Note: This is not a reaction to the build-up, itself, but to those who are ignorant to the plight of the Chamoru people and all of Guam's residents as we fight for one simple cause: Life. There are those who do not understand all the ins and outs of this build-up and will quote facts and figures that have nothing to do with the build-up at all. More, while there are many willing to listen to the real facts and consider how these things affect an island of over 175,000 people, there are those who brush such things aside as though they were trivial situations that have no affect on anyone of significance. And the reality of this matter is that while most of the world is oblivious to our existence, let alone how our lives and home are being threatened, those who know just a little bit about us often believe that our fight is both fruitless and unsubstantiated, that we should actually feel differently, that they know more about what's best for a place that they will never see, even more than those of us who live here, who love this island, who want to fight to protect it so we have a place for our children to grow in, knowing that we did everything we could to make their lives better.
It's easy to ignore, to know that there is an entire world out there that you know nothing about and never make the effort to see that world; when you will not even imagine that world; when it does not exist as long as you cannot see it; when you live in a world that you believe you've struggled and toiled for in order to find your place in it despite never having to worry about how you will feed your children, pay your bills, keep your house, protect your environment, provide for your family and contribute to your country; when you live in a world with people who look like you, think like you, speak like you and you never venture far enough from that world to see how different it can be just a few short miles away.
It's easy to not care, to know what's happening in the world and believe that as long as it does not happen in your backyard, it does not matter; when it clearly does not affect you and it will not determine how you live your life; when you live on and reap the benefits of stolen land; when you believe that your tax payers' dollars pay for your rights in a country that uses that money to take the same rights away from others; when your ancestors were not pushed out of their homes in order to provide a playground, a strategic position in military defense, a nuclear dumping ground and yet another symbol of global dominance for the ruling majority; when you do not have words like "unincorporated territory" qualifying your citizenship and what few rights you have.
It's easy to be selfish, to continue living your life believing that your experiences and your observations are the standard; when your rules are everyone's rules and your reality is the only one that exists; when how you see the world is the way others do; when you believe that everyone in the world should see it the same way you do; when you are blind to the fact that the same rules in the exact same country do not apply; when you believe you deserve your freedom and rights simply because you were born in the right place to the right people; when you think your rights are universal, not just on a global scale but a national one; when you blame the natives of your land for the worst society has to offer after the institution that you love and believe in so much is the very institution that created those problems; when you cannot see that that same institution that elevates you and gives you the benefits you feel you deserve more than others denies those same rights to the people who are born of the first occupants of that land.
It's easy to mock, to ridicule the actions of others who take a stance against something that mirrors a cliche' you've heard too many times but never had the misfortune to live; when you've never stood up against those who feel it is within their rights to steal from you, to poison you, to liberate you only to force you into a life of servitude that you believe only exists in books and blockbuster movies; when you've never struggled under the yoke of an institution that considers you less than human, that refuses to honor the rights it swears to grant its citizens; when you've never had your citizenship questioned, denied, created with limits or given for a price; when you've always had a vote but have chosen not to cast it; when you've always had a voice but have chosen not to use it; when you've never had to fight with fists, with arms, with words or with heart; when you've never believed in anything that was worth your pain and inconvenience, or more, your life.
It's easy to feel indebted, to demand the thanks of a people you say your ancestors fought and died for; when you believe that you represent the armed forces that liberated an island you know or care nothing about; when you have never taken up arms to fight for the rights of others; when you have not walked into a room filled with pictures of faces you know, dozens of men in uniform that once lived in your homes who now live in boxes in the earth and in crypts; when you can count the number of brothers and sisters you've lost to war on one hand; when you are sending your sons and daughters to die under a flag that upholds your rights and not a flag that enslaves you; when you do not realize that you live in a state that cannot boast the highest number of enlisted soldiers per capita in your nation because that honor belongs to the very people you believe owe you allegiance and thanks, the very people who cannot say they have the same rights as you, the very people who have no say-so as to how their lives are run or the rules that govern them.
It's easy when you do not come from what is considered to be the longest occupied region in a world that should be evolving and protecting the inherent freedom and rights of its citizens. It's easy to believe that an increased population equals a stimulated economy when you have never lived in a place that is over-populated simply because miles of untouched land has been seized to sit and rot instead of house and protect people who desperately need it. It's easy to call for peaceful negotiations when you do not know that the same things that started the wars you believe gave you the freedom you feel you deserve are the very things happening in your own country right now, to your fellow citizens, to people who've worked harder and sacrificed more. It's easy to accept the institution's claims that immigration is the bane of your existence as a free citizen of a great nation when you cannot see that you are a product of immigration. It's easy to catalog the reasons you deserve the land you've built your life upon even if none of those reasons marks you as an indigenous person of that land. It's easy to be ignorant and see all functions as dollar signs and not ever consider that the cost of such transactions are human lives.
It's easy to be complacent. It's easy to reach the end of your life never knowing what your descendants will live or suffer through. It's easy to surrender when you have nothing to fight for. It's easy to abandon dreams of a world that will never be better than the one you already live because you have liberties others cannot even imagine. It's easy to protest how your first amendment rights are being violated when you cannot hear the voices of people who have no rights. It's easy to argue religion when someone asks you to remove the crucifix from around your neck instead of someone demanding that you wear that crucifix or die. It's easy to say that you have worked hard for your position when your work includes things that can be found in books for a monetary fee rather than work that involves people and a currency of blood, sweat and tears. It's easy to be happy when you cannot hear people cry. It's easy to be content when you cannot see people suffer.
It's easy to live the life that your nation was founded on.
It's not easy to fight for a life your nation has always denied.
1.1.10
a throwback: the genes i wish he didn't get from me
My son, Kane, has the same shape eyes as I do, which I got from my mom. His tiny pointed chin that juts out a bit is also mine and I got that from my dad. His nose, one that has developed from completely flat to rather round and back to flat is mine as well. That one skipped a generation from my grandmother, right past my father's narrow bridge and pointy nose, and down to me. Kane smiles with his whole face; also mine. That is something I take the most credit for. The sum of all my parts, with this trait from this side and that trait from the other, has translated almost completely accurately to my son. The extra spice added by his dad is rather limited though extremely noticeable. Altogether, though, that boy looks like his mama.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
28.12.09
another year, another beer
2009 is about over. Time for another year to screw with my mind and rock my world.
