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Autobiography With One Lie

Written 06-06-14
My father was born in Guanajay, in Pinar del Rio Province, East of Havana, the part of the island that would be the heel if Cuba was actually a woman's shoe.
I used to worry that he came from a place that means turkey, or is similar to the word for turkey, guanajo, in the same way I worried that my name Maritza was already a diminutive, and what would I be called when I grew up?
I worried a lot about things that I thought might mark me as odd, or reveal me as odd.

daily:

Missing

What do yu do when all of life is making do?
Today Lucas was very happy because he got the walls bilt. "I'm someone who can make fire from nothing." He was euphoric. He's been feeling his way to life out of the ground. What's been missing in his life is room, and welcome.
If he wasn't fierce, a fighter, he'd be dead.
I called him to ask him, "I saw a guy today, driving. What is a guy your age doing sucking a blue pacifier while driving a car he almost hits me with when he left turns?"
Lucas laughed. "It's something people used to do back in the day."

daily:

Retreat 10-25-15

daily:

02 09 08 Memoir Writing with Alf

Memory of the color red

I remember the frozen blood on the corner of 54th street, on the street side, and on the avenue side. I'd seen blood on the sidewalk before. I always wondered the story behind it, what tragedy, what violence. This was the blood of someone I know, I knew. I can't remember his real name, Orlando maybe. His street name I don't know how to write, DMO. I never feel comfortable with the street names because I'm not a street person. The real names feel too intimate, an invasion. Who was he, somebody in between those two names. He was a little scary because he was so big. One time he walked into my bedroom very drunk, confused, looking for the bathroom. I was told he had a beautiful singing voice and that Lucas had recorded him, or that it was sad because Lucas never had and now he was dead.

01 26 08 Vehicular Suicide

At the wake at De Riso's there's a backroom with three little boys doing cartwheels and two little girls running around. One is the daughter of the deceased, Jason Gonzalez or Sniper. The girl, Briana, is around ten years old. So when she was born he was 20. For many of those years he was in prison. He was good at breaking and entering. But he was especially good at stealing cars. He looked very small in the coffin although I remember him as tall. Was part of the body missing from the car accident? Or broken and put into the coffin in pieces. He died on impact driving fast on Fort Hamilton Parkway and 44th street in Sunset Park at 3 or so on the morning of January 22nd, 2008. That's almost four years to the day after DMO was stabbed and kicked to death on the Avenue around the corner from my house. He dropped dead across the street, maybe trying to get to us for help.

12 25 & 12 26 07

12 25 07
I’m in the breakfast room of the La Quinta Inn South in Tallahassee. It’s an ok motel, a few notches below the Hampton Inn which means the breakfast doesn’t have any boiled eggs or sausage patties. Every single thing here has sugar or corn syrup except the hot drinks and hopefully the juices.

Release time is over

01-03-07

So sleepy I could lie down on the carpet in my office right now and go to sleep.

First day back at work. The Commissioner is moved over to the Bloomberg Family Foundation.

I'm trying to remember jokes

Sick Again

12 19 06
Another cold. Chest, head, nose..Not like the last one where I felt I couldn't move. This one I feel feverish, but don't crave sleep. I've been having lots of odd dreams. I have to sleep propped up on three pillows because I can't breathe. (Thinking of the story W told me of the woman who choked to death on her own phlegm. Lots of those this is what a deathbed must feel like thoughts.) I'm at work although I shouldn't be because I'm afraid to be home sick this time around. Most times I long to be home when I'm sick. I'm afraid of being attacked by food. Of killing myself with food.

Gone in 40 years: the global icecap

12 12 06
Brain dead, besieged, erased..within moments of walking in, even with the beautiful white xmas plant that the 41st st mensches gave me for my birthday...

E said the planning meeting for tomorrow was unpleasant, he had no voice..

Sixty

12 11 06

Sixty years old inwardly 12 or younger
At the party I asked for appreciations
and I may remember some of what they said

Gina: Good friend, good listener, dynamic vibrant an inspiration hopes hopes she can be like me at 60, I've gone to all of her performances from the very beginning...ooh I'm present when I'm there I'm fully there

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