I made another bag to give out to a person begging on the street. I’m now out of hand sanitizer, little toothpastes, tissue packets, individually wrapped plastic spoons, and dollar bills. I thought I had more stuff than that. It’s good not to accumulate too much, but I was surprised.
I finished a draft of Lost Child 3 two hours ago. I really like it and believe in it. I have a satisfied feeling that I wrote something beautiful. I wrote something meaningful that never existed before.
I like the quote: “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.” —Muriel Rukeyser
Ming’s in the middle of proofreading it–he got up to I. It’s an alphabet zine. He liked “eggs” especially.
However, I’m making so many zines lately, I can’t keep up with myself. It’s getting ridiculous. I have zines still to bind from months ago.
I might have run out of a special treehouse for fat people already. Maybe I’m flooding people. Not sure what to do about that.
Maybe we should rename our house The Zine Factory. Maybe we should make a zine store in the lounge. I’m imagining zines on a bookshelf, set out attractively. We could call it Zinery for the People, or Semi-Free Zines to Nourish Your Thought-Life.
What could the payment be? How about people pay in little bottles of hand sanitizer, little toothpastes, tissue packets, individually wrapped plastic spoons. Sometimes I suggest trades and people just want to give money. I say yes because I don’t want to be a butt and the zines need to be read.
What if a pricetag said “one hour of your time helping out” or “an interpretive dance about fish learning how to fly” or “one pot of fresh delicious vegan soup.” I think people are busy. They wouldn’t do it. Who knows.
“Flowers from your garden” or “write me a letter afterward with your thoughts about something you read in the zine.” “A poem about anything you learned today.”
I had these small old fashioned notecards–they seemed from the 1960s maybe. There were pink envelopes and grayish lavender notecards with one edge torn, fancy style. The paper was cottony and luxurious.
I got them at a thrift store long ago. I was using them to write the notes on, for the bags for the begging people. I used the last one tonight.
I liked that they were way more beautiful than cheapass dollar store notecards. I hoped the recipients would feel special. But now they’re all gone. Life is full of goodbyes. But you gotta cycle through stuff.
I can be so critical. I read something today that my personality type can be scathing. That’s a thing I struggle with. Being honest but not mean–I’m usually not mean out loud, but in my head. I want to be generous and kind. But I can be hella judgmental. I’m sure people can feel it, and I’m sorry.
Long ago, Ming and I got into an argument about vampires. I was so upset–I could tell you about it, but it’s embarrassing, and I don’t know if you would believe me.
Recently I was on etsy looking at zines and saw a vampire zine, and I ended up getting a copy for Ming. It was my way of saying sorry and trying to make peace with that badness in me. I don’t know if he realized it. “Sorry I was mean about vampires three years ago. Have a zine.”
The floor in the kitchen feels cool to my feet as I walk on it. Fall is a trip–the change of seasons alone could trigger some extreme states. The wheel keeps turning.
I took some 3am selfies.
Do these flowers look impossibly gorgeous, or is it just me?