15. 16. 17.
IM SARRE OK I BEEN WRITING RATHER THAN BLOGGING! But here I am, post nap, horrible skin (oh my fuck cardio please come back to my life) smeared eyeliner unplucked eyebrows and messy hairs. But this is what dedication to your art looks like i guess.
Marathon 8 hour session today at work and left my stick in the comp! but i will not be deterred. It seems that I come to a new place of understanding, a higher level of transcendental realisation which ive reached over the last few days. It’s all tied up in a few words which have been swimming in my head from people’s interviews. The first is surrender. The second is simplicity. The third idea is more about the limitlessness of truth as extrapolated by a friend’s beautiful Daoist wisdom’s (with a bit of Foucault thrown in for good measure). Talking about these ideas in terms of semantic constructs and my own personal methods of coming to terms with the world (particularly the personification of parts of my consciousness as to have a relationship with them, e.g. art, god/ the universe, love) has been immensely helpful in coming closer to binding the work together. It keeps me going incessantly and it is wonderful.
I would love love love to do more academic work on the matter, I can picture the papers! The critiques!! And also, the cheeky whimsical Ziggy is getting restless for the last series she started working on. “Up North is Still Down South” is itching to be worked on and perhaps a trip to Mexico might really be in order very soon.
I’m currently listening to ShowStudio interviews and watching Marina Ambramovic vids to stay inspired. My favorite interviews are the ones where people make revelations in themselves. The process of writing about how you think about the world or articulating it to other people only makes it clearer, better, closer to the truth. It’s what I see when I interview people. And it’s fucking remarkable. I love listening to people talk about their art and the way they relate to the world around them because we are all so inherently different but the same.
OK! I’m going to write some more now lover. I hope you are all well, and know that you are loved today.
I love you
ps! here is a small excerpt from reacting to the following marina vid on the youtubes for you gorjus tumblrinos out there :)
The point of art is not to get the most likes, that is not success. It’s about achieving the highest purest level of engagement with the subject. I think the same is true of human beings. That is love. There is a limitless surrender that occurs when one regards everything in her universe with love. At every instance if one acts in love, bravery, surrender and trust something extraordinary happens. The semantic boundaries that you have inherited, from your language, your upbringing, and your fears, your suspicions about the way others interpret the world and the truths which they hold high and to their hearts, suddenly become transparent, malleable, elastic. Relative. Suddenly there are no limits, no cages, no semantic walls. no suspicion, no mocking, no fear. No devaluing of something you think is untrue or do not understand. Because you will understand it. To be and artist to realise you are limitless. To be a lover is to realise you are limitless. It is a balanced consciousness and an open and heart that is full, of love. xoxo
Today’s epiphanies are brought to you by the wonders of self examination. Doing the Interview of Love myself and examining my own chosen metaphors and lines of reasoning as to the shaping of love and what it feels like was nothing short of amazing, and elucidating. I was able to pinpoint the exact thing that makes it ok for me to be human, to be mortal, and was able to relate that to Becker’s The Denial of Death. I would very much like to write an academic paper applying his line of reasoning in a more meaningful way to the human condition. Ahhhhh! i wish I had more time. I would VERY much like to write an accompanying book, to ‘The Book of Love’ which contains the interview, my research, word studies and trees and perhaps some sample interviews. Because the study i think is so valid. Love IS NOT a biological fucking study. IT IS HOW WE RELATE TO ONE ANOTHER. it is very much tied up in meaning, shared understanding, which can be shaped by experience. Looking at loves biological purpose to keep us alive as a race completes misses what the experience of love is to human beings. If love is a drug, and the goal is to achieve the greatest most sustained high, you doing it wrong if you lookin to science to give you answers. LOOK TO SEMANTICS. look to the interrelation of human beings, the ascription of values, the factors which illicit the development of the conditions those reaction take place in and the reactions themselves.
So much to freaking do tomrw. It’s nuts. haha. but I feel as full and as full of love as ever.
9. 10. 11. 12. & 13!
