19 March 2018

0 on writing

at around 4 a.m. yesterday morning, i settled upon the word "coded" when i knew i wanted something else but couldn't think of what it was.

lying in bed, sometime before midnight, i thought, SATURATED. aha! 

is there a ghost, who waits until right before one falls asleep to gently whisper the word one wanted 18 hours earlier into one's ear?

14 March 2018

0 ???

o: friend, what happened to us? 
s: aging and people. 

12 March 2018

0 melania

in the last month, multiple people have said, but when are you going to write anything on melania? we are waiting for you to write something on melania!


ok, so like four people said this. but still. four people are waiting on me to write something on melania. 


and i said no no no no nooooooooooooooooooooooooo. i do not want this. 


which means, but of course, that in the midst of thinking really really hard and trying to wrench words from my brain about something altogether else which is nonetheless slightly related, my antenna are attuned and i keep stumbling over stuff about melania. 


inevitably, therefore, today:


07 March 2018

0 confessions

garebear- unfamiliar with the conventions of reality tv, in general, and the confessional, in particular- is in the room when kourtney kardashian is telling me about why she has chosen not to freeze her eggs at this point in her life.

genuinely perplexed, he asks, WHO IS SHE TALKING TOO?

i look at him, equally confused, and reply, um... me... OBVIOUSLY. 


02 March 2018

0 truths


debo

i can say with some authority, having watched many murder mysteries, that the fact that you exude sequins is going to really incriminate you if you ever take up a life of crime.

01 March 2018

0 feelings

yesterday was the fifth anniversary of joe's death. this did not occur to me until this morning, in spite of garebear asking yesterday if it was ok to get rid of the baseball glove joe gave me. and i was like yeah yeah we have pictures. 

this is progress? and maybe also a sign of how very much we are focused on burvil.

i'm in the houston airport, feeling like death because the gate was nine miles from customs and it's 80 degrees out and i'm wearing a sweatshirt hoodie dress and a fur coat- which i refuse to take off because i hate carrying coats- when garebear calls and says the girls are talking. and suddenly a feeling i've not felt in the fortnight i've been away and we've not talked about this is back. (it actually did feel as though it had left, though maybe that was both delusion and privilege.)

the bifurcation of my transnational lives is one of both activity and feeling. this is the memphis feeling.

it feels like we are preparing for a street fight. and like burvil will play dirty.

we are all burvil's children. this will not be fun.