Myers-Briggs Test, Eh Wot

so apparently i am "ISFP", or, every other day "INFP".

and then i read into the designations more. it seems they are the same basic descriptions. i did find one place that describes ISFP as "most artistic: warm, sensitive, team player, in touch with self and nature" and INFP as "most idealistic: has strong personal values, seeks inner order and peace, creative, nondirective, reserved with people". put those together and add a splash of rage and trauma, and maybe you've got me. a lot of it sounds a lot like the taurus definitions:

Introverted Feeling personality types are usually gentle and kind, they are intense and passionate about their values and deeply held beliefs, which they share with trusted friends. Because of their discreet manner, their enthusiasm may not be apparent. They are sensitive to others' pain, restlessness or general discomfort and strive to find happiness, balance and wholeness for themselves in order to help others find joy, satisfaction and plenitude. They are deeply empathetic.
They live life in an intently personal fashion, acting on the belief that each person is unique and that social norms are to be respected only if they do not hinder personal development or expression. They strive to adhere to their own high personal moral standards and are particularly sensitive to inconsistencies in their environment between what is being said and what is being done. Empty promises of adhering to something they value – such as environmental causes or human rights - set off an inner alarm and they may transform themselves into modern day Joan of Arcs.
They are quietly persistent in raising awareness of cherished causes and often fight for the underdog in quiet or not-so-quiet ways. In a team, they will raise issues of integrity, authenticity, and good or bad, and may to opt out if the team refuses to address the questions raised.
They are usually tolerant and open-minded, insightful, flexible and understanding. They live for the understanding of others and feel deeply grateful when someone takes the time to get to know them personally. They have good listening skills, are genuinely concerned, insightful, and usually avid readers. At their best, they inspire others to be themselves.

oit is a bit wooooo and heavily complimentary. there are downsides to all this, of course. narcissism, hyperactive hypocrisy indicators, stubbornness, obsession, anxiety, self-righteousness, and overall disobedience. 

the key to these things is figuring out what to do with the strengths, which is i guess why they only give you the good bits on career websites.  

the gadfli: It's February.

the gadfli: It's February.: By far the worst month in the gaddamn universe. Dark days, my friends. Dark days. I'm gonna go ahead and tell myself that the following pro...

goddamn. the only thing that has changed about this is the smoking and the hair thing.
this was two and a half years ago.
something has gotta give.

THINGS I NEED TO LEARN BEFORE I RUN AWAY TO THE WOODS

1. gathering skills. which plants around here are edible? where do i dig to look for good root vegetables? how do i prepare them so i don't die? these seem like basic questions.

2. trapping/hunting/tracking skills. i mean it'd be grand if i knew how to build and maintain a longbow, let's be honest. and if i knew how to follow tracks? how to observe the movements of the forest with holmesian intellect? that would also be good.

3. sustainable gardening skills. cuz really, i mean... gathering will only go so far.

4. root cellar construction. seeing as i will probably not run away to the woods where it is constantly summer (although that may happen), i will probably need to store things. i mean, i would need to store things anyway.

5. beer making. in the woods. i am sure it is possible. people did it before.

6. a lot more first aid, and maybe how to set a bone or two. and definitely how to treat various poisons, etc.

7. i'd maybe like a horse and some goats. so those skills. how great would THAT be?

8. carving and advanced shelter-building techniques.

so basically what we have here is a list of skills that many cultures have continued to value in the face of unimaginable oppression and pressure to join the modern capitalist society that has unlearned all of these skills. as a white european mutt immigrant kid, i am a part of that culture. now i want those skills which my forebears violently unlearned with the help of slavery, industrial capitalism and colonialism. and i want to learn these skills and run away and live in woods on a continent that has been all i've ever known but is not, by rights, mine to run around on. 

