dominguez

dominguez

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if i am a triangle, where do you reside in the geometry of our collision? if you are a circle, might we negotiate other polygons? if we are line, then what point is our beginning, our end?

fed

emaciated from the feast, he vomits abyss into abyss, and from this, nourishment that blooms into tomorrow's food.

dying

the child asked his father about the picture in the barber shop. "Why is his hair red?" "Because it's dyed." "It died?" The child sits back and ponders the dilemma, exhales with the gravitas only a four-year-old can have, and commits: "I'll do it."

outside of the cage, the invisible chains are adamantine. escape into the cell. away from the panoptic gaze of the exhausting other. liberation through isolation.

yes, the fissure revealed an imperfection, but it also was evidence of the history of a dance with gravity, or perhaps play with a child. and, if you ask me, anything without no cracks ain't to be trusted.

Of course, falling into the abyss of your surface was not intended. How can one choose to destroy all possible ground on which to stand and walk? But now, here I am, here we are, dancing with the consequence of that stumble.

yes, there are those memories of yelling at me when I sucked my finger to so late an age. there was the missed goal on the soccer field. there was the time I punched you in the face and then collapsed waiting for you to respond with your own blows, but you only responded with tears. but behind that ZZ Top beard you wear now, the kind smile that was always there has matured into a gorgeous gem.

scene

constructing all the tiny parts, not only the furniture and human inhabitants, but manipulating the lights and the shadows cast, the smells, the ambient. and just when you are about to say "Action!", a fly lands on the counter, and the whole scene shatters into a the fragmented truth that it tries to mask.

honor

upon her sleeve, badges, wounds, indicating the war. honor on her. skirmishes becoming battles become war becoming death becoming silence becoming peace. and then, when there is no one left to bestow the awards, what of this recognition?

clip

hair, nails, skin--pieces of me fall to the earth, necessary amputations that allow for new growth and what we think is "beauty."

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writing since 2011 · 70 entries · 69 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means dominguez showed up.

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69days written

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on this day 15 years ago

dominguez wrote about iron
“iron me so that i may be flat. take out all the wrinkles so that i may be presentable to bosses and parents. heat me so that i resist entropy and my atoms are disciplined into the order that they des…”

the words dominguez reaches for

loveheartnowuponapproachabysssoftlydeathimpossibleskincloseddreamoutsidecoverstandtears