N y s s a   F r a n k
ArtworkPerformance Wearable ArtWordsBio/ConactMasks

Nyssa's writings are influenced by her BA in Philosophy from UCSB. All her poems and stories discuss death, mortality, self, and control. 

Terminal Intrusion is the name of her solo performance project, as well as the name of a zine she released of poems and drawings. 

Let us embrace questions first and foremost. 
And let us embrace questions with multiple answers. AND let us embrace questions with multiple answers that are forever changing. For these are the only kinds of questions I ask myself. I am “training” myself to live in a state of flux, realize that the world is literally in constant motion, everything on it, in it is changing is LIVING. Words also are alive. Every word I write down is both an opening to a thought, and is also chained to that word’s meaning, or more importantly, chained to the reader’s meaning of that word. 

Words enable communication, growth, knowledge, and change, but they are also one of our biggest hinderances and an enormous reason for conflict. How I define one word is very different from how others define it. This is extremely dangerous, for even the word "woman" holds infinite meanings, infinite perspectives and connotations. It is a heavy word. It is also a word that is in flux, that is changing. 

Circumstantial Relativity: 

she turned around
and the world turned with her
peripheral vision blurred
mind stirred

unseeing the surrounding

she took a step forward
and the world moved further
slipping, falling, unable to control

movements, seeing nothing but improvements

new roads, cracks filled in
smooth cement spreading like a virus

sticking to her shoes she thinks about the
whose who

did she like the road before
the damaged varicose-vein asphalt 

to love the unimproved
the dangerous pimpled road
ankle twisting and dogs shitting
one eye infested kittens road

Whose road was it?
is it?
the undefinable filled with helium floating into
the purgatory of circumstantial relativity

yolk of the unborn frying on the steaming rocks
cumming out of the virgin cocks
who stare at the ever-changing being that you are

How can you recognize me.

i feel my face
weighed down by
the laws of nature

she turns around and sees the world
she is inside it, in a womb, 
floating unable to move

watching people pass
touching her gelatin translucent home
judging her undeveloped being

eyelashes and fingernails and hairs

even the air cannot be still
even the air wants to be more
than it is

moving through mouths
inside ears
between legs

sucking in new smells
and spreading them out

warm butter melting

dissipating into the sponge like dough

even the air will always be hungry
stomach roaring like tornados
munching on the moving homes

to make something
is to move matter around

preexisting things,
a painting, is paint moved from the tube,
to the brush, to the canvas.

let’s move matter together
moving minds that matter 

dont they all.

she turned and she turned the earth
for the earth is hers

it is the only world she knows

obese with dreams, 
waking wants

the unknown
the unseen

a world whose stomach is
full of searchers
and lying humans 
and gravity

a pregnant world who will never give birth

us dependent on the placenta that is oxygen

we kick 
contractions quaking the ground
swollen ankles from carrying us

she turned and turns the earth
eyes projecting
refracting the light
all that is
 known is insight

new thoughts
are rearranged words
preexisting words

all is already known

yet her mind aches with a beautiful longing
her heart beats to the sounds of nature

she sees the many levels of knowledge
to know
to learn
to see 
to comprehend

moving matter
moving words
moving minds

she becomes dizzy
spinning in this pregnant earth

time serenading her
waiting for her on her doorstep
with dying flowers

she falls in love

time and her walk hand in hand
to embrace the end

while devouring the now

is all that is.

Shit is

Rimming my mind
with salt 
sucking in the fermenting thoughts
wrinkling soft skin sags
bounce back

licking my
crusted lips exfoliate
degenerate cracking
dead skin

cells pollinating the inanimate

repairing momentary

let the blood flow
let the blood flow
let the blood flow
let the blood flow

iron flavored mortality
iron flavored mortality

short circuit the bones
wired for forward motion

unwind unedit

autocorrect my thoughts
this is not a word

where do they go
once they leave

were they ever mine?
did I feed them, bathe them, 
did I listen to them,

crunching down on their savory medley 
i devour
they get stuck in my teeth
sprinkled on my clothes
enter my throat, stomach
and then I shit them out.. keep only the nutrients…

I wish.

I dream of shit daily

the left over
the unneeded 
the excess

I dream of shit daily

Double click here to add text.
Published Essay: "This is" 
 Time isn’t working

Like it used to

But maybe now

It is working like it should

Long and soft

It finds places

For me to put things

However, my thoughts

Now have no beginning or end

I cannot tell

If that is a good thing
My eyes grow clearer, and I cannot see beyond the close up. 

The veined leaves, 

the innocent insect,

 the breeze flowing through everything equally.

 I cannot see beyond the raindrop, dewdrop, petal, 

soberly I witness this world, 


This world unaware of us, 

going, growing, 

moving along the only way it knows how, 


 I try not to part with the now, 

to embrace and devour, 

but tomorrow stabs and slices at 

my time, 

my sweet time, 

My salty tomorrow, 

stinging tomorrow, 

never ending tomorrow, 

I love you because 

I do not know you.