Dangerous Compassions


I asked Ming for some watered down orange juice.  “Like one fifth orange juice,” I said.  I was working on a zine about my mom dying, feeling a lot of feelings.  I’d been up for three hours but didn’t have breakfast.

“I’ll get you a jigger of orange juice,” he said.

“Oh, cool.  Then would I go into the Great Gatsby?  I could become a rich white guy.  I’d need a monocle too.”  I thought of a green light at the end of a pier or something.  The ennui and angst of the privileged.

High school English classes did a shitty job preparing me for the life I would actually live, by the way.  I’m not going to be a white guy in the tundra needing to build a fire with my last match or I’ll die!

I guess someone thought those lessons were universal.  I’m not thinking of the lessons, more the feelings.

Things are probably different now.  Probably in school they read zines now.  Hopefully good ones.

I was talking to Ming about capitalism while we rode our bikes, t’other day.  I said something about the plutocracy.  “Oh wait, what’s that.  Rule by people who are really far away?”

“Rule by the underworld,” Ming said.

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.  I think I meant oligarchy.”  We got to a stop sign.  I paid attention.  “I think I meant rule by people who have money.  Moneygarchy.”

That’d be cool if we were ruled by a bunch of old ladies named Olga.  Olgagarchy.  Or how about if we were ruled by nobody.

My friend is going to make art for a zine of mine.  We mentioned assignments.  I can love them so much, despite being an anarchist.  How much freedom can I have within the structure of this requirement?  I can do amazing things, hemmed in, that I otherwise wouldn’t have done.

The roses were blooming ridiculously.  I was wearing my cardigan and felt a little teachery.  I was also feeling a little spazzy.  I think we’re not supposed to use that word, because it’s an actual medical thing, and it’s unkind to the people with that difficulty.

How do I say that idea?  How about…I was feeling inappropriately reactive in an energetic erratic way.  But that doesn’t have a z in it.

I like how it looked like the roses were trying to eat Ming.

Our queer little Seder was my first home Seder.  I think it was pretty good.  Maybe we can do better next year.

All my life I was so excited about rose windows.  I would stare at them, so charmed. Yesterday I realized they’re mandalas.  I wanted to draw one, yesterday, so looked up rose windows on google images, and I was like, oh.  They’re mandalas.  No wonder I like them.

I ran out of gluesticks, so I’m using white glue and a paintbrush.  Seems ok.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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