This post is also available in a paid version, which has pictures that are not included in this free version. If you are interested in supporting my work or if you want to see the pretty pictures, please feel free to gimme your money here: (Look at me! Doing a capitalism!)
How’s everyone doing? Would it help y’all if I talked about the projects I’m working on, and the creative process I’m using on the comic book? Maybe put some soothing music on? Sit back…relax…and read on? It’s only good news here right now for the next however long it takes for you to read whatever the hell I’m about to write and by maude it better be good now that I’ve placed the entire fucking weight of the world on my damn shoulders for no good reason. bahahaha.
Anyway…it’s been a beautiful and difficult couple of months for me, and the difficult things are tangentially caused by the beautiful things, because the beautiful things make the difficult things stand out in stark detail. And that contrast is also somehow beautiful. So I guess that means beauty wins? Or something. Yes. I’ll just say that beauty wins, because for however long I’m writing this, I own reality, and that’s what I’m deciding is true.
With that decided, I want to share some details about the beautiful thing I am working on that just fills me with so much glee. It is a collaboration, of sorts, because the sweet dear friend who inspired it also fills me with glee, and that glee has been just churning out a ton of positive, creative energy which also fills me with glee. It’s like a fucking perpetual glee machine over here as long as I have my face stuck in the flow, but sometimes you have to pull away from glee and get back to reality, but no. Not right now. In this post. For these however many minutes I am writing this, perpetual glee prevails, damnit! I decree! I decree perpetual glee!
(the following is where the paid version has a bunch of really great pictures that you totally want to pay to see! hahaha.)
Crow & Oyster is a about an unlikely friendship built on mutual aid, community care, and creative collaboration.
Crow is a traveler, a protector of children, and a bringer of light who suddenly finds himself in the dark.
Oyster is, quite literally, bogged down in the toxic swamp, where she spends her days converting poisonous silt into shiny pearls that serve no real pupose.
Tragic circumstances bring them together, but they form a unique bond that spans time, distance, and differences in lived experience.
This first issue is their “origin story,” and I really hope I can continue to write about these two silly characters. I don’t often write fiction, but I’m getting the picture! I love these two characters so damn much. When I think about all of the shenanigans and hijinx they can get up to, I just get a big old goofy grin on my face.
However, given that I’m not a practiced or disciplined artist, my challenge is time. I think what I’m going to do for this first issue is use images that I draw, and juxtapose them over collaged backgrounds that I scan. The scenes are basically the jungle, the toxic swamp, and the ocean (maybe) and the sky above each. So I can make those backgrounds, and I might experiment with different media along with the images I have drawn.
Y’all, I really love this story so much. It is such a fun puzzle to solve. Our collective ability to invent new worlds is so important. We all really need to flex that muscle and create as much as we can as often as possible.
I also have another collaborative project in the works that I’m crossing crossing crossing my fingers comes to fruition. I don’t want to say anything out loud, because I don’t want to jinx it. A different dear old friend I have been trying to collaborate on a project with for-fucking-ever, but when we were close before, our relationship was filled with a turbulence that, thankfully, neither of us seems interested in generating anymore. Which is nice, you know? It’s good to go to hell and back with someone. Clears the sinuses and whatnot. So, cross your fingers on that one for me.
There are no words for how thankful I am for the creative energy in my life right now. It’s shiny shiny shiny, and I want to turn that shine outward if I can. So if anyone needs a pick-me-up pep talk or anything…please feel free to reach out. I have capacity. I am holding all of the sad things in my heart, and the beauty is still winning out! Yay beauty and glee! But also, I am not averse to collapsing into wracking sobs and yay for that, too. For the contrast, if nothing else. And because it reminds me I am a human being living in this contrived. reality that is designed to make us feel helpless and defeated and alone. Try not to forget that part.
Y’all…I gotta be honest. I don’t know what the fuck to even say right now. But it’s been awhile since I last posted – for mostly good, creative, productive reasons, but also…like…what can anyone even say right now? I feel like I keep repeating to myself and anyone who talks to me for longer than fifteen minutes “I’m so thankful I have people in my life who are earnestly doing good work.”
That said, I have been largely focusing on prisoner support. One of the highlights of my entire week this week was getting to talk to a long-time Earth First activist and prisoner support homesteader friend. He is truly a delightful person and though the topic is serious and the week has been heavy, there is such joy in the knowledge that people like him exist and remain. I’m hoping to get that interview published soon, and will link it up here when I do. I’m also hoping to collaborate with him on another project. I will talk about it more when it’s a little less nebulous, but it will be in support of the Prairieland Defendants.
