Curiouser and curiouser

higher than high, lower than deep 40 Pink Cats Project

[ethelmanibo]

Birthday - The Sugarcubes

At exactly 6:59AM, twenty-one years ago today, Devyn burst into my world, forever changing it by making me a mother.

Now that she is twenty-one years old, she is legally considered an adult—though I have always thought of her as rather precocious and wise beyond her years as a child. For example, when she was asked what kind of ice-cream she wanted to be, she replied matter-of-factly, "cold."

My wish for Devyn today is two-fold: 1) That she never loses her child-like sense of wonder and curiosity because that is what fuels her brilliant creativity. 2) That she knows in her gut just how fiercely she is loved and finds strength in that always.

Happy birthday! I love you!

[ethelmanibo]

God - John Lennon

Ever since I was 25 years old, I thought I would be dead at 40.

If that were the case, all those psychics will have been proven erroneous with their predictions about my long life and I will only have nine days to live. I would join the ranks of all the people who died at 40 including: John Coltrane, Falco and John Lennon. 

And the dream would be over. But that's okay.

I don't believe in God

But I believe in cats.

[ethelmanibo]

Visit Original Link

Dear Ke$ha,

When we first moved to Portland over a year ago, we noticed a hipster wearing a muscle-tee bearing your name. I wasn't sure if he was a fan or if he was just being ironic. I looked it up and you had just played a showed at the Rose Garden. Damn gurl! That's a big ass venue. That means you are really popular here. Like REALLY POPULAR. And then I wondered if it was possible that he had just procured your latest vinyl in that paper bag and was jamming out to your album on his headphones. Ke$ha, this might be a photo of your #1 fan in Portland.

I admit, I never saw the appeal in replacing letters with symbols or numbers, but perhaps that's just envy on my part since my name doesn't necessarily lend itself to that kind of character replacement. Still, your treatment of it beats other artists, such as "deadmau5". Just sayin'.

In any case, it wasn't until we came to Portland that I learned to appreciate your music. The other day when I heard "Crazy Kids" feat. will.i.am, it was one of those cases when I had to play the song on repeat. That part when will.i.am is mumbling is just genius.

The secret to making people believe you are truly crazy is—whisper.

xoxo 3TH3L

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The Bed Song - Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra

If you'd only asked me

Five words you should hope to never utter or hear in life. 

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Because jumping off a bridge to your death is never the solution. Just listen to Die Antwoord and sail away motherfuckers. Here are the lyrics so you can sing along cuz you know you want to:

Yo, dis is it... We about to take it to the next fucking level Die Antwoord versus Enya, Orinoco Ninja Flow Sail away motherfucker remix Are you ready for dis? Hm? Are you ready for dis girl? {Check it} I think about you when I masturbate You can't even believe it, but that's okay On the microphone I fascinate When I let my third eye exaggerate Freaky visions, I'll tell you what I see Cold concrete scattered with dry leaves You're naked, lying on the pavement People are standing around with laany shoes You can hardly move, you look sexy All of a sudden, the streets are empty You stand up, open your eyelids You in a trench coat, it's French, you look stylish You walk in the silence, Not sure what the time is It's totally twilight, sky is violet An abandoned house, look ahead you see Someone opened the door, and yes, it's me With the meanest penis you've even seen You're on your period, with no tampon You kneel down, get with the vibe {Sail away motherfuckers!} Your period blood has crystallized {Sail away motherfuckers!} You offer me the red crystal, it's I'll {Sail away motherfuckers!} Grab a hold of the mic tight, tonight's the night {Sail away motherfuckers!} Lift up your dress, open up your legs Your vagina's sewn up, untie the thread My sublime rhyme inside your head Your mind is rushing, vagina gushing Another chick in the corner taking a piss It looks nice, the whole vibe is totally kinky Look around, the new room is fancy Remove your fur coat, remove your panties I'm rockin' a suit and a black face mask, I ejaculate in a champagne glass Your precious flesh is so mysterious Pierce your nipples with two long needles Like a crucifix Take you to another level, while I get my freak on The vibe is mental, transcendental We somewhere else now Still rockin' the mask, but I've taken off my suit You're rockin' a mask too, shakin' your nice boobs, I tell you I like you, you feel my piel Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, fucked up loud Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, fucked up loud Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, fucked up loud Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, fucked up loud Sail away motherfuckers! Sail away motherfuckers! Sail away motherfuckers! Sail away motherfuckers! Unh, yo You arrive at the cemetery in time for the ceremony I give you a hot kiss, grab a hold of your arse cheeks How'd you like to get laid in this Tombstone in the middle of the rain forest My gaze put you in a daze, I'm lovin' your long tongue Look at your beautiful face, covered in hot cum Spread my wings, block out the sun Lie on my back, scope out your bum My penis stays hard, you're breathing heavily I penetrate you, the feeling's heavenly Now bounce girl, you know it's hot {Sail away motherfuckers!} Bounce, bounce girl like oh my God {Sail away motherfuckers!} Totally, freaky deaky funky {Sail away motherfuckers!} Ninja, make you leave your body {Sail away motherfuckers!}

