To dig the box from buried earth: The attic as a metaphor For hyperlinks, for hyperplasts, For grift of silt that blocks the pass To click, to think, to know, to love To link the soul to frozen roots To lick the finger to unfold Honey and milk and wine and gold Eight splayed hands, brittle map Mom and son, twin and aunt You, your face, your output We, our songs, our selfhood We're organic abstracts Shapelessly designed Vast neural networks Don't have me in mind What is it? To inherit? To bear it gently Down the attic stairs? To get it? To merit? To share a secret tree with you? To bind the bough? Can I really know you now?

(ARIELA: I found my old yearbooks from preschool, and when asked, like, what job I wanted, I literally said actor-singer-dancer-painter-scientist.) Goodbye, dusty tomb! Then again, I never knew you My heart’s a sleeper train from this field to California They say it’s all corn these days I shiver toward the glitter of the cabaret War has happened, lover’s absent, Reinvention seems the fashion Cut up the papers for ticker tape Sweep up the scraps on the next day Peppers ripe for reaping, I leave while Gueya’s sleeping Plant myself among the stars in the golden ground Act for all my life like I do when no one’s around Aah, ahh, aaah, aaaah I was corn queen Sweetest 16 Come to life again She was corn queen Sweetest 16 She’s alive again This is the encore Of the song that you ignored Watch me spin cardboard to gold (2x) Gold fields from the Pullman trains The land of milk and honey waits I’ll teach the lights to spell my name I-S-A-D-O-R-A I-S-A-D-O-R-A I-S-A-D-O-R-A (ARIELA: In any group I'm in, I'm not quite anything. I identify more as, like, Mexican American. Like, when I go to Mexico, I suddenly feel American. And it's like, whenever I'm hanging out with white people, then I suddenly feel like I have some sort of authority over my culture. But if there's anyone else who is, like, more Mexican than me, then...they get it. They get the authority.)

You ask if the crossed line Affected any friends of mine And I hope that somehow my answer excludes me this time We take the bikes out for a ride Miriam falls at the top of the drive And I stay up late listening to true crime At least you won’t remember me I never click ‘remember me’ A cache of muscle memory Is hardly documentary But I’m a mess, XXS You wouldn’t settle for any less In my mind I take the Red line, dressed Impressively, and I only speak when pressed Telegraph Hill in ‘84; Woman I don’t know anymore; The decentralized networks that ran us aground and ashore But I am still a worrier Blood in my ears is a barrier Between me and the headlines I wish I could simply ignore At least you won’t remember me I never click ‘remember me’ And I am what I’m supposed to be I change my profile’s privacy I’m a mess, XXS You wouldn’t settle for any less I am poised and I am self-possessed An avatar; a scimitar; bright-eyed; blessed I bike home with all my bruises You never name the one who loses (KAI: I don't know, I think at least one of the apps on my phone is using my microphone. The worst part of that is how, like, I find it normal, right? How it doesn't even weird me out anymore. But I think that the intrusion of privacy is something that's unavoidable today. I mean, Mom has, like, the tape over the camera, and I do that too...it doesn't really matter, right? You're not really making a difference. Because we don't have the power of the Western world behind us, and everyone else does when they're trying to get our data. It's not so bad. So what, you know?)

I first came alive When I saw the whites of your eyes Your body sweating, petrified By my look, by my sweet disguise And I knew I could watch my cash accrue As the lawdy-dawdy lady on view I give to you: your new unreal ingenue So tell me tough guy, You see what you like? I know I’m selling it, Move on unless you’re here to buy White boys with mai tais – You like that, tough guy? All eyes on Isadora When I metamorphosize I’m a green-skinned martian babe I’m a demon, full of hate I’m a stuffy stay-home mom I’m a Grecian Amazon I’m Liz Taylor, opulent I’m in charge and dominant I’m the empress of the world I’m a goddess, I’m a girl! Feel the breeze White sand and glassy seas At last at ease To fulfill your fantasies Follow me To the island of make-believe But nothing’s free This corn queen’s gotta eat Don’t look! I’m changing my wig!

Carve out mud From around my soul: I am iron Wrapped around the fold I am ash Pickaxe, muscle, plan You are a mighty man Even if my blood Could have solidified When I am trapped in silver I won’t be recognized This is king Struggling, heaving thing But I’m the reason it is living Too, I’m small But I know what I’m owed I will not lay this iron road (Goliath wave, so tender, break upon the sand behind me; No chain resists the touch of rust; No man will ever find me) Even if my blood Could have been strained and sold, What would I be worth, encased in Silver and mold? I am the burdened river: once-dead Now a daguerreotype Even when you feel my breath on your neck I won’t be recognized SPOKEN: Old friend: This time tomorrow, I will be forty miles deeper into the southwest. Do not look for me. Do not worry anymore about the brutalities that I have wrought. It’s all over Today, you are a free man; you’re welcome. Maybe someday we will meet again. Until then, I will miss you close to me. Forever yours, Tu cuate, X

