like rain

At first perhaps the air is only moist, then that moistness becomes more dense and steady. Before you really know it, you're standing in a persistent and torrential downpour. It is hard to know precisely when the rains began, but there is, at this point, no manner of denying it.

That is how I came to know I love you.
art (@ Smithsonian)

discussion on where my ideas on the importance of art as a voice for disenfranchised stem from

Windy: good morning!
so! if you had funding, effort, skilled labor, etc... what kind of project would you want to do right now?

Fin: good morning! uhm, let's see-- I don't have a lot of free floating ideas atm so I'd think of areas I wanted to address and think of ideas to apply to those areas...

Windy: like...? ;D

Fin: I think I'd want to come up with a project to work with teens who are marginalised, maybe queer/trans

Windy: interesting! that does make one wonder what your teenage years were like... you were more on the Pennsyltucky side of the state? you did tell me some stories about abuse at the hands of a male relative (being clear that I'm not asking for your story... unless you want to share)

Fin: Pennsyltucky is usually seen as the middle, between Philly and Pittsburgh; I was geographically close to Philadelphia (Norristown if you look on a map is very near) but being a small satellite town, yes, it was ideologically more like Pennsyltucky.
Thanks, I appreciate that-- I'm so transparent about my story at this point, and have been for so long, that it rarely causes me issue to bring up: I was inappropriately touched by my grandfather from about 3-4ish until he died when I was 7, I was raped when I was 14 by a next door neighbour who was 21 at the time (we lived in a semi-attached house, he cut my window, then my clothing, while I slept), the next boy I dated after that I did so for a school year and a bit, and he often engaged in nonconsensual sex with me, regularly harming me during it, like cigarette burns.

Windy: yeah I had heard some of that. was that just tremendously bad luck? to be born into a place surrounded by predatory men? or (as you referenced earlier) that your self-expression made you a target?

Fin: I think some of it was age/time - I think consent issues have become more publicly talked about, I don't think the responses from counselors and the like that I got would be so likely to happen. (I attempted to tell several people, all women, in my life what I'd experienced and the responses were largely some play on 'blame', all uninterested in doing anything about it.)

Windy: yeah I remember those stories! worthless gatekeepers

Fin: I think some of it was geography - if those responses happened, it would be more likely in the kind of town I grew up in.

Windy mmm... I am fascinated by what causes people's moral circles of care to expand or contract... I think that is why I am asking

Fin: etc. I think there are a lot of factors that went into it, and perhaps one can attribute having so many factors to make it incrementally more likely to 'luck'.

Windy: luck just means we don't understand ^^

Fin grins. ah, then yes. a large part of it was luck.

Windy: yes, mala suerte =( do you think your desire to help (in this imaginary case where we are rich with resources and energy) marginalized LGBT teens is because (in part?) of your kid?

Fin: oh, I think it's me. but yes, my kid then plays into that: I think the way I parent them is because of me, too though-- I mean, that's usually how it is, but I think I'm very open about it. I never felt like the adults in my sphere gave me space to express myself, and I felt - and had it proved! - to me that it was dangerous for me to do so. I feel that my (lack of) a childhood is the reason I border on being obsessed with marginalised/oppressed/disenfranchised people being given time and space for their voices to be heard.

Windy: I sorta figure that folks typically have energy, focus, clarity etc after a transformative event that successfully--
sometimes just playing the ideas can make a channel. the last thing you wrote is powerful-- sometimes just knowing the reasons why we act can move us, a kind of resonance perhaps (I don't think everyone knows why they act each moment etc)

Fin: I think that I've always been aware to some degree that my voice was there for others because a) others wouldn't speak for me, and b) I couldn't speak for myself. I'm also aware that this is the genesis of my feeling like I'm not worth speaking up for, and why I continue to struggle with the ramifications of that.

Windy: the younger we are, the less we realize that we do have power-- just a musing thought. and, as you pointed out upthread... sometimes we don't! much easier to look at things from a position thirty years on and say 'well, you have this whole collection of good options, let's talk about...'

Fin nods. to have had someone point them out to me then!
heart of ice

clean and complete

Sometimes, in relationships, particularly in their endings, you do not get closure. You are left with yourself, and you have to get whatever it is the best that you can on your own, and you move on.

I wrote this some time ago (I am bad with time, but about two years?), in a somewhat secretive corner, but I've decided to share it now.

I have been dating someone new.