[ethelmanibo]

LETTER TO MY MOM:

Dear Mom,

Last night, you asked about therapy and how it was going, if I was “learning anything” and you mentioned that I should just “keep listening.” But I thought perhaps if I gave you some insight into how my therapy sessions worked, you might understand that it’s not so much about me just sitting in a chair as a passive non-participant across from my therapist as she spews advice to help me get through this trauma.

My therapy sessions are an hour long with a doctor whom I refer to as Leasia (pronounced “Lisa”). She specializes in counseling women who have been victims of sexual assault/rape as well children who have been the victims of sex abuse. It is a safe space to explore the feelings and thoughts associated with the wounding and/or issues I have chosen to address in therapy. Sometimes I have a lot to say during my sessions and she asks me questions related to what I’ve said. Sometimes she asks me questions to help provoke new thoughts. She offers good insights, but more often than not, just having someone to talk to helps me because this process allows me to unclutter my thoughts and often, I can figure out solutions on my own. And sometimes I cry. Nonetheless, the only remedy for the pain and hurt that accompanies this is simply time.

Whenever I go to these sessions, it feels like work—like gut-wrenching work. I often leave feeling spent, throat dry, my gut emptied of all emotional contents (for that week) yet my heart heavier still.

Because of the fact that the police officer failed to investigate and file a police report; I already have a history of child sex abuse which was also mishandled; and I was the object of victim-blaming (It was NOT my fault and I know this now.), this incident has only exacerbated whatever deep-rooted feelings I may have hidden and drudged them all up again.

Perhaps most people who hear about the sexual assault think it was “nothing,” but to me, it was something. It has forced me to not only re-evaluate the way I look at my surroundings, my work, the Portland Police Bureau, but men in general. Someone had the audacity to say it was my fault because I “wear dresses all the time.” He was a man.

I am sad. I am angry. I am extra-vigilant when I am alone and ready to jump at the slightest noise. I walk with clenched fists. I sleep with a lamp on. I have nightmares. Ian has to shake me awake. There are days I am certain that the sun will never shine again.

But I want to feel better, so I continue to drag myself to these therapy sessions. I take the #75 bus and then transfer to the #15 bus. And I pour everything out of my head and heart into my therapist’s office. And I don’t hold back. And I trust that she will help me because I am there to help myself. But more importantly, I know my mother raised me to be a survivor.

Love, Me

[ethelmanibo]

Boys Who Rape (Should All Be Destroyed) -Raveonettes

Boys who rape should all be destroyed / They rip you to shreds / Make you feel useless / You'll never forget / Those fuckers stay in your head 

Boys who rape should all be destroyed, as should police officers who "fail to adequately investigate a sexual assault and write a report." This was the allegation and finding of the Portland Police Bureau's Internal Affair's Unit regarding the officer who pretended to take my police report over the phone. As we were hanging up, he said, "Good luck." Apparently, I needed more than luck to find the man who sexually assaulted me. I needed an officer with morals and compassion.

