Friday, May 7, 2021

2 Minutes. Go!

 You can have all the best intentions, and still fuck up. It's like making pie crust. Seems simple, and it is simple when your Grandma does it, but then you try and do it on your own, and you end up with soupy bullshit. So, you buy the pre-made pie crust and lie about it because, what the fuck? Doesn't matter. No one will know. Why would you want to make it from scratch when they have it already made and packaged, sitting on the shelf?

Same thing applies to personalities. 

I mean, yeah, they sell a bunch of different kinds at the mall. You can be a rebel or Live, Laugh, Love! your way into Chardonnay oblivion. You can walk into the mall a computer programmer and leave a fucking gangsta. Dad to Special Ops Ranger. Grandma to muscle-head. Grandpa to Lothario. You just change clothes and roll. Buy the appropriate soundtrack. Find your flunkies. Post up. 

But it ain't gonna fit right. Some people will be fooled, but never the people you're so intent on impressing. 

You can walk into REI a scared suburban wanker and leave ready to conquer the Amazon, climb Mt. Everest. At least aesthetically. 

Or you could try to find out what you really think. How you really feel about things. What's really important to you. It may not be a popular answer, but it's YOURS. Shouldn't that count for something. Chameleons are charming, but I don't trust them. Just feed them bugs and bullshit on my way to the dumpsters. 

Just because you can buy it doesn't mean you need it. No matter what the talking heads say. 


  1. "Or you could try to find out what you really think. How you really feel about things. What's really important to you." - This really resonates. It's something I've been thinking about a lot, especially the last couple of days.

    Love the truth in this, of course, but I also love your word/imagery choices.

  2. One day, it hits you. Not out of the blue. Things rarely actually hit you out of the blue; almost always there is something that sparks it, even if you don't realize or remember what it was. This time you do. This time, it's a book.

    In a way, it's cool that it's a book that makes you see the truth, because that's kind of the deal with books, innit? They exist to make you think, to feel, to react, to learn, to grow, to change.

    In another way, it's not cool at all. It's never cool when anyone or anything calls you on your bullshit.

    Partly, you feel ashamed because you fought the truth for so long. Bought the big lie, let "them" tell you what to think and how to feel. Let them make you feel ashamed of something you've no reason to feel ashamed of. Partly, you feel relieved, understanding at long last why everything felt so...wrong. Mostly, you feel empowered, energized, ready to start living the life you've been denying yourself for so long.

    You aren't naive, though. You know it won't all suddenly be sunshine and flowers and chirping birds. You know people will still be assholes about the path you're walking. But you see through them, now, through their lies. You know that you are not "less than."

    You are finally who you were meant to be, and it is - you are - more than good enough.

    1. I agree! This is the most powerful realization to have, and you presented it well!

  3. She died screaming from knife wounds still landing in plain sight, in bands of dirty streetlight filtered through mottled captive trees, witnessed by a neighborhood of faces shaded behind streaked and broken windows, witnessed by spirits of those who’d gone before and those whose fate might follow. She died on broken concrete, blood pooling into cracks, a high-heeled shoe on its side, abandoned in the struggle. You pinched back your own dingy sheer, hoped someone else would make the call, then let it fall, fabric whispering through your fingertips as you wondered, “What else is on?”

  4. You brought the things your mother told you to—bottled water, milk for the tear gas, an extra bandana, the number of a lawyer she knew from long ago. An address, a safe place to land if you got separated from your friends. You’d scoffed at her for that, for the warnings, but she looked you dead serious in the eye and you shrank back and stuffed the paper in your pocket. After that, one joined two then three and four. Small knots grew to crowds and you arrived at the place where you’d agreed to meet. You hugged; her eyes were bright and smiling, yet serious as the cause you’re fighting. Always fighting.

    “It’s gonna get worse,” she said, always said. “When we get married.”

    You’d scoffed at that, too. “Who cares anymore?” So what if you were white and she was Black. You loved her and she loved you and nothing else mattered.

    “People care,” she said. “Some, anyway.”

    “Then we won’t listen to those people.” You smiled, the one that so often chased her fears away. It wasn’t working. She knew. She knew those people. You held her tighter, she pushed away and gave you a big bright smile, a little tired. The march was starting. The crowd cheered. You took her hand and raised your sign and sallied into the known unknown.

    1. This is a cool scene that deserves more exploration!


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