so i have a very complicated relationship with these desires. mostly, they are about not wanting to take any more. but any sense of entitlement i might have to learning these skills and using them to survive is kind of a taking of things. so it is about how i learn them and how i use them, and thinking about what it means to "opt out" as it were, and how it is that some people can't or won't be able to. i just don't want to be another entitled white body learning to homestead and live in the wilderness, you know what i mean? but i have to take responsibility for the fact that my white body will always be taking up space. i need to think about HOW that body functions in space, what it is taking, and from whom. me living in the city and moping and being completely stuck by anxiety and gender trouble is not me acting as an ally any more than learning these skills and taking to the countryside is. and in fact, the latter, as a way of opting out of capitalism and exploitative markets and governance systems, might be better allegiance and a better way for me to live my own politic. but again, i struggle with retreatism, because i know that outside, the world keeps spinning oppressively, and by stepping away from all of it, am i not just shutting my delicate eyes to the real problems of power and privilege?

i feel like this debate has gone on in my head for as many years as the "should i take t or not" debate, and for many of the same reasons. countryside retreat or city struggle? testosterone-induced male passing privilege or transbutch daily battle? stay in the city and SEE the pain, read the news, fight the fight. stay in this body and deal with misogyny, not being taken seriously, having my pronouns fucked up. but those could be phrased differently as well. countryside struggle too, because who doesn't love the comforts of technology? i mean heck, who's to say i would make it out there? and it won't happen overnight. and i might get a touch of passing privilege, but all the paperwork would still say F in all the wrong places for a long time, and i wouldn't necessarily feel any closer to myself and i might be in more serious physical danger from angry cisguys. transguys don't have it EASIER than butches. it's just different.

the problem i always have is that of choosing "what my heart desires." it might be easier if i could honestly believe i have the right to be happy, to choose and pursue my own happiness... but you know? i dunno. every move is political. people choosing their own happiness has often led to terrible things. oppressive, earth-destroying things. i don't know if i can make decisions with just that in mind.  and it is interesting because i can imagine who DOES have the right to choose things based on what would make them happy. somehow, some internal arbiter of justice is handing out cards to specific identities in my head. maybe i am the only one who does this. but whatever forms of oppression i do face, as a trans person, as a queer, as a survivor of sexual assault, as someone who is chubby a bit and has been fat-identified, as someone whose body is failing them, as a poor person, etc... none of these are enough for my internal arbiter of justice to give me a pass to choose happiness. in the face of some people, yes, i win out. like if it would make me happy to kick this big white man's douchey suv as he slurs oppressive language in my direction, then yes, i choose happiness. if petty theft from major chain stores means i get to have bread with my butter, then yes, i choose happiness. but then these big questions... i dunno. i just don't know. 

i know i would be happier working the earth every day. growing food and sweating or freezing depending on the season. i know there are certain things about the city that i would miss pretty desperately. but i can travel to the city and i can travel to the country and get a taste for what that's like. i can't do that with t. 

and so again, another rant concludes with my white transproblems. HA! anyway

just thinking aloud.

to want a sheep

i'd write the sun of your next day
if you wanted it
we desire, therefore we are.
needs are there too
inconsequential to our status
as beings who choose
inside these choices
there are many rooms
i've lost so many keys
and loving picklocks
to that cavern of doors
we are beings who choose
yes or no
we hold onto many myths to make these decisions easier
so i will not tell you
you chose poorly
and maybe it would be selfish to say
our pain should matter
decisions are made every day
and they all
hurt
did you not need us?
it doesn't matter
wanting is what matters
and it comes on strong
in a wave like a thousand fists
we saw all there was to see
of your desire
and yours
and yours
and the monuments will pile like legends
and the glory of the young dead
will be mentioned on top 40 charts
will be spat out like the sunflower seed husks of a truck driver
will litter car windshields midsummer, along with the entrails of dragonflies
will be held forever over the lives of the living
as an insult, as a threat
whatever you have done
whatever decision you have made
we will do worse with it than you can imagine
but that is not your responsibility
we desire, therefore we are
along that shelf of want we place
wrapped parcels
allotted meaning
according to the weight and size
of our desire to see
inside
there is nothing
if you desired nothing
when you got it
what did you want then?
in that last blink before unending dawn
was everything yours to hold
or are you still desiring?
if so, therefore you are.