Well so much for blogging everyday! LOL BUT SERIOUSLY I BEEN DOING WORK!!! The interviews are now in full swing and I am in awe, of the people I have spoken to about love. Thank you to everyone thus far for being so amazingly honest and for helping me write this book. Your responses mean so very much to me. You have showed me a piece of yourselves just as in the interview I try to give you a piece of me. Know that the experience of having you speak to me about love fills me up. Makes it real. It inspires me. It keeps me going with an incessant fervour. I can’t stand how good it feels. How beautiful you all are. And how earth shakingly amazing it is to sit in front of you while you recall a lifetime. For truly I have kneeled before the alter of the most high, off God and Allah and the universes feet, when I sit before you when you recall what love means to you, when I sit before you and your love. Looking at what you all have to say about love, how differently worded yet how quintessentially the same it all is.
I have been tremendously sad over the past bit due to my own heartbreaks but you have healed me with your kindness and your wisdom. I have surrendered the last of my pain. I am truly love now. And this is because of you. Thank you.
Many more interviews to be done still, and much writing to get done. See you tomrw darlings.
I love you,
Eating a mandarin straight from the tree, still hot from the heat of the sun. perspective on the sacradness of life…..
I think i’ve reached a state where the words are coming out now thick and fast and I just have to keep riding this wave till it’s done. hopefully the waves will only continue to get bigger…
"of all the ways the universe could have ended up here we are in this very moment. consciously aware of it. i look at you and can’t help but love you. for all your flaws, for everything that you are and have the potential to be. i will treat you with nothing but reverence and joy. this is my vow to you. now and for eternity. know this and be free. for your storm cannot hurry me. your lightening cannot part the air of my entity or split the trunk of my eternity.for i am everything all at once. i am the tree of life, the font of love, the living rock of the earth, i am the sea. i am the gravity of the moon and fire of the stars. and in flesh i will stand on these rocks bravely with my breast bare and not be moved by your destruction. and my love will know only benevolence. it will not be afraid. it will beat in grace. it will beat in love"
Some days ya’ll just dun wanna do shit on a praject. today was one of those days. and a lesson in love i guess. when you love something or someone, if you make a promise and even sometimes if you don’t, loving it means consistency and showing up every cotdam day for it, even when you don’t want to. You show up cause it needs you, to be, to exist, to be better, and I have found, especially when it comes to writing, it’s necessary to do it everyday if you want to get anywhere at all. The art of writing is very intangible. i mean you sit at a keyboard sure, and words come out, and when you read back over it its progress, but the rewards in the grand scheme of the work are rarely immediate and there is much revising to be done, editing, redoing, and sometimes you gatta scrap a thing all together. Writing is something that i’ve always liked to do organically and im sure like every writer, disdain the process of latching at the proverbial teet of a manuscript when you rant hungry. Or hungry for other things.
I’ve never been here before you know. This very moment in time on the arrow of time. It’s strange.
The concept which has been on the forfront of my mind the past few days is the idea of loving more than one person at once (romantically speaking) and how this should be included in the work. I understand the validity of the concept from a theoretical point of view and respect and understand anyone who may choose that lifestyle, but as a writer i try to write from a deeper place of understanding to draw my metaphors and words, and it has been hard for me trying to articulate elements of the concept not having had the experiential memory of it to draw from. As the work tries to account for a holistic history of the evolution of love and the imprints it leaves on an individual i feel its something valid to cover but at the same time, my own manner of loving someone is monogamous. thinking about it makes my brain tired lol
maybe it’s time to work on the chapter dedicate to the rapture and certainty one feels when one is in love. i’ve held off on writing this till now, almost coz it’s too sacrad to write. i mean i have little snippets but havnt spent substantial time on it. it’s coz it’s easy to write like that. i wonder about the timeless wisdom, “love doesn’t hurt”. well lovin people sure as shit aint always indicative of this, but i think it’s a good compass to measure things buy and it comes back to the core of what love is, bravery, certainty, intensity, being seen, being caught. i guess if you have to hurt yourself to love someone, it aint quite love is it?