No matter the age or level of wisdom, each moment had is a learning experience. The past year has come with its own lessons, some of them new, some old and some have simply been confirmations of tested and untested theories or addendums to past beliefs.
Over the past year I've learned...
No matter the age or level of wisdom, each moment had is a learning experience. The past year has come with its own lessons, some of them new, some old and some have simply been confirmations of tested and untested theories or addendums to past beliefs.
Over the past year I've learned...
- Accepting change comes with letting go of formerly held beliefs
- Love is not enough
- Indulgences make life easier
- Even teachers and people with advanced degrees cannot figure out the bloody difference between their/there, it's/its, your/you're, etc.
- Sometimes it's accidental
- Addictions are a crutch
- There's a reason we need a crutch
- Weakness is not shameful
- Sometimes I'm not ashamed, even when I really, really should be
- You don't have to be a sociopath to not feel guilty when you've done something wrong
- Or maybe I am a sociopath
- When you are one person all your life, it takes more than a handsome face and loving arms to change you into a different person no matter how badly you both want that change
- Even if you love 99% of one thing, that missing 1% can be just enough to change your mind
- On the other hand, sometimes that 1% is trivial
- Comfort and familiarity aside, there's a reason we fit, a reason we work together even when we don't want to
- I am finally 100% sure that I am totally done for
- Convenience is often a major factor
- Some attachments are actually good
- Independence is the hardest thing to let go of, nothing else even comes close
- I am incapable of turning the other cheek
- Sometimes revenge has a taste other than "sweet"
- It's not 7, it's 6
- None of them mattered
- I love living on Guam
- I hate living on Guam
- If you ask a person with no fingernails to scratch an itch, it won't feel good and you will be left unsatisfied
- I was right from the start, you really are the one
- Everything is better with you
- Sanity = my homeys
- I am not above anything
- You are the only one who is worth it
- You are worth anything
- You are still my home
- I really am ready
Happy New Year, everyone. Make it count. Do what you do. Live your life. Don't take it too seriously. Let what happens happen and figure out where you fit in all of it. Sometimes taking a step back and observing the way the tides move is the most important part of learning and living. Make mistakes, laugh at yourself, remember where you've been, let it go. Move on. And don't be afraid.
"Je ne les crains pas. C'est pour cela que je suis nee." -Jeanne d'Arc
Look it up.
19.12.09
trimming it down some
In fitting with the streamline theme I plan on working on for the forseeable future, I'm playing a requiem for my parenting blog and moving the stuff on over this way.
The first throwback: Flipping out. It's just something I do from time to time.
life is seldom all rainbows and sunshine. even the happiest people find themselves feeling the cracks in their foundation get larger and larger and suddenly have barely a second to decide whether they want to indulge in an nervous breakdown or not. many people don't want to admit that they have such emotions, let alone show them to others. often, the last people we want to be witness to such a moment of weakness are children, especially our own.
among many of the reasons why we choose not to show our kids such things is believing that we should represent strength and stability to children who are still learning about the world around them and the way they should respond to that world. if mommy and daddy can't handle the stress, why would they think they should be able to?
so when i find myself in the middle of a breakdown i no longer have the strength to fight off and i am unable to get myself into a room that has minimal childish traffic and there's a little boy asking out loud, "why is my mommy crying?" my first instinct is to wipe away my tears and pretend everything is okay. then i realize that no amount of hiding myself now is going to change the fact that i was already caught. kane starts offering me candy, telling me not to cry and then looks knowingly at his daddy and says, "mommy just needs to lie down." (son, mommy needs to lie down for several years...)i start to wonder about the effects this will have on my son. and then i realize that just as with all things, such a spectacle should be accompanied by one very important thing: communication.
when the shoe is on the other foot and kane or drew find themselves too upset to function, i neither ignore nor coddle. i try to remember that this is not some animal to train but a human being with real emotions, valid whether we like to think they are or not. i do my best to redirect their frustration and try to calm them down, using words to express those feelings when applicable. these aren't things only children can benefit from. these are things we all need. and what could be more comforting to such a young child than knowing that mommy and daddy get upset sometimes too.
before the wave of emotion even passes i make sure that when my son is trying to understand how i feel and why i'm crying, i acknowledge his questions and accept his help. if he feels he can comfort me, it stands to reason that it will make him more inclined to let me comfort him. when i am able to be calm and speak reasonably, i confirm what he's already beginning to understand: adults cry when they are sad, too. i let him know it's okay. i let him know that being sad is momentary and i will now always be this way. i let him know that we can make decisions and look at the world more positively and start to feel better. and i let him know that everyone needs help and comfort sometimes.
there's no shame in showing weakness to your children. there's nothing wrong with letting them know that you are just like them. it's a raw form of communication that shows them what you may not be able to "just tell". and communication when expressed appropriately is never a bad thing.
