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dig.
dig at the gristle between the meat and the stone the bone the branch of the family tree that digs heels into history and the flesh the meat the promise of action of animation of agility dig at the stuff that links the two the connective tissue that fascist the fascia that tend/ons to bind history gets stuck into habits and habits and habits and habits restrict inform allow the limbs the bones to be enfleshed the flesh to be stony the trunk to branch out and to dig for secrets and roots and underground gatherings dig your hands -- you knew it was coming – dig your well informed phalanges towards the centre of my trembling: the organs the fear the stomach desire the liver history the spleen hope the lungs music the gonads dancing we think with our heart we feel with our head we dig with our hands and reach with our feet where are you on this sloppy topography. which organ holds love not the heart it is the unseen the clinging the connecting the allowing if my heart if my muscle moves without it nothing happens the stone bones cannot think of action without it the idea manifests in this stuff this shift which binds for which i dig © Geneviève K (why my homework isn’t done)
his eyes are green. sorry. but they are. green dreams green sea green hope ringed in granite grey i could never pronounce his name crossing the quadrangle in a world of abstract concerns i staggered my overwrought mind directly into his mouth he kisses me every time we meet i can smell him between the pages of my art history books the question is always one of freedom: revolution versus rebellion and that form that encourages or merely appeases that filthy throbbing sacred need for something better i have been in the library every day this month when he sees me there the kiss is a secret in the chicken shop it comes with a kick after history class he licks my teeth clean sociology. anthropology. kinesiology. psychology. i recognise his morphology in the slipping and flipping of my school book pages. … sitting in class apologetic and eager professor begs for synthesis. my panties go damp © Geneviève K
 (She said to herself.) When they ask you ten years or more later how you achieved what you did, try not to lie. Admit that you even if you had a plan nothing went to plan. Admit that you wanted what you wanted and couldn't always say why. Admit that logic is very useful for many things but not for the arc of a life story. Admit it and give permission to everyone else to be confused and happy, lost and righteous, ambling unfocused ambiguous playful childlike and full complete respected successful citizens of our shared humanity.
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About me.I am fascinated by the ways in which we do and don't embody our selves. I do my own kind of research, and coach people to live their truest lives. I practice healing and communication arts, and I write about all these things. I am a nomad, these days living and travelling on my boat in the U.K. Categories
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July 2018
phone: +44 (0)7963898806
skype: Genevieve_coach
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