I met her in the community of which I am now a member, and was just completely mesmerized from the start. I am horribly awkward when it comes to flirting with women though, the more I admire them the worse it is, and yet somehow I managed to become friends with her, invite her to a party I was having, and in what feels like a magical string of happenings, have been dating her, as of the other day, for one month.

I am so bloody smitten. I'm sure when we go out, other people must notice. Yet I am holding back. I'm holding back for a variety of reasons, some of which are likely healthy, some of which are born of my own old issues, but regardless, I'm not sure even I know how smitten I exactly am.

She is such a beautiful person; kind and considerate, thoughtful and caring. I've been sick for awhile, and twice she's come over and cooked for me (for all of us to eat, though I'm the one that would ordinarily have to cook, so I was doubly blessed). When one of my family members was dealing with the death of one of their family members, and I was considering going back east suddenly, she offered to help front the money for airfare. She is so very smart, and passionate: we've gone hiking and she tells me all she knows about Southern California's botany - I've pressed the flowers that she couldn't identify on the spot in a book of Klimt's erotic sketches. She keeps her eyes locked on me when we shower together, her beautiful eyes the colour of cornflowers rimmed by long blonde lashes, even as I wash her carefully with her hand tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. She puts her tiny always-cold native SoCal hands on my always-warm new englander thigh when we drive. She makes the best vegan baked goods; she "accidentally" made the same chocolate curry muffins on our one month anniversary as she had to tempt me over on that first night we were together. She left a note on my car one morning, telling me how much she loved my very soft hands petting on her the night before. One night she laid on me and told me about old scars she'd kept secret, let me tell her mine, and we cried together for what we'd survived, whispering how sorry we were and how proud we were of each other, and I had never felt so very very honoured. She curls her lips in such a deliciously evil grin when she straddles me, sitting upright to watch my face - always those eyes. She worries over our differences, asking to make sure I am comfortable with things as they are. And she clearly loves me as much as she currently dares.

I am, to put it bluntly, completely and utterly fucked.
I just needed to let this veneer crack just once.

I worried about how she'd feel if I told her I love her, so I never did. And then that relationship moved on and we stopped speaking. I now wish I'd told her. Doing so may have surprised her, it may have upset her. I certainly don't believe it would've stopped our relationship from ending. But I can't really know, and honestly, I don't have enough info even now to make an educated guess.

But I know how it has made me feel for her to not know. I know how I've second guessed myself. I know mutual friends tell me that she judges herself, and displaced, is concerned I judge her. Heresy, I can't know it's true, who knows if they know it's true, who knows if SHE can be aware if it's true. *shrug* But I see inspirational posters saying things like "Every moment spent judging is a moment spent not loving", and I wonder if she has room to know that I don't judge her, that though there was a time when we were both hurting, and it did not hurt me more to know that she shared that experience with me, and there have been moments when I was less gracious than I'd like to have been, that I have loved her, and find myself loving her still. That I never truly stopped thinking that she is such a beautiful person; kind and considerate, thoughtful and caring. That I am grateful and consider myself fortunate that I knew her and got to experience her for as long as I did.

If we spoke, I would tell her that.

I would apologise for the times I could not rise up and be gracious.

I would tell her that I do not find much worth in judging.

I would tell her that I wish her all the good that she can glean in life.

I would tell her, that for my part, there has been a clearing into which anything can be built.
art (@ Smithsonian)

(no subject)

Sometimes I wonder

if I am a seagoat, a creature of earth and water, and you a dragon, made of fire and air... do we complete some desperate need in one another, or do the oceans boil you burning me while I drown you?

Or something subtle, something both.
art (@ Smithsonian)

a mixed bag of thoughts

A second person has come to me with information that a specific person is frightened of me.

The first person who told me, we'll call them Sue, put the responsibility on me to heal that relationship. When I said that I'd shared with a mutual friend that I was open to the person coming to me, Sue said that it was my duty to approach the person myself. I disagree.

The second person who told me, we'll call Craig, at least owned that it's projection of guilt, and that I wasn't in any way responsible for them dealing with their shit. I agree with Craig. I'm not sure why he told me, though. Perhaps because he thinks that though I don't need to, I'd want to. I don't.

I wanted to collect my thoughts on it, though, in case it ever comes up (the person approaches me).

