Pitchfork

Usually, I make the lunches. It’s the first thing I check when she comes home, feels a bit like reading a review for a show. There are five compartments in the little orange plastic lunch box. The cucumbers were cut with a mandolin very thin making the illusion of cucumber abundance, red grapes, some tofu pretend salami rolled inside a ww tortilla with mustard, then cut like sushi, applesauce and lastly corn niblets.

I never believed it, the few times I was part of a theatrical show and discovered actors are not supposed to read reviews of their shows. I never believed they really don’t, but they all say they don’t, but are you really going to trust what an actor says? Isn’t that their talent? Aren’t they practising, again? .I have two or three desires that never disappear, I wake up with them, go to sleep with them and much of my experience is wishing to achieve them or replaying how I failed again. Others make similar claims. Maybe this is the natural order of things. State of desire/ state of loss. Does it change anything if you can see that or is the mind just a drunk believing they’re in charge when we all know they can’t even walk a straight line.

A man is jogging towards me after my girl caught the bus to school. I make a wide space for him and his dog, then noticing the dog’s beautiful coat of red, realize the man has planted himself, it’s too long a pause. It’s a pleasant surprise looking up, my manager of thirty years ago Don. Once upon a time there was a state of loss but it’s centuries ago. How beautiful to know someone over such a surreal span of years. Almost every compartment was empty when she came home this afternoon, like getting 8.5 from Pitchfork.

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