Tear Out Your Eyes (Cat-callers Everywhere)
Last week was a shitty week, for a lot of reasons. Mostly a bunch of small things piling up.
But Wednesday, I had to walk home after school. Normally I get to leave after 6th period, but I had a club. But that Wednesday, it was starting late, and I felt too exhausted to wait for that.
The good thing about having early dismissal is that there's no one else walking my way. Almost everyone else who has early dismissal has a car (we are all seniors, so most who choose early dismissal drive home. Hopefully next semester, I will have some type of working vehicle).
Because this was after school, that meant other teenagers.
For context: I was wearing a skirt. Black with two red stripes vertically, and it was long.
The first group of boys I passed was on school property. I remember things I heard over their loud murmuring.
"Damn what's under that skirt?"
One whistled. Another fucking growled at me.
"Looking good Witch."
This pissed me off. I am normally pretty apathetic and calm, but I snarled my lips and stuck my tongue out at tongue. As I walked away I heard them go "Ooohhhh!".
The second group I had just gotten off of school property. They were quieter than the other boys, but one still whistled at me. I was tired, so I kept my head down and quickened my pace.
There's no good ending to that story. I complained to my friends and got sympathy. I kept my composure until I got to my neighborhood and started crying a bit, but it didn't last long. I saw no point in telling my parents, because their reacts probably would have made it worse, or made me feel worse.
I guess the point of this story is, don't fucking to that to anyone. If your friends do it, call them out on their shit, because I'm too scared to wear that skirt to school for a while.
You Lied! I Want My Power Back!
You promised us that you would protect us. You promised you would put us first. You LIED!
People are going to yell at you about the atrocities of this world, and yes they are completely right but other than natural disasters, every problem we have was man-made by you. These issues created to teach us that we have given you too much power. The ones in charge did this to us because we thought they knew better than us. They have used and abused the power we have imbued them with for personal gain, and now we are at our wits end on how to solve these problems. Someone is going to ask for a solution, but here is the issue with a solution: Those solutions are based on the lived experiences of those individuals (how the problem is perceived by the person experiencing the problem), will supersede the collective’s experience even if it’s a similar lived experience. So, getting a collective together to agree on a solution will take time, effort, and COOPERATION from all parties because everyone involved must agree on a solution and how it is put into practice. Cooperation and war have been the world’s solutions to solving problems, but cooperation has been the only solution for humans to continue to evolve. But those we have trusted with that power have become greedy and self-serving only worrying about their people and leaving the rest to die. I personally take issue with that! Humanity being lost for something that only has intrinsic value will be the downfall of man. To me a human life is more valuable!
Beatnik of Banjo Playing –
While trying to drum up some theme to write about (on this cool and rainy September 24th, 2023), I came across a short noteworthy character sketch regarding... well let not me harp about mystery musician, but launch without further into the nonpareil personality.
Even though a neophyte to fame, my doppelganger Pete Seeger is the most awesome recently deceased historical figure I would like my strung out fretful dishabille skid row brothers to meet.
The reasons will be expounded within the following paragraphs in tandem with cursory synopsis of said larger than life performer, whose legend did limber along lumbering unencumbered.
His disembodied spirit viz zit meself via transmigration filling me up with illustrious je nais sais quois corporeal entity as death stole him away.
Whatsapp pair rent now? This songster visionary ultimately sold out shows even when his existence neared centenarian.
His sidereal soaring spirit sprinted within my being with succor, whence his esprit de corps imbued and transmitted within myself.
This legendary weaver of folk songs with heft characterized a Bluegrass rooted rebel rouser, who struck up pluck.
He sang out protest anthems well nigh till his last dying breath. Salient voice yielded just shy of testing legal paradigm, whereat the establishment eventually felt gifted per this musically fluent, pliant, and talent helped mine crafted ill fate, fraught with hardscrabble existence.
Born with a figurative silver banjo shaped spoon in his mouth, this musical propensity per plucking up a barnstorming melee steeped within his blood, and the microscopic genetic deoxyribonucleic acid strands like loose chords awaited to be fine-tuned.
