I just finished reading Ghosts by C Aira and I need to read it again because it’s thick and I’ve only been able to drink thin soups because my brain has a cold and it has had a cold since last semester. I will be writing a few sentences about it w/ people over at Montevidayo. My left foot is numb and I have to write 25 pages of a screenplay today that has been deemed too much mumbo jumbo, and has scary amounts of fluids in it but doesn’t have a “thing” so as to say it is malformed. I saw the worst movie I’ve ever seen yesterday and it was Analyze That because I have to do a presentation on it this week (I did not choose the movie, just like I did not choose to be born) and so. That is why I am here, writing about my crusty navel. If you are in a bad mood for too long, it is no longer effective or worth it to relish the evil.
I wrote this for the 7th of April and in response to my friend Paul’s poem in which he becomes a toad.
TOAD AND PRINCESS
i am also vaguely wishing
all the time vaguely wishes
like the cigarette butt stars of omaha.
the people i love most
are the ones i resent
and what more to resent in this world
than the things that make you want to live,
for many weeks now or maybe months i have not been able to think
or care, ideas are getting more more dull like stars
in the city.
all the hypnotists are there
to give you real ambition and zest
they put that stuff through a cheese grater
and then you are tarred and the zest is thrown
at your face
but your genitals are burnt
that’s where the soul is
like mine it’s gross
and star juice comes out of the burnt hole.
i never want to do anything.
my siblings in the rhizomatic factory
work to sustain me.
i wish i were strong
enough to jump off a building
and become a star
blowing kisses from all the mouths my whole body
fluttering empty toothless
star star star star star.
I also read something
about a brother and it make me cry for many reasons, one being that I can’t remember my childhood very well, or I am afraid to. I feel very dark. Lately people ask me “Mary why are you so quiet?” and I usually say something like I am tired or sick, but maybe I’m not. When I was a child, I never spoke, except to my brother, maybe, and I also beat him up. I remember that better than the times we were loving, because guilt is more intense than nostalgia. Yesterday I ate a frozen version of durian which is the only thing I miss from Singapore and thought about how something is better when unattained. I wanted the “real” durian not the frozen kind. Seems like so many things attained in this life is frozen and not “real” including aesthetics, which is not to say that is bad. Thinking that rationality/humanity is special and unique is bad. Kindness is not bad. My hero is Justine of Melancholia and I am avoiding advancing myself career wise by making drawings:
In Ghosts, stars die and turn into humans and not the other way around.