The first throwback: Flipping out. It's just something I do from time to time.
life is seldom all rainbows and sunshine. even the happiest people find themselves feeling the cracks in their foundation get larger and larger and suddenly have barely a second to decide whether they want to indulge in an nervous breakdown or not. many people don't want to admit that they have such emotions, let alone show them to others. often, the last people we want to be witness to such a moment of weakness are children, especially our own.
among many of the reasons why we choose not to show our kids such things is believing that we should represent strength and stability to children who are still learning about the world around them and the way they should respond to that world. if mommy and daddy can't handle the stress, why would they think they should be able to?
so when i find myself in the middle of a breakdown i no longer have the strength to fight off and i am unable to get myself into a room that has minimal childish traffic and there's a little boy asking out loud, "why is my mommy crying?" my first instinct is to wipe away my tears and pretend everything is okay. then i realize that no amount of hiding myself now is going to change the fact that i was already caught. kane starts offering me candy, telling me not to cry and then looks knowingly at his daddy and says, "mommy just needs to lie down." (son, mommy needs to lie down for several years...)i start to wonder about the effects this will have on my son. and then i realize that just as with all things, such a spectacle should be accompanied by one very important thing: communication.
when the shoe is on the other foot and kane or drew find themselves too upset to function, i neither ignore nor coddle. i try to remember that this is not some animal to train but a human being with real emotions, valid whether we like to think they are or not. i do my best to redirect their frustration and try to calm them down, using words to express those feelings when applicable. these aren't things only children can benefit from. these are things we all need. and what could be more comforting to such a young child than knowing that mommy and daddy get upset sometimes too.
before the wave of emotion even passes i make sure that when my son is trying to understand how i feel and why i'm crying, i acknowledge his questions and accept his help. if he feels he can comfort me, it stands to reason that it will make him more inclined to let me comfort him. when i am able to be calm and speak reasonably, i confirm what he's already beginning to understand: adults cry when they are sad, too. i let him know it's okay. i let him know that being sad is momentary and i will now always be this way. i let him know that we can make decisions and look at the world more positively and start to feel better. and i let him know that everyone needs help and comfort sometimes.
there's no shame in showing weakness to your children. there's nothing wrong with letting them know that you are just like them. it's a raw form of communication that shows them what you may not be able to "just tell". and communication when expressed appropriately is never a bad thing.
15.12.09
let them play again...
...in some other way, and let them be happy."
that was quoted from the afterword of a scanner darkly, one of my favorite novels by my favorite science fiction writer, philip k. dick. a scanner darkly is a semi-autobiographical novel about drug use and drug culture. the novel, itself, is not the central point to this specific blog. the afterword, however, is one of several inspirations for me to post this entry.
the above quote referred to a list of some of the author's loved ones, "some people who were punished entirely too much for what they did." (copyright philip k. dick, 1977) these people were addicts, as dick once was as well. "what they did" was drugs. their punishment was the natural effects of the drugs they did. fitting in with the overall theme of the novel, it's an indictment of a society that creates problems, gives us the tools to get through those problems and the reality that some of those tools caused more pain in the end than the very pain those drugs were used to alleviate.
i'm also writing this while watching sober house, a reality program about celebrities living in a house meant to be a transition place between rehab and the real world as they have not experienced it in a long time: as a sober person. i watch these people, some of whom i consider amazingly talented, all of whom have lost close to everything because of their drug use. sadly, part of what they lost is what made them famous. they lost their drive, their ambition, often their talent. very often, they lost the people who aided in their fame: their closest loved ones and fellow collaborators.
people often excuse this drug use and behavior. a person creates a masterpiece be it a song, film, work of literature or visual art and their fans are sometimes quick to believe that drugs were an integral part of that work. often, it can be. my own experiences with drugs have either relaxed me to approach what i was doing with ease and less stress; or energized me so that i could keep up with the demands of an overladen schedule; and sometimes it felt as though it opened my mind to consider and appreciate ideas i wouldn't normally have when sober. the last of those mentioned effects have been spoken about ad nauseum.
talent is talent. inspiration comes from the mind and from experiences. and it can be argued that without those experiences, some of our favorite works -- a scanner darkly, for example -- would never have been created and we would never have the benefit of enjoying such works. consider, then, what the artists' intentions were when in the midst of conceptualization. consider, then, what a huge insult it is to the artists when people believe such talent comes mainly or even partially from drug use. several tests have been done to study and record the effects of various drugs on artists. an overwhelming majority of them reported some sort of improvement in their craft in technique, approach and content. but what degree of improvement was there? what would patrons and consumers think of the difference between sober pieces and those that were created under the influence?
on top of everything else, people see correlation between talent and drug use without attempting to understand the effects those drugs have had on their lives as a whole. i have yet to encounter any artist in any field who functioned better, as a whole, in the duration of their lives and all aspects of it, when under the influence.
i have met people, mostly amateur artists, who claim they have drug use to thank for any part of their lives whether they had talent or not. all of those people were still under the notion that what they did was good, inspired and worth notice. none of them realized how wrong they were. personally, not only does that show me a person who is living under a delusion that they have achieved one thing or another when they haven't, but it shows me a person who was not strong or sane enough to handle drugs in the first place. they were never better for the use. they were, in fact, worse than before and before, they weren't that good to begin with.
it further makes me consider my past drug use and the drug use of people i love or once loved dearly. it brings me to a deeper and darker part of my mind and causes me to recollect on all of our experiences, together and individually. i don't often share my personal experiences with people who know me and i don't intend to here either. if you know me and want to know, you can just ask. i also won't share the intimate details of loved ones whose lives have been ravaged by drug use.
details are not needed to illustrate what i believe most people already know but are too scared to acknowledge. they are fearful of seeming straight, conservative, rigid or boring. they are fearful of admitting that with their experimentation and curiosity they are leaving out some of the most painful and scary parts of use. they are fearful of what their friends may think while all these friends are just as blind, just as deluded.
people make mistakes. people turn to drugs for so many reasons. life is not normally pleasant. sometimes it's damn exhausting and soul crushing. sometimes we hurt so much that we turn to different things to make the pain go away. we don't want to feel unhappy in the real world so we decide to turn to other things to make us happy in our own minds. no person who's lived that life for long has ever been happy, truly. no person who lives in their fantasy can appreciate reality. no person who has escaped that fantasy has been able to instantly leave that made up world and face the real one with integrity and dignity. the slow and arduous path to sobriety is often the most difficult journey a person can make.
some people just want to know. they want to figure out the hype. they are curious. they see their friends indulge and they hear stories of their experiences. very often, especially with infrequent or initial use, those experiences are interesting and enjoyable. so they want to have that experience, too. they want to experiment. and they never consider what will happen when that experience is over and they realize how much of their life they squandered away, either the days spent outside of reality or the days they have lost out on when their health starts to deteriorate.
