THIS PARTICULAR PROJECTION OF MYSELF IS UNDER RENOVATION. THE AMOUNT OF ENERGY I SPEND CATERING MYSELF TO BEING A MARKETABLE ASSET IS OBNOXIOUS. CARING WHAT YOU THINK OF ME IS A MILLSTONE.
I’m not Jeremiah Walton. I’m not my poems. I’m not male. I’m not female. I’m not monogamous. I’m not poly. I’m not straight. I’m not gay. I’m not american.
AT THE MOMENT, I’M WORKING TO REDIRECT THE ENERGY I’VE INVESTED IN MOLDING MYSELF TO STANDARDS I DON’T UNDERSTAND. THEY’RE FEAR BASED. I WANT TO BE LOVED. I WANT TO WORSHIPED. PARANOIA IS HOPE’S COUSIN. I’M TERRIFIED OF WHAT YOU THINK OF ME.
SO I’M GOING TO MEXICO FOR A WHILE TO RECUPERATE & WRITE. I’LL BE POSTING SCRIBBLES AS VIDEO ON FACEBOOK + INSTAGRAM TO SHED MY FEAR OF YOU. ONCE BACK IN TUCSON, I’LL BE MOVING INTO MY CAR TO RESUME TOURING AGAIN COME APRIL. HIT ME UP IF YOU’D LIKE TO BOOK A GIG.
WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS, & HOPEFULLY WHAT HAPPENS IS A METHOD OF PUBLISHING THAT FEELS HEALTHY + ACTS AS AN EXTENSION OF THE POEM.
Jeremiah Walton is wary of bios, but here’s a the current sign he’s flying:
“Jeremiah is founder of Nostrovia! Press & traveling bookstore Books & Shovels. He’s featured at the NYC Poetry Festival, Oakland Beast Crawl, San Francisco Lit Crawl, Death Rattle, the Kansas City Poetry Throwdown, Cleveland’s Guide to Kulchur: Snoetry, among other lit fests, street corners, & living rooms across the country.”
That feels like tattooing “love me” across my neck.
I’m unsure how to navigate publishing & promotion as a fulfilling extension of the poem. Bios feel constrictive to process, establishing a product & cultivating expectations that, if desire for validation has a say (as it always does), results in a caffeinated-wrestling match between silence & speaking, mind over masking, the selves underneath arguing for what face you’ll be today.
That distraction feeds insecurities burying themselves in imagery for safety, makes digging real vulnerabilities & bleeding publicly more difficult. So what to do?
I guess try to simultaneously embody a fluid & moving persona as honest as the moment allows, & present the process as product, utilizing bios & accolades not as a compass or direction, but as tools for accessing an industry I’m blundering blind thru.
Then begs the question, why make this website & encourage the argument?
Why think people will read this early 20s existential-lethargy-ego-paved-gushing?
Is it so weird to want attention? Aren’t you over-complicating this out of fear of people’s interpretations of you?
Aren’t all of these selves the self underneath?
Well, here comes learning to shut up. To let the poems talk. To manage anxiety in a healthy way.
These processes have coincided with making a mess of my digital presences, while focusing on hand-to-hand distribution. In-person exchanges makes easier submitting to the moment honest, but also feeds fear of the cement this website has become an image for, pumping it up a monster representing others’ eyes.
I have no idea what I’m doing. This page will be sporadically molded to suit my current environment’s & confusion’s needs.
If you got this far, come out to the desert & validate this floating face 🌵☄