NASA discovers black hole ‘devouring’ star

I’ve been holding onto this headline for weeks. The meaning of it keeps changing for me.

I feel like I saw Cheap Trick at the Hollywood Bowl before, but that’s not the same as knowing.

Old enough to sometimes not be sure what I saw, who I saw, or when. Feels similar to the only time I went to see Nine Inch Nails in concert and was so high that I spent much of the concert wondering if that could really be Trent Reznor.

Somewhere between Hawai’i and California, my tagged lists on the library’s Libby app disappeared.

I’m waiting for Help. Hundreds of “wish list” tags are gone. Without an electronic list of books I wish to read, culled over several years, how will I find my way?

Reading four poetry books at once (Pink Elephant by Rachel Camacho; Prayer for Relief by Krystle May Statler; Hollywood Forever by Harmony Holiday; California Southern by Adolfo Guzman-Lopez) and every poem in every magazine I have a free subscription to.

Before I left, I thought, Read only poetry for now. Then I got locked into a reported, narrative nonfiction book. Then I returned to poetry—and plunged in—

Immersion/absorption

In everything I want to plunge.

Except for social media. I’ve been away from social media for less than a month and (again) wondering if/when I’ll go back. I fill my brain now with online magazines (several new subscriptions via the library) and

Listening to Ariana Reines take associative leaps: topics include chance, dice, tarot and the astrology of the moment

There’s a relief in seeing others stammer through their responses. Wanting to speak and finding that the thread is loose, has split three ways.

The next day, I read a poem that is subtitled “after Ariana Reines.” (in peluda by Melissa Lozada-Oliva)

Chance.

The roll of the dice.

I recently updated the description of this newsletter to call it a “public notebook.”

Long ago, that was the name of a class I taught—on how to write a public notebook, based on the writing of my last two books, which were semi- to completely public before they were bound, sold.

Pressing my lips together as a new action (stammering, or the unspeakable)

Since my mother died, I’ve caught myself, mouth closed, tight, my lips disappearing, up to ten times a day.

Like if I let go of this posture, a flood will pour out of me.

I want the flood.

I release the posture.

I open—

The Summer 2026 issue of The Missouri Review contains a beautiful piece that Erin Vachon wrote about all three of my books, “The Alchemy of Wendy C. Ortiz.” You can read the excerpt at the link, and subscribe to read the whole review.

ICYMI: Those of you who are paid subscribers (yay! thank you!) will notice that I have lowered the cost of subscriptions to $5 a month/$50 a year (down from $7/$70). When I started Mommy’s El Camino in the spring of 2023, I wondered if I could make a little bit of side income with my writing. MEC has evolved into a public notebook of sorts, and three years later, I’m not dependent on the side income I was looking for in 2023 to feel less financially precarious. Meanwhile I’ve been able to continue and expand on my monthly donation of ~$150 a month toward local mutual aid efforts. Thank you!

Buy Excavation, Hollywood Notebook, and Bruja from Bookshop.org for a discount, plus support your local independent bookstore at the same time.