A half-written love letter to S and THAT MAN NEEDED TO KNOW HIS LIFE WAS WORTH LIVING WITHOUT THE $300 000.00. You must think I'm crazy. It was the whole second act in a play about Melanie Green, someone who suffers from a condition which has left her trapped in The Cat Body.
“Hello, on March 8th I left a cotton canvas tote bag at gate D55 on a connecting flight to Düsseldorf from Vancouver Via Heathrow.”
I only know the gate number and you only know the terminal numbers. We are talking about the same place like it is many different places. It feels hopeless. I will do something tomorrow. Do I have to do something every day? The leaf does not float, it is blown. I lost the original anyways. I can only tell you about it now.
I remember writing one night that fear of pain dominates the process of healing and recovery.
In it I am so relaxed. I am sitting in my childhood home talking to my childhood sweetheart. The love letter to S was a monologue I recite as we walk down the alley to the ice rink together. I hold your arm tight to me and motion towards the soccer posts and tell you I remember some tongues getting frozen to poles over there.
It’s hard for me not to assume a persona as I write to you. I am more composed, for sure. I also left here almost twelve years ago so it’s easier for me to relate as a child or a teenager.
I can see it now. It began on the bed. Laying next to my mother. I imagine her sickness is contagious as I reach into the bowl of almonds we share. I feel awful for hesitating, even mentally. But I keep thinking about contracting my own mortality as if I have not been diagnosed with my own. Her body, trapped in bed, resembles an infant — like the baby that comes into the world — with its knees high underneath the arms. Her hips are wide open so that the leg, bent at the knee, can almost lay flat with the back. It seems comfortable for her undamaged leg to mirror the one which had been elevated above her heart. I ask you if you think its natural to stop touching our mothers as much after we develop sexually?” When did we stop having such good hugs?
Before that, I am in the room down the hall from her and I find a box of old photographs and a note which reads: October 20th, 1992. We were sitting looking at the moon one morning before the sun came up. You were five years old and this is what you said to me, “Mom look at the pretty moon! Can you imagine if we lost the moon? Did you know some cities lose the moon? Like Los Angeles. The moon gives out its blue light from inside and brings the blue sky in the morning.” Now our roles are inverted. It fundamentally disrupts the dynamic of our relationship. We increasingly rely on technologies other than our self.
It was all related to The Cat Body. A Cyborg [which] appears in myth exactly where the boundary between human and animal is transgressed. Melanie green — a political myth with no origin in the western sense — was inspired by my mother. The illegitimate offspring of militarism and patriarchal capitalism, not to mention state socialism. I am the bastard child. As illegitimate offspring, we are often exceedingly unfaithful to [our] origins. [Our] fathers, after all, are inessential.
I had and in some ways still do aspire to a life without the relative boarders of geography. But air travel is an oppressive environment. It is difficult to be moved like that. I call K, she has everything. An escalation of social conflicts created popular rebellions against military and bureaucratic elites during the 1960’s. An escalation of political oppression was the response. By the 1970s Benzodiazepine was the most commonly prescribed drug in the world. A type of therapy which is predicated on the idea that traumatic events can be repressed. The implication is that anything that can’t be remembered is the result of trauma.
Your bone marrow makes too many red blood cells and these excess cells thicken your blood. The needles are too dull and they hurt when they enter your skin. Half of pain is the fear of being alive. The pain medication upsets your stomach. I get new pills for you almost every day.
I take everything you say too personally so we watch TV when we are tired of loving. The terrible cost of binary trading fraud: Frederick Turbide’s final words, “I’ve lost my house, my retirement money, and my business, damn you.” You tell me he needed to know life was worth living without that money. Then you ask me if I have ever heard about the money my grandfather learned about losing before he died? In the days leading up to his death, he learned that a man with a lame leg had stolen a quarter of a million dollars from him over the course of their lifelong relationship. A phone call reached the office with the news that my father had killed himself as the man with the lame leg was being confronted for stealing the money. That wasn’t why he did what he did. Of course, it was everything that led up to that point but it was ironic because it was about contradictions that do not resolve into larger wholes, even dialectically, it was about the tension of holding incompatible things together because both or all are necessary and true.
I leave the day after her birthday. Saying goodbye is emotional. A certain part of me is eroded when I am away from you. I sit in the airport and drink a glass of wine and a beer. I swallow three-quarters of the pill K brings me.
I am still recounting what happened to me after that. It was bad. I remember sitting down in the aisle seat before departure. Then they serve yogurt and banana bread before the plane lands in London. I notice small white spots dried on the crotch of my pants as the plane taxis to the gate. Had the fog condensed on my lips, dripping from above my lap. I don't even remember anyone waking me to use the lavatory. I must have been drooling. My memories are of waking up, but I don't ever remember falling asleep. I learn that when mixing alcohol and Benzos people experience an amnesic state while appearing completely lucid. I remember finding a Pret a Manger inside terminal two and stealing some cold pressed juices and a sandwich. I sit down in the back of the store and eat the sandwich and drink all of the juice. I look for the departure gate on the monitors located inside the terminal but it hasn't been assigned yet. The next moment I can recall is waking up somewhere else in the terminal, the monitor says that the pre-boarding has begun. I locate the gate and then board the plane. I realize the bag is still in the terminal. I can’t get off the plane the door has been sealed.