WET DIARY OF SOUVENIRS INCOMPLETS
MARY ALINNEY VILLACASTIN
Fragment Footnotes of Once-Upon-a-Time Footprints Running Barefoot in the ________
1. beginningless conditions:
(under) solar heat,
its presence & absence
refracting , , ,
a feedback furnace,
clouding smoke shadows,
echoing a cry,
bliss blows out paradise ---
(a human home without a dome
eats its insides out,
keeps its outsides in,
until the bullet shell
2. pioneer transcendent directions:
plant wild islands of meteoric rock matter
bloom algae blue-green seaweed grass
float fireboats between water worlds
fly, fly, fly,
like ancient bird’s dinosaur feather buried in fossil fuel
like sister snakes’ scales weathered age in climate change
like an extinct species speck dust in sunken sand dunes
like an island’s edge resisting end in elemental skies
stand up again & against
sail across ocean’s distance
voyage void of sirens
manifest destiny spirit-
until magical equation reads [breathe]
(human habituation = cosmological cardinal direction
or, ‘we worship we worship we worship we worship we worship we...’)
3. this is a [portmanteau] story, telephone re-told:
this is a story about you. /
this is a story about me. /
this is a story about love. /
this is a story about journeys. /
this is a story about journeys to the other side. /
this is a story about journeys to the other. /
this is a story about rebirth. /
this is a story about samsara. /
this is a story about life on planet earth. /
this is a story about life in the underworld. /
(This is a story about human life in a synthetic seashell, growing its (a)symmetrical limbs in spirals, grounding sub-dirt’s grid in I's prosthetic extension, polar contours of calcified, plastic contradictions. This here became that there and that there became this here (ribs to limbs: am I repeating another genesis?), back & forth & forward, like media’s me-mirror miming/mining carbon (.com)motion, wheel-ward spinning ‘truth’ in fool’s merry-go-round loop notion of now news, webbing world’s war waves w/ blind surf rider’s smile, forgetful of shoreline limits...
[ [ [[ as live primetime memory suddenly record stops coming storms’ fresh riptides,
flesh-skin shield morphs home, (de)code suspends composed hurricane center ]] ] ]
Only until multiple punctures immunize post-tempest trauma, tear-water filling/filtering fluid of mind eye’s, can shiny visions of sandy voyages, beyond blur of half/horizon's structural-logical geometry, open up, as a pearl, to gloss glimmer sur-face/subvert compositional flux(us) from imperfect curves. Not until this life seeizes the light in circular /diffraction/ does our story end,
to begin, again, anew (we).)
Pilgrim’s Pathological Passages / To Sea Center of Earth
A Typed Prayer of Topographic Texture, Thought at Time of Wanderer’s Written Witness:
[To the Land of Wirikuta,
to those humans who
protect all sacred space-time
points oriented to holy plant spirits,
The desert, once under the ocean,
escaped earthquake’s tectonic tempest,
decided dirt’s disguise before ridge demise.
Once, this desert is an ocean . . . . . .
When we step on spines of spikes,
we grow like seaweeds or saguaros,
taking prick of tick-tock-ticking,
phytonutrient passing passage of we-me-moments,
minute-by-minute action into algae growth acceleration,
surviving by slipping into skins, thick by water’s war storms;
Callous from a cactus is foot’s souvenir of sovereignty, like a flag of victory fluid in the sky.
Once, this desert is an ocean ..............
When we voice cosmos untamed hourglass vacuum,
we hear our echoes stir cries lost on other side underworld,
screaming mirrors of madness spit sinking primal slime in pirate pilgrim ships;
I try to speak silent to spirits but they’re too many or too loud, like gushing rivers
whispering for a tiny swish of attention as a colony of fish waves sea/scales with sailor swords.
Shiny jewels of wet clouds slash coastline’s chest like stolen treasure’s descent into coral reefs;
What more to matter than to submerge alone & alive in divided dimensions above destiny.
Once, this desert is an ocean .. .. ..
When we pride in Singular Present Tense Divine,
we pray to the Capital(ist) Logics of Conditional Statements, like Humanity’s Limitlessness:
That the shared Tree of Life sings in our staged Theater of War, of Bodydrama’s Battle Reel,
That which is as forgotten as Atlantic Slave Trade or forgiven as Colonization’s Sins,
now forges a self’s (s)kin, X (oxygen hole) rippled & inhaled
like a lung puncture Politics to Prana,
like a So-Realist Play of Gendered Toybox Trauma,
like a Distant Pacific Vortex of Plastic Trash,
like a Disneyland Ride into Dread’s Paid Dreamtime,
like Penelope’s Odyssean Desires of a boat’s crash on the coast on the course to change herstory.
You wonder yonder, but the story is the same:
You swim; you drown. You float, you flourish.
You pick your poisons & they prick you.
Once, this desert is an ocean ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Sip Sleepy-Time Folktale Tea For Survival
Over the dinner table,
a mother tells her daughter a story:
Over the ocean on northern continental bedrock,
a widowed grandmother and her daughter-in-law
meet beside once again to nibble-giggle whisper
diaspora’s distant pacific island goodnight gossip
“A daughter of a neighbor and a relative
by less than six.666 degrees of separation
became sick with stomach pains for six months.
And do you know what they did to cure her conditions?”
