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@des-petits-riens
Articulated things I am afraid of and more, beautifully and simply.
Give it a watch.
not directly related but I always recommend this for people learning about the intersections of tech and politics:
Return Fire vol.4 (supplement) Caught in the Net – notes from an era of cybernetic delirium Autumn 2016 To read the articles referenced thro
it's from a few years ago but does a fantastic job at outlining and connecting many different threads into a cohesive and thought provoking whole
Mood.
Kate Bush - December Will Be Magic Again
“I’m taking a break from school until I figure things out. I guess I have rebel traits. There were just so many things that felt out of my control, and it bothered me. You have to wake up at this time. You have to go do this. You have to go do that. It’s like I didn’t have any originality. There was a certain point when I realized that everything, this whole routine that I had, had been given to me by other people. And the weird thing is, whenever you try to remove yourself from that equation, and stop doing what other people want, you kind of get ostracized and outcast. That’s kinda what happened to me. I have a great family, but it’s full of strong personalities. I had so many people telling me: do this, do that. They said it was a ‘respect’ thing. You know: ‘I’m the adult, so you should respect me.’ But I never understood that. Because at what age do I get this thing called respect? Nobody in my family could ever answer that question. Is it when I have a kid? Is that it? Or is it when I’m paying a certain amount of bills? At what point do I step up on the pedestal?”
“It’s been a tough morning for me. I used to be a children’s librarian. But this morning I had to call publishers and tell them not to send me any more books. I just can’t read them anymore, not like I used to. And that was hard. It felt like I was cutting off a lifeline. It’s disappointing, the sense of not being in control of my own life anymore. Everything depends on my medical schedule, and the chemotherapy, and what my limits are. The doctor has told me to expect a couple more years, but my caretaker says she’s seen a lot of sick people. And she thinks I could be one of the ones who can beat it. For most of my life happiness was automatic. I might have had the only career where you get told ‘I love you’ three or four times a week. Maybe it happens with teachers too, but so many little kids said those words to me over the years. And I miss that. I was damned lucky to have that experience. Happiness isn’t automatic anymore, these days I have to work a little bit more for it. In addition to all the pain and the fear and having to pee all the time, I choose to do a lot of things that will make me aware of the beauty and loveliness of life. It’s not magic. I don’t stop thinking about the scary stuff, I just find moments to push them aside with the ridiculous. There’s so much in life that’s ridiculous. Every Saturday morning I watch Popeye on Turner Classic Movies. It’s so ridiculous. Olive Oil is so obnoxious. And you know, she has all these men after her. It’s just really funny. And Popeye is so full of himself and somehow manages to come out of everything, eat his spinach, and win. Then there’s my laughing yoga classes, which I can’t do in person anymore. But I do them online. There’s this thing we do where people will get in lines of three or four, and we’ll pretend to have a boat race. Everyone rows as hard as they can. Someone chooses a winner, and if you lose you get to create a big scene and make an ass of yourself. It’s ridiculous. And then there’s you. You’re ridiculous. You’re stopping random people, presumably to entertain yourself. You’re sitting in the middle of the street. I mean, think about it. It’s pretty dumb.”
“They’re oblivious right now. They just think they’re at the park. I’m the one who’s got to figure stuff out. I’ve got enough money for us to get home. Then I’ve got to find a way to get something to eat. I’ve got to pay bills. We’re starting to get foreclosure letters in the mail. It’s just impossible to make ends meet right now, unless you’ve got school. I’m educated, but I just don’t have any degrees. I have no way of showing to a job that’s never met me: ‘Hey, I can do this.’ Plus I never know how it’s going to turn out, and that alone scares me. Maybe I’m just a pussy, I don’t know. I’m not proud of the stuff I’m selling. I’ve seen what it’s done to my mom, which is why I don’t use it. I don’t want that for my kids. I don’t want it to fuck up their life like it fucked up my life and my mom’s. That’s how I actually learned about it. Seeing how she’d fight to get that shit, no matter what. I know I could be selling to someone else’s mom. I hear that little voice in my head, like everyone else. But I block that out. I’m on autopilot. Quick exchange: I get my money, I give them their stuff. I block everything else out and I’m only looking at what I need, you feel me? And yeah it sounds evil, or whatever. But I weigh what I need more, and I need stability. I just need money. Money for my kids. Money for me. Money for like, all of us. Money so I don’t have to feel that stress of where am I going to get this next. And it’s the most accessible thing. It’s the easiest thing to get. You know, it’s Fentanyl.”
