oozey mess
shark vs the universe
blake kathryn
JBB: An Artblog!
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đȘŒ
$LAYYYTER
ojovivo
Show & Tell
todays bird
Product Placement
Peter Solarz
cherry valley forever
#extradirty
@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
pixel skylines
Janaina Medeiros
seen from Spain
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@statusqueernotstatusquo
[poetry] evolution
i once wanted to be fierce
slashing tearing rending flesh from bone
resolute steadfast strong like oak
harming everything
that injures
that wounds
that oppresses.
[times change oh how they change]
[growing morphing evolving]
now i want something different
something more than rage
I want to be fluid
flexible
bending and swaying and reaching and connecting
loving and protecting
all that come underâŠ
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[Poetry] âgrace lies in the lieâ
I am told that I move through the world with grace, that I am temperate and generous, that I must possess some secret of forgiveness. It is a lie. I possess no secret, No magic elixir that removes pain, No balm to rub on the shattered soul, No salve to soothe the casual cut so shallow that it bleeds for a decade. I have no mantra or meditation or super secret white-lady yoga position or magicâŠ
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[Poetry] Zen, How To Be Full In Our Emptiness
[Poetry] Zen, How To Be Full In Our Emptiness
Silence is unexpected grace, A powerful remedy to the inner noise we carry and live. A time of renewal and reflection, Resurrection and revival. Silence is not merely Nature, But anywhere you desire it, In the city, the space-filling hustle and bustle Provides anonymity, A Stranger walking among strangers, Empty and present, Stillness in motion. Paradox and resolution, Joy in experience. TheâŠ
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[Poetry] "The Bells Tolls For Me"
New poem: "The Bell Tolls For Me", written for and performed at Sappho's Salon on 29 Nov 2016.
Note: This piece was written for last nightâs performance at Sapphoâs Salon in Chicago, IL. There was to be a video broadcast and archival copy postedâŠand Facebook decided I needed to spend a few hours in purgatory instead. Thanks, Zuck. -Andrea At the chime, the time will be eight minutes past midnight on Tuesday, 8 November 2016. Election Day. I voted early. I am excited. I encourage my friendsâŠ
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[Sermon] This I Believe
[Sermon] This IÂ Believe
Today, we held a special service at Tree of Life to correspond with our first annual Celebration of Art. The following text was my contribution to the service. ââââââââââââ This I believe â that we are born, and that we will die. We live in the dash between those two dates, and what we do with that dash is how we will be remembered by history. I believe in story, for in story we find commonality.âŠ
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[Poetry] Let Us Speak Ill Of The Dead
[Poetry] Let Us Speak Ill Of The Dead
Dearly beloveds, let us speak ill of the dead. Let us shout that the enemy of my soul Is the sexually frustrated partner of the damned. Let us scream that the price of eternal rest Is not a price we wish to pay, It is not the glittering of gold, The sheen of silver, The putrid smell of power. It is the void of inaction, Of nothingness, Unless we begin to speak ill of the dead. We grieve ourâŠ
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[Reflection] The Circle Is Never Unbroken, It Is Just Larger Than We Thought.
[Reflection] The Circle Is Never Unbroken, It Is Just Larger Than We Thought.
[big sigh] Okay. I have a favour to ask. I would ask that you meet me here, in this moment, in this place. Sit and witness, if you will. Before I left on the April road trip of my Patreon project, I did something bold, something daring, something deeply healing to myself, something intrinisc to my personal journey. I submitted my application to attend Meadville-Lombard Theological School as anâŠ
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[Poetry] Roadtrip What lies in the empty spaces? The pauses between mile markers, The silence between songs, The open spaces between farms,
[Poetry] Resurrection I went to the mountains and remembered who and what I am. I went to the desert,
[Poetry] Karma Years ago You used to say He was great He was praised, empowered Uplifted Affirmed. But when he said he wasn't heâŠ
[Poetry] Recovery Tell me about the first time. Tell me about the second time. Tell me about the third time.
I have a lot on my mind at the moment. I expect this post to be fairly long, possibly rambling, and would ask for your patience as IÂ drive through it all.
Where to begin, though? Letâs start with Imbolc, since I missed making a post for the holiday.
As many of you may know, I experienced a rapid and unexpected change in career back in January. Imbolc is the holiday of new beginnings, when the Wheel turns us again towards the warmth of Spring and the joy of Summer. Winter is nearly past, and the Earth begins to wake from her long slumber.
