PIG

I was disappointed to find that all the relics from my childhood, which I had thoughtfully sorted and let go of ages ago, had reappeared. It was a heavy feeling, modulated only by the bittersweet memories attached to a collection of gelato spoons amassed over a summer with my (now dead) first love.

A music book stood out in the pile of discarded and homeless items. An illustration of a pig accompanied a wild post-bop jazz piece. I mentioned to my dad that it was a wonderful song and he said he couldn’t read music.

Mykki Blanco was sitting in our living room after a show and before a party, talking about feeding apples to pigs in Germany for a music video. I jumped up and said “Oh! Pigs love apples!” I know this because in the mess of old stuff a piglet appeared, eating what looked like a very juicy apple. It shook its head around playfully, looking me in the eye.

Beyond the pile of things was the shore of some spirit realm where we would have a family dinner with our deceased loved ones. Pork was on the menu and I wondered if it would be served with an apple in its mouth.

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