“I grew up with strangers. I wasn’t even with my parents from first to fifth grade. All the people that were supposed to care for me, and teach me, and guide me, they all failed me. It caused a lot of anger and honestly, a lot of heartbreak. I even wondered if my family was cursed. Like all we do is come into this world and we struggle. From the age of twelve I had to go straight home from school and take care of my baby sister. I was the one making sure she was OK: feeding her, changing her, bathing her. It’s like my life was in shackles. I didn’t even start playing basketball for real until I was sixteen. That was the summer I was like: ‘I’m done. I’m not y’all’s babysitter.’ I started waking up early and going to the park for hours, doing drills. Basketball gave me a sense of control. The more I worked, the better I got, and it was like: ‘Wow. I can really do this.’ It’s like I was finally the one writing my story. I ended up trying out for the school team my senior year: no skills, no talent, just starting to understand the game. But the things I could do, I did better than everyone else: diving for loose balls, grabbing rebounds, and hustling. It was mainly hustle. And I think the coach saw that, or maybe he just felt sorry for me. Because he created an extra spot on the roster just for me. There weren’t even enough uniforms, I had a different uniform than everybody else, and during the away games the crowd would let me know. They let me hear it, but I didn’t care. I was just so happy to be there. I couldn’t shoot, but I’d go one hundred percent on defense. The coach would put me on the other team’s best player. I’d stay right up under his jersey. I’d chase him all over the court. And by the end of the year I was in the rotation. We won the city championship that year. During the final game our starters got off to a slow start, and the coach wanted some energy. So he looked down to the end of the bench and said: ‘Rey, go in.’ Right away I got a steal. The crowd was going wild. Proudest moment of my life. I took it all the way back down the court, and unfortunately, I missed the lay-up. Would have been a perfect ending, but man. I was just way too excited.”
“Growing up I was very much in my own head, my own world. Instead of getting a babysitter my mom would just go to work and leave me at the house. We didn’t have a TV or anything. And when there’s no one to talk to, you just become your own friend. I’d look out the window and try to imagine myself doing things. Like: ‘What would it be like if I was standing on that roof? What sort of things would I see?’ But when you do that too much, at some point you get lost. I didn’t even feel alone. It’s hard to explain, because I haven’t experienced nothing else. But it’s like: you don’t feel lonely if there’s never nobody else there. And there was never nobody else there. Alone was my normal. It was my comfortable. So when we first started dating, I didn’t know what to do. Every time we were alone I would speak non-stop. Then I’d stop myself mid-sentence and be like, ‘Damn. I’m speaking a lot. I need to shut up.’ And she’d be like: ‘No, just keep telling me what you were telling me.’ I was just so excited. I felt like l a kid with a new toy. I’m not calling her a toy, that’s not what I mean. But that’s how I felt. Like I don’t know how this works, but I can’t believe I have it. I’m in love now. For so long I’d told myself: ‘This is never going to happen.’ But then it actually happened. It was like: ‘What do I do? Where do I go now?’ Every day has been something new. Monday feels like Saturday, because every day has meaning. I’m figuring out about her, and about myself, and about the world. Like, I didn’t know you could have fun in winter. There’s so many indoor activities you can do, just simple things. Like wearing matching pajamas on New Years. I never knew about that stuff. It can be so fulfilling. Sometimes you don’t even have to do anything. Just having somebody sitting next to you makes you feel nice inside. And that’s how it is now. That’s how my life is. She’s my comfortable. When she’s not with me, I wish that she was. I feel what it feels to be alone.”
“If there was a fire in that building over there, and me and twenty other people are on the top floor, I’d get out and they wouldn’t. I only got one leg, but it’s a god damn good sexy leg I’ll tell you that. It’s a sexy ass fucking leg. It’s sexy. It’s sexy as fuck. I’m telling you the truth. This shit is god damn sexy. I don’t have to explain it. It explains itself. Tell him why you’re sexy, leg.”
