Wednesday May 15, 2024 #pathos
No one understands the #pathos of the doom scroll. The long digital parchment inked in laudanum and arsenic, that children lick clean and adults can't stop using. The mirror whispers and consoles, secrets and balms, at a masquerade of false gods, spending us like coin.
#vss365
And something slightly longer:
MOTHER
She was not a mother, nor would she ever be. Her ovaries had been removed when she was very young; it was the custom. She lived with her brother. who had suffered a great deal during their time living on the streets. He had not really developed in the most normal manner, and she often caught him staring out into space. His eyes fixed on nothing; his mind fixed on nothing. Garcia knew very well that Mendoza could not get along without her help, even after the med student took them in.
Both of them were allowed to go out on their own, but Mendoza preferred to sit in near the window and watch the cars come down the street.
“Bajando” shouted the sentinels, any time a patrol car was coming.
Garcia was the opposite. She would take advantage of the decrepitude of the apartment to go out to the roof. A large hole in the ceiling, the result of a fire some months before, was her usual point of egress. How she found it inside of the kitchen cupboard is anybody’s guess.
The med student was my next door neighbor. When she had to work thirty-six hour shifts, I had keys to go in and make sure they were fed.
I was there one day when I heard a sharp thud on the kitchen floor. Garcia made the second thud, as she jumped from the top shelf of the cupboard to the floor, where she had tossed the dying bird. Mendoza came running. This was the afternoon’s entertainment. I finished emptying the packet of Whiskas into their bowls, and went back to my place thinking, “Cat Mother.”