The Phantasy Coma: Exchanges (with myself)

 An amalgamation of diary entries, reminders, poems from this most recent lockdown period, an attempt to revisit and comprehend what it is to really stand still, separate from tranquillity or the peace of pause, but to stand still , as to be stuck.

to not just crave connection but company, co existence, to share a space, to share a view. we so often grieve the feeling of loneliness and isolation, but I now grieve my lack of individual suffering, what a selfish thing to grieve. yes we like to know that other people feel the way that we feel, but we also like to think that something about our struggle is unique and it is that unique characteristic that is the reason we cant move on. but now we share a simultaneous struggle and to see diverse reaction to that shared struggle is hard , to not understand why others can survive and i cant. that is most isolating of all, to feel so disconnected from people who probably know exactly how i feel, to have those feelings invalidated by scale, by commonality, why do we want to be misunderstood? 

                                                      

                          Garden structures that I met and liked, acrylic, pigment on cotton, 2020, Lili Ward

#1

7/9/20

there's nothing new to look at, keep choosing different corners of my room to stare at

i've got to change it around more frequently.

it feels like i could stretch my arms out and touch both walls of my room, hold the curtains and the lightbulbs

                             Alfresco dining, pigment, acrylic, oil and cotton on canvas, 2020, Lili Ward

#2

dame!

damsel! but only slightly distressed

so good girl.

                                              sketchbook scan, Lili Ward 

                             

#3

i tried to bend and stretch, bend you and stretch you

i thought holding it where i wanted it to stay for long enough meant it was actually standing there by itself

i tried two pairs of scissors to cut you in half

fold twice cut thrice

i flipped you backwards over chairs i spread your legs then i scraped

i yelled at you for not doing things that no one taught you how to do

i fed you to fat lions and sold your fingers and your toes, your nails, your hair

and then to you

no, the other one

i obeyed you

i sat on my knees and licked spit from each corner of your mouth

you passed me glasses and i filled them

when you said shape her i asked you to show me how

you could look at me from four corners of any room

from anyones face

from their arm

from the bus

a shop window

nans dinner table

admirably relentless

you handed me the swcissors that cut thrice

you were a fat lion, you were ten of them

you told me not to look, shame on you, i no longer entertain you, i try to no longer entertain you

and to you

the other you 

i'm sorry i'm just weeding her out

                          Practicing my signature, 10/09/2020 (are love hearts allowed in signatures?)

#4

last night when i sat here writing and i was trying to think of words i looked at that painting and i said id take it down today

now today, I'm writing and when i cant think of words i look up and see the painting i said id take down today, i said id do it today

so what would i write in the absence of the painting

maybe there's value in the words of the sticky tape holding it up, the wall underneath, the shape of the painting, or the painting shaped absence left behind if i had taken her down today

maybe there is value in finding the latter in nothing

stretching a stare into twelve lines

ill tell you that there is no value in silence when it feels this loud and none left in solitude when it goes on for this long, to have and to hold.

to find is to admit you were hungry enough to go looking for something else. to admit you were starving. so fess up

i suppose this blog has become more of a self archive or a personal gallery because of a lack of submission.

xx