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iO Tillett Wright

Posted on 2013.02.05 at 00:35
Wise words from an incredibly interesting, inspiring woman.

On the future...

People are really afraid of failure, but we also came out of a generation where people got married really young, went to college, and got one job and stayed with it forever and retired with it. We don’t really come out of a culture where it’s acceptable to be ten different things in your lifetime. I’m fully aware of the fact that in ten years I might be a television director or may go back to acting and I’m so fine with that. When you feel like you have to make one choice and that thing you pick is what you’re going to stay in forever, that’s so much fucking pressure. I’d never be able to pick photography. I wouldn’t have been able to pick anything! You pick something in a time in your life that feels right for you right now and then you may never do it ever again, but you did what you needed to do in that moment and it taught you a lesson that you will apply somewhere else later. That’s why you study history and go on to work at some fashion magazine. Shit doesn’t add up. It all just adds to you, rather than you adding to a profession.

Love is…

There’s no simple answer to that, but I’m learning a lot about what love isn’t. Love isn’t making people fit into your idea of what you want them to be. Love is acceptance and actually seeing people for who they are verses getting mad at them for not being what you want them to be. Most people are really fucking critical of each other. If I’m going to criticize everything that you do, then why the fuck am I hanging out with you. If I don’t like what you do, I should go and hang out with somebody else. I just let people be as they are, and if it works as they are then we have a real relationship. Otherwise, I don’t love you. I love this piece of your pie chart, or this piece of your pie chart, but I don’t love you. People are fucked up in their ideas of love. Love you on Tuesday’s and Friday’s (Laughs).

Posted on 2012.01.23 at 22:48
The world balances on the edge of a knife.
I couldn't live that life
made up of stars and strife,
a constant struggle of unwilling embraces
always coming back to the same place
humid and heady,
with ever a simper of harp strings.
It always had to end somewhere
this path to nowhere.
His words I carry on my shoulder,
his breath ever at my ear
and that look,
the look that shatters my very bones
is one I will not shake for years
But as we topple and fall
I know this is all we need
to let the light back in,
and rebuild ourselves
with distance.

Posted on 2011.12.29 at 21:23
He left me
windless and fair,
a mere dot, a blip,
a slip of a thing,
blowing rentlessly
in the sea wind.

There was no breath inside me,
no life energy to speak of.
He was my lifeline,
a channel between,
a pair of spare lungs
when I was winded.

I cannot blame him;
I breathe life into him
and then leave him stranded.
My hair is his haven
and I suffocate him with it -
the strands feathery in his airwaves.

I am life and death for him,
a mother and a lover and a breaker of hearts.
I clutter his thoughts
while all else collects dust.
I am a constant
sapper of energy: barrier; knot; siren; killer.

We both know we cannot inhabit space
together -
too much has passed:
lyrics, lips, music, fluids. Love.
It is a love I have never experienced,
it is quiet and low-lying.

But it is there,
somewhere at the bottom,
like seaweed.
I feel him sway, move away.
And where once he was nestled
now no longer he lays.

He has gone to shore,
seeking air, and
the kind of love that does not submerge
but with which he can merge
and come out stronger,
not only an anchor.

Now, I feel bereft,
I feel his unwillingness and mine
blending and repelling -
for he goes with an excess,
and I with a lack.
These are the roots from which it began.

I will miss him absolutely,
there is no one more pure,
and there will always be an utterance of him,
a sort of dull ache,
where once he might have lain
an ocean where he could have thrived

if it wasn't for me.

But I cannot be so selfish
as to crave a love that was never my own.
He is a unique creature,
of soul and spirit
and so he must go,
for I would only drag him down.

I would only drown.


Posted on 2010.08.22 at 01:33
With words of a faded tongue
north of the ground,
but below the sun,
light and round
I went down
found the lyrics I was searching for
something larger than what I felt
not a lie
but a bent shaft of light
I lit us up
our names together,
they shone
a smooth chorus
followed our footsteps
shadowed our heavy breath

inspired by the song by the morning benders



Posted on 2010.05.04 at 13:27
‘Words – I often imagine this – are little houses, each with its cellar and garret. Common-sense lives on the ground floor, always ready to engage in “foreign commerce,” on the same level as the others, as the passers by, who are never dreamers. To go upstairs in the word house, is to withdraw, step by step; while to go down to the cellar is to dream, it is losing oneself in the distant corridors of an obscure etymology, looking for treasures that cannot be found in words. To mount and descend in the words themselves – this is a poet’s life. To mount too high or descend too low, is allowed in the case of poets, who bring earth and sky together.’

