fromthemouthofmoi

Decades ago I had my uterus out. It was riddled with huge fibroids and I bled constantly. My uterus had been a nightmare for me. I have no regrets that it is no longer providing me with pain. Before surgery I asked my doctor if I could have it once it was removed. She game me an emphatic, No. I then asked her if she would at least take a picture of it and to this she agreed. I never thought about why I wanted it so persistently until the other day, when speaking with Sue, she asked me what it meant to me to have a picture. I was quick to answer: Because it was a part of me and I wanted my parts with me. I wanted to see what had buggered me for so many years. It was mine and not the property of a hospital.  I demand to be whole. I want to be whole. I want to leave this world whole. I want my bits with me when I go. I've heard from enough professionals that any treatment I might engage in will not leave me with any quality time worth the effort. I have no intentions of having my guts...

Nil has encouraged me to come back here. I haven't felt like writing here for ages. In some ways, I guess, I know that some of what I might write will be some of the last things I write and that sort of tangles me up a bit because it creates a type of writers stage fright. I think these remaining posts will just be less focused.  There are things I want to write to my brothers, final things, that I'm not looking for a response to. It's just what I wish for them. I feel like I'm leaving them in a mess, not my mess mind you, but a mess created by our mother, that once learned as children, they can't seem to unlearn the dynamic. My family behaves like that television series Succession. A quagmire of competition, resentment and secrets. My eldest brother once filmed our mother, and asked her why she had so many kids. On film her reply was that she wanted us to have someone to talk to. Her example given, if I remember correctly, was something along the lines of: You know...

The other day I woke to a news article/video on The BBC: The Dumping Ground for Unwanted Clothes  that left me wondering what in God's name was the point of recycling? Don't get me wrong, I am not against recycling but I probably don't do it for the reasons you do. To save the planet? Good luck with that! A while back someone made an offhand comment to me regarding their 'travel footprint' and having some concerns about their contribution, through air travel, towards global warming. The ever present bubble over my head which in this case trailed an ellipsis, asked: I wonder how hard it is to join the Amish... I secretly wondered how 'guilt' had become so complicated. As a Catholic I was like, really? Are people really going to confession now and confessing they went to Florida for the winter on a plane? I am saving my feelings of guilt for other stuff that seems way more important than my travel footprint or how many plastic bags I use. I am only interested ...

Leaving Facebook, deactivating my profile, feels like a relief. All of the people I was friends with are wonderful people in their own right. I truly cherish them all. But some of them I honestly believe I will never hear from again not because we are not friends but because Facebook has trained people out of communication. If Facebook is not there it will never occur to some to write a letter or send an email or FaceTime me. It's scary. What I found to be troublesome was how much FB pressured people to know this person, or join this group or to get involved with things outside of your group of friends. On the surface that looks all community-like, harmless and chummy but the fact of the matter is those other places on Facebook and those other people I may know are really fucked up places to be with really fucked up people who take angry and hate to a new level. Those other places is where crazy lives. I dipped my toe into a local group in my community run by Yucatecans.  I thought...

Imagine if you will a group of artists that come together, sometimes virtually, sometimes face to face to work on a project. Imagine further that at other times, in other spaces, other artists will again gather to create. Imagine that the house that they create in is called Tral Neu.  Guest artists, in alphabetical order, are: Richard Anderson : Is a London based artist who combines music with visual art under the name, This Is The Bridge . His work explores dystopian/social themes and urban landscapes with a particular interest in brut architecture. Gran Bankrott (aka Gran): Is described as a Viennese Wunderkind experimentalist. Formally with the experimental punk group Dot Dash, most recently recording under the name Starship Skysaw and one half of the S/M performance duo, 2 Pigs Under 1 Umbrella.  Moira Kirstin Boyd: Is a former New Yorker living in The Yucatan. She is a formally trained bel canto singer and has collaborated with other artists within the underground music ...

I am in a dental office and I am a dental assistant. I am one of three. I am waiting to go in with the next patient and assist the dentist who is a very old, plump and a mildly senile Anthony Hopkins. When I finally go in I see that Hopkins has the most exquisite nose I’ve ever seen and I fall in love with his nose. I am seduced. He must notice this because he begins to flirt with me. Over an oral examination with a patient I become involved with Anthony Hopkins. He has invited me to his home to share Thanksgiving. He has not invited the other dental assistants. In his home are three of his grandchildren, all adult women, his son, and his daughter in law. We have a lovely thanksgiving meal and then we go to sit in the living room. Anthony nods off to sleep, his head falling back, and his mouth full open and making saliva gurgling sounds. It is then that I see he is kind of too old for me. He wakes up and begins to flirt with me again and this time he kisses me. I get sight of his nose...

In my mind, planning to go shopping next Wednesday is no different from saying next Wednesday I might die. Both are possibilities and both may or may not happen. The only difference is that my plans to spend money at Macy's can be visualized whereas dying and being dead can't. We have this idea that when we die our loved ones with greet us on the other side. Are 'loved ones' people we loved? People who loved us or some sort of mutual love? Does one have to have known someone personally in order to find them on the other side? I have huge plans to expand who greets me after death. I want to see my father again and Blanche. (If you are alive as I write this I am not even considering you at this point). I'd like to see my Aunt Charlotte too. There are quite a few people that I've known, now dead, no animosity felt, but I could care less if I ever see them again but if they need to see me, that's fine. We can do a little nosh one day. But I want to see Buster Ke...