"I remember when you came to me in my sleep. I remember the moon when you held me. I remember the water and your breath on my neck, I remember the white cotton on my breasts and the heat of your strong heavy hands. The wind had picked up the soft white round petals of jasmine from a nearby offering and we sway with the sound of the sea. The last time I had come to the sea I had fell to my knees, put my hurt in the earth and begged Yamanja to take my pain. But this was a moment of peace with you. And Yamanja watched smiling as we touched and shivered and held eachother. You said my name. Over and over and over again. Like the prayer I prayed when I wanted it all to stop. You needed me then, under your skin and in your heart. I felt your love in every vibration of your being. Gold, white, red. You passed through every atom. You held every quark. You loved me in the dark. On your knees, rolling sonnets between my thighs, holding my head, my heart my eye. And when the dawn came. We were both wrapped in white clean sheets. And you were still holding me. You woke me with my name on your lips, your hand on my hip, taking sips of my shoulder and the light in my hair. My hands read your marble form like braille, and laughter and warmth were ours for eternity. Time stopped, because in that instant you had written yourself on my being in light. My body knew you, and my heart held you as yours held mine. Two suns orbiting each other in perfect symmetry, in perfect time."
Sorry bout the bed hair i’ve just been in bed with 4 other lovleh ledies. I had written about 500 words this arvo at work but lost them all when my ipad crashed. mufuuu! so im going to sit here before bed and get it back out, but no promises as i was writing emotionally then, and I’m fuckin turred right nao. lol Just when you think your perception of what love is could not be challenged more, heightened more, elevated more of an intensity some motherfucker will come along and prove yo ass otherwise. Surprise bitch! the laws of possibility scream. I AINT DONE WID YO FRAGILE ASS MIND YET. But in what love is not you see what love is, and you can only look to yourself, and realise as a selfless, empathetic child of the universe, of the most high allah and G-d, that your divinity and eternity only belongs to the most high, the reverent and the feeling. Those who walk with grace and grace a like, for grace holds grace, and knows only joy.
"Burn it down, till the embers smoke on the ground, and start new, when your heart is an empty room, with walls of the deepest blue, and all you see, is where else you could be, when you’re at home, out on the street are so many possibilities to not be alone"
"as he spoke the words of the birth of the most high my gaze softened. He parted his shirt and showed me his breast. in place of his heart, an ancient galaxy, and i was struck by its beauty. he took my hand and brought it there, his fell away and as I reached for it, all the lights in it went out and the luminous gas turned to stone, and his body followed trapping my arm. The pain was unbearable and I cried out as the cold hard unforgiving mass tore at my skin and crushed my bone. i could not move. The rock would not budge. I screamed and screamed again. No. How was I to remove my hand? My arm was on fire and I screamed blood. No. No. NO, GIVE IT BACK. As i looked upon his vacant frozen expression i felt a chill in my heart. I was unnerved by the emptiness I saw there. And then a pop and my heart reeled in shock, the conduit which had connected us swung from my heart, bleeding heavily. Bubbling warm liquid iron, light and life on the stony floor. I screamed from the pain it had caused my heart. Like it was being pulled, and its life rhythms had been altered. Like it did not know how to keep beating given the shock. Like its structure had been compromised by the disconnect of the flow. My equilibrium was gone. And as colour faded from my face i felt weak. I fell to my knees and tried to stem the flow but the blood sprayed out. I sobbed then from the violence of the act. I clawed at the rock and beat it with my fist. Let me go I said. No NO NO. I wanted to break the form and free myself. But how could when I had no free hands to wield an ax? And no strength to swing it. Colder and colder still i grew. Until my breath only leaked out my lips in shallow quivers and my eyes grew heavy. I was crying. I did not want to die. And that’s when i heard you. Major chords and a holy line, hallelujah, hallelujah, and a holy rhyme. I smelt the woods then, the pine, the dusk, the peace. I heard you then. An angel in the dusk. Echoes of your love for me. Traces on my heart and memory. Dusk. “All of the statues that we see, where do you think they came from?”Clarity “I think that artists carved them years and years ago….” The wind was sweet and the field was long and you tasted of pure water. It was the end of the world and the sun was setting but we knew there was a tomorrow. “No, they are phoenix turned to stone. Do you know what I hate most about your world? Anything that is different, you try to change. You try to tear it down. You rip the wings off the phoenix and they turn to stone. And if I don’t burn, I will turn to stone. If I don’t burn, I can’t go back to my world.” Red velvet and dusk. Feathers and eyelashes. My tears tasted of the of sun-kissed waters of Monemvasia. Like hope and abandon and defiance and bravery and you. In my ear. In my ear you whispered to burn now. For fire melts stone, and I was made of it. “You are liquid” you said. “Molten and your blood is still warm”. You were the brightest star, the grandest supernova, and when you burst the angels sighed and screamed in joy and rapture. Burn now. Burst again. Rise. And meet me in the garden at dawn.
