notes of everyday disintegration

Return to the Mothership

2 feb 2021 6:00pm

Look at all these slave masters posin' on yo' dollar

Macho Queen war-maker toys
Raining destruction Good Old Boys
New world order is an old world lie
Fighting for peace, watch them all die
Dragging in God, as they turn violent
God says nothing, he just remains silent

Thugs is and always been thugs. That's what ACAB means: history.

Don't go off your meds, kids. Been in fits of rage and despair all day, pounding my fists and crying. Cried when Cirilla, thought dead, came to and lifted her arm to embrace Geralt. Cried seeing an old man shoveling snow. Cried when my iphone, without consent, offered up a photo from the past. At least finally got the Medicaid sorted out and prescription refills.

And what a delightful surprise to play as Ciri, which going in I had no idea would be an element of the game. I'm really in love with her character, and enjoy playing as her even more than as Geralt (who's also now endeared himself to me.)

Ain't no silver lining shit, just an observation: one thing I'm appreciating about the catastrophe that is this pandemic is how it's modified the desirous gaze, or at least my own: for a few brief moments this afternoon, trudging the snow-piled Brooklyn streets, I was subjected to a lustful pang (or maybe just a school-girl crush) as I watched a woman -- guessing at least my age, though potentially quite older, couldn't tell as her features were hidden to me, femme, African-American, legs full and muscular, wrapped in tight, gray stockings -- navigate the puddles and icy mounds so gracefully, nearly falling, only then to leap, stumble, and ultimately find her footing in a sort of pirouette over the sidewalk. And continued along, unaware of what pleasure it gave this stranger to behold.

Or, for instance, the sashay of some queer I passed on Nostrand Ave. Tight jeans and a billowy winter coat. All I glimpsed (being that New York takes masks seriously) were the eyes, lined with makeup, following my approach from opposite direction, and then saw in his squint the suggestion of a smile.

What I mean is I'm enjoying the hidden things, and the attention that other bodies' movements, rather than just appearance, now beckon.

4 jan 2021 12:08am

some things forever ruined for me because in them I see only you

25 dec 2020 2:34am

Each time it devastates me, recalling him. I can't believe it. I never met him, crossed paths one morning in Brooklyn, near my work, too shy to say hello. But he accompanied my days. Every fucking day.
Michael Jamal Brooks, you were rare, and necessary. Such a goddamn beautiful spirit.
Guide us, brother. Remind us the world is still worth believing in.
Clip Reel: invidious
Impressions: invidous
Search Michael Brooks, and TMBS on Youtube. Watch everything.

24 dec 2020 2:59am

I see you - in memory's image and in photographs from that period - vivacious, joyous and silly, smiling always. You are radiant and radiating, so happy.
For a moment, we were extravagantly in love, giddy.
I thought it was mostly life's external stresses that weathered you.
Over time your smile appears less frequently. You manufacture joy for the benefit of your daughter, who does not yet understand that one day it may no longer be there.
I loved you entirely, didn't recognize the damage I was causing. I wish I could undo it all. I wish I could extract myself from your history, to give you that time back, to return to you the chance to preserve that woman who mesmerized me and resuscitated my dead heart.
It is so fucking hard to live without you.
Nearly unbearable to know I am the cause of your sorrow.


15 dec 2020 12:32pm

Noli Me Tangere

She is a septuagenarian, hair Tuscan red.
V, I will call her.
She is staring at the blank leaf of paper, a colored pencil held loosely between her fingers. I ask her what she feels like drawing today. She turns to me - one always turns to say: "It used to be so easy for me. Now I have nothing to put down."
Later, one day, we will both be sitting in the day room, alone except for Marcus, who is nestled in the corner holding the TV remote in the air, perpetually clicking. "They tell us we are not allowed to touch other patients," V will say to me, before reaching across the table to enfold my hand in both of her own. And then: "I have a special affection for you. I hope you will be okay. I hope we will."


9 dec 2020 7:05pm

One more reason to drop google.

Struggled to do anything today, mostly lost in audio/textual rabbit holes.
Here's a playlist inspired by the afternoon's sonic detours. Maybe you - whoever happens to land here - will find something you like.

Ondara - I'm Afraid of Americans
Run the Jewels, Zack De La Rocha, Pharrel - JU$T
Zebra Katz - Drk Binder
Levin Goes Lightly - 1989
The Coup - The Guillotine
Funkadelic - Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow
Nakhane - Age of Consent
Saul Williams, Haleek Maul - All Coltrane Solos At Once
Alec Empire, Merzbow - The White Man Destroys His Own Race
Drvg Cvltvre - Techno Has Become A Capitalist Tool
Dub Gabriel, Michael Stipe - Cheree
Sleaford Mods, Billy Nomates - Mork n Mindy
Soul Glo - 31
Black Pumas - Colors
Shovels & Rope, Nicole Atkins - Joey
Brittany Howard - You'll Never Walk Alone


9 dec 2020

One night, quite a while ago now, I ask Valentino what his favorite word is. "Obliterate," he says. "Absolute violence wrapped in such delicacy."

I've had so little contact with others this year, quarantined. A year in which my correspondence with strangers vastly outweighs those with the people I call loved ones.

I'm not just writing this for me. Not principally, even.
I mean, I'm writing to you.