The seeds of a dream I planted years ago have started to sprout and grow. Itâs exciting and I have no idea how this will play out â I can only jump and trust the Universe to catch me. This project, though â this project is something else. Okay, so, check this:
All my life, I have been a wanderer. From flea markets to junk shops, from ghost towns to forgotten factories, I have searched for the cast-aside relics of America. Iâve been pretty damn good at finding them, too.
I wear many hats: artist, poet, author, and storyteller. This project, tentative titled âReclaiming the Road Trip â A Trans Womanâs Journey Through Americaâ, is formed partly from nostalgic memories of Charles Kuraltâs seminal âOn The Roadâ series, partly from the StoryCorps project, partly from a desire to refute the male gaze of Kerouac and Persig, and mostly from the love of traveling instilled in me by my grandparents.  I hope to write a memoir of these travels when they are complete, detailing what it means to see the same places I saw as a child growing up in the desert through the eyes of a woman in full control of her world.
It is my plan to undertake one significant road trip a month for the reminder of the Spring and Summer, leading into Fall. For April, as an example, I will be traveling to Las Vegas to indulge my other great lifelong love â bowling. This trip will be five days out, five days in Vegas, and a minimum of three days back to the suburbs of Chicago. The more folks who want to support this trip, the longer I can extend these journeys â perhaps even tackling the legendary Route 66 from Chicago all the way to Los Angeles â and then up the Pacific Coast Highway to US-101 and points north.
I will travel by car (specifically, a 2002 Subaru Outback wagon, affectionately dubbed the Roadwagon) along highways and state roads, eschewing interstates whenever possible. As a calligrapher and visual artist, I intend to keep a handwritten journal for each day of the trip, filled with ephemera, which will be auctioned to my Patreon subscribers. Hereâs a picture of my soon-to-be home-away-from-home:
Once the weather turns a bit more, Iâll start kitting the Roadwagon (her name is Charlene, by the way) out for these journeys. Full size spare, 12v â > 110v inverter, video camera, new camera, and a selection of stuff from our camping suppliers are all on my list. I have to be fairly self-supporting as I travel, as not every state in our great union is kindly towards women like me. Further, as a gluten-intolerant person, fast food is right the hell out, and I will need to cook most of my own stuff on a propane stove.
In this blogspace, when possible, I hope to capture some random thoughts and impressions each day. I will also be recording the stories of the people I meet along the way, the songs of their souls, those very personal and compelling messages reminding us that we are all one. The Roadwagon I mentioned earlier? I will be essentially living out of it, as it will be both shelter and transportation. Itâs going to be a truly awesome series of journeys, and I canât wait for the first one in March.
Neil Gaiman wrote in Anansi Boys that âstories are webs, interconnected strand to strand, and you follow each story to the center, because the center is the end. Each person is a strand of the story.â This is the story of a journey like no other. Not all who wander are lost, and there are miles to go before we sleep.
(If you want to support the Patreon that is helping to fund this project, please go here, and know that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Here is the direct link, in case you need it:Â https://www.patreon.com/LadyNhytefall?ty=h )
Speaking of journeys⊠the April leg of this project may just be my penisâ farewell tour. I have been approved for surgery this Spring/early Summer, and while I donât have a date yet, I am very close to having it. THAT shit just got real, bigtime. Iâm bouncing off the walls over here, and while this is a text medium, here is an image that summarizes my current emotional state:
Good luck getting that image out of your head!
Anyway, back to the rambling topic at hand, which wasâŠthe rambling state of my mind. Imbolc, new beginnings, the road narrative project⊠whatâs next? Ah yes, that.
One of the things I am truly looking forward to on the road are the long spaces between waypoints. Those multiple hour stretches where it is just you, the hum of the car at speed, and your thoughts. The times when it is impossible to outrun the small still voice that speaks at your core â and then forces you to have a conversation with it.
I am looking forward to those times in solitude because I have been in a period of self-imposed discernment â a process I have been through before. I turned away from the path of ministerial service when it became clear that I could not resolve the essential questions who I am and how I love with the âmoralâ expectations of a denomination incapable of seeing me as human. âTwas a problem, and I chose computer science as the answer.
This was a mistake.
