Played a game where writer responds to artist responds to writer in 24 hour heats.  I decided beforehand to write something about shopping, then the art arrived and it seemed impossible not to write about the oil spill.  That was a news story I didn’t allow myself to follow closely.  I’d listen to the radio, but no pictures.  Pictures from the exxon stunned me, animals in oil, the way they’re like memorial statues, but horribly alive.  There’s something interesting that I haven’t thought through about the new images being the first time around for some people and the second time around for others.  I don’t want to despair, so what’s that delicate line between not despairing and refusing to look, shifting the energy of despair into something less puddle-like.

(Until not long ago the words energy and soul were on my banned list– words too easy to use that made me distrust anyone using them–but I think I’ve thought about what they mean enough now to use them with precision, in part because they really mean something, these days, to people around me– they are part of contemporary vernacular in a way that they weren’t where I grew up, but they still carry their formal, romantic, religious, and scientific connotations in a way that I like.  Now.)

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