Eulogy, by Saul Freeedman-Lawson, over the blank outline of an obituary. Image descriptions to follow are the text of the comic as well as the images.
With thanks to: Audre Lorde's "Uses of the Erotic," Twoey Gray's "Not Home: True Stories From Abandoned Places," Marquise Bey's "The Song Required of Captivity: Just Above My Head and the Trans-ness of James Baldwin," Nayland Blake's Free!Love!Tool!B
I am at the library, falling in love with another dead man. (A figure in a leather coat and a hat crouches in front of a bookshelf.) His body is still cooling on the shelves. (A loose, yellow sketch of a naked man twists over the books.) It is a dizz
And if he had lived, I would be on his street all the time, / and I would pass him, walking home late at night, (two figures overlap, the young person in the coat and the outline of shape of a bearded man) and we would make eye contact / or not / nod
I know this, as only death allows, of a man I might have met and I hope would not have liked, a man who is indicted by the people who praise him and the things they praise him for, a man with a museum’s worth of shame. (In yellow, a partially dissect
And he was a collector / and I am also a collector / but he brought home warm and uncontrollable bodies / and when I push pins into him he does not bleed /so he cannot prove me wrong. (Photographs pinned to a wall and connected by string form the sh
In that failure of a body and that absence of speech, (a hand, still in a leather coat, holds the “hand” of the photograph body) I am falling in love.
I am at the library falling in love with two dead men, pressing my face into the anthology they built between their deaths, reading aloud summoning spells that would have populated a city block if they had worked (a small shadow reads on the steps of
- Mediations by search parties, still looking (the shadow of a fat man in spotlight films the scene) -
- Love letters like dancing naked on a grave, like a bad joke. (A nude Black man, seen from behind, stands on a pedestal in a grave yard.) In speech bubbles with no tails: “He always said my ass could bring a dead man back to life, and I am taking s
To become a saint you do not need a miracle in your lifetime, only prayers after, but it does need to be after. (A black shadow, long haired, in a skirt, standing, and a yellow shadow, bearded, skirt slightly pushed up, sitting on a tombstone. They a
And I am on my couch trying to find the letter writers (me, a young, thin, white person frowning into a book and a laptop) and half of them are gone - a newspaper fragment “…in 1960. He was the…nded Mendel Catholic… and track, and as a…ship to Chic
Written over redacted text and photos: Living friend, sometimes I cannot bear to read the things you write because I know how they will one day sound. I hate the way they love us like they are waiting for us to die. Living friend, last year I found a
When I tear my clothes / and cover the mirrors / I do not mean that this is a shiva/ but maybe we never learned the difference. It all just tastes of salt. (Fabric rips, is taped across a mirror frame. Then the tape pulls off and the fabric is draped
Living friend, love me now, for my warm and uncontrollable self (teeth, bared, bite down on thread) and I will love you for your blood and all the ways we disappoint each other (lips suck blood off a thumb) our failing bodies (thread passes through t
I am at the library falling in love / and I am at bars that are no longer bars (bars of red light on a brick wall) bathhouses that are no longer bathhouses (a fence, pavement, clasped hands) gasping ghosts into my mouth on the sidewalk (nude yellow f
And they spread through me, bright yellow under the skin (hands work yellow colour into an invisible surface) -
And you, living friend, are warm and outside me. (Yellow and red clouds in my cheeks and lungs, my mouth, my throat.)
Image: A squirrel runs across a picnic blanket. Text: Anya Says The Squirrel In Hir Backyard Is A Reincarnation -
Text: - of a butch neither of us met and both of us admired. Image: Squirrel sits on the steps of a porch. Someone with shoulder-length curly hair sits on the grass in the foreground.
Image: "It's an adversarial relationship" says a femme sitting on picnic blanket. Hir legs and skirt and some of hir hair are visible off the side of the page. A butch in a plaid button-down faces the squirrel.
Text: Ze hosts in four-inch wedges on the grass, and googles whether squirrels can eat cookies. Image: "They can't," says the femme. They have thick, curly hair, and they are wearing a plaid dress and a cardigan. "Oh boy..." someone says, from off th
Text: When we were 16(?) Anya was the first person to call me a butch. Image: A young butch and femme look at each other. The femme raises an eyebrow, the butch looks stressed. "Are you a boy? Are you a lesbian?" asks the femme. "I don't know. I don'
Image: The butch in plaid sits in the grass. Text: The squirrel thing does not sit right with me. I still ask for advice.
Image: "So I guess I just wanted to say thank you, and also how do I do this? How did you do this?" says the butch. The squirel is silent.
Text: "Water Bugs," by S. Freedman-Lawson. Image, surrounding the text: Long limbs of an insect.
Text: The thing is, I learned interruption as a way to say "I hear you"/ which doesn't make sense, but sometimes when I love what you have to say I talk over you/ Know that when I do, I'm not listening to myself/ I will stop. Image: Water bugs scoot
Image: A hand covering a mouth. A shadow stretches behind the hand like a censoring bar. An insect climbs out between the fingers.
Text: I learned that my hands were wrong and my body was not even a body/ When I touch it always feels to me like trespass/ When I am touched it feels like water bugs/ I am wanting/ I will stop. Image: A single water bug.
Image: A hand and forearm, mostly underwater. Bugs skate on the surface.
I learned that gift were not to be accepted, and so part of you will always be unacceptable/ When you ask me back, when you remember me/ It hurts/ It will stop. Image: Two legs of a water bug.
Image: A hand inserts an insect into a doorknob, as if it were a key.
Text: Tiny (over-thinking/subconscious/queer/trans) Love Story... by S. Freedman-Lawson
Text: ... In which I dream of a young man in a beautiful dress, who texts me "I want to scrub your heels with sunshine." Image: Bare feet, hairy legs, standing between heavy, unlaced boots.
