It’s being a strange week. The stimulation from multiple writer’s festival sessions in the weekend has kinda tore up my insides somehow. My brain and my heart feel minced. A live poetry slam rendered me wounded but grateful, tears of relating, tears of trauma, tears of lost fathers and genders and Maori (af) conch shells. I lost my conch shell a long time ago and to be fair I didn’t really cry about it, not exactly.
It’s sometimes hard living in a cross-cultural multi-ethnic body, that’s all.
I unfollowed a guy on instagram and he emailed me about it.
”Why did you do that?” He asked.
I run a community art project and a woman emailed me four words:
“I can’t log in.”
There’s such a fantastic ambiguity in that statement from a stranger. No other explanation, no context, it sounds almost existential.
Someone else the same day emailed and said;
“I didn’t know I had to register boo hoo.”
I don’t know what to say to her in reply, except probably nothing.