begin from the inside looking out

they are there and you are here
you are inside yourself outside of them
(inside yourself is always outside)
and you watch them
sinews of thought and truth
wound between them
their heads bowed as
trees under the same wind
veins entangle them into a greater force and
there is re(cognition)
there is inside them something outside of you
inside of you is something needing room
instead you grow
you groan like old walls
you will keep stretching
limbs and chest weary
inside stays inside looking out
they stay there and you stay here
there is inside you something outside of them

(goffman + cvetkovich, basically)

i want you the way

i want an 8-piece band to soundtrack my long walks through autumnal city parks and crescendo if and when you come around any given corner... something jazzy and triumphant with a snare drum building and maybe some brass...
and well now i've gotten carried away.

in these days of rumble and sawdust

thunder comes at you from both sides
sky and earth harmonizing lullabies
for the restless sleep of the enraged
meanwhile
around the edges brews another rhythm
in the dusk hours, blue-toned silhouettes
grumble along the grid paper of poorly maintained
city side streets
it is fall now and we are again surprised
at the cold out there
(and the cold in here)
and the new beat goes on
between the vibrations of subway cars
amongst crowds and weather patterns
i can hear it whenever i say "no"
whenever my bike tire hops a curb
and i can hear it scratching
between that modicum of loose ink
and the paper soft
as a sunrise you didn't expect to see
there's a kind of humdrum to the days in between
and i think
it'd be a lie to say we're not just waiting
even if we are penning this disaster
whatever the case
we don't know what this undoing will smell like
all the allegories we can nail together pass as potentials
but only because no matter how ugly we make them
these scale models still hold onto all the limbs we'll lose
all the tiny digits of our thousand silent hands
when it comes right down to what might happen
fuck it we have no idea
so we fight the good fight with our necks craned
searching
for the face of some immutable hipster messiah
who can make it all clear
who'll make nine o' ten of us just as pissed off
because
frankly
we didn't make it ourselves
we bought their fairy tale
we're convinced the world's a multiple choice question
and all we can do is say yes or no
well fuck that shit, i know
fuck it but i just don't know
how else to write a love song
so i'm just gonna focus on perfecting this series of unmarketable skills
like drawing clever things
playing blues scales on the guitar
and baking the odd batch of prefab cookies
and maybe one day
i'll do something truly remarkable

My Day Today

today i installed the last... oh... three boards of corkboard click flooring.

I KID YOU NOT.

i mean, i am a newb, but still. that's just ridiculous.

here was the emotional process (the first eight looped for the first couple hours):

I think we've all learned something today.

Life Plan V.356

*ahem* a while back, i came up with a life plan. then everything changed. so here's the new life plan. it is FAR SUPERIOR:

1. live here, in Christie Pits, with Emily and Amanda and Max and Gratch, while I learn to build things.
• design by far the coolest room ever. do it. do it now.
• keep working for dee, get a reference and move on up.
2. in February, submit an application to the Industrial Design program at OCAD. just for shits, but also to keep me doing stuff.
• take pictures of (1) above, as well as DRAW MORE. draw way more.
3. get an apprenticeship in electrical or carpentry, under some tough butch who is also really sweet and kind and likes folk music.
4. become an electrician/carpenter, make money and build reputation as brilliant sustainable designer
5. hire a slew of dedicated queers and build up a contracting company 
• make money for non-profit projects and art installations. 
• also. build treehouses. 
• renovate an old garage into a house for me/workshop with awesome windows and excellent location.
6. fall in love a couple more times
7. get another dog
8. save the world

as you can see. far superior. 

also, if you google "life plan"? you get a FUCK TONNE of christian lady blogs. talking about dogs and how god is their life plan. 

well MY life plan is queers. lots of them. queers and post-modern performative art and SEX and... and yes, dogs.

...

*sheepish face*

Just... Need A Job.

I am really not one to talk at length about the ways in which I, a white, upper-middle class, able-bodied, educated person am oppressed. But something's emerging here, as I search for a job in this big ole city, that I need to talk about.

