The DUSIE Kollektiv 9 is now available online (including my poetry chapbook, DARK PURPLE INTERSECTIONS...)!

The DUSIE kollektiv 9 : for Marthe Reed

curated by elisabeth workman & susana gardner

Now available to read online HERE - 

(All kinds of poetry chapbooks available, in honor of Marthe Reed, including my poetry chapbook.)

Here is a link to the online version of my offering, DARK PURPLE INTERSECTIONS (inside my Black Doll Head Irises) - http://www.dusie.org/Cook--DARKPURPLEINTERSECTIONS.pdf

My DARK PURPLE INTERSECTIONS is also available in hand-designed print copies from my Blood Pudding Press shop here - https://www.etsy.com/listing/689260672/new-dark-purple-intersections-inside-my?ref=shop_home_feat_2


Ongoing invisibility glitches...

Sometimes I feel like I'm spending hours and hours and hours working on stuff that hardly anyone cares about but me. Which is fine, I guess (as long as I care about it and enjoy it), but it also causes me to feel sort of invisible and questioning meanings.
Then it sometimes reaches a point where I'm not even sure why I'm spending so much time and attention working on my individual invisible stuff inside my individual invisible brain-land. It's not loneliness; I almost never feel lonely these days (I love having time to myself/ by myself to do my own thing); it's more like what is the point of this, this, this or ANYTHING sort of thoughts/feelings. Feeling semi-randomly invisible in regards to stuff that doesn't feel invisible to me, but maybe it almost is anyway.
And then when I keep working away in my invisible land anyway, I start thinking of black holes and wondering if part of my brain is some sort of black hole. Or more like a tiny wormhole inside a small book, probably involving poetry. 
Maybe even poetry that I spent a lot of time, effort, energy, and even genuine passion creating, but not long after it's completed, it might soon turn invisible again (or it might not, so I keep trying...)...
When I was younger, my feelings of invisibility manifested themselves in a more physical manner. For example, if I was in a room full of people, my brain would try to convince me that nobody could see me, even though I could see them - and I'd have to look in the mirror a lot in order to visualize myself and prove that I physically existed. But now it's more a mental/emotional thing. Yes, I physically exist (and yes I have real thoughts, feelings, and awareness), but does it really matter? Yes? No? Maybe? Ask the latest Ouija Board?
I most likely don't matter very much in the vast scheme of things, but do I even matter that much on a small scale? I mean, sure I matter on a very small personal scale to myself, but...


Happy (Disturbingly Dark) 2020 from Thirteen Myna Birds! Dive into this new flock (the first of 2020) and try not to drown!

The first Thirteen Myna Birds Flock of 2020 has arrived and it is sad, dark, unsettling, spooky, and filled with dolls!

Sad broken hooked dolls filled with black holes and death!

Offering poetry and art by Daniel Snethen, Sandra Feen, John Grey, MISH, John Sweet, Ashley Cox, Eileen Murphy, Aaron Pride, and Wayne F Burke.

"through enameled bobbing horses against the centripetal force - You’re awakened in early light by blood dripping from the ceiling - Something's Up - the sound of baby bones breaking - in broken-down beds - I am a terminal node branched away from the circuit of perfection - my eyes crash through their sockets and I flail at the darkness - sometimes it hurts to be alone - Nurse, can you up the pain meds?"

Read me please - https://13myna.blogspot.com/

lost boy by Ashley Cox and MISH


NEW in Burning House Press - The New World Doll Dresser by me and j/j hastain

"Take me into the basement and use that voice on me.
Magnetize me until the mold goes away.
Sub-layers for the submissive who never wanted
a dominant and really just wanted a doll..."
within the poem "The New World Doll Dresser" by me and j/j hastain, up at Burning House Press's Vision issue 🖤

One more photo at the Greater Cleveland Aquarium, January 11, 2020


NEW in the January 2020 issue of Ghost City Review! - OTHERWORLDLY FORCE FIELD by me and j/j hastain

"Who am I when I am in charge
of a rototiller. Will I use it as weaponry
against the flowers that don't like me?
What if I'm paranoid about every flower on earth?"
from the poem "OTHERWORLDLY FORCE FIELD" by j/j hastain and me

delighted to have this poem appearing in the NEW January Issue of GHOST CITY REVIEW and excited to read the rest of the issue 🖤💙🖤


NEW in Pink Plastic House (a tiny journal) - my Keychains as Treats!

"Every leg gets cross-stitched into position
in this factory. You are told to sit still
at the table you’ve been assigned
and either eat what’s right in front of you or be eaten
after your own feet are cut off and hooked to a chain."
in my poem "Keychains as Treats" which appears in Pink Plastic House a tiny journal today! (Yesterday it was on Instagram; today it's in the tiny journal).
Here's what poet/editor Kristin Garth says about it and you can read more and decide for yourself, HERE - https://kristingarth.com/
"Today in the Pink Plastic House (a tiny journal) we will visit the kitchen. Bring your appetite for a bit of grotesque glitter witch magic because Juliet Cook is cooking and she is serving "Keychains as Treats," and they are intense." 🖤


Today is the 10 Year Anniversary of the day I could have died

10 Years Ago on this date I underwent an unexpected carotid artery dissection which caused an aneurysm which caused a stroke which caused me to lose some parts of how my brain used to work before that happened.

Hard to believe this was already 10 Years ago now.

This experience changed some parts of my brain, it changed some other parts of my life, but a lot of us undergo different changes...

Still though, even though it's gotten a lot better than it used to be, this particular anniversary date still makes me feel rather uncomfortable mentally - and also uncomfortable about the speed racing of time.

But also lucky to still be alive, active, myself and creatively expressive.

For a little while after the stroke, I was terribly afraid that I might not be able to write poetry anymore, but thank goodness that was not the case. My poetry just became a little different. Here was the first tiny poetry chapbook I created after my stroke.