#mollykat

[madtolivemolly-blog]

Take me home, Take me home

Boots abroad the lyrics are home i'm going home back to the land that feeds my soul take me home, take me home, over the green green hills and far away

[madtolivemolly-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZNwUKOLEYk)

[madtolivemolly-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8SPqrKirBU)

[madtolivemolly-blog]

new video... this is what i do instead of sleeping.  shit.

[madtolivemolly-blog]

falling

If a day goes by and I don’t fall in love, I get horribly depressed.  My home base, the tonic, is an acceptance of the fact that the world is a hopeless pile of shit, which is why it is important to have those little encounters that make me fall in love, that turn my body back into some electrified, pulsing, bright white light, that magnetizes my skin and pulls me in.  Because if there are beautiful things, soulful music, people whose bodies translate an emotion into a thing that overtakes my own body through dance, or aerial art, or any kind of movement, if these beautiful things persist, it cannot be completely hopeless.  There is still something worth fighting for.  Falling in love keeps me alive, and I need my daily fix. I need real human connection.  I need the kid on the street who sees me and asks how my day is going, who opens up to me, who tells me I am the warmest, sweetest, brightest light he’s felt in years.  Who asks how are you and wants the real answer, because he cares, because he cannot help but care.  I sat with him for hours, just two structurally impaired kids, having a hard time in the world, sitting on a sidewalk hugging.  He put his hand over my shoulder, barely touching me, and could feel how much it hurt.  Woah, what’s going on in there?  What happened?  Are you okay? We talked about how difficult it is to be an empath, to be able to hear or see people’s thoughts, how lonely it is to be outside of everything else because of the burden of our shared “crazy.” In other cultures, people who had these gifts were honored, were healers, medicine women and men…  here, mostly they are homeless.  Because an inability to put your head down and trudge on through is seen as weakness.  The inability to conform to a system of carelessness and destruction renders us useless, insane, unstable.  If the man excitedly engaged in a conversation on the subway platform sees somebody, why are we all so quick to agree that he is the one who’s wrong?  I know that I do not see anyone, but who am I to tell him what he sees is not real?  What is real?  Real is the way the sketchy punk boy loves me, real is the connection I have to human beings, the way I orient myself based on textures and colors that I can’t see with my eyes, real is a made up word. What’s real is the suffering of our shared existence if we continue to tell other people their realities are not real.  

[madtolivemolly-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DloN1m60JHU)

[madtolivemolly-blog]