Posted on 2009.10.29 at 20:46
cannot waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait

Forgotten writings

Posted on 2009.08.10 at 18:10
Your wingts take me off to higher realms of pleasure, where the world is azure blue and blindingly bright. You sail weightlessly but you are rigid and heavy. You destroy everything that getys in your way. When the rain comes it is hard to spot you up there, in the mass wof thick grey, but at times you peek through a fissure in the sky, and somewhere deep inside, I feel something settle.

Life turns on a spindle.
I have to be careful not to prick my finger,
not to let myself spilll over.
Sometimes, words shape themselves meaningfully
and I become lost in them.
Where is this all getting me?
Will it eventually sparkle with meaning?
An endless chain of signifiers
dance on the pages
their significance alien to me.
It does not sink in,
I just do not understand these theories
or revel in their importance.
Perhaps that is selfish, and I am
reading with closed eyes and a
body of stone.
sometimes, it seems like one has to
study meaninglessness in order to get somewhere,
to gain something.
I will be left with a mark for all to see,
and it will have worth
to all but me.


Posted on 2009.08.08 at 20:52
A retreat of the past,
when you create forms you are bound to deform them,
to cut and reshape,
like snowflakes they each have a different pattern.
I am making a chain.


To Be You

Posted on 2009.07.01 at 19:07
I crossed the line.
It was white and uneven
and surprisingly
it did not scare me.
I found it easy.
With you by my side,
I jumped across and inhaled deeply,
new air.
New vision, a world fragmented
and wonderful.
So this is what it's like, I thought,
this is what it's like to be you.

Las Palabras (just spanish practise)

Posted on 2009.05.29 at 22:21
Current Music: Suzanne Vega
Si te viera ahora, intentaria encontrar las palabras.
Las he perfeccionado, las he guardado en la memoria.
Pero yo se, que bien se, que al punto de verte,
las olvidare, las eliminare,
las pondre en 'borradoes'
y dejare de estar enfadada.
Me dejare por tus manos, dejare que me toques,
como si no necesito hablar las palabars
que circulan por mi cabeza.
Como si nada me pasa y estoy contenta.

Cuando te acercas todo el resto se cae.
Ahora - puedo sentir los latidos de tu corazon
penetrando mi cuerpo.
Aqui - puedo subir dentro de ti y jugar con tus interiores.
Pero cuando te vas,
te pierdo completamente.
Y de nuevo no nos sabemos,
y otra vez perdemos la intimacia
que necesita timepo para consolidar.

Estas son las palabras, pero nunca las dire,
no a ti ni a nadie.
Cuando piensas en todo,
(y se que mirare hacia atras y ver todo mas claro)
son vacias.
A mi me importan pero a ti
solo son piedras en la playa de Brighton,
todas las mismas, extendiendo millas,
pronto se llevaran.


If I saw you now, I would try to find the words.
I have perfected them, saved them in my memory.
But I know, how well I know, that on seeing you,
I will forget them, erase them,
put them in 'drafts'
and stop feeling angry.
I will lose myself in your hands, let you touch me,
as if I don't need to speak the words
that circulate in my head.
As if nothing is wrong and I am content.

When you are near all the rest falls away.
Now - I can feel the beating of your heat
penetrating my body.
Here - I can climb inside you and play with your insides.
But when you awalk away,
I lose you completely.
And all over again we don't know each other,
we lose the intimacy
that takes time to grow stronger.

These are the words, but I will never say them,
not to you or to anyone.
When you think about everything
(and I know I will look back and see it all more clearly)
they are empty.
They matter to me, but to you
they are just stones on Brighton beach,
all the same, extending for miles,
soon to be washed away.

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