show opener

it's late. i'm thinking about my last post. death is sad. it's so painful when someone you love dies. death really is hard to think about. i think about my death and it makes me anxious because it reminds me of how much i do like to live and then i think about the people i love and how sad it would be if one them all of a sudden died.  either way, it's a lot for me to think about. adolfo's getting married in eleven days. i'm going to be his best man. it's an honor to stand in for you. i need your help. 

Oh hey

It's been awhile. There has been a lot of activity since March 31st.  I got hit by a car, your birthday, the solo show about you, Addison's mom died. A lot of things, one of note tremendously sad. I'm in Washington, D.C. I was supposed to be in Detroit uprooting prairie grass for an art show in Brooklyn. Currently feeling: Death does not discriminate. Death is inconvenient. Death doesn't care about art shows. 

Mexican Guitar

On the subway yesterday there was a street performer. He was older, maybe in his fifties. I was on my way to Planned Parenthood because my period was a week late and I wanted to see if I were pregnant. You can walk in without an appointment and a get a free pregnancy test at Planned Parenthood. Anyway, he started to sing and play his guitar and I started to cry. I gave him a dollar. Right now I'm making the final edits to a photo essay that's due today. They are photos of my mom and her sister taken at my mom's house. I think they tell a story. Here is Eugenia in her home. Here is her sister, Victoria. She is putting medicine on Eugenia's scalp. Here are Eugenia's medicines. Here are Eugenia's pictures. Here is her furniture. Here she is. I'm sitting alone in a bedroom. The sounds of a jazz ensemble are heard. Someone is listening to the radio and brewing coffee. I am not pregnant. 

Planned Obsolescence

If I wasn't so self obsessed I could've been a wife and mother by now. It's true. I've been giving this some thought. I care about my narrative so much that I place things in some sort of made-up timeline. I have to finish this before I start with that. It doesn't matter that huge things like death, love, fear, and reality interfere with this personal ingrained trajectory. I could of just went through with it and realized sooner than later that the speculative future is a trap as much as it is a path.

February

I'm going to set up the relics of our apartments inside a gallery space. I am going to hang your masks on the walls. I'm going to invite people over for food and drink and conversation. 

2015 is the year of the monkey paw.

The elusive monkey paw
sitting in a puddle
waiting for the train
eating veggie turkey
from a whooping crane.

Strange

I'm sad and it's obvious. It's hard navigating an alternate life. This life exists because our plans derailed. You got hit by a car and died. With that went the clown show, the little theatre, our children, all of it. This alternate life has had its ups and downs. I'm thrilled about my new friend who is kind but also devastated by the sudden and cold distancing of another friend. I don't want to mourn the living. I don't understand how someone can just turn off like a switch. This makes me very sad indeed.
Also, I don't know what to do about us. Sometimes I feel like we've reached the point where you too have become a stranger to me. It's all a blur. What's the point in memory? It doesn't seem to work very well. It shifts, it changes things around, it's selective.