Reflecting on our season's theme of PLAY, Sharifa Lafon sat down with Jensina Endresen to talk about how PLAY is central to her practice.


Sharifa: It’s so great to have you in conversation today! To begin, I’d love for you to introduce yourself and share a little about your background.

Jensina: My name is Jensina Endresen, and my project is called bustleworship. I have always had an interest in stories and the way that objects and material culture create a non-verbal language to tell us about people, places, times, and underlying cultural context. When I first started getting into this type of work, the 2008 recession had hit and there weren’t any work opportunities post-college. At the time, I was thrifting coats and furs and things that I thought were interesting, and that contrasted with the homogenized suburban environment I grew up in. I was especially interested in the objects that had history, or a story, told through rips and tears. These items felt precious to me. I started buying coats to reline and make into different types of garments. I noticed that when they were put on there was a moment of transmutation for me and my friends. These moments allowed me to see the transformative power of clothing as an adult after having a childhood full of dress up boxes and play clothes. Later, I decided to go back to school to research how the Anthropocene and fast fashion were related. Although recycling and upcycling have long been a part of conversations, they’re often devalued or regulated to the realm of kitsch, craft, or “women’s work.” By changing the conversation to include necessity in the face of climate change, I was interested in exploring how we've shifted towards extreme consumption and a desire for something new, instead of a reverence for what we already have.

Woman smiling with hands on her heart, wearing a floral headdress.
Crown and Maker (Shayne, Wildcat Floral @wildcatfloral)

Sharifa: You know, I’ve never asked you this question before, but how did you select bustleworship as the name of your project?

Jensina: I was living in Lawrence, Kansas, for just a year. I moved there for someone and because I had a lack of direction, I ended up taking a community college course about historical garments. I loved bustles because unlike so many other Victorian garments, that were about construction and constriction, a bustle is about plumage and a voluminous expanse. During my time there, I met some wonderful, interesting people and we had a conversation one night about the overlap between punk and body culture. Specifically as it tied into straight edge movements and weight lifting, and how gaining strength, for some, became a way to fortify against institutional systems of power. And one of my friends said something about it being like muscle worship for this type of person. To which I was like—I love that—but for me it's bustle worship.

Sharifa: You've described bustleworship as being a persona, not just as the name of your company, but as an embodiment of you. I’d like to hear more about that.

Jensina: A lot happened in my early 30s when I decided to stop drinking. I noticed that I missed the social aspect and performance of getting ready to go out. I realized that I was more introverted, quiet, and shy than I had allowed myself to be. By leaning into the dress up factor, it was a way to access the physical transformation needed to be in a space with other people. Clothing was a way to elevate and change how I was perceived. It was an acknowledgement that to go out, I needed to armor myself as a newly sober person. The armor both protects me and projects a version of myself that is more comfortable in social situations.

Sharifa: I can relate to what you’ve said on several different levels about being introverted and with social interaction. With this in mind, I want to hear more about the role of play in adulthood and how adornment can provide a vehicle for experimentation.

Jensina: So much of normal adulthood is training us away from individuality to be a good citizen, or a good worker, or to fit in and be a “normal” adult. Through this process there’s a suppression that’s like pulling the air out of the room. So many people may say, “I love that, but I could never wear it.” If we allow ourselves to play, we allow a revolutionary act against homogenization. To play is to combat perfectionism in a way that can be healing and life changing.

Woman with a feather blindfold, tattoos visible, standing before mounted objects like bones and sticks.
Thine Eyes (Dani)

Fabric also has a way of revealing itself. After a pattern piece has been cut out of fabric that tells a visual story, there is sometimes a floating leg or another strange, jarring image that remains. I like the optical play of misreading a piece of clothing, like if you look quickly at a person across the street and it looks like there is an animal on their back, or another limb coming out of their silhouette. These things make us question the analog reality in a way that I think is interesting. I’m not a classically trained seamstress, where the ethos is to “measure twice, cut once.” Instead, I lean into play. I’m more of a never measure- throw fabric in the air to slice up with scissors. I’m an extremely perfectionistic person, and this practice helps me break those tendencies. I always create for me first and then for other people second. If you don’t like it, then it's not for you, and that's okay.

