Jessica Barnett
Wordcraft

This thing comes out of my mind: it spurts. It doesn't listen when I tell it to work. It directs me, It gives me insomnia, headaches. It is better than any drug. It is not a low pleasure. Words, words, words... They pour out of me. Wordcandy, wordfood. Wordcore. I am more wordcore than hardcore, than anything else. My core is made of words & sometimes I spit them out. They land on the page in spatters, spurts, & when I read them it's hard for me not to vomit more words. They are puke green, stark black, red against the page. Against the wall. I convince you with my words. I tell you what I am thinking & you believe me. When they come I'm messy. Messy with excess words. I am fertile with words, they are my children - the only kids I ever really want. These are the best words I've ever written because they're messy with Truth. Truth congeals on them & hardens to form a words coating. I coat my words to protect them from lies. It is a Truth serum. Truth protections. It is a craft. My words are my craft & I give birth to them daily. They stick to my insides & hurt when they come out. I am in labor constantly.

Back to Issue 2, 1999