ProjectWomen: Creativity

[This was on a website called Project Women I was a contributor to for a bit.  Subject was was "Different forms of Creativity People Use"]

 

Once there was a nice lady.
Her favorite place was the Cozy Nook. 
The nook was a corner full of twinkle lights and office supplies, two of the lady's favorite things. Early in the morning, she'd wake and go straight to the cozy nook.  She'd draw and write and pray and ponder.  And the time in the cozy nook would refresh her and fill her with wonder.


One day in the nook, she read about the poet, Theodore Roethke.  Based on his poems, she suspected he'd been funny, but also very sad at times.  She wanted to hug him for all the words he'd given her, so on impulse, she drew herself as a cartoon hugging him.  It made her laugh a little at herself, but in a strange way, it made her feel like she'd given him a bit of love in return for his gifts to her.


Drawing the cartoon made her feel so good, that she drew herself with more dead authors whose words had helped her over the years...angsty Fyodor Dostoevsky, sweet Thomas Merton, kind Mother Teresa, clever Beverly Cleary...the lady's love list was long and varied.  One thing about the lady, and perhaps about you, is that she loved words.  And the more she immersed herself in them, the closer she felt to the authors.  But it's hard to give back to dead people, you know?  So she gave what she could and what made her laugh.

And yes, the nice lady was a bit weird, but hush; everyone's a bit weird.  

 

 

This is me hugging Theodore Roethke and him acting like he didn't need it.
But he did, y'all.  He diiiiid.

You know how it is...
Sometimes you run into an old friend,
have a few absinthes, and wake up with matching tattoos. 
Then that friend goes into hiding, and you're stuck with DMC on your hand.
What am I saying...it's an old story...you've been there.







"So if I'M not married in 10 years, and YOU'RE not married in 10 years..."
[The day two friends decide to go into puppetry,
is the day two friends should start to plan some safety nets]

 


I don't remember much about my time with Bukowski except... well, nope...nothin'








 


"No, Em - see that's why it's funny.  They're like YOUR arms."
Emily Dickinson always wanted to PLAY the arm game,
but I feel like she never really UNDERSTOOD the arm game.




This is me hanging with Sylvia Plath.
I feel like if it's going to be a "reading hang" instead of a "chatting hang,"
a person should tell a person beforehand so that person can bring a book too.
But I mean, it's fine.  Whatever.

 

 

V:  You're the funniest!
Me:  No, YOU'RE the funniest!
V:  You're probably right.
Me:  Wait--what?

[Virginia Woolf]
  
C'mon, Char!  Put your book down for a week, amiright?!
[She was more fun after the porridge shots, but I mean, who isn't, right?]
  


Earl and Lester asked me to perform with them constantly,
and yet their recordings are mysteriously void of my playing.
Foggy Mountain Unplugged



 






Capote and I hung out for awhile,
but I got tired of the constant argument
over who was the Mary and who was the Rhoda...
also I got tired of being the Rhoda.


Whitman and Me:  Myrtle Beach 1859
"Whatever man.  If you're not going to try, I'm not."
  

If one day, they're all "WE NEED ABASSOON, WE'RE ALL ABOUT THE BASSOON!" but then the next day, they're all "Oh sorry - we're pursuing other avenues in our artistic journey...well, I don't think that is fair is all

Hey Fyodor!  No parking on the dance floor, baby!
(Dostoevsky and me at first ever Bonnaroo).

Merton could flat out rock a Captain and Tennille number
after a few gin and tonics.


That Bev, she's always like "Yo, bitch...lemme take you to my salon,
and getcha hair done RIGHT."
That Bev.  She don't take no for an answer.

You know how it is...sometimes one friend is super into chickens,
but the other friend is all "BUT THEY PECK YOUR EYES AND CARRY BIRD FLU!"
you just work it out, man
  

like NEVER.  it was insulting almost.
they seemed super into each other though.
[Me, Kerouac, Ginsberg]

Man, those were the days...
Sometimes Ernie and I'd get going and it was like being on stage
at a Crocodile Rocks.
And in our vests.
Always in our patchwork vests.  Hemingway loved his vests.

 
 

 

Here's me with Walker Percy when our painting first came in.
I remember beforehand I was all,
"Walk, Walk - not black and white.  We need some color to make it POP."
And he was like, "Trust me, Pammy, trust me."
He really knew his over-the-mantle self-portraiture.