it is time to feel a little bemused...

when selfies reveal a face that looks increasingly like my mother's.

hasn't all my life's struggles been to be not like her?

isn't why i treat the family archive the way i do in my writings? something to lift up between my fingers, knead, change into something else, and then throw away?

only those who are suspicious of the rejuvenating power of the institution, can write about its many violences. in writing about familial violence every day, i am also plotting its demise.

but, this does not solve the fact that my face is beginning to look increasingly like my mother's...