And now, my file sits idle in a database while the man who assaulted me remains free to prey again, and I ... I continue to survive.

[observando]

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Story of my life.

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2013 will be a better year.

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Grumpy Cat + Montabahn Pasties = So Wrong Yet one more reason to make Grumpy Cat... grumpier. Congratulations that "50% of all "Grumpy Cat" pasty profits go directly to the SPCA International." But if this little cutie could talk, I bet she would tell the creators of this product that she had no interest in having her image shielding women's nipples, even if it was for a good cause. 

[moosekleenex]

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Butt I Love You.

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This is my new favorite cooking show: Cooking With Arpakasso!

"Enhoy!"

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“I used to think about one day, just not telling anyone, and going off to some random place. And I’d just… disappear. And they’d never see me again. Did you ever think about stuff like that?” -Enid, Ghost World

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Ekki Múkk, Song by Sigur Rós, Video by Nick Abrahams

All of it—magical.

"Be brave little one. Be brave." 

[ethelmanibo]

Acceptable Reasons To Cry In Public

I was very moved when I found out about Kickstarter project, Acceptable Reasons to Cry in Public, a participatory art project by “A Girl in Salt Lake City.” It was an opportunity to help curate the exhibit by taking three of the essays and posting them in public here in Portland, OR. Having grown up in a Filipino household, I was often told, "Tahan na," which means "Stop crying." I am sure my parents meant well, but this simple phrase was detrimental because I truly believed it was not acceptable to cry. I felt like I had taken a secret, balled it up and compressed it as tightly as possible, put it into a tiny box with a deadbolt and thrown into the abysses of myself, only to have raging monsters heaped on top. After twelve years of amassing monsters, I had a breakdown, and the tears came crashing out in a flood. It was not pretty, as crying seldom is; but releasing the monsters saved my life, and that helped me realize that life is beautiful. Since then, I have cried quite dexterously privately and publicly. On the east coast, I have cried in movie theaters, subways, buses, on street corners... I have cried on a ferry to Hoboken while watching the smoke emanate from what was once the Twin Towers; in Washington Square Park because I had never felt so alone in my life; and in the parking lot of Hampshire College after we dropped off my daughter for her first year as I felt my heart had been wrenched out of me. I have been in Portland a little over a year, and I have cried here, too: in the lobby of the Marriott when my brother and sister-in-law paid us a surprise visit and I realized how much I missed my family; in front of someone's house after playing with their porch cat and realized she was so old that I might never see her again; and in Whole Foods as I waited for the police to arrive after I had just been sexually assaulted and they never showed up and I had to call them so they could take the report over the phone.

On the day I posted the broadsides, it happened to be grey, bleak and cold out—conducive conditions for crying in public.

Broadside 01 Location: TriMet bus shelter on NE SandyBlvd bet. NE 43rd Ave / NE 44th Ave Bus shelters offer cover from the elements: wind, rain, snow, filthy tire-water splashes... Though if you are crying, the glass walls offer little solace and you are often left exposed.

Broadside 02 Location: park bench near playground in Grant Park Park benches hold the secrets of those who have sat upon them. They also witness the tears that are a consequence of swinging too high and sliding too fast—the calamities of childhood.

Broadside 03 Location: phone booth on SE Cesar Chavez Blvd. and Gladstone St Phone booths are a very rare sight—desolate relics of communication now replaced by mobile phones. That, in and of itself, is a sad thought. But when in use, I imagine that many conversations have involved tears.

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This Momma cat was very sweet and watched patiently as her son went crazy with his pink cat. She was finally able to enjoy her own. #cat #pink #felt #diy #40pinkcats #40thbirthday #catsofinstagram #mommacat (Taken with Instagram at 💗🐱)

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This little dude was SOOOOOOOO excited about his pink cat. When his Mom came along, he took it in his mouth and ran away, always cautiously looking over to make sure no one would come over and take away his new treasure. #cat #pink #felt #diy #portland #son #catsofinstagram #40thbirthday #40pinkcats (Taken with Instagram at 💗🐱)