4/12/17

Silverware.

Silverware continues on in our absence, every silent meal made musical by the light clink, the piercing scrape, the pounding clatter. If I cannot hold you at least I can hold the fork that once fed your life, stoked your fire. At least I can clean the knife you waved, angry at the way we turned from the fading light of your eyes to explore the curvature of our spoons, as if their permanence could save us. Once this knife is clean, so too will the stains lift from my conscience.

To Fill A Gap

It has been over a year since I have posted anything to this blog.

I have nothing to say,
but I feel a need to remember what it is like to write words and hit
Send to all.

Too hot? Get nekkid.

Arriving to my hometown of Bowling Green, KY was like opening a door that leads to a dusty old closet stuffed with all the childhood belongings you never sorted through and haven't thought of in ten years. Only instead of dust clouding the air, it is a thick, wet humidity that wraps you in sticky heat. Cue panic.

Now that I'm here, I can feel that it has been awhile. The air no longer feels like home and I had to use my GPS. Oddly, I still remember the exact location of every waffle house in town.

The feeling isn't so much unnerving... just unsettling and in a couple days I will resettle, as I always do when I enter a new space. But that's just it--it feels like settling a new frontier. In a way, I'm glad for such a feeling, as it means I have allowed myself to grow apart, grow out, and indicates that my headspace hasn't been used up thinking of the past.

I need a nap.

To update folks who wish to know about this seemingly interesting life I lead (seemingly=key):
I unexpectedly spent the summer out west, getting my feet wet with cob in Montana and enjoying a love affair in Colorado near the soothing Yampa river. July was filled with coffee mornings and starry nights, learning how to shoot guns, blundering about with saws and drills, and quiet evenings reading while watching the sun set over the grand MT mountains. Oh, and I entered my mid twenties. (?!)

I am so very grateful for all I was able to experience this summer thus far, and despite a somewhat treacherous drive from my home in WA to my home in BG (near-accidents and downpours at night, midnight cicada-covered tent set-ups in newly swampy air), I am glad to be here, too, ready to hug the friends I haven't seen in too long and, especially, indulge in Judy's Castle.

I would like to leave you with recommendations for some inputs for ya brains:

2 Dope Queens
https://www.wnyc.org/shows/dopequeens
Genre: comedy, woke-shit podcast
The hosts, Phoebe Robinson and Jessica Williams are absolutely stellar. They aim to make people the stars of their own stories and provide a platform to promote primarily comedians of color, women and LGBTQIA performers. I spent eight hours listening in the car and snorted so hard my nose ring almost came out. GIVE A LISTEN! I especially recommend "Who is Jeff Tweedy" because Naomi Ekperigin is amazing.

Invisibilia
http://www.npr.org/podcasts/510307/invisibilia
Genre: informative, investigative, story-centered podcast
"Invisibilia (Latin for invisible things) is about the invisible forces that control human behavior – ideas, beliefs, assumptions and emotions. Co-hosted by Lulu Miller, Hanna Rosin and Alix Spiegel, Invisibilia interweaves narrative storytelling with scientific research that will ultimately make you see your own life differently." I especially recommend "The Culture Inside" and "Reality Part One." 

Dreams of My Father
Genre: autobiography, enrapturing book
Written by Obama when he was still a junior senator, the story illuminates his own personal struggle with his identity and his journey to find and nurture his roots. Relatable for everyone who seeks belonging and may be especially informative to folks who aren't familiar with our racially divided world (i.e. those who don't see color).

Damn.
Genre: rap album
I shouldn't have to recommend this to anyone because y'all should have already listened to it at least 10 times through. But in case you haven't, it is Kendrick Lamar's 2017 album. Carve out some time to lay down and listen. Don't multitask! Just fucking listen.

Shout out to my dope-ass friends for your recommendations. I wouldn't be cool without you.


59 days until I meet my group in Guwahati, India. Oh shiiiiiiit.