Speaking of the Prairieland Defendants, sentencing was more egregious than anyone could have ever imagined. Between that, and the arrests and indictments in Minnesota of people who were protecting their neighbors, it is clear they are coming after the people who are offering community defense, resistance, and solace to the people they already went after. They think they can convince us that it’s unsafe or unwise to take care of each other, but they can’t. I’m a stubborn fucker, and my plan is to just love y’all even more. Like, I’m walking around falling in love with everyone all the time now just out of spite.
So, yeah…basically that’s why I’m posting here even though I really don’t feel like writing. I’m sad and restless and angry and out of sorts and inarticulate as fuck, but I just want to say that I love all y’all, and I WHOLEHEARTEDLY support the Prairieland Defendants. Those are officially my brothers and sisters now. I will do everything in my power to ensure they are not forgotten, nor the people locked inside the Prairieland concentration camp, who the Prairieland Defendants were standing in solidarity with to make sure THEY weren’t forgotten, either.
That’s about all I got right now. Take care of your neighbors. In the words of Margaret Killjoy “De-escalate all conflict that isn’t with the enemy.” We are all we have. Always.
(Every full moon (ish) I pull out my old journals and peek at what I was doing around this time at various points of my life. It’s fun and entertaining, and makes me glad I have kept journals and been a total fucking packrat about it my entire life. I hope you enjoy these snippets of my life. I’ve kept the dates, but excluded the years to add to the mystery! Random photos from the same time period in different years also!)
5/1 Mayday Picnic: Listening to music under the cypress trees
5/7 Saw Cibo Matto last night with Carla. It was a night of cute, although I cringe at the thought of saying that, as I imagine the diminutive faction of Cibo Matto are not fond of the term.
The first band consisted of two boys from Dallas. I do mean boys. They looked high school age. They spent thirty minutes or so frantically darting around a bunch of samplers & mixers, producing sounds that wavered from heavy groove dance beat, to scions of noise, to loops, etc. The thing wast it was so disconcerting to watch them hunch over their boards and race around disconnecting and reconnecting wires even if I was un-self-conscious enough to dance, I would have been fretfully unable to do so. I did manage to grab a free record from them after their set.
The second band, Delta ’72, reminded me a lot of a segment on MUPPET ROCK & ROLL in which the muppets do a parody of Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” (“no no no no no COOPERATION!) The lead singer of this band exhibited the same strut and preen and over-the-top but seemingly utterly sincere expressions to go along with the garage soul funk music & constantly yelling out of“DO YOU FEEL ALRIGHT!” Not to mention the endless amounts of energy as he climbed onto speakers, monitors & at one point, the organ that a fellow band member was using as a punching bag. To top it all off were the occasional rock god jumps into splits and back up without missing a beat (is the human body supposed to be capable of these types of manouvers? I don’t know, but between the bottom of the undersized bowling shirt and the edge of the thick white belt decoratively embellishing skin-tight hip-hugger jeans, I caught glimpses of what must be THE most muscular BACK in the world (and, honey, I work out at Future Firm, aka Buff-o-rama, but I couldn’t imagine any of the buff dudes being capable of the gymnastic feats this guy was pulling off without a blink.)) I gotta admit, I was laughing & I’m not sure if it was supposed to be funny. But aside from the sheer entertainment value of the stage presence, the band actually ROCKED & rocked pretty damn hard. I was impressed. Apprently, they’re from PA, or something.
Anyway, they ended their set with a soulful ministry – a series of admonishments to “FEEL ALRIGHT” and to carry that feeling home with us and, hopefully into the bedroom (accompanied by compulsory pelvic thrusts, for emphasis) etc. And the wait for Cibo began.
It occurred to me at this point that A) just about everyone in the room was considerably younger than me; B) There’s an encouraging trend among young women to NOT wear makeup; and C) after all my years going to punk rock shows that attract a primarily white, middle class boy audience, it was nice to see such a wide variety of middle class boys and girls of all races gathered in the same place.
“That’s Sean Lennon” exclaimed a guy in back of us. “Get a picture of his shoes!” Said his companion. Intrigued, I turned to look & was met with sheepish smiles. “We design shoes,” they explained. So, the band set up and strode onstage and began a set of sheerly energetic, soulful, tuneful, danceful, CUTE music.
What impresses me about Cibo is the sheer ease with which they pull it off. The keyboardist danced, the bass player strummed, and the melodies issued forth effortlessly from the throat of Yuka Honda, whose movements also seemed natural and effortless, even when she was pogoing about the stage. The only people on stage who appeared to be getting a workout were the drummer and the bongo player who were both, by the way, awesome athletes as well as musicians (the drummer of the previous band, too, struck me as praiseworthy, in spite of the fact that the only knowledge of drums I possess is the long past crush I once had on the drummer from Friends of Betty (Chicago) and my memoir of my unrequited love – two ends of a shattered drumstick. What can I say, I like my men to beat it hard…er…)
At any rate, Cibo put on a fantastic show, performing songs off of a forthcoming release, as well as many from Viva Lo Woman. They also did an incredible version of Moon River, which everyone chuckled about at first, but were quickly enraptured by the dynamic diva. A great show. A great night (even though I ended it by telling a really (intentionally) dumb joke to a stranger and getting totally dissed for it) A great band.