all things considered, i sound a bit hypocritical. and truthfully, i am. but there's still one more side to it. when it comes to drug culture i first and foremost believe that one cannot consider himself to be a part of that culture until he's seen or experienced close to all of the effects of drug use and addiction, the good, the bad and the very, very ugly.
as we lose people we love day to day and attend more funerals and comfort more people for those losses, we think about the events that led to that loss. in most cases we are witness to lives and deaths that were not the fault of those who passed. death from drug use, however, belongs in the hands of the user alone. as dick said, "they wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street; they could see one after another--run over, maimed, destroyed--but they continued to play anyhow."
remember all those people: loved ones, friends, strangers and idols who enjoyed a brief moment of joy and lost everything they had because they couldn't stop playing. remember their legacy and that part of it is allowing you a glimpse into a troubled mind and life that was too sensitive for this fucked up world. consider that most of them would not want you to idolize and replicate their mistakes that were interpreted to be part of their greatest accomplishments. consider that those works that move and touch you also should also teach and motivate you. consider that the best way to remember and honor them is to learn from them and live the life they didn't. appreciate the world around you through clear and open eyes. appreciate what you were given and make the best of it.
but also remember that although this is an affliction that we have brought onto ourselves, that this world, by nature, supplies the very things that hurt us most and disguises them as the one thing that can make everything better. remember that the punishment all of us receive was not only brought on by choice and action but also by cruelty and irony. remember that underneath everything is a person who feels and hurts. remember that underneath is a person who deserves love and a person who can love.
in closing, i'd like to take my cue from dick. i'd like to remember the people who were very big parts of my life, those i may not have known but whose lives touched those of the people i love most, who also paid too dearly for what they did:
to c.f., deceased
to m.g., permanent liver damage
to a.d., deceased
to d.d., deceased
to d.f., deceased
to r.t., missing, permanent brain damage
to j.q., permanent brain damage
to c.s., incarcerated, permanent liver damage
to a.b., permanent psychosis
to m.s., permanent psychosis
to everyone else who've lost any function of life or life, itself, to drug use
to those who've lost their loved ones to drug use
to those struggling to save those they love
to those struggling to save themselves
to those who struggle still, even while sober
to those who relapse and face the demons they fought so long to keep at bay
to those who don't realize, yet, how much they've lost
that was quoted from the afterword of a scanner darkly, one of my favorite novels by my favorite science fiction writer, philip k. dick. a scanner darkly is a semi-autobiographical novel about drug use and drug culture. the novel, itself, is not the central point to this specific blog. the afterword, however, is one of several inspirations for me to post this entry.
the above quote referred to a list of some of the author's loved ones, "some people who were punished entirely too much for what they did." (copyright philip k. dick, 1977) these people were addicts, as dick once was as well. "what they did" was drugs. their punishment was the natural effects of the drugs they did. fitting in with the overall theme of the novel, it's an indictment of a society that creates problems, gives us the tools to get through those problems and the reality that some of those tools caused more pain in the end than the very pain those drugs were used to alleviate.
i'm also writing this while watching sober house, a reality program about celebrities living in a house meant to be a transition place between rehab and the real world as they have not experienced it in a long time: as a sober person. i watch these people, some of whom i consider amazingly talented, all of whom have lost close to everything because of their drug use. sadly, part of what they lost is what made them famous. they lost their drive, their ambition, often their talent. very often, they lost the people who aided in their fame: their closest loved ones and fellow collaborators.
people often excuse this drug use and behavior. a person creates a masterpiece be it a song, film, work of literature or visual art and their fans are sometimes quick to believe that drugs were an integral part of that work. often, it can be. my own experiences with drugs have either relaxed me to approach what i was doing with ease and less stress; or energized me so that i could keep up with the demands of an overladen schedule; and sometimes it felt as though it opened my mind to consider and appreciate ideas i wouldn't normally have when sober. the last of those mentioned effects have been spoken about ad nauseum.
talent is talent. inspiration comes from the mind and from experiences. and it can be argued that without those experiences, some of our favorite works -- a scanner darkly, for example -- would never have been created and we would never have the benefit of enjoying such works. consider, then, what the artists' intentions were when in the midst of conceptualization. consider, then, what a huge insult it is to the artists when people believe such talent comes mainly or even partially from drug use. several tests have been done to study and record the effects of various drugs on artists. an overwhelming majority of them reported some sort of improvement in their craft in technique, approach and content. but what degree of improvement was there? what would patrons and consumers think of the difference between sober pieces and those that were created under the influence?
on top of everything else, people see correlation between talent and drug use without attempting to understand the effects those drugs have had on their lives as a whole. i have yet to encounter any artist in any field who functioned better, as a whole, in the duration of their lives and all aspects of it, when under the influence.
i have met people, mostly amateur artists, who claim they have drug use to thank for any part of their lives whether they had talent or not. all of those people were still under the notion that what they did was good, inspired and worth notice. none of them realized how wrong they were. personally, not only does that show me a person who is living under a delusion that they have achieved one thing or another when they haven't, but it shows me a person who was not strong or sane enough to handle drugs in the first place. they were never better for the use. they were, in fact, worse than before and before, they weren't that good to begin with.
it further makes me consider my past drug use and the drug use of people i love or once loved dearly. it brings me to a deeper and darker part of my mind and causes me to recollect on all of our experiences, together and individually. i don't often share my personal experiences with people who know me and i don't intend to here either. if you know me and want to know, you can just ask. i also won't share the intimate details of loved ones whose lives have been ravaged by drug use.
details are not needed to illustrate what i believe most people already know but are too scared to acknowledge. they are fearful of seeming straight, conservative, rigid or boring. they are fearful of admitting that with their experimentation and curiosity they are leaving out some of the most painful and scary parts of use. they are fearful of what their friends may think while all these friends are just as blind, just as deluded.