Sharifa: One of the most important aspects of any practice is the willingness to experiment, play, and to fail. Perfectionism prevents a lot of people from getting started because waiting for everything to be a certain way means that nothing will ever happen.

Jensina: That's so interesting. It made me think of when I first started working in museums on fashion exhibitions. I was so anxious because I'm not a sewist or a pattern maker. Then I looked at the garments. All the couture garments are made by hand. On the inside the stitches are uneven and they have faults. I like the idea that the reverence of handwork should be felt and seen.

Sharifa: It’s true when the fit is about how it looks on an actual body and all bodies are different. Couture items are not cookie cutter garments without variation.

Jensina: It’s the sign of a handmade item and why would we want to distance ourselves from the reality of production? I think of Diana Vreeland and how she said she wanted her living room to look like a garden in hell. I want my clothes to look like they’re for a band conductor for the circus of hell.

Sharifa: I agree, and I love this sentiment. Expressions of individuality are subversions of conformity. This is a good segue into sustainability and your work with fur, which I think combines all these aspects of your work together.

Woman holding a large feather, wearing a tapestry vest and a spiked wooden crown.
Ornithophile (Ray Lyn)

Jensina: When I first started buying and restoring garments after college, I was seeing a lot of fur coats and jackets. Some of these garments had major damage and some of them just had lining problems. Taking them apart was interesting to me because it helped me to see how they were produced. For example, mink has very structured, intense, linear seams, while rabbit has insane patchwork on the inside that looks like bursts of color where nothing is uniform. I started to think about the idea of the fur as an object that is biodegradable and by wearing it, you're honoring the animal, but also about the level of handiwork that went into it when it was made.

After 10 years of doing this on my own in the midwest, I found that there were still nine people in the US working in traditional methods of furrier work. I found a craftsman with 60 years experience in the Denver Metro area, and after meeting him I was offered a job. I literally went home, packed everything in my car, and lived on an air mattress at a friend's house for six months while I started my apprenticeship. It was not without challenges, but I'm super grateful for that experience. I ended up buying one of his machines, which I still use. So, I learned from a master of the craft, which is indispensable knowledge. In today's society, we want things to be fast and easy, and that experience was a laborious, slow, and painful way to learn something that added to my toolkit and supported my reverence for objects.

Sharifa: I appreciate this because it is knowledge that would otherwise be lost. I think it’s important to value items made with a high level of craftmanship rather than in favor of those that just fall apart. You’re doing the work towards keeping these types of practices alive. Not everyone would know that you are working with solely vintage fur. How do you address the anti-fur dialog in favor of the artificial?

Jensina: Well, fake fur is made from petroleum-based fibers that will never biodegrade but are also created through hazardous production methods. Fake furs continuously release microplastics when washed or worn. If anybody threw paint on me for wearing fur, I'd feel like I've made it, and I think it begs the question of where was your clothing made, from what, and by whom? While there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, the privileged hierarchy of assumptions can be damaging.

Man’s back facing the viewer, framed by a circle of doll legs, wearing a denim jacket with tapestry art.
Jack/Jesus

Sharifa: It’s true, and these items could end up in a landfill anyway, so the level of consciousness regarding what is already all around us is important to take note of. Obviously, all these topics exist on a spectrum in terms of personal beliefs and ideology, but often the arguments are rooted in misinformation, or replace one harmful practice with another.

Jensina: It’s interesting that you bring this up because people will throw away the $1 garment, but to throw away a vintage fur is to throw away the working-class history wrapped up in the production of fur.

Sharifa: There is a significant trajectory there, which extends into the dynamics and problems embedded in the history of the US. Speaking to the historical aspect though, tell me about your master’s degree research which gets into the weeds of this topic.

