“The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.”   - Thomas Szasz

 

It occurs to me that the problem is mine. Is me. It is that I can't get along. What is wrong with me that I can't tolerate the acceptance of hypocrisy and abuse? All signs point to the fact that this is what society in general expects of me, what most people seem to manage every day, and yet I just can't. It would be easy to say "No, you just won't.", but only if you don't know me, or know anyone like me. I'm almost certain that it is directly related to the environment and situations in which I was raised. While other children were learning to turn the other cheek, I was learning that if you do that, you are going to get hit on the other cheek, and then the person who hit you and everyone who saw it will know that you're a chump, there for the hitting. I - and every single cell in my body - says !@#$ THAT.

As much as I would like to be peaceful and good, as much as I admire people who are, I also know that the world needs people like me who will not accept the status quo, who would rather be alone than tolerate the ridiculous, shifty bull$#*! that often passes for "civilized behavior".

 

  "The berserker's place in society was limited by the terror and violence that was associated with berserkergang. As superb warriors, they were due admiration. However... the berserk skirted the classification of niðingr, one who was the lowest of men and the object of hate and scorn." -VAL

 

What I can do about this is soul-search, think and learn. I can try to find a moral balance, a sense of responsibility to my fellow citizens and my own place in this world (which, whether i like it or not, for the time being, is what it is) and do my best to be true to what I believe, based on that. 

For whatever reasons* when I was shaping my personality, I chose the path of the Hero. Honor, dignity, honesty, standing up for the vulnerable and weak, fighting against injustice and any other dragon that crossed my path. If I ever had a choice to be another way, I don't remember it. I'm not a good hero, which is why I have a picture of Marv and not Superman. I fail. I am blind. I am judgmental and harsh. I am short-tempered and prone to violence. I have to struggle every day to try to be productive and fit in, or hide and be myself. But I understand that this ain't cool, and that I have to try to be a productive part of society. Forgiveness is important to give to others, but in my opinion, forgiving another is also something you do for yourself. It hurts to hold on to anger and resentment. It diminishes your own life. I feel that often, the people who hurt or wronged you don't really care if you forgive them or not. If you hold on to whatever they did to you and let it steep, and eat at you and worry you, then you are just continuing their dirty work. Again, every single cell in my body - says !@#$ THAT.

I cannot forget. My problem is that forgiving and forgetting often seem the same. I find that this is often how the wrong-doer sees it. I feel that if you really remember, then it is difficult to truly forgive. The wrong-doer often seems to feel that if you forgive them, then you have forgotten their wrongs. Maybe this is why the only thing that has ever seemed to really work for me is to remove myself completely from the life of the person who has done me wrong. It solves a lot of problems, and is not an unkind solution. I am then able to let go of my fear of being hurt or wronged again, they no longer have to deal with my extreme inability to accept/forgive/forget, and with the exception of "Where is Sam" (which in the case of a former friend, can be only slightly noticeable, but in the case of a mother/daughter is a huge flashing red warning sign - I hope.) the wrong-doer can go about their daily lives with no interference or protest from me. I can then move on, hopefully wiser, and use my instinct, intellect and powers of observation to not associate with like-minded people in the future. I don't let it ruin my life. The past, the present - they are what they are. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes I struggle, but I refuse to use it as an excuse, and I refuse to let it ruin the joyful, full, exciting, adventurous life I have now. 

But I know things would be different if I were still involved in the lives of the people with whom I am poisoned. And that's the real point of this post.

Despite my best intentions to make good choices and not invite harmful idiots and abusers into my life, I am not perfect, and I have met a few. Some of them have come by association with good people - and that poses a whole OTHER problem. Even when I have finally come to my senses and removed my self (as calmly and peaceably as possible) from an association with those harmful people, I may have friends and loved ones (my partner) who still choose to continue their association with them, and that's where things get REALLY tricky. My intensely judgmental nature causes me to immediately think "Well, if these guys continue to hang out with and support these idiots, they must be idiots too. They must WANT the abuse..." but logic and calm reasoning also permits me to see that everything just isn't so black and white. Perhaps my friends and loved ones have a different kind of relationship with the idiot/abuser in question. Perhaps they have their own demons to wrestle. Perhaps they just aren't like me, and don't LOVE to burn bridges. I say, if the bridge is dangerous, burn it. Don't shore it up. Don't wast time rebuilding and reinforcing. BURN THAT !@#$ER! yay, fire! And one less way for the enemy to cross the river. I'm a GOOD swimmer. 

Either way, it causes me to question some of my close relationships, which doesn't always have to be a bad thing, and sometimes doubt my closest friends, which almost always is a bad thing. It also causes me to occasionally have to put up with the idiots that I chose to walk away from (sometimes in defense of the same people who continue to associate with them!!!) in social situations, which almost always SUCKS. The worst part though is doubting my friends and their motives and self-confidence, as well as their trust in me, my trust in them, and their concern for my feelings and opinions. I just have to keep working on that. (No shortage of soul-searching in this life.) And I can usually talk to them about it. That helps.

