Every other day has just been one of those days. It is not easy to feel hurt or angry if you cannot remember. In Eyeballz and Honey, Julie Akerly remembers. She remembers what it feels like to be looked at, to be touched, to say no, to submit. She tries to give herself the option to take up space, to be heard, and to RAGE. She uses her body to remember what it feels like, she uses her voice to scream, and she uses imagery as a reminder that she is not alone.
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Creamed Honey
by Ada Mcartney
I am reduced to a shaking
carcass of catharsis watching Julie
move. Eroticized vulnerability,
finger painting with honey.
I felt a waterfall of shame since—
I felt the panic of hurt un-changed since—
Felt aching hard against this
whole disembodied mess.
Tangled web of neon fuzzing on screen. That scream.
Every dream that tightens the screws pinning my jaw.
At once. How to get used to performing
calculated triage on phantom limbs.
Just GET UP. Get the FUCK UP.
Ignore the break. Beat drum—
Bait. Isolate. Manipulate. Learn to
submit before it even hits— Shit.
Chained to a pile of bricks.
Couldn’t see. Drip, drip.
Focus shift until it
pulls out.
Like how we titter at a double entendre.
Like being anxious of touch. Craving nothing but—
Hug / Handshake / Fist Bump / Failure / Grace.
How to begin to create, again, from this place
when every other one is one of THOSE days.
How to come through after becoming afraid
of this unbalanced vessel dancing in foamy waves.
Like how we have come to be
stretched across disjointed hemispheres
all the complexities of healing sear.
Feel every layer that you add or peel away.
For every “no” that means “no” at least three mean “yes”.
Undress in a dream where it feels good to touch and be touched—
Then, I wake up.
Written on 9/25/17 after attending a work-in-progress showing of Eyeballz and Honey
October 4, 2017
I'm getting ready to show a version of Eyeballz & Honey at the LFA For(u)m that was commissioned by Local First Arizona. Creating the work I am always battling with what it is to remove elements of your work to make it publicly accessible (mostly profanity, and persona...
September 6, 2017
So thick it fills up all of the pipes in my body
There is no space for myself
Creamy
Slimy
It is voices that have been shoved down my throat for decades
It is the unwanted gazes of others, their tiny eyeballs suffocating my lungs
A false prophet that guises their privlege in...
September 4, 2017
You know when you are in the start and/or maybe middle of something and you are trying to recall what all of the things were that you were making? That's where this solo lives. Through a collection of poems by Rupi Kaur, I uncovered some unfriendly reminders of a contr...
