this is my room, and this is my body

what makes a room? what makes it a body? and what makes it mine?

• it is settled
• it is lived
• it belongs to me
• i belong to it

rooms have space and are made up of things, rooms can be rooms, rooms can lists, rooms can be clothes, rooms can be bodies

sometimes its hard to settle and we struggle to live in our rooms, sometimes rooms arent rooms or bodies arent rooms, and sometimes we relinquish rooms to dust and pests

when i was younger i think i hoped that people could be rooms, and i waited a long time for that

i think

• there are things that were made to match, and they wont always find eachother, but it is a comfort to know there is belonging for everything
• putting things together that dont match can also be special, like colors and socks
• strings of belonging and meant-to-be-happenings stretch deep and far, so long as you drop your hooks
• optimistic superstition and patternmaking is a beautiful medicine for distance

i dont know if people can be made to match or not, but i know that people arent rooms, even if i want them to be

we are houses,

and we can try to be homes

this year ive been learning

ill never feel safe in your performance of omission,

your clean irony,

or your prosaic cool, but

i cant say its wrong, or say whats better or safer to do with a window

voyeurism or a game of shadow and telephone

what's a fanatsy?

i think it's what happens when we make patternmaking into practice, thread belonging through cracks between disance, & commit to superstition (sometimes people are scared of superstition, especially when it feels as though its been committed to)

fantasies live in rooms, and we can spend time with them and play with them and watch them grow, or leave them to to rot and sweat through floorboards into honey and cadaverine on the living room carpet