33 Theses on Sheer Thursday a Week Early

Poetry Mar 30, 2023

2023 03 30 232937 33 Theses

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/5:27

Things noticed today (including several kinds of magic):

The angle of the sun has shifted enough that it hits the dining room table earlyish in the morning again, after a month of emerging late from behind the big ugly building down the block
But the sun comes up pretty late regardless because the Andes are so tall
Speaking of sunlight, the crisp latticed shadow of a crane rubbing across the face of an old apartment building downtown
How loud it must be to live on that wide old avenue, with construction to boot
The running rustling sound of a spiky seed ball falling though the branches of its tree

The anger I can’t shake when a friend who needs a place to crash isn't allowed to use my roommate’s bed while they’re gone for the month because my roommate says they’re “pretty sensitive to energies”
That pop, me-first spirituality is an excuse for selfishness and egotism
But organized religion has been, too, for as long as I can tell. And for much worse
But dear god, why kill kids?
I’m angry with a trans person killed by police on the other side of the world
See how those who would destroy us, even here on the underside of the world, will use this death against us
A fearful and selfish response to loss
The androgynous gray-haired cyclist in fluorescent orange whose backpack says T4T— the brand name, in black, is T4, and someone has added another T beside it, in silver marker
The three times I almost cried, but didn’t quite: listening to Lana del Rey’s new album, talking to my therapist about the radical community in Tucson I miss, listening to Caroline Rose’s new album
Ugh, the homophobic megachurch pastor featured on Lana’s album really isn’t that deep tho, and what was the need
Opening my new friend’s book to read the final pages and encountering a piece that describes exactly what I’ve just been trying to explain to my therapist about hypocrisy and community and sharing; my own imperfection

The “NEW! Mega Crunchy Cappuccino” sign which appeared outside the mini-market below my therapist’s office the week after I decided to replace my post-session journaling with post-session ice cream
And She bethought, wouldn’t a chocolate-covered coffee ice cream bar be something, and Lo!, the hand of the market worked magic
A sliver of doubt wonders if it wasn’t the other way around, advertising being a sort of magic, too
The faded half moon above the even more faded mountains, smog being one of those presences felt through absence, and the lungs
A crooked tree that looks like a person with a hand on their hip leaning over a bike path I frequently ride, never before noticed
Why don’t my grandparents call me, why do I always have to call them?
Probably because I pick up pretty infrequently
Please call me
It feels like autumn, really, and a bit suddenly, this week
Hello, melancholy, haha
Riding my bike at high speed down the riverside while the bushytail grasses glow can always make me delight
Which is magic and medicine
And annoying as hell (how well exercise works)

Why is the transubstation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ holy, while the transition of my body into myself, a woman, is a sin
I believe more in magic than in miracles, more in animisim than in theism
I like seeing people devour each other’s faces at the park in the dwindling light, even when they’re straight
Is my left knee just going to hurt like this from now on? I thought I’d given the inflammation enough time to go down, but arriving home, it returns

Merry trans day of vengeance.

Text of photo-excerpts from Efe Tapia's Diario Non Diario (2020):

Te quería tanto y tan fuerte. No sé si escribir que estoy o
estaba enamorada de ti, aún no lo tengo claro.

Pienso en este amor y aun creo que existe
O al menos que existe en la medida que estemos en el
mismo espacio tiempo
Me gusta pensar que existirá cuando nuestros cuerpos
estén en el mismo lugar
No sé si escribirte con la familiaridad de un amigo o la
complicidad de un amante
Me gusta saber que ambas opciones habitan en ti
Me gustaba yo misma estando contigo
Pero ahora es difícil decir todo eso en presente
Porque somos otras, porque todo ha cambiado
El contexto, la historia, la vida
Factors externos median quiénes somos ahora
Y, a pesar de que mi corazón se vuelve tibio al pensar en ti,
No puedo prometer nada de lo que prometimos antes.
Cada palabra parece una ilusión muy naif para lo que el
mundo es ahora.

El flechazo fue porque te compré una polera
Y la frase que decía es sino y signo de nuestro romance:
Entre más pienso en el futuro más prefiero el presente.
Y aunque trato de habitar el aquí y ahora,
No evito pensar en este amor como en esos paraisos

08.06.20

Tengo que actuar desde el amor.
Pero me cuesta no desprenderlo del enojo y la rabia, del
egoísmo que siempre acecha.

Ayer probé ácido por primera vez y después de una
hermosa experiencia visual, entendiendo que todo es 360°,
olvidé ese aprendizaje a las horas y volví a mi modo de
visión en primer persona.

No sé trabajar en grupo o más bien no sé ser líder, no creo
en el liderazgo, no me gusta, no me acomoda, pero ¿cómo?
Si todes vamos a comer, ¿por qué no cocinamos todes?
Intento la acción comunitaria, pero en una comunidad
que quizá no quiere serlo. Distintos modos, falta de
comunicación, siempre la clave para que las cosas no
funcionen bien y ese mismo silencio hace que las palabras
dichas suenen con poco amor.

Escucho a les otres y escucho que falta amor. No sé si
quiero compartir el mío y esta energía se estanca, aprendo
a remover mis propios egoísmos. Soy egoísta, lo sé. Cada
acción me lo recuerda y me duele en los otros el reflejo
de mí misma. Es decepción y pena por la incapacidad de
romper el cristal. No es fácil, implica tempo y dedicación
y cuidado.