Corazón de luz candente! Mas suave que la cachemira Más rico que el aguardiente Corazón de edades olvidadas! Yo quiero pedir poder oculto Y suerte en mis escapadas “Y que tenga dinero Y que no se muero”

She is who I am in mirrors The summer after sun eclipse Turns smoking bar believers toward The shimmer in her hips And smearing all that rouge around She’ll purse her lips and say: “Shit like this, it was poisonous, I think, back in the day” She said, “Make yourself at home now, sailor No need to say what’s understood: I work the room like a dream Miss Mai Tai and Nicotine A taste of what you fancy does you good” “Corazón de luz candente! Mas suave que la cachemira Más rico que el aguardiente Corazón de edades olvidadas! Yo quiero pedir poder oculto Y suerte en mis escapadas” SPOKEN: Y entonces mortal, Qué te haces digno de una ninfa como yo? Me llaman el espíritu de maíz, de la cosecha, y de fertilidad... Poder, poder, poder

I awoke From the finish line Of the life that caused the life That caused the life that caused the life That caused mine True, I’ve seen Some shit In my time But I’ll die before I pander To another human eye He died at ninety-three Wrapped warm in anonymity All love to friends and family But I don’t want you to see me “J dot doe, as my client, you know It’s all about the optics” Well then, let’s pray that my great escape Is included in the synopsis Somewhere in the desert There’s a shadow on the sand Of a prop in a shoebox model Of the fall of a mighty man (ROSIE: Well, I have access to everything, you know? Just growing up with the Internet and especially social media, that's completely changed the way I create and construct my identity – it's completely affected that, with, kind of, giving me a much more accessible template than ever before. But in that same vein: I have access to things, but things have access to me. And I'm kind of, you know, becoming more aware of my footprint and of the dangers –) I put my thumb down onto that burner I put my thumb down onto that burner I put my thumb down onto that burner I burn my thumbprint off That’s not how to catch me You’ll never catch me now That’s not how to have me I burn my thumbprint off You’d never sell the clientele if you could not divorce The personal from personnel in your classified reports

(STEPHEN: I think we are in an interesting age. We are in this age of both preserving media in ways that we have not, and then – super important – being able to have it served back up to us much quicker and...in ways that can allow individuals – rather obscure ones – to wield some kind of cultural force, even if it's so splintered and fragmented. The whole power of media is that this small thing is heard by so many.)

Eckhart Tolle, Estee Lauder De la Renta, Ian Hodder Sick of hearing: “meet my daughter” God mom, why did you drag me here? A bragging-rights handbag you cling to for dear Life, whatever I’ve never felt cleverer Ever, however we do need to sever Ciao bello, love how you can’t say my name, Love how you translate me. I’m a hyrogl- If i took too my heels tonight Could I crash into town like a meteorite? Emboss your image On my skin, cuz I’m a realist Embodied lovin’ Know it ain’t real if you can’t feel it LET’S GET LOST 2NITE! LET’S GET LOST TONIGHT! LET’S GET LOST TO NIGHT! T-t-tear it out but count the pages Dear Diary, this feels amazing Around the little towns, my men Come drink the nighttime from my hands Baby, I’m so glad you don’t know who the fuck I am! My voice will linger longer in its deeper sandy strands The more you let me take it, so show me your unwinding I will take you home so I can catalog the findings Emboss your image On my skin, cuz I’m a realist Embodied lovin’ Know it ain’t real if you can’t feel it LET’S GET LOST 2NITE! LET’S GET LOST TONIGHT! LET’S GET LOST TO NIGHT! (x2)

(D: We, of course, made a lot of prank phone calls...we roasted marshmallows on a candle in Jackie Clement's bedroom – until her mom found out...we played Barbies, we rode our bikes everywhere, we played street baseball...) Bell opens the blue, white tennis shoes, and my red dress Me, cousin Marikit, her siblings three, y mi cuate Cross grass and wide streets to the library, to the library One, two, three Cave under the red roof Star bright as a dog tooth I read all about you Do you know how to read, too? Well, that can’t bother me I have powers of invisibility, and A map in my memory Of my school and my house and my cousin’s street and We’re at the library Books on tigers and dolphins for Marikit, and Mi cuate likes mysteries Roque, Don, and Ana like everything, okay Bikes sleep on the bright street; chalk drums on our scab knees Mi cuate trips up homerunning, brow crunch in the gold heat Later I’ll say, I know you get this way, lose your words to the lurch of your hurting But I love you the same, but for now, just today, I will take you away with our books in our arms See this? on Mérida, Manila, where Marikit’s mama’s from Sound out each syllanum Dad asks where you got all the Band-Aids from And not much bothers me You watch the moon dance with the shadow-trees Yucatán yawns in front of me As I read with a flashlight beneath the sheets (One, two, three) (D: We frame it nowadays in terms of, "kids had so much freedom then." And I think that that's true, but I also think that that had something to do with – women were home and were mothers 24/7, and they just didn't need you in their face. They just wanted you out of the house. And I don't know if it was any safer back then, but it wasn't considered freedom at that time. I think part of it was just, like, the way that we viewed children back then. You weren't thinking about their emotional health and how to make sure they feel included in whatever games they're playing with their friends. There was not a lot of intervention in the life of children. We didn't really see children as, like, little humans with emotional lives. It was more, "they're these other things.")

