Dear Nikolai –

A letter written to the son of a friend, on the occasion of his birth. 

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This is your mother, the day I met you. You slept and screamed and bothered your older brother. Your mother was a mother when I met her, so I cannot tell you who she was before F arrived, but I think she was the same. Amanda was the first woman I met, just for sheer force. Her name was everywhere, I felt like she was forever around me, but also, nowhere. So I contacted her, and demanded me we meet. I loved her, instantly. It’s impossible, not to. I had been searching for Amanda in all the girls I had loved until then. One had her eyes, one had her skin, one had the suggestion of her laugh. It’s hard for me to write this 0 the world is very ugly right now and I struggle to see the future. You.

Your mother is going to turn 30 on Saturday. I am excited for her. Your mother was in my girl gang. I wanted us to run away together, leave this shit world behind for something else. We didn’t.

Your mother was always very holy to me. She’s so beautiful. Tragic, cracked, thin, holy, like the girl saints who starved to escape the hell they were trapped in on earth. When she is stressed, she does not eat. She likes vodka. She likes rap songs, Tormund Giantsbane from Game of Thrones, and Darius from ATLANTA. She’s tough – she used to work the third shift at the Majestic, a 24 hour diner on Ponce De Leon Avenue. Her employees were prisoners, drug addicts and flops. She kept it running. She started feminist groups and Zinefest and record labels and all kinds of hearts beating faster.

We went to queer rap shows and she let me kiss her vodka mouth. She survived, everything.  Her working class Catholicism, her Mother Mary and the Saints, with her all the way. At this time, I am friends with a woman named Tracy. Tracy and your mother used to be best friends. It’s been difficult, and it hurts me that I cannot see them together, these two women who I love.

Perhaps, things are better and you know Tracy. I hope, I hope I know you. I know I want to.

My Love,

j. “Legs” a,

Atlanta, Georgia

9-28-17

11:15pm

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& the rest of her

I haven’t finished any of my zines. I haven’t finished anything I have said yes to this year.  Including this. I continue to write, and read, and the women around me I’m sure continue, but I continue alone.

 

I finished Venus as a Boy by Luke Sutherland yesterday when I was dazed and hungover and wearing last nights clothes and sexts to my editor. It came at the right time. So slim and quickly fell in. Fell in quick, and hard. Not bad, young god. I love when I get a book at the right time. I could smell, taste, feel Venus, and I re-read it again before I left for strength training in the hours after. It fits in with Angela Carter and everything I’ve been reading for maybe the past year now, since it’s September already. So many of my plans have come and gone for not, and I should let this New Moon in Virgo rectify that. I leave soon for New Orleans, and everyone is out of town / time / space.

SUNP0008

sarah & the rest of her // 9.19.17 

 

unsure what to do about New Orleans. I don’t have any fucking money. I keep buying little plastic toy cameras and film and I’m broke all the time. I’m broke and bored and incredibly busy.

Climbing my friend’s fence so I can break into his house and shower in-between jobs and hoping he pays for all my film development because I’m broke even though he drove it all the way to Dunwoody for me today.

 

Feeling hysterical at the sheer unpleasantness all around all the time. Am I sleeping with too many people? Does it even matter?

Did you pick out a dress? Less than a month to go now.

 

 

to the grapefruit

Oh love
You came to me
Are you having a bad time
There in your home

Oh sugar
Give into me
You’re just having a bad dream
Of ringing alarms

Oh but please
Please shake me from my lovesick patient dream
Please baby please
And my love plays wait and see

 

Kite Hale in my bedroom, September 2017. First shot with my new Holga.

Words for August

  • perestroika
  • tout court
  • quislings
  • troika
  • Febrile
  • telos
  • Duma ( Дума)
  •  mir (Мир)
  • polysemous
  • dahabeeya
  • Thanatos
  • Claude Lorraine
  • Arte Povera
  • apercu
  • voluptas
  • vista – sister. lolita – sweeter.
  • The vampire had time enough to complete his work.
  • a compassionate virgin
  • valerie a tyden divu
  • sapphic diversions
  • solarizing your solar plexus.
  • I’m not queer, but I’m nasty. I am like that sometimes.
  • vizier
  • perspiacious
  • longueurs
  • ataman
  • entre nous
  • rostrum
  • plenum
  • premonitory
  • jocularity
  • volte face

IMG_2232

 

This has so much potential and I’m not sure where to take it. I wish it could be a printed object, but this life is ridiculous as it is. Creating something totally unreal.

While Drinking ; You Are with Me? An Alcoholic Dream

Bring Me Wine! A Despotic Piece

The Vulture : Portrait of Temperament

The Wicked Fellow : A Villanious Silhouette

He Was Vexed: An Irritable Tiger

Brilliant Intoxication: A Dream

 

a series of titles by Paul Scheerbart, who is well on his way to becoming one of my favorites. He wrote fantastical essays about living in glass houses, about machines that could create infinite energy and perpetual motions. The book of his that I got, is bound in a way so that it falls open every time, which is something I appreciate almost on a molecular level. It’s on archival paper too, which I know E will appreciate.

Dear Amanda [3/13/12]

Amanda,

 
Perfect timing! I just finished writing (longhand) the plot outline for my story involving you and I. I’m sure I’ll edit a few things here and there, but basically it means I’m throwing out almost everything I had written before and shown you and basically just becoming something else entirely with only a few things remaining the same. The subject of this email is a working title in my head, what do you think? It’s a lyric but I don’t care. I’m excited about this and kind off kilter feeling, I think I’ll drink some vodka. It’s never been a drink for me but I think it goes right with the characters I’m trying to create. It’s strange, but I feel like I’ve got a great polished stone coming out of this, I’m excited to show you progress, when it appears. I’m spending a lot of time alone in my office, writing, writing, writing on my laptop, scribbling notes here and there, cutting images out of magazines, just building building in my head. I don’t know, maybe it’s in the stars to come out soon. I’m fighting with my boyfriend a lot. Annoying. He finds me burdensome and I don’t care because I think he’s a lazy shit who’s never had to pay for anything in his life.
 
Anyway. I did my taxes a few days ago — with pen and paper and calculator and put a stamp on the envelope and mailed it off to the IRS and I was greeted with the shock that when I was 16, this is what I imagined myself doing at 22, 25. Sitting alone at my desk, in the middle of a writing project, doing my taxes, broke and in the Deep South. This realization really made me feel something Amanda, it really did. I was giddy that I had not let myself down, even with such mediocre expectations. Does that make any sense? I don’t know. It’s the candy of spring and neutrals everywhere.  I feel vindicated in all this time I’ve been writing fan fiction, like some sort of exercise. AGH I’M SO EXCITED. I’m sorry, I’ll get working on it as soon as possible and send you some sort of update as soon as I’ve got something worth looking at.
 
Love and miss you and all that,
 
Deborah