On So Much Hold Today
But at least the hold music is Kelly Clarkson?

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@sabby
On So Much Hold Today
But at least the hold music is Kelly Clarkson?
Revenge
Since you mention it, I think I will start that race war. I couldāve swung either way? But now Iām definitely spending the next 4 years converting your daughters to lesbianism; Iām gonna eat all your guns. Swallow them lock stock and barrel and spit bullet casings onto the dinner table; Iāll give birth to an army of mixed-race babies. With fathers from every continent and genders to outnumber the stars, my legion of multiracial babies will be intersectional as fuck and your swastikas will not be enough to save you, because real talk, you didnāt stop the future from coming. You just delayed our coronation. We have the same deviant haircuts we had yesterday; we are still getting gay-married like nobodyās business because itās still nobodyās business; thereās a Muslim kid in Kansas who has already written the schematic for the robot that will steal your job in manufacturing, and that robot? Will also be gay, so get used to it: we didnāt manifest the mountain by speaking its name, the buildings here are not on your side just because you make them spray-painted accomplices. These walls do not have genders and they all think you suck. Even the earth found common cause with us the way you trample us both, oh yeah: there will be signs, and rainbow-colored drum circles, and folks arguing ideology until even I want to punch them but I wonāt, because theyāre my family, in that blood-of-the-covenant sense. If youāve never loved someone like that you cannot outwaltz us, we have all the good dancers anyway. Iāll confess I donāt know if Iām alive right now; I havenāt heard my heart beat in days, I keep holding my breath for the moment the plane goes down and I have to save enough oxygen to get my friends through. But I finally found the argument against suicide and itās us. Weāre the effigies that haunt Americaās nights harder the longer they spend burning us, we are scaring the shit out of people by spreading, by refusing to die: what are we but a fire? We know everything we do is so the kids after us will be able to follow something towards safety; what can I call us but lighthouse, of course Iām terrified. Of course Iām a shroud. And of course itās not fair but rest assured, anxious America, you brought your fists to a glitter fight. This is a taco truck rally and all you have is cole slaw. You cannot deport our minds; we wonāt hold funerals for our potential. We have always been what makes America great.
-e.c.c.
#2017 (at San Diego, California)
šš
What we talk about when we talk about rage
Since Tuesday night, what keeps rising like a burn blister on the surface of my brain is all the times Iāve been told youāre being sensitive. All the times Iāve been told youāre taking things too seriously, too personally. All the times Iāve been told, youāve had every privilege, what are you complaining about? All the times Iāve been told to shhhhhh. All the times Iāve been told to take it easy.
I cannot shake these voices and I cannot shake the feeling they provoke.
Thereās a cauldron that exists inside me that starts to seethe when these sorts of things are said, when I am being dismissed, quieted, condescended to. And when the fire under this cauldron is lit, to a white hotness that is nearly blinding, what it takes with it is my ability to be the articulate and intelligent person I know myself to be. Something else takes over, a pre-lingual fury, a heat that erases logic and coherent argument and civility. In these moments, the experience is not just my own self being demeaned or silenced; it is the entire history of women being demeaned or silenced. And the weight of that, the condensed and hot feeling of outrage is, at times, more than I know how to deal with, and certainly, in these moments, more than I know how to rightly express. What goes is the impulse to kindly and gently explain something. What comes is a wanting to smash faces. If it were a sound, it would be a scream so loud it would make birds fall out of the sky.
This is rage. It is a feeling of blood in the cheeks, heart bumping in the throat, whatever pocket that holds tears getting filled up behind the eyes ready to spill, it is a stuttering, frenzied horrible, horrible feeling. It comes from the helplessness of knowing: I cannot make you understand. You will never, never know. Like approaching a smooth white wall that rises forever that you cannot penetrate, that you cannot climb over to reach the other side, a maddening, impenetrable stop.
This is rage, and I am finding myself wanting to admit that it is in me. It is not attractive. It ranks as one of the very worst things I know I can feel. It is scary. It frightens people. It makes them uncomfortable.
But I have been made to feel uncomfortable. Every woman I know has been made to feel uncomfortable. In ways subtle that grind like a dull file across a piece of wood, in ways explicit like an unasked for touch from a stranger. And right now I feel uncomfortable, and that cauldron is simmering and I do not want it to cool. As ugly and frightening as it is. Because there are things uglier and more frightening. The poet Mary Ruefle writes āAnger is an emotion that is produced by fear. There are no exceptions.ā
There are no exceptions. This is rage. And this is fear. And I feel afraid. That suddenly there is increased license for the type of silencing, demeaning, assaulting that erases a personās personhood.
For a long time I thought it went without saying that I support the safety and rights of people of color, of the LGBT community, of Muslims, of immigrants, of women, of every disenfranchised group trying to stay safe and have a voice. Doesnāt that just fucking go without saying? No. No. It doesnāt. Not right now. So I say it. I am behind you. I am so behind you. We have each otherās backs. And I hope I never see anyone being silenced, insulted, demeaned, assaulted. And if I do I will come to your aid as I hope you would come to mine.
In a much-read piece from the New York Review of Books, Masha Gessen writes rules for surviving an autocracy. The whole piece is worth your time, but this section in particular has been echoing in my head:
Rule #4 Be outraged ⦠In the face of the impulse to normalize, it isĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā essential to maintain oneās capacity for shock. This will lead people to call you unreasonable and hysterical, and to accuse you of overreacting. It is no fun to be the only hysterical person in the room. Prepare yourself.
Prepare yourself. Prepare yourself. I cannot stop hearing it. Prepare yourself.
Take it easy. No. I canāt. And wonāt.
Prepare yourself.
I was weeding in the backyard this morning, trying to stay off the computer, do something with my hands, do *something*, do anything, and I could hear my neighbor talking in her backyard to her girlfriend about how they have so few rights to start with as gay people, and now, probably, soon, even less, and I was crying, it was the first time I had cried, because Iāve been so numb, and then I had this really specific vision of eavesdropping in backyards all over the country, all the people of different colors and ethnic backgrounds and sexual orientations and physical abilities who feel threatened right now, pacing on a back porch, wondering what will happen to them.
It is our responsibility to take care of each other as citizens of the same country and human beings on this planet. This is what I believe. I am all in on this.
Happy Mountain Day! #findyourmountain #š©
Thereās a new Local Natives, and it shines as bright (or brighter?) than their excellent first two albums. Itās a different kind of shine, but Iām all for progress and/or reinvention.
Not pictured: me taking a tiny tiny break from Frank Oceanās āBlondeā to appreciate this album.
āVillainyā - Local Natives
I can confirm that Steve has great taste in music to LEGO to.
Only 27(ish) and only getting better... Thanks @steverubin for the #drakecake (at The Church of 8 Wheels)
Stuck the landing. #tokyo2020 (at Santa Monica Pier)
27. (at In Situ)
Last Monday > this Monday #latergram (at Acadia National Park)
Okay, I know @billywender already posted this but it's too good. What a lovely time I had matching you fools! #latergram #untilnexttime (at San Diego International Airport)