Writing About Me #1 - October 16th, 2023

How do you collectivize a fragmented experience, a masked wardrobe, complete with tight crop tops and sucked stomachs against wet pillows, blankets and screens?

I move through the world shakily. Always bumping into things, getting distracted by things, spilling my drinks, stumbling on my words, wearing wrinkled clothes, and stubbing my toe on a wall I didn't see, or a friend I trusted too easily. Running into walls in conversations that should have long ended. Pleading to be understood - pleading to be seen as anything but just clumsy.

I'm ditzy! I'm clumsy and I'm ditzy and really hot and fun and honestly I don't understand what y'all want from me. I'm just a person. Grow up and get over it. You demand perfection? You demand an exact replication of the logic you've come to internalize about how people should act and live? Pathetic. Seriously, like why would I even dignify the thought? I'm clumsy, so to protect my dignity from being constantly ridiculed, I'm also cold and stand-offish. One could call it an anti-social propensity, or one could call it what it is: a rational response to the dangers of this world.

Like idk am I insane for being so firm about what I think is right and wrong? You people have no fucking conviction. But something I have to remember about conviction is that I don't have to justify myself to anyone. I don't have to present anything I don't want to. I'll figure it out, I promise I will. Just give me the space to fall into myself.

Beneath this clumsiness is the ability to fall gracefully into a flow.

I've learned that in order to protect myself, honestly and ferociously, I need to trust myself the best I can. I needn't protect myself in spite of myself.

When you're clumsy, you open yourself up to being the butt of a joke in literally endless situations… Like when I say I'm clumsy, I mean I'm tripping on the air in an open walkway. Nothing on the ground but my feet and the invisible force field of clumsiness that ultimately tripped me. Asshole. Lmao. Fr that bitch just be poking at you. Literally pulling your leg. Pushing you down stairs. Suddenly shoving someone on top of you. At every turn it's like, "Damn bitch what happened? What the fuck? How did you let that happen? You got two left feet?" All the ways of asking how you could be so foolish. All with a giggle and insidious smiles. Smile and laugh through the pain. This is a joke. What happened to me is a joke.

I'm a college dropout. And listen, that really does have a lot to do with my anti-academia sentiments, but not in the way that people often choose to pathologize about me.

Epistemic violence is the greatest form of violence you can enact against another person. It is never enacted against another person due to harm and is purely harmful. Why? What reason beyond malice, and in service of what power beyond, can epistemic violence be enacted against another. The only entity with the power to enact epistemic violence is that beyond human capacity. I don't feel real. I don't feel reflected in my reality. I don't feel kinship with reality. I don't feel a part of reality.

Octavia Butler said that change is god and god is change.

If God is change, how do I shape him?

How can I blow in the wind like seeds planting on new continents,

and spiders floating to the atmosphere.

Like eels migrating to the Bermuda Triangle

and birds flying south for the winter.

What gives me the rites of reflection?

What gives me right to reality?

What gives?

Apart from me, what matters most is false.

The part that throws order to the wind and chaos to the sky.

The Parts of being that create.