Thoughts Roused by the Light of Spring

Feet press into the soft body of the Earth. A lake of smooth mud has now turned to mountains for the ants and the spiders and the tiny microorganisms you always forget exist. For the unicellular, you have unknowingly changed the landscape of their life. Cool air sinks into the well mark of your big toe, a heel-shaped pond forms nearby.
If you get stuck in the stars and find fear in the truth of your insignificance, sink to the Earth and remember no single truth can ever be true.


------------

Love me as the tide does the land.
Tickle me, gently, imperceptibly,
persistently;
until suddenly I realize:
I am engulfed.
My perspective now lies below the surface
as I look to the sky through distilled, watery light.
It is a different world, being surrounded by your expanse.
It is a world in which I once thought I could not breathe
and yet....
I lay here alone, now, sun on my skin,
land once again.
The tides have turned. You have retreated,
as gently, imperceptibly, 
as persistently as you came.

"You are Kelly Zenn! You'll be fine."

5/29/17, 1:54 pm, I compiled:

"I don't want to live." We laugh, mouths full of sugar–filling time, filling a hole. Or trying anyway.
"It does feel fruitless sometimes."
"That is why we just have to keep going."
"In the wise words of Paul Kalanithi, 'I can't go on, I will go on.'"
We sigh. The sun hasn't emerged from the clouds yet, obstructing our ability to feel grateful. But still we know the world is at our fingertips, nothing to frown for. We frown harder and then we laugh. The sun peeks through.

"I forgot what a broken heart feels like."
"Physically painful?"
A breeze enters through the window, caressing my face softly. I cringe.
"Fuck yes."

"How many women have begged you to stay?
... don't answer that."

"I found underwear. What a day!"

"Why do we fuck with this shit?"
"We're bored. Boys, heroin, hobbies: all one in the same."

Sometimes it is better to have never loved at all rather than to have loved and lost. It is all circumstantial. Cliches are not whole truths.

 "Embrace the pain. Surrender. Release."

Daggers.
"I know you're intense. I felt that from the beginning. I'm sorry it doesn't always work out for you."
"I wish I could be more empathetic to how my actions affect you."
"I don't want to affect you."
"I don't care."
"Whatever."
"I don't have time for you."
"I thought I knew you pretty well."
"Thank you. It has been an honor."

You are not weightless. You move me, I let you move me. I sought you out. I got lost, lost in your sweet nothings since September.


At least there is a goal to reach for. Vegan cherry pie. Someday.

Sharing.

"If poets do what they are supposed to do, which is tell the truth in some fundamental and comprehensible way, then their work is ultimately important, especially at a time like this, when language is being used to perpetuate political lies." David Budbill, during an interview with The Sun writer, Diana McCall, in June 2003.

What We Need
By: David Budbill

The Emperor,
his bullies
and henchman,
terrorize the world
every day

which is why
every day

we need

a little poem
of kindness,

a small song
of peace,

a brief moment
of joy.

-------------------

By Kelly Zenn:

Do not cease the smiles.
Let your head hang low,
as you must.
But when eyes glaze,
exhausted,
strained,
we become blind to our neighbors–
those you fight for, with...
against.
You are not your cause.
They are.

So,
keep your eyes open.
Listen and
do not cease the smiles.

Smiles, without the flash and speedy upload,
are not yet commodified.

---------------------

"The greatest test of courage on the earth is to bear defeat without losing heart." –Robert Ingersoll

"What is certain is that it is sheer madness... when the economy of consumption is absorbing the economy of production, and the exploitation of labour power is submerged by the exploitation of everyday creativity. The same energy is torn from the worker in his hours of work and in his hours of leisure to drive the turbines of power...." –Raoul Vaneigem

"Never despair! but, if you do, / Work on in your despair." –Henry Tyrell

"Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world." –Joseph Campbell

Dire Silence

Where have all the words gone?

Where once they did tickle the tip of the tongue, there is silence.

I feel bereft.

Eh, Uh, Uhg: An Assemblage of Starts Because I Just Feel a Need to Publish Something

This space is a chamber,
adorned with silence, solitude.
For extraction from being,
into the mind we fall.
Focus, now, our eyes open;
the floor moves.
So focused on elimination we did not see.
We sat on the living,
breathing
bodies of the ones that carry
and
we fall.

