I put this drawing/flowchart up on twitter. It is about my mother and her mother and the ways in which they make everything about themselves. But of course, it’s also about Trump and so many of the rich and powerful, the white people, the men, the people who continue to…

Right now, my mother is somewhere between Colorado and Kentucky, driving her car, disoriented, and probably stoned. I haven’t spoken to her in over two years, but I received a text from my brother a few days ago telling me that my mother was in the hospital, which is something…

First, you have to understand that there are not things in the world like cars and beds and dressers and you and me. There are not colors too, which are also things because a thing is a thing that is separate and also that separates a thing from another thing…

I put this drawing up on twitter It is about my mother and her mother and the ways in which they make everything about themselves. But of course, it’s also about Trump and so many of the rich and powerful, the white people, the men, the people who continue to…

“The pain scale measures only the intensity of pain, not the duration. This may be its greatest flaw. A measure of pain, I believe, requires at least two dimensions. The suffering of Hell is terrifying not because of any specific torture, but because it is eternal.” …

The pain body is similar to the body, but its geography is different, its scale. The pain places are large, loud. The pain feet (when they burn, when they ache, when they try to run away to someplace painless) are bigger, take up too much space and start somewhere below…

“I saw Cottonball the other day,” you laugh a little and this is not how I want this to go, but I don’t know her real name and I don’t know how to change this thing we started years ago. “Really? What was she doing? Trying to kill you?” …

I dreamed I was on a spaceship powered by a virtual black hole. Its/our speed was sometimes (but never and always quite) the speed of light because the ship (plus me and me and you) was hurtling into the singularity that may or may not have exist(ed) in front of…

What would a pain language look like? Sound like? Written, I imagine on the body and the sheets, clothes and pillows in shit and blood. Projected like movies. A stuttering, irritated series of marks with an almost rhythm (always almost). For neuropathy it would be etched on shoes and socks…