(ANN: I think I've always like, imagined myself – I've imagined them being in my future. And I realize that I'll probably end up, if I do have kids, it'll probably be like this, most vanilla white picket house situation. But I do have that sick need to repeat my life, and I really want to raise a daughter on my own. Is that horrible? You know? "I can support my baby, and I'll just do it better this time!" And part of me wants to be a very cool single mom who's very present. But, uh, that's fucked up. You know? [laughs]) It’s in a cave you couldn’t enter, Couldn’t plumb, and couldn’t breathe in My heart left soot stains on the walls, Whose trails crept up the ceiling i didn’t live there i didn’t visit often it means more than you’ll ever know When you took a step inside The air reared back and hissed, demanding Answers to a question asked in Codes beyond your understanding the cave wasn’t a grave, but Thompson dug in anyway betrayal, strata in shale- like plaster laid to terminate the age being upstaged when itza came to b’lankanché a quake, shudder awake the belly of the beast you desecrate it’s alive! feel the rumble of the roar we’re alive of the ground we are borne so it goes i tell my children the lore it’s who we are it’s how we say who we say we are it wasn’t left for you to find! it was sealed, and it was mine! the pots, the jade, the bodies... now tourists come to the underground tree i wonder what they think they’ll see; A mother with a dirty trowel, Her child sulking near to me, The 400 years between us Boiled down to an inch or three; I hold them again, my family Del and Nancy, Del and Nancy

(SUSAN: I'm very connected with the music, and I'm feeling it in the moment, and I'm finding ways to express the... ...the groove! What – what those musicians and the composer are communicating, I express it in a visual way, and I – it's just like electricity going through, and I am feeling the patterns and I am performing them and then I think, OK, that was great.... OK, that was great, that was great, I'm gonna do that again....) Waiting for Sunday My aunt will come over She's gonna teach me how to dance (teach me how to dance!) Teach me how to dance Waiting for someday When I get older Waiting for someday When I get bolder The vinyl and the needle Her high heels bright as beetles A dozen doves, a baby grand, Isadora’s waiting hand (SUSAN: Um...and I am thinking, "Look at me." Because I know I've got something to see. So watch this, watch this, look at me. Being out on stage – I'm fine, I'm fine! I know what I'm doing. I have confidence. You should be looking at me! This is fan-frickin'-tastic! Watch this, watch this. I'm gonna do this now – and it's not just what my body is doing, it's what my face is doing, how I'm feeling, and I'm doing it all. So watch it. Don't miss it.) Mi Mamá! (Gueya!) Su hermana! (Isadora!) Mi papá! (Roberto!) Su papá! (Antonio!) Abuelita! (Fidelia!) Mi tía! (Chavela!) Mi primo! (Mishon!) Y mi cuate! Wada lee acha, wada lee acha Doodley doo, doodley doo Wada lee acha, wada lee acha Doodley doo, doodley doo Here’s the funny thing: there isn’t much to it All you gotta do is doodley-doo it I like the rest, but the part I like best goes: “Doodley doodley doo”

Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe And all the seats that face departing stations Make you feel motion sick in foreign nations; As if you’d dropped it from a higher place I watch your body glint, then fade away What do I want? Since I could barely say it: What do I want? Or could it never be: What do I want? Suppose that I’ve been lying: Would you still take care of me? Draped across the table with your arms wide On Percocet and feeling like the second Christ Your friends will wash your hair and say they love you The lamps will sway like seraphim above you (CECILIA: Every single context that I'm in, I'm like, a different person. Cuz it's all relative. All of my identities are all relative. My gender is relative to who I'm with. My racial identity, my ethic identity, is relative to who I'm with. If I'm with, like, a brown-skinned Latinx person, I'm whiter! If I'm with another Mexican person who is a friend of the family in Mexico City, it's a lot of white-passing Mexicans, but I grew up in the States. So I'm definitely more American and they're definitely more Mexican. But it's – it's all relative. And like, every single context that I'm in, it changes. So I can't tell you, like, "I am this thing." Because in every single context it changes.) Beyond “be” We become

Are you the deer that came to our window Out of your deep grey forest? How could you tell we’re tourists? Let’s pretend like we’re our ancestors Let’s live and die and try it all Let’s carve our names in stone for the centuries And still feel nebulously small Am I the land from which I’m growing Or shoved off this rocky shore, Unmoored forever more?