I feel a great acceleration. Or maybe, a dilation. This month began with my 29th birthday-- last year of my 20s. Is it supposed to feel significant? Am I supposed to have something to show for it? An astrologer once told me I’ll really hit my stride around 35 so I’m not too pressed. I’m kind of lying in wait, but not waiting, you know? I remind myself of the things I did. I’ve lived on four continents, visited five… obtained two degrees. I don’t want to accrue any more. I’m just trying to get gentler, softer, more open to ~mystery~ and in that endeavor, I’ve become a little more sentimental, I’ve gone soft. Why is that a bad thing, when people say someone’s gone soft? Which part of me is soft? Is it my head? That could use some softening, actually.
Most days I wake up and think, I have no idea when I’m going to die.
I consider how losing two very dear friends before the age of 30 has shaped my relationship with mortality. A shock to the system, a reminder of fragility. Networks ripple-- a piece of a connection remains elsewhere. I’ve dreamed about both of them, dreams I won’t write about here. But the gist of the dreams are always similar-- that death is a ruse. Ta-da, the lights come up… this was all a show. My mother used to tell me how my great-grandmother would always say about life-- this is all a dream, a grand illusion. If dreams are evidence, her thesis is corroborated.
At the end of April, I went north with a friend from the Boulder community. We began our journey in Óbidos, a medieval city where you can walk the perimeter of the castle wall and pick loquats off of the trees. I had my first loquat there (nêspera)-- they’re tart… kind of like a plum meets a crabapple. They have two pits, nestled in their center like twins. I’ve heard they get very sweet where they’re perfectly ripe. I ate two more in Azoia this past weekend.
In Óbidos, we stayed at the Literary Man-- a hotel that boasts 70,000 books. Upon closer examination, a large percentage of the books were either Twilight or the da Vinci Code. I would guess maybe 1/8th of them. This made the number of books slightly less impressive. Like, turtles all the way down except it was Dan Brown and Stephanie Meyer.
Then, further north, where mountains gasp and open. Buçaco Forest, and outside of Valença. I went north and felt like, wow, this is (regionally, not exactly) where my matrilineage incubated.
In the past month, I’ve also had the immense pleasure of meeting Akynos, an international burlesque artist and stripper who recently completed an artist residency here. So grateful for the opportunity to connect with such a powerhouse, and share in a mutual appreciation for Lisbon. I want to quote from one of her recent IG posts: “When you think about #heauxshit and a #heauxlifestyle make sure you remember #heauxtravel and make friends.” Amen. You can support Akynos on Patreon & learn more about her organization, Black Sex Workers Collective here.
I want to work in rhythms that are meaningful. I am both anti-work and in some ways, I never stop working.
I am perpetually re-reminded to follow my intuition, that following what feels good will always lead me home. Close to my place is a venue called Anjos 70 where there has been live music every day this month. I went one afternoon to drink a beer and listen to some music.
I love cumbia. It is grounded, ancestrally connected, and it also has this fuck around and find out energy. It’s a punk-rock party from the depths of being.
I have underdeveloped thoughts about connections between cumbia and the folk music of northern Brazil, and the way music proliferates in diasporic branches. The way it lives. A story I love about cumbia’s evolution is that cumbia rebajada came about by accident… at a Mexican party where there were technical issues with the amplifier and turntable. Things overheated, the music slowed down, and people loved it. For a firsthand account of this story, check out the below video. At about 9:00, Gabriel Dueñez of Sonido Dueñez talks about the malfunction that led to cumbia rebajada.
I’m reminded of a rachel rabbit white poem titled “The universe was an accident.” I fucking love that. Like, oops! And the cosmos is born.
How much of all this is an accident-- how much is by design? I think I’m in the camp of more accidents. And the accumulation of accidents creates a design, only seen in retrospect. Or, not all at once.
*
like any great waveform
Eyes like diving pools
Saturated with blood wide
Limbs for after buzzing prescience
I too had dreams that made me tender and bend to rivers edge how many times
I prefer the story of the moth and the star to Icarus. You either fly too close to the sun and melt or chase an impossible love. Except the lamps burned the sun burned the lamps are easy loves it’s good the moth chased an impossible love because had she gotten close to the star she too would have burned. I remember that the sun is a star only closer.
I care no more about whether the words are good whether they are beautiful. I’m a lush for good archways shapes and portals I am always elsewhere in this waking dream of dense vibes and my electric heart I show my throat I open my eyes
I’m all trap doors and changing locks.
“You could neither know nor reach me”
And still there are moments
I stand too still a map fans out around me in meridians and parallels
Like a medieval wolf trap I’m running down that hill
(Momentum, a pit of spikes)
Like Kate Bush I’m running up that hill
(so nice)
My soul is gentle piano chords
A scaffolded jungle gym of almost
Am I willing
Am I able
I should move back to a place I’ve never loved before
buy a stone ruin in my grandmother’s birthplace
All this commotion all this migration to land back at the beginning
Experimental in my longing who knows how many collateral miles. I make choices too and I live with them. My family of choices.
My uterus snaps under a pink super moon in Scorpio the corona touches my lining I arrive early
I’m always arriving early
Mossy like the hours
Contemplative
Mary with the wax tears
Mary with her clothes fall off
Mary with her unbelievable proclamation
The further north I go the more likely I am to turn into an olive grove
The more likely I am to lose language
*
Writing update: I did a podcast interview with Late Modernity which will be released this summer. Here’s a short blog post I wrote for their site.
Currently listening to:
Woman (feat. Cleo Sol) by Little Simz ~
Currently reading:
Polysecure: Attachment, Trauma and Consensual Nonmonogamy by Jessica Fern — Really solid text that weaves together attachment theory and polyamory!
Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative by Jane Alison — I’ve been reading this book slowly since the start of the pandemic actually. I’m almost done and I don’t want it to end.
Current pet peeve:
When people say “I did a thing” on social media and the thing is like got engaged or married or bought a car or defended a dissertation. Just say what you did!! It’s a big deal!! <3333
Currently donating to:
https://mutualaidindia.com/ — a vetted compilation of campaigns and solidarity networks addressing the current COVID crisis in India.
Thank you so much for reading and spending part of your day with me! This monthly newsletter is always going to be free. I’m considering creating a paid tier eventually, maybe within the next month or so, with some extra goodies inside. In the meantime, if you’d like to buy me a coffee or support my houseplant addiction, my venmo is @duffylala
xxoo beijinhos!