Jensina: My master's thesis focused on the intersections of sustainability and spirituality, and how those could be relayed through art history. I completed this work as both a project and a thesis. The project took place through a residency with Denver Digerati where I invited my friends and community in for a short interview and then allowed them to play with garments and other items of adornment in the studio, which I photographed.

During the Renaissance, artisanship and craftsmanship were revered and exalted. They used visual language to tell stories. I was thinking about how being an artist or an artisan in those eras was to be noble in its own way. In order to combat the draw of massive consumption, we must have reverence for the things that we already own. There is an obvious connection between fast fashion and climate change, but how do you shift foundational narratives about what is worthy of being saved, what is important, and what is beautiful?

So, for me, thinking about how my clothing, made from landfill fabric, could be portrayed as worthy was the basis for my masters project. I paired my research with the symbolism imbued onto images of saints in the Catholic religion, which is the religion I grew up with. By having the garment worn by someone in a way that emulated sainthood, it gave reverence and exalted the garment in a way that showed it as a thing of beauty. I wanted to subvert the contemporary drive for ubiquitous clothing, homogenization, and the gender binary. To play is to take power back. Play allows a moment of release and excitement.

Figure with a lace doily covering face and shoulders, wearing a tapestry vest and spiked wooden crown.
Hidden Power

Sharifa: It’s the idea of play as a reclamation. This connection also reminds me of Orthodox practices with icons, where the object serves as a representation of the person being prayed to. The focus is not on the object itself, but on the spiritual presence it signifies. I appreciate how you are using the act of play to shift embedded symbolism into new meanings. In terms of breaking hierarchies, symbolism is only legible to people who share a common language and by creating a new dialog you are creating inclusivity. I have to say that I love the images of Queen John the most and feel that all these ideas connected through the act of play connects to this season for Tilt West strongly.

Jensina: I think Queen John was integral to getting into the space of play. Before people played “dress up,” I would ask them five questions, to set the intention for their session. The interview with Queen John is beautiful because he talks about how playing dress up provided self-revelation and self-love, and how it was his auntie of his who saw him in one of her 1980s sparkle sequined outfits. He said that when she mentioned it to him his response was, “I just want to shine on the outside, because I feel like I'm shining on the inside.” That's so sweet and speaks to the feeling of something bubbling inside of us that clothing allows to come to the surface.

Profile of bearded figure with a lace doily on head, holding a mannequin arm, doll limbs mounted on the wall.
The Wheel (Queen John)

Sharifa: There's another aspect of this that is coming up for me as we're talking, and that’s where the role of privilege comes in. I feel like clothing marks our position in society in many ways, and so the allowance to be adventurous rejects the status quo, particularly where resourcefulness comes in. By being scrappy a person can push against the demarcation of privilege through individuality in garments. If you're resourceful, then you can create the look for yourself, and if you’re weird, people are usually drawn to it.

Jensina: Everything I make is out of objects that a lot of people would consider trash, but I make them beautiful, and accessible. I believe in the idea of open-source fashion—as in—patterns and material information should be shared. Why gatekeep because two sets of hands making “the same thing” will always produce different unique and creative results, and how you wear it is personal. It is so very important to see the possibility in yourself and others and knowing that transformation is attainable. I want clothing items to mutate my gender, my visual and physical body, to break out of the self-contained, which I think also creates a sense of empathy. When you can see yourself as containing multitudes, you are able to see others in that same light.

Sharifa: I agree completely. Thank you for sharing that. I enjoyed the photos and what they represent. What is next for you in the coming year?

Jensina: I have a new studio space, and I am excited to be able to set up my furrier machine, my 1936 chainstitch machine, and have a location in which to create more transformational work with fur and to expand my art practice. I’m exploring some women's-work, Divine Feminine concepts, by quilting butter wrappers. This project is looking at the macroeconomic theme of guns versus butter— how warfare, which is deemed more masculine, is prided in government systems over what is often considered feminine-based practices of community investment and care.

