Reformulating the Form

The Form of the Form As a Form of Fiction



Now that I am older and these things don’t mean anything (as much) to me, I can slice you up. It’s all I need. I think you are perfect.

There is no need for a ruler. The lines are already there. I know I’ll start with a blade because my hands are steady, but I’ll move onto scissors because they’re just faster. I’m waiting for you to show up in the mail. It’ll be great.

When I was a kid, I wanted to get the hell out of town. And what I saw in front of me was a stack of forms. I thought, This Is Something I Can Tackle. This Is Something I Can Do. But I didn’t know that all these papers assumed that I would have answers to give, that these answers would come easily. There was a pale blue form. It was on nice heavy card and printed, in black and orange, with questions all in CAPS followed by small white circles to mark off. It was beautiful and cold and decidedly modern – but too much so because it was nearly unreadable, unusable. When I filled it out, I wrote very neatly with my nicest black pen. I wrote heavily, deliberately. With each letter, I thought that in my handwriting and in the very weight of the ink, They Will Know. They will see something about me as a person.

This thing became an autobiography. It was a piece of art that I did not mean to make.

This form, I want it back now. I want them (the institution at which this was directed) to send it back to me. It’s been tampered with, undoubtedly initialed, dabbed at, scrawled upon, stamped. But when I get it back I want it sent in a large envelope, unfolded. I will cut along those thin orange lines and make confetti of something into which I had put so much devotion. Each strip of paper would be saved and then inside letters, birthday cards, and even those little red envelopes for New Year’s money, I’m going to glue a little blue bar of my form. I am going to send myself out into the world, in little pieces, except this time I will know what I am doing.



Submitted by christine on Fri, 10/12/2007 - 10:48pm. christine's blog | login or register to post comments | printer friendly version