His father, Charles Seeger, taught music for some time at the University of California, Berkeley; and his mother, Constance (de Clyver Edson) Seeger, taught violin at the Juilliard School.
Thus while in utero (I imagine and can actually call back at will), his conception noted for being daily enfiladed with suite melodies abetted a winningly woven wellspring witnessing defiance against the establishment.
Once this scion of a musical family hitch hiked the ribbon of highways that criss crossed the then much more rural United States as a young whippersnapper parlaying his agnostic, dogmatic, and genetic joie de vivre mixing melodies with protest lyrics, he never turned back to the sanctity and anonymity of being one piece of human flotsam and jetsam within the teeming big red bull let tinned apple.
As an avid fan, admirer and smallish medium at large of recently deceased American powerhouse, he became imbibed with seminal seeds, which stirred and sowed stalwart spirited musician, whose catchy masta stanzas spearheaded putting a stop against suffering foisted upon Mother Earth and sundry flora and fauna that took an unfair thrashing.
Formative unconsciousness unwittingly got usurped, which geyser like surge of sensory stimulation (re: badinage, imagistic language, and persiflage) ingested while in the womb, which external impact likened to a hard drive, ventifact smoothed common sense sotto voce voices, would coalesce to brand vaunted vicar with imprimatur of serving as prizefighter with plowshares for the less valiant citizens.
The nascent nebulous ninety plus mortal melded his melodious manhood with mine.
Thus, he ranks as mine hero and super ego, he who did sport that trademark Pete Seeger undertone resonating with justifiable ranting, raving and seething wherefore sacrosanct sensibilities sabotaged.
This natural segue way to secure apropos fastness and vibrant issues extant and pertinent to each passing decade (until the grim reaper he did not fear), the sanctity of living things reduced to shambles the machinations of consumerism.
Suppose zed just a conjecture viz zit head upon while thine folk hero, a mere negligible cluster of amorphous aggregated, yet undifferentiated cells from initial fertilization.
No doubt, once the onset of biological activation fused flagellated spermatozoa with an ova, thence begat activation sans fetal process.
Thru full term embryonic pregnancy musical vibrations soundlessly steeped the nascent accretion with industrial strength slaphappy, contagious, illustrious and raucous laughter.
Such frequent occasions when hearth and home crackled, popped, and snapped with boisterous, joyous and riotous rafter rocking regular social tete a tete, tis no surprise this cherry fun-loving offspring prospered as a seminal trailblazer for countless causes.
A progressive upbringing (in consonant with a parents who espoused spiritual philanthropy), could only vaguely hint that such a precocious baby (whose mind piqued with indelible righteous fervent advocacy), would epitomize a salutary socialistic role that spanned the better part of the twentieth century.
As thee lanky leveraged locomotive lustily ranked as an indomitable force to be reckoned with at the forefront sans de facto human rights spokesman (incorporating a one man force).
Spine tingling sensations unexpectedly recur even today every now and again, per this good n plenti individual phalanx who exemplified, indemnified, linkedin Netzero intolerance where injustice throve.
As happenstance and fate found him to be a promoter of positivity, this role he maximized with an uncanny skill that found him wielding quiet riot might like wrecking ball.
This totemic singular reverential quality won him countless honors as a nonpareil humble torch bearer for liberty, particularly taking the rubric of democratic treatment for those less adroit to speak and stand up for themselves, which positive external influences infiltrated thru the womb.
Via osmosis or vis a vis vox populi per the crowdsource of musicians a frequent mainstay at the family residence in New York City transformed into an improvisational soundstage.
As the renowned bandstand barrister re: Pete Seeger inexplicably deftly let his reputation precede (barriers that would disallow any other Tom, Dick or Harry) against whistle stops.
Every venue lent credence (like crystal clear water) to vocalize opposition against the bulwark of authority) challenged, with a bravura of willingness to suffer brickbats thrown by dingbats.
As a lean non mean mien machine, he epitomized opposition by courageously standing front and center toward arbitrary biased codas, dilatory encased fiats.
Akin to a pied piper for amity, comity, equality, generosity, integrity…he unwittingly gathered followers.
