I found out second hand, when you cheated on the girl you were fucking behind my back. She came to me, crying,
and asked what she had done wrong.
She didn’t know that we lived together, that you and I spelled a mutual m-i-n-e.
All she knew was that I was her friend.
I considered the satisfaction of throwing your things out the window then,
the meticulous movie moment of exploding chaos, socks spiraling to the street, books flapping their pages like miraculous paper birds attempting futile flight.
I had your childhood pictures and birthday cards from your sister.
Your special keepsakes in a box you had brought with you all the way from Australia, all the way from when you were born.
Perhaps it would be raining, when I did this Hollywood thing, this burst of scripted anger.
Even in August, it rains here a lot.
Your letters would get wet and the ink run in the gutters. Your jeans would soak through and become too heavy to carry.
Enough water and you would have nothing left with to remember your mother.
I thought about these things, and the mess, and the shouting, wondering if it would be satisfying, if I would feel absolved from your crime,
and I whispered a statement to the empty room, claiming it, before saying it to her,
and somehow, to you, rich with disappointment, I am sorry.
And now, once more, a drawer. What’s inside? This time I do not know. Clothes, a toothbrush perhaps. It is a mystery contained, hard-edged. A simple pull on the handle and the secret is out, but I do not want to look. The idea makes me flinch. It is terrible how small I am in your absence.
I do not wish to be reminded, nor read again the topography of your things.
Juan‘s been working overtime putting together a luscious Hallowe’en countdown series for The Secret Knots entitled The Brides of Dracula, that each showcasing a tiny short story about one of the mysterious women in question. Part I: Elena the Seer and Part II: Stana the Beautiful are now up, with Part III to come soon. Working on them has been really special, as hammering the language dents out of the scripts has been one of the creative highlights of my week, and I hope people like them enough to leave some positive reviews and tell their friends. They’re really quite pretty, and as a bonus, Juan’s posted a haunting little four panel he created several years ago, simply titled Vampire. Go see!
Ray and I are going to Ravishing Beasts this evening, the taxidermy exhibit curated by Rachel Poliquin at the Vancouver Museum, tucked away under the Planetarium. (Ravishing Beasts runs until February 28th, 2010.) I was meant to go to the opening night with Fitz, but missed it. My own mistake, and one that’s still bothering me. Perhaps tonight I will excise my feelings of failure in the glassy eyed embrace of a room sweetly full of stuffed meat.
lung, a chinatown bar, san francisco, dec, 2008
Spent the evening dying my hair and hanging about in Eliza’s SWEATSHOP again as she worked to fundraise for her friend Lorraine, who recently fractured her back. Eight hours painting, by the end. Some bloody nice work. Nice, too, to spend time with people while stuck at home, (one of which was her father, Rick), chatting about late sixties sci-fi and introducing people to odd cultural treasures, like sexually charged religious sculpture, the Brick Testament, (now up to Revelation!), and tentacle rape soda.
Today I’m working from home, signed in to the help-desk, sewing the last sequins onto my hallowe’en bustier, and systematically going through my camera cards with PhotoRec, an open source data recovery program, rescuing photographs that have been locked away for far, far too long. Eye-strain and headaches aside, I’m eager to go through them, as I expect to find all sorts of treasure. Already I’ve found a forgotten batch from California, and the silly pictures from when Beth bleached my hair. Hopefully, soon, I’ll come across the photos I took a few weekends ago at the Seattle butterfly house, which captivated me utterly, so amazing it was to be so close to such delicate beings.