Life in tech was never as rewarding as I hoped it would be, but it did provide a mask by which to bury and repress my identity. Iâm good at what I did, very good in fact, but it was never what IÂ should have been doing with my life. There is â and always has been â good work to be done. In some regards, I chose the cowardâs way out.
As I have healed over the last five years, I began to reclaim the parts of me left along the way. Part of that reclamation was my identity as a person of deep faith. I recently found a home in the Unitarian Universalist tradition, a journey I have posted about previously.
It was in the atmosphere of acceptance and inclusion that I began to reflect on who I am, who I have become, who I will become, and what I should do in the second half of my life. The idea of being a cubicle-dwelling data analyst by day and a creative by night was workable, but it was always a compromise. I could do neither fully, and the work I did in both suffered.
I remember one of the turning points in my pondering of the question of âWhat next?â I was in the new member orientation class a while back, and each person at the table had to give a brief summary of their religious background and how they came to our particular congregation. I was second-to-last to speak, and so got to hear from new folks like myself and longer-term members. It was absolutely fascinating the different roads that had brought each of those people to our shared space.
When it came time for me to speak, I spoke of one my core beliefs- that none of us can know the face of the Divine, and all of us have different yet equal paths to the Divine. Even those of us who have no path, their path is still as equally valid as mine. I spoke briefly of my turning away from the seminarianâs path twenty years ago, and life I had built in both tech and as a creative. Then we broke to pee, because it had been A While. Yaâll know what I mean by that.
Rev. Sean told me on my way to the bathroom, âYou still got the calling on you, girl.â That comment never left my brain, like a truth burned into your conscience by a laser. The idea that I turned away from the work and the work never turned away from me, was a concept that I am still reconciling. Couple that with a growing dissatisfaction over my career, and I began to consider that maybe, just maybe, I had been approaching the entire question incorrectly.
So I punted. I had already made the decision to return to school and chase a B.A. in Religion, and I figured that it would give me time to figure my shit out. What did I want in a graduate degree when the time came? Academia, or service work? Advancing scholarship, or advancing the cause of social justice? Note that these questions are not either/or questions, merely that I am presenting them as such to poorly describe the threads my brain is/was chasing.
A few months ago, I began to formulate an idea of what my personal call to ministry looks like. It is not complete by any stretch of the imagination, but I can see myself working in palliative care, serving the spiritual needs of those at end of life and assisting their families with the transition from this world to the next. This is good work, hard work, but needed work and in a field I have experience in.
I had the privilege of talking to Rev. Lisa Presley of the UUA MidAmerica staff about my period of discernment back in January, and she related her own experiences to me. She also felt called to palliative care, only to find that she wanted to know a persons full story- not just the end of it, because the end is nothing without context. SheâŠhas a point. A very good point. And my thoughts shifted again, scattered but a little better formed.
Which brings us back to the road narrative project, and why I am looking forward to it. I have gotten, and will continue to get, involved in my churchâs operations and needs. I want to help where I can, get to know them better as they get to know me better, and figure my shit out. At some point I will, in the words of my friend (and ministerial intern) Michelle, simply jump and trust the Universe to catch me.
That time is coming. For now though, I need to keep having the conversation with the small still voice inside, that voice that keeps telling me âYou belong here, doing this work. Not there, doing that work. Here and now, present and willing.â I believe that voice, and am beginning to trust her.
Somewhere between Moab and Monument Valley, the drone of the road and that voice of the Divine are going to combine into a single, inescapable map to my future. Thatâs my hope â that this heretical daughter of the church, who once was lost and has now been found, will finally know her way to the secret door on the side of the mountain.
After all, not all who wander are lost, and there are miles to go before we sleep.
Reflection: Journeying Along The Road Ahead. I have a lot on my mind at the moment. I expect this post to be fairly long, possibly rambling, and would ask for your patience as I drive through it all.
