Subject: The Aunts
Sent: Jun 29, 2010 7:17 AM
Today I woke up and, paying close attention to what was on my mind, it occurred to me that perhaps I need to call my mom and tell her to come over before the sun gets too high. I need to explain to her about universal simulacrum and hyper-objectivity and feeling like maybe showing the world how to make friends with the small things and how to get carried away by fireflies and whimsy.
I feel like, at this point, genuine sustained pointless reverence in regard to the sheer folly of our being and our ways of being…
To observe oneself blindsided blind and to have my eyes washed clean…
well, I notice a lot.
There is revolution in noticing the small and serendipitous worlds that we drivebywalkbypassbyandover…
because once you start paying attention to the small world, with it’s order and sense and equilibrium dance
The weight of a white fly on the edge of a leaf…we cannot measure such things and why would we?
Because who is to say that – if there is a atmospheric compass, a network of lines that we try to discern as being good or bad…
Perhaps those lines are like the scents left by ants…
(I have more on this…humans and pheromones, but now is not the time or the place.)
Kids just got up and I am tapping out this message with warm kid feet pressed into the backs of my legs.
Re: The Aunts
show details 5:46 PM (2 hours ago)
I can draw everyday and you can watch me get better. I can show you how to make useless things purposeful again. I can tell you stories. I can crochet clouds and send them away. I can bend birds from wire and make walls from thin switches. I can seize every small beauty I have the vision for with a happenstance photo taken with phone.
I can write pages and pages. Just tell me what to write about. Give me an assignment.
It has been two weeks of actively hoping and plainly asking and clearly spelling and I feel like – nearing this end of drawing everyday for a year –
I feel like maybe you become an artist in under one year. But, only if you were an artist all along. If you do something you love everyday – not for vanity or money or constant approval…because, if you do something everyday, believe me – people will not notice.
I don’t believe – too much – in making a public hometown spectacle of myself. It is hard, at this point, to even talk to people in a way that seems mutually comfortable. I expect it will ease up quite a bit here, relatively soon. And then we will rebuild our status quo to more accurately reflect what is in the best interest of our hearts.
I can’t keep my mind on jobs, on how to get back to where I was in some way that seems natural. It’s as if, in the shock of unexpected lost and found and lost again…well, I have found myself without a compass and the ships reserves are running low.
I need support and I need sponsors for this journey. To see how long I can keep this up and where I will go if given the chance, what I will see if people afford me the chance to look.
I am gathering up and posting some of my pointless pertinent records, mostly quantitative measures of the way my mind measures with such tools of measurement. Nothing scandalous. Or even remotely interesting. Actually, that’s not true.
It is sorta interesting to read other people’s records – but, only if you’re a snoop and a loser.
Just kidding. What is interesting about these precious records is the importance we place on them.
What are they records of?
of subjective concepts
regarding subjective values
and subjective functions
Some tired night shift nurses observation of you during morning chores; “Faith R. maintains generally positive affect and is interacting well with her peers. Faith R. was given a warning during morning chores for failing to complete her chore prior to leaving her room. Faith R. completed her chore and maintained appropriate behavior through breakfast and AM Group.” Yeah, I was dullsville in regard to Introduction Circle. If a new kid was admitted onto The Adolescent Unit, we introduced ourselves during a morbid ritual in which we all went around the ubiquitous therapeutic circle and stated our names (First Names Only) and Why We Are Here…”My name is Faith and I am here for depression, family problems, suicidal ideation, and I am manipulative.”
My list was short: “I’m here because I tried to kill myself and I hate this fuckin’ place.” “I’m here for depression, suicidal ideation, substance abuse, sexual abuse, runnin’ away, drinkin’ (giggles…)”
“I got pregnant and then my friend, see – he’s really more like my Uncle, but…”
“I’m an alcoholic,” (At age 12?!!)
“I hate my family and I got kicked out of school for setting a fire in the gym.”
“I cut myself.”
“Depression, panic, self-mutilation, anorexia.”
We stated our case by rote. Repeating what we had been told we were. It only meant anything to us, we used the labels to glean some understanding of how we were perceived by the people who came and went freely in their cars. We were in a locked facility that our parents had placed us in – a desperate and overpriced attempt to save us. “We need professional help.”
I wish I had those records. I asked my mom, just today actually, if she had anything from any of that. She said no. She never had reason to request them
I need help. I want all sorts of dumb shit, but I ‘need’ a new roof (lucky to have a roof.) and funds to take my children on documentary field trips to the dying downtowns of the American South (some children live in those towns and they might never ever get to leave them, or they’ll leave and come right back, beaten and tired.) I need money to buy promdresses from goodwill (because most of them are handmade and someone needs to look closely at the stitches and then turn the fabric into something beautiful and unforgettable) and to plant blueberries down by the street (because blueberries are good and I want to see if people will eat them if they are there for them to eat. An offering, and and experiment.
I need medication management. I guess. Seems like a good idea at this point. Who knows what years – 22 years of steady dosage of various cocktails to awaken or kill certain receptions. It’s noone’s fault. I was compliant…because when I fought for myself I heard the terms ‘long-term’ ‘line-of-sight’ ‘Quiet Room’ … and I would’ve still had to take the medicine. And one pill begats another. Pamelor begats Lithium begats Prozac begats wellbutrin begats lorazepamzoloftclonopinlithiumvenlafaxinerisperidone…why in the world was I EVER on risperidone?
(it is important that you consider the source, this is a link to wikipedia. It is interesting that we are not ALARMED that children are being given this shit! Read the side effects!)
Well, it’s an anti-psychotic and mood stabilizer and anyone reading this blog could see how one may misinterpret my very simple crisis of universal simulacrum as something so mundane as insanity.
I know the score.
But, we are who we are and we get what we get and some of us fly through with barely a rustle of the feathers…and some of us are a little more clumsy about our ways of flight.
regina: hi, are you actually on the thing??
(and then she probably got the internet heebie-jeebies and had to go talk to my dad about how weird it all is. Talk about a different planet…ha!)
(ain’t we all…ain’t we all…)