5/8 Glazed, Dazed…and annoyed. Sitting in the dorm room and D’s composing. I haven’t been writing lately – don’t know why. Next week, I’m supposed to go to California and I just don’t want to go for work. Whatever. Will do my job happily, but why should I do any more?
Made chili yesterday and had guests. D and I got stoned before working out, and when I came home, Harold and Angela and Mr…? (Angela’s boyfriend) were sitting in my living room with John. It was kind of weird. I didn’t think I was really stoned, but apparently I was being really loud and even singing out loud at the gym. And we stopped at Alberton’s on the way home, where D proudly announced that he’d been really horny the night before & I hadn’t done anything about it. Quite loudly. While in line to pay for our items. I didn’t really think much of it until D pointed out that he said it.
And home. I guess I was cracking really bad jokes all day while they watched Body Bag and Baywatch. And John fell asleep on the couch and exposed his belly to us all. D went home to get his allowance and his trombone. Then he came back and we smoked some more before taking John back to the dorm. I did a little too much and started freaking out a bit – saw a fire truck flashing on the way back and instantly became paranoid that I had left the stove on and D took me home after purposely losing a round of Mortal Kombat II. Sweet boy.
Then back to the dorm to watch some Talk Soup and then to Jeremy’s house for a bit of a fine movie called RHINESTONE in which Dolly Parton teaches Sylvester Stallone how to be a country and western singer. This after a nice little dinner at Magnolia.
D and I both fell asleep during RHINESTONE, but he stayed at my house. The night before, we watched BOXING HELENA at D’s dad’s house.
May 7 12:56 AM I think I have given up on getting to sleep at a decent hour & have therefore also decided to call out SICK one more day. I’m feigning a stomach bug that I sort of almost have. And plain exhaustion, honestly.
I have been able to get SO MUCH done these past few days. Today, specifically, I got all of my fitness goals met & seeded the remainder of rows 2 & 3 and ALSO the salad bar. I ordered a TON of stuff I need, more masks and a face shield.
At some point, I may do a run out to BJ’s for a cart’s worth of supplies, but I’m going to hold out until it’s evident I need to – like if we run out of something in the cart. The goal is to not shop at the grocery again this month & use other resources, but I’m still being very VERY spendy.
I’ve been thinking, too, about how the garden will evolve. I’m not sure I’m a straight row person. Once I’m done seeding this bed, I want to experiment & play with different gardens. I think the perennial asparagus bed will be next. I want to try broad forking it, but if it ends up being TOO difficult, I’ll buy a little mantis or something. I want to look up pics of asparagus patches to see how creative I can get with it. Can I plant asparagus & strawberry TOGETHER? & when do I plant elderberry? Is it too late for all of this? Perhaps I may need to prep & cover the beds & just wait. But I have no time to plan that now. I need to make time for planning.
5/7 9:30 PM It’s all about control. And just because I’m trying to not be controlling doesn’t mean that there won’t be a controlling element. And I DON’T want to control things…but that doesn’t mean I want someone else to control me. And I DON’T want to play fucking mind games, but that doesn’t stop anyone else. All I want is someone to be friends with.
He tells me he wants me to go to this Irish folk music thing, but tells me I need to ride my bicycle. But I don’t have a lock – so he tells me he will meet me outside the place and will lock me up with his bike. I tell him that I don’t trust him – that I feel like he’s telling me to go somewhere that doesn’t exist. But I go anyway. He shows up late, with the friends who drove him. He has no bicycle, and therefore no lock. He greets me with a peck on the nose & I tell him I have to go. Hop on my bike and leave feeling cut out hollow empty inside. He tells me he might try to stop by later, and I really don’t want to be here when he does, so I go to Harold’s and hang out with the boys. Whatever.
So it goes. I guess I was just wrong about his sincerity. God damn. I BELIEVE words. He’s telling me not to believe. Well, it’s a good excuse for saying what you don’t really mean, but that’s about it. It’s a fucking farce. I just wanted a friend to treat and be treated accordingly. Now (the past two times I’ve hung out with him) I just walk away feeling like shit.
In a way, I’m still excited and wondering what comes next. He tells me he doesn’t trust anyone, and I say I trust everyone and no one and he asks me what yoga book I got that out of. As if saying that you trust no one is DEEPLY original. Fuck that shit.
