On the evening of your thirtieth birthday I am giving both of us the gift of letting you leave (of continuing to let you leave), despite my body that calls out in support of the strange tingling for you in the bottom of my everything. On the evening of your thirtieth birthday I am yelling at my uncle and at his friend in the cool twilight of a Montana July Sunday and feeling my spine split completely from itself inside the flesh of my back. 

This morning, so strange on a Sunday, we heard the high Woop of a man wanting to be noticed at the top of the Bench behind the house. We looked and could barely notice his body up in the brand new radio equipment at the middle of the already too-tall tower. My mother waved her arms and all I could think of was J, tumbling drunk from a water tower less than half that height, the scar on his back, the leaking of his spinal fluid across his buddy’s couch, his face, his hands, his telling the story over and over that morning in the hot light of my east-facing apartment. His body so easy, so easily restless. His promises, his soliciting of promises. J tucking in his shirt and running his mouth. 

On the evening of your thirtieth birthday I am watching the powerlines more carefully than usual. I am reading the shit lines I wrote about you months ago and folding them like soft batter into the recesses of my flesh. On the evening of your thirtieth birthday I am breaking my own heart so that you are spared the task of doing it slowly over the expanse of our lives. I take that soft beating flesh into my own hands and pummel it ceaselessly. It makes me stronger, later. It butterflies me now. 

Tales from Notes

We floated the river today, my cousins and my uncle and I, and I felt good and safe. I’m trying to let myself be get-to-knowable. Usually I just throw two middle fingers up and throw my head back in carefree laughter, and trying at this makes my cheeks burn.  As I write this, I can hear an animal in the walls struggling, against what I don’t know. Just a sporadic scratching against the wall behind my dresser. It rises panic and calm in me in equal measures. I told M about it, and he said, Just keep perfectly still. 

I keep myself up at night in a lot of different ways. I close my eyes and that’s no different from turning all the lights off - that pitch black lives by itself here, in a way it can’t in the city - and my mind opens up in the liminal space between my forehead and the rest of the world. Everything I’ve ever loved lives there, in that space, and I watch it play out over and over, like a toothache I can’t stop bothering. Sometimes I wake up disappointed. Sometimes I wake up relieved. I never know when I’ve fallen asleep. 

“I am a lesbian woman of Color whose children eat regularly because I work in a university. If their full bellies make me fail to recognize my commonality with a woman of Color whose children do not eat because she cannot find work, or who has no children because her insides are rotted from home abortions and sterilization; if I fail to recognize the lesbian who chooses not to have children, the woman who remains closeted because her homophobic community is her only life support, the woman who chooses silence instead of another death, the woman who is terrified lest my anger trigger the explosion of hers; if I fail to recognize them as other faces of myself, then I am contributing not only to each of their oppressions but also to my own, and the anger which stands between us then must be used for clarity and mutual empowerment, not for evasion by guilt or for further separation.

********I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own. And I am not free as long as one person of Color remains chained. Nor is anyone of you.***********

— “The Uses of Anger” by Audre Lorde (via christinefriar)

(Source: mixedleanbh)


Two days in a car and my Grand Uncle, Grand Aunt, cousin and myself made it to Cape Breton.

The other day I installed a new control panel on my parents’ refrigerator. By hand with only the help of a new 5/16” nut driver. This evening I fell through the second step on the front porch, but no one was looking and I don’t think I broke anything, so I didn’t have to cry. 

I keep having this really wonderful problem where I put songs on my speakers and can’t sing along because my voice keeps bubbling with laughter, no matter how earnest I try to be.

I had to go to the Homeland Security office in Helena. My mother drove me. They “collected biometric data”, for my student visa. When we walked in the security guard said, “It’s so good to see you today!” The man who took my fingerprints held my hands on the scanner so gently, and that’s the most human contact I’ve had in weeks. (The other night, Donna yelled, What’s goin on in here! and massaged my head very aggressively, admonishing me for holding so much tension in there: You should be able to move your scalp around on your skull!! she yelled in my ear. That hardly counts, though.)

R is in Israel and I think I’ll sleep better when she makes it to Greece on Monday. 

Studio Ghibli Food’s

(Source: japandreams)

I yelled at my dad today and only hours later did I realize why. 

Sometimes I think I’m going to walk into this room and find my strong sister curled up in my bed. I know why I’m crying but no one else does! 

I put on my new Carhart tshirt and my sunhat and my goatskin gloves and sanded almost the entire south side of the woodshed by hand (just the places where the orbital sander won’t reach). Felt strong about it. Had to listen to FIDLAR at top volume in my headphones because the sound the sanding makes makes me want to vomit my bones up starting with the vertebrae in my neck. Like watching someone chewing on a popsicle.

I’m sweaty and lonely 98% of the time, but I put lipstick on and take pictures of myself to deal with that, which is a beautiful gift I give myself. I don’t actually take the pictures. I just look at myself in the screen and pretend. It’s more than enough.

I met a man who made his fortune as a lineman for PG&E yesterday and I almost cried in his face, but excused myself just in time. I can’t explain the way my body aches for you. I wish I could. I wish I could. Things like climbing up into the truck make me want to dissolve away and into the earth so that I’ll never have to think of you again, but not in a negative way, just in the way that the thing that floods you so intensely with joy makes you turn away the fastest. I’ve never been more beautiful than I was on the evening of Wednesday, May 21st, and that lives in my fucking skeleton, and will never die. 

Montana is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, even as it rips me from my brightest self. It’s gentle, and I like that. The alpine glow makes it feel softer here, that rending. The mountains act bigger than my life ever can, so I trust them sincerely. I just wish I could forget; the version of myself unspoiled is gone, has always been gone under your calloused hands. I dream every night you are a cowboy, and that ruins me completely every morning. None of this is coherent and it doesn’t have to be. I give it, every thought, to MT, every night. 


A lot of cool things in sleeping beauty’s castle until the dragon gets killed.

Corridor of Goons is my safe space.