Interview with Writer and Artist Adora Lee

When did you start putting words together in the form of poetry and how would you describe your writing style?
 
I listened to biomommy's 60's hippy rock music as background sound usually blaring, while growing up. As a kid I was trained to recite children's nursery songs/rhymes, bible hymns, and wiccan spells the best I could, but those examples of noise came from outward poetry. I innocently used crayons and colored pencils/markers on cards for people to write/illustrate notes of love and nature as gifts for people but I consider my style to have developed when I was a pre teen with out of control hormones and changing perceptions of reality. That is what I want to let go off, finally, by offering this zine to end that phase and enter a new one of more clear understanding and grasp of stability. I was too hysterical to write sentences, so i would write down lists of words of how i felt. the chain effect would result in inspiring similar words, similar meanings, repetitions of similar sounds, i sounded like a thesaurus, which i thought might help communicate with people who couldn't / wouldn't understand me- if they could have options to choose from in what they saw, read, or listened to- then i might not have confused them as much and i would be less alone and accepted. this method of process failed and i was surrounded by many pages of nonsense, which have traveled through various stages of construction with me, as proof of my own phases and places i've encountered. The themes of topics, heavy and mournful for me; was the learned ostracization, the angst of accepting disappointments, memories of how silence felt,  

I have bleed and I have cried over this book
I have trembled and shook
I've given and I've took,
I've been alone and I've fucked
I've been in love and hated
I've prayed, slept, and awakened
I existed, and hid
I've disappeared and re appeared
I've imagined and I've fasted
I've riddeled and I've lasted
I've created and been abandoned
I've controlled and let go
I've been medicated and seen miraculous things
I've beaten and I've defeated
I've fallen and got up
I have relapsed and lied
I have hoped and lost
I testify, I have demonized and personified
I've been human and listened
I've spoken and regretted
I've fretted and forgotten
I traveled and I've forgiven
I've failed and fled
I've taken tests and passed
I have hoped and lost again
Again and Again,
I've been blah and in panic

Bible hymns... Are you a religious person? What do you believe in?

I grew up with a pseudo wiccan biomom, who rebels against a catholic upbringing, I transitioned into Atheism, but began relating to spirituality again through shamanism. I remain weary of religion, but I wear my passed grandmother's cross now and have experienced deeply positive and moving connections with faith/belief through church groups and super natural individuals (who found me when I didn't know what I was looking for exactly, but were open and receptive to hearing) which I respect and want to pay tribute to, their words and actions may help benefit others too.  

You speak a lot about Drugs in your writings... What drugs have you taken or became addicted to? What are some of the affects you have experienced do to taking them? 

Im guilty of self medication in the past, although I have never felt guilty about those wrong choices. I regret the consequences and being naive and repent the ignorance, but I've learned more about my mind and body since and advocate sobriety. I was trying to make helpful decisions for my past situation, I was trying to die, I was trying to fly, I was trying to pass through life, I was trying to be numb enough I to hold myself together. I used descriptive language of how the drugs felt on different levels and pet names that understate their power- because of an innocent misconception I held and shared with other youthful users. Sometimes the actual words can be triggering and I appreciate how people who have experienced drugs differently can still relate on some of the same reasoning, similar illogic, and feelings of why they choose to abuse themselves. The flux of reactions ranged from calming and peaceful, to anxiety and catatonic states, to profound thoughts to confusing voices to delirious schizophrenia.

You also speak about Mental Health... Have you been diagnosed with something or is it a self diagnosis ? 

I am amused and disgusted with my history with the 'official' modern mental health industry, where being cared for means being a case in a system of terminology i would never use to describe myself. 'A record of ADD, a history of behavioral disorder'- a friend told me recently I obviously don't know how to behave myself (in a silly manner)! In my new zine, I hope to share a holistic approach of perspective to healing  that is more reassuring and confident in identity because I will not rely on negative language to portray my reality.

You also speak of relationships gone wrong.... What are your feelings on the world and how people interact ? 
What are your thoughts on love?

My sense of the world was like topsey turvey flowing concrete mix that hadn’t hardened into cement yet but was still just as thick and clingy and stagnant. Its about reflecting on how one holds or lets go of their conflict with self image. Everything had felt transparently violent. I thought I was invisible and was shocked when people tried to interact with me like I existed as a material thing. Except for the hat of negative concepts I wore and was trapt by, I was so unattached I didn’t think I was tangible. That’s the presence that walked around with me and entered into rooms like a question mark to others that I didn’t expect to offend people by, but it did and caused uncomfortable petty confrontational games void of resolve or conclusion. Misanthropes didn’t have much care for mercy, I was dry of compassion. My only capability was to seriously focus on faults, day in and day out. That was the burden complex of my identity.  
Committing myself to surrender and be vulnerable with another who does the same for me (in their own unique way) were the only times I had been happy. I will be unlucky again and again, but god may just often giving me fortunes in that form. I live for those moments of solace in a trusting embrace, now, instead of suffering without the support, I wish I was devoted to a more attractive (less dramatic) distraction- but love is the most powerfully inspiring stimulant that offers to balance my sense of worth, I depend on an equal as a destination for hope when I cant see it.  Love is being acknowledged as a human being, its about being cherished, its about awkward sex that may not be right but feels somewhat natural, valid to do on a regular occasion, and vital. Love is the unexpected positivity I can never earn, but deserve, love is not a purpose or romantic promise, but a momentary gift without too much controllable intent- which will effect me for a life time and I will never believe I survived and want to for ever survive for.  
I’m trying to figure out why I am still labeled as strange, I embrace myself as ‘normal’ now (after much philosophical debate and turmoil) and am intrigued with the curiosity that is the undiplomatic injustice of being ostracized as ‘strangely different’, put off, unwelcomed , out, unsafe. I see a difference in how I carry myself with a new atmosphere, but still feel an old, oddly similar stigma despite my leaps in communication and forming sentences.

You got a taxidermy giraffe , a case of bubble gum, a cap gun and tire swing... How does this scenario turn out?

Im on stage at the Main Street Museum, its the Grotesque Burlesque show and my act is to be deviant on a tire swing to Kimya Dawson's related title rock song. In my mind the audience becomes taxidermied animals and instead of money being thrown at me, I imagine a special giraffe shooting sticky bubble gum all over on me.

Final question where can we find your writings and what else do you have in the works?

I am going to pimp out 75 copies. Most, 99% are going to be free and found through friends sharing them and leaving them in new locations for some else to take home and pass on to another down the line. I traded two copies with Second Hand Books in Hanover, N.H.- the owner needed local poetry material, so she is going to sell them for $1.50 each and I got a white stripes CD there! I also left two copies in the Script section at the Five College Book Sale Scholarship Fundraiser, there wasn't a price on either of them but I imagine they were sold after all because they were gone the next day! I recommend people picking them up at the Hopkins art center, I put them in the info bins for the Flux show and the security guards or space set up people may move them. The Haven, the Junction, the Co op, the Tip Top, the library in Lebanon/Hanover/Kilton, the Main St. Museum, either opera house, The Cartoon College, a fistful of places. But it is also downloadable on What Doth Life.com!

 I am having fun working on ideas with local innovators and DIYers, collaborating roles to live life as performance art.

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