---------------------------------------

Cease fire, plain sire,
the acoustics are unnerving.


Once swayed by the wind, she now sinks deep in the sands of comfort. Soft, warm, they suck her down moment by mindless moment. Focused on the possibility of losses rather than the inevitability of gains, fear erupts as torment no longer distracts. She stands within forever, watching it collapse.

------------------------------------------

Shit fuck potato mister miser.

Bring on the rain.
Bring on the dust that rises
like sun lit fog.
But you did it
with your kicks
to my shins,
fucker.

There was a dick that hit my face once.
He cackled.
And you ask why I run off,
into the distance?

First it's warm.
But just for a second.
My fingers freeze as you turn away,
your flesh turned cold
just as I began to unzip
and take a brick from my wall.

These young men
who think they know love
better than I.
Act as though adherence to the task
destroys the thing itself.

But I love you, but I love you!
The words froth forth from me and I cannot apologize
for such vomit in your ear. All I see are rose petals.
Your fears are not my own,
so let me be.
I will jump in headfirst
and you can't stop me.

-----------------------------------------------------

On being a manic pixie dream girl:

I'm not a princess. I can take care of myself. I don't need to be put on a pedestal or have my every wish granted. Yeah, the world is gunna make me sad sometimes, and yeah, you are going to make me sad sometimes but that's just the way the world is! Don't deny me the world. I've learned to rely on the wholeness of things, the dualities of life and in treating me like a story book character, you stick me on a 2D page. But I am so much more and, sooner or later, I will reject what you do to me.

I am not your anything. I am me. And if you try to harness me I will run from you.

A Poem for the New World Order: Choppy, Like the Waters We Just Dove Into

Who shall admire the brilliant red trunks of the Madrones,
smooth as the soft new flesh of life,
wrapped in sun-warmed air?
The convergence of the senses–
perception–
lost in a moment,
with one flick of the wrist,
the swift crack of a bullet to the temple of a lifetime.

Who will spread the bird's humble song
cross continents, languages,
space and time;
extolling and sharing the beauty?

I will not bow to cynics
who find solace in the knowledge that it is all for naught.
If you scream love you must believe it.
Not for a while or for a few,
but forever and for all.
I cherish this body that enables life and encompasses soul!
And so, as the only truth I know,
I must cherish you, too.

My heart sits in your chest.
I listen to the beat and recognize my own.
Who gave us this blood?
Who gives us this drum?

I believe it was our mother.

She gave me life, born and bred from the depths of her oceans,
nursed on rain from her skies.
But here,
I present her no lanyard of gratitude.

Wrenching rock-flesh from her belly, I dive into her core,
searching for sustenance to fuel not my life, but my habits.
Mother does not scream.
She weeps acid.

Billy Collins captured her words:
"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered."
And here (I replied), I lay my follies at your feet:
I covered myself in oil and set myself aflame.
My heartbeats weaken, my legs collapse.
My bones whittle to dust and my teeth crack.
My eyes remain wide as the smoke rescinds,
revealing the world I misread.
But with no water to drink,
and no mother to heal,
my last good day ends
and the world goes blind.

I can't convince you to see.
I can't convince you to care.
So I will love while the ship is sinking,
grieve while I still hold life in my palm.
Watching it seep through trembling fingers is the final gift given.
And so, I will stand strong.



Written from the depths of a remembered and ongoing grief:

Mom's Memorial reading: The Lanyard by Billy Collins from Kelly Zenn on Vimeo.

Yesterday Carries Tomorrow

I've never felt true shame about who I was until I found this place. Every facet of my being feels wrong... hollow... obsolete?

Interesting how I felt those little negative thoughts begin to nest in my heart and yet still could do nothing to stop them.

Here, I feel crazy, weak. For here, if you have all you need why would you complain?

My skin is paper thin. Please teach it how to grow.

I want to cease this nonsense.

Excerpt from Tulips by: Sylvia Plath

"I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free -

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

Before they came the air was calm enough,

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health."

