On 1 May 2024, members of The Moxie Collective convened for a day of bibliotherapy that entailed blackout poetry and a reading group discussion of Know My Name by Chanel Miller. Inspired by studies that expound on the therapeutic potential of creatively engaging with literature and communal ways of reading, we gathered with old books that served as our blackout mediums and perused through Miller’s Know My Name prior to our meeting.
Given the heavy themes that would undoubtedly arise in our book discussion, the session was organised in a fashion that facilitated the gradual build-up of rapport and comfort. We started off with several rounds of Wolfgang Warsch’s critically acclaimed The Mind - a light yet highly addictive cooperative card game that delivered much laughter, anticipation, and joy.
Subsequently, we were taken through a brief history of blackout poetry and selected books of interest from a pile to work with. It mattered little whether we strove to generate something brief, long, simple, complex, or linear, we adhered to only one rule: to embrace and express ideas that surfaced in our minds without shame.
After sharing our works, we conducted a quick check-in with each members’ emotional bandwidth and proceeded with the book discussion. The following questions, supplied by Miller’s Know My Name, were discussed:
1. Did you have any preconceptions about sexual assault prior to reading Know My Name? How has your understanding - of victims, perpetrators, or sexual assault itself - changed, if at all?
2. During her trial, Chanel was persistently asked targeted questions (about her clothing, her previous relationship with alcohol, her previous dating experience). Did her experience with sexism feel familiar to you? How so?
3. Chanel explains the separation between herself and Emily Doe. She details how vigilant she had to be to keep the experiences of these two halves of her apart, and how much harder it grew to do so - until one day she realised that Emily was an essential part of herself. Is there a part of you that you are ashamed of, or worry won't be accepted, or fear will make people see you differently? Has Chanel's story of self-acceptance given you an avenue to offer yourself the same? What empathy can you offer yourself today?
Using the aforementioned questions as prompts, we delved into a variety of heavy topics surrounding sexual violence, sexism, ‘imperfect’ victimhood, bystander cruelty, denial, and the enduring presence of self-doubt in our lives. It was an emotionally charged exchange, as we engaged with the raw honesty of Miller's narrative alongside the range of painfully familiar experiences she dealt with.
Yet, amidst the weight of the subject matter, there was a sense of solidarity and solace in knowing that we were amongst people who would not misconstrue the persistent ache and maddening confusion induced by our very own personal encounters with sexual violence. In the aftermath of one’s victimisation, it can be difficult to be transparent about one’s lived experiences without the need for qualifiers. As such, we hope to create more of such non-judgemental spaces of dialogue and empathy, where stories can be shared, contradictions can be embraced, and healing can begin.
A big thank you to everyone who joined the session!
To end off this entry, enjoy some of the blackout poems produced by a few of our members.
Thirty-eight by Poppy
(An erasure of Hector Garcia and Francesc Miralles' Ikigai)
Little things add up
Stress, alcohol, tobacco
Spring, summer, fall, winter
I feel empty inside
There is no future
Days, weeks and months pass
We've forgotten to remember
Anxiety, fear, shame and anger
I am still a child, regretting the past and future.
Garbage by Turd
(An erasure of The Essential Hemingway)
The biggest whore I ever saw in my life
must have weighed 350 pounds
big disgusting mountain of flesh
must be like getting on top of a hay mow.
But she shook and laughed,
had a very pretty voice
Flatline by Willow
(An Erasure of Colleen Hoover's It Ends with Us)
He kneels, listening to my heart.
My cold, still beat.
Meet my chest with desperate fists,
Disappointment,
One want.
His hand can no longer keep rhythm,
I let out no noises.
Rock solid.
It takes every ounce of strength not to scream
He drops shaking, sighs,
And kisses my stiff mouth.
Lies by August
(An Erasure of The Essential Hemingway)
We were married in the eyes of God
I belong to him right now and always will and all of me is his
I don’t care about my body
They can take my body
My soul belongs to God
Everybody felt terribly
It was sad and embarrassing
‘You’re a dirty liar and you know it’
How can you say that?
I say it because it’s true, it’s true
And you know it’s true and God can strike me dead if it isn’t true
He can strike me too, this is true, true, true,
And you know it.
Not just made up and I know exactly what he said to me
What did he say?
She could hardly speak from shaking so
‘He said, you’re a lovely piece, that’s exactly what he said’
It’s a lie,
No, it’s true, true, true,
To Jesus and many true
‘It wasn't the way he talked’
It’s true and it doesn’t make any difference to me whether you
believe it or not
‘It would be impossible for Steve to have said that’
He said it, and remember when
he said it and I was a lovely piece
Then exactly as he said, and right now,
I’m a dried up old hot water-bottle
No, you haven’t got any real memories
except having your tubes out
You just read in the papers
I’m clean and you know it,
I never lie and you know it.
Leave me with my memories,
With my true, wonderful memories.