people make mistakes. people turn to drugs for so many reasons. life is not normally pleasant. sometimes it's damn exhausting and soul crushing. sometimes we hurt so much that we turn to different things to make the pain go away. we don't want to feel unhappy in the real world so we decide to turn to other things to make us happy in our own minds. no person who's lived that life for long has ever been happy, truly. no person who lives in their fantasy can appreciate reality. no person who has escaped that fantasy has been able to instantly leave that made up world and face the real one with integrity and dignity. the slow and arduous path to sobriety is often the most difficult journey a person can make.
some people just want to know. they want to figure out the hype. they are curious. they see their friends indulge and they hear stories of their experiences. very often, especially with infrequent or initial use, those experiences are interesting and enjoyable. so they want to have that experience, too. they want to experiment. and they never consider what will happen when that experience is over and they realize how much of their life they squandered away, either the days spent outside of reality or the days they have lost out on when their health starts to deteriorate.
all things considered, i sound a bit hypocritical. and truthfully, i am. but there's still one more side to it. when it comes to drug culture i first and foremost believe that one cannot consider himself to be a part of that culture until he's seen or experienced close to all of the effects of drug use and addiction, the good, the bad and the very, very ugly.
as we lose people we love day to day and attend more funerals and comfort more people for those losses, we think about the events that led to that loss. in most cases we are witness to lives and deaths that were not the fault of those who passed. death from drug use, however, belongs in the hands of the user alone. as dick said, "they wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street; they could see one after another--run over, maimed, destroyed--but they continued to play anyhow."
remember all those people: loved ones, friends, strangers and idols who enjoyed a brief moment of joy and lost everything they had because they couldn't stop playing. remember their legacy and that part of it is allowing you a glimpse into a troubled mind and life that was too sensitive for this fucked up world. consider that most of them would not want you to idolize and replicate their mistakes that were interpreted to be part of their greatest accomplishments. consider that those works that move and touch you also should also teach and motivate you. consider that the best way to remember and honor them is to learn from them and live the life they didn't. appreciate the world around you through clear and open eyes. appreciate what you were given and make the best of it.
but also remember that although this is an affliction that we have brought onto ourselves, that this world, by nature, supplies the very things that hurt us most and disguises them as the one thing that can make everything better. remember that the punishment all of us receive was not only brought on by choice and action but also by cruelty and irony. remember that underneath everything is a person who feels and hurts. remember that underneath is a person who deserves love and a person who can love.
in closing, i'd like to take my cue from dick. i'd like to remember the people who were very big parts of my life, those i may not have known but whose lives touched those of the people i love most, who also paid too dearly for what they did:
to c.f., deceased
to m.g., permanent liver damage
to a.d., deceased
to d.d., deceased
to d.f., deceased
to r.t., missing, permanent brain damage
to j.q., permanent brain damage
to c.s., incarcerated, permanent liver damage
to a.b., permanent psychosis
to m.s., permanent psychosis
to everyone else who've lost any function of life or life, itself, to drug use
to those who've lost their loved ones to drug use
to those struggling to save those they love
to those struggling to save themselves
to those who struggle still, even while sober
to those who relapse and face the demons they fought so long to keep at bay
to those who don't realize, yet, how much they've lost
12.12.09
preemptive strike on broken new year resolutions
The new year is upon us and with it comes the desire to make resolutions. And with that come the promises one often breaks more often than any other promise made. We try our hardest to take other's secrets to the grave, fulfill the requests of loved ones who need our help and support and remember how strong the word "promise" should be. But we break the promises we make to ourselves. We either sacrifice or indulge when it comes to our own desires when really, those are the few promises we should stay faithful to.
Last year my resolution was simple: Lowered expectations. What kind of expectations?
I expect mutuality and reciprocation. I will try to compromise and give you the things you want if there's effort on your part to do the same for me. More, I expect only a certain degree of that reciprocation. It would be nice if you could try to understand the two things I ask of you when you give me a long list of things you need from me. I don't expect you to bake me a last-minute birthday cake, completely free of charge, as I did for you. But a simple, "Happy Birthday" would have been nice. I expect that my step-son be treated equally as my biological children. Alternately, I also expect people to treat my children the same way they would treat their older brother. I expect people to respect that my husband and I are our children's only parents and therefor, we make the rules. I expect that when I try to explain something to you that you listen to every word I say. I expect you to only consider the words I am saying without making assumptions. I expect even more when those words are not said, but written. I expect you to carefully read every word in an email, letter or other kind of message and I expect an attempt to understand those words. I expect people of a given vocation to respect the works of others of that vocation. I don't expect you to laugh at and insult the efforts of those who have probably worked harder and achieved more than you could hope to in all your life time. I expect mutuality and reciprocation even when it does not involve me. I expect to engage in debates with people who know what they are talking about. I don't expect loosely-based observations and anecdotes as proof. I expect people to understand the difference between the ideas of lay-people and the ideas of experts. I expect people to get the facts before they spread propaganda. I expect people to protest against things only when they understand them. I don't expect antagonism before you even know what you are actually speaking out against. I expect logic. I expect people of a certain age to understand widely known phenomena. But I still expect a certain degree of rechecking the facts before talking about that phenomena. I expect that if you are going to ridicule the actions of others, you choose not to take part in a similar action. I expect people to have as much of a distaste for hypocrisy as I do.
Actually, those are the things I expected once upon a time and my resolution has been to let go of all of that. Being pleasantly surprised when someone surpasses lowered expectations is much better than the disappointment felt when people do not meet expectations. I also realize that sometimes we don't know what we're doing when we're doing it. I'm clearly not above that. I know that some of my disappointment was at situations run by people who did not know what the consequences of their actions were. I also know that everyone else has their own expectations and their own lives, each with an entirely separate sequence of events and moments that have shaped who they are in a way completely different from my own life's experiences. Why should others live up to my expectations? They have their own lives to worry about. Thus, lowered expectations allows all of us to simply live the lives we need to in order to get through this mess.
This coming year I have a new one. It's actually phase 2 of the previous year's with a similar goal. Streamline. Efficiency. Simplify. And mostly, appreciate.
