you, nor shame you,
nor yield myself to this
creeping, comfy paralysis
that dulls the edges
and blurs the faces.

I will eat my sandwich while
Oprah reveals the lecherous secrets of cheating
husbands. Savoring the tomatoes,
turkey, spinach and bread
down to the last delicious lick
of aoili.

And then,
I’ll simply fold myself inward
on lines of pure intention;
dive through this meek carpet,
melt into the floorboards,
extend pellucid filaments
through concrete and rebar.

Slide my tasty venules under it all.
pulsing, undulating with the rhythm
of earth, of mud, of the rocks
under us all.

Here, the connection is
undeniable, life and death
happen in such quick succession
there is no denying
the fluidity of all things.

Here, my hands become trees,
my toes earthworms,
and my words
are a stream.

Feel the soft moss of me.
Touch the sparkling invitation,
let the cool water soothe
your hot, tired feet.
Fill your hands with me,
bring me up to wet your lips
and bathe your face.

Know the warm earth,
the strong, tough limbs
that can climb with you,
hold you when you fall,
or wrestle for understanding
in the maelstrom of arrogance
and delusion.

I stand before you abruptly,
utterly human.
Hungry again, humbled,
ready to run or fight
or fuck.

The choice is yours.

The immortal David Jones, spitter of firey, incisive, juicy odes to pain, deceit, misogyny, sex, love and joy, told me I could blog his poem, if I gave him one on the same subject…

Just so happens I had one. You can read it here

Friends

She
Always says
Let’s just be friends
Or
Friendship is all I have
To offer you
Friendship
Like a consolation prize
In the game of love
I have so many friends
I cannot sleep at night
Or remember their names
She says
I’m seeing someone now
Looking past me
Like I was an obstacle
Or a minor diversion
In her search
For prince charming
She shakes my hand
As if to say
This is enough for you
And smiles an unctuous smile
Fades into the night
Me ??
I go home
And become better acquainted
With my cock

DJones 6/28/05

This one comes with a poem I wrote years ago, while breaking out of a stagnant relationship. I would have just linked to my dear old blog, Loverzan, but it’s a bit of a chore, searching her voluminous, ghostly static copy, so I went and dug it up for ya myselfs(guess I shoulda sent my zombie minions! LOL):

JUICE

I shiver, I shudder, I feel a coming.
Someone is strumming,
here in my stomach.

Something cracked in my back
and now my head is thrumming,
my body is humming.

Someone’s coming.

I was waiting,
confused and hesitating.
I knew I was going to erupt,
I knew it would be abrupt.

CHANGE
is coming.
CHANGE
is humming, strumming me
throbbing, mobbing me.

CHANGE
is
chanting in my ear,
shaking up my year,
tossing out my fear.

Now, I’m open and change is here.
The juice is spreading through me
and those who thought they knew me
will wonder who the hell I am
and those who give a damn
will have to wade through the forest,
find my lush and steamy jungle nest.

The change has set me loose,
see me dancing in the juice!

I’m alive! And I know,
I’m WET! From head to toe.

No more need to wait
I’m ready to create.
I’m dancing, I’m singing,
The holy bells are ringing!

Hallejulah, the CHANGE has come to me
EXPLODED in my empty tummy
and filled it with juice.

Sweet,
warm,
wet,
wild,
willing,
so fulfilling,
JUICE!