Sharifa: There is a lot of tension between these topics right now. I look forward to seeing this work develop and I think it’s going to be great. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me today.

 

Note: This essay will appear in the author’s forthcoming book, 10 Easy Steps to Creating a New Society.

One of the most notorious crises in the United States is the ugly and never-ending confrontational relationship between the State (the police) and communities of color, particularly African Americans. Before we take another step into this centuries-old dance of violence, let’s clarify a few points:

  • While one can trace the practice of policing as far back historically as 27 BC in ancient Rome, the heart, soul and meat-on-the-bones of modern policing in the United States was inspired by the slave patrols of the southern states.
  • Although more white people are killed by the police in the United States than other ethnic groups because of their sheer numbers, a much higher percentage of Black people are shot in high profile and questionable extrajudicial killings.
  • The practice of authorities or police killing unarmed Black people has a 400 years old history in the US.
  • The nation’s extraordinarily high incarceration rate of Black men relative to the overall incarceration rate in the world reflects a punitive, industrial construct.
  • The dramatic level of income inequality in 2020, especially as it relates to race, is rooted in systems that have worked against Black wealth creation for centuries.
  • Ongoing neighborhood segregation, under-funding of schools, under-employment, and general racial discrimination fuel a permanent underclass in the African American community that police departments are used to “keep in check.”

In many ways, police violence against Black people stems from an infrastructure that doesn’t value Black lives and that seeks to actively thwart efforts by Black and Brown people to create lives of quality and dignity.

I was recently invited to moderate an online panel discussion organized by Tilt West, a nonprofit dedicated to fostering conversation on art, humanity, and community. My fellow panelists included Wisdom Amouzou, an activist, diversity expert, and principal of Empower Community High School; Bianca Mikhan, a poet and artist who focuses on mental and spiritual health in marginalized communities; and Lady Speech, a spiritual coach and advocate for LGBTQ communities. We were invited to reflect on Black safety in the face of ongoing police violence. I started our conversation by asking that we reimagine what safety might be. Is it solely about protecting ourselves from those who seek to kill us? Or does the notion of Black safety provoke a deeper question about finding true security in the quality of our lives? Is it both and more?

Mikhan argued for an idea of safety that reaches beyond our individual selves so that we may survive and thrive collectively. She believes that true safety is found in compassion. Mikhan’s remarks raised hard questions about humanity. She reflected on the fact that some people have responded to the COVID19 pandemic by buying guns, while others have baked bread. She said that we’ve been forced to ask the question of who we want to be as a society when we grow up, which provokes further questions such as whether we believe that people are fundamentally good. For Mikahn, it is our ability to apply our greatest selves to small domestic challenges that prepares us to create a bigger, better version of humanity.

Amouzou asserted that a truly safe environment requires three essential elements: freedom from threat, or not having to deal with the possibility of death on an ongoing basis; freedom from fear, or accepting that threat is part of the human experience; and peace, or living in a world where you can successfully manage threat and fear.

Lady Speech made the case that true safety is rooted in our relationship with Mother Earth. The broken relationship between humanity and the Earth creates the conditions which lead to state-sponsored violence. White supremacy and capitalism have disconnected us from Mother Earth and have resulted in a fear-based approach to life that shows up in all of our institutions. Lady Speech added that the 400 years of violence inflicted on African Americans has not been lost on Mother Earth, who is responding to the energy of this pain and trauma.

Our conversation also touched on what it feels like to walk around in a state of constant fear. Amouzou suggested that he manages this fear by mentally and emotionally departing from America. Mikhan responded that this kind of mental departure is essential to survival in American society. By contrast, Lady Speech believes that we must first come to terms with our traumatic history; we must acknowledge the effects that our violent history has on the present, by seeing the ways that the rapes of children and adults that were a common part of the African American slave experience impact our community even today.

My conversation with these three seers led me to create a list of seven ways that we might establish true safety and make it a way of life going forward.

