MOG

i will take a moment to ponder a cliché. having resumed Mogging, i got all keyed up over what of my Camboland stories to tell first. there are many, but it turns out my first story is not about Cambodia. (life is what happens while you're busy making plans.)

my grandmother died. on either side of the family, she had been the sole surviving grandparent by the time i was born. this made her my only living and last living grandparent. i have layers of woe about her death, including that it is my first real death - any death of anyone whom i knew and remembered fondy enough - and it had to happen while i am elsewhere.

i started to cry and it got arrested. i was having a moment, but then my housemate locked herself out. and then my evil ex was on the phone, drunk and doped and could not be more oblivious to my grief. and then my mother was on the phone, devastated yet torn with the holiday part of returning to her hometown. again with the cliché.

19 April 2007

Goodnight : The Magic Numbers : Those the Brokes

Candy : Iggy Pop feat. Kate Pierson : Brick by Brick

Hallelujah (Club Mix) : Happy Mondays : Hallelujah

the Tenenbaums sort of pitch i apply to work-related talking and writing is lost to the Khmers. they are humorless towards life and death, as i might expect. i tell some bleak joke and i might as well hang myself. today i said to two girlie trainees: "If a photo sticks out, like it's normal if we're in the '70s, let me know." everyone stared; fuck, yeah, the '70s mean far from retro around here. (try massacres and the obliteration of bloodlines.)

so the hovering of death is more awkward than sad. (the recently departed Kurt Vonnegut may agree.) very well, i have three songs going out to my Lola (that's grandma in Filipino), the returnees (Cambodia expat parlance for ex-fugees, especially those with revived hopes), and what i suspect are angry ghosts in the once-abandoned house i now occupy.