YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK — what my advisor tells me. her voice, a thousand frizzles. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION — i tell you, but give you the link anyway. a whisper: read it when i’m not here. a fragment: consume me. polis, public, pub, pubic, pelvis, a portal of portended possibilities; pfft, PFFT . . . PFFT — what i imagine my dog would say if she could talk. when she can talk. I DESERVE TO BE TREATED BETTER.
i haven’t written since my advisor told me i should write a book. A BOOK? WHO WOULD EVEN PUBLISH ME? lose your mother, sadiya hartman says. but it is she who has lost me, i’m afraid. TALENT is a word akin to GIFT akin to GRACELESS. TORTURED. YOU HAVE A TALENT reads: a curse. curse: of adjectival relation to “anathema.” these are not scare quotes.
my parents’ house reads like cardboard collage. everywhere, boxes. HOW CAN THREE PEOPLE OWN SO MANY THINGS — my father is not pleased. he forgets: it is DISPLACEMENT. not ownership. detritus collects the dislocated. nowhere do we find the dissed, lost as she is, locus of the originary orphan. deracination is not so different from dementia.
I LIKE YOU — but i think i am going crazy. WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE SO HARD. HARD. HARD. HaRd. harD. Duh. reads like sarcasm, but that isn’t part of your vocabulary. THE MOMENT I START WRITING FOR SOMEONE ELSE . . . i still think that the digital archive IS THE BEGINNING OF THE END. but we have been a part of “the end” for a while now. these are not scare quotes, darling
uncle sam keeps texting me: LET’S DANCE FOR REAL. a dance to the death, i think. movie theater: the last time uncle sam fucked me over. reel inequality. i only gagged. spit, don’t swallow–j. alfred prufrock knew the the bloodied hand of love better than e.e. cummings ever could. what an irony.
THIS BLOG IS NOT AN IMITATION OF VIRGINIA WOOLF — i can tell you don’t believe me. this room feels too small for both of us to share, so i let myself out. when you are 140 in dog years, all you need is peace and quiet. I DESERVE TO BE TREATED BETTER. my dog said that. she’s always been kind of a bitch, anyway. you laugh, and i wonder if DOG approximates ROB and BORE and GORE. I THINK I LIKE YOU TOO — but the room: a slate blank save the imperial sun. clench, the bloodied heart, quiver