Carpets

"Today the Slinky is 70 years old. Next year my body will be 57: it was human, it was American, it was a piece of big data, it was employed, it loved and mourned the documents behind a people. 
In my time I loved people."

- from A Note, by Peter Gizzi

Heavy water


  • I'm sure I'm wrong to think so, but I think of house blessings as events for people to reassess their status in life. So I thought of signing up for a gym subscription to use a treadmill for a month because, fuck, I'm getting really fat.
  • I sprayed a magnesium formula on my eyebrows and it felt as numb as it was when you smoke marijuana. 
  • One of the many appliances that formed my college life with my then-girlfriend: the electric water heater. Its lethal convenience perfectly described my college life. You fill a bucket of water and place it before plugging it in. It heats the water in ten minutes. It heated a thousand buckets for those mornings where I needed hot water, mornings so cold you can cuddle-fuck for days with your girlfriend. It used to sit beside the rice cooker on the foldable table.
  • I woke up at 3AM with an alarm. The night before, I thought of addressing my body clock as my guardian angel, as I used to when I was younger.
  • The second bullet reminds me of the song 'Heavy Water' by Grouper.

Notice

You don't notice something being absent for a day or two: a mislaid pen, clouds.
- from A Reasonable Man by Ann Beattie 

Avalanche

Kikuji Kawada, New Couple Who Closed Their Eyes, Tokyo, 1974

The description from the Center for Creative Photography reads: [woman with ice cream cone, man smoking pipe, both with eyes closed].

There's something in this photo that struck me: the wisps of smoke obscuring his face; the innocence in holding an ice cream cone; the seeming meaninglessness of posing with eyes closed (it felt childlike and carefree and random); the body language that they have (comfortable but not touchy-feely); the absence of a setting (it can be anywhere: college cafeteria? an empty dorm room?); its lack of coherence that keeps me guessing.

Hope leaves for Turkey

There is Mary Hope, 41 years old, a purple scarf or shawl loosely wrapping her neck, sending text messages to Dra. Olivarez, to two 'friendships' (a term of endearment), to the local bank. She was wearing one of those big shades (she came from the province to visit the dead) and the handkerchief that she carefully dabs under the pair from time to time. I am leaving for Turkey tomorrow at 11AM, her messages said. In one of the text messages: Just don't tell this to Ms. Sydney. To Dra. Olivarez: Thank you, thank you for the help.