“one of the most transformative periods of a person’s life.”There was the phone that was a hole that held an echo. I could not get it up for anything. The voices multiplied in the hole and I pretended to listen. Instead of listening, I let the low hum, the one that said, _Come, come_, from that other place, enter me. Its infusion in my blood lulled me. The phone fell away. Falling down the side of the mountain, tumbling into warm crevices of earth. Leaving all evidence without a thought. Ready, willing, to go down and when down, go further.
I found my second escape hatch. Located my way out.
Went back to the work of letting the darkness upend what little silly life I’d created and stood by, shushed my blood, remembered I am here. For something.
Wants:Freedom, security. Clarity, obfuscation. Endless nourishment, lean starvation. The stink of sweaty hair, the ripping of wax off skin. Sweetness, coldness. Luxury, austerity. To be petted, to be smacked. Reproduction, sterility. Limbs modestly arranged, spreading of legs as wide as they’ll allow. Warm feelings, exile. Sauvignon blanc, smoky whiskey. Even keel, chaos. Gauzy hippie dress, black brocade gown. Soft pelts, welts.
“personal power is mobilized”Pluto at the top of the chart, Mars at the bottom. “You’re here to destroy,” she said. I stepped out of the salon clutching the cassette tape. In the attic I reset its spools. She gave no definition for “destroy.” Months wandered by like clouds. I counted. After five had passed I forgot I was counting. The sixth cloud hung heavy. Midway I sprung out of the cloud, soaking wet, then engorged with flames. Destroying came naturally, as it turned out. I hit the ground. When the ground opened, kept running.
“You are the kind of person who affects the people around you even if you make no special effort to do so. You should learn to be aware of the impression you make and take responsibility for being an influence on others.”People mostly keep their distance. Some come close, aren’t careful. I bring them closer.
Some come close, tiptoe. Our force fields don’t play well together
Others lash out at me quietly, indirectly, unknowingly or unwittingly weaving a web between us.
I can count on my two hands how many let me penetrate.
They’re the only ones that matter.
“You want your whole life to be intense and very deep.”
“a strong restlessness and yearning for something greater than anything yet experienced”
WATCH ME RUN! FOLLOW! BUT FIRST LET ME LICK YOUR EAR. LET ME LICK YOUR HEART. GET A LOAD OF MY TONGUE MY NECK MY HAIR THESE MUSCLES. FASTER! I’M A FUCKING STAR! I’M A FUCKING STAR!
I’M A FUCKING STAR!
“Neptune here can act as a sort of medium for long forgotten ancestors a flowing vessel of collective sorrows, sadness, sacrifice and unfulfilled dreams.”
Mystic. Bruja. From a line of brujas. No one is established or lays claim to a history or context: we just know. My mother shares her dreams and we both know what they mean without saying it aloud. Her mother was afraid of her mother who came to her in dreams riding an actual broomstick. Catholicism. Pentecostalism. The shine of death in the eye. Cats luxuriate in my body. I made a baby without a man penetrating me. Distilled, I am this thing, this interpreter of dreams, always wanting to go deep, always wanting to bring you, but if you don’t come, won’t come, I don’t care, I’m going. I’m going.
“…brings intense love-hate feelings into relationships, especially intimate relationships…An understanding, but not weak or submissive partner, would greatly help in turning any aggressive or violent tendencies, into a sexually attractive and intensely passionate nature.”
a plane figure with four equal straight sides and four right angles. a body of infantry drawn up in rectangular form. an aspect of 90° (one quarter of a circle). (of two people) owing nothing to each other. (of rhythm) simple and straightforward. fairly; honestly.
“All effort is made for freedom and to undo and overthrow all bonds of limitation.”
I’ve troubled every narrative I’ve ever created.
“Your own passing is apt to be peaceful, and within the comfort and security of the home. Although attempting to ascertain the exact manner of death is problematic at best, the indications seem to indicate stomach problems or ulcerous conditions. In the case of women, the breasts and womb, and due to the nature of the sign, death by drowning.”
Wendy C. Ortiz is the author of Excavation: A Memoir (Future Tense Books, 2014) and Hollywood Notebook (Writ Large Press, 2015). Her work has appeared in The New York Times, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Hazlitt, The Nervous Breakdown, and The Rumpus, among other places. Her field notes can be found at wendycortiz.tumblr.com, while a more fixed presence can be found at wendyortiz.com.