Wire’s rules of negative self-definition, 1977
1. no solos
2. no decoration
3. when the words run out, it stops
4. no chorusing out
5. no rocking out
6. keep to the point
7. no americanisms
This year there was no tree; no lights; no gifts; no family; no steamed cranberry pudding with hard sauce. What remained of our holiday spirit was the annual Christmas weed for the guys on the trash truck. You never want to piss them off.
He was in a dark place. Actually, a black hole.
The next level in luxury, disease-free living.
A few more moments of oblivion
before facing it all.
Time passed. Oh, how it passed.
For years I proceeded as if my activity had significance—a toddler solemnly pretend-working with blocks.
He grew up with few expectations. He accepted tolerance in place of love, and survival as success.
In the future, kimchi will be the only currency.
We usually tried to avoid his visits, which often felt weighted with some unspecified tension or grievance. Later I learned that throughout this period he’d been in dreadful pain, and that our times together had been among the few things that distracted him from his suffering.
It had taken her three days to process his words, and now she couldn’t breathe. It was like she was drowning—drowning in air.