 

Luckily, I put off enough vibe that, even when I do encounter these people (the idiots), they avoid me like the plague. Even if I am standing right next to a friend that they are still friendly with, they will avoid even eye contact with me, and that's just fine with me. It's especially amusing when I have not threatened the IiQ (Idiot in Question), had any kind of harsh words with them, or made any other aggressive moves or statements toward them, etc. (and I prefer not to, I just stop having anything to do with them) and they still do this. It lets me know that they can't face me - for whatever reason - and that justifies my decision in the first place. Why can't they look at me or talk to me, if I've said nothing or done nothing wrong to them? I think the answer is pretty clear: they know how I feel and they know I feel that way for a good reason and they don't want to face that reality. And I don't blame them. But the fact that my other friends still 'play friendly' with them (even though 100% of the time they have ultimately confessed that they feel the same way I do, if not worse, because they were the ones who were originally wronged) allows these IiQ to pretend and convince themselves that all is well, all is forgiven, it was just a little glitch, whatever, and then they go on being the exact same asshole as before. Maybe worse, because they got no punishment from whomever they wronged. BAD DOG!!! NO COOKIE!!!

I'm writing this for strangers who have this same problem. I'm writing this to get it off my chest. I'm writing this as a way to clearly communicate my feelings and problems with this to the people I love and DON'T want to lose. Some bridges ARE worth repairing. But how do you tell someone you love "This bridge is worth saving, but if you keep letting the !@#$% idiots and assholes use YOUR bridge to get to MY side of the river, well... !@#$ THAT. I have matches, and no time for idiots and assholes. Sorry."

I guess just like that.

Please stop giving cookies to bad dogs. They WILL bite you, and you WILL come and ask me to clean your wound, and I'll do it. And then I'll start thinking of you as one of the bad dogs. And then the next time, you'll have to ask someone else for help, and I don't want that. I want to be one of the GOOD dogs, who is always there for you.

*woof*

-s

* I basically blame wrestling, The Lord of the Rings and the fact that most people around me were NOT heroes.

**my brother assures me that they are safe and under the watchful eye of the DSS due to their own shitty parents, and i just have to hope that this is true.

 

The day is nearly here! There is finally going to be a monument to Nina Simone in her home town!
Not long after I moved here, I discovered that, not only was this was the birthplace of this amazing woman, but that I was living in her old neighborhood. I began to look for her history here, any sign of her, and but for word-of-mouth from old friends, neighbors and relatives, there was no sign of her. How could such an important figure in the music (and political) world have come from such a small town and not be honored? It inspired me to write this poem, and that seemed to start a little spark. I was invited to various events - including the dedication of a new park in this town, specifically to read this poem. People wanted other people to hear it, including Nina Simone, but I was too scared to send it. It turns out that there was a long story behind the lack of any kind of connection between her and her home-town, and I didn't want to rock her boat. When her mother passed, I drove by the cemetary behind my house, just to see her from a distance, but I would have never stopped. (The beginning and end of my celebrity stalking career. :)  And then she too was gone from us.
When Crys Armbrust took up the banner. He began this amazing project not only to correct the lack of monument to Nina, but to do other great things in the name of Tryon's Brightest Star, including festivals, scholarships, fund-raisers, and the archival preservation of her material record.

This weekend is the dedication ceremony for the beautiful sculpture by Zenos Frudakis. There will be several events related to the dedication, and since my hubby is in charge of filming all this historical, monumental fun, I am hoping that he will need an assistant. :) I have been lucky enough to be able to help here and there, and so when Nina's daughter Simone came to visit Tryon and begin to heal the breach and bring her mama home, I was invited to come and meet her and give her a copy of my poem. This is what she had to say about that:

"Sam,

Thank you for the poem and for being unafraid to ruffle a few feathers. Mommy would be proud!

Love, Simone."

(This is Simone, who looks very like her mom, posing for Zenos so he can get the movement right.)

Crys, and all involved with moving this project forward, thank you, bless you. Thank you for proving, once again, that you CAN make a change - a HUGE change - if you really want it bad enough. In your self and in the world. I think that was the heart of the whole message Nina left us.

(Photo of Zeno Frudakis and scultpture from the Crys Armbrust collection)

Backseat bus kids, represent. :) 