My perspective of the situation:
- This person legitimately did things which hurt me, some of which were passive, and some of which were active. As much as if someone punched me. I don't precisely find "fault" or "blame" in this, I just view it as a statement of fact.
- This person also hurt me in ways that I admit have to do with my own perception, and I've owned those for my own purposes.
- I don't feel any need to engage them about those.
- This person hurt my child, and when I came to them to try to tell them that, their behaviour didn't change.
- I've more or less moved on with no expectation of an expression of remorse or regret. It's not something I have any need for any longer.
(- I did at one time, and I allowed that need to propagate behaviour from myself that I felt didn't exist well with who I see myself as, nor who I want to be, so I've addressed that.)
- An expression of remorse or regret would have to come with reparative action.
- Unless and until that happens, I'm not interested in having any kind of relationship with them outside of my being a decent human being who is capable of being civil and respectful as is appropriate to both operating within the same community.
- In truth, I was hurt as much as I was because I loved them, and I strongly suspect, because that is my nature, that I still do love them.
- I periodically experience huge urges to tell them how much they had meant to me, but I recognise that this would serve no functional purpose at this point as it's no longer true; regardless of if I still love them (fsvo love) I no longer respect them.
- I'd respect them more if they did take reparative action, and apologised, though. My respect would, honestly, be unfuckingparaelled, because that's a huge thing. I'd reevaluate the above if this happened. But I've no attachment to it happening.
- I have no ill will for nor toward them.
- Whilst I personally think they're unlikely to do well without examination of their behaviour, I do legitimately hope that they experience a great deal of joy and growth in their life.
- Over there.
art (@ Smithsonian)

astute myopathy

There is a memetic, shared language used when people talk about love and the loss there of. Our first, or biggest, love -- the one which all else will be compared to.

Because I am who I am, I've multiple of those.

I have never felt that I am that for anyone. Never was, never will be. And though a part of me wished that wasn't the case, it has seemed as factual to me as the sky is blue, and the sky will mostly always be blue (uh, you know, sun sets and sunrises and storms, etc not withstanding) and no amount of wishing it to be another colour is going to change that the sky is probably gonna be some shade of blue. Even if you do wish it to be another colour, you're probably comfortable with this fact.

What if someone pointed out to you that you've some sort of disorder or defect of your eye, that means that you're seeing the sky as a colour that it isn't, that it is in fact the colour that you wish it to be?

I got angry.

I've a kind of cataracts that means I can't see my importance in other people's lives. My lack of importance feels as factual to me as the sky being blue, so whilst I wish I were more important, it is a state I've become comfortable with. So I became angry with someone who challenging that.

ask for what you want

Moods swing. Yesterday I was crafting a floormat out of spare rope I'd taken to the burn that made it back, and some acrylic yarn, and thinking smugly "fuck, I MAKE shit. useful shit. that's awesome." and thinking how there's nothing I've seen on pinterest (aside from knitting and food) that's ever produced a fear of my inability to make it, if not make it better.

Discussion on this year's gift giving began last night. I'm sure it is not news to anyone that the holidays is one of the highest times of suicide. Poor job market being what it is, depression also creeping in (two things which are very comorbid). I don't even feel like anything I can DO or make is worthy of gift-giving; my art feels so tiresome, crocheted hats and scarves are tiresome. It's all so tiresome. I can do nothing useful.

I think, what would I like? I can make them that:
- Nifty socks. But I cannot knit socks.
- Bookcases. But I cannot build bookcases.
- Baked goods! But I am a terrible baker.
- stories? But I'm inarticulate.
- songs? *sobs*

But I am reminded of someone who, I found out later, cherished a doodle I'd done on an index card for them, and how sad they were when it went missing.

My mother hated getting things I'd made, anyone had made-- she said it was cheaping out. I've depression and imposter syndrome -- it generally doesn't occur to me that, for most anyway, a piece of my art would be so important, let alone a doodle.

Asking people for things, or even just telling them appreciatively of what you think of their skills, might help - you know, both yourself, and them. I'd have painted this person anything they wanted, whenever they wanted-- I always felt so very lacking in their wake; knowing at the time that they cared so much about an index card would've meant the world to me, it would've been a gift FOR ME.

I wish I knew what use I am to people (for were of different uses to different people) so I could figure what gift I could make for them.
Riordon and me

(no subject)

I gave Rio room to speak to me about something, because that is part of my job as a parent, and now they're able to rest, that being off their chest. But now it is on mine, and I find I cannot go to sleep.

When they were wee and had trouble sleeping, their father and I would put them in the papoose to walk around and around and around the neighbourhood-- it never occurred to me that sleepness nights would extend so far.