1. Bring back our connection to our ancestors. One of the most common indigenous African philosophical constructs is the idea of ancestral veneration. A basic scientific principle is that energy is never destroyed; it is simply transformed. This principle must also apply to human energy. Ancient people understood this as a basic truth of human experience and felt profound, ongoing connection with their ancestors. This connection helped them face challenges from a position of strength and with a perception of protection and safety.

2. Embrace Ubuntu. Ancestral veneration is rooted in the concept of Ubuntu. This idea says that “a person is a person because of other persons.” In other words, none of us exists alone; we are not really individuals. We belong to a collective of people who have existed for millenia. This understanding stands in direct conflict with the Western notion of rugged individualism. True safety may be found by tapping into the genetic memory of that indigenous wisdom.

3. Take the painting off the wall. If you go back far enough (and sometimes not that far) almost every ethnic group has used song and dance, not for the purpose of artistic display, but as an integrated part of daily life. Somehow, in Western civilization, art has become something we collect and view at a distance, like a painting on the wall of a museum. Perhaps re-engaging with spontaneous music and dance would bring us closer to a way of life more in keeping with a safe environment. There is safety in the release provided by song and dance.

4. Focus on quality of life. One of my own anecdotal observations is that when people have a decent quality of life, they are less likely to accept an unsafe environment. They become committed to maintaining their safety, the safety of their family, and the safety of their community. Conversely, when people’s lives are precarious, they will often end up in unpredictable, perilous, and unsafe circumstances. The math here is not that hard.

5. Defund the police. Yes, I know this phrase is a lightning rod, but that’s only because it has been highly politicized. Something is genuinely amiss with police funding. According to a New York TImes report from June 12th, 2020, city police budgets across the country have risen by millions of dollars annually — even during lean years for city finances, and even despite a steep nationwide decline in violent crime that began in the early 1990s. More dollars are being funneled to police departments to fight the “ghost” of an out-of-control crime rate, and this has come at the expense of funding for other city services. Police departments have also grown more militarized, equipped with assault-style weapons and even tanks from arms makers. “Defunding the police” doesn’t mean eliminating police from your city. It simply means that resources should be focused on necessary services that address mental health, food scarcity, addiction, and other challenges that have been exacerbated by massive income inequality, and not merely on adding more armed men and women on the streets, which often only invites violent altercations. Police budgets should not be tied to political whim, but to overall crime trends and statistics. Science, data, and truth should still matter.

6. Support Relationships. The more we devote time and resources to developing and strengthening relationships among family and friends, the more we can tap into those relationships to help family members overcome challenges instead of leaving that responsibility to the police. Traditionally, family has been the first line of defense in a crisis. Without this support, we call on the police to step in where family could be the first call. Of course, there are times when the police should be called, but imagine a society that supports families and provides more family-based services.

7. Stop creating the “Procariat.”If you combine the words precarious (unstable) with proletariat (working class), you create the word Procariat. Millions of Americans live the life of the Procariat — the unstable working class — especially African Americans. If you cannot plan for the next eighteen months, you are living an unsafe life. If your household is food insecure, you are living an unsafe life. If you don’t know where your next paycheck will come from, you are living an unsafe life. When we start to address these issues, we will improve safety for African Americans and halt the perpetuation of the Procariat.

We have opportunities to do something about safety; they are not beyond us. They don’t even require us to leave the comfort of our homes. They do, however, require a shared philosophy of Ubuntu that helps us understand that when others around us are unsafe, we are all unsafe.

How to Be A Witch, Wizard, or Warlock in Today’s Economy

Those who sought the illusion — it is done
Outdated bones impose the mundane
To discover the True
Do so with nothing
Seek not belief to remain
Hang up on people in real life the way they hang up on people in movies
Raise your right hand to the heavens and bring down
lightning to match the ground

It’s possible to communicate directly with
your chosen reality initiations
Become manifestations of The Witch

Who would say that pleasure isn’t useful?