This is regarding any social sphere I am, have been or could potentially be a part of. In 2010 I plan to cut my losses, move on from acquaintances that are more trouble than they are worth, understand that no one is better or worse than the next but simply different and that differences are sometimes just a sign that despite our best efforts - or shoddy efforts, if that be the case - sometimes we just cannot get along.
This was partially inspired by a piece of technology nestled in my mom's room aka the computer room: The computer and all the things it's connected me to.
My computer has afforded me some wonderful connections. I have old classmates online, some of whom I haven't spoken to in years. Some of whom I didn't particularly care for all those years ago. The beauty of it all is that despite the fact that it once again shows my age, we've all grown and matured and lived long enough to get the hell over it. These virtual strangers have become my friends. And we would say hi to each other face to face now, all because we've made a reconnection in a more comfortable place and stuck to it.
There are very close loved ones I haven't seen in a long time and if life permitted, we'd still desperately love to live closer to one another so that sharing our lives wasn't done so over oceans and expanses of land.
There are people who live right around the corner. But life is busy. Our calender's are full. We have things pulling us in many different directions and getting together is rather difficult. So we pop in every now and then with a few taps on the keyboard or mobile, simultaneously juggling work, parenthood, marriage, etc.
In that group are friends I've never even known in real life. We found each other via the web, connected by similar lives and interests. Very few make an impact but I'm lucky to have known them.
We've developed or maintained a glimpse of our recent lives, shared in eachother's blessings and accomplishments and offered support with a few lines when life was more difficult and less joyous. We've had good conversations over a few beers, laughed at each others' jokes, stories and antics. We've mingled in groups, making our way from one person to another, making sure we've covered all of our bases.
And that's all been worth it. But that doesn't cover the acquaintances that haven't been.
Mutual interests aren't enough of a link when we are otherwise so different that whatever link we have is overshadowed by personalities that just don't mix. There are virtual connections to strangers over the Internet that sadly do nothing but reinforce every stereotype and preconceived notion we've had about "those kinds of people". There is the family we choose and the family we are born to and most of the time, the family we are born to has a natural love for us and has been given enough time to further develop that love. But sometimes we realize that blood is not strong enough to give fuel to that love. I've had co-workers who are so awesome that all others pale in comparison. We learn that that kind of connection is natural and cannot be forced. We learn that sometimes the place where we work is just that and nothing more. There are faces of the past who still live there, who have not matured enough to forget what had happened or realize that not only do those things not matter, but they never did. And of course there are those who don't meet those expectations I mentioned.
Sometimes we just move on, knowing that the connections we have are enough, knowing that we will make even more connections as we grow and live. It's a milder form of cutting ties and burning bridges. It's knowing that some things are worth the effort and others are not and in a world of over six-billion people, there are certain things that are and always will be true. No one is alone, not even those who desire nothing but solitude, as we have the influences of the many who came before us in a world shaped by people presently here. We have friends and family and all kinds of acquaintances who fill our world with experiences that would not have been possible without them. They are worth the attempt to make new connections. But when new connections don't work out, then that's okay. Look forward to the next meeting and the next person ready to contribute to your world as you contribute to theirs. But don't stress the fact that some people won't make the cut. Don't stress that sometimes you won't make theirs.
And on top of anything else, appreciate what you do have because no matter what it is, you have been blessed.
Last year my resolution was simple: Lowered expectations. What kind of expectations?
I expect mutuality and reciprocation. I will try to compromise and give you the things you want if there's effort on your part to do the same for me. More, I expect only a certain degree of that reciprocation. It would be nice if you could try to understand the two things I ask of you when you give me a long list of things you need from me. I don't expect you to bake me a last-minute birthday cake, completely free of charge, as I did for you. But a simple, "Happy Birthday" would have been nice. I expect that my step-son be treated equally as my biological children. Alternately, I also expect people to treat my children the same way they would treat their older brother. I expect people to respect that my husband and I are our children's only parents and therefor, we make the rules. I expect that when I try to explain something to you that you listen to every word I say. I expect you to only consider the words I am saying without making assumptions. I expect even more when those words are not said, but written. I expect you to carefully read every word in an email, letter or other kind of message and I expect an attempt to understand those words. I expect people of a given vocation to respect the works of others of that vocation. I don't expect you to laugh at and insult the efforts of those who have probably worked harder and achieved more than you could hope to in all your life time. I expect mutuality and reciprocation even when it does not involve me. I expect to engage in debates with people who know what they are talking about. I don't expect loosely-based observations and anecdotes as proof. I expect people to understand the difference between the ideas of lay-people and the ideas of experts. I expect people to get the facts before they spread propaganda. I expect people to protest against things only when they understand them. I don't expect antagonism before you even know what you are actually speaking out against. I expect logic. I expect people of a certain age to understand widely known phenomena. But I still expect a certain degree of rechecking the facts before talking about that phenomena. I expect that if you are going to ridicule the actions of others, you choose not to take part in a similar action. I expect people to have as much of a distaste for hypocrisy as I do.
Actually, those are the things I expected once upon a time and my resolution has been to let go of all of that. Being pleasantly surprised when someone surpasses lowered expectations is much better than the disappointment felt when people do not meet expectations. I also realize that sometimes we don't know what we're doing when we're doing it. I'm clearly not above that. I know that some of my disappointment was at situations run by people who did not know what the consequences of their actions were. I also know that everyone else has their own expectations and their own lives, each with an entirely separate sequence of events and moments that have shaped who they are in a way completely different from my own life's experiences. Why should others live up to my expectations? They have their own lives to worry about. Thus, lowered expectations allows all of us to simply live the lives we need to in order to get through this mess.
This coming year I have a new one. It's actually phase 2 of the previous year's with a similar goal. Streamline. Efficiency. Simplify. And mostly, appreciate.
This is regarding any social sphere I am, have been or could potentially be a part of. In 2010 I plan to cut my losses, move on from acquaintances that are more trouble than they are worth, understand that no one is better or worse than the next but simply different and that differences are sometimes just a sign that despite our best efforts - or shoddy efforts, if that be the case - sometimes we just cannot get along.
