Sign painting

Unless you are going to a funeral, please don't pick the flowers. 

Old skin, new ceremonies.

Now that you are
my most secret confidante
I will write to you in code. 

Bowie

Five Years

Pushing thru the market 

square

so many mothers sighing

News had just come over, 

we had five years left to cry in

News guy wept and told us 

earth was really dying

Cried so much his face was wet

then I knew he was not lying

I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies

I saw boys, toys electric irons and T.V.'s

My brain hurt like a warehouse

it had no room to spare

I had to cram so many things 

to store everything in there

And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people

And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people

I never thought I'd need so many people

A girl my age went off her head

hit some tiny children

If the black hadn't a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them

A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheel of a Cadillac

A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest

and a queer threw up at the sight of that

I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour

drinking milk shakes cold and long

Smiling and waving and looking so fine

don't think you knew you were in this song

And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor

And I thought of Ma and I wanted to get back there

Your face, your race, the way that you talk

I kiss you, you're beautiful, I want you to walk

We've got five years, stuck on my eyes

We've got five years, what a surprise

We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot

We've got five years, that's all we've got

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.