The Witch always tells me to form the defeat
and make off with the storm
as an act of makeup
and lack of academy

Let the cowards of false kindness
mistake power for magick
Let them have their placards
& petty commendations

Beware of tricks
says The Witch —
Stick with spells

We, Patron Saints of Troubled Times

We
bang our heads
in a whisper, screaming
to a lord We don’t think
maybe might be out there

All of our altars
rendered hollow wind
candles blown out, waiting
despite heaven’s backlog
for so many candidates to
finally be canonized

Reaching for the
language of ordainment
its distance further all the time
not realizing We are all
already fluent

Kingdom Come
ain’t coming through
so We must seize the
means of production and
baptize our own damned selves

Act as ye have faith
and faith shall be given
to We

But We is not
an empty office
Our newfound abilities
must be brought to bear
transmute thoughts and prayers
into actions both grand and fragile
Be of service to one and other
with no thought of reward
no fanfare or tithing
no pedestal or pulpit

We are all We and
no one stands higher
than anyone

Ibadan

auntie grows ewedu in the backyard
Ibadan is a handful of lemongrass boiled with rainwater
the purest form of my father I know
here, he smiles in love letters to old girlfriends
runs his fingers through the rusted gate of his elementary school
and we all breathe easier here
the generator is twisted into ivy breaking through the brick of the outer gate
the red dirt marks everything
coats uncle’s pressed suit
grows into your blood
follows you the way a souvenir cannot
this is unconquerable land
wildflowers have overtaken the old foreign tire company
your sugar does not grow here
I’ve never met a land that rains like your grandmother bathing you
scraping with wise hands in a tin bucket
this is where I want my bones rested
where the sun is always showing off
where poverty is just another word the British made up
where the melon vines stretch eagerly up to our urging hands

Here
We are familiar with laughter
The way America is familiar with debt
We live
Loud and up close
Off-grid
Off-schedule
Here
We
Know
How
To
Live

Ghazal for Spring

For now, let us hang our pain and worry on the closest hook
and admire the army of tulips stretching outside, it is spring.

If you will, turn off the news and be still for a moment,
listen to the loud sound of silence that sings, it is spring.

The coyotes and deer and bear have begun to reclaim the land
the water is clearer, the air fresh, the fish are swimming, it is spring.

Mother Earth is shedding the old like a snake, curando heridas abiertas
showing us the love in sacrifice and growth; que hermoso, verdad? Es Primavera.

Chase the smile welling inside you, even if you feel that it’s fleeting,
it is proof the sun always has your back, it is spring.

Do not walk around the promise of new beginnings as if tomorrow will
foolishly repeat the mistakes of yesterday; seeds are sprouting, it is spring.

Forget not, there is a warm body in front of each shadow,
a heart beating, a mind conspiring, a spirit opening, it is spring.

This morning, entangled bodies made love as the cold rain fell softly outside,
physical distance morphing into metaphor; climax, equinox, it is spring.

The wind is howling outside, the hood is a siren that’s not sounding,
I’m contemplating what will blossom from all of this, it is spring.

soul (noun)
the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body

philanthropy (noun, plural: ​philanthropies)
altruistic concern for human welfare and advancement

If you believe you are too small to make a difference, you haven’t yet spent the night with a mosquito. — African proverb

by Bianca Mikahn

Awe inspiring collectives can
be found in the tiniest corners of nature
Neurons, insects, birds
like starlings blanketing the ​sky
To live
Thrive
to have enough
maybe to distribute
in spite of inhibited acquisition
Inflate new ideas with pressed upon lungs
lift upon air with seemingly clipped wings
manifest this philanthropic soul

We’ve always built the boots and the straps
and the sinew tensed for pulling
We’ve always responded to struggle with familiar capability
an extra ladle dished onto an unplanned plate
an extra blanket on a bed laced
foot to head to foot with cousins
giving first
Consistent solemn promises to never stand idle
in the face of our brethren’s need
in the face of our sistren’s loss
in the face of vicious threat

