loveMELT newsletter #015: Not Dead Yet
I think the greatest compliment I’ve ever received was being called a ‘strange bird’. I’m not certain the person I was dating at the time meant it as a compliment. I’ve always been envious of birds. The way they get to see the world–a constant overview effect. Incredible, right?
This year I’ve decided to be an American Crow for Halloween...not to be confused with the 1994 Miramax movie, The Crow (the same year the diagnosis of ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder, was discontinued and replaced with the diagnosis of ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). I just learned the movie existed when looking into crow makeup. The main star, Brandon Lee, son of Bruce Lee, fatally died while filming it. I’m sure the crows on set mourned his death.
My friend, Leah, asked how I landed on a crow. When contemplating what I’d like to embody, I first considered a mermaid for childhood nostalgia’s sake but quickly realized I’d rather fly. Plus, I read this book recently, The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki, another friend sent me and crows were part of the novel. I liked their presence. I relate to crows because while they’re very social, community-oriented creatures, they also mourn a fallen friend while taking time to learn from their death. Rather than wicked, as folklore may have us believe, crows are wicked smart. Maybe American people could learn from American Crows.
Whenever I fly I tend to write poetry. I don’t force it but my pen usually finds its way to paper…so I let the ink enunciate.
Plane Jumping
by Sadie Monroe
What is it about travel that makes me wanna cry The unfavored cry seems easy enough to explain It’s usually when I’m separating from loves who drive me insane Sometimes it’s maybe a longer ache when I see the ground like a bird and remember we’ve made it so nervous systems can’t stay The favored cry though… is it the plane ride and the dwindling oxygen able to reach my brain? Or is it the changing of planes viewed from high altitude on my way to there To my minuscule self no longer mattering the same way as it usually absorbs every ounce of persistence Or is it local planes traversing my brainwaves once I’ve arrived here from there that inspire alternate visions for a self a world can sustain The Ors dawning less of a singular it and more of a circular expansion flowing into being amidst more than one concept The jumping of planes never quite the same And maybe it’s the wonder that keeps both teartypes fresh Coincidental encouragement to synchronously subsist And now I’m realizing if I future think this poem I’m touching on The Singularity and I’m not sure what to make of it… what it would mean to co-exist with tech Servers racing on farms AI AR VRooooom Hyperobjects stirring up clouds No winner in sight Surveillance says A-D-D Dead My instincts say unfavorably cry But hopefully I’m like Boole’s father a shoemaker whose child’s life likely felt unfathomable from his own semblance That wish alone makes me crylaugh In a room of one’s own Emerson becomes quite clear But what do I know… Ain’t I a woman? All I wanna know is the fuck is going to happen to these kids and their craniums?
Poem Footnotes
The Singularity AI AR VR Hyperobjects Surveillance says A-D-D The Ors dawning less of a singular it Servers racing on farms Boole’s father A room of one’s own Emerson Ain’t I a woman?
Related artworks in progress
Will our future be crow-like?
Sadie
PS– I made you a playlist called, Not dead yet ↓