unlearning

how is that every time i start to write with an intent to write
i start to
word
by 
word

forget.

i will type, i will write on yellowed notebook page
i will scrawl into the very earth

but no matter where i write it will stop
hiccups
one word a minute
i would fail as a secretary.

the only stories i finish
are haikus
written in condensation on my bathroom mirror

they fade away leaving no words
but there are finger smudges in the morning

i know they were there
but i can no longer tell
what the poem says.

city lights

I watch you

I see you move
imperceptibly
I know
I see
I watch

People stare
seeing parts
seeing one glowing orb
spreading from a pinprick somewhere
deep within
radiating smooth
unassuming
clear

they stare
and they think
they see you
solid
unwavering

I see you
I see your whole being
you struggle to maintain it
you flicker
here and there
you pulse with life

I see that you are alive
veins of light
ready to collapse
one day

not today

they see you as forever

I see that you are alive
I watch you

east and hudson

We get on well with bridges,

you and I.

We need them in our lives.

Our constant search for lights dancing between dark below

and dark above and

glowing overwhelming civilisation on either side.

We are the bridge between

two sides pulling apart, the bridge

gets a little longer every day

like a glacier slowly encroaching upon a valley.

We are the bridge across a harbour mouth

the beginning of ocean

We are land meeting sea

and man conquering the boundaries

of both.

I am standing on a bridge

but there is no water to cross, only sky

I am a shadow on the ground and

a silver speck in the sky

the bridge was not strong enough

it broke away, I was dragged by steel wings

I would build a bridge

across the water

so we  can walk when we’re too poor to fly,

too weary to paddle

in boats constructed from flax and old clothes

and I would meet you in the middle

and we would toss pennies into the sea.

introducing the experiment…

A wise musician has in recent times blogged about the necessity of a return to the patronage form of artist payment in order to keep art happening in this day and age. She was referring principally to the music industry, and the way that it has changed and been reshaped by the Dawning Of The Internet, but I’m pretty sure that the same basic idea can be applied to most areas of ‘art’.

That’s where this comes in. My own art form of choice is writing, mostly prose of the short story nature, but I dabble in poetry and have longer pieces in the works as well. However, until one cracks the industry with something huge and best-selling, it’s not really the most profitable venture. Plus, I’m a student, and having just wrapped up six months of study abroad, I’ve been without income during this time. The solution? Reach out to the world – and put this patronage idea into practise.

This is how it works. You PayPal me money to briar.lawry@gmail.com, and either in the note on PayPal or in a separate email, up to you, let me know what sort of thing you’re looking for. If you aren’t looking for anything specific, you’re just an amazing person who likes to support ‘the arts’, then that’s also perfectly lovely – I will still have you noted down as a thank you and work on an independently planned piece for each person who makes a non-specified donation.

There’s also an extra option, that you can choose to partake in or not, up to you. If you donate, I’m happy to send you (by REAL mail! envelope and stamps and all!) a hand-written/personalised copy of your story/poem or one that was written on your dime, so to speak. If you’re after one of these, then specify this in the comments section of the PayPal, by saying ‘hand-written’, or something.

So that’s how it works.

If you happened upon this page, or someone other than myself sent you the link, you may want to know a little bit about what you’re getting yourself into – ie. who on earth IS this girl? Why should I pay her to write things? They know how to use the Internet in New Zealand?!

The last one is obvious. The other two I’ll quickly outline for you here. I’m Briar, I’m nineteen years old and currently (as of July 1^st) dwelling on the couch of a friend in New York City, concluding six months of time in North America, focused around Montreal and then New York, but with exploits from Boston to Orlando to Los Angeles, and a few places in between. I’m a student (like I mentioned before), heading for a BA in English and Classical Studies. I’m from Auckland, New Zealand, and in a couple of weeks I’ll be back on Kiwi soil again. I’m five foot six or thereabouts, in imperial, and my hair tends to change colour fairly frequently (I just dyed it black today, after a couple of months of varying shades of pink/blonde/purple-ish).

And regarding WHY you should pay me to write things – I’m good at it. If you want specifics, here are a few – I came second place in the secondary schools division in a national short story competition a couple of years back, the importance of which can be demonstrated by the fact that my favourite NZ author and the Prime Minister were both in attendance at the awards ceremony. I’ve had poetry published in a collection of ‘The Best High School Writing’, circulated amongst all New Zealand English teachers. I’ve had several pieces published in the College Herald, a section of the New Zealand Herald for six months of the year, showcasing the journalistic work of high school students. And most recently, I’ve been accepted into two creative writing courses (one poetry focused, the other prose based) for this coming semester, both of which are final year, extremely limited entry courses, and I’m in the second year of my degree.

Some of my writing is up at another Tumblr – http://briarlaboheme.tumblr.com.

If you have any questions/queries/suggestions or anything else at all, then hit me up at briar.lawry@gmail.com. Otherwise, if you see merit in my project and have a few dollars/pounds/euros/rupees/whatever to spare, you will be among my latest favourite people in the world if you lend a hand to this project of mine – helping make art real.

Love (and letters)

Briar