“It is interesting to note that in landscape architecture they use the term ‘desire lines’ to describe unofficial paths, those marks left on the ground that show everyday comings and goings, where people deviate from the paths they are supposed to follow.” —Sara Ahmed
“Desire as plenitude—as opposed to desire as lack—provides the ontological force that drives the posthuman subject formation”—Rosi Braidotti
Today is March 8 — It’s International Women’s Day and also happens to be Pessoa’s Dia Triunfal—A day in 1914 when, in a fury, Portuguese poet, flâneur, and strong early proponent/ embodiment of containing multitudes, Fernando Pessoa, was overcome and wrote thirty-eight poems from the perspective of his first heteronym, Alberto Cairo…or, so the lore goes.
I live in Lisbon now. Why would I choose to make a temporary move to Lisbon while a pandemic is raging? It’s a question I’m still asking myself. The best answer I can come up with is that this is a self-imposed, self-funded residency, or sabbatical. or, put another way, why would I not choose this?
This city is like a lover to me. It truly gives me butterflies.
The last time I lived in this city for an extended period of time, I was a 21-year-old exchange student. Shenanigans were a priority and studies were secondary. And, in those shenanigans, those madrugada extracurriculars, I imbibed the layout of the city. A map of Lisbon lives intrinsically in me because of how much of a fucking fuck I was then. We learn cities by walking them without purpose.
Now, at almost 29, I just want to drink tea and sharpen my hobbies. I had a dream that I learned how to play a mini harp. Now I want to learn how to play a mini harp. I digress— I guess my point is that I’m not worried about the city in lockdown. I’ll love her in this form as I’ve loved her in other seasons.
I clearly remember the moment I made this decision. It was August 2020. The sublessee at my Boulder, CO apartment abruptly announced that she was moving out, leaving my roommate and me in a lurch.
I was in the middle of co-producing and emceeing for a hybrid (online and limited in-person) burlesque show. I felt a kind of free fall and panic. I was fortunate to have secure housing for the earlier parts of the pandemic, and now things were starting to crumble.
I ugly cried in public. Snot ran down my face in the park.
I felt cracked open. It was unimaginable that I would stay another year in this place. I wanted out of my lease. It felt like a literal blood contract, and the property management company was not accommodating or open to negotiations during a global pandemic.
And in this opening, a gut feeling, a longing. In my despair (a cute way to say public sobbing), I asked myself… if not here, where?
it was a le duh. a pin drop in the quiet of cosmic listening. Lisboa.
I kept it to myself. I felt so sure, and I wanted to keep this revelation a secret. In a way, that day was my own personal dia triunfal .. my own triumphant day. Except, instead of writing 38 poems I panic cried, and imagined myself elsewhere. Hiccuping in that park, I felt a sense of peace. I didn’t know how, but I knew… yes, this is next.
Later that afternoon, I was doing my show makeup and became emotional again. Dipping my makeup brush in pink eyeshadow (ya can’t cry while doing show makeup) I began to sing. In Portuguese. An inane made-up song about Lisbon … about how I wanted to be there, about how I would be there. It was a fado from the depth of me. I felt that through the singing I was projecting my body through space and time into a not-yet space. I was inviting the future to me— closing the distance between myself and a desired home. It was also embarrassing I’m sure, and I’m glad I have only internal memory of this moment. Sprawled on my bedroom floor with a chaotic amount of makeup around me, alone, wail-singing to keep from crying.
Once the decision was made, it was time to move heaven and earth. The first step was getting out of that blood contract of a lease.
I track this timeline through Big Cries.
Big Cry #1: Around September, my current roommate found a potential group of people to take over our lease—this group had a tight timeline, and I thought I was going to have to pack up my entire apartment in two days, alone. I felt entirely overwhelmed. That group fell through. We started from scratch with the search & eventually found a sweet couple to take over our lease.
Big Cry # 2: On day 1 of packing. I was moving and I asked a friend to come help me with the emotional part. She held my hand while I grieved. Leaving that place wasn’t easy. It was the first place I felt I had made my own. It felt like an extension of me. It felt like a breakup to leave.
Big Cry #3: In the bathroom at the club. Pandemic stripping is not for the faint of heart, and it’s especially demoralizing when customers are rude or stingy when you're already risking life and limb to entertain them. It was a slow night and a customer was showing me satellite images of his property in inland Florida. I was thoroughly impressed with how much green and water there was and gave lots of verbal affirmations. He paused, looked at me, and said, “can you stop saying ‘wow’”? I said, “what… what do you mean?” he said, “it’s getting kind of annoying.” The nerve of some/ most/ all men. I was PMSing too-- all the big titty-- and all the emotional sensitivity. Anyone who’s stripped knows what it’s like to secure the Anger Bag. this is not a thing per say, I just made it up. I also don’t mean to generalize and I also do. Maybe what I mean is that most people who have worked for tips know this feeling. What I mean is that when someone tests you like that, and you cry in the bathroom, you have two choices: leave, or turn your hustle up to 100. Anyway, that night I either went home early or I secured an anger bag. This night was so many nights. Sex workers are alchemists. Lead >>>>> Gold…. Bad Moods >>>>>Cash.
I am proud to say there was no Big Cry on day 2 of moving day. I had help from a friend again, a handy one who helped me disassemble my bed when other manpower fell through. I moved most of my life into a storage unit and relocated my body and dreams to my friends’ basement. There were more Big Cries I won’t mention here, and surely there are more to come, but I wanted to give you a sketch of the logistical puzzle pieces, and also maybe remind you (and me) that we can do amazing things even when we’re crying. Or, more accurately, we can do amazing things in between cries-- and it’s important to take the time to cry, to attend to the parts that are howling, panicked, and grief-stricken. Big moods & big feels all the way through. I had so much support in my various moving processes from loved ones, and for that I am grateful. I could not have done this without you. < 3 < 3 < 3
I swam upstream to get here. I’m still wondering if this was stupid. But, we do stupid things for love.
Love requires optimism— which is sometimes stupid.
Upon checking me into my new place, my landlord’s employee divulged that this is her favorite of all the properties… she told me she calls it the dollhouse; “it’s small but you have everything you need.” I love that. I’d love to be a doll— a pretty thing with no real utilitarian purpose except play. I learned that the previous two tenants were writers. That made me so happy.
The view from the balcony is a bit obscured by a new apartment building in construction, which is a bummer. But, I was delighted to discover that the sun hits one corner directly for about an hour in the afternoon — I moved a chair and will structure my days accordingly— a standing appointment with sunshine.
I have this shallot I brought with me. A friend told me I should keep it until it sprouts and maybe even after. It’s very soft. I like running my thumb over it. I have a portable altar that helps me feel connected to my space wherever I am. Some key items from this altar are a small obsidian pyramid I purchased during a visit to Teotihuacan, an owl perched on amethyst, and, a card my dad gave me recently that a poet gave him years ago… on one side in cursive it reads “Love Your Demons” on the other side it says “Brush Your Teeth.” this card lives on my altar and I flip it to either side depending upon which message I need to remember. Today is a Love Your Demons day.
So, beloved reader, love your demons & brush your teeth. Go somewhere you love, even if it’s down the street.
Xx,
emily
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Emily, yazzzzz. You look so peaceful in that photo. weather-worn and satisfied, come what may. I love it. I love you! Thank you for writing!
Amei! Your balcony looks like um lugar perfeito para tomar um cafezinho e escrever. Saudades amiga! - Emma