Of Two Minds

if time is nonlinear, why is hindsight so much clearer than foresight? so many mistakes. what was the connection? so many missed chances to do the right thing. so many alternate universes, forking off every which way from a gnarled path. but no. this universe. this one. this diseased one. this endangered one. this warring one. this heartbroken universe generated by the failure to follow directions. what was the direction? what is the fatal flaw? what is the connection? between all the choices that created this universe. flawed universe. unstable universe. so many wrong choices must have something in common.  ///you didn’t listen/// . . . what?  ///you didn’t listen, pass it back///  what?? ///it’s not a habit. it’s not a perversion and it’s not an achilles heel. you just didn’t listen///  what???  ///ok yeah, thats what i said. tl;dr the universe is talking to you and everyone else, like, all the time. you didn’t single-handedly fuck up all and time of space bec...

the messenger stood in front of the crowd and stretched out a scroll. she read aloud, "the crisis is not over population. to be clear. earth enjoys to be populated. indeed earth is less populated than earth would like to be. that is, to be clear, part of the crisis. "the crisis is also not humanity, as such. earth was -- and is!-- in general quite pleased about humanity. indeed earth has quite a bit less humanity than it would like. "with less precision we can say, too, that humans," emphasizing the second syllable, "are not the crisis." "i'm sorry," the messenger paused, rubbing her forehead. she held the scroll to her side and after several moments rambled freely... "this whole thing... we are so sorry. we really didn't want it to come to this. and, listen, i am not asking you to make sense of your losses -- we love how precious your lives are to you! i just... ok..." she took a deep breath and began reading again. ...

Creative as we were, the people became worn down by touchlessness and also something else.  The touchlessness we mourned. The loss of the something else, however, was harder to mourn because the thing that was gone was harder to name. We had many words for what was missing: vibes, energy, warmth, presence. The people had always known it was there but, like most things, it became more evident in its absence. Feeling the lack and not understanding its nature, the people dreamed and imagined, but no matter what we tried, it was always "not the same." In time, the people learned to accept imperfection, knowing this way of living was unsustainable but choosing to believe in our resilience and our ability to live imperfectly for as long as was required that we might save ourselves. By accident and on purpose, our individual lives became one. That is: the many lives of the individual shared time and space and also, the many lives of individuals shared time and space. And in this...

The people understood what they had to do. They were scared -- at first, and sometimes later -- but they understood. The people understood it was time do less and in doing less, the people came to understand what they already knew: the meaning of "essential." As time passed, fewer and fewer things became essential. That is, essential meant less. Quickly and slowly the people learned what was needed. What was needed was also less. Less movement, less consumption, less touch. What was needed was also more. More stillness, more coordination, more love. It was necessary, especially, to exist in less places. For a few, the adjustment was effortless. For more, it was difficult. The people wanted to see one another and hold hands. The people were scared -- at first, and sometimes later -- and they wanted to hold one another close, feel healthy heart beats against their own healthy heart beats, look deep into rested eyes, know in the ways that only physical bodies can know that...

The night the cops came out, they came out in riot gear. In riot gear they lined the streets of the quiet neighborhoods. We had been told that the gathering ban would be enforced, but we were not told how. The quiet neighborhoods got quieter. The awkward armor, the assault weapons, the clumsy formations of poorly trained soldiers cast fear and the fear sucked up the noise. Silently, parents pulled their children away from the windows and, without touch, covered their eyes. The fear turned off the light. The people struggled to comfort one another without sound or sight or touch. The fear put the people to bed early and kept their eyes open late -- searching but never seeing. The night the cops came out, the people did not gather. Not the way the cops did. It was to prevent the spread of the disease. The people understood about pandemics and understood that was necessary. The people understood how pandemics work. More people would have isolated if they knew they could survive. ...

What does it mean to forgive? Describe a time you had to forgive yourself. Like every year since 2004, I have spent the past month and a half acknowledging that I need to make room for mourning and not quite doing it. I fear the quiet moments. Sober and alone with nothing to do is a scary place. It's where I need to mourn and, incidentally, it's where I need to work. It's my past and my future and staying present to it is a nightmare. What is so scary in the stillness? In the stillness lies the truth. When I was 17, the truth was that my mom was dying, clamoring for life, for me, in pain, disoriented, scared, alone, and dying. I was there to witness her death because she fought for one more day. I was absent while she was dying because I was scared and nothing can ever change that. Now, the truth that emerges from the stillness is that she will never forgive me in this life. I don't want forgiveness on her behalf -- "I forgive you," is hers and hers alone ...

This is a metaphor about gender and my relationship to my chest without speaking directly about my chest. I'm like a muffin with frosting. I look like a cupcake, but I'm not. I'm a muffin. And listen, there's nothing wrong with frosting. I love frosting! Frosting is boss! Whether or not frosting is super incredible is not the issue! The issue is that I do not identify with the frosting, particularly because it does not reinforce my identity as a muffin and as it does contribute to other people thinking I'm a cupcake. Really, the only reason to keep the frosting is for other people who really like cupcakes and think that I might be one. Or people who really like muffins and frosting. But the point is keeping the frosting would be to reify the idea that the space I take is only for the pleasure of others--others who like frosting. And it hides my muffin-ness from the world and, most importantly, myself. You might say, fuck pastry rolls!! What is it about frost...