WHY

I am putting so much of myself out there, in the open, for people to see.  Why?  Because there comes a time when silence is betrayal.  Because people like me exist, and I know there are more, more who are still in that silent and suffering phase, who are too young to know that they are not alone, or are stuck in a life they thought they wanted but are realizing they cannot be happy with and are seeking… something.  To the something seekers.  I am not completely against the main stream… well, okay, so maybe I am, but I am more for people being happy than I am against the mainstream.  If you are happy shaving your legs and plucking your eyebrows and wearing clothes you cannot run in… ugh, who am I kidding, it makes me terribly sad that anyone is happy with that imprisonment behind false ideas of femininity…  but it isn’t false for everyone MK, it is false for you.  I want people to be okay, underneath it all, behind the patches and anger and black clothing; like most good punks, there is a highly sensitive, empathic mush of a woman who wants the suffering to stop, and is too smart to find a way besides nihilism that makes any sense, but fuck, revel in it while it’s here, right?  Ugh, I don’t know.  Why am I doing this?  It’s risky, right?  To be so vulnerable and open, open myself up for attack?  Bring it motherfuckers!!!  You don’t scare me!!!  Okay, so, a lot of you do scare me, but not how you think, you scare me with your apathy and willingness to become one wiggling limb of an amorphous homogenous blob, barely even able to be called life at all.  But I’m doing this because I have some shit to say, and there are people for whom what I have to say has been really fucking helpful, and there are people whose words have deterred me from violent acts of self battery, and no one should suffer alone.  No one should be in pain and be alone.  Everyone has pain and everyone suffers, but to do it alone…  that’s too much.  So here is your not alone, here is the truth that dispels the lies that propel people toward destruction and loneliness.  You are not alone, and you never were, because arrogant little fucks who cannot help but care about the wellbeing of all humans, including you, exist. Why am I doing this…  because I cannot stop myself.  Because every time I go to an open mic or have a reading, someone comes up to me, without their normal façade of impenetrability, and tells me I spoke their mind into words they never found before.  Because some teenage girl comes up and hugs me and cries, and tells me some horrific story of rape, or molestation, or attack.  Because through sobs and snot she says she’s never told anyone before, and I get to hold her while she breaks down, because whatever I said convinced her she was not alone, not too messy, not scary. Because I can fucking handle whatever it is that you are, because we are broken, but that’s okay.  Because I get to tell her, it is not your fault.  You are brave, thank you for fighting. Because my story is so much more common than anyone wants to believe, and I am strong enough to scream it from the fucking rooftops.  Because this is my rooftop.  Because I can’t not see the suffering, because it shows up in colors that I feel inside my throat, because my empathic nature and synesthesia were paralyzing and now they are glowing fucking beacons of hope on my tool belt and goddammit I was a fucking mess but I’m not any more.  If I can do it, take the wreckage and bullshit and find a way to be beauty in this world, you can too.  I want to fight.  I want to fight with love, and I don’t know exactly what that means or what it looks like, but I’m doing it anyway.  I didn’t have a choice when I was a child, I didn’t get to choose what kind of relationships I had with my family members.  I didn’t even meet my uncle until I was an adult, and god damn, how much it would have helped to have had him in my life as a child… to have the model of him and his partner, a sweet, healthy, loving partnership.  FUCK!!  Okay, breathe, you have him now, and you’re fixing what you can.  I am doing this because I am sick of the normative mainstream culture that says be a good cog, a docile body, smile and look pretty, and never show weakness.  If you are weak, you open yourself up for attack.  Well, fuck that.  We are all weak.  We are weak over beautiful things, things that matter.  If you keep patching up a weak building with more and more cement, cover the cracks, it doesn’t take them away.  It makes it look shiny from the outside, but when it crumbles, there’s just that much more weight, it just falls harder.  Knock it down yourself and rebuild in a way that makes you solid. Keep the old cracked pieces and mosaic them into something that makes you proud.  Why am I doing this?  Because loving yourself is a revolutionary act.  Because healing and caring about people disrupts the mainstream individualistic propaganda bullshit that allows us to be divided and conquered, because nobody can heal the larger issues of racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, xenophobia, and bigotry while they are operating from a departure point of pain and smallness.  If we are stuck in that place where our suffering is so overwhelming that all we can do is hurl it at everyone who comes near us, on autopilot, the world will continue to suck.  Fuck that. The revolution happens everyday, slowly, in conversations and uncomfortable truths, in opening yourself up for feedback, in shutting the fuck up and listening to the real words someone else is saying, in being open to everything you think you know being wrong. Yes, I want the system to collapse, but how do you collapse an ideology?  I want to create new norms, new spaces, new discourse, new stories.  My voice is counterpoint, my story is not beginning middle end, arch and catharsis, my story refuses your teleological white male cannon, my story is defiance.  My life is an act of defiance, and I cannot live any other way.  It is too painful.  I am incapable of buckling down and being a nice girl, a good employee. If I find a better, smarter way of doing things that reaches my students better than the existing system and my employer says no, I quit.  I refuse to be involved in any system whose end goal is not helping, teaching, healing. Fuck your numbers, fuck your pay, fuck your annual gross income.  I am telling you this because you don’t need a reason to do what feels right.  You just need to listen to that little voice, that feeling.  I am doing this because I give myself permission to feel everything that I feel, to own it, to be gentle with myself and with everyone else whenever possible. Because I am powerful and strong, and I give myself permission to be the van-dwelling anarchist rubbertrampin freakshow that I was born to be.  

[madtolivemolly-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3rwyVymWA4)