Undiluted... For Time We Never Have

I consumed three pieces of information this evening, each separately spurring deep emotional responses, and when it all came together I went into overdrive. It is 2 am. I don't have time to refine these thoughts any more (school is frustratingly restricting while also being necessary to the depth of my understanding). And because I want you to engage with them I decided to just let the whole thing loose. Don't expect cohesion. I am endlessly frustrated with how my words fall short, by miles. This is why I have reiterated my thoughts multiple ways (ah, a glimpse into my writing process).
 But perhaps you will process and create sharper words to share. This is my hope.

First Piece of Information
"America's farmer's had long been making political trouble for Wall Street and Washington; in the words of historian Walter Karp, 'since the Civil War at least, the most unruly, the most independent, the most republican of American citizens have been the small farmers.' Beginning with the populist revolt of the 1890s, farmers had made common cause with the labor movement, working together to check the power of corporations. Rising agricultural productivity [due to synthetic nitrogen fertilizers] handed a golden opportunity to the farmers' traditional adversaries. Since a smaller number of farmers could now feed America, the moment had come to 'rationalize' agriculture by letting the market force prices down and farmers off the land. So Wall Street and Washington sought changes in farm policies that would loose "a plague of cheap corn" on the nation, the effects of which are all around us–indeed in us."
–"The Omnivore's Dilemma," Micheal Pollan


... This quote, though, is the straw on the camel's back. It lays bare just how deep the meddling hands of the profiteers can reach, ripping the farmer from their land and replacing them with technology that rapes the land of its life-giving properties resulting in a complete dependence on a product that, financially, benefits the 1%.

Farming was necessarily unable to be hooked up to the capitalist system, for farming relies on various other natural forces for its survival. Therefore farmer's could represent interests more/less outside the capitalist structure. But those who profit found a way to plug it in and destroy the farmers in one fell swoop.

----

Second Piece of Information


Since when did we become so unrelentingly polarized that trying to find the "others'" truth is an unforgivable crime in the public's eye?

When attempting to navigate the undeniable fact of multiple opposing truths, how does one move forward?

Is maintaining ignorance of other peoples' truths, therefore bolstering your own convictions, necessary to getting things done in a timely manner? To what detriment?

How has it come to be that society moves so fast that listening is a waste of time? We need time to be careful (full of care) when approaching our (humanity's and the Earth's) future and yet we seem to have cornered ourselves into a space where there is practically no time at all. What do we do now?

----

Third Piece of Information



... We should mourn because sentimentality is what allows us to be affected. If we cannot be affected we experience nothing. Yet sentimentality has been vilified, defined as a form of weakness and cast out of societies' repertoire for tenacity.

What is that word? Weakness. Why are we so afraid of being weak? What does it mean to be weak? What detriment does being weak create for the individual, for society?

----

We humans have a population that exceeds the natural law of a carrying capacity. Our species' incredible ability to overcome that law must not be celebrated without a reminder of its cost. Our dependence on an ever-dwindling energy source now inextricably linked to our dependence on a system based on exploitation and oppression will destroy our descendants' future.

Is it too late? Are we doomed to rely on technology for our survival? Technology is not beautiful when it is our only choice... a 2D solution to our having destroyed the unfathomably intricate processes of life that sustained us. What is the point of human life if we can consolidate our entire existence into a few singular solutions?

I will not worship the drones that replace our bees. The drones did not kill the bees, they are the solution to the bees being killed. But if we did not have a solution to the bees being killed, would we have killed the bees? If we did not trust our own adaptability, our technological solutions, would we kill the coral reef? If we prioritized our connection to the Earth, would we seek solutions that move us ever farther from needing her?

My God is the intricate chaos that creates the ebb and flow of our universe. You can see it if you look closely at our cells, at our genetics, at the base of all life. For the first time I am realizing that we may have streamlined our lives to such an extent that we have removed ourselves from my God.

The bee is born of that intricate chaos and is connected to very many other forces than just the making of honey through pollination. The bee is beautiful. Each individual bee is unique. Within that diversity lies innumerable possibilities. That diversity is where beauty is born.

