2. 22 years after The Leper Messiah spread the news that we only have five left, Pluto had moved
from Leo to Virgo to Libra to Scorpio, where, at the moment, it was joined by Mercury, Venus, Jupiter,
and, since it was the middle of November, the Sun. At 1pm EST, a woman born the same day 30 years
prior was unexpectedly giving birth as a blizzard whipped across North America and Pluto watched
from the 9th house, condemning the child to 20 years of boredom, interspersed with disorienting
manic episodes featuring epiphanies on quantum theory, perception and idealism, cubism, and
religion.
As prescribed by the stars on both 14th’s of both Novembers, the woman and her daughter
share a profound desire to quantify the human psyche--a curiosity which, prior to her becoming a
mother, compelled the woman through graduate school for neurobiology, leaving her daughter an
ample supply of medical imagery to distract herself with until that one illustration of a cross section
of dermal tissue wasn’t enough, and the child took to dissecting herself.
Also celestially and neurologically predetermined, this habit--amplified by a psychotic
solipsism reminiscent of the Starman’s those 22 (+17) years ago--eventually landed the
child-now-teenager her first long-term hospital stay. After 17 years of persistent boredom and
divinely inspired artistic endeavors, being alone with an array of preschool art supplies and new
sleeping pills that turned everything into prisms at night was far from the worst outcome.
For 2 days she couldn’t control her hands, thanks to the first of several doctors she’d threaten
to sue but never did. She left feeling human and gave a boy with the same 17 stitches as her an
anatomical self-portrait to remember her by; she never heard from him again but met his sister at a
party 8 months later and wrote in sharpie on her arm as she puked into a ziplock bag, “tell Helen if
Brent’s alive when sober,” finally getting an “I’m pretty sure--he’s in Vermont or New Hampshire or
something” from his other sister at another party another few months later.
Brent From The Hospital didn’t serve much as a character in my life, but as the first
coincidence I didn’t attribute to a psychotic god-complex or dismiss as part of an entirely pointless
universe. From then on they’ve all been labeled “fate.” And I didn’t stop evolving as a person/artist
after my first hospital stay; there were no visible creative plateaus corresponding with changes in
meds, schools, locations, or boyfriends--
The only cohesive lead up to my current fixations in art branched out further than any sort
of evolutionary tree I can climb after that. There ar forks and knots that stand out, definitely: meeting
my husband, driving my mom’s old minivan to 5 different states over the summer (+19), The couple
weeks I stayed at UPMC ICLU not as a patient while my Aunt got a double lumg transplant, marrying
my husband (2 days before my 20th birthday, 2 days after Mars and Pluto crossed), the terrifying
drive into Manhattan for a 24 week abortion after 3 more doctors I have yet to sue said I wasn’t/could
never get pregnant…
The only constants are my mom, my husband, and recurring hospital settings and impossible
coincidences attributed to astrological happenings. My only guess as to why I do anything is, corre-
spondingly, “biology or astrology or love.” If anything exists outside that, I have yet to find it.
Aubergine Nightmares:
The Totally Legitimate and Historically Accurate Myth of Helen H’s Art
