to be sorted later #27

in which I'm remembering what I didn't want to forget, or I'm forgetting what I wanted to remember, I'm not entirely sure

Jun 13, 2025

“Once, and not so long ago,
maybe Saturday, which
was another life, a whole world
not like this one at all,
once, I would have said,
Weep for me, everyone
that is alive and nearby
and has been at some point
bewitched by the sadness of pop music.
I can see distant
ruin rising up like smoke.
I don’t want to be your friend,
or be moved by this
suffering that is all around,
or say with my eyes
an inescapable truth.
There is so much damage. What good can I do?

— from “What To Say When You In Your Body,” by Paul Guest, The Paris Review Summer 2019

Earlier this evening, I was staring up at the ceiling during my acupuncture appointment, trying to remember how I had started my “when all the news is bad” poem, my brain remembering only that I wrote it in early June three years ago, and those three little prompts I had written on an orange Post-It, and stuck to my monitor.

The thing is: all the news is still [very] bad.

So there I was, lying on the acupuncture table, not even remotely relaxed, thinking to myself yet again:

Today, I will focus on …
Today, I am grateful for …
Today, I will let go of …

But I couldn’t remember how I started the whole thing, and it was bothering me. (The answer is: Let me preface this by saying it’s not that I don’t try to be optimistic.)

It’s funny, what we remember, what we forget.

By next June, perhaps I will have partially or completely forgotten about this June, sitting here in our new living room, no art yet on the walls, the cats and I both jumping at every little sound. That’s right! I am done moving! Soon, we can stop talking about it — maybe.

When I’m not trying to remember the lines of a poem I wrote three years ago, or still talking about my move, what the hell am I even doing?

What I’m Sorting Through, Currently …

Enjoying an Excellent Week at the Movies

On Tuesday, Phil and I saw “The Life of Chuck,” which admittedly was not at all on my radar until he bought our tickets and I watched the trailer.

In spite of seeing “based on the short story by Stephen King” in the trailer and then on the movie poster, it did not dawn on me until a solid 25 minutes or so into the movie that I knew it. I helpfully tapped Phil on his shoulder and whispered: I read this story!

Again: what we remember, what we forget.

I had read Stephen King’s collection If It Bleeds in May of 2020, so can you really blame me for forgetting? (Yes, I checked my photo library for the receipts.) I’m now currently furious with myself for apparently getting rid of this copy of “HERE” magazine, also pictured — oh, the collages I could have made!

I really don’t want to say much at all about “The Life of Chuck,” other than it’s the exact level of horror I feel like handling; Nick Offerman is a great narrator, even if the narration is extremely heavy-handed; I am now inspired to re-read “Song of Myself” (which I do not recall being such a long poem!).

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

And then last night, I took myself on a movie date to see “Jane Austen Wrecked My Life” — and it was perfect. It had everything: Shakespeare & Company! Romance! Self-doubt! Jane Austen! A writers’ retreat where little to no writing takes place! A mix of French and English!

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: taking yourself to the movies is always a good idea.

On Repeat

“We can finally have the debate of which Matt Berninger song about Indiana is the most depressing,” my brother Jay texted our group thread in response to me quoting “…flew to Indiana to see a friend” from “Inland Ocean,” the opening track of “Get Sunk,” Berninger’s new album.

Berninger’s also singing about being in Indiana on “Frozen Oranges.” I suspect he’s talking specifically about Bloomington, based on the “limestone quarry” reference — and I especially love hearing him sing, “I could concentrate in a place like this … in Indiana.”

Me too, Matt, me too.

I was listening to “Get Sunk” as I finished packing the last of my boxes, feeling my feelings, remembering more things I had previously forgotten.

The songs make me think of Brian, in strange and specific ways — and it’s still “a very strange and specific thing.” It makes me sad, but also happy to remember him, to not forget.