Anyway, that’s my angst-ridden tale for now. I am having much fun basking in Harold and Bryan’s presence. They are making life livable throughout good and bad times. Thank goodness for that shit.
5/8 2:30 AM (in big bed) PROP 1 WAS DEFEATED!! Now folks need to gear up for the state lege.
Finally settled on the “voice” of the zine In conquest of discovery. With the idea in mind that it is easier to focus on voice when a particular (known) audience is imagined. I’ve been thinking about this as regards the zine. What voice? Who am I writing for? Because writing it for myself is trite & writing to a general audience doesn’t move me. So I decided to write it for my kids. Everything I write, really. In the voice of my relationship with them. Even if they never read it. I want them to know what my life was like, without getting overly muddled in weird relationship dynamics.
For the kids, then. To my kids.
I wonder if this warrants ANOTHER Intro.
May 7 10:15 AM I’m at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center – hiking around & looking at flowers while my car is serviced. Wishing this place wasn’t crawling with Jesus school kids. I’m determined to get my steps in before I head back to the service center.
Beyond how beautiful this place is – it smells amazing. Not overly cloying, but fresh and earthy. I just wish it wasn’t so humid out. I will not miss the Austin humidity.
On my walk through the trails, I saw a little baby bunny. He seemed to feel safe with me, and followed-in-font-of-me a ways before hopping out through the grass.
Though it is humid, it’s also overcast, so there’s that. A relief from the sun that seems to make every visit I’ve ever made here miserable. Plus, it’s a perfect time of year to be here – everything is in bloom & I can witness what I will miss when I move.
5/9 11:30 PM I should be asleep b/c I start work at 7 AM tomorrow, but it’s been an exciting/fun day & I ended it by playing the Sims all night, which was difficult to drag myself away from
Got my hair done today, which felt great. Took Ride Austin there & then to 888 to meet up with Kit. And then my ride home was with an older man named Deepak & we had the best conversation about life and plans & real estate. I was, perhaps, providing him with more personal information than necessary. He did not shy away and offered advice and kinship.
My plan is starting to gel! I’m feeling more and more like Maine is where I need to be & unless I find some sort of DREAM house situation somewhere else, I’m finding myself magnetically pulled in that direction.
“All Of Our Heroes Are Bastards” collage art with leftovers from the zine
Lately, I’ve been listening to music a lot more and with more intention. I have grown frustrated with the stupid algorithm and I’ve started making my own damn playlists again…sometimes on the fly, often with prompting from someone who casually mentions something I might enjoy listening to. Occasionally, I will dip my toe into music podcasts to figure out what everyone else is swimming in these days. Every once in a while, I’ll latch onto a random algorithmic miracle and go off on a tangent. But every spring, I revisit “Key Lime Pie.”
Since it’s been approximately 40 springs that this has been my ritual, certain memories and patterns emerge from this practice. I remember even the first spring. I believe I had either just turned 19 or 20, and I was experiencing the crashing and burning of what had been a (temporary) utopia. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of catastrophe, combined with needing to shake the winter blues. It was unseasonably warm in Chicago, and a sunny day walk was exactly what I needed. The things I saw on that walk are still visually implanted in my brain, as is the way the air smelled, and the particular quality of the sunlight. I can even feel the temperature of the still-cool air as I walked under the El tracks on Belmont, emerging, squinting, to be embraced by the warming sun.
I even remember the spring 10 years later, when I related this story to a depressed lover. I described the feeling of emerging into sunshine after the somber grey of winter and gasping at the stark beauty of it all. As we listened to Key Lime Pie together, he steepled my smaller fingers in his hand and told me I was his key lime pie. I loved him, but was secretly terrified of that responsibility, having lost a depressed friend to suicide 9 key lime pies ago.
Spring is that time of possibilities after the limitations and restrictions of winter have been removed. Camper Van Beethoven perfectly captures that feeling on this album. Particularly in one of my favorite stanzas of all time, from “June”:
And I wrote you this letter ’cause the clothes were hung on the line And the crows flew out of the field and up into the sky I’m lying here in the station Stretching out on the tracks Are all the possible places that I might arrive
Springtime reminds us that we can rebuild an entire world, even in the exhaustion of the aftermath of apocalypse. Even when, in the depths of the cold and the darkness, it felt like it would be forever before the sun would break through the clouds. Even if at times it felt like it never would.
I think of all of the other springtimes in my life, and all of the various (physical and metaphysical and existential and hypothetical) places I have arrived in every season of my life so far, and I can’t help but feel like a big old clumsy but faithful puppy, tongue-lollingly drunk on hope, tripping after butterflies and falling in love with tree trunks like all of the springtimes of my past in one endlessly looping filmstrip clacking through my brain like an old-timey projector.
