Writings

Could those human bones we dug up that time have been cursed? Could I have been cursed? Could we have been cursed? We put them back, but maybe that didn’t help. I did everything I could to avoid digging up the bones of my assault.

i was touched by you i was torched by you you put your boot on my face

As we wept—my father and I—I wondered if it was for his friend, after all. I wondered if it was for him. I wonder if it was for me.

The original trauma was birth and everthying that follows is but preparation for the trauma of death. Of letting go of all that we have learned. It is only through remembering that we can die because remembering is to forget.

The thing I remember most about being young is the longing I felt, though I knew not for what.

I believe I am the figment of a little boy’s imagination. He’s trying to imagine himself in the future. In a different future than the one he expects. I am ten years old imaging I am sixty-three.

Most of this year has not been good. My mental health was the poorest it's been in a very long time. My physical health has somewhat returned, but as I turn 65, I feel fragile and old.

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, by millions and millions more subpoenas, to wash it white as snow?