The drone is born of human's minute understanding of the forces of that intricate chaos that perpetuates life and is therefore connected only to our tiny thread of knowledge about the elaborate relationship between pollination and life. Each drone is identical. The possibilities of the drone end with its function. The drone will not evolve with its environment. It is not connected to the web of life, it has a singular strand that connects and depends on us. I do not view this as beautiful.

Perhaps it is time to cease our celebration for the solutions we devise and acknowledge that often these solutions arise from a problem we hastily and blindly created. Perhaps we should mourn.

We should mourn because we are limiting the possibilities of our future as it relates to our Earth's. If we remove diversity from our lives we disrupt and potentially destroy the possibility for evolution–one of the many results of that intricate chaos.

We should mourn because true beauty cannot be replicated as it is within variation that beauty is grown.

We should mourn because our free will is dwindling. We are plugged into a system others created for profit. If our farmer's are no longer feeding us then it must be a machine. That machine runs on profit, at any non-monetary expense.

We should mourn because no one seems to be listening.

Just Another Feminist Rant

While I recognize that there are other very important social justice demands that deserve attention, this particular piece arises from my personal struggles as a cis, white, middle-class woman and focuses on the singular issue of women's rights. If for any reason you believe I have unduly ignored the intersectionality of sexism and any other oppressive institutions, please feel free to express that to me in a clear manner in the comments or through email. 

This labor day weekend I visited a couple of wonderful old friends in DC and while I had a great time, entering city life also provided an unsettling look through the magnifying glass at humanity. Over the course of less-than four days I was catcalled and ridiculed, approached and reprimanded all by men I had never met. A man blocked my way in a liquor store simply because I refused to answer "how's your day going, honey?" At a bar many men attempted to compliment(?) me by gluing their penis to my butt without my even seeing them as I danced. A man walking past on the street mumbled, "girls look good enough to eat" while my friend and I walked along a crowded Chinatown street mid-day. I caught a man on the Metro clandestinely capturing images of me and other women on the train with his camera phone presumably for his future use. And even when not directly approached, the leers were uncountable, occurring perhaps most viciously in the seemingly safe establishment that is the grocery store. 

Over the years I have worked hard to maintain my girlish delight that allows me to continually play with the world that surrounds me. I cherish that part of me. But during these four days I had to sink deeper inside myself in order to avoid the psychological torment of the male gaze while ironically feeling safest in the presence of other men I trusted. I lost my quirk. I didn't want them to look at the child inside of me that way. I needed to hide her to protect her.

Then I re-entered the world of my nieces, these three young, silly, wonderful girls who will soon enter puberty and they, too, may learn that in order to protect themselves they'll have to hide from the world, make themselves smaller, disappear into self-hatred. And why?

Our world hates women. Our world tells us this both subliminally through unachievable beauty standards set alongside a narrative that our beauty is our most important asset; as well as outright, through songs declaring, "I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one," or, most glaringly, cases of sexual assault that are blamed on the victim. And yet as our girls grow into women, the best answer we can come up with for why they self-destruct–with eating disorders, self-mutilation, or the like–is hormones? Further yet, as we mature out of puberty and deal daily with our tumultuous relationship with this world that hates us, we are still dismissed as "crazy or emotional"? 

As a woman who fights for the girl inside myself and the girls I love in this world, I ask why? Why do you hate us so? Why do you love our bodies but not our beings? And why do you refuse to acknowledge the hatred?

I can't stand the debate any longer: the fighting simply to prove that something isn't right when those pubescent girls are screaming that everything is wrong in any way they can. When a woman on the beach is undressed by police officers against her will and people nod their heads and say, yes, I agree, undress her, how is it unclear? 

Just look at your daughters and feel the overwhelming love you have for them. Know it will never be enough to combat the insurmountable hatred the world at large feels toward women in general. They will not make it through unscathed, they will be battered even if they're strong. Unless you fucking fight with them to change the game and listen to them in order to learn how to make the world love them, too. And yes, I am speaking to all men (and women).

I'll even give you a hint on where to start: remove the phrase "who cares" from your vocabulary.

