"i have never wanted to have sex with someone so badly after knowing them for less than 3 hours the way i did with that persian dude" said anna. ever felt that way?
i got a bunch of zines last week, i haven't even read a few of them. got the doris anthology of the first 10 years, it's one of those really really good books that you keep reading and you always seem about halfway through, like the good stuff's going to last forever. i wish i had some sort of job where i could "go on tour". i don't really want to be in a band or anything, but to tour the country and move around and learn lessons of the road etc. and get all tired and dirty. instead i have to stay in one gray place and get tired and dirty that way. sittin in "your house" with old pie just doesn't feel the same.
ohhhhh my city. ohhhhhh my family. talked to kellie for about half an hour. it seemed like she needed somebody to talk to, even though she's cooped up with 5 other people in an apartment. somebody to witness what she has to see, truckload after truckload of people's stuff in their lives. rather, the stuff that made their lives, now anonymous. chairs and fridges and baby clothes and stuffed animals and beds all seen upside down, dumped and crushed into one another. places that flooded and cleared out, and now the mold is taking over, she said like if you threw everything in the full bathtub and just left it there for a week. mold colonizing up the walls, i imagine blue and black and pink. garage doors spraypainted with huge Xs to mark that they'd been searched, the first number to say how many searchers had gone in, the second meaning how many dead had been found inside. she said you'd just be driving down streets and see X after X after X, with a number 14 and then a 2. surrounded by that. what a thing to see. she said only about 35% of slidell was left standing, aunt lauren wants to leave, it feels like living in a graveyard. concrete slabs everywhere where houses and hoods used to be. sidewalks roll up at 5, jail for those who don't obey the 9PM curfew.
int he room with my grandparents, they staring in my direction but with the TV in mute, pawpaw with a cig burning in the lamplight. half drunken pleas from mimi, handskin sliding over her mousebones delicate as reeds shiny and dark, the stone setting in her wedding ring like a claw able to scratch the delicate skin. standing over her, repeating the same message and eyes red graphlines and marbling out toward me, weird feelings, pity irritation deep sorrow surprise incredulity, new feeligns for an old/new conversation.
anway, i should go. as always, there's more. i'm all reading zines, so of course i keep thinking of EVERYTHING that happens in the context of my future zine that will never happen, probably. maybe. hmmm. i hate coopting the present for possibel future use. i hate that mindset, but i kind of feel like you're either in or out of it.
peas