This was partially inspired by a piece of technology nestled in my mom's room aka the computer room: The computer and all the things it's connected me to.
My computer has afforded me some wonderful connections. I have old classmates online, some of whom I haven't spoken to in years. Some of whom I didn't particularly care for all those years ago. The beauty of it all is that despite the fact that it once again shows my age, we've all grown and matured and lived long enough to get the hell over it. These virtual strangers have become my friends. And we would say hi to each other face to face now, all because we've made a reconnection in a more comfortable place and stuck to it.
There are very close loved ones I haven't seen in a long time and if life permitted, we'd still desperately love to live closer to one another so that sharing our lives wasn't done so over oceans and expanses of land.
There are people who live right around the corner. But life is busy. Our calender's are full. We have things pulling us in many different directions and getting together is rather difficult. So we pop in every now and then with a few taps on the keyboard or mobile, simultaneously juggling work, parenthood, marriage, etc.
In that group are friends I've never even known in real life. We found each other via the web, connected by similar lives and interests. Very few make an impact but I'm lucky to have known them.
We've developed or maintained a glimpse of our recent lives, shared in eachother's blessings and accomplishments and offered support with a few lines when life was more difficult and less joyous. We've had good conversations over a few beers, laughed at each others' jokes, stories and antics. We've mingled in groups, making our way from one person to another, making sure we've covered all of our bases.
And that's all been worth it. But that doesn't cover the acquaintances that haven't been.
Mutual interests aren't enough of a link when we are otherwise so different that whatever link we have is overshadowed by personalities that just don't mix. There are virtual connections to strangers over the Internet that sadly do nothing but reinforce every stereotype and preconceived notion we've had about "those kinds of people". There is the family we choose and the family we are born to and most of the time, the family we are born to has a natural love for us and has been given enough time to further develop that love. But sometimes we realize that blood is not strong enough to give fuel to that love. I've had co-workers who are so awesome that all others pale in comparison. We learn that that kind of connection is natural and cannot be forced. We learn that sometimes the place where we work is just that and nothing more. There are faces of the past who still live there, who have not matured enough to forget what had happened or realize that not only do those things not matter, but they never did. And of course there are those who don't meet those expectations I mentioned.
Sometimes we just move on, knowing that the connections we have are enough, knowing that we will make even more connections as we grow and live. It's a milder form of cutting ties and burning bridges. It's knowing that some things are worth the effort and others are not and in a world of over six-billion people, there are certain things that are and always will be true. No one is alone, not even those who desire nothing but solitude, as we have the influences of the many who came before us in a world shaped by people presently here. We have friends and family and all kinds of acquaintances who fill our world with experiences that would not have been possible without them. They are worth the attempt to make new connections. But when new connections don't work out, then that's okay. Look forward to the next meeting and the next person ready to contribute to your world as you contribute to theirs. But don't stress the fact that some people won't make the cut. Don't stress that sometimes you won't make theirs.
And on top of anything else, appreciate what you do have because no matter what it is, you have been blessed.
27.11.09
battling demons in face paint and big shoes
As children, the world is an infinite source of wonder, enhanced only as much as our imagination will allow (and children are pros at imagination, God willing). It's never a good thing when any small part of the imagination takes a negative turn and something meant to bring joy is turned into the things nightmares are made of. Life begins to suck just a little bit the moment the idea of something fun is turned into a reality that is anything but pleasant. For me, that moment happened when I was six or so and something terrible happened. I haven't been the same since. Every other part of this event is blurry to the point that I've been unable to really recall most details. All I know is that there were children and balloons, pizza and fried chicken and mojo potatoes, presents and laughter. (Yes, we were at Shakey's. Every birthday party was at Shakey's.) The entertainment arrived and he began his show. He was wobbly and I'm sure we all thought that was part of his act. That is until he wobbled one last time and collapsed. I remember gasps and screams and crying. I'm not sure I reacted aside from being scared stiff. I also remember thinking that this was the first time I had seen someone die in front of me. Turns out the clown was drunk and he passed out. And I don't mean that figuratively. It was a clown. And for all intents and purposes, a dead clown.
Thus a fear was born. It has a name but is not even recognized in psychological circles. The experts who decided that can kiss my ass. Coulrophobia is real. enough. It's real and it sucks. I've never seen It or Killer Clowns from Outer Space. I would normally love Commedia dell'arte but can't really enjoy it because of Arlecchino. Circuses freak me out. I once threatened to punch a clown who approached me while my friend tried to tell him how serious I was and talk me down at the same time. I have a visible, audible reaction to even a still picture of a clown. You have to admit that they do look fricking scary. There's a reason there are horror movies about them. So don't even go there.
And then it gets really weird.
Examining different parts of my personality, as I am wont to do, I've discovered that when it concerns moving picture and literature, aside from genre or movement, there are two recurring themes in what I like. Most often they occur separately but when they do appear in the same work together, I am usually through the roof in ecstatic fandom. Those two themes are traveling carnivals/circuses and America the 1930's. The one work that blew my mind with its awesomeness was Carnivale, an HBO series that ran for two seasons between 2003 and 2005 before being cancelled do to high costs of production even though the program was a big success from its debut. If you haven't seen it, check it out. It's breathtaking. It's flawless. It's so good that I am mentioning it in this blog entry despite the fact that it is not at all relevant.
Of course the relevant part of that tidbit is the whole carnival/circus deal. Obviously, it's because they usually have some kind of clown-like weirdo terrorizing patrons. It's a morbid fascination. A clown in any other venue is cause for a violent reaction. And even in a carnival setting, I cover my eyes and cringe (or scream) when I see a clown. But I admit that I also peak through the cracks between my fingers as tears well in my eyes. (Yes, sometimes I am close to crying. Or, again, screaming.)