July

We're fragmenting,
A statue, once whole, now blows to dust in the wind and the rain.
What remains?
The pieces others hold.
Crumbling to bits around lovers' fingers;
they're keeping safe the parts they've always known.
The parts they need.
Regrowth cannot occur while they remain there, saving.
We must chop off their arms.

Oh, summer wind, breathe your faith of life into me.

As a toast to the closing of this chapter, I have decided to begin posting my many jumbled, unedited pieces that I've written and hoarded during the past year. I learned long ago to stop imagining the future, so it's an understatement to say I could have never imagined how this year of my life would turn out. There is pain and there is joy and there is oh so much growth.

August!

20, 2016

The unrelenting onslaught of water's power removes the rocks' rough edges, revealing a sleek, smooth surface. Many may call this true beauty- but it is the rock's only defense. Relent, become soft, and the water will move more quickly over your surface. The walls we put up to defend ourselves are not always rough-hewn. For many, they are the soft edges of our character--letting all things pass over us with as little resistance as is possible.



6, 2016

A child's grief extends outwards, as they have not yet been taught to turn inwards.
An adult's grief is limited by the skin; having forgotten how to unabashedly bare his soul, the fire in an adult's grieving eyes slowly ebbs and flows.
In the realm between child and adult, when we know the world cannot bare our sorrows and yet we have not yet learned how to keep that fire locked in our eyes, grief implodes within, creating a shockwave to those surrounding us. Our whole world is grief, and yet there is no space for such as we walk along the remains of our long lives.
So, we tear out a space, with claws or teeth–not because we are needy or are using our grief for attention. It is survival.
Locked in a cage of smiles, we break our bones on the bars and lay there bloody, hoping someone will notice and release us (into a world where everything is not okay).

Universal Morality, an Ethnocentric Theory?

This mini essay is a little rough. I wrote it in a spurt last night as it just sort of came out of me like vomit (the majority of my writing comes to me that way). Anyway, it has since been sparsely edited and is simply some food for thought. This particular chain of thought was spurred by a short debate I had about universal morality based around a specific example of violence against women in other cultures. Mt stance as feminist may take a hit from this, but I'm always willing to calmly discuss other points of view. I know it's a tricky topic.

I believe that we have no ground to stand on when judging the moralities of other cultures. Am I against the stoning of women? Yes, of course. But that arises from my own world, my own beliefs and my own culture. Judging the stoning of women in other cultures from this point of view does nothing but reassure my sense of personal "goodness". If, say, I wanted to eradicate the stoning of women from a certain culture, I'd have to learn the how and why and for what. I'd have to learn the desire to stone or the acceptance of such a fate in order to eradicate the action. To do any less would simply be attacking a symptom, and just like a disease, you must kill its heart in order to stop it from spreading. The issue is that if you immediately label anything as morally wrong, you hinder your ability to create a space where you could conceive how it would be the right course of action. It is in this space that you learn the truth of what needs to be eradicated. And from where I'm standing, to say I am against the stoning of women is inconsequential and does nothing but close my mind and bolster my sense of moral righteousness. So I do believe that, when appraising the moral standards of other cultures, I have no ground upon which to stand. I cannot pick and choose what is right and wrong in the lives of those I know nothing about. I will help to bring less suffering and more joy to anyone, always, if a path to do so ever becomes apparent. But I will not lay my own moral framework upon another's culture and use it to build myself up. The trouble with, maybe everyone, but I can say, for sure, the educated westerners, is we think we've got it figured out. We still view ourselves as enlightened even when our own culture is flummoxed at itself. Perhaps we can still view ourselves this way because we're so good at pointing our fingers at some other group of us, saying, "it's not us that's fucked up, we know better. We know the way, but it's them who are stopping us and fucking everything up. The trumps, the Clintons, the racists, the NRA, the Christians, the conservatives... They're the fuckups" Or the opposite quote from a different camp, "... the liberals, the atheists, the Sanders..."
We love to prescribe pity, moral frameworks, and heroic guidance to cultures that we view as more troubled than our own. We believe we're doing a favor in these acts, but the simple notion of any of these prescriptions proves our self-aggrandizing stance. We believe it is our education that gives us this ability to see the true lines drawn between right and wrong. But it isn't. It's our nation's power and money that keeps us from falling into the pit with the rest, as many may see it. It is our western culture's history of domination that today gives us the ability to believe in a universal morality to judge the faltering nations of those we abuse(d). You may feel in your human heart the connection to the suffering in other cultures because suffering crosses through borders unchanged. Human suffering is universal. But the motives to cause suffering are bred by very particular environments and sequences of events. The motives are not universal. And just as a child of abuse is more likely to grow up to abuse, our dominion of control and greed raised and bred a world fraught with hatred. How asinine an abusive father would look calling his abusive son out for his heinous actions. Sure, I'd agree with him that the abuse is wrong, but my hope and respect for the abuser who judges his abusive son would plummet to a depth I do not wish to fathom. Hypocrisy adds a layer of evil to anyone. So in an effort to save face and soul, just rid yourself of your moral high ground. It does little but make you look a fool.

