Casa Lucas

To See What It Looks Like Photographed

Female

Form

Flow

The End

"The end. All things come to an end where they begin again assuming a circle or a dog chasing its tail or eternity cognized which is incomprehensible and indefeasible. The end is a rabbit licking moonlight off the pavement, revolvers clicking automatically where the spine flattens into a bony globe. The end is the beginning of a circle before the periphery becomes paralyzed and coagulates into points which never existed and could not now exist were there no blackboards and what makes blackboards. The end is when every drawer has been ransacked and all that one needs can be put in a handkerchief or when you don't need initials in your hat anymore and the size is an empty equation. The compass points four ways and you can travel horizontally or vertically because it is all illusion -- tickets, depots, destinations, mileage, speed. When you say good-bye that's the end of it, a peculiar, unfinished end like a tapeworm feeding on itself. An end that comes to a lump in the throat or a sob, wheels grinding, soot, farms, faces, blank, blankness, faces, farms, memories, musk of memory, wheels grinding, bullets clicking, too late, everything too late, change, change your mind, stay, jump, go back, mist, farms, faces, blank, blankness."

-H. Miller

The Last Time

As time has passed and I am not sure as to the contents/context of this letter, seeing this scan I did and the words so elegantly written, I can't help but ponder: Who is losing something, the writer or myself? Which word? Will knowing that single word completely inform the contents of this letter?

It feels so dramatic and, yet, I don't want to go find it and reveal what's inside. That missing word will bug me for days and days. Do I use it anymore? Does the person that wrote it? How many "ripe full moons" have passed since it was used in the context of the letter?




Some things are better to just ponder.



Some things are best left as they are.







But...that word...that word......?

Dictated By My Environment

Transcribed from my yearbook from my senior year in high school (which I don't have anymore, which is unfortunate for these purposes). 

It was fascinating to read what people said to me, even in joking, and consider how I was perceived by others, what defined me to them. It's pretty depressing but I think significant nonetheless.

And the people almost can't be blamed because I can say unequivocally that I perpetuated this perception in my actions and my willingness to be perceived this way.  "Any publicity is good publicity", am I right? It was my shtick, just like the class-clown has a shtick. That's what happens in a homogeneous environment when you exist as an "outsider"; you are defined by that more than anything else.

And so:

“Blackzilla-

            I’m really glad I met you this year!!  You are an awesome Negro!  Soccer was fun, Vice was better!  We need to hang out over the summer!  You better call me! I <3 you more than I <3 unblack people”

“Yo Blackie its me Whitey (N___ the mediterrainin kid)  dude lets hang out”

“Jesse,

            Your such a Niger.  One day your monkey ass and me should smoke one day.  Hope you don’t turn out to be gay when you get older.  You should call me and we should chill.  Hope you have a good summer.”

“Jesse your black and that’s all that matters.  I love you and keep it real.  I’m gay??”

“Jesse –

            You’re a loser.  I’m like the third person to sign this book and it’s the last day of school.  Anyways it was cool having two easy classes with you and making fun of Phil, Eric, and Chasen.  Good luck where ever you may go to college.  Hopefully you will get some and in mass quantities.  Peace out my black-mexican friend.” 

This Is No Different Than A Picture Of A Cock

This Is No Different Than A Picture Of A Cunt