Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
now, in the hour of our
If you were patient/beleaguered enough to get through all twelve hours. What would you see?
The air is very still and I cannot see anything moving at all. Not the trees, not the washing on the line, not the night clouds hanging soft and innocent in the sky.
This morning I woke up earlier than I would have liked, so early you couldn’t just say “these days I wake up quite early”. It was warm already, and I’d wrapped myself in the sheets until my legs were sweaty, unpeeling them from each other felt like an indecent relief.
Whether justifiable or not, this morning I felt different to last night which was all terror and joy and wonky camera work. You were very patient to listen to me, because surely I should just about shut up. All moment and meaning and memory. This morning I felt perturbed and anxious. And all worn down. Tomorrow morning I will try not to worry. On that morrow morning I will be hopeful that things will work out in ways that I never really think they will work out.
There will be a bed. There will be a clock. The sheets are midnight blue. The fan is on high rotation. I will eat breakfast. Then I will go to work. We will recalibrate and reset. I will do that thing which proves this was not a waste, as all things are wasteful.
Here, I made you a mix to say thank you. This is the soundtrack of my day, if you want to play me yours one time, we can dance and dance and dance and drown. The drinks are on me.
—
How much is that doggy in the window?
Oh where, oh where could my true love be?
When will I be famous?
How will I know?
Why was I up so late?
Am I completely mad?
Is this going to be okay?
How the fuck did I get here?
Why are they there?
Where is there anyway?
What was I thinking?
Was I thinking?
How come I never think?
Do I, will I, could I, should I?
For all our fucked flaws?
Maybe later. Yarh… Later.
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