When I was little, about 6 or 7 (it was the 1st or 2nd grade, at New Augusta, which then was still K-12 i think) we were living out in the woods beyond 8 Mile Road* somewhere, out toward Avera? We were the last stop on the route, first stop in the morning, a fact for which any other kids might have been very sorry indeed, but we were grateful. I still remember those bus rides fondly and often. When I'm in the car on even a short trip, I love to look out the windows, and it almost always reminds me of other window-gazings from the all the road trips of my life.**
The morning ones were the best. Not only because we were leaving the house, headed to food, warmth, order, kindness, knowledge, art supplies, possibility, but because it was so early that I got to watch the day come to the beautiful Mississippi back woods.
I can still see spider webs cradling dew, and mist over frosted grass, the feeling of the cool glass against my cheek or forehead. My dad said from the day I was born, I would sleep in a car, so at night if I was restless, he would hold me and drive those same back roads. I still love river roads best, to this day. Dad said if the moon was out at all, I would find it and then follow it with my eyes until i went to sleep. He said he was afraid that I would be "moon-struck". Sorry Dad.
The motion of the bus over those roads, some really smooth (mostly thanks to thePark Services and National Guard, I think. thanks y'all!), some dirt and gravel, I didn't care.
And I loved the bus drivers who made everyone be quiet.
There was a boy who got on not long after us, so he was on most of the trip every day, start to finish. He sat on the opposite side of the bus, toward the middle. He was quiet too, I think he was truly shy, and several years older than me. He was cute, in a midwestern-looking way, tall and blonde, not usual for our area, but that's not why I had a crush on him. He was also polite and seemed smart, quietly and practically maybe, but obviously so. But it wasn't that either. The boy was tall for his age and  handsome, I thought, and his father was a dwarf or a midget, and though I can't really remember, it seems that his mother might have been too. I don't remember.I don't know if he was their natural son, the details weren't even clear to me then, though I'm sure I asked around. (nosy). Every day his father waited with him in the morning when the bus came, even though he must have been a young teenager or preteen by then, even in bad weather and he was waiting for him every day when he got home. If he wasn't it was noticeable and caused concern. He always looked as if he'd stopped work to come down the dirt lane from their house out to the road. The boy was never embarassed, and even though he didn't show much outward emotion about anything at all beyond shy smiles and looking tired or concerned at times, like anyone, i could tell that he looked forward to it too.
School itself was a mixed bag of pleasant and un. My clumsy and annoying attempts at sharpening my wits and honing my gregariousness were not popular with some of my classmates and  teachers. I was already learning that I wasn't a fan of dumb and/or mean people, crowds, being forced to do things I didn't want to do or being picked on,so that caused conflicts of interest, but teachers and students have been dealing with those issues since the dawn of public school, so it was manageable. I think it's an important function of schooling, testing how well you can mesh with others and finding out who you really are in regards to that in the process.
I didn't really have any friends then. There was one girl who was very nice to me and I could tell that she wanted to be friends, but she was even more shy than me, she reminded me of a deer, and by the time we finally got up the nerve to attempt a friendship, my parents split up again and we moved to another town, another school.
I remember standing on the basketball court one day during recess, on a day like today. It probably wasn't as cold as it is here, but it sure seemed like it. The weather was the same, bright sunny sky, cold, sharp wind. I was wearing a hand-me-down coat from my cousin that I dearly loved. It was fake suede and had fake fur cuffs and collar. Long and warm and Leo stylish, it was a treasured posession. The other memorable thing is that I had chocolate milk.
Mississippi was on top of the welfare situation in those days. As angry as it makes so many of my friends from home, it lets me know (and I'm grateful for it) that their family never had to have it. We always were. I get compliments on my smile a lot, and I always thank the Mississippi Head Start Program. There were many times when there would have been no food at all if it had not been for those generic canned goods (tinned rabbit even. it was my favorite.) and blocks of cheese. Gardens and hunting (legal and un) helped too, but sometimes circumstances just didn't allow. The public school also took an interest in childrens' health and nutrition, and so we were able to have good breakfast, lunch and milk each week day, no matter what. I craved milk most of all. I remember how old I was when I first came to live in a place where I could have as much milk as I wanted, as often as I wanted. I was 12, and I have no idea how many gallons I must have gone through a week, at first.  I also loved and craved sweets of course, and chocolate was, is, will always be The One, so chocolate milk was heaven. I always requested a chocolate milk for my recess treat, and like magic, it would come. The happy crate full of cold, sweet goodness. Of course there was a stigma attached. Everyone in a classroom (school, town, county, even) knows everyone else's situation. If a childs' family paid for their lunches/milk/school pictures, etc. was open knowledge. And children are far more honestly cruel about such things than adults usually are. That's one of the reasons I was standing alone on the basketball court on such a cold day, my back to the wind, the sun on my face, my hands freezing on the milk carton, but it felt so good. The sun, the milk, my warm coat, even the cold and being alone were all just felt and tasted so good that for at least a little while, none of the bad stuff mattered. So good that I still remember it like it was yesterday, I remember it often and smile.

Love, peace and cold, sweet, free (from cost AND judgment :) chocolate milk to all of you.
-s



*Marshall Mathers ain't the only one with an 8-mile. ours was Highway 15, going from Beaumont to Richton, if i remember correctly.  Teenagers and older (and sometimes younger, like me) - people who looked VERY like rejects from Dazed and Confused - went out to 8 Mile on weekend nights (and probably week nights too) and drank beer, smoked pot and drag-raced some really beautiful cars. Even the old beaters were pretty to me. I could see their potential. That's where I first heard Led Zeppelin, Queen, Journey, Boston et al, while sitting in the car* waiting for various relatives to get their whatever on. Not bad memories. :)
[folks from our clan drove Thunderbirds and Monte Carlos for the most part, though my uncle had a cherry bumblebee GTO and of course Hitlers' Revenge, my mom's orange beetle.]

**Jones County Junior College bused students to school from all over this same area. Beaumont, New Augusta, McLain, even distant lands like Waynesville, Quincy and Piave. I was a McLain girl (my hometown, i think - either there or Beaumont) at the time and so it was a pretty long bus ride every day too. Loved it. Riding with friends and neighbors, time to sleep, read, think, LOVED our bus driver, he was one of my brothers' best high school friends. I remember seeing snow dusting Jones county fields, making the hay bales look like Frosted Mini Wheats, knowing I was going to be spending the day with my best friends... those were good times too.

Ari and I and the bog snorkeling.

I told (big) Ari (15ish) that when I turn 50, she and I will go to the World Bog Snorkeling Championships together. It's in August, so I can use the old 'celebrating my birthday' excuse. :) We really only want to do it for the trip and the excuse to legitimately wear a shirt that says "I'm a Dirty Bog Snorkeller". Since it's so hard to wait for almost another decade (and we did discuss the possibility of 45...) we decided we could legitimately wear "Bog Snorkeler in Training' shirts. Yes!

WANTSSSS IT! my prrreeeciouussssss!!!

lesley a. karpiuk - thepinktoque.com

This is an Elsie Marley pattern for "boy belts" that is easy, practical, cute, would be fun for anyone of any age or gender to do, involves recycling, could give you reason to learn a useful new skill (grommeting*) and could be used to make jewelry like collars and bracelets. plus, it's a good, sharp blog with LOTS of original art and ideas and beautiful photos, gorgeous style. And she's an Etsy girl too. :)

*sorry, i really just wanted an excuse to say "grommetting".

