The Weather is a living e-mail thread between artists Tyler Hoffart and Hanna Waters. Are you lost? Catch up here: Part 1: Introducing the Weather, Part 2: March 24, Part 3: March 30, Part 4: April 7, Part 5: April 14.
Two weeks ago we introduced the big fuckin’ inline, where Tyler and Hanna, in addition to responding to the most recent e-mail, also go back in and build on each other’s work with inline responses. It’s apparent that the inline, or a continuous inline, will not work well on Substack. I can’t change font colors within the body text, it’s weird—but in the meantime… I’m going to post what we have. Had. Have. Who knows where this is gonna go? I don’t. Nice. That’s the point. Hope it makes sense! Maybe it won’t! Such is life! Thus far, it will be the response, followed by the inline.
The inline had a brief, shining moment in the sun, but alas. We must pivot.
Tyler Hoffart
Sun, Mar 24, 11:31 AM
to me
I'll write more soon but i just want to say thank you. This little practice is carefully holding my heart up to the moon as an offering. I am more tender than i realize and this is just perfect. I need this. THank you thank you thank you. From inside a heavy chest full of tears thank you
-t
Tyler Hoffart
[INLINE] Sun, Mar 24, 4:54 PM
to me
BLUE [ed note: Tyler’s comments in BOLD]
On Sat, Mar 23, 2024 at 1:19 PM Hanna Waters <hannamwaters@gmail.com> wrote:
Tyler,
I love a good inline response. Find my comments below in PURPLE. Together, we'll build some horribly beautiful frankensteined inline marked-up cluster fuck abomination about all of the holiest moments. It will be good and we can print it out and hang it on the wall and laugh and invite viewers to add to it and then maybe we'll meet God or something. You never know.
this entire paragraph is fucking gold.
Together
we'll build some horribly
beautiful
frankensteined inline mark-up
a real cluster fuck abomination about all of the holiest moments.
maybe we'll meet God or something
you never know
I may have seen that piece somewhere on IG but otherwise, it is fresh to me. It is most excellent. Do tell about the book? i have a rough draft for a book of poems: When The Moon Was Home. A companion piece to our last year and show. A curated list of mostly my poems from the past 5-7 years or so. A few from Marah. The plan was/is to have our friend Matthew illustrate the piece with his incredible work. He's done a few illustrations and they are amazing. But it's on the backburner i have too many things. But it will happen in some form. I simply havent' even been able to think about it because i'm been pushing so hard otherwise. I just need to pick it back up and this is helping me consider that. Unless it's hush-hush. Then you can whisper it on the wind and el nino might see it fit to bring it my way on the 'ol jet stream.
I have a few poems that have approached a Place of No Return. Your last bit about the Big Blood song and your "I am fucking obsessed and burnt out and dying and alive and oh my god I'm alive" made me think of this one poem that's sat like a stone in the recesses of my Notes app. Because it was meant to be about how fucking hard and nasty life can be but also how it's just so beautiful and all of the woe of the world can be lifted momentarily by the perfection of small, fleeting moments. I love how hard this life is. I love that it takes everything I have. It should. I should have nothing left to carry when I exit except a big-ass smile and a sense of humor.
this above paragraph is the fucking poem dude. HOT DAMN SALLY
sooooo.........
Big Blood
Your last bit about big blood
and how you're fucking
obsessed and burnt out and
dying and alive
and oh my god you're alive
made me think of this one poem
that's sat like a stone
in the recesses of my Notes app
Because it was meant to be
about how fucking hard and nasty life can be but also
how it's just so beautiful
and all of the woe of the world can be lifted
momentarily by the perfection
of small, fleeting moments.
I love how hard this life is.
I love that it takes everything I have.
It should.
I should have nothing left to carry
when I exit except a big-ass smile
and a sense
of humor.
I shared it with someone and they were like oh, no. That doesn't make sense. This is the worst critique that could ever be given and i hope you did not let them live (aka fuck them) ((sorry if you still love them)) That's not something I would post. That's sum bullshit but, wanna help me with it? Wanna workshop in real-time?
Critique: please take absolutely everything i say with a house-sized boulder of salt. I will not think too long abou it, i will just react and respond with honesty and instinct. I think everything else is mostly a waste of time.
While it has some sort of laser beam inside of it, maybe this piece just isn't you anymore? The voice that you are dipping into right now in this glorious and fruitful spring is THE VOICE that shakes. Magic. You have magic. The above piece does not feel like your magic. I"m not sure why. I think it's trying too hard (i do this CONSTANTLY). Maybe you need to murder it in some way and then pick up the pieces with SPRINGTIME HANNA. Try again. Dont' work on this one, put the work into a new version. Then compare? I DONT KNOW I"M THROWING SHIT AT WALLS AND WHAT IF IT STICKS
This is fucking glorious. wild packs of family dogs is one of my favest songs evrrrr
And another - when you're covered in outside. My favorite feeling in the world is when I've been out in the sun all day baking and swimming in the lake. My hair is dirty and looks great and my skin is all sun-warm like a stone and I'm a little feral. I could walk into the water and never resurface. I could let the sun cook me. I'd do anything for a blue sky, a soft breeze, and the smell of outside on my skin.
stop dont' stop you're writing like a writing writer of poetry. keep going little feral. let the sun cook you to just about right. it's so nice to get our colors right
you're making me smell the dirt on my hands. dirt and chalk and a soft rope burn after a full day of climbing. dirt so black under my nails after a full day of planting. of pulling weeds. the god damn smell itself is a lover. i could live another life there, the smell beside me, tucked in and close and just right. me and the smell would pack our bags and fly away to spain. or thailand. our last dime spent on adventure.
DUDE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO HANDLE THESE INLINE RESPONSES THO FO REAL
Tyler Hoffart
Sun, Mar 24, 4:58 PM
to me
BLOOBIES [ed note: Tyler’s comment in BOLD]
On Sat, Mar 23, 2024 at 1:30 PM Hanna Waters <hannamwaters@gmail.com> wrote:
We didn't, I just had a feeling.
My dad is a man of few words - a simple, salt-of-the-earth man with many similar trappings to your pops. He's a cowboy and hunter and a fisherman and couldn't cry until I was in my 20's. We didn't have a relationship for a decade or more, now we do, now I spend much of my artistic practice exploring the remnants of my broken family, handed down to my sister and me in a few cardboard boxes. Dad said take it, take it all, otherwise I'll burn it.
good lord woman you are all up IN IT right now. This is so powerful. The last nine Dad said take it, take it all, otherwise I'll burn it. is wowowow. Crazy, another poem right fucking there.
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