There is active work to inhibit our vision
machines reading biometrics as though a computer camera
could recognize our flesh more clearly than a neighbor’s caring eye
This narrative of destitution endless, monolithic
almost always inaccurately reported
I’ve never met a welfare queen, only families in need
Of course currency is a limited tool
truthfully the weakest resource we own
It cannot ​respond and​ understand the way a heart might
does not plan and engage the way a mind might
Capitally seems to allow mastery of life experience
but experience was not always currency’s pet
once it roamed unbridled in the countenance of tribes and villages
general understanding of our inherent value

How does humanity save itself
from the maw of industrial greed
how do we fly free without risking ourselves prey

In these schools, swarms, herds, flocks
We could be the murmuration of the starlings
Each winged partner coordinating
with its seven most immediate counterparts
Creating a pulsing cloud of iridescent black
a visual spectacle of thousands sweeping pulling dipping redoubling
This phenomenon actually born an illustrious dance of defense
no scientist able to identify how such vast flocks maneuver
with complete cohesion
infinite lives spared through responding to neighbors with
speed grace and accuracy
no single fowl leading the flock
all movements governed collectively maintaining motion so fluid
it makes the blood in our human veins ache and race with wonder

This intimacy with wind currents
this result of countless butterfly effects
crashing over each other’s inevitability
tidal wave tendencies
tipping points defying gravity
organizing for the sake of survival
Beautiful causation in response to considerable peril
not just our capability, but our responsibility
Every finger and feather and wing and buck and prayer essential
One might think in this fecund wilderness of a world
only the largest most aggressive entities are allowed to procure safety
But the numbers we might find our strength in are endless
and brilliantly adept at converting the horizon into vistas of sweeping change
When our little pieces adjust into the perfect pl​aces
we ascend
a pulsing ​sky bound mosaic
Lifting past the antiquated naysayers
And back into the soaring arms
of our people

A Letter to Black Femmes

Black femme.
You night sky,
You starless galaxy
You
stars for eyes.

You
are so full of empty
of womb
of creation

You
balance of holy fire
You misunderstanding
You
misunderstood
You
so beautiful
so lawless
so… dark

They branded you that, you know?
“dark,” “black,” “demon,”

You
all reclamation
all “yin,” “rebirth,”

You
beaten spine still straight
you clawed teeth
you rip them apart with rhetoric
and discourse.

You
all community,
all let’s talk this through
all “What is ailing you, my love?”

Them
tired of hearing about how black you are,
How straight your hair is not
Wishing
you’d just blend in
Wishing you’d stop being all bold colored font

You
all redefining black as beautiful
nappy as galaxy

You all proud
them all scared
You not running
them all shaking.

You
You
You
stand tall against the wind
You recognize your skin as baobab tree

You all deeply rooted

You
wondering about your roots
on a land that feels like sand

You clinging onto the depths of empty
You know empty
You’ve claimed it
made it friend

You know what happens here,
in a starless night,
in a planet-less galaxy
in the largest womb ever known.

Here
is where you have always
created best

Love Poem for Everything

When I can’t stay inside my own head
let alone this half-haunted apartment.

When I bust down the door into space.

When I lie in the middle of the busy road.

When I turn my head up to the night sky
and I let it consume me.

Car honks.
The distant hum of punk rock
diving out of bars.
The sound of stale beer
on the floor
warped wood panels
some guy trash-talking
football punchy soapbox manifestos
floating down streams of consciousness.

Fingers snapping like they’re trying to start a fire
the only thing getting laid is bricks.

Underground and in the bookstores
dreaming of 90s children’s television shows
dreaming of 60s communism parties
and why shouldn’t they?

The flag is torn in decades it’s only pieced back together in time.

Jills in jackboots
souls in shoes
transient life in constant hearts
sheep in wolves clothing
Hawaiian shirts at funerals
crowded buses on their 36 hustle
taking the elitist drunks to The People’s Republic of Boulder
taking trustafarians to Denver, Queen City of the Cranes*
the dying hunt for empanadas for streetlights
dripping with light
closing their eyes at 2 am
but not tired.

