AMY GRACE
Tight But Loose
Spoken word accompanied with
hair dryers
Performed at The Island, Bristol
In collaboration with Sean Ferrari
2016
Transcript
Distressing
no blessing
not best dressed
But
I’m ploughing, forever frowning.
Digging and bulldozing
Uncontrollably
Turning my own earth
Slowly, steadily
Cultivating a harvest
Furrowing brow, still I plough
Toiling away, keeping my nose to the grindstone.
To carry on
To persevere
Fifth gear
Continuous, linear
This doesn’t fit well to me
The masses against the classes
Melancholia state of diffusion
My sensibility is tested and tried
Staying wide-eyed
Never losing face or worried about pride
A stale scheme , extinction regime
The riff heavy in my heart
The rhythm infectious
Hemorrhaged footsteps
Adaptly inept
Short of breath
The strive, the struggle, the overall brawl beginning to take its toll
Through continuation
Trials and tribulations
Frustration
Damnation
An act of desperation
I maintain progress,
No matter how gradual it may be
Ambition, determination
And crisp conviction
I’m on the cusp of completing my mission
Why does it not have to be in focus
Rustling up hocus pocus
Not getting disheartened
Tell the town crier
Tell the house of lords
My act of refusal will be postponed
I wade and plod
Trudge and clump
Clamber and flounder
Unsophisticated
Knees soaking
Hair sopping
Trousers wringing
Clinging to my skin
Uncontrollable, the tense ease
A relentless interruption unforgiving, please
Satisfy my soul, my discomfort, a desired ideal a desired living
It’s a difficulty, no giving, hardly unforgiving
A bit tricky to me as far as the eye can see
“are we too embarrassed, troubled with the bygone?”
Happening from wonder to phenomenon
Appearing in truth through foolish sensations
Unceasingly intense foundations
We play from
Too eager to sit still and stay with time
We bitch, blame and call it all fine
A sense of hesitation offers no remorse
“can’t it stop? Won’t it give a pleasing moment for us?”
Chills down his spine
like a cobra in his brain
Feeling colliding through
Down to his knees
the shake, it’s a shame
Hot summer days and
Cool winter nights
The whining noise plays
To my ears but there’s no sight
We build places and palaces
With walls and ceilings, nine miles high
Places we won’t leave
In our stubbornness there holds limits
These places we fear to move from
Keep our comforts and delights
“I wish I could be honest with you; believe me I’ve tried”
Lost in the push, pull
I was often drifting
Missing what I had never found
Trying to find the real bit that i’d always feared
A scream to a sigh
It’s becoming a mighty landslide
A slip inside
A dash into the shade and light
Like a fine concoction, taking its flight
My vessel, my temple
To the tip of my toes
Rid me of my woes
Plagued my prose
Zero metrical structure, my words fracture
they rupture, they break
Like a new dawn
They shake and jumble
they gargle and mumble
Still drizzling
I lament
Looking into two glass eyes staring back
I don’t want to be seen
One wave short of a shipwreck
One syllable short of a haiku
One penny short of a pound
It’s so far out it’s straight down
It’s tight but loose
Everything must go
Wash lather rinse repeat