Analogous to the general (while serving in the United States Army), as a civilian he generated herculean indomitable jabs, keepers leveling mandates named our prized quintessential rebel rouser satanic totem unpardonable viz wreaking x communicated and tarnished as a traitor to the rank and file of military industrial complex and government paradigm.
normalization of Homophobia in schools i guess
Fucking homophobia in the american school system. It's stifling. It isn't said enough that minorities and oppressed peoples shouldn't be put against each other like rabid dogs. Speaking from personal experience, the majority of (american middle/ high schools) schools don't give two shits if students are racist, or homophobic or incredibly hate full as long as its mildly discreet. Straight, cisgender people could say the F slur all they please, as long as its not directly in front of a supervisor/teacher. I (a transgender queer person) could very well have my rights striped away from me, and my peers would make a meme about it.
Understanding (and maybe even an ounce of compassion) towards queer youth is ideal, but acceptance is the bare minimum. It is legitimately baffling to me, why some are so dead set on hatred, and discrimination, and making LGBTQIA+ youth (specifically trans folks) feel so horrible. Why some people go so far out of their way to alienate and taunt queer children just trying to exist. At some point, it becomes to fucking much though. These people have feelings and shit.
basic, but in a different way
now im not one for brand names
i don't own a purse
the way to my heart isn’t flowers
and about jewelry- im even worse
now, i do like lavishing my dogs
and im into collecting this and that-
but i know my son loves me,
cause he bought me a new 'front door bat'
it came from an estate sale-
made me kinda proud when he gave it to me--
"it's a Louisville Slugger, so practical, artistic, and a lil piece of history"
People who come from privilege need to find a way to understand that equality is not discrimination.
As a poor neurodivergent LGBTQIA+ AFAB Jew who has severe allergies, I know my fair share of discrimination.
If you still don't get it, I was bullied from elementary to the beginning of high school, mostly for being short and smart.
You must understand, right?
I was raised by a single mother starting around my eighth birthday when my dad moved for a job. That turned into them being separated and then divorced by the beginning of middle school for me.
The weight of knowing how much debt my ma is in is immeasurable. Her meager raises are nothing in comparison to the skyrocket of inflation
If you really don't get any of this, you're the problem I'm protesting.
Well, not you directly, but the system that has created you.
The same system that created the kids who bullied my mom when she was in school for not having name brand clothes.
The system which leaves her with so much debt even today because of the systematic barriers put in the little, likely neurodivergent, Jewish girl's way.
Shaming her for her family's financial situation, scaring her as she continues to have the same issues.
Now juggling me, a college student with all the descriptors from the beginning and the ongoing struggle to be debt free, when credit cards are no longer usable because of the amount owed.
I'm not asking the not understanding rich person to come down to my level of suffering.
I just wish it was reasonable to think my mom might not struggle economically one day.
That the barriers only passable by luck should be lowered to allow people to actually move up based on their hard work.
If hard work got you places, my mother would be rich.
We have the privilege of skin tone, so I don't mean to shape us up as having it worse than everyone else.
I know we have it better than many, many others.
I don't see those below us getting support as discrimination; I see the use of our identities as ways to put us down as such.
It must take ignorant privilege to think others being represented and helped as discrimination.
No one deserves to be discriminated against; no one knows that better than the oppressed. What makes people think those who hate oppression and discrimination the most would cause or wish for others to experience it?
Privilege is not thinking there is a problem because it is not a problem for you. Equal Rights is not Gay Privilege.
I was told that the LGBTQIA+ community was upset because not everyone liked them. That they were mad because they wanted everyone to be like them.
I think differently.
I think that people like me demand change because they know there are people who are being killed because they are not straight, or are not cisgender.
They know that mental illness is higher in kids in the community because of harassment. (And yes, mental illness can have a cause.)
That is why I demand change.
I am tired of people thinking we want Gay Privilege. We want the same rights as you. And you know what. Maybe we want the privilege to walk outside our room or our house without the ever growing fear of being killed or hurt.
And that is not a privilege we have, but it is one that we all should have. It should not be considered a privilege at all.
It is the bear minimum.
We are not mad that because not everyone likes us, we all know that people will hate us forever.
We just ask for the right to love who we want and for you to not kill us for it.
