by Pearl Button
I often dream in words. I woke up this morning with this poem in my head. I got up, wrote it down. Part of my practice is to produce what I call "15 minute" scribbles. When I did that today, the poem wanted to be heard, so I drew the image on my computer. It's not a medium I'm particularly skilled at, but that isn't the point of the 15 minutes. It's more about honouring the impulse within myself to listen to the ones who erupt from my sleeping mind each and every night. As for the time limit - I stop when the timer goes, no matter how undone the image. I don't like the pressure to make art. It makes me feel inadequate. So I eliminate it and just make scribbles. Sometimes I work on it later, make paintings of them, or some other medium, but in the moment, it's just about letting my body make art, even if the art is gargoyle sex. That's all I really want to do.
Transformations thought he was getting abandoned kitten kind-of-woman straggly, ugly with neglect took her to bed, turned his soft hand to her naked thigh found, on opening his eyes limber gargoyle, full of ferocity, stone desire poor fella—once white knight with sturdy lance found himself transformed now, a pair of scissors under rock
