like a lobster with cancer: the last poptimism

( maybe it was nothing but a shadow on the wall )

"i am the bourgeoisie"

polished what's left of my gran's silver cutlery this afternoon -- or actually about half of it, i'll do the rest tomorrow (i promise)

my mum liked to do it once a year, though latterly this only happened if she remembered to ask someone to help her: i think it came to mind once i surfaced from the most recent draft of my nyc proposal yesterday; when i applied 9 years ago i was unsuccessful; and was secretly pleased pleased to learn of my unsuccess, as i was v.hinky about bein overseas when mum had grown so unwell and in need of care

this time, i have no family who are my direct responsibility any more: maybe this was a kind of ritual way of thinking of her