What is your stance? In your universal morality is it right for us to speak for the systematically oppressed?

I have been told that for further reading on the topic: "Can the Subaltern Speak?"–Gayatri Spivak

fuente de la juventud

When people ask me if I'm excited about Evergreen I never know how to answer.

I am, of course. It is my safety net... the portal that shoots me back into a realm where youthful chaos is so easily harnessed. That beautiful inconsistency of life keeps me not just awake, but alive.

I can't help but fear the day when I lose that safety net for good. I've learned I can't harness that chaos on my own; so when I fall back into the routine of nights that bleed into one another, with pints of ice cream slowly building on my small frame, is that where I stay? I cannot end up here. It's okay for now, but I swear this is not living.

So, yeah, I'm excited about heading back to college. But shaky and desperate as well, cuz I'm playing the last card I've got. I don't know what happens after.

A sentiment from a wise movie character: I've already gone to college, gotten married, divorced, had a baby and that baby is grown. So now what's left for me? What do I have to look forward to? Being a grandmother and then that's it. Then it's death, that's my next benchmark. Life moves unforgivingly fast.

I don't want my life to turn into benchmarks. Somehow it already has. I will be saved from it this time. But the next?

Outer Peace, Inner Turmoil

The tumult is over–
walking along for twenty years
on fraying tight rope.
I've made it to the other side
and the rope is broken, gone.
Now I must get down from the platform,
and fall from the clouds.
Never knew the joy of that fear
until there was nothing left to be afraid of.

In a twister, I was spinning,
wishing for peace,
waiting for calm.
In the end I was dropped where I began.
The birds now sing of calm air,
a gentle breeze rustles my hair.
The sunlight exposes
the damage.
I sit on the ruins of my house.
The foundation is all that's left.
I meditate on the peace I once wished for.
I feel it surround me.
I wish for something new.
I wait to spin again.

"Riptide" Ukulele Cover

Or watch it here!

Pick Me Up

Sometimes I feel as though I do nothing with my life. That I'm utterly lazy and my life is just a void.

This is to remind myself of my week:

Worked a full work week, even after a debilitating depression stole my weekend.

Went on two runs this week, so far.

Realized I was flexible... from stretching so much over the past month.

Was sick, then still went to work later that day when I felt better.

Fixed Ruby's headlight myself.

Ignore fuzzy finger!

Changed my own car's oil.

Harvested, processed, and packed mustard greens, kale, swiss chard, strawberries, lettuce, arugula, spinach, collard greens, radishes, bokchoi for the market I'm going to tomorrow (i.e. managed a farm).

Fed, ate, bathed, stayed alive myself--good job!

So, don't worry about it, okay?

Speak Candidly for All to Hear

Today, for the first time in my life, I got drunk.

