on my way home i'm thinking perhaps i should have reread aime cesaires Cahier d'un retour au pays natal and perhaps i wouldn't have had such heartbreak this weekend. its my love of the sentence and repetition that is slowly corroding my insides. and also the video i took at a bar that i can't stop playing on repeat because i can't quite make out what is being said. if that is not a metaphor then no metaphors. it's all there on video and i still can't understand.
the aristides have landed in haiti today. and the president addresses his people in multiple languages. if we don't salvage our dignity our dignity will be gone.
here are things I wrote down during my homecoming:
if i can only explain myself via dream, and further, the explanation of an explanation of a dream then meaning is an impossible thing. language and image are not the only ways to make a life. but I've been contaminated.
the feelings were uncontrollable when i got to baton rouge. as feelings are for me. and i had them all. including the ones that made my face hurt in happiness. delirium. and the ones that made me shake at night and tremble the air mattress.
theres gotta be a way to live a life away from language. but the fever for it. the sickness i get from you. and from form. first distrustful. now sick with it.
the love was overwhelming. hollowing. like something that roars. and during a conversation by the levy, i know my question is about being a human being when often i just want to be animal. animus. receive love in the way terrain does. i'm sorry, this makes no sense yet.
but again, reading from akilah it was so real for me-- we have love we have love we have love we have love we have love we have oh oh oh oh ohho oh angels.
why is it that some times in your life things are so easy to love and you will love them all your life? because they are your family.
i should know the trajectory here.
from far away the parade looked like an explosion i was willing to dive into. i ran to it with open arms. and later i said something about the sun burning me and how much i wanted that. its clear i associate love with pain, but for today I'm okay with that. perhaps because i'm happy.
OOOOH WEEEE. on thursday, i took a picture of JG thinking that i could capture it. on sunday, i take a picture of MC with a baby in her lap and decide that i'm giving up on the photograph again.
in an interview, someone confuses the aristides' exile as 7 days when it had been 7 years because recollection/recollecting renders things congruent somehow. so i was in br for 89 hours. but it turns into this: it is a difficult thing to be human and make choices.