“Well, will I believe if I knew trouble’s truth?”
“Before last summer’s tempest of radioactive torment,
she got a full pipe pull of incense puff smoke
blown down her belly by a she-sha/man healer
from the flip side of the old sea-boat bog...”
[“Devil, get out!”]
[“Devil, get out!”]
[or more accurately, “That evil thing doing tricks, get out of here!”]
[or more arguably, “That dirty-devil’s thing doing tricks inside, get outta here!”]
A laugh (& a half).
“And not too long later, the young girl went into labor;
her baby died soon after, so did she...”
A 15-year-old third-year high-schooler,
child of XY in relative to Z,
kid giving birth to kin,
by swamp witch’s wish-whip of words,
by swapped spit’s lust-spun DNA spell,
by some dull & dumb gang member no-gooder neighbor boy,
by some curse conjured alive from secret sorceresses of inherited misery given birth
by some sperm from her no-good-doin’ adulteratin’ adulterer fisherman father,
by that karma-comes-back-as-bad-luck kisses of his many bitter child-bearing mistresses,
scattered like ass biting fire crabs slave laboring family love on far islands across
heavy eye’s horizon sea - - - subsurface wounds truth:telling*
*(As if tropical sun’s story ever ceases at liquid edges of seashore lips: homesick heartbeats pitter-pattern matter on re-union ritual-reproduce repeat-repeat, embodied along stormy directions, coded in cloud mouth messages; life lingers on in hole’s loop)
The morale?: ‘A spirit is born, killed, and re-risen’
Like night’s shadow, or today’s tomorrow,
lurking below the bedsheets:
a tucked monster
under water blanket
Replay xXx-Minor Notes to Tune Off/On Future Fear:
or, Learn to Swim from Sinking Islands
Once upon a pleasure’s time,
bathtub of ocean gap traps 2 islands,
[like tako dako ug tako gamay
(big ‘tako’ and little ‘tako’)]
through wide-eyed distance this divide desire glistens,
[“let’s go beyond borders of order,
swim further off shoreline of fear’s edge,
off end of lolo’s seawall backyard fence!”]
lust daydreams of floating flesh like mermaid fish,
[spinnin’ star system’s grip,
kin family’s hips,
dna trippin’ trauma’s drip,
alien heart’s tight lip; creep creatures of belly’s deep]
like we 3 witchy women who glide high tides hollerin’ wildness,
[hollow plastic water gallons grippin’ our thighs afloat,
locomotive body masses buoy like masted sailboats,
spine serpents slivering moon’s rising liquid,
face-space perception swells self-picture lizard vivid;
bit by daredevil’s goddess guts of glory]
below us, slowness of sea muscle-suspended like leisure bicycle ride,
[in echo’s listening distance, your cousin repeat screams for your return.
to swim to that visible island beyond & back, dis believable whim.
no one’s ever done this before, wide wade swim.
to swim into that invisible void back & beyond, sans shark attack.
no one’s ever gone there before, tugging their behinds on wastebasket water jugs.
‘do you KNOW (not) what death-by-drown be in that beyonder???’]
paddlers peddle compass wheel to weave collective destination,
[underneath weightless knees kicking air gravity, feet feathering fluid’s light waves,
smell of heated seaweed salt, sweet skin’s fruit shell prune prickly lines, clear signs sense
crystallize colonized contradiction bloom colors sea-saw filtering mobile limb’s glimmer:
blue-purple / plum purple / sky violet / violet-blue / violent bruise-blue /
tropical-true-blue / skylight blue / plastic pen ink blue / blood-fusion-blue /
flash flood blue / plundered-paradise-postcard blue / between-green-blue /
hidden hues radiate transparent blue’s muse-eum]
‘til finally, multitude body momentum pendulum portals other alien planets of possibility,
[fear is unknown’s underwater flash of fate,
spit/swap’s splash in face of surreal idealism;
fear is lost myth of mind’s friction/fiction,
first idea bridged by mind’s eye, imagination;
fear is what stops writing stage screenplay,
chills reel to press pause/play like dead film;
fear is a pilot program of chaos control,
if corrupted captive; free unconscious fins (endings)]*
“sink your fears, float like a feather”**
-from future word play & past passage pleasure****
*This is a true-tale auto-flashback of prior storm stored memory from a seasonal stay on the Visayan island of my family’s Philippine origins, hit by the eye of Typhoon Haiyan [Yolanda] in November 2013, at written time, the strongest tempest to strike land in modern recorded human history.
**This is an afternoon where we tres amigas spent swimming to a nearby island from my grandfather’s house along boat coast, on the whim of midsummer wind, self-buoyed with plastic jugs between our legs.
***This text is a tribute to an island’s survival, when the people and waters rise together.
Mary Alinney Villacastin is a Filipina-American cosmonaut swimming space-time sideways through decolonized dreams. A graduate of anthropology from Barnard College and endlessly enrolled student of Earth, M.A.V. experiments with auto-ethnographic records on the road (RealityEnRoute.blogspot.com). Last based in Oaxaca, Mexico and South Florida, xXx is currently traveling, re-writing virtual versions of various voyages, composing past origins in present future tense. Zer fragment prose-poetry may be found in Local Nomad, Alien Mouth, Epigraph Magazine and Minor Literature[s]. You can find Mary on Instagram.