What is garmonbozia? Why am I thinking about sorrow, tragedy, and trauma materizlied as cream corn? How does garmonbozia relate to gabagool? Where does all this energy go when it is exhausted, Modest Mouse asks.
Why am I referencing all this whiteness™? Have I suddenly become a White Culture Theorist™?
What do David, Rich, and David have in common beyond being white™ male filmmakers whose slow pace invites us to the hyperreal lucidity of life?
What does whiteness™ do to our relationships? How do postcolonial people consume garmonbozia? What does whiteness™ do to our taste buds?
I hate cream cheese casserole, and yet I consume copious amounts of dairy as I eat ice cream out of my troff. I cry about David dying while unable to find a diner with a simple breakfast, settling for a Hawthorne hipster spinoff of bacon and eggs™ while dating a man who dates a woman who dated Dave’s son. He tells me this because he thinks it’s sexy. “Does that turn you on?”
Is it more taciturn to know sexual pestering exists in our ecologies? Not out there, but inside us. Our ancestors. Those elder we don’t wish to call in. Where did all this white blood™ come from? Do they need healing too? Their seeds in my stomach, forever hungry.
What do we do in the face of sexual violence when the perpetrators are our friends, family, kin? Are we still abolitinists if we want our rapists to be arrested? Are prisons the in-between our abolitionist futures?
Is that true? I ask you. I do.
I find myself watching Boyhood, the milieu of marshland, mountains, and river beds where my subtle self solidified among the sandy, loamy soil. Remembering suburbia is actually the petri dish where insecurities go to thrive. Where two young boys smoke cannabis out of a child Civil War soldier’s skull. Where teenagers take up the evening on ecstacy encircling stories of gymnastics instructors terrorizing children.
I think about garmonbozia as I watch the Sopranos because the suburbs are my most curious terrain of existence. The fabricated, fast-produced, tiny houses on the hillside. No less or more kept away from imperial violence.