they keep the cat outside
2007-07-04 5:56 p.m.

it's a long story as to why i'm in tampa.

suffice it to say, i'm in tampa. i am drinking an italian margarita, sitting on a leather couch. at least, i think this is leather. let me check.

well, what do i know? i can't tell. it might be.

they keep the cat in the poolhouse. poor deaf cat. with his black tail. i feel you, cat! i feel you, deaf cat!

i'll do anything to distract myself against the image of your toes being touched by the long fingers on a female hand. i'll do anything. in bed i think of banisters, or rolf's hall, or driving through georgia, or coats. all the unsexiest things there are.

and i don't feel bad writing here when i should be doing work for seminar. i consider this blog closer to my real work than readinig pdf scans of magazines from 1920 discussing the portrayal of the mammy in literature. or maybe i can learn from that? i am not black; i do not know how it feels to be portrayed as a beast or a clown in books and movies. but i know similar things--

how it feels to be convinced that you are a clown, or a beast. or how to be kept separate, kept for decoration or use. how to split your consciousness in half, between yourself and your role: i am a cat, i am the cat of this family. i am a human, i am a mammy. i am liz, i am his friend.

this seminar was a mistake. i've made a lot of mistakes. the cat is meowing.