It would be so much easier to be a less logical person.
I think the really important thing is continuing to have faith in the acceptance and understanding of logic. Despite knowing the ... more realistic facts... you still believe.

I have two followers now! After 7 years and 377 posts (including this one!) Woohoo! 

This gorgeous photo courtesy of John Kennan, BBC, of the British Musical Fireworks Championship (!!!) of Liverpool. I WILL see this before I die!

The Archaeology (Sociology, Anthropology, Biology...) of Joy

It feels like that. I am discovering/uncovering deeper joy, and it is amazing. I am learning more about the way I work, with myself, others, the world. I am trying to understand and be more... efficient.  

I've always taken IMMENSE pleasure in sensory things. So much that I have learned to try to hide how much, though I am generally unsuccessful and people comment on it often. "You look so happy." "Every time I see you, you look happy!" "You always have a smile." "Gosh, you must really be enjoying ______!" etc. Socially and emotionally, I am almost always a wreck. I have to fight depression and self-loathing every day, anger and homicidal/genocidal/suicidal/matricidal/fratricidal/CATricidal feelings more often than I would ever want to honestly admit, and no one would believe how many days I take bad hits or flat-out lose (well, not on the 'cidal. YET.) But continue to fight I do, of course. 

"It is fair to judge peoples by the rights they will sacrifice most for. Super-cat-men would have been outraged, had their right of personal combat been questioned..."

But the happiness is not faked*. Everything i see interests me. Even on the coldest day, a stray sunbeam can trap and fascinate me and turn my normal constant small smile into a truly stupid grin. Even at my unhappiest, a bird on the porch or the movement of the pine trees in the wind or the sharp sparkle of sun on the ripples of the river can just turn me to warm sensory goo. I am immensely grateful for this propensity, it has probably been a key factor in keeping me and my possibly victims alive this long. 

"They will probably not even notice you; but if they do, you are lost.  They take offense in a flash, abhor strangers, despise hospitality, and would think nothing of killing you or me on their way home to dinner."

But it causes me to seem to put on a false face. I look so friendly, happy, peaceful, and so many people take this literally at "face value" as it were, and that puts me in a lot of odd and tricky spots. I would like to be this content  in all aspects of my life. It doesn't seem very efficient, but it does seem pleasant. The problem is that I am intrinsically NOT this way. Perhaps when I am fascinated by a sparkle or leaf-shudders, - i am also watching every single movement within my periphery, ready for whatever. When I am smiling so contentedly, I could be thinking about something you said on Facebook - or putting your favorite thing in the driveway and running over it (in YOUR car) until I feel it is small enough. Usually, I am not. Usually I AM thinking about how actually tasty licorice can be sometimes, or that sweet smooch i got on the eyelid yesterday, or how weather is god-love. My squishy, colorful personage combined with my expression of stupid pleasure often seems irresistible to all but the most sour or busy, and sometimes even them. Yet, my real nature, at least socially, is incredibly reserved, at least as far as connecting emotionally with others. my level of trust in the average person is VERY low, and even with my closest and most trusted friends, i have certain points beyond which i NEVER relax. I feel awkward around other people, even my closest friends (everyone but Chris, really) 100% of the time.

"A race of civilized beings descended from these great cats would have been rich in hermits and solitary thinkers.  The recluse would not have been stigmatized as peculiar, as he is by us simians..."

It's a bad enough punishment that I often disappoint others with my disparate demeanor and nature. But being actually human and not a super cat person (darn.),  what really makes a daily difference to me is how disappointed I am with myself and all my annoying flaws and mistakes. Like a cat person, my dignity has a very hard time suffering the constant blows. Which reminds me what a vain, selfish, wussy b@$t@rd ape I really am, etc. - thus the cycle continues. But continue to fight I do, of course. :)

"Like ants and bees, the cat race is nervous.  Their temperaments are high-strung. They would never have become as poised or as placid as--say--super-cows.  Yet they would have had less insanity, probably, than we.  Monkeys' (and elephants') minds seem precariously balanced, unstable.  The great cats are saner.  They are intense, they would have needed sanitariums: but fewer asylums.  And their asylums would have been not for weak-minded souls, but for furies."

Figuring out how to make the balance is not easy. Especially when you're as easily distracted and antisocial as I am.

"They would have been strong at slander.  They would have been far more violent than we, in their hates, and they would have had fewer friendships.  Yet they might not have been any poorer in real friendships than we.  The real friendships among men are so rare than when they occur they are famous."

I have always been very analytical, and enjoyed it for the most part. It has served my survival instinct well. I am quite critical and quite judgmental, and so whatever my opinion, it is never garnered lightly. I have found that society generally frowns on this, no matter what they say, and I understand that this is often deemed inconsistent with my outward appearances.

"They would have been personally more self-assured than we, far freer of cheap imitativeness of each other in manners and art, and hence more original in art; more clearly aware of what they really desired; not cringingly watchful of what was expected of them; less widely observant perhaps, more deeply thoughtful.

Their artists would have produced less however, even though they felt more.  A super-cat artist would have valued the pictures he drew for their effects on himself; he wouldn't have cared a rap whether anyone else saw them or not.  He would not have bothered, usually, to give any form to his conceptions.  Simply to have had the sensation would have for him been enough."

This nature also makes me feel definite and determined about my personal tastes and opinions. I think I'm pretty open-minded about other people's gigs. As long as no one's being hurt (unless that's their gig) and it's all mutual and consensual, I say, have fun. But I have spent a lot of time considering my own interests, and I feel like an expert on them.

