Diving Days Falling Into the Slumber of Sweaters

A fat slice of lemon bobbing in the depths of black tea and ice; sweat sliding down the cylinder of the glass.

Escaping Scientology, white fragility, forensic science and plant science and the training of bloodhounds used together to find dead bodies, Black Lives Matter leaders, disabled gay men and their stories, graphic novel representation of Deafness, the relationship between a father and son when the father is an alcoholic underwater welder, comedy, a graphic novel about the use of they/them pronouns, and a Minnesotan murder mystery.

These are some of the themes and story lines of the books I read this summer, the last of which I ended earlier today.

Yes, there is overlap with the fall as far as I'm concerned: Another year of grad school started last week, but one must savor the final drops of blueberry sweet tea before trading it in for a mug full of something warm.

(pause)

I've been thinking of presence as of late.  And how, when in doubt, your body knows the answer. Try it sometime. Try it now. What is something you have been feeling uncertain about? Something that you overthink when trying to find an answer. Close your eyes. Focus on it. Get real still and then, while silently sitting, feel where the pulls are within your body. Does your heart beat wildly in excitement and hope? Does your stomach drop and you get that pull from the side of your abdomen that says "Stay away from that..."?

It's both strange and beautiful that we have such clear compasses within us if we can just matte the sound. (Here I think of any person who is unfamiliar with how sound changes just after a first and heavy snow.  Promise yourself that you will find out its texture and hum.)

be well; be loved,

k.


P.S. I read the oddest reference to disability that I think I have ever read thus far.  An academic starts out a sentence with "The most extreme disability, death itself, (blah blah blah)".  I don't think I've ever heard death be referenced as a type of disability. As if one would see a dead body and think "Wow. That person has a very extreme disability."

(image: Andre Paul Pinces via untrustyou tumblr)

The Other Night When You Asked Her and I if We Were Going to Sleep Together and I Said "I Hope So"

The past week has involved the police, the coroner's office, a body bag, fourteen long hours that should never have had to happen, strange timing, a thump in the night, a play, a hotel, and the sad story of the bag of soil bought to cover up the blood of the dead man that was in my backyard.

This week will involve (something of a) double date, trust, sounds that I miss, and a funeral.

Be well and be loved this week and always:

What unfolds within a 48 hour period can be more than you bargained for on either end of the spectrum

and will probably involve an excess of both.

k.

(image: Jonathan Pivovar)

Technology in Boating

It may be silly, but it is absolutely incredible to be on a ferry typing this as I watch the water and land go by. It fills my stomach with excitement- not just of destination, but of the journey.

Here is to enjoying and learning from the loves in your life, and the gorgeousness of the mist surrounding me this still-feeling-early morning.

be well; be loved

sailor style,

k.

Dawn of a New Day After the Full Moon, or, From the Desk of the Nerd

There's this final paper I turned in that was one of two. I worked so hard on it, and truly did the best job I could. It was about things in this world that matter to me so fucking much.

I received word today from the professor on my grade. I got a fucking perfect score. The highest grade one could get, and a personal note from the professor saying that it was excellent, and why.

I don't think I've ever gotten a perfect score on a paper in years. (Okay, sure, because the essays I wrote for the last five years have been in Spanish and #grammarandspelling, but STILL.)

I'm proud not for the score (although that is a really nice feeling), but for the work, the research and the words from the prof. I truly enjoyed writing it, and became one obsessed motherfucker for about three weeks.


Love and learning,

k.

(image:  The man who will always win best hair of a philosopher from me. YOU may not be talking about making a porn about those two, Derrida, but *I* am.  From pleto tumblr.)

Pussy Control, or, Things I Have Learned Twofold Since the Fall Started and Winter Approaches

Do not sneak crush me. Meaning: Do not put a little "platonic friend" costume on and then try and come up with reasons that you need to stay the night at my house and send me poetry. Be up front with what you are after. And when I say no thank you, don't start some prolonged death scene. I don't respect it and will more than likely remove you from my life as one would remove a drunk from a bar.