“Summertime and Christmas. That’s when I have her. Been that way for seven years. When she’s not in school, she’s with me. Then at the end of the summer I bring her back to her Mom’s house in Florida. Those drop-offs are the worst; I almost miss my flight every time. I wait until the last possible second to call my uber for the airport. I hug her, say goodbye, put my stuff in the car. Then I always gotta come back again and get my last kiss. Always, always. That uber ride sucks. That plane ride sucks. Cause I know I’m not going to see her for a few months. On the wall in my closet we keep track of her height. And every time she comes back, she’s grown like two inches. That’s a lot. That’s a lot I don’t see. But she knows she can call me for whatever, which she does. And whenever she’s here she gets to be the CEO of our lives. She’s not a dictator or anything. But she’s the president. I’m the people. When she says we go, we go. She wants to go to the pool, we go to the pool. She wants to go to the beach, we go to the beach. We came here today for the Juneteenth celebration. Been planning it for two weeks. I’m supposed to be at work today, but I took off early. There’s a bouncy house and face painting and all kinds of good stuff. But she didn’t want to do any of it. We stayed for two minutes. And now we’re back to feeding the animals; same thing we do every day.”
“I’m the one who calls out. I’m the one who corrects. I’m the one who rephrases. I’ve had plenty of people be like: you can’t tell me what to say. But if you’re allowed to say whatever you want, I’m allowed to react however I want. Right? Maybe my reaction is an attempt to correct you, but you’re allowed to take it or let it go. Maybe what you said seems trivial to you. But the little things are easier to fix. And they help build a foundation. So the bigger things are easier to address. And also: do the big things even matter if you don’t care about the small things? Obviously I can’t fight everything. You do have to pick your fights. And aggression never works. Because you want to win the war, and not just the battle. But one thing I’ll never let slide is pronouns. If someone is purposely using incorrect pronouns, that’s getting corrected, on the spot. It’s baseline respect. It’s like using a mean nickname or something. It’s just not nice, you know? I know you want to use whatever language you want, but maybe it’s not about you. Maybe I’m not trying to take away your freedom. Maybe I’m not trying to make you feel like a bad person. Maybe it’s more about: let’s not hurt the person it’s affecting, you know? I was very, very close to someone who had just started transitioning. And he did everything he could to pass as a man, because he is a man. But he still had some female features. And I was with him when someone misgendered him. I could tell that he was upset, so I followed him to his room. And I watched him just fall apart because of the dysphoria it caused. It’s like— you could have literally taken two seconds to choose the respectful word. But you didn’t. And look at the harm you just caused.”
Happy solstice, everyone! Here’s Kate Bush dressed as a swan, singing an ode to a syphilitic composer.
“The school wanted to create some new after-school programs. I’d run track in high school. Was I good? No. But I ran. So I volunteered to create the track program. The minimum to form a team is eight girls. Luckily I’m a cool teacher. I’m not rushing them to be grown. And I know the memes. So I had some girls who signed up just to be around me. In the end I found my eight. Nobody had any track experience. But these girls had playground reputations; they were fast. We just needed to build up our endurance. At our first practice we ran around the track one time, just to see how we were feeling. I ran out front to show them how it’s done. At one point I turn around, I got girls walking, I got girls stopping. My goal was just to finish the season. I wanted them to learn commitment. So when they grow up they can determine their own way without somebody pushing them. We were a little nervous on the morning of our first meet. Some of us were panicky. Some of us were crying. I told them: We don’t need any MVPs. We don’t need any Rookies of The Year. Just don’t stop running. No matter what, just don’t stop running.’ All of them raced in different heats. Then the scores started coming in; it was like: ‘Whoa. What’s up. We winning this?’ A lot of the girls placed. Our captain Jaziah was second out of 24 girls. That was the day we became a team. I started buying Gatorade. We chose a team name. Every time I gave a suggestion, they’d be like: ‘That’s corny. That’s corny.’ They’re in that phase of like, they hate everything. But when we got to ‘Baby Got Track,’ that hit. BGT, baby. BGT. Now before every meet we do our BGT chant to give us a little bit of that braggadocious energy. These girls are committed. During the 7th grade trip to the Poconos, the BGT girls were in my cabin. We woke up an hour early, ate breakfast, brushed our teeth, then we ran track. Tomorrow is the championship. We know that we can do it and we’re gonna show that we can do it. But no matter what happens, these girls are already leaders in the middle school. Our principal has noticed the results. We’re getting brand new jerseys. And next year we’re going to have an indoor track team too.”