Reasons why I can't get a job in retail or customer service:

1. scruffy facial hair + tits = not cool
2. box-shaped body and 5 foot height does not adequately advertise 'x' store's clothes/trendiness/"health"
3. not enough experience in retail/customer service
4. "overqualified"
5. don't know anyone yet who isn't just working at a small business that never hires
6. hetero and cis-sexism hurts me all the time. specifically the latter. not knowing what to ask for ("use gender neutral pronouns, please" gets sidelong glances and awkward foot shuffling, often)
7. will not sacrifice my politics TOO hard, just to work minimum wage in a destructive capitalist industry

Reasons why I can't get a job in an office:

1. appearance not "professional" (read: normatively gendered and monied)
2. no master's degree in office arts or whatever the fuck.
3. don't know the right people
4. there aren't that many out there, and every arts undergraduate with bills to pay is hunting for them
5. offices often = misogyny + classism
6. don't want to sit all day every day

Reasons why I can't get a job as a server:

1. no experience
2. not pretty enough
3. don't know the right people
4. hetero and cis-sexism FOR THE LOSE!

Reasons why I can't get a job in labour:

1. "not a man"
2. "not a woman" yet a "woman" - my fears of strange and horrible misogyny here are not ungrounded.  the Good People Of The World will say that people want "women" in the trades... no. no they don't. even if they did, they don't want "women" who aren't women. 
3. five feet tall, just "not strong enough"
4. no previous work experience
5. hetero and cis-sexism hurts me all the time. see above.

So... where does that leave me? Here are the skills I have:

1. talented and efficient proof-reader/editor
2. fantastic vocabulary
3. affable, outgoing, well-spoken
4. physical endurance beyond reason
5. patience in learning new things
6. attention to detail
7. problem-solving skills for DAYS
8. excellent judge of space and dimension
9. quick at math, complex and otherwise
10. an ability to visualize potential outcomes
11. skilled communicator, trained in logic, rhetoric and ethics
12. tidy, well-thought-out sense of style
13. funny, interesting
14. good story teller
15. creative
16. amazing memory for small details
17. great with kids
18. speed reader ... and writer, for that matter
19. knowledge and adoration of formatting, fonts and design elements of print
20. organized, timely, precise

That, along with a degree in Sociology and History*, legs of steel*, a charming grin* and good posture*... that should really be enough to get a kid like me a job.

And here's the thing. Even the people who can say "a boy like me" or "a girl like me" can't get jobs these days. So maybe it's not my genderfuckery. I just know that it puts me further down the list. I've had people throw my resumes out in front of me. I've had people smirk at me for trying. I've been told I wouldn't suit the company's "image." They've told me that the "help wanted" sign out there was out of date... and when I asked again a week later, they had just started interviews the day before and meant to have taken that down. I can't really handle the rejection of footing it around anymore, so I've turned to internet postings - which are almost worse, because there's no way to stand out, no way to show that you're a go-getter, that you speak with confidence, that you'll show up on time and well-dressed for things. My resume, only a year or two out of university, is unremarkable. But I haven't really had a chance to change that, have I?

Anyway, I'll stop whining. Whatever my disadvantages, I recognize that they are not as violently felt as those others might experience. I still have a great number of privileges (examples of which are *'d above), not least of which is the fact that I can voice all of these concerns, that I have access to diverse forms of self-expression, and that I am currently sitting in my cozy living room having just finished a bowl of ice cream. So no, I don't have it that bad. And I recognize that I'll probably get a job at some point soon, and while it will seem as though it is due to my skills and qualifications alone, I know that it will also have a lot to do with my race, my ability and my cultural capital. And I hope the people of the 99% know this too. If things get better for them, and the whole system hasn't completely changed? It's probably at the expense of somebody else. That's how it all works as it is right now. A different leader won't change that. A week or two in a park or on the street won't change that. Saying "NO I DON'T LIKE IT" won't change it, no matter how many of you or how loud. We need a better idea. We need something we can say yes to. Something we can love into being together.

