Moon Memo: The Tofu Maker
Hello from the rain season. A new dark patch just appeared on the bedroom ceiling. It could be mold. It could be a leak. We will find out in a couple of days.
I'm on bereavement leave from work. I've been pushing myself beyond breaking for over a month. Since Liz left work has felt colder. Since I re-found out Stevie died, I've been mourning trans people. Since Frog (the Eugene street joke seller...one time, when I visited Eugene for the first time as a woman I found him at his usual spot, near the college. He said "I knew you a gender ago! I'm glad you found yourself here!" What a wonderful thing to say.) died, there has been little humor. Since I found out a student died yesterday, by their own hands in the wake of the election, I've been broken.
I pushed and I pushed and I pushed, and the wheels came off yesterday during a training. I don't even know what work thinks at this point. I really don't care at this point. No job is worth the grind. Even jobs that do net good in the world.
Today is about finding quiet. I was going to watch Tokyo Story, live in Ozu's perfectly constructed world. Watch stories about the breakups of families in perfectly centered rooms. Embraced the impermanence a while.
Ozu: a lifelong bachelor who was kicked out of boarding school for writing a love letter to another boy. Ozu, who lived with his parents until they died. Ozu, maker of 50 films crossing from Silence to Sound to Color. Ozu: same film, again and again. Ozu the tofu maker. The calm in the emotional core of Japanese film. Ozu.
Here's a collection of his interiors. You should go see this:
Instead of watching Tokyo Story I'm typing. I'm writing sad poems for Stevie. I'm writing secret things for my student. It's not right to share their name. I have no right to claim any affinity with them, except their death. I don't know if it was because of their queerness. I don't know if it was about the election. But I know what we talked about the year before I left. And I know about their sadness. And their Trump loving family. And I know what it's like to be trans in this world.
The rain is hard today. I have a new purse that I'm outfitting with analog tools. Notebooks and pens. Enough room for a book. A little foldable keyboard for typing on my phone if I feel the need to use that. After a bath I'm going to find a corner and be quiet with myself. Maybe go to the central library. That place is sacred to me. Go write and wait for Jade to get off work. Listen to music. Try not to drown out the sadness.
Sadness is poison sometime. But it also can be medicine. The overlap of poison and medicine is not small.
Tomorrow night I read at Telltale. Starts at 7:30. Tickets can be purchased here: https://www.showclix.com/event/telltale-trans-spites
Curious Comedy Theater 5225 Northeast Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard
Portland, OR 97211
I'm reading about being a girl barred from surgeries due to her weight. But mostly I'm writing about how everyone judges a fat trans girls body. I will be getting mostly naked on that stage. The idea of making folks confront my fat trans body is beautiful.
Anyway, I'm logging off the computer for a while. Maybe I'll go watch some Ozu.
Take care of yourselves. No one else is going to save us. So we have to save ourselves, and be here for each other. I love you to bits.
Misha