In these days before thankgiving all that is left is: explanations, facts, cupcakes. Here are some and not others. I’ve let the big ones hush. Excuse all the quotes. I’m not sure I understand what people mean when they say it anymore and so I’ll just tell you what was there.
My father is ill.
In Alaska, a friend’s father died in a dogsled accident last Wednesday. She wants me to contact someone who seems to have disappeared.
He is so ill and told my sister he would be letting himself die over the course of the next year. But not “Put a gun to his head or anything.”
In some kind of revolt: all of the casual ellipses of my writing have been gently rotated. Someone from the far side of the other line took and shoved the sentences so that the dots crowded and stacked. Now all I have is: this embarrassing proliferation of colons.
I told my mother about my father because I thought she should know. They were married for so long. After all.
I saw a thumbnail from The Wind That Shakes the Barley and it made me cry. So did explaining Montreal Mont Royal Montreal. Mont Royal. The Pont Street Pont.
Something strange has happened and MSWord can now recognize the word “transsexual” but not “moments.” I’m alone long enough that I begin to wonder if I didn’t make up “moments.”
The psychic-vampire in my Buddhism class has started calling me “sir.” I think this is supposed to be an example of how he is a feminist. I get the feeling that he wants me to ask him about it so he can tell me about it. Which is my example of: not feminist.
What got switched. In the dialog box I had written “Really” and she responded with “18.” On her computer, on a table under “Killed” she wrote “Ok.”
This seems to tell the story much better.
What do you want from me?
At Lamont yesterday a middle-aged white man crossed the entire room to interrupt my crocheting. He explained, “In the liberated city of Cambridge only Men are allowed to do needlework.” He looked at J.
There’s a bunny in my home now. It’s living under my wastefully high counter-top with all the doom and gloom.
In the meantime I wrote my heart out.
Which explains, I hope, where it is.
And the world came: