Learning to Breathe Underwater

Public Domain Photo from Pixabay.

When you open my app 
you see my screen 
on your screen, 
a live feed of my lines 
coming into being — 
composition as performance. 
You see me break 
my lines, backspace over words, 
replace a semicolon with a comma. 
You see my blinking cursor 
as I wait for what comes next. 
When I switch to Body mode,

you see what I see, 
hear what I hear 
(we’re working on the scent technology). 
Check me out on Wednesday mornings: 
I’m usually out on a walk all alone,
writing on my phone — 
stuff I’ve been working on during sleep, 
paw prints flowering the snow — 
whatever pops through 
the language membrane. 
I’ll go for three or four hours, 
similar to a baseball game 
(including about the same amount of time 
where nothing much is happening).

I’m lining up a roster of 
accomplished artists you can watch 
at other times: a blower at the glass works, 
a band in the recording studio. 
You can witness the process in real time, 
or watch it later on demand. I also post 
edited programs, which you can watch 
in less than an hour 
(like the baseball game 
without the foul balls, etc.).

People ask me how I’m going to monetize it — 
I don’t worry about that. I have 
an angel investor to figure out 
how to make it pay for itself. 
It costs me next to nothing 
to produce the content — 
just my time, which is invaluable, 
but there’s nothing 
I’d rather be doing 
(OK, maybe one thing). 
And my angel says 
at the end of the day 
(she loves to say, 
“At the end of the day …”) 
my brand is becoming more valuable, 
capable of generating larger streams 
of future revenue. WAG!
I can’t let all that affect me.
I have a lot of followers
who are counting on me

to ignore them,
to be fully absorbed by my art. 
They don’t want me forcing stuff out 
just to please them, 
giving them a pile 
of sand to sift through.
They want the real me, 
the person I am 
when no one else is around. 
They don’t want to watch me
take a deep breath and stay underwater as long as possible,
or strap on some cumbersome
breathing apparatus. They want
to see me learn to breathe down there,
so I never have to come up for air.