Feminist Moving Image

What if my name
were Ella the Faithful, could I
be a better king? beans and rice,
beans and rice for the people—they
got trees. Got trees and loving glances.
I can give you my loving glance one
of two ways: by staring through glass.
Or by fucking your ass with a knife.

New York City. The radio voice says
it's a place that has changed its welcoming.
What is not a wage? What is an insult? What
is a poem? Fragments of a film, fragments of
a day, fragments of a life—could

a poem roll like a bicycle pushed lightly? They
got trees. They got the green green of trees
painted into stripes, the spokeless bike wheels
in motion. Fietsen. Autocorrected to firearm. Auto-

corrected to forearm. Autopiloted to forewarn.

What did we need when we changed its welcoming?
We smiled at people without
knowing their names. We
only spoke parts
of the same language.
Deep in the heart. They got trees. They
got fragments of a life. They got the free free blades cutting into us,
hosting insects, policies, statehood, and nations. They got wisdom.
They got language. They got end it here they say. The poem stops here
because it’s got no more poetry. That’s what they are missing: poetry up in the sky
somewhere, beyond the dwindled ozone. It’s melting with the oceans and swamps.
Staying is in short supply, we wish it. We wish with all of our god hating hearts

for staying power. No number of speeches could do it. Perhaps a loving smile. Gazes
have all been compromised. Our pants don’t fit. Neither do our lives. Everything
constricting. We are lied to. Daily. Lied in white dresses there or then. Who lights
the glass? Who sets the time? We lied that we were walking. Lied that we could see.
Lied that we weren’t falling asleep everywhere, especially on hard surfaces. Forgot things
in odd places. Accidentally left expensive items
in the freezers. Called home in the dark to feel less lonely. Called home in the light. Found
nighttime fearful and daylight a trace. Cast rain clouds. Just what was necessary. Needed
no new language for it. To feel something oiled and slick.

hemlock forest
i looked at the shots later and they were extremely ordinary
reading journal entries
reading with affect
camera uncannily still
an urge to recreate the scene
shooting this quasi illegal scene
the opposite of low hanging fruit
profile view of a person speaking
knowing they are pacing
backlit
filming a photo
to live one’s life or to tell it
i’d rather live my life than narrate it
the story of me and L versus the reality of our moments together
will i ever in my life get over any of it?
breaking the ultimate rule of writers
the work is the notes on it’s making
the work is the journal
hearing a professional talk about their practice
greetings from africa
greetings from the hemlock trees
filming a photo: a way to combine images
the horror of making a perfect film at age 25
my superpower is my introspection
i must record it
my notes are the work?
pacing through voice
that still quality of the close up of a leaf
the period of my life where work comes first, i work the way a cow grazes
i started to cry at the word sensual
i can either say things aloud on the phone or write them
a cat walking across paper
the grids of daily life
the grind
i should send more people my writing
art needs an audience to be art? if art is language, it must communicate
is it language if it calls out into a void of samebeings?
a sound is the present ever changing
the contrasting stillness
give up on completing things!
viewfinder: a beautiful word
find a view…
i can’t sleep i can’t shit
aries and a bedroom
toes and a bedroom i mean, autocorrect again
je tu il elle
empty room naked
become because of goddard, he’s an ass
a conch shell
your raspy smoker’s voice
i’ve never been in love WITH you but i’ve been in love
and now i think of you too often
a subway car is more beautiful than the beach
people sit so restfully in motion
call me later i’ve been thinking of you
i didn’t want any risotto
in keeping with the film, these notes are my response
i’m digesting like a human, not a cow, i have only one stomach
dusting and speaking at once
the quality of a roof’s building
the quality of a familiar image
tell me my own history
speaking always like a chant
use the materials in her reach
i’m detailed by chantal
ackerman
the same photograph twice
my home space is not beautiful enough
policing and posturing
boring films that got made because of theory
analysis via the self
feminist academia is self portraiture?
filming paper (fuming, finding)
a very small notebook
cut hair
pink paper
text received: don’t worry if you “
i fill in the gap
filming writing
filming a story
someone else has thought this before
what do i think of that? now?
spoke with a young man today. had a mustache.
layering in my own auto
biography
nudity, breasts
videos of yourself getting naked, there are few naked moments in a day
why wait
the dog is always bare
a dog in the nude
send dog nudes
secretly edit your own notes
expose your own blunders
immersed in kay like a drug
soporific benevolence
stealing lee liza is notebooks
i'm inspired to steal
send someone a precious object like spores
a $10 scarf
a block of european style butter
black and white
i’ve forgotten who
what inspires me
i must live life and not just film it
a photo —is it a video?
a meeting —is it a field? are two a forest
moyra davey’s repeating her eye
a self reflexive gesture
mediocre report cards
the vanity of self preservation
working oneself to death because you’ll never find happiness in idle pleasure
i feel scene, or filmed
working what is it?
mothers cc’d and sisters
intoxication
like her i’ve been circumspect
anguish straight to nerve center
in love with someone, the withness of it
in love with someone, the witness of it