"...to the west is a beautiful but weirdly bacchanalian park, with long groves of catnip, where young super-cats have their fling, and where a few crazed catnip addicts live on till they die, unable to break off their strangely undignified orgies.  And here where you stand is the sumptuous residence district.  Houses with spacious grounds everywhere: no densely-packed buildings.  The streets have been swept up- or lapped up**--until they are spotless.  Not a scrap of paper is lying around anywhere: no rubbish, no dust.  Few of the pavements are left bare, as ours are, and those few are polished: the rest have deep soft velvet carpets.  No footfalls are heard. There are no lights in these streets, though these people are abroad much at night. All you see are stars overhead...

Follow one of them.  Enter this house.  Ah what splendor!  No servants, though a few abject monkeys wait at the back-doors, and submissively run little errands.  But of course they are never let inside: they would seem out of place.  Gorgeous couches, rich colors, silken walls, an oriental magnificence.  In here is the ballroom. But wait: what is this in the corner?  A large triumphal statue--of a cat overcoming a dog.  And look at this dining-room, its exquisite appointments, its--daintiness: faucets for hot and cold milk in the pantry, and a gold bowl of cream.

Some one is entering. Hush! If I could but describe her! Languorous, slender and passionate.  Sleepy eyes that see everything. An indolent purposeful step. An unimaginable grace.  If you were her lover, my boy, you would learn how fierce love can be, how capricious and sudden, how hostile, how ecstatic, how violent!

I want to be a good, generous, thoughtful, helpful person, and be kind to, accepting/forgiving/loving/understanding of every person I meet, but I also think most people are complete !@#$ idiots, and that many of them are hateful, selfish b@$tards, and that we'd all be a lot better off if they'd get abducted by aliens and used (gently) for test subjects or space janitors.

"In the circus, superlative acrobats.  No clowns."

I feel like, in a way, this is my life's work. Becoming the best person I can be, for my own sake and for the sake of the people who care about me - the true treasures I've found in this semi-scientific dig of my self. And there's that whole 'cidal thing too. Best to do what I can to keep from breaking that commandment at least, no matter how you - haha - slice it.

We cannot escape the fact are born to, eventually, fatally, fail. We are none of us more special than the other. We will age and die. We will make mistakes. We will break hearts and have our hearts broken. We will spend time in pain. We will never be perfect. We will often not get it right. 100% of us, no matter how we dissect and work on ourselves.

"The trouble is, it would defeat itself in the beginning. It would have too bitterly stressed the struggle for existence. Conflict and struggle make civilizations virile, but they do not by themselves make civilizations. Mutual aid and support are needed for that. There the felines are lacking. They do not co-operate  well; they have small group-devotion. Their lordliness, their strong self-regard, and their coolness of heart, have somehow thwarted the chance of their racial progress.

Luckily, I've obsessively pondered all that too, for most of my life.

I believe I started off with enough of a handicap that I don't stand much chance of reaching enlightenment in this go around. But I'm ok with that. I have plenty of work to do here. And I'm having a LOT of fun anyway.

 Whatever happens, I usually land on my feet (or at least my @$$, which is built for the eventuality. :)

"In literature they would not have begged for happy endings."

Love, peace and roasted fresh Seattle salmon-skin skin grease,

-s

*"They [Super-cat men] would not have been a credulous people, or easily religious. False prophets and swindlers would have found few dupes..."

All excerpts from This Simian World, Clarence Day. My kinda' self-help book! :)

**or gathered up and recycled for art supplies.

“None but the lowest dregs of such a race would have been lawyers spending their span of life on this mysterious earth studying the long dusty records of dead and gone quarrels.”

Hurray! Back to the blog! 
Because i have a follower (and when it's a follower like Jen, one is enough - though i welcome you all.:),

because it's therapy for me, and i believe it helps others too,

because i have things to say, and i love to share the words and art of other people who have things to say, because here you have a choice, and on FB you don't (sorry about all the daily clutter)... This way i can post and rant to my hearts' content and not feel like i'm junking up the airways (ok, ethernet, wtfever. ;) so much. Plus, i feel like i can let my hair down (or in my case, up) a little more here. FB is a little too public and varied for some of the things i'd like to express and share sometimes. Because i have this blog and even though sometimes i've gone ages 'twixt postings, i've still managed to keep it going for years. It's like my peace lily and aloe vera. even though i've nearly killed those guys more than once*, i have managed to keep them alive, and they give me clean air and oxygen and soothe my burns. yep, that's a very good metaphor indeed.
Love, peace and aloe vera gel,
-s



(thanks to X's mum and dad for the lovely amaryllis bulb. :) it was my macbeth prezzie. :)

*last year i thought i'd finally really killed them, but in the spring, i dug tiny little rhizomes out of their dirt and brought them back from that. they used to be HUGE. the spathyphillum (peace lily. see Hot Fuzz!) was like a small shrub and the aloe once filled this whole pot. :( but hey, they're still here, so there's hope! :D

The Optimists' Creed
worth reposting, worth saving, worth reading again every day!

Promise Yourself
To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel that there is something worthwhile in them.
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.
To think only of the best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful expression at all times and give a smile to every living creature you meet.
To give so much time to improving yourself that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.
To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world, not in loud word, but in great deeds.
To live in the faith that the whole world is on your side, so long as you are true to the best that is in you.

chris riddle does know how to show a girl a good time...

i once was lost...