But I digress for now.

new here

i am in a big city now so
i have acquired a new set of senses
that process faster than cars or iphones
i can see into the future
sometimes
and have made an indelible connection
between the smell of garbage
and the shapes of graffiti

my furniture is waiting in the Rural Wing
but i don't need a bed to know
my fingertips
my calves
my stray eyelashes
are at home here
amongst the dead pigeons
the dog parks full of chewed sticks
amongst the hipster throngs
their cumbersome sidebags
and the bike tires
soaked in old gum and oil spill
i don't need to know you
to know
i will
someday

I went looking for old resumes and found love poems.

Days’ worth, piled and sorted and dated and full, ripe to bursting, with sensations. It was enough to take my breath away. The sheer volume of them. And I looked at the titles and remembered them. Remembered every love, every heartbeat, every lustful ache. I remembered the different kinds of love, the brotherly, the caring, the romantic, the disdainful, the tired, the devoted, the demented, the relenting and unrelenting, the requited and the unrequited. I found stories of adventure, of bravery and fear, of strength and failure. I have words for almost every day that stink of passion, heave with exhaustion, shudder with mirth and swagger with beauty.
So I’m sorry, father, that I have rarely made wise financial decisions. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my call centre job all summer and save and pay off debts. I’m sorry I forgot to pay my taxes for four years, that I’ve yet to crawl above the poverty line, that I keep needing your help every fall, when my thoughts turn to nesting and I need that boost to make it to first and last. I’m sorry all my careful work stops dead at the sight of a good adventure. I don’t want to be someone who needs your support. I can promise I won’t be an impulse buyer, an unsatisfied, restless consumer. Those are not my ills and never will be. I’ll try to do better with money things soon, but god damn it. You could never claim that I do not know how to live!

On Being Sure

So I got a tumblr. Heh. Cozy little bandwagon lover, I am. As such, I've been reading a lot of really great expressions of gender identity and experience. Tumblr has become a really accessible community in that regard. Which is great. A really great way to see a lot of different presentations of self, discussions of place and belonging... etc. I approve.

While toddling around these various sites, I found a little bit of assurance. I'm not the kind to post pictures of myself in clothes that make me feel good, but I do wear clothes every day that make me feel good. I'm not uncertain whether I'm a girl or a boy. I'm positive that I'm neither. Not in the sense of the genders the world sees, not in my perception of myself, not in the way that I am sexual or in my sexual attractions. I am neither and that's really just ok by me.

It's not ok with the world. And that's where the discomfort comes in. Because out there I'm either a Miss or a Mister. A "Lady" or a "Hey Man". Frankly, it's fine, I'll deal. Eventually the world'll get over the binary, or we'll nuke our species off the planet first. Whatever. But in my case, my gender identity is something the world has to adjust to, not my body. That is not to say that things don't come up sometimes. I think, in my case, it's often that schism that makes me see my body in a bad light. It's that schism that reminds me; as much as I'm neither a girl nor a boy, I am also a failed girl and a failed boy. I meet neither standard effectively. Interestly, a standard of androgyny or genderqueer neutrality is being developed on many of these tumblr sites. There is room for contention and expansion of these identities, as well as affirmation that one can "WIN" at being neither, being a they or a ze or whatever. There are still a lot of issues in that space that don't get addressed, of course. Often, the generic "whatever" site becomes a predominantly white normative space, with additional tumblrs being created that specify "poc" status or identity. This could act to empower these communities, because of course that part of one's identity is very important in identity formation, but I would like to see whiteness made more visible... or conversely less dominantly visible? Know what I mean? Either call it what it is or create a way for the "unracialized" spaces to become more inclusive of intersecting identities and more responsible to the privilege of claiming first dibs, as it were. As well, in both the androgynous and genderqueer sites, there is still a lot of focus on being BOTH sides of the gender spectrum, instead of imagining a middle ground, a blank. Not that I can really contest the latter. My gender presentation is often mostly just butch with a side of paperboy. So I must refrain from positing that images people present of themselves are claiming one thing or another. That's for the individuals to describe. But often they do and overwhelmingly the statements are "sometimes i'm a, sometimes i'm b." That's a GREAT identity, and it's amazing that there is space for that. But what about "always i'm ab" or "i'm never either" you know? I'd love to see some more open discussion and presentation of that identity... I mean... realistically, because it makes me feel less lonely in this endless battle to be understood for who I am. The other thing is of course the idea of aesthetics in all of these fields. There is definitely space given to diverse body types, but overwhelmingly the rewards go to those who are thin(ish), fit (in masculine contexts: buff), symmetrical and fair of face and able-bodied. And that has to do with a lot of things, from the willingness of people to post pictures of themselves (self consciousness bred by society) and the willingness of others to complicate their notions of beauty and really adore variety and difference. The more we can use these communities to say... basically... that you can win at being you (which is what all these social networking sites are about, am i right?), being exactly who you are, and look at all of these ideas about what that can mean and who else might have similar ideas, the better.

