this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.
good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.
sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.
so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.
one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.
"Impossibly Precious, Terribly Small" a mixed media poetry zine I'm working on about how time is passing and there's no going back.
marie howe, in an interview with krista tippett of on being
To The Person I Returned The Expensive Shirt To - Jordan Bolton
My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is now available to pre-order! Get it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky
you tell me to brush my own hair I don’t know how you roll your eyes and tell me to figure it out
I’m brushing as hard as I can Tearing pieces of my hair out with knots, clumped up and bloody
I’m crying and go to tell you there’s blood mommy I’m not sure if what I’m doing is right
But you scream at me for bothering you Can’t you do anything by yourself? Why did I even have you?
I run and hug her, tell her I’m sorry I cried I love you mommy, I won’t ask again
I squeeze harder, if the hug is big enough it shows how much you love them
She doesn’t hug me back.
#100
It was a wondrous day with splendid company.
Old friends but fresh rushes of feelings, turns of conversation,
And the laughter?
Hers.
Rich, bubbling, pure.
Like mustard meadowlarks singing for mountains streams.
His.
Grounded, unexpected, revitalizing.
The rough stream of sounds a lake makes under the watch of a persistent moon.
And of course, mine.
Not much of note, but if I were to speculate,
A little kitten leaping up the scales of an out of tune piano.
we had harmonized together.
Every hour was full of sweet humor and compassions.
When I had slipped into something less than,
His hand was at my slumped shoulder, thin fingers spinning shapes into my sleeve.
When it happened again and I felt at a loss,
She hurried beside me to help roll up my sleeves.
I'd like to believe I had been there for them in the smallest of ways.
There was surprise hugs from behind and comments of sentiment,
Shared sandwiches and the sweetest of silences.
A trio like us made me think of
Mundane mornings, nights out and exploring, of-
I pulled away.
It's a wondrous friendship we shared.
In a way, their company was wondrous and fearful tucked in a bundle.
I had hoped to keep relishing in their laughter for a long time.
I’ve had other wonderful days,
And yet