Meditation fucking rules. Meaning: Today is day 181 of meditation. The shit changes you. Period. I see things more clearly and do not fuck around.

Art influences art. Meaning: If you are stuck in one realm of life (writing, painting, fucking, doing homework, etc) then just switch to one of the other realms for a few enjoyable hours. It will cause the stuck piece to become unstuck.

Keep it classy. Meaning: Even if you could "win" (an argument, a moment, a competition, a court case), do not  step outside of your integrity. If you stay within it, you will end up winning in more ways than you can count and in all of the ways that matter.


That's all for now. I'm back to cuddling with my ever-sexy primary partner of grad school.



be well; be loved,

k.


(image is from Hood By Air's Spring 2015 show/ by Lea Colombo)

Constriction, Restriction and the Joyful Abandon of Being Oneself

Tonight has been one of copious amounts of reading and baths drawn with oregano essential oil and scentless bubbles: A Monday well considered and earned in equal parts.

This past weekend was one of magic, connection and learning. Louisville, Kentucky for the win, yet again. Leave it to me to sense the one person out of 150 who is queer, autistic, from the South, a grown up punk, who does political comics, knows two of the people from Louisville closest to my heart, loves Lynda Barry, also has a tent on their bed, and owns a weighted blanket. New connections, indeed.

One highlight of the weekend was the words of Lydia x. z. Brown, an autistic Asian American queer with solid suit choices that really helped clarify something I have been thinking about a lot over the past few months.  Lydia's speech covered this one particular part of the ADA that I've never known how I felt about.  And it took someone giving a talk about trans autistic experience who has brain for law to clarify it in a way that has shifted my view into clarity.  Thank you for that, Lydia.  [Lydia can be found at @autistichoya and autistichoya.net ]

Some things that I took away from the whole thing- some on a deeper level than before, and some completely new: 

Things like having the lights dimmed, earplugs, communication preference badges ("Needs space", "Hi! Let's talk" and "Come say hi if you know me") at social gatherings, and setting up chunks of time for parallel play (aka this would be like a workshop or party or classroom that does not centralize verbal and direct communication/interaction. Parallel play is when people are in the same space together but aren't expected to interact with each other in the way they would at say, some kind of party or typical social gathering) are all modes of access. Making it a point to tell people that they should use the space how they need (lay on the floor, stand up, rock back and forth or whatever the fuck, come/go as needed, etc) are also modes of access: People pay attention in different ways. As per usual: Just because someone is laying on the floor drawing a picture doesn't mean they aren't listening- it could be exactly what they need to do in order to pay attention. And to folks who get snarky about people using self check out at the grocery store: Sometimes this is an access thing, too. If you want to be a dick to someone, be a dick to the CEOs/bosses that make the decisions to cut costs and employees- not the person using the self check out machine. 

Also: It's nice to know that I'm not alone in some of my preferences and modes of communication and happiness.

If you need me, I'll be in the makeshift cave atop my bed.

Be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Les Films Mysterieux, original poster for Les Vampires (1915) via secretcinema1 tumblr)

Send to Me a Love Letter Written in the Ink of a Fearlessness You Have Never Known

What if the things I am learning about are so exciting and vital that they keep me up late at night reading and writing and talking with my fellow classmates?

Well, it means that I am doing exactly what I need to be doing.

Let me take a moment, here, to feel proud of what is going on and to mark its importance. I would like to shout out to Víctor who wrote one of my letters of recommendation (it will always pay to know punks who got so obsessive in their nerdiness that they somehow ended up in academia), and to Airen who wrote the other one- the bad ass intellectual organizing machine of glory who can throw down analysis as hard as he can, well, throw down, and to Sadie for being the person I sent admission essays back and forth with. Thank you to Lauro who made me feel blushingly capable when he introduced me to the head of the Spanish Department years ago and sung my intellectual praises. Thank you to Dani, one of my first Spanish professors who always let me go a bit off script with my assignments so that they would satisfy my particular intellectual thirst. Thank you to Juan Luís who, at some point, was only teaching to me because no one else in the class understood the Spanish and/or cared about the significance of Charlie Chaplin's speech in The Great Dictator.  Thank you to any and everyone who accepted me as the weirdo in the classroom who would always pick ridiculously specific topics but always come through on them. Thank you to the people who congratulated me on getting accepted, and the people who understood why I didn't really tell anyone I was doing this until I was doing this. Known or unknown to you, you have all been a part of a very necessary cheering section that made me feel less alone and more able to do all of this.

