Poise of Passion; Private Weirdo Gorgeousness: PJ Harvey's Gender, Unapologetic Lipstick and Lack of Teeth Showing Smiles

I've been listening to that collaboration that happened with PJ Harvey and Thom Yorke, This Mess We're In , quite a bit this morning. PJ is someone whose gender makes sense to me more than most, somehow. Dressing in suits, dressing in micro skirts while staring deadpan at the camera, a fuck-you-I'm-not-contouring-shit incredible nose and stretched putty mouth. There is something about her that has always read to me as gender gorgeousness more focused on art and music and her passion than on paying much attention to the social expectations being handed out around her.

Fuck yes.

Separately, I'm trying to follow up on the lifesaver that was thrown to me Friday night. Angels don't knock down your door.  (Except I also know that this isn't true: They will. They do.)

I've been listening to a lot of music lately that reminds me of a particular house I lived in in Columbus, Ohio.  Not so much the house, but the people, the art, the relationships, the heartaches and the discoveries. We were (are) all so obsessed with music.  Every time an album worth its weight would come out, you could hear various songs off of the album being played from 4 or 5 different rooms at the same time.  It was funny, and beautiful:  There are two albums in particular that I know we all agreed on by virtue of this simultaneous and staggered play.

Yesterday, while driving home, I realized that there is a stretch of the highway about thirty minutes outside of the city - Westbound- that reminds me of a stretch that comes into Columbus.  It was a stretch I would only see when I would take somewhat far away beginning interpreting jobs. Although I lived in Columbus for, relatively, a short amount of time, it was formative in so many ways. It haunts me sometimes. In a good way. It reminds me of potential and aim and friendship and how I have grown and how I have kept that which was gold that I found there.

It may be time to return.  Before Casey moves away, and to remind myself of the details in the eyes that social media erases.  The eyes of those I love and haven't seen in person in far too long.

In the meantime: I'm being fed by the beauty of seclusion and connection - the feeling of home that cloaks around you when you find yourself celebrating your oddities, quirks, perceived gender inconsistencies, social faux pas and unapologetic garishness in art and interaction.

I'm off to follow up on this angel stranger:  Here are to those who steward you through shit you want to do that you are completely lost in.


Be well; be loved,

k

p.s. Bye bye mercury retrograde