To resume (2008) (2025)

In 2008, I began writing my blog into this most old-fashioned and corrupt of notebooks, blogger.  It was called Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?  In 2016, I re-named it The Vortex of Formidable Sparkles.  By 2021, it had a million readers.  Then I closed it.  

That blog still exists, archived, a mode of decay (iridescence).  

In 2009, I began to write Ban into the blog.  I wrote Ban on the blog. What is Ban?

performance, pratt institute (rose garden)

performance, university of berkeley (hotel room) 

seminar, jack kerouac school of disembodied poetics (experimental prose)

  

In 2024, I thought, this is not working.  This new writing, writing-after-Ban, successive writing. What if I opened the blog? But, to open it again was to re-read those thousands of entries, to go backwards in time, to delete loves and thoughts.  Everything was mixed up on the blog: Ban, seminar notes, workplace memories.  Everything. Save as Draft: click.  Delete: click.  Publish: click. The attempt to sanitize my blog, to make it less of a problem, less exposing, before writing again, did not work. 

There is only so much time in a day.  

There are only so many minutes: mazarin minutes, cochineal minutes. Contested red, the deep (rich) blue of a cardinal's robe.  Red as extract coiled in a jar, blue as what you kiss ( a hem).  

Then, somewhere between Thursday afternoon and just now, about an hour ago, I realized I could write [here] again.  All I had to do was start a new blog with the original name! The first iteration, the blog as it was, could keep being what it is and was: a volcanic seam, a dress made of paper and twigs. A notebook dessicating on the grass beneath the cherry blossom tree in the Xiaotian Fu Garden, the back garden of the house where Ludwig Wittengenstein died.

So.  Here it is.  February 1st, 2025, 10.49 a.m.  Though now it's 11.12 a.m.

Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?

Can I write here again?  I'm writing the sequel to Ban, if it's possible for ash to have a sequel, for something that did not take a form to have a sequel.

Don't break my heart, blog.**

Dear Ban, I invite you to swarm again.*  

And settle here, like sentences.

To transmit, to be whatever it is you are going to be.

Which cannot be known.

Or understood.

Or even felt, I sometimes think.

In advance.

*No, as soon as the invitation is extended, what I want to write: recedes/vanishes.

**Let's just pretend this is a website. 

I will try to keep it to publishing, events, workshops and occasional notes.

Yes, at this time, it's not possible to write intimately in a public space. It's not possible, for example, to document the particulate matter of a being who didn't arrive in the way we thought she would, or might, without using language that no longer has a place in the society I am writing in.

The vibe of the blog is over, I think.

Over for now.

I will get to work on a tab for Publications, and also Events.

Bowl and table commisioned for a public performance/ritual at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation, St. Louis.  Lower your face into the water. .