Wow, horrible sentence. Anyway, rant rant. Suffice to say, tumblr's been rewarding, could be more so, but so far, good times. That's all. I'll add links to the sites I'm talking about later. Right now I'm fuckin... hungry as a horse.

*wince* don't hate me, little town

hello. just thought i'd include a preface:

i'm actually pretty happy these days. i've got exciting plans for the summer, i'm almost done working at this horrible crappy job, and lots of good changes are afoot. besides that, i'm totally falling for someone really fucking great, feeling confident about my body and my agency as an individual, and maintaining really great close friendships with wonderful, challenging, interesting people.

that said, it's new, this happiness, and delicate. i think that in my writing and even in my cartoons, a certain amount of the poison that's brought me down these past few months (the past YEAR, even?) is being drawn out. slowwwly and suuuurely. and i mean, come on. we can totally be really happy about our lives and still angry about the things that blight them, am i right?

i'd also like to say, in case the commenter on the previous entry hasn't noticed my response, that my anger in the previous entry was and is TOTALLY LEGITIMATE. if anyone feels differently, by all means, bring it on up with me. i will provide you with a list of books and resources first, gently explain things to you second, and then tell you to fuck right off third, if that becomes necessary.

and now onto another venemous piece of writing. you'll note that this one IS a poem, because it says it is. let's let things and people speak for themselves more often, can we? i'm just reading yes means yes! and it's really great about that... i wish the whole world was better about respecting individual agency and identity and bodies.

but i digress. the following is a poem about Peterborough. a place that i have loved more than any place i can think of. a place where i've met and fallen in love with so many wonderful people. a place that has given me so so much. but it is also a number of bad things. so here are those things, just in time for my departure. it is not that they've become more clear or that i've become more sick of the place. but it is definitely time for me to go, and these are some of the reasons why. it's also just because i need a change, i need a place with more jobs, etc. anyway, i digress...

this is a poem for peterborough in the early spring
with its river running fast and black and roiling
away from me
along with the ink i’ve spilt here these past years

this is a poem for the town i am leaving
with its shop keeps and culture whores
dancing mad like acid dreams of puppets
tangled together in one meaning
one that’s barely understood

i’m tied in too but
this is a poem for walking away
as much as i don’t want to be here anymore
i’m not sure about anywhere else
because this monotony has become a kind of heart beat
and i don’t know if my drum will still hum without
the sickly sweet air of quaker oats to fill its sound

but i’ve been around too long
built up wrinkles here the way spring garbage builds up
around construction fences that
don’t seem to be temporary
i don’t wanna be that orange and brown
i don’t wanna fit right in
and i can feel the syndromes of these streets moving aside to make room
for my own subtle set of symptoms
there’s a gentle shudder of tightly fitted objects shifting against each other
like bricks or teeth

i’ve written too many sets of words
scribbled diatribes
loving diaries
for the shape of this place
and so i will footnote them to say
there are the good things

but there comes a time when the corrupt in anything
is too clear to turn from
and there is corrupt in everything
so don’t hold this to be exempt

this is a poem for a bubble
an enclosure of ritual and comfort and repetition
this is a poem for a place that could act as a metaphor for bad sex