“Monemvasia? Only you could write a place you never have been to” <3
Until next time lovers,
You know what this is? It’s a celebration bitches. But seriously though, i’ve almost locked down the full structure of this mutherfucker. First 4 sections are money, still some movement in the last 3. At first I was trying to keep the structure vert rigid by dividing each movement into 10 smaller topical movements. Well that idea is out and i’m going of generally symmetry in stead. Movements will consist of movements of 10, 7, 3 or 1, maybe even 2. It’s making it alot easier in terms of knowing what I can cover when I’m going through filling it out. Writing in this way is really like painting, you really have to have some idea of the shape you want to give it before you can focus of putting together the details. if you don’t know where the fuckin light is coming from, the fuck you gana know where to put the shadow or highlights? So i guess the advice for the day is, sometimes you need to just chuck shit on the page, and sometimes you need to arrange it so you can chuck shit on the page in a more structured and meaningful fashion.
Till tomrw motherfuckers
"And a calm came over my terrors, when I realised I was not alone, and you were here all along"
Another persistent day of writing, and this was one which bore some fruit. The thing about art is you just have to keep going, even when you feel like it’s too hard, even when you feel like you are getting nowhere. Often you have to swing at it with bloody palms and a cut up heart and tired and broken feet, and it may seem like you’ll never get anywhere but you just have to keep pushing. It hurts. It nuts. It’s fucking lonely and maddening but you just have to keep pushing, and know, that few are brave enough to tread the path you do. Few are brave enough to walk alone like that.
I managed to get a fair bit done, the first movement is filling out nicely, but i find myself looking at the overall structure of the piece and needing to balance out the grander narrative, because i very much want the story to be told in the most effective way possible and all the while i am mindful of the artistry of it. I am mindful not to forget the pure joy and sound and rapture I want to be present in the piece, melody, rhythm, tone, i want it to feel as if the reader is hearing music reading about the first men walking the planes of Africa, reading of the first acts of love.
I want to give you shivers, i want to make you shake like a lover does. I wanna sing to you and strip you naked of your cynicism. I wanna make you believe :)
Until tomrw gorgeous loves,
Cramming the entire history of the universe and the evolution of love into a mere 100 verses was a stupid as fuck idea. The complexity of the ideas, what needs to be touched on and the metaphorical possibilities used to explain such phenomenon as it transpired and what that means for human beings as conscious creatures of the cosmos is doing my head in. My brain actually hurts. I have been sitting here all day, and while some progress has been made, well i feel like the little dudewyn in Journey when they are finally shown the big ass fucking mountain they need to climb. Every physicist I read, every talk on the history of the universe I watch, I think, 100 verses, just cannot do this grand wondrous thing justice, but also how will I structure such a telling. What points are the most crucial to include relevant to the genesis of love. Do I touch on the laws of thermodynamics? How do I metaphorically/ stylistically illustrate the order to chaos to decline and the development of complexity? How do I make it poignant enough for lovers to swoon at the majesty of it?
But here’s what I know. Despite my spine being so stiff and painful today I cannot tip my head back (for reasons unknown as I was certain the healing process was on the incline) I still sat chained to my desk, and gave it a red hot fucking crack for a full 12 hours. I’m tired but I still want to keep going. And rather than mourning what I have lost recently, I enact the following mantra of Gratitude. I am grateful for my friends. I am humbled that I can inspire them to also face tomorrow with the same blind stubbornness and hunger for the future. I am grateful for my tongue, for my broken body, and my hands and ears. I am grateful for you who reads this.