Thank you.

In other news, someone incredibly important to me and I have reconnected after a bit of time we needed to grow.  There are some people who come into your life for you to learn from, but are temporary.  Then there are the people who you know, no matter what, will always be in your life and heart in whatever capacity fits.  There had been only three loved ones who were far in this way.  With this one back in the day to day breath of love, there are only two. It's just a matter of time and chapters when it comes to love.  It is always there. It's just a matter of knowing when to say no or yes.


be well; be loved,

always.

k.

(image: from untrustyou tumblr)

Walk With Me

Today was spent recovering and relaxing.  Good food, good film, good writing, a long hot bath, clean laundry, good coffee, closely shaved legs and oil upon them just out of the shower.

One moment from this weekend I keep thinking about was when D and I (D is the older gay bear who my mentor of sorts) were talking about relationships and about people we have been making out with as of late. He was in the middle of talking about this one guy he was considering and the exchange went like this:

D: ...there's this Cher song.  You're probably way too young to know this song because even when Cher sung it, it was a cover of an even older song.  Anyway, the song says "It's in his kiss"...

K (interrupts and starts singing the song)

D (looking completely confused):  How do you know that song?

K:  Are you kidding me? Do not Cher-splain to me. I'm fucking gay and it's fucking CHER.

In any case, after we finished laughing and singing the song, we got back into the conversation. He went on to say basically what the song says. You can tell how a person feels about you, and how you feel about the person, in their kiss.  Of course, I hated this topic because I immediately went directly past the tentative kisses that have happened to go back to thinking about really deep kisses that I've loved with a person I have genuine feelings for.  It's just no contest. It's knees weak, body attentive, fingers alive.

On that note, I'm going to send myself to bed. I have an enjoyable and early morning tomorrow.  I look forward to flinging myself out of bed.

Be well, be loved,

k.

P.S. Here's that song. Shoop Shoop Song

(image: Button To Secret Passage, 1938, Helen Levitt via secretcinema1 tumblr)

The Halfway of Languages: The Art of Connection

It's morning. The sky is beautiful, and I am facing a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in a cafe nowhere near the city in which I live. The music is just right. Guitars: not too country; not too folky.  Cement floors. Wooden tables. Small, bare light bulbs on thick wires strung across the room, above me.

Oatmeal and brown sugar to my left; an americano (with a dash of cinnamon) and a glass of water to my right.

I am waking up.

Thinking of the people in my life.  Thinking of something a good friend said about how being around other people who also use multiple languages somehow gives her a sense of belonging- even when the languages they use are not the ones she uses.  I understand this, somehow.  And it's strange to think about all of the people that have played a hand in me getting here- to this muti-language'd patchwork of connection.  It's awing for me to think about. I know a lot of people are brought up with multiple languages. I wasn't- minus the random scraps of my grandfather's language that was recited at birthday parties, in come-ons and in insults- so it means something to be here.  How much my life has changed.  How much people and language and culture and humor have changed it.

In any case: Back to these window panes. A bit more tracing the clouds with my eyes is due before I start my day.



Be well; be loved; be open: What is confining you may be yourself.



k.


(image: Poldi, 1914, Egon Schiele via giampixx tumblr)

Left Cocoon: The Emergence of New

This weekend I received a very beautiful sentiment (compliment?) from someone who has been in my life, in one form or another, for over ten years.