this is a poem for peterborough in the early spring
when everyone crowds the cobblestones and brown wood benches
rubbing up against each other like bee’s legs on closed buds
waiting for the time it takes for any old flower to open
cuz any old flower will do
this is a poem for imported taste and recycled relationships
for patience and boredom and playing out roles
for rebuilt historical buildings standing as populated tombs
bustling pointlessly, bristling self-righteously, indignant
even as these words fall from my leaving mouth

don’t worry
i still love you
and i’ll come back to the only
place where the river never changes
where shops and lovers shift around like a con man’s peas
and i’ll drink with those of you who stay behind
it’s not for all to leave
but it should be for all to see
we are wrapped in an embrace that suffocates
a bit of mangled suckface that swallows tongues and happy pills

we have a rhythm of words like prayers that say
we are too sensitive and immaculate for the world out there
out there where people fight and die
and starve and believe in things we don’t
and arrive on time for things

we feed ourselves this myth over fire
built on the bones of others
the ones we have burned for decades
to keep our comfort boiling
to warm our idle hands

this is a poem for laziness and fear
for dodging our implications
for burrowing below everyone’s expectations
this is a poem for how much more we could be
if we fought the stream
and stopped loving a dead thing

this is a poem for peterborough in the early spring

gotta say it. (maybe trigger warning)

that old grey slips in around the edges

the light behind the cremation services building goes on

slats of the fire escape hit the gravel snow

like ribs hit taut flesh

and i can't punch this anger out

my knuckles bleed for all the walls i've broken

a trial and error search for solidity

it's been so many rounds i've lost count

the only times i think i'm winning

are just times i'm beaten too numb to know better

and i've done it all to fix it

vitamins and early nights and calm calm calm

it worked about as well as any old bender

in the end i dodged straight into a sucker punch

straight into the crunch of ground teeth and

it must be blood in my eyes cuz all i see is red

the world is foul as fuck and i've known it too long

to be only 24

there must be some mistake of arithmetic

or maybe i'm adopted and

i was always small for my age

or maybe i just came out this way

eyes already black from all the nights i've lasted through

or maybe it was you

maybe you fucked it all up

with your good time at my too young expense

maybe that was the punch that kept on giving

and maybe you're all over the place

hurting my friends and lovers

and anyone i've ever wanted to protect

i would give anything to have dodged that first punch

or to take back the silence i sustained

the way atlas holds the world

or even

to be that child again

this time with THIS anger

this rage i've been working on since

and maybe

maybe a plastic set of safety scissors

and JUST the right moment

in the meantime

me and this anger

we're just playfighting

and the pain it gives me is scarifying

breaking bones to build them stronger

busting open knuckles to let my claws grow in

and you better hope

you better hide

because the next time i meet you

in whatever fucked up form you take

i won't let you have the time

to regret your indulgence

and they can call me traumatized

they can call me a victim

or a survivor

or a dyke

or a fucking angry feminist

they can say they're sorry

i had such a bad experience

they can say it's unfair

but this is bigger than me

i have seen the faces of too many fall

into that sadness and the distance

that i know without knowing

this is bigger than me

and this isn't really a poem

this is a promise

and a threat

Need The Dough

At A Loss For Words

So.

I just had a great visit with my dad. Just peachy keen. He bought me coloured pencils, combat boots and groceries, along with a lovely lunch. We were both kind of really enjoying each other's company until...

I started talking about privilege. My privilege, specifically, and how it interacts with my political action, and how I'm trying to learn how to use the privileges I have to act without reinforcing their power, and how that's hard and I think about it a lot.

And then he blew up. The classic small-l liberal blow-up. About how political correctness is immobilizing people and how I'm wasting time thinking about these things and it's better to just act. About how worrying so much about people's "feelings" is dysfunctional and people are too sensitive and REAL issues like unemployment and hunger don't need to have anything to do with identities or privileges. About the "death of the liberal class" and all that.

