I will do nothing

Today is USAmerican Independence Day, and I will do nothing, in deliberate protest. Will anyone even notice? I’m no longer convinced people in the world care about or have even heard of the United States. Justice Kennedy is retiring and President Trump has the opportunity to appoint yet another Supreme Court justice, and I don’t know anyone here to talk about it with, anyone who wouldn’t stare at my mouth as the sounds came out, both of us considering a question of reality and/or having gotten it wrong. I want to put quotation marks around all of these proper nouns, which are something people made up and getting a little fuzzy around the edges in my mind.

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I am in some club — café is in the name but it is not one — with Beto and Slim and some musicmates of theirs. Everything is smeary and loud and terrific, especially the audio in here, and Beto is telling me he learned to dance real good in his life in New Orleans. I see it. Am I writing? I think yes. It is a labor, but important. It is my meaning.

Earlier on the phone with Darwin, an idea happened — I know it was an idea — I wanted a piece of pizza and I told him that I needed to stop our conversation temporarily so I could go get a piece of pizza and when I rounded the corner in that Barri Gòtic piso with the interior all white like cocaine where we are staying, I guess, to where the pizza was, there was Aurelio taking a picture of a tattoo on his ankle of a piece of pizza — but I don’t know what to do with it. This is a great idea. I can tell.

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a wonderful storyteller

I said,

What if one day again we have a life where we see each other outside of the computer-phone and its applications?

Tonight I made hummus by fork out of chick peas cooked over a wood fire.

She said,

Rachel you are such a wonderful storyteller.

I said,

So far my manuscript is eighteen pages and that’s just from transcribing about seven days of texting with you and four days of texting with Darwin.

It’s sort of a big mess, but I am trying to remember your words, or the broader implication of them.

The mess doesn’t matter now, even if it means I have to look at myself writing in the STUPID WRONG FONT.

The form is informed by the process.

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