i remember waiting tables, , , more bread? allow me to get you more butter while i make mine…
stacks never got too high, neither did dad’s.
“I’ll take you to Italy,” he used to promise, , , i saw how worldy
his eyes got, buttery, in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, 110 degrees,
i remember waiting to get out,
and i did, , , never came out with a degree, buttered my name
upon loan papers; who the fuck isn’t in debt? must be nice to eat bread…
what does a warm buttered end piece taste like?
in Italy? burro italiano. amore italiana. soldi,
waiting tables, , , in Italy maybe?
13 waiting to be 30 – supposedly i’m supposed to have
my shit together, , ,
i hate commas, and something they call ‘patience’,
there goes another one!
today, i buttered me a piece of bread
It was delicious: every word of it.
serving myself Italian-style
didn’t realize god was makin’ it rain
manna honey. manna n’ honey
shit’s better than butter
italians visit my store in sf
i speak of bay area manna to them
in Italian; non ho fame
i welcome myself to the world: the Present: where milk and honey flows with each buttered second:
manna burying my feet planted
eyes as dry as an end piece, wide open:
for me and for my dad.mmmmmmmmmmmm
Sister in Boston
Mother in Stockton
Family in the Philippines
and me, well, I’m in San Francisco.
I went to work yesterday. I work in a men’s boutique.
My shirt was not as tailored as I was used to. Usually, I would find things that weren’t so on-point, and obsess over it.
I realized how much I’ve institutionalized this ‘self-loathing’, this picking-at-my-own-eye til all was left was bloody sockets…and then obsess over the bloody sockets!
I thought about Lola. I thought about her Illocano-style Pinakbet (a mixed vegetables dish, prepared with fermented fishes), all 20 servings I ate. And then, it hit me: I finally took the time to invest in what made me feel truly good.
Spent the money to go to L.A.
Thought I would go shopping, but ended up just kickin it with family.
This is Victor’s (my partner’s) family. This is my family, because it feels exactly like my family, in Boston, Stockton, the Philippines, and even here in San Francisco.
Food became the binder. The love I felt, especially as I scraped every serving clean, took me back...to all the old experiences I’ve stashed away in the back of my mind.
My shirt was not tailored. My shoulders back, chest out, and pride exuding, I remembered Lola’s pinakbet, and remembered, once again, WHO THE HELL I WAS.
Just got paid. You know what that means: desperation.
Desperate to eat out. desperate to buy a shirt. desperate to shop. desperate to smoke another newport. desperate for time. desperate. desperate. desperate…
While takin’ a shit, I was reading an old issue of “Adbusters” my favorite magazine. Maybe you think it’s too much info to say I took a shit today. But to me, it’s like saying, “I ate lunch”. Plus, got me thinkin on another level…i’m talkin bout both: shitting, and reading.
Shitting: a physical response to cleanse out the ‘extras’ we technically don’t need in our bodies. yadda, yadda.
Reading: a state of feeding…also a state of shitting. Shitting old notions, refining ideals, feeding the soul.
I read an interview by Bai Di, a woman who grew up in socialist China (before capitalism was brought back after Mao’s death in 1976). Most significant feeding:
We never had that much – two sets of clothes – but we never felt we should have more. You don’t have that kind of crazy desire for everything, like the need to go shopping all the time. I feel that capitalism is very good at creating a void in people’s psyche. It will teach you that the only way to feel okay is to want more.
Bai Di, that was the best mind-shat I ever did doo-doo this week.
So I just got paid.
I need new shoes. I’m gonna get my shoes repaired. And imma keep walkin on in these boots I’ve had for 6 years. The piles of shit I’ll step on along the way…time to wipe my ass, flush, and buy a new shirt hand-wash this dirty shirt I’ll probably also have for another six more years.
Welcome to Komo!
This blog site is always actively constructing.
Here’s what we’re all about:
Be a STYLIST-IVIST!
Even though we all come from the intersections of capitalism, it’s time to OCCUPY FASHION, and start buying responsibly.
Occupation Ko, Occupation Mo (My occupation is your occupation).
True fashion bends trends, and transcends. We can transcend the trend of “Made in China”, and unethical buying.
Let’s keep learning where our clothes come from, and therefore, learn a little more about who we are as True Occupiers of Fashion. -KoMo