Davy and Pete from FOUND magazine and This American Life came to the Grey Eagle last night. A lovely time was had by all, and there was a nice-sized crowd, but still too many Ashevillens missed out on a sweet, simple, silly - even sometimes sad - night with these lovely gents. I felt like I was sitting around in a nice living room at a really, really good party. good beer, good food, good times were had by all.
Boys, I hope you had fun in Asheville and at the shooting range in the 'Contry. We all hope you ALWAYS feel welcome here. Davy, thanks for the shout outs to local spots and for letting me totally crush on you in front of my hubby. I think he crushes on you a little too ;) so he doesn't mind too much ;)* and Pete, I've already given the roller derby girls the heads up regarding your "request" for your return trip, so start stretching now. :D
-s






*jk... though I REALLY think he has the hots for Ira. hmph. geek bitches. ;)

Enlightenment comes slow to my addled brain. But I keep looking for the light. Metaphorically and physically speaking, as much as I love and feel at home in the water, I still instinctively swim toward the light. I can take the pressure and dark of the deep, but I don’t like it. If one of my spirit animals really is some kind of fish, then it’s the kind that struggled to eventually become an amphibian. Maybe my spirit animal is a walking catfish, or a mudskipper or a Coelacanth. J Some water creature with finger bones and a taste for mudbugs.

Some things about my place in the world have begun to dawn on me. I’m finally coming to accept my self-centeredness and come to terms with it, and with how I can still try to be a good, useful person in spite of (or maybe even because of) it. I am beginning to have an idea of the effect I have on others, and though I am somewhat embarrassed about it taking so long for me to do that, I’m still proud that it didn’t take longer. I have some pretty serious decisions to make in the next few months, and I am nervous and uncertain.

Everything scares me. I am as weak as any human. My anger is my Achilles heel. My anger and my fear. TWO things are my Achilles heels, anger, fear, and a ruthless need to be a !@#$ hero. THREE things. The anger and slow-burning (like a coal carried in a cow-horn) need for revenge eat at me far worse than any of the physical disease that comes from being human.

I have managed to be isolated and then continue to isolate myself so much so that it is nearly impossible for me to feel any kind of real trust. I trust myself only, but I am getting older and slower, and even if anyone would care for me, I would not allow it. The more I get to know people, the more useful I become as a human, the lonelier I get. My only human waking life connection comes from the love I feel for others. It is so powerful that it usually manages to override everything else, all of my own grief and selfishness. It’s new to me too, consciously loving something or someone more than myself. Not I hadn’t before – I have always loved my siblings and the children and animals I’ve cared for all of my life, but it was in a broken, stunted and childish way. I suppose it still is, but at least I am conscious now. That in and of itself is a gift. Most of my love before Luna was safe love, none I couldn’t walk away from – and we all know that is something I will do in LESS than a heartbeat to survive – and somehow unattached to the center of me. Luna was worth committing to, or at least my heart/body/conscience felt so. And through her, I began to learn more about loving others and letting others love me.

I feel my own love, the love I have for others. I am as certain of it as I am of anything else within me. I know that I am loved by others, i register it with all my senses save one, the 6th, my soul, I suppose. I still can’t really feel it sometimes, but logic tells me it’s there. Sometimes I really can just tell by the amount of love I feel in return. When elsa* randomly flings herself at me and plants a sudden sticky kiss on my arm or cheek, I feel like my heart will burst into a skittle-like rainbow of sparkly happiness and I will have to sweep multicolored crystals and confetti and little jelly animals off the floor while eating brownies and singing ‘pie samurai’ through the crumbs. Yeah. That must be love, right? I’ve always felt the love of kids and animals. That’s always been a pretty basic give and take. And I, like kids and animals, go into every situation assuming that everyone will like me (well, with me: at least the kids and animals) and that expectation turns out to be true about 99% of the time. What’s with adult humans though? I guess I just don’t get it, and I’m finding out FAR too slowly how bad I am at playing the games.

So, I quit. Officially and in public. I am going to try harder to be like the kids and the animals. I am going to be more myself. I am going to say what I really think and feel. i am going to eat what I want and wear what I want, and try to be my own good and open-minded parent. I am going to sleep when I am tired and eat when I am hungry and try harder not to worry so much about what people are and arent’ saying. I will watch them more closely instead and find the real truths in what is not said and what is done. I am not going to make my inner kid play with anyone she doesn’t want to or question her when she says she feels bad. i will find a way, and I will use the stars in luna’s eyes and the imprint of elsa’s sticky kisses and the lines on the palm of my brothers’ hand as a map.

I feel myself drifting away from the median. I know how worrisome that looks to other people, but there are roads you can‘t see from the highway. I feel sorry for worrying people, but if they paid attention they’d see that i’ve gotten to be o.k. at taking care of myself (thank goodness) that I’m happier and safer out in the ether (not to mention hella more at home!) and that their worry is usually making me have to work TWICE as hard to keep it in line. I have a hard time keeping myself in the same shape all the time, and the effort gets harder as I get older. Conforming has never been easy for me, but I have tried to blend as much as I can, because I like people. I want to be liked and enjoyed and utilized. But I can’t format myself to fit the screens as easily as I once did. I don’t want to anymore. The anti-social butterfly is ready to shuck this chrysalis and move on.

I will not let folks down, at least not the ones who deserve it (based on my opinion only – and how good you are to kids and animals… J) and I am as aware and able – if not moreso – when I am out there/in here whatever. And I will always try to avoid truly embarrassing anyone in public, especially myself, so I really hope this latest selfish declaration/attempt at being happy doesn’t worry, shock, offend, insult or bore anyone who even notices too much.

