Ginny

Short-term projects from a long-term stay on a trauma recovery unit. I've been drawing a lot sans reference: patients aren’t allowed technology for extended periods of time.

first it sleeps Lëtzebuergesch He was born in Salvador of Bahia but grew up in Luxembourg capital city. We met while living in the same London apartment building when I was 19. We candy flipped on the way to Ministry of Sound, where he crip-walked while wagging his pointer fingers like a zootsuiter. I took him to the Tate Modern to pick up one of Ai Wei Wei’s sunflower seeds. We would spend four summers living with his family in Luxembourg city proper: his mother translated f

Take a long walk in a third-world capital. Touch each building like you own it. Take a slow, deliberate pace, as though you plant your flag with every step. Approach a busker. Take his instrument and play it the worst you can. If he played the fiddle, play with opposite hands. If it’s a wind, remove the reed altogether.

ACCOMPANYING PLAYLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Jq8YtzjCahHacFkriCp0e?si=QlaR4EITTve5rDA3mDrpxQ&pi=Csy1o7uUTtioe

ACCOMPANYING PLAYLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1BcJ2bzmxveE5xRsvdaMuw?si=PvO-nMAERKG2diggTgvmiA&pi=MJmbqHirRzS8S

These are all the writings I have produced this year. They reflect a period of terrible pain and intense growth over the past 11 months. I related exactly what happened in another piece called "Hell Year." Nuanced and aesthetic they are not, but these pieces hold more value to me than anything I've written before this year. Reading through these poems, you can see when things hit the fan. The first two poems are the weakest, but they still convey some important messages and p

The Eye When you're getting over a near-death experience, the word "fear" doesn't mean anything to you anymore.  In a roundabout way, the reminder that you're vulnerable--that this great steel wall of your skin and brain is penetrable by something greater than you--makes you feel invincible. You become numb to small things, but you're paradoxically vigilant. God threw down a pair of golden glasses that cured your nearsightedness. They hit you on the head. You're told since yo

Backyard barbecue babes ephemeral like cicadas, air thick and dank with smoke. Chicago people don’t scare easy yet they tread the streets...

Upon answering a lobster phone, a small-biz kinetic artist found himself speaking to Oba Oduduwa , the great Yoruba orisha , who asserted he admired the thought , but then politely asked for that tradition back. " And for the metal arokin , which really just a talking piggy bank , isn't it? A naked Furby - Pez for colonizer money? 'Ah-AH. Need food.' " Oduduwa engorged his eye sockets and blinked twice mechanically , pursing his handsome lips over his white teeth and chomping

Ah, humanity: the headless hitchBOT on a Pennsylvania park bench.

I’m unsure what time of day it was when my headlamp started to dim. I bellowed for help in Spanish and Dutch to a vibrating echo. I knew beneath everything that it didn’t matter what scraps of language I knew to holler–no one else would be wandering under a kilometer of foreign dolomite.  Stuck face-down in a belly crawl within a collapsing vein of a narrow sinkhole, left arm forward and right arm folded tight to my hip, I was suspended over a clear blue pool twitching with t

I lay awake in bed late one night, frozen in the shadow of a figure in my doorway: a six-foot three amigurumi man. I made him, tediously,...

I met you on HAM radio in the 90s— you snatched a butterfly off a birch tree and showed me the powder from its wings on your amputated...

Ideally, I’d like someone anonymous I can send art that makes me laugh, like Frank O’Hara’s poem about Lana Turner collapsing. We would live within walking distance but we’d definitely avoid each other. They wouldn’t ask too many ambiguous questions but rather demonstrate unearthly wit and teach me every thing I don’t know about astrophysics. It would be a great comfort to know what’s out there. We would never touch or even really see each other, but we would be inseparable.

Harrowing as the day I was born (I think??), you lamented about how you briefly forgot the love of your life--like driving a small pin...

I wonder what you looked like today, the day when I erased you from my mind. It didn’t emerge from bitterness; not an eviction but a slow...

I'll wait: not like some fanged or taloned thing, but like drumlins lain regiment on cold plains, the last bullfrog rasping in the wood,...

Remember that, the week I had convinced my bloated words to elope with me in the Riviera to sit, my placid subject; wear a Turkish robe in ways I could evince them? Akimbo in marital bed, the purplest words I minced, milled to gunpowder, and a combustive flare of hostile dust and physical power scared up hard times marked by The Struggle. In time since, I'd worked to find my eupheuism, between two heavy stones, can sedimentize and crack a coarser silt that dissolves in boili

To trust the writer of tidy endings is to trust the painter of perfect faces. I’d rather follow those who explain the gridlike struc-...