Tag: moving

more warning would have helped, also, a consultation


Chris Klapper‘s SWARM of insect-like baby dolls suspended from the ceiling
by cables and springs. You may safely ignore his other work.

I’m trying to round up people who are willing to help my mother with a leisurely move on the price of pizza, beer, and appreciation.

She’s rented a van from 6 o’clock Friday morning to 6 o’clock Saturday morning. We won’t be moving boxes upon boxes, more just pieces of large furniture that she and I can’t move alone. I know it’s ill-timing, what with the plans to meet here for a movie than night-market, but I’m hoping people might still have the morning free.

Wal-Mart staff ordered to search store after bomb threat.

I did not mean to slam the door. Technically, true. I didn’t mean for it to be painful once I had done so either, the first link in a chain reaction of breaking down shaking in my kitchen, almost crying on my roommate, who wanted to know what was wrong. Usually I am better than that. I hold onto myself. I am polite. I keep to myself and swallow extraneous reactions. Feeling anything is risky, it’s true. Feelings have been nothing but a useless simmering frustration for a few years. There have been no rewards that were not false, no punishments that mercifully ceased. The heart as a holding pattern, understanding that there is no space to land. Dead air. Static. I did not mean to slam the door, but for my sake, I should have done so harder, I have not slammed a door in years. When I was a child, I would shake hotels and houses equally with the force of impact, wood in wood frame. My only vengeful outlet, because otherwise I am quiet, refusing to offer what is not asked and hating that no one dares.

there are more photos to work into later conversation

Andrew

Truth or Dare. The things I’ve written are not spells and remedies. I want you to give me the illusion that I am caged by your arms. I am willing to find a poison toad, if you require it, and pry the gem from inside the skull to feed you in payment for this simple service.

Yesterday was my first graciously busy day in what might be a long time. Ray and Sophie came out for breakfast, a group of us helped Andrew move, (the boy in the picture), Nicole and I bought Ray new glasses frames, and after I went for dinner and studio photography with Nick. Right now it feels unreal, as if yesterday was some term of time too far away to see minutely. Admittedly, I am suffering that strange lightness of balance that only a scaldingly hot shower after a long day of no food can give a body, so perhaps tomorrow I will have a more lucid understanding of nonspatial continuum, but it’s now that I have a moment to sit and type blankly into the computer screen, so it’s now that you’re going to read, not an enchanted later.

  • Neuroscientists at Washington University can use a brain scan to predict if a subject will succeed or fail at a simple videogame.

    Someone tagged me with the 5 Things About Myself meme that’s been cluttering up my friendspage with admissions like I had a crush on my neighbor, but never told her. Now she’s married to my ex-boyfriend and doesn’t look the same, so I don’t fantasize about her anymore. Well, okay, no. I made that one up, but I’ll assume it’s simple to understand how banal repeated running of this meme can read without going through the hassle of finding an actual entry with it in.

    Here’s the only thing I could think of:

    You sent away to the postal gods when you were little. Did you get everything you asked for? In classes we practiced our writing in overly looped lines of Dear I Want Please Thank You This Thing How Are The Reindeer? The only holiday more foreign was Fathers Day. Every year the teacher would reprimand me for telling them that I didn’t have anyone to make a card for. Some years I would be brought into the principals office. “This girl is being very unco-operative. She says she doesn’t have a father.”

    And instead of answering that meme with four more uninteresting tid-bits, instead I will theft this one:

    If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don’t speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.