The Protestant Proletariat; Or, the Strange Disappearance of Little Daniel Wilson
I protest against fools and idiots (which protestors invariably are)! So there, this prompt has forced me to joined their ranks… sigh.
But I won’t be lying in any roads blocking your path to work, or pouring out the milk onto your grocery store’s floor, or dying the water in your ancient fountain, or gluing my hands to the Mona Lisa or my feet to the U.S. Open, or living in a tent village with my college-professor-parents’ credit cards hidden in my wallet, or any other dumb shit.… the double-dyed fools and idiots. And here I am protesting along with them even as I protest them… sigh. How desperate I must be for a subject to expound upon.
I have never even seen an actual protest. I don’t think they happen down where I’m from, but then we still have police here. I did see Daniel Wilson protest white milk once in the second grade, but Ms. Layman was a tougher egg than Daniel. She drug his screaming butt out of the room by the ear, and we never saw poor Danny again. But then, the right to chocolate milk (or milk choice, as they would call it today) is a hill worth dying on when you are nine, although I have since developed a taste for white milk (proving Ms. Layman right, as always).
And that is exactly how these “protestors” should be treated today, if only the laws were as tough as Ms. Layman.
On a side note, unlike Daniel I survived the 2nd grade, all thanks to such a great teacher. I also ended up eventually marrying Ms. Layman’s daughter. The two of us live together quite happily in their family basement, where we can stay so long as I am willing to do odd jobs, and what-not. So as you can see, not protesting also has the potential to lead to a more comfortable station in life… sigh.
But I still can’t help wondering… whatever happened to Daniel Wilson, anyhow?
Self ❤️ Care
There are a lot of causes undoubtedly worthy of bringing to light: things that need taking care of by Others. I think of human trafficking, of the perils of war-torn peoples, of migrants, of so-called illegals, and those living in peripheral shadows in fear of identity and consequential inequity in treatment whether national, ethnic, racial, religious, gender or other isolating factor(s). Causes needing advocates.
Self-care might not seem to be one of these, and yet there is something in it that troubles me, as an underlying problem that reaches across various boundaries. It's a "buzz word," mostly farcical, lacking in substance, that I'm hearing floating, and it is I believe in need of someone to actually stand behind it. I notice that "leadership" have administratively adopted proactive rhetoric-- as if speaking of something addresses the problem in itself.
"We care for you, remember to self-care! your patients, guests, customers, sufferers, etc. are needing your care and services! so take care of yourself as well!" is the exclamation at the end of professional development "training," geared towards public servants, which fails to address with any intent how that should be done? The words dissipate into the wind.
In my observation it is all too common that caretakers do not know, neither instinctively nor by training, how to take care of themselves while taking care of groups or individuals who are ill, traumatized, or suffering from other impairment, grievance or loss. I call to mind burnt out group home managers, hospice workers, human and animal shelter employees, among others, even in less extreme cases, such as struggling parents or grandparents.
It is notable, but ignored, that the self-sacrificing are exactly that: self-sacrificing.
I've determined, that to help correct this imbalance, I can support the service of others in difficult decisions that feel counter to ethics. I mean personal ethics. For instance, I know from observation over years that the hard-working individual feels great shame in taking a sick day, never mind a mental health day. I'd like to advocate that individuals take every day off allotted to them with self-permission. Not with arrogance ("I earned it"); but with grace ("forbearance and maintenance"). Also, that they set boundaries; rather than expect 24/7 mental or physical operation, in whatever public service.
I realize that the guilt and self-beratement, internally, is difficult to overcome, but perhaps having support from an ordinary person on the street, even if only a single banner of solidarity, not so much Protest, might potentially provide that moment of recollection for a few, and eventually a few more, that all Selves are important and in need of respectable treatment. I mean Self-Respect.
Holding up a single sign seems a feeble effort, and perhaps I delude myself that those so burdened, with the problems of others, would see a heart as a one held up for themselves? A risk, one might counter, because those who are "pretenders" may arguably use this banner as excuse to put in less effort. But, then again, those are not the individuals I am concerned about, nor standing for-- the half-hearted it seems always know how to take care of themselves.