Who needs heroes, when we have each other…and springtime.
P.S. If you haven’t seen the secret agent yet. I highly recommend. It’s a long fucking movie, but it is truly beautiful. And there’s that scene where Armando is driving with Fernando and talking about Fernando’s mother. Wagner somehow is able to convey that tightness of face, and the subtlety of false optimism and positivity that is so frequently required of parents who are experiencing adversity. You can see the almost-tears and feel the subtle catch in his voice. It’s quite lovely. It’s very artful acting.
Link
Only one link this week, as I’ve been busy herding turkeys around, listening to music, living in the past, and not reading so much news.
Oh yay. Yet another opportunity for politicians and their enablers to grift!
“The money flows well beyond large state agencies, to small and obscure agencies most people (including myself) have never heard of. The Point Comfort Police Department in Texas — a town of fewer than 700 people — has a base agreement of $167,525 to supply nine task force officers, plus an additional $5,000 salary modification. The Key Colony Beach Police Department in Florida is getting $119,000 for a single officer once you add its $107,500 base award to an $11,500 salary supplement. The Coward Police Department in South Carolina, also serving a town of roughly 700, has a base award of $107,520 for one officer, with another $15,000 modification layered on top.” – https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/exclusive-ices-bounty-hunters?publication_id=7677&post_id=192048723
I’m watching spring slowly seep into the landscape. Winter was so hard, and the warmer weather, along with the life it brings, is more than welcome. I’m absorbing. Breaking icy shackles. And at the same time, suddenly so many of the loose ends of my life have managed to come fully apart and in so doing somehow managed to bring everything back together again.
I feel like I say this every year around springtime…and also in autumn…but I am so glad to be living in a geographical region that has all four seasons. While I love the brutal beauty of winter – I am always pleased when spring arrives…and I’ve never been a fan of summer, except for the fact that it ends in autumn…but it’s the liminal seasons that have my heart. There is an energy – a moving towards something – lacking in the full stops of summer and winter.
And it is in this season of spring that I am emerging from a mourning period of sorts. I put my youngest little birdy on an airplane away from here at the end of March…it feels like forever ago and just yesterday…and am learning how to have life with an empty nest. It’s something I have needed for a very long time. In spite of my fierce love and adoration for my children, I am a person who requires a great deal of solitude, and I have had none for a very long time. Until now. And I am definitely soaking in it. Wondering if I will EVER want to live with anyone ever again. Woe is the anti-social socialist!
Maybe I’m just not paying attention, but I don’t remember seeing a lot of people talking about how fucking painful it is when your last one moves out and you are taking those first few steps of single-nonparenting. For the first few weeks, I broke down several times a day in a heap of “I miss my babies.” Bereft was the word I was feeling. The last few cold weeks of winter were appropriate, but every once in awhile there was an unexpected sunshiny spring day…or week. I could feel normal mostly, until a certain song came on. Or until I encountered something that he left behind (which is much.) When I cleared off the side of the counter where he piled all of his random drawings. It’s the worst kind of breakup, because there are no sad love songs about your kids moving out. That would be creepy. But I definitely felt a great deal of grief and loss. And unlike when my eldest moved out, I didn’t have another child here to distract me.
But I have the dogs. And the cats. And the chickens. And the turkey. And a couple of nice friends…and projects here and there that I spend time on. I’m slowly figuring out how to meal plan for one, and trying to save money on food. The garden is still going to be a bit sad this year. I’m working some of that “single mama budgetary magic” on some unexpected cash inflow…seeding several different little things that need addressing…hoping to stay afloat.
Over the past few years, I feel like I have disparaged motherhood a great deal. The experience of it, that is…not those who undertake it. They were difficult years, and perhaps my ire was misplaced. Perhaps motherhood is a season, and as such is meant to prepare you for the coming season, as well as use what you learned from the season before. I hope with all my heart that my children weather well out there, flying around the world on their own. Being their mom has been occasionally brutal, but infinitely beautiful. Like all challenging experiences, motherhood has made me who I am, and I am cool with that.
Trying to find words tonight. I’ve literally been staring at the screen for 15 minutes or more. Straining. There is so much, and yet…no words to express.
I’m not feeling the clever words about what happened this time last year at the Texas State Capitol, where for a moment there, everyone saw the ridiculous lengths those in power will go to to remain in power. It was just a moment, but everything was exposed. And yet…amnesia.
May My Consciousness & (My)
I don’t want to write about political frustrations on these pages. Though I have considered returning to a format where I post links to current events after several paragraphs of solopsistic esoterica…but I feel like I’m constantly feeding links about news into the void. On these pages…and in my journal…I focus on process. My process. A lifelong project. A lifelong process.
