Home

Screen Shot 2018-08-01 at 2.16.50 PM.png

To walk in an American city is to somehow bear the collective sins of an entire culture, to be seen, simultaneously, as both pariah and saint. Oil spilled from cars floats on the giant moat-like puddles we have to splash through to get anywhere in recent days of unseasonably warm weather. It’s a constant reminder of our own fragility and mortality, oil and water a part of our rituals of death and purification, anointing and cleansing, loss and redemption.
I want to lay paper flat on the toxic sheen of each intersection, print it with the excess oil we use to anoint our dying species. I want to marble paper, to study its mesmerizing patterns, to read it like tea leaves, and then burn it, an effigy, a sacrifice, the letters of that lover who was incapable of love. I want to worry the ashes between my fingers and see if that grit feels more like funeral or phoenix.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s