Hi ⋆。°✩
I hope you’ve been having a stellar start to late spring. As summer approaches my need for clothing wears off, as well as my inhibitions. I’m ready for a daring, pleasure-filled stretch of months. Are you?
When summer comes, all I want to do is write. In the sun, with a big bowl of fruit, and a glass of orange wine. The long golden hours activate something within me. That being said, I’ll be adding a new facet for Electric Blue’s paid subscribers: diary entries.
If you’ve read my book, It Will Start With a Feeling, it’ll be in the same diaristic format. Sprawls of existential, poetic thought fused with candid observations of everyday life.
Here’s a peek at an entry I posted the other week:
if we think of energy as tiny, almost invisible particles that coat ourselves, the things we say, and the objects around us, moving energy sounds like a more possible feat.
the things i say, they carry energetic particles.
it all feels very tender. so when i write i have to feel, feel for the edges, for the openings so they don’t get ripped off. i want to cry a bowl of tears and be washed with clean, clean water. i want a room of humidity. dampness. my body is trying to convulse but there are no convulsions. it longs to scrunch up and release the juice of something, anything. but nothing is fully contracting. i don’t know if contracting is what i need. i might be expanding.
i want to be in a room of tears where everything is wet and sliding. and my tears fall with ease. and my skin has moisture. and the lights don’t turn off but they grow very dim.
Click below to activate a one-month free trial <3
So, If there’s one item of clothing I will be wearing this summer, it’s this baby tee I’ve designed. Cop one here & wear it on your next date <3
And last, but definitely not least, Electric Blue was profiled in the LA Times!!!!! So surreal. Here’s the article, it features an array of super fucking cool writers in LA and the underground surge of experimental reading series’.
Here’s a quote from the piece:
Electric Blue is a sleeker affair. The first was held in a downtown loft with disco balls and live DJs among influencers and poets and influencer-poets; she served Gia Coppola wine and Sanzo sparkling water. At her latest, after the writers and artists performed, Alemu and a fellow actor wore matching black bodysuits and recited, as one, a soliloquy of racing thoughts before bed against trippy video visuals and ambient noise. “People take risks to see musicians, even visual artists, but they don’t really take the risk to see writers,” Alemu said. “Why can’t a writer have the allure and mystique and the world-building of a pop star?”
As usual you are a great writer ✍️