lest they perish

42nd street station
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was recently discussing cleaning products with a girlfriend. i explained the great pleasure i get from swiffing. when i throw the befouled swiffer cloth (dry or wet) into the garbage and close the lid on it forever, i'm almost driven to rapture.

"i don't agree with swiffing," she stated.

"this is something i don't understand," i replied.

"i'm against the whole disposability thing."

"you think we need to have more of a connect with our filth?"

"i think convenience keeps us from dealing with consequence."


someone in my sister's building died 2 weeks ago. and although she didn't have the energy to tell me about it, i pressed her for the details. it was a sad story about a schizophrenic man who died alone only to be discovered three days later because 10 liters of his body fluids leaked into the apartment beneath him.

i'm puzzled by death. i think this stems from the suicide of my ex-boyfriend. i was unable to find anyone who could help me through that period. anytime i brought up the subject, it was changed.


"the story of the dead guy in my sister's building has affected me," i said to my boyfriend over lunch.

"please. we're eating."

"no. not the fluids..."

"i really don't want to talk about this over lunch."

i started to cry.

he put down his fork. "what is it that's bothering you?"

"we turn so gross so fast. i guess we're all soul." i pointed to random parts of my body. "all of this is meaningless. why do people worry so much about boob jobs, nose jobs, stupid lip injections?"

"we need the visible - our bodies - so that the invisible can do the extraordinary things that are meant to be done. at least that's what kazantzakis says."


my ex-boyfriend was also found three days after he hung himself. the cleaning lady discovered him.

we aren't meant to die alone. someone has to get us back into the earth as soon as possible. because you can't swiff that shit up.