For the devil’s curly hair! Patrolling Cap Hill at 3 am for a pulse
singing improv ethereal gutter moon chainsaw garage dumpster surf punk to the dead trees
we made this whole thing up!

For the queen bitches on Mars
revealing armor in striptease, in unwavering loud truth
vulvas slapped like stickers on masculine walls
calling not for destruction
but reminding the Bukowskis it’s getting dark outside
you’d better let your bluebird free.

For eyes in round glasses
sporadic jolts of childhood boom snap clap nursery rhymes
driving cow towns over moons and potato anthems stories
reminders that this here is what we have
and what we have is the space to be, still
that there is value in alleys that live between banks and bars

like breaths in Gibson.

Guitars still being played
marches, rallies, protests, strikes, riots
all still being played
Dylan still being played
paint slapped on shirts on sweaters
and when they ask “what does it mean?” we’ll say
good question.

and when they ask “what does it mean?” we’ll say
be patient, they’ll figure it out someday.

Outside the window
there are metric tons of humanity
crashing against each other
like two oceans thrown together
swallowing entire continents.

Our children will eat our mistakes
like Breakfast of Champions
their poetry will be lethal to hate.

as we begin to shrink back into the Earth
we will know to look up to them.

Our children will never trip on a phone cord.

They will grow flowers in the plots of our graves.

They will sing in octaves that we’ve never heard.

They won’t know industry
or need
they won’t need to

my hope is
they will bloom organic
in houses made of opened blood cells.

Our children will shine
and cheers with love potions.
They will see through owl’s eyes.
They will make each other’s beds.

Our children will eat at one long table;
the longest wickedest table we’ve ever seen.

Our children will bear witness to our history.

Our children will correct our story.

They will put us in their paintings
and display our failures in public hangings.

Our children will reclaim the daytime for the sun.

Our children will shatter glass ceilings with fists made of flowers.

They will stare each other in the eyes when they communicate.

They won’t open their mouths.

When we die, our children will live
and it will be so damn hard on them
that someday they too will die.

Hear me now:
uncork your neck and pour out your spirit
my friends, my sisters, my brothers
I say this to you urgently
as a tragic skeleton wrapped in painful comedy.

if it is a sign you are looking for, make your home on highways.

I say this to you my friends, my sisters, my brothers
my sons and daughters.

I do not sleep much these days,

but when I do I dream of you
and of you and of you

and I wake up so confused
because if it wasn’t for the Heaven I huddle around me
I worry I’d find myself living in Hell

so thank you to the Heavens for existing right now
thank you, Earth, for gravity
thank you, Wind, for levity
thank you, Water, for movement
and thank you, Fire
for giving us something to circle around.

I say this to you, my friends, my sisters, my brothers

I love you.

I love your death and I love your rebirth.

I love your broken womb, your unwatched fire
your five-course meal of disaster
that you offer me on a dirty platter

and I love you not in the next moment but in this one.

I love your wealth and your company and your energy
for I will die poor and tired and alone.

Every single one of us will die poor and tired and alone.

Thank you to the warm hand that carries my dead skull home, into this half-haunted apartment
where I close my door and rest

dreaming of everything.

In this period of physical distancing, Tilt West is launching a new series called, “Writer of the Week,” in which we will feature a poem or reflection from members of our community. We begin this series with poet, performer, and activist, Suzi Q. Smith who inspires us daily with her Poems for the End of the World.

Mezzo Sopranos Get the Sad Songs

Did you hear the one about the long lines around
the gun shop and the sold out bullets
and the empty grocery store shelves in the United States?
What will happen when our lights are out?

I hope we sing like the people in Italy.
I only really know two arias, one of which is “Lascia Te Mi Morire”
translation: bring me my death

so I don’t think I’ll sing that one,

but I’ll tell you this:
I’ll sing before I shoot,
I’ll sing before I shoot,
ain’t never been afraid of heaven anyhow.