“I’m starting to feel calmer about it. People separate all the time, right? Even with children; they make it work. I’m just frustrated that it was thirteen years of my life. He’s a great father. But it was thirteen years of not being loved the way I deserve. Or want, right? Or need, even. I was just too scared of doing it alone. Now the journey’s come to an end, and it’s like: ‘Wow, I’m really not who I used to be.’ I was so spontaneous, even with something as simple as driving. I used to drive all the time. I’d drive all night just to spend a day at the beach. But after we started a family, my husband drove. It was just our flow. Then it became a crutch. Then it got to the point where I couldn’t do it anymore, especially with my kids in the car. I was too scared. I’d lost that part of myself. Right before my 40th birthday we got in a big fight. It wasn’t the end; but it was close to the end. That night I bought myself a birthday present: one ticket to a resort in the Dominican Republic. Just one ticket. He’d up and leave no problem; especially if it’s work-related, right? So why not me? But right after I booked the ticket, I got so scared. I almost cancelled. But my sister was insistent. She’s a mother too; she said: ‘Stephanie, you’ve got to go. And don’t you dare take someone with you.’ It was only three nights. But when I say I smiled the whole trip, I mean it. I met so many other solo travelers. There was this old Russian woman; we saw each other everywhere. She’d float by me in the water. We took salsa classes together. She didn’t speak English, but every time she saw me she’d smile so big, like: ‘It’s you. You’re that girl.’ A few days after I came home, I was alone with the girls. My older daughter had a birthday party deep in Queens. Normally I’d have said no. Two hours on the subway; it was just too much. But I said: ‘You know what? We’re doing it.’ I booked a Zipcar. I hadn’t driven in years. I was panicking the whole time. My twelve-year-old was navigating, both of them were laughing at me. All of us were laughing the entire way. But we made it, didn’t we? When we got there I said: ‘Well girls, we can drive to Queens. I guess we can drive anywhere.”
“I’m happy sometimes. When I’m feeling loved, you know? When I walk home and my husband is there and he’s so happy to see me. I was really hesitant about getting married. My parents had a bad marriage. So my husband had to talk me into it. And I mean, he had to really push. But it’s been 40 years, and it gets better all the time. Because you grow closer together when you go through things. You understand each other more. I’ll tell you some basic things about him. He’s very, very bright. He’s always reading. He’s always learning new things and he loves to share them with me. He gets really happy when I’m happy. That’s really a big deal, you know? I mean; it really makes him happy. When I’m happy. You can see it. Just the way he looks at me. Other people can see it, but I can certainly see it. And I can feel it. He really cares, you know? That’s not something you can just put on. I’ll give you an example. It was very hard for me to get pregnant. And when our son Brian was born, he was less than three pounds. Went down to two and a half pounds. And Paul was at the hospital every day. By my side the whole time. Every single moment; it was just like absolutely unbelievable. I didn’t have to ask him: can you be there? He was just there. Because he cared. Not everyone has that. I’m really very fortunate. I have someone who cares. What more could you want, you know?”
“It started with a joke about pansexuals. Something about defending your kitchen from pansexuals. Then one of my classmates accused me of belittling them. Which turned into a bigger conversation about homophobia and racism. People began sharing their own experiences with discrimination, and honestly, a lot of it seemed overblown. It’s like: C’mon. You live on the wealthy side of town. What you’re describing sounds like an everyday disagreement between two humans, but you’re bumping it up to discrimination. That’s when people started accusing me of discrimination. I pointed out that I was Jewish. But they said my trauma was generational and not first-hand, so it didn’t count. All of it just seemed like some sort of competition. A twisted game where the more discrimination you could claim, the more social points you won. It ended up with everyone ganging up on me and calling me racist. And that started me on a journey of watching alt-right videos. It just felt good to hear people say: ‘It’s not you, it’s them. Those blue haired people, with their thirteen pronouns, they act like they’re morally superior. But it’s all about power. They want to shame you into silence.’ The videos always used the word ‘they.’ ‘They’ are ruining this country. ‘They’ want to take away your rights. No matter how many types of people were being described, it was always ‘they.’ It made it easy for me to dismiss discrimination whenever it was claimed, by anyone. I’d think: ‘There they go again.’ I’m out of that phase now. If anything I’m politically active on the other side. I’m thankful it happened to me when I was fourteen, and still growing. Because if I’d been older, working some dead-end job, not meeting people, it would have been harder. Because one thing that really helped me was one-on-one conversations. My more moderate classmates started talking to me again. A few of them even apologized for how it all went down. They didn’t speak as a member of a group. It was just: ‘This is who I am. This is how I experienced discrimination.’ It wasn’t hostile. I didn’t feel ganged up on. And I was able to hear them. I’ve learned that for a lot of people, it’s not a game. It’s their lives.”