The Ferrywoman
This world, it was not made for me. It was not made for those whose oil burns throughout the night, For those who cannot trim their wicks, whose Darkness is ever-present. This is a world of slick perfection, Where the grittiness of life does not stand up to the focus-group gloss we see on TV, A world where to be Other is to be a ghost moving through walls and windows, A candle lit to commemorateâŠ
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Reclaiming the Roadtrip: A Trans Womanâs Journey Through America
All my life, I have been a wanderer. From flea markets to junk shops, from ghost towns to forgotten factories, I have searched for the cast-aside relics of America. Iâm pretty damn good at finding them, too. By profession and passion, I am an artist, a poet, an author, and a storyteller. I was recently presented with an opportunity to bring all of these elements together into a very personal project: âReclaiming the Road Trip â A Trans Womanâs Journey Through Americaâ. I just need a little bit of help to make it happen, and you can do that today by being becoming one of my patrons. This project is formed partly from nostalgic memories of Charles Kuraltâs seminal âOn The Roadâ series, partly from the StoryCorps project, and mostly from the love of the road instilled in me by my grandparents. It is my plan to undertake one significant road trip a month for the next year. For April, as an example, I will be traveling to Las Vegas to indulge my other great lifelong love â bowling. This trip will be three days out, five days in Vegas, and a minimum of three days back to the suburbs of Chicago. The more patrons I have, the longer the trip possible â perhaps even tackling the legendary Route 66 from Chicago all the way to Los Angeles â and then up the Pacific Coast Highway to US-101 and points north. I will travel by car along highways and state roads on these journeys, eschewing interstates whenever possible. As a calligrapher and visual artist, I will keep a handwritten journal for each day of the trip, filled with ephemera, which will be auctioned to Patreon subscribers at the end of the journey. As I travel, I will upload a daily blog post. When possible, I will also record a video of someone telling their story. These will be the stories of the people I meet along the way, their songs, their message recorded for posterity. I will not be staying in hotels while I am on the road (unless necessary) to save expenses, as I prefer the quiet of campgrounds and national parks. In Anansi Boys, Neil Gaiman wrote that âstories are webs, interconnected strand to strand, and you follow each story to the center, because the center is the end. Each person is a strand of the story.â This is the story of a journey like no other, and I invite you to become a strand in its web by becoming a patron today. Not all who wander are lost, and there are miles to go before we sleep. Letâs get to it, shall we?
Follow the link to support her! https://www.patreon.com/LadyNhytefall
Today, I launched a new project. Sometimes, you just have to jump and see what the Universe has in store for you. Help a gal out?
Meditation: The Road Has Forks, And They Kinda Suck.
Meditation: The Road Has Forks, And They Kinda Suck.
On Monday afternoon, I lost my job. For those waiting for an epic rant from me against my former employer, yaâll can just keep on waiting. Itâs not going to happen, bless your generous and loving hearts. I am working through the five stages of grief at the moment (Iâm pretty sure I am neck-deep in the depression stage), and trying to make sense of this change in situation. As I posted onâŠ
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Help this rape survivor afford justice
This is my friend & coworker, Rochella. Â She is a 25 year old, Haitian/Puerto Rican woman who has an incredible heart and is honestly one of the sweetest people I know. Â
She recently made public that she is a rape survivor, that she was raped numerous times as a child by a family member. Â She found out that she is still within the statute of limitations to press charges. Â However, itâs very close. Â In Puerto Rico, statute of limitations is 5 years after turning 21 years old (basically a personâs 26th birthday.) Â Rochelle will be turning 26 in March. Â
Rochelle is trying to raise funds to support the repeated travel and expenses that she will have to incur as a result of the trial proceedings.  She has been out on short term disability for therapy due to PTSD from the abuse.  She is a mother and a wife, and the cost of the travel to Puerto Rico is money that they just donât have.  The first two weeks after pressing charges, she will have to stay in Puerto Rico or they will dismiss her case.  After that, she will be traveling back and forth between NY and PR for anywhere from 6 months to 1 year, depending on how long it takes for trial. Thatâs a lot of money in regards to travel back and forth, as well as paying for a place to stay in PR, as she cannot stay with family (since thatâs where the abuse happened and where the abuser lives.) Â
I donât have the money to donate to her, as I am in my own financial hole, but I can do this for her. Â I can signal boost the hell out of her GoFundMe page, because she is too great of a person to not have a chance to put her abuser away. Â Help her break her silence. Â Help her get some sort of justice.
https://www.gofundme.com/Iwillnotbesilenced
(If you have any questions, please let me know. Â If you canât afford to donate, but can signal boost on tumblr, facebook, etc. PLEASE help.)
The long holiday weekend is drawing to a close, and this year I did something novel- I went home to my conservative family in Tennessee as an openly queer transwoman. It wasnât entirely terrible, all things considered. Intense, yes, but not terrible. This was the first time in three years we have been back, and two years since I have seen my parents. My sister is another story â and something forâŠ
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