(Beh)avior Bee ov service to all Beeingz in
My intention with these pages. With this blog. Is to explore words without consequences. It’s my escape from thinking things through. Even this post, with its over-awareness of itself, is violating several of the preceding principles. I need to make this space my space for unthinking.
Wait awhile, close your eyes, let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden eternity. This is the lesson you forgot. -Jack Kerouac
I nervously paste those words into an email and send them…but neglect to add an address to send to.
all worldz, Liberating all…
He asked me if I’ve ever stopped (writing.) It felt good to honestly say that I haven’t. I haven’t ever stopped. I haven’t ever stopped writing. The writing changes. My language. My inflection. My intention. But, reading back, and filtering out the crap, I’d say there’s a lot of stuff that’s better than I’m willing to admit. A good editor might be able to make something of it. Maybe someday I will find a good editor.
into the suchness of this
Until then, I’m just re-recognizing the bliss I forgot. Calling forth the lesson I forgot.
snippets of springtime from random journal entries:
There is a tiny baby in polka dots here in the waiting room at the eye doctor. We are waiting for Buddha the Grouch’s pupils to dilate. The baby cris, is picked up by her mom. She (the baby) makes a motor boat sound with her tiny lips. I tell Buddga the Grouch “That baby is cute. I want to squish her.” Buddha the Grouch says “That baby wants me to be able to play M-rated video games.
***
End of day I’m off my feet
This cultivated silence, background noise & candle & a cuppa joe. Resounding non-sound a temporary respite from day’s dull roar & I sit in silence, let word overtake me silence bringing onrush of joy to temporary standstill silence & my crickets still sound like birds after all these years humidity brings it back to me that bedroom window the only place to press my face for cooler air to embrace. People drifting in and out of my picture view, bumbling like enormous mountains the size of ships. The traffic shifts my focus.
***
Dear You,
What have I learned this week? That you can’t force a banana into a peanut jar? That I don’t know why I keep ending up in the middle of crazy-ass relationships. It’s like the reverse instinct. Like when we were at the zoo & the people all ran TOWARDS the lion when he roared.
***
What I mean to say is this – I am forming sentences in a vacuum. A grave mistake. A simple misdirection and a hollow expression. This magic can interact transgressively. Regress into an open can. Trying to believe I can be liberated. B.B. King is free from the spell.
***
I ate popcorn for dinner tonight – and other tales of misguided adulthood.
The dog is outside, whining. Right now, I’m playing Sims. Enjoying peace and housematelessness and guestlessness. Soon there will be more guests and new guests and before that kids and back to work.
But at least the house is mostly clean, and the laundry is mostly done, and I have mostly exercised mostly every day. Mostly.
From here on out, I get to do what I want to do. Wander around in my pajamas all day.
Mostly.
***
When did I allow my heart to get so fettered, not feathered,
Weathered. This is not love
by any approximation & yet
it is approximately the closest
I feel like I can get
One who gives me everything but
one who gives me nothing but
I divide myself into portions
Portions of me
Free
For the taking.
I should be satisfied
with
the dove in my hand, and
the hawk in my bush.
Instead,
I may go cold turkey.
***
I wonder what I am half paying attention to now?
What am I?
I stopped caring
the minute I stopped
defining.
Steadfastly refuse to call myself
a poet
Though…pictures
paint words
in my mind.
**
Walking in heat
Falling in love w/the you in everyone
& longing, which is the better part of love
The distance so tangible, it feels
like a touch
that keeps me from alone long not long alone. The
you in everyone I have never had had
never known no never. Will never know
& that’s ok b/c longing
is the better part
of love
***
Listening to wind chime & bird chatter and cars going by. It sure feels good to be alive.
In a minutes, I’m going to wrap this up & take the kids out for ice cream. Maybe come back out on the porch later & write some more.
❤
Oh, and – I got the job.
***
Chirping, I hope like a cricket – w/out wings. I can only fall. Hop. Skip. You say it is not the way you planned things. I say Fuck Your Plans.
***
The Tao of Bird argued about not wanting to take a shower for about 30 minutes this morning. Including yelling and name calling and tantrum throwing and many many many “I HATE YOU”‘s. Now he is in the shower. Has been for about 15 minutes. Singing away. Apparently never planning to come out.
Meanwhile, Buddha the grouch is still sleeping, I am listening to an Animal Collective song called Bees. The birds are singing. The sun is shining.
“Please Take Your Time…”
The song entreaties me. Entices me. Pleads with me.
I spent much of the morning today thinking about artichokes. Working on my forthcoming zine, Oyster Lexicon.