Unfortunately, the circumstances were less than superb. I began drinking at 10 am because I had already been awake for two hours, lying in bed, wishing for the sweet relief of death, shaking and sobbing alone and [feeling] deserted. I decided that if I were to kill myself, I would quit my job so they did not worry when I didn't show up and then just drive nowhere, put a pillowcase over my head and shoot myself in the head. I clung to that image like a wet dream, allowing it to build angst within me. Angst at its mere existence and angst that it could not be, not now and likely not ever. But here, let me examine my thoughts:

[Sudden nihilism is a massive bummer. Where does the world go when you realize your reality was made of delusions to keep you going?]

Self-Pity: Nearly all of the pain I felt was due to self pity and the recognition of such made it worse. It's particularly annoying when you get stuck wanting to die, knowing that your only reason for angst is because you're lonely and life isn't living up to your expectations. You don't have any actual challenges... you're just stuck in your own dumb head. Amazingly, thinking this way doesn't help relieve the crushing feeling of self-loathing.

The Key: I kept picturing myself looking at other peoples' lives thinking "the only way to get yourself out of that hole you're in is if you pull yourself out, I can't do a damn thing to help you." So, of course, I know I have my own key. I am the only one who holds to the key to my freedom. Knowing this made my self-loathing EVEN worse because of course, all the blame is then on me and I'm the only one who can solve it. I know if I went outside or joined a frisbee team or ran around I could get out of the funk but the funk is self-hatred and it makes you feel like the only way to be true to yourself is to stay where you are. Plus, you simply can't comprehend interacting with the world in such ways. It sounds so simple, to get yourself out of it, but I promise it isn't easy.

Abandonment: I love people. I love people so much I try to own them, which isn't really a great quality. But they keep moving and I keep moving and eventually I realize I'm standing here alone. I can't call my tried and true loves over to me, they are on different continents, different time zones.... the lives we lead are no longer wrapped together and they might be at work when I'm having a "crisis," leaving me to suffer alone, feeling isolated and abandoned.

Reach Out: Yeah, okay. So, when you're literally at your worst you really REALLY don't feel like reaching out to people who haven't earned your trust in that way, and sometimes you don't even feel like reaching out to the ones who HAVE earned your trust. It doesn't help that you KNOW you are at your worst and most vulnerable and you don't want to be a burden to others. Who wants people around when they are at their worst? I mean, really. Not to mention, most of us have been burned by folks who recoil when we have "episodes" so it's hard to trust that people will just accept our neuroses.

The Dark: It is dark. It's very very dark. It feels like every day you don't want to be alive while simultaneously you can't stand not living life to the fullest. It is being constantly disappointed in yourself. For me, it's wondering where my despair comes from... is it grief? Is it loneliness? Is it perfectionism? Regardless, I end up not respecting myself for feeling such self-pity. I know my privileges, they are many, and my depression makes me feel even more like a loser for feeling bad living in a world where despair runs rampant and I am so fortunate.

The Mask: People probably wouldn't know I struggle with depression. They wouldn't know that I wake up every day feeling a sad realization that a new day has begun and I have to figure out how the fuck to deal with it. I'm generally a pretty up-beat person. I feel highs so fierce I'm sure I annoy some people I encounter. But with the highs come the lows and they are just as fierce. Sometimes when you are feeling low you pretend you aren't because it's easier for you to not have people worried all the time and easier on them to, because it isn't really their job to make sure you're okay. You never wanted that to be their job.


This isn't a cry for help. I cried for help earlier--not on the public world of the web. And now I am better. But I realize a fallout is imminent as that is simply how my family responds to my dark honesty. But despite my first ever drunken stupor, I'm doing okay. I have a blanket of wonderful people who allow me to be me, at all hours when I can reach them. I've made it through this one unscathed, so don't worry. Just rejoice.

But I post this for those who watch the flickering of the images of all those happy, successful lives and wonder why they are failing. You aren't failing, m'dear, you are living in a world made of varying energies and please know it's a blessing to delve into all of your vast emotions so fully. I'm trying to learn and teach that it is okay to not know anything for your whole life. Just experience the world, that is all we can do.

Everyone is talking about recovery. But I'm here to speak candidly about living the sorrows.

Depression is certainly not all I am. I do not exist within dichotomies and singular truths. But still I say, depression runs through my veins the same as my fierce joy about the worlds' infinity.