Deep existential crises can beget great writing. In “Something’s Missing” (2006), Lum candidly reveals that the past eight years “was a time when I felt great disillusionment about art and great disappointment in myself, a crisis of being that I believe afflicts all artists from time to time.” This very crisis brought him to the margins of the art world, searching for answers.
SB The morning after I exert, after leaving the ground, my body is screaming. I get carried away in the dancing of it — the push and the push and the repetitive action and the momentum.
You also told me once that I’d look terrible bald. My hair uncurls from one of the pink curlers. I imagine myself standing in the rain, holding a bucket over my head,
The translingual has made a traitor of me.
The translingual may be a survival strategy, a coping mechanism, an ethic.
During a recent conversation with a friend, we struck upon the topic of her nearly complete collection of Nancy Drew hardcovers. I immediately pictured them as they had appeared in my childhood: books aged prematurely by the humidity of numerous seasons spent reading them in the Caribbean.
For all the unknowns we’ve been asked to sit with, astrology offers not answers but symbolic context: a frame that holds this moment, the hint that perhaps there is meaning –– even if we don’t know quite what that is –– to what we are living through.
My flip-fold was masterful on a different register, and it was performed for a select audience — that other gymgoer.
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