After an outstanding July loaded with retreats in the care of friends and coworkers at ‘pataphysics, good to be back in the Cloud Factory – a porch here in Providence that’s good for writing. Sorting through some of the plays that I managed to push into proto-legibility. Everything I write relates to Soulographie nowadays – memorials, the imagination in trauma… The last one (written during the 24 hr. continuous exercize) deals with a woman who believes she’s married with a kid, but is actually forging a life in her mind – the man she thinks is her husband is someone who attacked her; she actually lives alone. She sees the on the street one day and remembers; she seizes him; there’s no death penalty where she lives, so she sews him into a fish and electrocutes the fish to kill him… She reaches in and takes his hand as a souvenir; she preserves it in a bucket of rum and shows it off for a slight fee. This considers: how we are turned into fragments by trauma; how memorial itself is fragmentation, and is merciful (to what degree that may be an aim) when it makes space between fragments, rather than trying to add the fragments to a whole; how sentiment is tied up with vengeance… I think that’s where it’s headed…


“And then, there, in the belly, he, the severed hand, a blind calculus, a slide rule no one knows how to read much less in the dark, the blind hand in the night of the fish loses the number five, it counts for nothing. To nothing. She reaches in after he’s dead and claims the hand.”

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