In case I haven’t already described it (my understanding of this project has evolved over time, so I might have written about it before in a less specific way) Oyster Lexicon will be an alphabet of me (aka Lainie the Oyster) and A is for Artichoke. I have an artichoke drawing, a recipe, and artichoke mix…originally I thought I would just do 6 letters of the alphabet per issue, but it’s starting to seem like I might be doing 1-3 letters per issue, what with all of the artichoke media I’m going to gather. The zine will also be fully or partially full-color. I’m still debating about the size format. It will be hand-lettered (no computers will be used in the creation of the pages, but I will be scanning the hand-drawn/hand-lettered pages to do the layout and MIGHT do some computer editing after that.)
I’m super excited about doing a zine again. I had started to do one years ago after a trip to Chicago, but never really sustained an interest in it (though I do still have some great pieces that I was going to include in that zine that I might use for my “C is for Chicago” pages of Oyster Lexicon.) My plan is to put out the zine, as well as postcards and maybe notecards with the illustrations I’m making for each letter. I’d love to encourage people to send out actual mail, so I feel like making things that other people can use to brighten up the mailboxes of friends and relationships will accomplish another goal.
It’s been a long time since I last put out a zine, so I’m not entirely sure how I will do distribution. Ideally, I will be able to get some advanced orders to help fund the printing and mailing of the initial print run, which will hopefully continue to (mostly) fund any additional print runs. It’s not like I work at Kinko’s and can get free copies anymore. Speaking of which – do I still know people who work at Kinko’s and can get me a deal on copies? 😉
Etsy? WePay? Amazon books? iBooks? How are people promoting/distributing zines these days? If anyone reading this can give me any advice/suggestions, I’d really appreciate it.
In other news –
My new rhythm of days is working really well for me. I feel like I’ve achieved a pretty decent balance of internal/external time, and I’m making time for art and education as well as day-to-day practical things. I’m a little less worried about completing everything on my list, and am working on finding chunks of my week where I can just forget about time completely and focus on a task until *I* feel done with it, rather than when a clock tells me it’s time to be done with it. I still need to work on eliminating distractions and focusing on the task at hand (as evidenced by the fact that I got caught up in several facebook discussions during the writing of this blog post.) but I do feel like I’m spending the time I have doing things that are important to me, or essential to my family and community.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about dating, and how people without children maybe don’t really grasp the challenges in the lives of single parents – particularly custodial parents. Primarily, it’s odd to me how even very kind and understanding people can misunderstand how much of a financial and logistical burden it is to be the custodial parent of children – even when those children are older and not in need of constant supervision. As a woman and a feminist, for instance, I’m not really keen on a guy always picking up the tab for me. As a single mother who is struggling financially, however, you are damn straight I can’t even afford dating unless the other person pays. I’m totally cool with non-extravagant dating. I’m especially cool with cooking in or creating our own DIY entertainment…but it’s really difficult for me to help people understand that my inability to pay for a date is not a “reverse sexist” thing, but a “financial necessity” thing…and if I was the person in the relationship in a better financial situation, I would definitely be the person who offered to pay, or I would adjust my expectations of what a date might entail to ensure affordability. It’s a tricky subject, and it makes me want to avoid dating rather than having to attempt to unpack it with someone. hahaha.
Also, my children are not baggage. It might be challenging to date a woman with children, but it is hopefully a net positive. Oddly enough, I feel like my children become more of a challenge to my dating relationships as they get older. When they were younger, they tended to be more agreeable and open-minded about accepting people into our lives. Now they are more set in their ways and can be resistant to inviting new people in, even temporarily. I’m sure it’s difficult for a man to come into my home and be shunned by my adolescent boys, but that is the way adolescents sometimes are. It might be more exaggerated in my household because I am not a strict authoritarian, and my boys have always been very free to express themselves (for better or for worse) – but it’s the way it is. It’s really up to the adults in the relationship to navigate these issues…and I seem to find men who want instant acceptance from people who just aren’t designed to be uncritical of new people in their lives. It takes time. It takes time. It takes time. And the last thing I need is to be this person who is trying to solely balance the needs of the children with the needs of a potential new partner. Guess whose needs are going to come first every time, guys? You got it – the non-adults! The ones who I am obligated to care for until they are able to care for themselves. Which, by the way, might not be the very day they turn 18. It could possibly take longer than that. Because all kids mature differently.
I suppose dating as a single parent of adolescent boys is a good filter for me, though. It’s a lot more difficult to get involved in relationships and situations that are overly-complicated and require more of me than I should be expected to reasonably give. I’m just not capable of accommodating another person’s needs above mine or my children’s right now. It’s challenging for me, because my tendency is to accommodate. My tendency is to invite chaos. My tendency is to try new and different things, experiment, and see where they end up. And while I might be giving up on some things that might, after some work, end up being beneficial…I just can’t spare the time and energy to get there at this point in my life. I require a partner who is able to give more than take right now. I require a partner who accommodates me, more than requiring me to accommodate him. That FEELS selfish to me, but it’s reality. It’s where I am. And, really? I’m fucking worth it! hahahaha.
