Monday, January 27, 2014

Jawlines and Fingertips

Peter (A Young English Girl) by Romaine Brooks
My niece once told me she looked up to me because I didn't care what anybody thought of me.  It threw me off guard but, I have to say, I took it as a profound compliment both in content and source.

Perhaps, here, one may expect a crumbling story about how in reality, I care deeply and cry often and in private about these things.

I can't offer that.

However, I've been realizing and feeling lately what she was picking up on, as she was not the first, nor the last, person to say this to me.

Obviously, it is not because I'm cool or evolved. Perhaps less obviously, it is because I am too enmeshed in my unfortified social skills and following perception to understand why people give a fuck about certain things. Or why they strive for certain things.  Social expectations, I guess.

I do try, mind you. I just never get to the point of understanding.

Not always a black sheep, just simply and obviously out of step.

The trade off and the other side of this, of course, is that the things that no one seems to care about are the things I care about so delicately.  Which may explain why most of the time I feel and dress like a lad plucked out of another point in history who's been dropped into the current year and thus feel like a total weirdo.

But I digress.

In any case, I will tell you this: 

Things have felt stoic and serious; lighthearted and perfect as of late. 

It is an incredible combination, and I am enjoying every curve of this glove of time and people quite fitted to my skin and bones.

And in this time of incense and tie wear, zippers and creased pants, shared hair pomade and propositions, I will continue to toss my glass towards everyone stomping about in their crumbling castles of judgement and feigned betrayals and say, with limp wrist and intonation: 

I just don't give a shit.

Be well; be loved.

(image: Found at my favorite, Yvonne Constance Tumblr)

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Puppies and Wolves: The Art of Roughhousing Without Accidental Homicide

A few weeks ago, I was in the passenger seat of a car at a red light making out with the driver. As we kissed, I could feel nervous glances being stolen towards the traffic light. Lips touching but worried. Red became green and the car rolled seamlessly forward.

A few days ago, I was in the passenger seat of another car at a red light making out with a different driver.  This time, there was no concern for the light, or for the traffic behind us. When I opened my eyes, green shown, and the taillights of the car in front of us was roughly a block away.

I've been thinking a lot about desire and class and inhibitions or lack there of.


The past few months have been good.
Pushing me to do what is right and what feels good in the way that happens when you invest.
Tear muscles.
Build things.
Lean toward tender over any other pseudo-emotion that is more or less just being a dick.
That kind of thing.

Today I'll leave you with this quote from an everyday person. Because it's what matters, and what has changed me, in that way that everyday interactions and eavesdroppings tend to.

"I've been through some things. But I stay positive because I don't give a fuck."
- lady I was eavesdropping on at a cafe eight days ago


 (image from: Blackmilk Tumblr)
A few nights ago, I went to see Afsaneh Najmabadi speak about transexuality and same-sex desire in contemporary Iran.  It was academic as all get out, yet she made it accessible, humorous, and relevant.  You should check her out if you haven't. You can read about the book she was talking about, here.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

May the Ghost That Haunts Me Have the Voice of Chelsea Wolfe

(written slightly before midnight on December 31st.  A New Years Eve party curling in the living room, me in my bedroom packing to leave the country early the next morning.)

I've been thinking of love and light and the true beauty of one's heart, again.  It's larger than the moment.  Deeper. It's strange to watch things as they go by.

I know the difference between what I can and can't do/control/invest in/change. 

Somehow, lately, I just don't give a fuck.

I will enjoy what I enjoy and will continue to enjoy it.


Here is to a year of pressing my heels to the ground when need be, and letting them fall backwards when that is what is called for, as well.

Here is to respect of privacy, of beauty, of love.  Here is to the slight fear that I will evaporate. These things happen.

This year, I will aim to be unafraid, to let glass shatter, mistakes be made, grounding to happen.  Stupidity will be considered, as will the whistling sound that escapes from between the precious teeth of particular ladyish lads and ladly ladies who sing to me.


There are, indeed, different points:  It is up to us to connect them.

Be well and be loved.  Wait for noone until it is worth it.

Your heart will unfurl

and this is how you will know.

(image source: Blackmilk Tumblr)