One of the most terrifying things about being a writer, about being an artist, is how lonely it can be sometimes. You don’t have to be doing what you are doing, it’s some kind of sadistic self imposed isolation, and that can be dangerous if you’ve had a history with mental health problems. I like to work very organically, when I feel sad, I have learnt to stay quiet until it passes, to do the little tactile sensory things they tell you to do. Hot baths. Touch something fluffy. Sunlight and cardio vascular exercise. But the urgency of this deadline even at day 3 is bothering me like a thorn in my palm, and i’m pretty sure I have water in my lungs (metaphorically and literally). But here I am writing a letter to myself just the same, to get the process started for the evening.
You may ask, why the fuck is she indulging in the seemingly useless self mastebatory process of blogging. Well, it’s less a blog and more a letter. I learnt to be a writer, a proper writer, by writing letters. Love letters. Yeah they told me I had talent for words all growing up. And yeah I went to uni for a hell of a long time and walked out with a lit and linguistics degree. But i didn’t learn how to be a writer until I started writing love letters to someone. There were thousands. The act of communication, of carefully putting together ones thoughts and oneself, for another is nothing other than an act of love. It helped me to reach for my feelings with ease, and be able to put them back down again, it helped me to express myself in a way another person I knew would understand. It helped me develop the artistry of it, it is now easy for me to write alot in a short amount of time, where previously it was difficult. Now I always have the words.
So for any writer out there who cannot find the words, I offer you two pieces of advice. Write TO someone, if you cannot find the words. Write it in a letter, write it in a letter to yourself. The second bit of advice, is simply show up. As you look upon my dishevelled and unimpressed form above, swaddled in a fluffy leopard print robe, unbrushed hair and sour disposition, know that it is the armour of someone who staring all the inadequacy and incompetence which stands in the way of the completion of her goal, right in the cotdam face and very enthusiastically flipping it the bird.
There are days yes, where I do feel utterly inadequate as a writer, like I haven’t done enough, that I haven’t burned as brightly as I could have, that i have not loved enough, that I am a failure. At this stage I just need to remind myself that I am going to get up tomorw, and I will be ok. I will have a shower, I will put on some clothes which are not some corporate shell of myself and I will continue to reinvent myself, paint my life into something greater and more beautiful everyday. I will not be bitter about people who hurt me. And I will nurse no wounds. I will go down swinging. Because I have to. Blind faith? Naivety? Nothing ever truly great was achieved by a non believer. Without conviction. Without certainty. Without faith. Without bravery.
I have the very loose and jelly like bones of the first 40 verses of the book of love, and perhaps rather than combing through them and filling out the holes i will lose my self in the possibility of still crystal waters and coloured middle eastern tiles and cool arabian floors, kofta, rose milk dumplings and mint tea…
Ps. As an aside. When all else fails. Gratitude. Name three things/ people you are truly grateful for. And I’m home. :)
Day two of literary madness was mostly spent fileming on another project and silently thinking, what the FUCK did I get into giving myself this punk ass deadline. Yesterday I came bolting out of the gates with affluent ideas and conviction, but today…well today. My heart is fucking tired. More than freaking out about the very short amount of time I have to complete this book I felt saddened. The ideas are there, I’m just tired. But when you are tired, emotionally, I guess all you can do is put it in your art.
Enjoy the small excerpt below lovers :)
Until tomrw xoxo
"If love is the spark between two whole entities, friend or otherwise, a conduit of electricity and reverberation manifested in communication, then its opposite is the still and silent isolating emptiness, inbetween and outside of our proverbial emotional walls. “If love be rough with you, be rough with love", but love is not governed by such a simplistic eye for an eye justice. The most terrifying experience of my life had me standing on the otherside of a sound proof wall, clawing at the brick with bloody fists begging to be let in again. But the wall would not yield, their brain chemistry legitimately could not let it. And I was alone again in the quiet darkness, with none of Gatsby’s warm summer stars, or a green dock light to comfort me.
When the golden god baptised me with rum, my flesh turned to gold, and like gold it still yields when it is struck with stone. And as i looked upon his marble form, unyielding and cold, wet with moss gathered at his ears and eyes I felt a great sadness at the nature of his form.
