tunesday: june 2022

a photo of sun dappled green leaves with june 2022 in a serif font at the center

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tunesday: may 2022

a blue and purple illustration of plants with may 2022 in a sans serif font at the center

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tunesday: april 2022

a bokeh heavy photo of daisies with blue sky and the words april 2022

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Here’s some dumb shit I refrained from posting on the internet until now! I hope you’re alive and well! I hope you’re doing your best! I hope the daily calculations of survival haven’t worn you out! I hope you know I love you!

kum & go breakfast pizza might be my fave midwestern delicacy

not to be controversial but there is TOO MUCH tv right now

the 19 yo guy who rang me up at walgreen’s said, “oh livin’ the dream” when i asked him how he was doing and i felt it in my fuckin BONE MARROW

i just wanna come home from work and have a half hour of uninterrupted alone time in my bathroom!!!!!! is that so much to ask!!!!!!!

some of y’all don’t know shit about infrastructure and it shows

WHY DO I OBSESSIVELY OPEN MY EMAIL NO ONE EVER EMAILS ME WHAT THE HELL AM I LOOKING FOR THERE AREN’T ANY BRAIN CHEMICALS IN THERE KNOCK IT OFF

i got mad at myself today for ‘disappointing’ the motion sensor light in our bathroom by activating it???

i didn’t want to smoke pot until brandon tartikoff told me not to

i am having an absolute fucking SURPLUS of feelings right now and i am NOT appropriately dealing with ANY of them

i think one of the most important things that i know about myself is that i would eat human meat if offered it and i would not even THINK to question the provenance

I’m still out here using Twitter at incomprehensible intervals — @ashrocketship — so you know… Don’t miss out on that either.

sideshow

When I was a kid, or, I guess a kid right on the edge of adolescence, eleven or twelve, I went to the LA County Fair with my dad and one of my friends — Missy I think.

It wasn’t the kind of outing my dad liked. We weren’t really an outing family, but it was easy for him to wander around looking at dad things and hanging out on a shady lawn while Missy and I rode rides and probably giggled about boys and did whatever you do when you’re a twelve year old girl.

On the way into the fair, there was a big refrigerated truck and for a couple extra bucks, you could go inside and there was a preserved shark suspended in watery blue fluid to look at, something like… A great white, I guess. It was big and daunting. I grew up adjacent to the ocean and I knew a lot about sharks and I wasn’t afraid of them, but up close it was something else, in this strange enclosed little space with just Missy and me and this creature that had been alive and wasn’t any longer but had been suspended as thought it might find life again at any second and I remember feeling something inside me shift a little or crack apart or snap into place.

I knew something I hadn’t known before, I felt something I hadn’t before, and for the first time I was really conscious of it. A lot of adults will talk about a moment they knew their childhood was over because maybe they look back on something and they can identify it later on as having been important, but I think that’s something adults define later, a narrative they create for themselves.

Standing in the cool dark of that space and seeing that creature, I felt something. A kinship. A sense of… change. I knew, right then, that the squirmy and unsettled feelings inside of me, the seeing of the shark, that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, was going to stay with me forever. I knew right then at eleven or twelve and every time the memory resurfaces, I know it again.

I felt pain for that shark and loss and fear and disgust. Something primal and free had been made neither and it cost five bucks to step into a trailer and gawk at it, to see it stripped of self and life, a murky embalming in a tideless sea.

My childhood didn’t end there. I think, probably, my childhood had ended a long time before that because sometimes that’s just how things shake out, but the sense that something was wrong about being in that space and seeing that creature stuck in my ribs and I knew that I would think about it again, that it would stick with me forever, a latent emotion I would never understand or be able to articulate.

Melancholy, and fear. Shame. The sense that I was bearing witness to some kind of crime, some kind of gut-deep wrong-doing. A feeling that this dead shark in this glass case was a fundamental wound to the universe.

I think about Damien Hirst’s shark. And I think about Rosie in Australia. And I think about all the things we cage and contain to preserve them and I feel that gut deep squirm. The wrongness. The unsettled sense that I have experienced something I will never recover from even though it doesn’t feel like it requires recovery.

I haven’t seen Missy since I was twelve years old and I married a woman who would go into the shark trailer with me and feel the same inarticulable sense of mourning that I did.

Great Whites live all over the world. They can grow and lose and grow 20,000 teeth in their lifetime. How many more did that shark have to go?

We can’t choose what haunts us, but sometimes we feel it when the teeth catch.