And then I blew up. The classic radical kid blow-up, with vehemence and a real, sincere, rage-induced lack of clarity. About how the liberal class could go fuck itself because it wasn't enough, as important as that work may have been at times and how it's helped. About how my friends and I certainly weren't immobilized, but we took the time we could to think about the structure of our interactions. About how acting without thought and consideration to the ways language and habit formed the very power structure that caused the issues we were trying to fight would end up reinforcing this power. About how the time to compromise was up. About how awesome my peers are and how much I'm learning. About how living an anti-oppressive life and being vegan was an important form of political action. About how I am no expert and it is my responsibility to educate myself on the forms of privilege I enact, and to work to consider the opinions and experiences of others in a real way.

And then he told me I was doing a good job of erasing my privileges.

ERASING THEM?!?!??

I guess to him, because I'm not in a salaried position yet, because I'm occasionally poor, because I don't have people listening to my sage-beyond-my-years voice yet, I'm erasing my privileges. And of course, that's possible. Clearly, because I am choosing to be immobilized by political correctness, I am suddenly able to truly understand what it's like to not be white, or educated (in a socially rewarded kind of way), or employed, or able-bodied, or English-speaking, or a Canadian citizen, or, or, or, or...

And here's the thing. His frustration is because he wants to see change. He does. He wants the world to be better and he wants everyone to live in harmony and so on and so forth. He wants me to be a part of that change the same way he wants his life to affect change SO BAD he barely sleeps at night and he works 18 hour days. He's a really great guy. And really smart and really honestly doing really interesting great things. And I love the shit out of him. It's just that... the way he works to change the world is different than the way I hope to. He works within a system I detest, mistrust and fear. He navigates it and manipulates it and trusts it because he knows it and because, whether he can understand this or not, he's REWARDED by it. It feeds him and his ego. It keeps him safe all over the world. It erases his positionality and streamlines his actions. He can act out his intentions as, simply, a "good person." And his expertise is unquestioned. His opinion is always valued. He has to prove himself, yes, and I think because he works so hard at this, he's unable to see the ways in which he DOESN'T have to prove himself.

After he said this, I got blue in the face, I blustered and cussed and shuddered with the desire for words I wish I had...

Because he's a lot of people that way. He's the mainstream. And because I love the bastard, I have to face it more often than I would choose to, but in reality, I think it's probably my responsibility to face this reality on the regular. And I really wish I knew how to do it better. I wish I could keep my calm and fight elegantly and cogently and without getting self-righteous or violent.

So I know this is another "oh poor me" kind of rant from someone with a lot of privilege dealing with something a whole lot of people have to deal with in a much grander scale, and you know, as distressed as this does make me, I'm still just fine, and I'm still fully intending to figure this shit out, but you know...

If anyone has any ideas as to how to deal with this stuff better, or if anyone just wants to rant about similar experiences, by all means.

Cuz I'm at a loss for words.

and then...

ideas

1. stop-motion film that follows the operatic conventions - no words just music. simple story. no human creatures. just shapes. distinctly queer plot. addressing issues of privilege, power and revenge.... it'll come to me.
2. "don't worry, it'll be summer soon" on the railway bridge... or maybe just "hang in there"... yeah... yeah...
3. toilet paper tubes + castles + dragons = awesome
4. i really should start running soon
5. you know what's SO underrated in this day and age? simple person-meeting-person-liking-person-kissing-person type situations. gotta say. everyone's all "oh the drama. gotta have the drama! the unrequited flavour! seasoned with a bit of unattainable! and complicated! delicious complicated." well i'm here to say, speaking as a poet and everything, there ain't nothing wrong with a little straightforward romance. life's tricky enough without all that sheeit. nawmeen?
6. you know what ELSE is underrated? kissing. i tell ya, i thought i had a problem thinking about sex too often. kissing is now the dominant neural pathway in my brain. it's like the gaddamn four oh one up there.
7. you know what's overrated? having a full-time job. jeezy creezy what a shitsticks position that is to be in. i'm just not cut out for that shit. gotta say.
8. the fantastic mr. fox is by far the best film (for my tastes) i've seen in like... five years. not that i have a specific film in mind that occurred five years ago. i just like animal stories and heist movies and shucks, that's just the best combo ever.

oh well. here's a cartoon.