18 April 2018

0 me me me

i started this blog when i left memphis. it has always been about my life outside of memphis.

the city of the title has never ever been memphis.

i am currently in memphis. which is why this has been a bit of a dead space. because i do not know how to write about life in memphis.

i am currently oline without a city. something that has happened due to circumstance rather than choice and something i don't really want to write about because it's a story that remains unresolved.

i don't think i've previously acknowledged how significant a part of my identity living in a city was and is. major apparently.

i realize that now. which is probably why i have been so reluctant to relinquish it. why i have been so reluctant to acknowledge that i am waiting for a resolution, for a movement towards something rather than a season of purgatory in exile. 

i am exiled in memphis.

debo's refrain has been that this is just an exaggerated version of the whole of human experience. that we never really know what will happen to us and that this is a truth with which i have just been forced into intimate, daily contact over the last year.

i am aware that this is sounding way more dramatic than it probably is.

i am aware that i am using the word 'i' entirely too much.

i am aware that i have absolutely no ending for this.

i am aware how very much i hate the phrase 'stay tuned!'... 

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


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.

28 February 2018

0 pip!

09 February 2018

0 problems

monday, i dreamed i was starring in a movie and there was a character with a cane who was very gratuitous and i was very aware of not wanting to be the star of this movie because the portrayal of disability was problematic and i knew nina would not approve.

last night i dreamed i was in a stage play with kevin spacey and i knew i didn't want to be in a stage play with kevin spacey and i could see that kevin spacey was molesting people but i couldn't get out of it.

somehow, in all that has happened in the last few months, my greatest concern has become being forced to act alongside problematic people. how fortunate that the one thing that has not happened in the last few months is an improvement in my chances at an acting career. 

06 February 2018

0 burvil is broken

i'm watching my mother watch her mother.

we're in a doctor's office and there's some show on with a panel of women, one of whom i'm pretty sure once dated rob kardashian, and i am simultaneously proud of myself for knowing this and wishing it were possible to turn the volume down.

we are terrified of catching the flu. (i am also strangely fearful of being shot but that's a different story.) there is a kid in the room with a cough that sounds tubercular and a surgical mask he does not want to wear.

he goes to the bathroom right before burvil and, when she returns, i hose her down with hand sanitizer. we have sanitized to such an extent that i assume layers of skin have sloughed off before recognizing a clump of sanitizer remains unblended.

there is a very real sense that death is near- if not from gun shot or flu then surely from e coli.

the pipes have burst. we are bringing water in from buckets placed in the lawn in order to flush the toilets. we are waiting on someone who cannot come right now because his knees are bad and there is rain.

our reliance on unreliable people unsettles.

we are tensed, we are poised, we are waiting for something that has yet to come but we know it ain't good.

i get up every morning and write. like nothing has happened, nothing is happening, nothing nothing except the world in my head.

i marvel at how elastic i am. at how elegantly i sustained the blow of my life's uprooting, of my expulsion. i marvel at how little i feel the hurt.

inevitably there is leakage. nosebleeds intrude.

it feels like a hurricane has come through. just after a train wreck.

flooding on whiplash.

my shoulders feel like i imagine they would if i ever went for a vigorous swim.

i am pregnant with metaphors!

hemmed in by writing deadlines. stuck in ways i do not understand, which do not always hurt but are not entirely pleasant. 

we are all of us stuck in ways we do not understand.

there comes a point where your bones cannot support you and they break of their own volition.

23 January 2018

0 ha

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18 January 2018

0 :)