Monday, May 22, 2017

Live for Love

I want to posit something to all the boys and girls, women and men out there. I want you to consider that perhaps existence has been presented to you in one particular way, and because of this, your subconscious and conscious life's goal has been to meet a manufactured set of criteria. But you already knew that. You just forgot. I forgot too.

I can't say for sure, but I can guess that I started to forget after I reached the age of being capable of baring a child. I was fifteen and playing the coveted role of Zaneeta Shinn in my school's production of the classic The Music Man. My dance partner and I, the featured "cute couple" in the show, spent night after night learning the most menial of steps, flirting but not flirting. 

He was popular, handsome, and ended up with his face on the hall wall for eternity after being named our equivalent to "Prom King," but since Prom was sin, we had to make it seem more prestigious. I knew where I stood and how he felt about me as soon as we took hands at our first dance rehearsal, and he told me my hands felt like grandma hands. 

We are animals after all. 

If I'd realized what was happening (had I been like five years younger) I'd have laughed it off as a "this guy," moment, but I was fifteen. I didn't want to have grandma hands because no one would love me. No one would love me if I had grandma hands! 

I felt that way too when my friends treated me like a freak for things like...eating tuna salad for lunch. Who will love me if I don't exclusively eat chicken fingers!?!?! When they laughed at me in fourth grade because I started getting boobs. WHO WILL LOVE ME IF I HAVE BOOBS?!?!?!?!

Shame. It's a shame. How terrified I was of not being loved, lovable. For what else was I supposed to live? But for love?

This is the message we get every day. That love is this thing to which we should aspire, that it is shiny, and plastic, and precious, and pretty. Just like America.

Except America isn't pretty. America is violence and horror, greed and rape. Her beauty is in her age, the monuments to her natural history. We the people package beauty and sell it like the ancient forests we decimate for parking lots without a second thought. 

So too is life. It isn't romance and happily ever after. It isn't good and bad. It's mostly ugly.

There can never be joy without pain. There can never be love without loss. There can never be life without death.

It isn't a game. And it isn't for sale. And you are unique out of every single person in the world. Shiny and pretty and perfect doesn't exist.

But you do. And imagine, just for a moment, that the love you seek is inside of you. All of it. The love you ache for at night. It's inside of you. And it is a well.

Live for that love.

"and you will have the suffrage of the world." Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Friday, March 31, 2017


Just to get everyone up to date. I'm back in Georgia.

But why? WHY go back to the south? Well, despite what you  may have heard, I was actually born here in the south, not too far from Georgia, actually, Hickory, North Carolina, and it feels right, lying on the ground, looking up past the tree line. I've napped under trees all over the the western part of the world, but the trees in the Blue Ridge Mountains are the ones I dream about, back in the very back of my subconscious. Ever since I crossed over from Tennessee into North Carolina for the first time as a human that could record memories (and not a child under the age of five), I have felt a very personal and quiet peace of mind from the mysteries of these ancient hills.

So here I am. I wait tables at a fancy restaurant in the mountains where I have to be able to explain Rabbit Rillettes to patrons. I make enough. Trust me.

And I want to fight for the south, for my friends that live here, that love it like I do, despite its bitter past. And since all the dudes and ladies that hate other ladies because they think we all want their dudes (the Grand ol' Pissants) voted to defund one of the most important institutions in this country that provides safe healthcare for women, there's A LOT of fighting to be done, and I WILL NOT SHUT UP. Margaret Sanger didn't shut up when she was arrested for trying to teach girls and women about their menstrual cycles, so I can't.

Moving takes time, shifting takes even more time. If I haven't had that lunch or coffee with you that we've been dancing around sharing, get ready. I'm about to start putting dates in my calendar again.

Also, and I don't care what anyone says, I cannot wait for the oppressive heat of the summer. My soul has been suffering from lack of summer detox sweats. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

Blah blah. Interim post. Want to get back to writing more regularly, know, moving.

In the future, I pledge to finish my Nina Simone trilogy, talk more about women in music that have been teaching me how to use my own voice, finish my timeline, go deeper into my timeline with some stories about college, Europe, and kissing Dave Foley at Relapse theatre and later in my car.

I came back to write, to fight for what is right, and to learn to be a homesteader. Let's see what happens next...