And that hasn't been the only thing that seems paradoxical. More years ago than I'd like to admit, I had to think about my senior quote to appear beside my picture in the yearbook. Being someone who loves words, this was actually a very difficult decision. Nothing stood out more than others. There were many quotes I liked equally and I could have gone in any direction. As someone involved in the arts, should I use an artsy quote? Or a literary quote? Something about being a woman? Something humorous or something serious? Maybe a quote from anyone of my favorite songs or a nod to my favorite genres. I didn't do any of those things. Instead I went against my usual character and used a commercial ad from a clothing company. As a teenager who really didn't care much for fashion, it was unexpected. It was also simple. Maybe a bit trite. But it really did make sense. In seven words it said a lot about my state of mind, or at least the state of mind I convinced myself was real. Maybe not real but close enough.
It was even for a brand I didn't know anything about. I didn't own any of the label's products. I couldn't even tell you if I've ever actually seen this brand in real life. Perhaps you remember this:
That's my senior quote right there. That's a brand I am unfamiliar with. And yes, that's a clown. In a straight jacket. The message meant to be conveyed is that this clown is insane. Insanity is scary. Clowns are scary. You draw those parallels. It's not that hard to see the horror in this ad.
I cannot tell you why this happens. I cannot begin to understand why what is arguably my biggest fear keeps popping up in things I like or why they only occur in certain forms. And if I were honest with myself, the reality is that I don't like these things in spite of. I like these things because of.
It's sick and twisted but very, very common. It's the horrible accident you slow down to watch. It's scary movies and messed-up images and the knowledge that something that freaks you out so much also gets you excited. It's the adrenaline of fear. It's a naturally occurring irony that I accept even though I am not too proud to say that this fascination has not really helped me battle those demons. It has intensified my fears rather than dispel them. But I keep telling myself that it's helping me conquer those fears, anyway, even if it's a big old lie. Besides, as a parent more in touch with a sense of mortality and responsibility, I've begrudgingly retired from more dangerous adrenaline addictions and stupid antics. Perhaps my fascination with this fear and the means with which I am able to reason my way through it is all the rush I can allow, now.
And maybe one day I actually will get over my fears. Because it was pretty difficult trying to find a picture of that ad, copy, upload and position it in this entry with my eyes closed.
Thus a fear was born. It has a name but is not even recognized in psychological circles. The experts who decided that can kiss my ass. Coulrophobia is real. enough. It's real and it sucks. I've never seen It or Killer Clowns from Outer Space. I would normally love Commedia dell'arte but can't really enjoy it because of Arlecchino. Circuses freak me out. I once threatened to punch a clown who approached me while my friend tried to tell him how serious I was and talk me down at the same time. I have a visible, audible reaction to even a still picture of a clown. You have to admit that they do look fricking scary. There's a reason there are horror movies about them. So don't even go there.
And then it gets really weird.
Examining different parts of my personality, as I am wont to do, I've discovered that when it concerns moving picture and literature, aside from genre or movement, there are two recurring themes in what I like. Most often they occur separately but when they do appear in the same work together, I am usually through the roof in ecstatic fandom. Those two themes are traveling carnivals/circuses and America the 1930's. The one work that blew my mind with its awesomeness was Carnivale, an HBO series that ran for two seasons between 2003 and 2005 before being cancelled do to high costs of production even though the program was a big success from its debut. If you haven't seen it, check it out. It's breathtaking. It's flawless. It's so good that I am mentioning it in this blog entry despite the fact that it is not at all relevant.
Of course the relevant part of that tidbit is the whole carnival/circus deal. Obviously, it's because they usually have some kind of clown-like weirdo terrorizing patrons. It's a morbid fascination. A clown in any other venue is cause for a violent reaction. And even in a carnival setting, I cover my eyes and cringe (or scream) when I see a clown. But I admit that I also peak through the cracks between my fingers as tears well in my eyes. (Yes, sometimes I am close to crying. Or, again, screaming.)
And that hasn't been the only thing that seems paradoxical. More years ago than I'd like to admit, I had to think about my senior quote to appear beside my picture in the yearbook. Being someone who loves words, this was actually a very difficult decision. Nothing stood out more than others. There were many quotes I liked equally and I could have gone in any direction. As someone involved in the arts, should I use an artsy quote? Or a literary quote? Something about being a woman? Something humorous or something serious? Maybe a quote from anyone of my favorite songs or a nod to my favorite genres. I didn't do any of those things. Instead I went against my usual character and used a commercial ad from a clothing company. As a teenager who really didn't care much for fashion, it was unexpected. It was also simple. Maybe a bit trite. But it really did make sense. In seven words it said a lot about my state of mind, or at least the state of mind I convinced myself was real. Maybe not real but close enough.
It was even for a brand I didn't know anything about. I didn't own any of the label's products. I couldn't even tell you if I've ever actually seen this brand in real life. Perhaps you remember this:
That's my senior quote right there. That's a brand I am unfamiliar with. And yes, that's a clown. In a straight jacket. The message meant to be conveyed is that this clown is insane. Insanity is scary. Clowns are scary. You draw those parallels. It's not that hard to see the horror in this ad.
I cannot tell you why this happens. I cannot begin to understand why what is arguably my biggest fear keeps popping up in things I like or why they only occur in certain forms. And if I were honest with myself, the reality is that I don't like these things in spite of. I like these things because of.
It's sick and twisted but very, very common. It's the horrible accident you slow down to watch. It's scary movies and messed-up images and the knowledge that something that freaks you out so much also gets you excited. It's the adrenaline of fear. It's a naturally occurring irony that I accept even though I am not too proud to say that this fascination has not really helped me battle those demons. It has intensified my fears rather than dispel them. But I keep telling myself that it's helping me conquer those fears, anyway, even if it's a big old lie. Besides, as a parent more in touch with a sense of mortality and responsibility, I've begrudgingly retired from more dangerous adrenaline addictions and stupid antics. Perhaps my fascination with this fear and the means with which I am able to reason my way through it is all the rush I can allow, now.
And maybe one day I actually will get over my fears. Because it was pretty difficult trying to find a picture of that ad, copy, upload and position it in this entry with my eyes closed.
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