And to stop myself from falling again I shut my eyes from his and felt the heat of my heart and the glitter on my tongue, and the warmth of my being melt my golden flesh into a pool of liquid, velvet metallic joy devoid of stone abrasions and imperfections he had left with his hands. I bubbled on the floor and revelled in my own form, golden and searing hot and filled with light. And suddenly I was the sun again, solid and bursting into a thousand hardened pieces of light and glitter and gold and metal in the heavens against a pale blue sky, clinking, shattering, falling like bells and and the sighing of the victorious. From the floor, the seed of my divinity had shot up from the earth and taken me again to a place of peace. He cannot hurt me here, for my heat in this form melts stone, and knows only joy.”
The Book of Love, Ziggy Sassby
Some years ago, I do not remember the exact date, but i was in my early twenties, i bought an amber wedding ring and said my vows in front of the alter of rock and roll to the God of Glitter and Art. I chose amber, because like Art, it is the only stone and one of the only things to come from a living creature to remain untarnished by time and the ages, and any of you who know me, know I am rarely seen without that wedding ring. It had been a long love affair. And he had been with me in all my darkest hours. He had fed me when I was weak, and held my hand when I was strung out on the floor sweating blood and crying mercy. In the past few years i have started a few novels, the first whispers of our children, all of which I have every intention of finishing, but not before their time is right. But now my *proverbial* belly swells with my first child and she grows bigger every day, and it is truly a labour of love. Have you ever had your heart broken? Have you ever really loved? When I took my vows I swore them not in blood but in love. The last few years of my life I have had my heart broken, beaten, trodden on, but also adored, worshipped and revered. And it is time to tell my story, and tell yours. Today marks the count down to the completion of my first grown up work, “The Book of Love”. 700 notes on love, in 7 movements, each describing a different aspect of the phenomenon of love as is known to mankind today. I write this song, to the lovers who have wronged me, who didn’t know how to love, and for the lovers who have loved me, and made me stronger and the person I am today, to the lovers who are lost and do not have their own song in their mouth and on their tongues, I write it so that they will find their way. I write it in grace, for mercy, and out of love. I write it to start a conversation. It sounds naive, it sounds ludicrous. I don’t give a fuck. I am sick of people living their lives too afraid to see someone, use the words ‘make love’ or express any small part of themselves unfiltered and unselfconsciously. Life is fucking short. Get. over it. You are missing it. You are missing someone dying to love you, to reach out and touch you, to see you to speak to you. And no! You do not always have to end up in bed with this person, you just have to fucking love them. I write this book because I needed to write it to understand this crazy as shit thing and because i just wanted to tell you about it. This book is everything i have learnt in the first 25 years of my life, and it will be completed before my 26th birthday. I will get it done, I will be exhausted I will be deliriously tired, I will be spent, but I will do it, and I will do it for you. I will do it because I love you and i want you to see me and know my name. 90 days from now I will be a different person, and so will you. But I will love you irrevocably, indefinitely, bravely, honestly and eternally then, as I love you now. Until then, Ziggy xoxo
"I pad towards to the window and raise the panes to let the night air in. The city sleeps. The air is cool and sweet and blue. My tits harden in the breeze. Shiver shiver shake. neons signs and speckles of faint celestial bodies over the horizon. The stars are not so bright in the city. You cant see past the lights of the towers of modernity. They are too brash. Too harsh. Too unforgiving when they are your canopies. I shut my eyes and think about why i got up this morning. Why i get up every morning. I think about the darlings with the glints in their eyes who walk around six pence shy of broken heart strings looking for a fix or an embrace or mercy fuck. And im not talking about a fuck where you feel sorry for someone. Im talking about the fucks you give in the metaphorical sense and maybe in the physical sense too sometimes. Im talking about the fucks that float somewhere between the giver and the receiver in instigation. That seem to materialise out the air between you. That fall from the vibrations you both speak, drip on to the floor and collect puddles at your feet. Only to coagulate and ferment and rise in conviction as something so alien neither of you are sure what it is or how it got there. But you know you both need it. You need this new thing. You cry Mercy. Merci. Everybody is looking for a fuck. A fuck to be given. A fuck to give. We all want to get lost in the effervescent physicality of one another. In the strangeness and beauty and sublimity we find in the difference of our other. Because in it. Underneath all the shit and difference we find ourselves”
Bohemia - Ziggy Sassby xoxo