I’ve written a few posts on some of the invisibility/silencing that I experienced at NN09 and that happens quite often actually in so called progressive spaces, even how some of this erasure was deliberate, on my part and on the part of others. Pero there is a third invisibility/silencing that I won’t write about here, except to write thatI won’t write about it here. It’s the only way I can feel remotely good about the self-censorship I am functioning under. The self-imposed gag rule goes against my nature and instincts. Pero that’s what pen and paper are good for, that’s what poetry readings and presentations are good for. There are poems and stories and images drawn out con palabras that will be spilled onto public floors from my mouth and then gone except in the minds of some and well if the presentations are recorded I guess (which I suck at setting up pero I should get some video of me reading).
It’s funny the things we don’t write about, talk about, show. Even the things that everyone knows. Family secretos and mentiras we tell ourself to make ourselves feel good, less guilty, carry less blame. Pero we know. We know who knows and how and if that not knowing carries meaning or changes anything (or not). It’s the avoiding of conversations and the questions you don’t ask because you don’t want the real answer even though las respuestas are acted out right in front of you in signos and codes and motion and sound.
Ay I’m happy I’m going to a book release event tonite. I plan on sitting with a glass of vino, or at least trying to if I end up bringing my kids. If you see me there and I am with my kids, please tale em for a walk around the block or something. I’ve got poems that need to be fed some cabernet.