Kelly At Large #142
In which I bite my fingernails and move on to chew my fingers.
Hello from Paris!
I’m doing my best to ignore the U.S. election but unfortunately have a terrified creature clawing away at my stomach which sometimes escapes at 4 a.m. and insists I stare wide-eyed at the latest polls which I don’t even believe in given that the things were quite insistent that Hillary Clinton was gonna hand his hat to Trump back in — 2016, was it?
Still, last week a friend came over and we peeked at CNN. After 10 minutes of watching a toothily smiling Harris and a rantily lying Trump, I insisted we switch channels and watch a documentary on Icelandic geese narrated by a voice so soothing it could either inspire rage or send you into a coma which I figured was perfect for a household which should be mainlining dope until Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. Or longer, depending on who eventually wins the vote.
Even if Harris wins, though, we’ve lost, just not as much as if Trump does. That the race is so close says so much about the state of the U.S. where democracy is far less important than used toilet paper no matter whether you incline towards the right or the left.
Trump’s perpetual delirium and threats to lock up his opponents mean nothing to those who just want to elect the spitting image of their charmingly drunk groping uncle. Much of the left, meanwhile, is as happy as Trump to silence their critics, and far too many have dismissed Harris’ aggregate attributes because of her insufficiently radical position on Gaza. The rule of law is meaningless, like the rest of the world which can go fuck itself. Especially women. Especially poor women in poor states who can’t get an abortion to save their lives.
Whatever.
Friday, the Day of the Dead, I went off to Père Lachaise cemetery and practiced drawing for a while, freezing my butt off. That was restful, too, the grey sky and biting wind, the crunchy swirling leaves, the visitors visiting famous tombs and French people scraping the moss off of their family graves. It was a calming reminder of how brief our lives are. How small they are in the scheme of things. That bothers some people. I’m good with it.
Paired Things
BY KAY RYAN
Who, who had only seen wings, could extrapolate the skinny sticks of things birds use for land, the backward way they bend, the silly way they stand? And who, only studying birdtracks in the sand, could think those little forks had decamped on the wind? So many paired things seem odd. Who ever would have dreamed the broad winged raven of despair would quit the air and go bandylegged upon the ground, a common crow?
That’s it for this time.
Disgruntledly yours,
xoxo Kelly
BTW, I’m not going to make Substack a paying venture, but I welcome support.
The best way? Order a book from your local bookseller.
Les Odyssées de Fally Dogswell (original French) ISBN : 9781736155882 The Odysseys of Fally Dogswell (translated English) ISBN : 9781736155868 Eating Fire: My Life as a Lesbian Avenger (original English) ISBN: 9781452941332