He told me that a particular experience in our relationship to each other had made a huge impact on him.  He told me that at a point in time when he made some odd/not so great decisions in his life, I had let let him know that love is big enough to have room for messiness.  And then I acted on that. While the majority of the people in his life were shaming him, blaming him, politicizing every misstep he had taken, that I had held onto him without throwing a shame fest at him.  Given some of the specifics of what the situation was, I had told him more or less that I loved him and that, when he felt he had something different/better to offer, to be in touch with me.  Which he was, every year, roughly.  Until about three years ago when he, indeed, had something very different to offer.

And we have been connected, again and more consistently, ever since that time.

And so, there we were, yesterday morning, sitting in the sun just after 10 in the morning, telling each other what we have meant to each other over the years. Talking about what our connections are and always have been. Our mutual inspiration to/for/on each other. The love of the complexity of each others mind.

He said something to the extent that the experience with me, in contrast to what he had been experiencing at that time from other sources, made him realize and wonder when shaming someone is ever the answer to something.

I thought about that.

I think he's right.

It never is the answer to something, really.

How strange and beautiful that I can glean lesson from an insight someone gained as a product of my love. It makes me feel good. Proud? Humbled.

[I learned a lot about not bullying by being and hanging out with people who have been bullied in their homes; in the society at large.

Sometimes the judgey, shame-y thing seems so steeped in privilege. The holier than thou politic-os that seem more invested in patting themselves and each other on the back for their ideas, than in doing any real bridging of experiences and realities. Because to do so means that you *will* be wrong. You *will* "look ignorant". You *will* not have the answer.  But these are the things revolutions are made out of.  I remember Matthew talking with me about this.  About how bits of revolution exists within these types of struggles.  That these struggles *are* the revolution. It exists and builds within these types of reachings, collaborations, coalitions, and bridges.]

Love is, indeed, a transformative force.

For everyone involved in creating, tending to, and maintaining it.

Keep doing it (Love).


be well; be loved,


k.


(image via misanthropicmessiah tumblr)

Fellowship of Familiar

Just after 10 am, Sunday morning. I have already had a house guest, gotten coffee, ran into a friend, and ran into an ex that is one of two people who live in this city that I used to date who I am actually not on good terms with.


Quite a bit for pre-10 am on a Sunday, but, at least I'm waking up.

(An aside: Lately I've felt proud of being on good terms with the majority of my exes. Some people don't understand how this is possible.  I don't understand how it could not be.  The people I've dated are fucking AWESOME.)

***

I'm diving back into my studies today.  It will feel good. Nourishing.  If there is one thing I have never felt ashamed of, it is learning and attempting to better my understanding of the world. I prefer it to loud parties, by far, but it is also something that makes me feel engaged in life in a larger sense.  To learn by the words people have written and have it inform how you interact with life without it having to be at the expense of someone.  Not that reading replaces human interaction.  Of course not. But I do think it valuable to school yourself on shit before you open your mouth and start talking like you know some shit.

Read some histories. Some ideas. Some struggles. Some lives.

Then get out there and let it inform all of it.

(pause)

I have a new friend crush.  I'm determined to make him my friend.  He's smart, funny, and dresses like a Discord kid but is from Santiago, and not D.C.


More soon.

k.

(photo: rockbandinsidemyheart tumblr)

Quilted Comfort

I love that you treat me like precious cargo.  That you let me be gentle.  You let me let you know that I need someone looking out for me.

The coffee that you make me is good only because you make it.  Even when we are poor and have nothing but instant, it tastes divine because it has been stirred by your hands and perhaps a trick of using more or less water to make it taste better.

I know that you know that my family is a straw man to most people that I talk to. The stories I tell are the handful that I have.The people hearing them don't know that, but you do.

You taught me how to make a bath warmer.  You taught me how to stay warm in the winter time. You taught me most, though not all, of the uses of a hot water bottle.

You taught me patience. You taught me family. You taught me love. You taught me understanding. Flexibility. The complexity of feelings.  The complexity of truths.

