Tendril it Straight
She’s gonna’ tendril it straight … but she could tell it straighter, and tendril a strategy that is easy to understand.
Her words are usually turgid, garish and lurid—feel the wrath of her bombast. This may not be a particularly happy strategy, but again, at least it’s not some awful strategy for complacency.
It’s in the same general stylistic verity as her previous work, and the specter of hopelessness resounds of “over-dialed diatribe.” This is all set against the backdrop of natural events careening into breakdown—think the Permian Mass Extinction Event. (You get the drift!)
It may be akin to the strategy of a mango during the dog days of a muzzled mango-less summer. (But this has not been proven as of this writing.)
She touts the sunroof on her 2001 Mazda to anyone who will listen. She joyrides an excavator wearing ancient pantaloons.
She’s an avatar for perilous and acute dehydration.
She is an avid matinee moviemaker, and leads colloquia on film gate benedictions and kleig light embargos on overnight shoots. David Lynch is too mainstream, she says.
She continues to have an acute aversion to poorly devised mise en scène, and the continued yaw of a cinematographer’s shaky handheld work.
She has a propensity for gala non-linearity and jump-cuts. She acknowledges that she must write with others in mind, and shoot straight if she wants to be seen.
During a recent intrusion she disowned her previous work and said she’d work for a fiver and wolfbane, and only then consider other possible expenses.
In short, as much as she would like others to enjoy her work, she’ll continue to make what inspires her in manuscript form, and then shoot, tendril, and chance assemble it for multiple fivers.
If others come along and watch—well, all the better.
What I’m Reading:
“Is this where I am supposed to apologize? Not
only to the fish, but to the whole lake, land, not only for me
but for the generations of plunder and vanish.”
— Ada Limón / “The First Fish”