My latest nervous breakdown is about my mother, but it’s also about monsters, in a good way. Hence the title snipped from Bladerunner:
I think about the instability of polarities, how to be at our most human and alive is paradoxically to resemble an exquisite corpse. Remade at every turn, scarred and burned, and fuck you very much, here I am.
read more, here.
Unable to face the word count needed for today I head up to the local café. I hitch the dog to a post. Enter. Faces look up. I head for the counter only to find that it’s not my usual barista-the-writer. But the waiter-who-paints is there, so I give him my order. I count out some change. We share a joke about a centenary coin celebrating the anniversary of the Australian Taxation Office. It’s a twenty-cent piece. I stand to one side and wait for my coffee. I pretend not to notice a man at a wall table staring at me. His grin is ironic and toxically cool.
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