Myles - Afterglow (a dog memoir)

Copyright 2017 by Eileen Myles

Cover art and design by Nick Misani

All insert photos and drawings courtesy of Eileen Myles, with the following exceptions: .

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FIRST EDITION

Published simultaneously in Canada
Printed in the United States of America

This book was set in Adobe Garamond Pro by
Alpha Design & Composition of Pittsfield, NH

First Grove Atlantic hardcover edition: September 2017

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title.

ISBN 978-0-8021-2709-9
eISBN 978-0-8021-8878-6

Grove Press
an imprint of Grove Atlantic
154 West 14th Street
New York, NY 10011

Distributed by Publishers Group West

groveatlantic.com

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for Genevieve Hannibal

One day, in 1999, an awkward hand-addressed letter appeared in my hallway.

The mailman threw everything on the stairs. I grabbed the letter & headed with Rosie to the dog run which in that neighborhood was a skimpy little triangle at 39th Street west of 9th Ave. It was an amazing perspective on mid-town roofs and also dull traffic heading to New Jersey. My neighbors were weird. Sad former actors. I liked the pink-cheeked older woman named Doris who walked everyone in the neighborhoods dogs including mine. This is like sixteen years ago so Doris is probably dead. Sitting on a bench while Rosie sniffed the ground I tore open the strange note. It read:

Dear Eileen,

I take the liberty of calling you Eileen to begin the unpleasant duty of forcing you to legally take responsibility for the damages you have inflicted over a period of nine years upon the being you have taken to calling Rosie. I am Rosies lawyer. Dog lawyers have only become possible in recent years, even months. Which is not to say crimes of all kinds against dogs are new in any way. Crimes against dogs are ancient and widespread, but dogs having the wherewithal to attain legal representation is new indeed. My services have been retained thanks to a generous bequest by an anonymous donor who set up a foundation in her will for the explicit purpose of identifying dogs who were likely litigants, candidates for beginning the long and arduous process of getting the ball rolling on dogs rights. Its been clear to my client during her life and most pressingly at the time of her death that the best way to make this need known would be to take up an individual dogs case, not the case of all dogs which is too ubiquitous to pursue in the explicit way the law makes possible for human litigants, who are generally assumed to be individuals. A wealthy individual, of course, does not have more rights than a poor one. We are all brought up to honor human rights, but only wealthy humans are able to use the full force of the law; i.e., obtain high quality representation. By this logic, there can be no freedom for dogs unless there are wealthy dogs. There is one today, the dog formerly known as Rosie. She has been left a significant sum of money in my clients will. She may spend it as she pleases with the single stipulation that she obtain counsel and press charges against her owner for a variety of abuses and crimes against dog kind. As you know, Eileen Myles, that owner is you.

It seemed unbelievable to me. Rosie was about ten. I looked at her licking an empty wrapper against the fence. She appeared entirely innocent of the letters content. What? Are we already going home she seemed to say. Okay. I dont think she knows anything about this. I popped the leash back on and walked home planning my day. The loft we lived in was right across from Port Authority. Day and night I watched the lights of buses sail in and out of the building. I thought about the letter from time to time. I mean for years. I showed it to people. They laughed and smiled. Could Rosie and my entire relationship be framed as blame. I did force her to have sex with Buster that one time. No twice. Could I write a book about that. Ive never been an idea writer. I have like a spurt then I go do something else. But this would be her book. A dog book is a great idea

September, 2006

Youve just fallen down on the grass. I thought this would be a nice place to sit in the afternoon. The cat shows up, black, looking out. When Im surrounded by trees, a condition Ive sought out pretty persistently throughout my life, the thing I think I might like the most about them is this whisper like all the hair of the world passing through the tunnel of one single breathif that is a form of percussion. This irregular hiss of trees and wind. I think it is my mother. And I am her son, and you are my dog.

Our relationship is part discomfort & humiliation and part devotion. Oh once upon a time I wanted a dog exactly as much as I wanted to be alive. Maybe I didnt even want a dog then. I wanted to say that I was alive. Even to be a dog would be enough and how good if I could be seen wanting one and could begin asking for it incessantlyif I could summon up asking in every possible manner. Please. Leaving notes under pillows and toilet seat covers. Did I want a dog, really. No I was a kid who was desperate to be seen in a state of desire & supplication. That was many years ago. I wanted to already be my yes. A positive child in a state of knowing & reaching out. Not for myself but towards a friend. The child was denied. In the manner of my family they said yes and then they said no. Somewhere there is a picture of this. A little boy in bangs and a plaid cotton shirt. (I remember it was red but the picture was taken with my fathers Polaroid land camera which took black & white photos then which added to the beauty of them because the past is so often a place whose colors are only in my mind.) How hard it would be to be a movie star. To be in full color in front of everyone. To be applauded and owned. Isnt that like being a very good dog. Youre lashing out at photographers who are adamant about capturing you, your every movement again and again. I admit Ive wanted to be a movie star to be seen in that disgraceful and hungry waythe buttered toast of everyone. There I am with my beautiful smile. A big piece of bread. Angry, covering my face. I held my dog in the black and white world and I knew that this was the moment I had wanted so keenly. To be still, to be fixed, to be sad. I was just like a little prayer card holding my dog. I would never know myself as clearly again.