Mar 16, 2006

Between Cassiopeia and Perseus

When I first moved to Brooklyn, I thought the whole world was wilting; the very streets seemed to be in a state of decay. I lived in a tiny rented room. It wasn't really a room, but a closet; the futon barely fit and my little child's desk could not set itself anywhere comfortably. What I hated most was the lack of light. My room got the morning light and after morning, that was that, there was no more light and the ceiling light did not work although my roommate, who was a stranger to me, promised that her brother-in-law would be fixing it soon. (When I moved out years later, it still had yet to be fixed.) I had a nightlight and then a friend gave me a lamp, which was temperamental and soon stopped working altogether. I didn't like going into the living room because my roommate was always home and moreover, she was always on the couch watching bad tv and she wanted me to always watch this bad tv with her and all around her were various dirty bowls and dirty cups and dirty tissues and she never seemed to put any food away. Everything seemed to be in a state of decay.

And then my parents called me from
Texas; someone was trying to get a hold of me, someone wanted me to write a little something for some magazine or other. This someone finally got me on the phone and asked me to write something. I did. I sent it to him and never heard from him again. I think I can safely assume, after more than three years, that my piece has been rejected.

The new issue of Diagram contains this piece called "Between Cassiopeia and Perseus."

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