I know this place by now like my own two hands, forever plastered on an album cover.1
My mind, and alternatively, soul, feels too afraid to write. I’m sorry if I am scattered, I am trying my best. I feel fear and also urgency to write. Like if I don’t do it, my chest will explode, but it will also exp-lode as I do. I should expect, welcome, and nurture explosions in my body. You sent me home with a miniature gnome, a giant key carabiner, a firecracker. 2 I keep the gnome with my makeup, the carabiner in my tote bag, the firecracker on the bedside table. From a man solely his own in a house that is not mine. Who belongs where?
The house is filled with lilies, which I used to be allergic to. An old lover (funny, how people get dispositioned so quickly)3 gave me some when they left the state to go be alone in another. My eyes burned, my sinuses both filled and dried up, and my throat withdrew, but they were so beautiful. I finally realized my allergy and turned to the only doctor a poor-fresh-out-of-college-kid could afford.
After confirming my symptoms, Google listed lilies as funeral flowers, representing the departed soul’s return to peace. I threw the flowers out.
When I die, my father says, do not be sad. Throw me a party in celebration that I will be knowing what is on the other side. He has always been in search of that knowing.
The bugs are bad this time of year, so no need to compost. Just throw all your scraps into the garbage disposal, reads the instructions for this period of stay. Well, I do not know how to use the garbage disposal, have watched enough American movies to understand that things get stuck in there all the time, and I am afraid of your big beautiful home (and my big explosion to write), and I don’t mind the bugs. I leave white wine vinegar in the sink and they devour it. Spiders, i have been told by a friend, are protectors of souls. A jewelry website for a brand I used to work with4, informs me their $128 sterling silver single spider earring represents creativity, patience, and persistence. I have been afraid of spiders (and the big expensive house and the explosion to write) ever since I was a little girl when the spider made its web on my desk and I decided to be friends. And after our pact, he spun and slowly consumed an ant right in front of me.
But I am trying to no longer be afraid, and I wish too, to embody creativity, patience, and persistence. All the spiders in the big house I either try to save or leave alone. Thank you I whisper to them. You are protecting my soul and hunting down fruit flies with me. We are companions in our murder spree, our creative methods in doing so, our patience and persistence. I add the $128 earring to my cart.5
My fear of writing is turning. A feast is blooming inside of me, the explosion, now a purr. Speaking of purrs, the cat disappears much longer now than in the spring. And the cardinal couple is missing.6 The cat rambles on, despite the summer thunderstorm scent that pervades the atmosphere, now more orange than pink as the Canadian fires also dominate the sky. Aria! I sing. Aria! Aria! Aria! Thunder crumbles. The cat comes home in the morning, still slightly damp. Did you like the song we constructed for you, I coo to him. He rolls his eyes, let me go, or let me sleep. So we sleep together in the bed, while I rest, or think, or journal. Patience, persistence, creativity.
I saw only one-half of the cardinal couple during my stay here. One red bird perched on the woven pink raffia chair in an enclave of the backyard. S/he has disappeared since. Do cardinals migrate in the summer, i wonder out loud.7 But I don’t want to know the answer, I am too afraid (writing, big house, spiders) that the answer is no, and something worse has happened to my winged friends.
But that is what happens, right? I don’t need to tell you, or anyone, about loss. But as I write this, one cardinal lands on the tree with the rounded mirror reflectors and fights his own image. And the bugs outside, free of my vinegar traps, buzz in a circular green bundle above the grass. The sprinklers turn on and three blue jays appear out of the bathroom window. What is loss but seeing and loving another and understanding how we will change and depart, do not be sad, celebrate that I will be in the knowing.
I wash my hair I thought would never grow out.8 The second cardinal appears through the leaves. The blue jays mingle. Purples combined with the new yellow of the pollinated flowers, the pinks of the sky, the green of my feet, the brown of the skin, the grey of the shadows.
Writing, big house, spiders, loving, loss, the cat gnawing on a baby bunny who hopped away from me yesterday in fear but decidedly ran toward the cat this morning, running home to his burrow underneath the planted garden, and ending up there, one way or another.9
Do not be sad, celebrate; he is in the knowing.
Cambridge, July 2023 / edited in Somerville, December 2024
Happy Christmas Eve! This week’s fotocopy is the penultimate issue of the year. I spent most of this morning trying to write, but honestly couldn’t with so many to-do lists running in my head. In the spirit of procrastination, I decided to edit older pieces I’ve saved in different parts of the Internet/my laptop.
I wrote this in the summer of 2023 when I started to take my writing as an art form. It was one of the first pieces that made me start brainstorming how to share my work in a way that felt right. Six months later, while walking out of the JP library and noticing the black-blue of the sky, I decided to start fotocopy. It felt appropriate to share today where it all started. I can’t believe we’re at the end of the first year!
I returned from Aruba late on Sunday night, and have just spent these past two days cleaning and prepping for the holidays. I am currently reading Annie Ernaux’s A Girl’s Story, which was gifted to me by Kelsey on my birthday. On holiday I read Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck and Ricky & Other Love Stories by Whitney Collins, both of which I’ve linked before on different issues of fotocopy.
I also read three fashion magazines I bought at the airport. They’re an amazing cure for screen fatigue and serve so much inspo. I loved this month’s Harper Baazar featuring Miley Cyrus as their cover star. Their fashion spread, Singular Beauty, took my breath away with its straightforward creative direction. Even though you can view it online there’s nothing like flipping the pages and being in awe at every turn. I also read Cosmo and Marie Claire. It made me feel 15 again. Magazines! Are! So! Back!
I started a piece about my time in Aruba, which I hope will be the final issue for the year. In the meantime, I watched Freud’s Last Session on the flight, a captivating film about the dichotomies in atheism and religion, deep-cleaned my room, and ate all-you-can-eat-sushi in Medford (thanks Soph!!)
I feel stressed about the holidays, which makes me sad. If you feel the same, we’re in this together. I am sending you a big hug and all the merriment I can muster.
Love, kisses, luck, and happiness
-Gabo
In the Summer of 2023, when this was first written, my ex unexpectedly released a song with a photo of my hands as the album cover. It made me question my personhood and sent me into a weird spiral for weeks. I wrote/made art about it which I’m not sure I’ll release.
Lover B would sometimes give me gifts as he was sending me home after a night of fucking, probably out of guilt. Or something.
See footnotes 1 +2. I rarely think about these two now, when at the time, they used to consume me.
I learned a lot from my time in jewelry, including how to recognize all the different metals and stones, which comes in handy when shopping for jewelry in thrift stores.
Over a year later, it’s still in my cart.
There was a cardinal couple that would hang out in the backyard, one male and one gynandromorphic, which is half male/half female.
They do not.
Funny, it grew out and I swore I wouldn’t cut it short again. A year later, I did.