It’s 11 PM, and I’m waiting for an artichoke to cook. Finally getting around to eating dinner. Today has continued the theme of wishing I could remain bedridden while still accomplishing all of my goals and tasks. I did manage to stay in my cozy bed for much of the day, but some things required out-of-bedness. For instance, chalk pastels in bed? Not such a great idea.
Mainly I lazed about in my nightgown today. Brooded a little. Thought a lot. Drew and wrote some. Listened to music. Chatted with an old friend and kept track of world events. It was definitely a well-executed mental health day.
I thought a lot about understanding vs. accommodating. And the fact that I can very much understand someone else’s choices. I might even endorse those choices. I might possibly even fight for that person’s right to make those choices. However, understanding fully why someone has made the choices they have made does not necessarily obligate me to make the same choices, or to invite the potential consequences of those choices into my daily life. That’s been a difficult lesson for me to learn, but it’s a good one. I’m glad to have learned that this week. I’m glad to have come to terms with it. Understanding is not agreement. And just because I don’t desire something does not mean I don’t understand it.
Anyway, my artichoke is almost done. Nom nom. Eats!
So, this week I tried something new. Instead of considering the feelings of every single person in a situation except for myself, I chose to actually consider my feelings first. I realized I didn’t have to be angry at someone to reject what they were offering, I just had to think about what I really wanted, and whether what was being offered was in alignment with what I really wanted. And though the short-term effect of that decision is painful…from past experience I am almost 100% certain that the pain I’m feeling now is nowhere near the pain I would feel if I were to have accepted that offer. Sometimes really wonderful people won’t have what I need. And just because it still hurts doesn’t mean it’s not progress.
Yay! (she feebly celebrates…) hahaha.
In other news – it’s nearly mid-month and I have not done much for the zine. I need to kick it into high gear these last two weeks! Oddly enough, it’s the writing that’s giving me trouble. I don’t know what my deal is with the writer’s block, but I wish it would just stop. I have plenty to write about. It’s not that I don’t have ideas. It’s that I allow myself to become distracted. Writing needs to become ritualized. It needs to become something I do at a specific time every day or at specific times throughout the week WITHOUT FAIL. Once I’ve established the habit again, I can be more lax about when it happens. I need to remind myself that writing matters. Perhaps overcoming minor heartbreak will be a good impetus. I definitely did a lot of journal processing these past couple of days.
Also, just when I thought I was going to completely run out of money, I discovered double-time-and-a-half holiday pay at my job. I’m working pretty much every holiday through the end of the year, so…hopefully that will help me take care of some of these things I’m behind on and/or have been waiting for money to take care of. Things like new bras, fixing my kid’s computer, A FREAKING HAIRCUT FOR ME, and I was thinking I could really use a new dress. Something swing-y and retro and comfy. Oh, and…you know, catching up on my stupid utilities and fixing my damn a/c on my car. You know – stuff that piles up when one is living paycheck to paycheck. And funding the zine, though I’m hoping I can just take advance orders to fund it.
Oh, randomness. I’m loving the cold, though I spent much of the day today stubbornly refusing to turn on the heat – blowing on my hands between calls and shoving them in the pockets of my sweatpants while on the phone. It occurs to me that I should drag my footie pajamas from the storage bin under my bed. How very awesome that I can wear footie pajamas while working. What a frikking coup that is!
And…just when I”m feeling like hibernating in my little Hidey Hole and not socializing – here comes a busy weekend filled with plans. Most of which I really can’t cancel. I’m going to need to look hard at my schedule and plan another “lay in bed and read comic books all day” day sometime soon to make up for it. But some truly exciting stuff is happening. For one thing, I feel like I need to contribute to all of the great work that’s being done to help folks who were flooded out of their homes on Halloween. I’m really proud of all the hard work everyone is doing working with those communities. For another, I’m truly excited that some of the folks from Strike Debt will be here in Austin this week to hold a Debtor’s Assembly and Debtor’s Carnival. I can’t make the assembly because I have to work, but I’m super stoked about seeing people at the Carnival – though I wish it could happen in my bedroom with me in my jammies and the covers pulled up under my chin. hahaha. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I had the power to just travel everywhere in my comfy bed – all tucked in? I feel like there needs to be a movie about that if there hasn’t already been one. Or, wait…was that a Kids In The Hall sketch?
No matter – I’m just dreaming. Dreaming about sleeping and dreaming and floating through life in my comfy bed in my jammy jams. ❤
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