Giorgia
Photography
I am new to photography and I enjoy taking photos of sights I find remarkable in nature. Right now I am using a Canon Rebel T6 and I edit my photos through my iPhone editor. If I had to describe my photography style, I would say it is both mystical and naturalistic, which tends to be my artistic style in all things- finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and merging fantastical elements with everyday life.
Poetry
I am very inspired by the literary genre of magical realism. I took a course about magical realism in college and though I didn't set out to write in accordance with this genre, in hindsight I've realized that what I learned must have really stuck with me. I like to describe emotions by using imagery, particularly of nature. I find that a lot of turbulent emotions end up being written about through descriptions of the ocean. Again, this is something I only noticed in hindsight. The ocean to me is representative of the dark deep well of emotions we all have inside of us. We never reach the bottom.
CORAL
Coral
or was it sea urchin hands?
That crawled their way up me
Leaving a trail of seaweed smog
And a graveyard of empty cracked shells
Whose inhabitants flee
And I
remain
as a host
For what, I can’t really explain
Blue and greens are pretty colors in most respects
Yet it’s hard to appreciate beauty
When the world has its foot on your neck
Could this empire of salt and technicolor ever be mine?
Desire
“What’s wrong with desire?” she said, as she laid down to rest. Tonight the moon made her weep, and she held her own self close, tight. She’s wrapped up in moonlight, thinking to herself romantic thoughts like We are all under the same moon and she’s breathing in s i l v e r.
Desire has always been an enemy of my mind, she thinks. She actually gasps, inaudibly, when she realizes this. Before tonight her enemy had no name, nor face. But tonight she recognizes it for what it is, and she lays herself at its feet for mercy. Because what’s wrong with desire?
A villain born out of a sticky situation, a scapegoat, residual damage. Her desire would never wax and wane like the moon – it bellowed underneath the surface like the underworld, like the unchartered sea floor we have yet to tread. Desire was hiding in the places where we send dreams for safe keeping, like treasure chests buried in secret places and X marks the spot…
She tosses and turns. She closes both eyes. She opens them. She gets up, opens her window, sings to the moon, and finds her map.
i know who haunts me
I know who haunts me
I see him bubbling up from the bottom of the ocean
There are fragments of sin that form together
Float up above on the surface
As charcoal colored seafoam
Regurgitated from Neptune’s harshest battle
Permanent decay
Polluting my force field