Somebody would love this sink, was gonna get tossed.
Cameras do not make films. filmmakers make films.
She replaced reality with what she wanted the world to be.
(double exposures, moving images, stills,
voiceover, an artists home, camera, sink, keys,
overlaid images, illusions and effects)
Time is not an emptiness to be measured in terms of activity.
Film is both a space art and a time art.
(moving and swaying on stairs,
not-straight stairs, goes forward and returns,
blurring double images, traces of
images, anagram itself, reversed imagery, 1923 sink,
dancing taking over the room)
Hollywood is the cloaca of the universe.
(double exposure,
movement, matter, and time)
My house is full of voices.
The individual is related to the whole of time and space.
(private penniless production)
Lack of money was instrumental in her death.
(running on empty)

Somebody would love this sink, was gonna get tossed.
Cameras do not make films. filmmakers make films.
She replaced reality with what she wanted the world to be.
(double exposures, moving images, stills,
voiceover, an artists home, camera, sink, keys,
overlaid images, illusions and effects)
Time is not an emptiness to be measured in terms of activity.
Film is both a space art and a time art.
(moving and swaying on stairs,
not-straight stairs, goes forward and returns,
blurring double images, traces of
images, anagram itself, reversed imagery, 1923 sink,
dancing taking over the room)
Hollywood is the cloaca of the universe.
(double exposure,
movement, matter, and time)
My house is full of voices.
The individual is related to the whole of time and space.
(private penniless production)
Lack of money was instrumental in her death.
(running on empty)

illusions
promise of hollywood
not action but illusion
reading text on film
“scientific method that’s the future”
films created by experts
men talking about what the future will be as if they know
lip syncing
eerie
the white woman allowing it
performing so well for no one
perverse pride
hollywood is fighting for something?
certain limited vocabulary
film is history
no joy in the seduction of images if it’s false
illusions

illusions
promise of hollywood
not action but illusion
reading text on film
“scientific method that’s the future”
films created by experts
men talking about what the future will be as if they know
lip syncing
eerie
the white woman allowing it
performing so well for no one
perverse pride
hollywood is fighting for something?
certain limited vocabulary
film is history
no joy in the seduction of images if it’s false
illusions

did u kno i knew u worked there? this summer i tried to erase u. i fucked someone i hated. this person nearly peed on the side of the road while we were together and i accepted it. if only to have someone other than u to text. i’m back to writing about u. i have wondered whether im writing about me too when i do. writing gives me enough distance so now i only ignore u in person. your image is too much. i only consume and respond to your name.

it was easy for me to forget that friend. my forgiving nature had allowed us to become closer again. i brought up my body hatred and she responded poorly. it was like a faucet that had already been loosened on her so i thought she could be the pool for it. let it loose on her, she said i had a nice face. fuck having a nice face.

this has nothing to do with you except for the contrast in my capacity to control things. with her i could leave and never return and sleep very well again. with you, here i am again, opening imessage for you. sending photos of bedframes and podcasts. i know you will listen to them and somehow that feels like love. you confronted me and i laughed it off. it was so good to laugh and be free of investment. i honestly have never felt invested except with desire. the sound of the pipes makes me able to write. my desire is great and tender. wanting to feel like my mind is mirrored. my desire for sex has diminished. they are related for me.

is it feminist to film anything? part of me wants to excommunicate from everything. language is bad. film is bad. humans are truly awful. this would be a very easy way to live life. i could slaughter myself, the end of it. instead i cling to some spider strand of positivity, don’t ask why. i think, oh maybe there’s a way. the lack-of-hope thing is getting tired. we can’t all wear it forever.

THK CHA
the quality of static in film

vidé o
voided o

writing vs speech

MT
empty

to see is to void
voir
vider
vu
vidé

the face

the mouth or hands
opening something