accessible trails and pathways, at queen's, City of Kingston, code, Uncategorized

Moving Along

Okay, so things have been moving along.  I’m committed to working and writing till December 2015. That’s what I decided in September while I was quitting my PhD at the Wolfe Island Cafe, across the street from my house. I was letting my supervisor know because they have to sign the form for quitting and I wanted to just let them know it was because I felt exhausted by my small efforts. I had put in since February. Not their fault. Thats the neo-liberal institutions and the hierarchy! That feeling of making art about my disability has been super intense. Pain. Nausea. Hunger. A heady stew. I thought I would not survive if I tried to keep working in that body-space. Ha! As if there were a choice.

I had been working. I will die of the slowness of this writing! That I was out of funding. Hell! no worries–just living through my most fragile moments. I’ll be fine. I resent having to pay the fees to write my most personal etchings. But who doesn’t? I could theoretically use that $8,000 to fund my first hour length visual performance, disability porn movie. Ya that. But I’m getting wasaaaaaay ahead of myself.

Finishing my dissertation feels like a new level of affect. I’m starting research on that new project and thats been pretty exciting and has started to take up quite a lot of my headspace. And coming back to the the autoethnographic habit and myne of writing through the moment. How it feels to keep going and to translate that into texts. Why do this? its hard to slow down long enough to put together a historical or inquisitive or intellectual explanation. All that feels too. Now I feel something else. I don’t know what that something else is. Its like another feeling-thing that is seeping out. Perhaps only a reflexive nerve that I have been tuning to let me know when I am going further than I can without another person holding me. I have to look after myself. What better way than letting someone fall in love with you? The writing of my autoethnographic text remains ingrain inured etched-tightly into flesh, my body. With such deep attention it has become what I love to do.  I gave you nothing but thoughts nothing but questions of the most delicious kind.

love, kisses and licks

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