You taught me that it is important to bring people *in*.  To make people feel welcome. To make them feel accepted.

You taught me to laugh when life gets too serious.  You taught me to reflect on what I am doing and what I have done. You have forever been encouraging me to see the future in right now.

You know that there are pieces of my story that are missing.  You are patient and careful and slow with these pieces of things. They have edges even I am not aware of.

You taught me humor in the kitchen. Humor on the couch. Humor in the car. You reminded me of how much I love road trips at night. Road trips to the ocean. Road trips to nowhere.

You prepare food intentionally. Slowly.  You taught me that it is something that creates relationships and communities. It's what holds them together. Nourishes them. If there is something to talk about, we can talk about it after dinner.  If there is something to laugh about, we can laugh about it in the kitchen and over dinner.

All of this is patchwork.  Clippings of things I have learned from the people I love.

Sometimes it serves as a beautiful reminder.  To reach inside my heart, and pull a handful of these truths from within it.  To admire them fanned out in front of me upon the floor- a spread of love-  before I tuck them back away in the center my heart for safe keeping.


k.

A song for you, tonight.

(photo: Junya Ishigami, Cuboid Balloon, 2012.)

Step By Step and the Next Thing You Know, You've Learned Some Shit.

It's been a beautiful morning.

Not many people talk a lot about how they love their jobs. Perhaps because so few are able to love their jobs.  Perhaps because they secretly do, but don't want to annoy the people who don't have such a situation.

I love my job as an interpreter.

What I've noticed is that, over the years I have been interpreting, I have never left a job and thought to myself "I hate this job! I need to/wish I could quit." Not a once.

Everyday it is different.

I get to be in situations I have never been in before. 

I love the way interpreting makes my brain feel.

I love the creativity involved in it, and I love being witness to the constant evolution involved in languages.

I get to see and hear things that, under usual circumstances, I would never see or hear,  which is directly related to my own privilege and power- both systemic and, in that moment, of being usually the only person in the room who can use both languages in spoken form.

If everyone who lives in my general area knew these languages, my job would become obsolete.

I hope for the day that this happens.

Because if it does, it will mean that everyone uses multiple and common languages.  It would mean that direct, person-to-person-without-a-middle-man communication would be happening.  It would hint toward the fall of the English-as-empire aka "speak English" violent crap that hurls (blatantly, or "politely") itself around and looks down on non-English languages.

As much as I love my job as an interpreter, I would be absolutely elated if the need for it ceased to exist.

(pause)

The at times overwhelming truth is that, if I did not know these two other languages besides English,  there are so many people that have heavily influenced and directed my life- as friends, mentors, and/or all-around influences- who would not exist in my life.

(I would like to say that they would be in my life to the extent they are now, but the basic and logistic truth of immediate access to language says that this wouldn't be true. Not to the depths that it is true right now. Depths that will continue to take root when one considers that I will always 'still be learning' languages I did not grow up with.) 

And it is impossible to imagine what my life would look like and consist of without the people who have been in and are in my life, and I'm just thinking of that today.

Being grateful for the stretch and reach across languages and cultures- the code switching that happens for everyone not using their/our native languages, but still stretch to it by a desire to communicate. Being grateful that people took the time while I learned/learn their languages, and while they learned mine- it never being an equal exchange because I live in the U.S. and was brought up with spoken English- a dominant language that gets imposed and prioritized.

I guess it is that reaching across languages and cultures that I am feeling humble for/about today.

Twelve years ago I thought myself ridiculous for trying to learn another language.

Five years ago I thought the same thing.

If you're thinking about learning another language, don't buy into this shit about children and uber brainiacs being the only ones who can learn multiple languages.

Because it's bullshit. 

And if you don't buy into the bullshit

and have the drive

and the humility to be okay making an ass out of yourself as you learn something (because there *is* no "faking it" with language learning, people...)

it will change your life

and the way your mind works

forever.



be well; be loved; keep falling in the good way
and more importantly,

keep standing up.


k.

(image credit: from fetusmuffins tumblr)