wednesday conference

You just said, “I am intriguing.” Chelsea, do you want to be a mystery? I don’t know. It’s confusing. I suppose I am a bit of a paradox—a contradiction—because I have become more abstract and elusive, but I can be open, so easily, but someone just has to ask a question. Otherwise nothing is heard. Why would someone ask a question? I-I-I guess one would have to be interested. But what would make them interested? The mystery—the unexpected. Do you want to be found, Chelsea? Known—known internally. I want someone to see through my face because it is what I am instantly associated by and for—and yet, I live behind it and it is beyond my control, so it is not really me, even though it is mine. You said before that as a writer your audience of readers would have to know your body of work to understand what you were saying or suggesting. Is that another way of making sure they read into you? My reader has to be interested in knowing me—he has to be dedicated. I think awareness is the most important thing. I want my reader to be aware. Otherwise, it may not make sense. I can’t be straightforward anymore. It is more challenging for me to do that than deconstruct the way I say it. Maybe that is what you want—and that is okay if you do. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t want them to know, maybe I want them to be smart readers. But at the same time, I have to tell you—yesterday I realized that I have grown a bit insecure about my experiences. They all seem relatable and nothing unusually impacting has happened recently. I couldn’t just wait for something and at the same time I couldn’t keep writing the same story because I would absolutely bore myself. So I see that I have changed the way I am saying, telling or shaping it. I am choosing to make the way it is transmuted individualistic because the experiences won’t separate me. Sometimes I am not conscious I am doing this though—it just happens and then it becomes me so I try to find reason and make meaning for it—possibly just so I can control it or experience it. Do you think you are fascinating, Chelsea? I think I am curious—and I believe that is fascinating. But do you think you are fascinating? I think I use to choose experiences that I thought would make me fascinating for my stories, but that didn’t work. You know, fascinations are a fabrication and a construction. I know, I know. We laughed. Time went by. The time fascinated me. She fascinated me. The revealing of our stories fascinated me. I expected her honesty, but her personal realities surprised me. I told her so. I told her that her appearance and mannerisms did not portray what she was internally manifesting. She said we are both very similar—and though it may be hard to see because of her age, that it was true. I told her it had nothing to do with her age—that she had just perfected unexpectedness. After today, I find her to be admirable. Before you go, I want to ask you about your piece where you referred to “the internalized city of dreams” as a “sewer”. Why a sewer? Oh because dreams are a collection of wasted ideals. But most people would describe dreams idealistically. That is my issue—my point. Ideals are waste—they don’t do anything and they don’t go anywhere. We hope--we dream they will rise above but they remain under the surface. Ideals are just scraps of selves and scraps remain in the garbage.