Photo Interlude
What's been hiding in the closets
Hey friends!
The day that this newsletter is scheduled to come out, possibly the day you are reading this, is, conveniently, the day before I am officially moving to Bloomington, Indiana. One thing that has been delightful in all the brain-melting stress of moving is coming across objects that I have in my possession, some of which I’ve saved since early childhood, which are silly and/or confusing and/or hilarious. On several occasions I looked upon an object and had absolutely no memory of its previous place in my life. Some objects I looked at and asked, genuinely, what is actually wrong with me?? It’s wild to see what makes up a life, I wrote last time about these things being proof that my life is my life but it is a very strange feeling to see my life made physical in this way. Sometimes that feeling is pure disorientation - what version of me saved this thing and why?? What was the plan, or even the impulse? Sometimes the feeling is a recognition so sharp it made me gasp out loud. Either way, moving is a revealing way to see oneself.
So I thought it might be fun to document some of the funny, weird, confusing things that I came across in this process along the way, photo-essay-style. And my brain is slowly melting into a soup which makes it hard to think thoughts or find words. As awful and stressful as moving is, my friend Sarah reminded me recently that it is finite: even if you had to move all of your belongings across the country in a single frying pan, at some point you would be done, she said. I’m clinging to that wisdom, and grateful that I don’t have to do that! Enjoy some snippets -
I am basically a little squirrel that picks up things I like, stashes them and then promptly forgets. I found whole boxes just full of rocks and shells, from where I don’t even know. I found this cup with little bones in it as I was packing, a great example. I think the bones are from a possum or an armadillo that my friend Dana and I found walking along the railroad tracks in Atlanta. But the corn kernels?? Absolutely no idea.
My friend Patrick (hi Patrick!!) was laughing hysterically when he gave me this little painting and told me it made him think of me. One of the many gifts of friendship is being seen by other people. It says “Dog With Breasts” on the backside. I still love Dog With Breasts.
I miss mixtapes, man - and I miss when making your friends a mix CD was as regular as conversation. My only CD player now is in the car and I love driving around throwing on old mixes made by friends across the years - it’s like taking a geologic core sample of a time in my life. The playlist for this one is only for those initiated into the Franzia-drenched Thursday night dance parties in Ally’s dorm room circa 2005.
This is a spell I did to try to help me quit smoking, around 2017 I think. In the kitchen of my friend Dana’s little house at the Hambidge residency we melted the wax of this votive candle and stuffed a ripped-up American Spirits package with some cigarettes and pine needles from around the cabin. I was desperate at that point, I hoped that creating a static, ritual object would seal off the desire to continue smoking forever. And you know what? It didn’t work right away but at this point it’s been at least six years since my last cigarette. But I feel like I can never get rid of this thing?? What if I do and then am suddenly possessed by the urge to smoke?? Better safe than sorry, I say.
This is my diary from when I was eight years old! I am so glad I have this funny little artifact. Early seeds of what would become a lifelong habit of journaling.
Do all writers have this same problem? I try to keep a series of orderly notebooks for various kinds of writing but I keep coming across little scraps of paper like this where inspiration clearly struck and I wrote on whatever was nearby. I wonder if this line ever made it into a poem. No idea!
I miss MySpace. What a simpler time. This was the vibe on my page circa 2002 or so - obviously taking trying to look cool ~*~extremely seriously~*~. L-O-L indeed!!
I think my dad made this when he was five years old. It lives in the reliquary with all the most prized possessions. It is so weird-looking and I love it.
This was Jordan’s grandmother’s when she was a little girl in the 1920s. Halloween was creepier before we were alive, let’s bring some of that back.
Okay that’s it for this time, friends! I would love to hear about the strange tchotchkes you’ve got stashed in your closets. Next time I’ll write you from Indiana, where hopefully a couple of my brain cells will have assembled themselves enough to string a few more sentences together.
Be safe be seeds,
<3 Mere