day 6-8

i am grateful for:

  • not living in the us
  • having been able to afford the xray that means i know the wisdom teeth pushing through my gums are not impacted
  • fortuitously developing an interest in mending, darning and sewing (for waste reduction/rejecting fast fashion reasons) in the last six months and having all the skills now my pants are all falling apart on day six of lockdown
  • warm clothes are more important than warm blankets. when we first got to nz we slept in ski jackets on the bare, damp carpet five of us huddled for warmth and at least we could get up and go places and still stay warm.
  • mbie approved a yarn shop as an essential business but i worry about people who don’t already have threadbare woolen socks to darn or fingers nimble enough to mend or knit. they don’t even sell needles
  • already knowing how to cook. already doing meal planning and eating almost every meal at home.
  • kinda out of necessity bc eating many things causes me pain but still.
  • my friends, my wife, her wife, our cat
  • not having a property manager
  • ban property managers imo who has ever had one do more than make shoddy repairs and pocket the difference

day 4

when i join my friends on discord my sound card stops working sends crackle-painful static and not much else until i unplug my microphone. we work it out. tying off my final stitches on a floral cotton facemask i lean in and type to roll, silence instead of clattering dice sixteen plus two plus four is twenty-two. you’re all finally level two, i hear my wife say in stereo through my headphones and the wall.

day 3

the cat yells at me from my feet while i’m playing animal crossing and i think it’s because she’s mad about us taping up the cat door, but she’s had plenty of outside time on her harness and she just wants my seat. i get up and she curls up and i wonder if we’re more worried about her adjusting than she is because we’re projecting.

no cross animals here, life as a cat is business more or less as usual

day 2

there’s a hole in one of my socks, worn down through the heel, my merino socks three pairs bought for me by a man who’s been paying to have me spit in his mouth for a very, very long time he’s seen me through university and now we can’t do that, can we. a hole in the heel, heel with no sock, one pair in the wash and one pair heel-holed asymmetrical on my feet and one pair half-darned on the bunk bed in my childhood bedroom with the wool and needle still in waiting for me to come to dinner on saturday as usual to pick them up “it’ll be a miracle if you come over and don’t go home missing something” my sibling said before she was stranded in america 6am on day 2 and she’s flying home my childhood bedroom in self-quarantine sheets ready for her don’t lose my needle.

day 1

three days ago — 
three days ago twitter
support asian sex workers
who are getting less business


i cancel a six-hour booking yesterday.
another john messaged three days ago,
level-2-three-days-ago-let-me-buy-you-something
i know him well enough gave him options

1. sheets faded-pink modest thread count but soft
2. a preorder. another video game slice of life
3. countdown gift codes
you know what the supermarkets are like right now

on day 1 he forwards me a receipt
to the bedding store for a
voucher only to be used in person asks
have you gotten the email voucher

figure it was better not to order something
that required delivery.

the voucher too does not arrive

check your spam
even if it was there —

on “don’t tread on me”, no. 8 wire & everyone else who thinks political correctness is crushing them

if you are the snake
so are we.

we are born from nǚwā.
from the rainbow snake.
the susurrating coils of the earth
spat us out.

she fears us now.
evolution’s leaden error 
left us four-limbed armed with greed
the hamster wheel churning
survival instinct into selfishness.

medusa, raped,
grew ophidian locks too.
never again, never again, never again⁠—

would that we could turn things (back) into stone.

oh, my wary workers, 
my hostile friends, 
the boot is not ours.
it is crushing us
(and so are you.)

you have slumbered for a thousand years 
and you are hungry.

pry your teeth out of your tail. 

arise. we can still bare our fangs
and swallow them whole.