Saturday, April 25, 2015


These bloody characters are too dim to let me read it. When in doubt, say settler colonialism. When in doubt, feel guilt. Blood is as much fiction as fiction is. Now that he's knows he's Spanish, he asks what this means. Those late nights dancing salsa in the bathroom, watching your teeth fall out. I am adopted to myself, my scattering impulses gathered like a clutch of birds: Ahuimanu. What would you do with a woman who had no papers, no relatives? How would you run your gas station in the States? Embassy as cage or fortress. The narratives were all myths of abandonment and finding, of ditches and roads and an orphanage that had been a palace. Rooms pulsed with infant cries. Children in school uniforms played soccer. Blood is thicker than blood. It runs in the city of your being found. The news shifts to Bruce Jenner. The body is fiction; soul is not. What we see cannot be defined, but what we are is.

--25 April 2015

No comments: