now that i had (still have?) a fever (see last post) i've been poetrying; petition to write more like cissy

I won’t lie, my memory is shaky like a trembling aspen in the autumm breeze and my mind is tangled like the crocheted flowers my friend made me to serve me tea but I don’t want to drop the metaphors so it sucks to be you. Hence since my mind may only carve out the flahses of the last three or so days it is what I shall uncover in what I hope will remain my most unhinged blog post reflection.

Cusco is so beautiful. I don’t really feel like saying more. I love the sun, but not really when I’m sick.

When we went out to walk around the plaza I swore I couldn’t comprehend anything, I remember saying something about Foucault because Foucault wrote about spectacle but after that if you were one of the few who witnessed me writing incessantly on Cissy’s notebook I was doing some lyrics! (Emma noticed, thanks Emma).

To those of you who have listened to my song (thanks) ((also my next single releases June 15th yay!)) you will know that nature and setting is the setting for my music. And since I was #goingthroughit while I was sick I had to cure myself by writing about my feelings in Cusco. If you can’t understand my refelction through my poetry then you’re not an artist and undeserving of this vulnerable blog post #suckstosuck.

Here is some snippets of what I wrote.

I took a seat
Beneath the lambras tree
It’s a beautiful city
And I don’t know how to connect to her
Bought me a drink
Face was peppercorn pink
You’re a beautiful thing
And I don’t know how to connect to you

Anyways, as you can see I references Cissy’s blog post about the plants from deep rivers for art is the inflicitng of sensation and the inspiring of other art. Wow, I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Let me switch my prose once again.

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The uttermost gripping sensation I wanted to convey in my introductory blogpost was a fear of being a kite without a hand to hold, fluttering off into the sky with ultimate freedom and to crash into a foreign land with no sense of place.

My tether is neither tight nor short, but without the confirmation that it is there, a quick tug, the wire in sight, I become lost.

In my five years of high school, I have had only a single fever, brought upon by COVID, but in my two years of university, I have had six, all of which contracted in a land that was not my own. I am sure that this is no such coincidence—that my physical illnesses have manifested in the states where I have felt the most removed from home as I have ever been, and if you have been deducing, I must admit that I feel much homesickness though it has not been over two weeks. Still I have not answers, and with each day I grow more skeptical, that the knowledge I am looking for here will find its way back to me, that the cedrons who look so much like the bedstraw will guide me to peace or anger.

For now, I will ground myself with poetry and attempt to stick closer to Cissy, for her essence seems to touch the earth and I feel so much like a fleeting wind. And I ask that if any of you start breathing the land, you let me know, so I can find a tether in your observations, and write you a love poem.

all of my strife for a life 
i could destroy
with the billionaire’s knife
i could fly if i tried
but i don’t know where i’d go 
not to you not to home 
not to anywhere i could access by road

Annie