Thank you for listening.

s

*Age 5, no agenda, unable to lie, a being of pure emotion and pure logic at this age still. Yay. Why can’t more people be like this?

 

this incredible photograph was taken at theOFOTCN cast party bonfire by ms. Kendall Hudson. thank you for sharing kendy.

my thoughts and feelings are flapping around this morning like sails torn loose in a storm. the noise is deafening. 

i'm ok, and i'm pretty sure i know most of the main reasons why this is happening, but it helps me to come here and sort it out. i hope you all know by now that here, i am am talking to my friends. if you aren't my friend - even if i haven't met you, or know you and don't THINK you are my friend, and i know i have some friends like that - then you shouldn't even be reading this. unless of course, you're just really bored. or you find it makes you feel less sad yourself, or something. in that case, please be my guest, new friend.

i have come to a BIG decision making-place in my life. there are questions of ground-standing and self-knowing, and stuff-burning and flat-out-!@#$-survival at hand, plus all the million questions and decisions that spin off of something like that. i have come to a hurdle, i can see it coming, i have time to decide whether to jump, veer, stop, turn around, but the hurdle is still hurtling at me* pretty fast. whee. 

it is true that no one ever said life is easy**. it's definitely not. and i have learned to be better at not purposefully involving myself in things or with people who might complicate my life dangerously or even unnecessarily. but you can't deal with a single other living, communicating, needing entity (like even a PLANT) without having to make compromises and special arrangements and things sometimes. surprises, illnesses, weather changes, lunar cycles, blahdy, blahdy blah - FACTS IS FACTS. one can set standards, set boundaries***, even set one's jaw, but there's really only so much you can do. friends cry. plants have to be watered and they get leaf mould. some guys are @$$holes. people get hurt and die. babies' diapers need to be changed. some movies suck. it's life. 

i work hard and revel in learning and trying to be good at ALL of it. if someone needs a christening gown, a wedding veil or a shroud, i can make or find one, and i can provide most of the services, skills and arts before, after and in between. i have never delivered a baby, but i feel certain that if the need arose, i could, and well, and even handle complications. just with what i have around the house, even if there was no power. i could do most necessary - and many fun and/or ornamental - things just with what i carry in my backpack. 

life IS hard, so i've tried to be good at it for ONE REASON: so that i could try not to worry so much and get on with trying to have FUN and ENJOY the good things we make and find and make sure that other people can and do too. 

no one in my waking life appointed me this duty, unless it was god, and then only through genetic planning and good fantasy authors, 'cause it darned sure wasn't any standard holy book. but i still feel an arrow-straight and -deep responsibility to this purpose. to learn and be good to the world, to myself, and to others, in that order. babies, animals and old folks first. :)

there have been several incidents in the past few years that have really tested my mettle. from HUGE ones like the motorcycle accident, the house exploding, losing Luna, the loony bin and having guns pulled on me by the cops; to smaller ones like the !@#$ emotion-go-round of existential-life-crises, shadows of infidelity, family $#*!, theater, and general hoo-ha and quackery.  this last year especially has been a test of 'who the !@#% am i REALLY'? i haven't been delighted with all that i've uncovered in the excavating, and i have been simultaneously supporting several OTHER archaeologists' digs, for better or worse, but overall i'm pleased with the whole picture. if nothing else, i know that, for the serious treasure-hunters/eco-cleaners, our heart is in our work.

part of the flappy-aroundy thing has to do with my chemistry, my meds and the way that my brain works (if that's what you want to call it). that is also effected by the fact that, every day i care less and less about trying to fit myself into the screen. i've always had problems keeping life and people in a line, temporally speaking i guess. sometimes i just don't learn or remember things that aren't important. i don't care what people's last names are, but i could draw their faces 10 years from now even if i only met them once. i really don't remember the order things happened in very well, but i often know what will happen next. it doesn't bother me so much. in fact, i work pretty well that way, as that is the way i seem to be made. but i can tell how much it frustrates liney people. i amuse and assist enough that i am tolerated and appreciated, but some of my friends just feel personally affronted by the way i am and do things, no matter what i do, or how many times they have to re-realize that this is how i am. i try to adjust myself to other people's speed, if i can, or get as close as i can, but this takes a lot of work and help, and causes OTHER complications. but who loves a dandelion and then expects it not to blow away?

i don't want to upset people or hurt people, and i believe that i am a helpful person, but time is suddenly running short, it seems, and there is still SO much to do, and i really really don't want to spend it doing and being things that i don't want to. i don't want to waste it on wasteful people. i don't want another bad moment that isn't an accident or an act of nature. i don't want to be in places or situations that make me unhappy, and i DO want to try more places and situations, because i suspect that i have it in me to be incrementally MORE happy by discovering new places, people, things, FOOD... :D

i'm learning a lot. it is like being a kid again, still. :) here are some important things i've learned so far:

i've learned that i can really be all of myself and that people can and will cope. 

i have learned how to make the ones who can't go away without violence or even a true loss of diplomacy (and i have different settings for every level of diplomatic need). 

i've learned that i can ask for and have what i want and that i can deal with the consequences. i've learned that i will never be alone. 

i've learned that i can be forgiven and that sometimes i don't want to. 

i've learned much more of what i can and will put up with, and what happens when i try against my will and common sense. 

i've learned that my thoughts, words and deeds really do effect my path and the paths of others.

i've learned that i can stand up for myself and others with no fear of the consequences, or even of failure.