Image: A young man in dress patterned with feathers, holding a cell phone. He is possibly on a bus- background is loose.
Text: ... In which a friend tells me my middle school crush came out as trans, and now wears glasses. Image: Hands with forks hover over two plates . Speech bubble on left says "Glasses?!" Bubble on right says "Yeah?"
Image: Two sets of hands eating- the person on the left gestures in the air with a fork. "I had such a crush on him..." says Left. "Yeah?" says Right. "I saw him at the-" "Trans and glasses?" Left interrupts. "The whole package. Wow..." "Dude," s
Text: ... In which a foot touches mine on public transit, and neither of us moves away. Image: The tip of a sneaker resting on top of the tip of a boot.
Image: Two people sitting on a bus, feet touching. Close up panel of feet, then another panel of the same image of two people.
Text: I don't know how I got to the bottom of the stairs. By S. Freedman-Lawson. Image: A flight of stairs.
Image: A young, thin white person with short hair lying on their side with their eyes closed. Though bubble: Did I sleep here?
Image: The same person, sitting up on a stair. They say aloud "I don't remember how I got to the bottom..." Three figures, one quite small, are silhouetted in the foreground.
Text: When it comes back - (Image of them sitting on a couch) I am sitting on the couch - (Image of them walking) I am going to ask a question - (Image of them on the stairs) I am climbing - (Image of them looking through the railing) I am opening my
Text: My mind slurs, stutters, suffocates. Image: A mouth closed, then opening, then closed.
Image: The lower part of their face, red and shaded in scribbled line. Text: I am lightheaded.
Text, falling down a set of stairs: I must be headed down.
Image: A car, driving off the edge of the page.
Image: An automatic door opening. The sign above it is cut off a both ends, reading "-llege hospit-"
Image: Monitors attached to a chest and belly. Text: And I do not have a heart condition. Image: A syringe, drawing blood from an arm. Text: And I am not iron deficient. Image: A scalpel on a napkin, next to a small plastic tub. Text: And I ate break
Text: And I do not have a concussion Image: A hand flipping over on another hand. Fingers rubbing together next to ears. A hand pointing to the centre of the page.
Image: The person standing on stairs, falling, landing at the bottom. Text: The aches and bruises tell a story. My head hit the floor. My head hit the wall. My knees hit the railing. My shoulder was crushed under me.
Image: Half a scrapbook, with three pictures taped in: A baby being held; a child in the water in a bathing suit; a shirtless, long-haired child on a play structure. Text: But I'm living in a body
Text: With a history I can't remember. Image: A blank scrapbook page, with an outline where a photo would be taped.
Image: A large hand, reaching up. Three tiny images: The person shakes as hands grab them around the waist from behind. A younger person, maybe the same, with long hair, reaches up in front of a mirror. A much younger person, long hair, dives through
Text: Where have I been? Image: A very small hand reaches up into nothing.
Text, descending a flight of stairs: I don't know how I got to the bottom of the stairs.
Close to Home, by S. Freedman-Lawson.
Image: A passport, with a picture of a young, thin white person with short messy hair. Text: This past December, I visited New York City. When I travel, I struggle to imagine that people like me live in the place I’m visiting. I know they must...
Image: The same person, walking through an airport scanner. Text: but after walking through airports designed to make me feel like an error in the system, I have trouble believing it.
Image: An airplane in flight. Text: It took me fourteen years to find them in my own city. A few days doesn’t seem like enough time.
Image: A young person with short coily hair and glasses, wearing small hoop earrings. Text: Getting off the plane, I saw a tall person striding in the opposite direction, and did a double take. They were clearly something similar to me, the same spe
(Image of a thin middle-aged person in a sweater and button up, with their hair a little longer on top. ) The next day, on the sidewalk, there was someone else. We weren’t just in airports, but on city streets-
Image: A fat person in a tanktop with spiky hair and piercings. Text: and pushing through Times Square-
Image: A young thin person in a button up, holding a small child with long curly hair. Text: and at the Jewish museum, with a kid! They caught me looking and smiled.
Text: Later in the week, I went to a show with my younger sibling. Here I expected more of us, and found two. Image: A thin, floppy-haired person in a suit making their way to their seat, and a teen in a bandana stage-dooring in full rainbow apparel.
Image: A person with long, straight hair and a small beard, wearing a fluffy coat. Text: I saw a third on the subway ride back to the hotel.
Text: Once I started looking, we were everywhere. Walking through a market. Image: A young person with medium length hair and a large nose, like a hybrid of all the Beatles in 1965. Text: In the men's room. Image: A small person in a tuque, with litt
Image: A young, thin, short-haired person with round glasses, short hair, and a floral shirt holding a book. Text: I visited the Greenlight Bookstore and saw them arranging books in the window. I bought “The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For” and “But
Text: I saw another person walking nearby. Image: A short-haired person with a hoop in their upper ear and a strong chin. Image: Two people, one tall with floppy hair and the other with short coily hair and glasses Text: and these two, arm in arm, l
Image: A person shown from behind, with a coily long-on-the-top fade. Text: Checking out of the hotel, I noticed a shiny blue coat.
Image: A blond person with a moustache and long, thick hair. Text: The person in line ahead of me at the airport had flowing hair and a long coat, like a princess on a mission.
Text: Inside the terminal I kept looking, but here was no one I could see right away. Then, leaving my stall in the washroom, I saw they’d been waiting, and we made eye contact. Image: A floppy haired person with a beard. Sinks in the background.
Image: A plane in flight. Text: They nodded.
Image of a plane landing, and a speech bubble reading: New York, huh?
Image of a speech bubble reading: You got family there?
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