The Freedom to Imagine What Doesn't Exist
Sitting on the airport floor, I realized I had no idea what would happen next. I was catching a flight to Florida and from there I’m heading to Guantanamo Bay, for a media tour of the Naval Base and prison. How would it feel to tour this prison? How would I write about all this pain and suffering? How would witnessing this history make me part of it? How did I even wind up here? I feel like I put one foot in front of the other and, somehow, the path led to Guantanamo.
A few weeks ago, some friends and I rented a cabin next to a remote hot springs in the desert of Southern Oregon. When we pulled up to the cabin to check in, a woman with an enviably fluffy dog greeted us and gave us the key. She walked us through the banal cleaning details and towel policies. Then she added, “Just up the road, there’s a cave where the oldest human DNA in North America was found.”
No one else seemed to care much, but the idea grabbed me immediately and I pressed her for directions. On Sunday morning, I got up early, abandoned my warm bed and Ben, and sat in the chilly dawn watching the sun rise and turn the scruffy sagebrush pink. Then, while my friends slept, I got in the car and drove off toward the cave. Following her directions, I drove two miles, then turned off the asphalt onto an unmaintained dirt road. The landscape out there in the high desert is one of repetition: sagebrush, sagebrush, sagebrush, rock pile, sagebrush. That’s all there is. As the road narrowed to the point where branches brushed each side of the car, a series of bright red shapes caught my eye. Shotgun shells littered the road. Immediately, the thrilling rush of being alone in a strange place was overtaken by fear. I was on a deeply rutted road in the middle of the desert, alone, and I hadn’t told anyone exactly where I was going. It’s so remote that cell phones don’t work. Also, my car has a bumper sticker on the back that reads, “No guns for men.” What would happen if I ran into some men with guns out here? Why do I push myself into lonely places?
The road petered out and I stopped the car next to the remains of a campfire and more bullet casings. The road turned into more of a trail that wound up a rocky hillside, then around out of sight. I wanted to turn around the car and drive back to my bed. I got out and listened. I heard absolutely nothing. No birds, no people, no campfires, no guns. I started walking up the trail. The cave, when I came to it, was a crevice in the crumbling rock that was just tall enough for me to stand in. I had thought it would cut into the cliff as a tunnel, but instead it was only deep enough for one or two people to lie down in. There were no petroglyphs or ancient treasures. I turned to face the mouth of the cave and admired the view. Someone else stood in this spot, 14,000 years ago. They might have seen a lush, green valley. Now, it’s an arid stretch of tumbleweeds and a shallow alkali lake that bubbles with sulfur. What motivated them to keep walking, to keep putting one foot in front of the other until they were in unfamiliar land? Probably the mundane stuff. Hunger. Heat. Why do I always feel the need to follow a path, too, when I don’t even know where it goes?
Alexander Chee writes about this in his book How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. He says that when you start writing, you don’t know where you’re going. And that’s the point. You have “the freedom to imagine” what is currently unimaginable. “Yes, everything's been written, but also, the thing you want to write, before you wrote it, was impossible to write. Otherwise it would already exist. Your writing makes it possible,” he says.
That’s exactly how I feel about this Guantanamo book. It feels impossible. My job as a writer is to keep chipping away day by day at what is possible. Eventually, I’ll have dreamed this book into existence. Following unknown paths into unknown places is what humans have always done.
On the drive back to the cabin, I felt exhilarated to have seen this place, but also to be headed home toward friends. I turned on the one radio station as loud as it would go and rolled down the windows, singing along to pop country and reaching out an arm to touch the sagebrush as it passed. I practically leaped through the back door of the cabin, bursting with energy, to find Ben awake. I hugged him, holding him for a long time somewhat against his will. “I’m sorry I abandoned you! I had to go see the cave! ” I said. “Were you worried about me?” He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “You do stuff like that all the time.”
Upcoming Events
I’m helping organize a May Day release party for the new issue of The Nib magazine: the Empire issue! Portlanders, come get a behind-the-scenes look at how comics journalism is made and score some rad postcards at the release party on May 1 from 6-8pm at Books With Pictures. RSVP to the Facebook event.
Stuff I Made
Green New Deal Comic - I wrote this comic about how humans have the chance to adapt or die. Brilliant illustrations by Maria Stoian.
Article on Gender-Neutral Square Dancing - Portland’s do-si-do scene is punk as hell.
90 Zines - I’m still working on making a zine every day of the year. I talked about the year of zines project with Joshua James Ambrose for RiotFest. Look, there’s a giant photo of my face on this article!
Stuff I Love
Shrill - Have you seen the new Hulu series based on Lindy West’s book?! It is literally filmed in my friend’s house in Portland and spoofing a place I used to work, but I think it would be a too-close-to-home goldmine of humor even for someone whose life it doesn’t eerily mirror.
Fighting transphobia - Today Trump’s totally nonsensical and hurtful ban on transgender people in the military went into effect. The National Center for Transgender Equality is helping fight the ban and support trans veterans. If you have a few extra dollars, this is a great place to send it.
Zines by Faith Hope - My year-of-zines project was inspired in part by artist Faith Hope, who made 100 zines last year and is making 100 more this year. Each of them is a bizarre treasure.
Jenny Vu - Her weird one-panel cartoons are strangely compelling!
Elsa y Elmar - This chill Colombian pop band came up on my Spotify and now I’m listening to it on repeat! Elsa y Elmar is actually just one woman, Elsa Carvajal, and I like everything she’s made.
This interview with Bret Easton Ellis - He makes absolutely no sense and now the whole world knows it! I would like to read a follow-up interview with his boyfriend dishing on their unbearable life together.
This mini-goat farm - I took an unusual bike route home from work the other day and discovered that someone in my neighborhood turned their backyard into a home for three goats, including one named Zygoat. I love that they installed this goat-food vending machine!!
Someone to Know
I’ve been thinking a lot about the work of MariNaomi. Five or six years ago, I came across a copy of a zine she’d made about dating at the library. I started following her and exactly the kind of artist I want to be: hard-working, empathetic, and always focused on building better community. Not only is she the author of six graphic novels, but she also saw the need to start up the Cartoonists of Color database and the Queer Cartoonists database. I use both these resources often when I’m trying to find an artist of color or a queer artist for a particular project. Check out her work and pitch in to support the databases!
Something to Do
Track your plastic! A few of my friends have done a 30-day challenge to try to use no plastic because of its eternal impact on the environment. This prompted me to start thinking about how we’re living in the “age of plastics” and start noticing all the plastic I use and immediately throw away—produce bags, coffee cup lids, giant piles of food packaging. I’ve been trying to reduce my plastic consumption in small ways, starting by just recognizing all the plastic I’m using! Hopefully when I get back to Portland, I can aim for a plastic-free month.
I’ll write again soon! In the meantime, you can keep in touch on Instagram or Twitter. Is this your first time receiving this newsletter? You can see the archive here.