i've learned that i'm a little bit of a hometown rock&roll star/superhero, and that every town is my hometown and that i am part of a SUPER super-team.

i've learned that so many of the friendships and loves i've invested in over the years were so very, very worth it, and apparently so was mine. what a great gift. (thank you internet.)

i've learned that i have power, and one of my gifts is to help others see and find and use their own.

i've learned that there is still SO much left to learn, and that's the happiest thing of all.

the flapping sails will be caught and mended. the other things will go forward or fall off because that's what things do. the burning time will come and go, and i will still be me. a different me, but still me. like the moon****. i worry (think, pray, hope...) about all of you too, every day. the people i talk to on myface and spacenook, the family and friends whose photos and art fill my life and my walls and books and head and heart (and fridge surface), there is always a little candle burning somewhere for each of you, and i am always honored when i get a message asking for special prayers, hope, wishes, light. always. 

this is my real work. more than my art (which i think is just as much a part of me as my skin now, i cannot be separated from it, not even naked and alone in the desert), more than my sundry Girl Friday work (that basically pays for my phone bill, insurance, chocolate, coffee, books, art supplies and shoes - all fuel for:), my volunteer/fun stuff, or even just the general, all-intensive job of being human, being me, being a friend, pet owner, girl-friend, sister, etc.

this constant state of prayer/meditation/trying to be aware/trying to be tabula rasa/trying to soak in life and people and light and feeling and experience and defend the rights of others to do so and help them find their way to this same simple appreciation of themselves, of others, of life, this is the thing that calls me like a grail. to be myself. to enourage others to be themselves. to enjoy the whole experience and be helpful during the unenjoyable things, so that we can get right back to it as soon as possible. 

i know i'm too hotheaded, too human, too rash and impulsive, too weak, too broken to be very good at this really. but that is one more thing i've decided not to give a damn about and proceed anyway. i feel that the fact that i KNOW these things and realize that they are handicaps, and have plans, thoughts, theories and help to work on improving in those areas, but i am certainly not going to try to wait until i am not all those things to get started. ha! 

i'm at least a pro at being me, so i think that's the best place to start. that means i need keep working on learning better people skills, like patience and whats-opinion-and-whats-fact, and and inside-head/outside-head voice rules and things like that. dressing at least DECENTLY 101, not-saying-every-single-thing-i-think, and learning to age gracefully(again. i have a feeling i've failed this one before. :), then hopefully i can keep up the good work. 

thanks for all your help. i know what kinda' pupil i am. this home-schooling is a !@#$. you've been good - or at the very worst, educational ;) - journeymen so far.

-s

 

*hur hur hur. that HURT. ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha..... *hack*  and see, only FRIENDS would even TOLERATE this, much less somehow find it FUNNY. ish. sometimes.

[i want a little red star for the terrible steeplechase mettyfor too]

**except maybe paris hilton. but what the hell would that walking cigarillo know?

***well, they're more guidelines, really...

****haha! i  made you look at spongmonkeys!

Tonight, I get to meet the daughter of a hero of mine, and give her the poem I wrote for her much beloved, respected, admired - worshipped - mother. I wrote this poem years ago, and I've shared it many times, but never with the family to whom it truly belongs. Tonight, I hope my words reach the heart of Nina Simone through her daughter Lisa, and that she understands that, before her mother left us, there were people in this town who were unbelievably proud to be from, or living in the same place where her mother was raised, people who understand what it's like to feel as if you don't belong, people who have something to say, and look to Nina for the inspiration to be able to find our voices.
I belong here now, and so does Nina. I wish we had all been able to give each other a chance, before it was to late for her to recieve the heroes' welcome-home that she deserved, and to give and recieve the forgiveness that we all deserve. But through her family, and through the people of Tryon - especially our Dr. Crys, another beloved, talented native - not giving up, doing what it takes to build the bridge, we have come to be able to celebrate and share her legacy, and our pride in Tryon's most auspicious child, Eunice Waymon, nee Nina Simone.

Here's this poem, yet again, reposted from my blog on Tuesday, May 4, 2004

Nina

You sing to me
when the hurt is so deep
that nothing else can touch it.
Your voice is rough and strong,
like my fathers hand resting on my back,
weighted heavy with long years
of understanding ache.

You know the burdens
of love and salvation,
the sound of grief
at the bottom of a glass,
and you talk to me, soul sister,
any time I need to hear.

Sundays,
I walk past the place
where you slept and dreamed
of other lives, of freedom.
I imagine that you came this way,
swinging your arms,
singing softly to the graveyard.

Did you sit here
on your steps and cry so loud
that all the Mill Village
dogs would howl,
but not another human could hear you?
I hear it, and I howl too.

Now, all the wealthy white men –
actors, poets and politicians –
have their names plastered
on every other building.
Not one of them knows me,
or you, or cares.
Civic pride has a limit, I suppose.

I know you won’t come home –
I can’t blame you.
I came here to get away from home.
But your voice still rings down Markham,
across Scriven creek valley,
and gives me courage to face another day here.

My civic pride says:
“She got out.
Will I ever?”
It also says:
”Of all the things I’ve found here,
I am most proud of you and I.

-sll 1999

by the way, i can't tell you what a joy it is to live in a place where you are able to wake to the sound of the river on a gorgeous spring morning, fix breakfast and coffee for self and friends and then pack folks up to go hear Lisa Simone Kelley sing to children for free. blessed be!!!
Crys, and everyone who has been a part of this amazing project, thank you so much for all you have done. Thank you for letting me help a little. And for letting  me hold the power in my little hand. <3