Filter of Philtre

Half awake after being up at 4:30 am this morning to get to work.  My deep respect to everyone who is up and en route to work at this hour.

I'm currently sitting at a cafeteria table that is smudged with greasy fingerprints, but was the cleanest of the lot. I've just finished something that resembles macaroni and cheese. 

I'm thinking about how I will always join with the people who don't fit in. It's not a defiant teenager thing- it's just something that I picked up while growing up:  People who are left out or rejected from society for reasons of language, disability, looks, job, lifestyle, weight, religion and lack there of, speech impediment, skin condition, social ineptness, gender expression, point on the Autism Spectrum, family, gait of walking, or any other number of reasons under the sun will always be in my little army. They are the people you can learn the most from. They are the people who have insight to shit that will blow your mind open.

I get all warm and gushy when I think of how the one thing I can be certain of with my friends is that - no matter how different they are from each other- they will always accept each other on a certain level. I like and value this about my friends. Somehow we all know what it is like to be outside of things- even if it is for very different reasons. It's nice to know that no matter who I introduce a new friend to, I will be introducing them to a home that will accept them in their entirety and just as they are upon introduction.

I love them. 

My friends.

I love my friends. 

Such an obvious thing to say, but something worth saying every day. 



be well; be loved,

k.


(image: via whitewit.ch tumblr. It may or may not be from The Windsor Magazine, 1902)

Gentlemen, Turn Out Your Pockets; Ladies, Empty Your Purses: Three Bits of Life as of Late

I.

Today, this September 7th of 2016, was part of something larger that I can't quite articulate.  Do you ever have something that, for years, you feel you'll never be able to let go of and then, one day, while multitasking, you simply let it all fall to the floor and wash away with the rain?

I'm being too sloppily poetic, here.

Let me just say that an event from almost four years ago has been finally put to rest in its understanding and function.  The casket is closed, and the spirits have been raised.

It feels good yet strangely uneventful.

II.

Here's what I know is true as of late. And by late, here, I mean the better part of this entire year thus far:


If you are a person who puts too much stock in riding the coattails of another
If you are a person who needs to be around someone all of the time
If you are a person who is perpetually trying to "save" the nearest shit show you call a friend (or a date, as the case may be)
If you are abusive or unpredictable in the bad way


I will more than likely not be interested in being around you
or investing in a friendship with you.

It is boring.
It is codependent.
It is invasive.
It is utterly uninteresting.


[I am in love with being in this space.  Thank you to people like TS Madison and a duo who will remain nameless who know what it's like to work to become who you are in life - or to even get the chance to.]

III.

As an important aside:

Neurodiversity is a thing, folks.

Just because *you* don't mind applause and small talk doesn't mean that everyone is into it.  Just because you can go on trips with groups of people and want to be around them from sun up until sun down doesn't mean everyone can.  Just because you think someone is rude or too direct doesn't mean that what they're saying isn't 100% on point.

[Also: If people need alone time or a quiet room and you take that personally, you're just a neurotypical asshole.]


be well; be loved,



k.

P.S. I still can't get over how bizarre but interesting but wonderful life is.  I like that my life is one that involves one of my best friends being witness to a living puppet possibly telling me off.  (Fair enough, I say.)

(image via amortentia tumblr)
(title: a quote from the movie Clue)

We'll Never Be Those Kids Again

Today was set aside for total indulgence.

Productivity, yes, but indulgent productivity.

The day is not over.

In fact, the night has just begun.

(pause)

This afternoon, in the sun, I recalled why and how music is so important to me and how it can create the perfect moments:

Frank Ocean's new album;  the sun on my legs.


k.

(Image: Felix Gonzalez-Torres, “Untitled”, 1992/1993, Print on paper, endless copies 8 in. at ideal height x 48 ¼ x 33 ¼ in. (original paper size) via Sunwouldshine Tumblr)
(title: lyrics from the song Ivy by Frank Ocean)

Bodies That Live

Taking a break from studying.

Here's the thing:  This course has taught me that I am a smart ass armchair scientist. Reading all of these studies makes me suspicious of things they didn't control for in order to factor out.  For example, I just finished reading three studies having to do with menopause where cis women were studied longitudinally to see if menopause and its supposed symptoms were universal.  Turns out, it's not, and varies quite a bit both from what societal myths say and among ethnic and cultural groups.  So, for an example, Japanese American women in the study reported the lowest rate of hot flashes during pre, early peri, late peri and post menopause points in life.  In the same study, Caucasian women reported the highest rate of irritability across all four of the points studied.  And when I saw this, I was like, well, yeah, probably because the majority of cis white women have been around heterosexual cis white men most of their lives since birth and most of those dudes are annoying as fuck: No surprise after 44-55 years of that shit they have had it.

Needless to say: Scientific study is not exactly my field, but I'm enjoying all that I am learning nonetheless. It's been a challenge- and an exciting one- to back up and learn (or relearn or unlearn as the case may be) all of the information about hormones and bodies and cells and intersexuality and all of these things that start to get at the root of the human body and systems of oppression all within a medical industrial complex built in a gross and shit-tastic capitalist system.

That's all I've got for right now. I need to get back to these readings. It's been a fulfilling and long day.  It feels good to be loved and supported: By magic, by knowledge, by loved ones, and by the nighttime that is about to fall upon us.

sweet dreams and sweet studies: whatever and of whomever they may be.


k.

(image: whitewit.ch tumblr)

Alchemy at its Best

Things have been witchy-er than usual as of late.  There has been the correct balance of solitude, study, adventure, and energies of all sorts.  Incense and candles. Premonition and dreams.

I've been meditating on magick as of late.   There is a passage in the book that I am currently reading, one that is written by a neurosurgeon, that has to do with the magick of connection. The passage describes the moment when you cross paths with a stranger, look into their eyes, and momentarily connect.  See into each other.   How that split moment is something very different than vacant eyes meeting at the same time.  It is different than the overplayed narrative of love at first sight.  It describes, simply, the moments in life when you and another person catch a glimpse of each other's existence in a way that stops everything else.  It could be in an elevator. It could be walking by each other on our ways to somewhere else.  But feeling is different from a vacancy or preoccupation.  It is a type of joint, momentary presence.

In any case, I've been thinking on this for a few reasons that have surfaced in my life. Mainly, fascinating ways that people have stepped into my life. So much chance is involved. Who, where, when. I think often of the importance of being open to the magick that surrounds us all.  Those invisible threads, yet again.

My recent favorite involved a stranger in make up and a tuxedo who ran his hand along my jawline without words. Who poured and lifted a glass of water to my lips without words.  Who took my hand to dance with me without words. We communicated only with body language.  Three hours later, as we were looking at each other from across the room and I went to leave, he glided past everyone to speak his first words.

Another recent favorite would be the woman who asked me what I was reading and, the next thing you know, we are having an incredible conversation about theater.  She leaves and then comes back 20 minutes later with a copy of a play that she wants me to read ~ only for us to discover a few days later that that exact play will be performed locally in a matter of weeks unbeknownst to either of us.

Like magick.

If you pay attention, it is everywhere.

It is how a loved person I have not seen in years is, by chance, in the same place I am in Philadelphia (dressed as a priest no less) and slips up behind me until I feel him, and turn around.

Magick.

Look around you.  Do the rituals you must do to be open to what surrounds you but, remember: This magick is something much larger than a slight of hand.  It is true; it is celestial. When it pulls you close, let yourself become a part of it. 


Alchemy at its best.



be well; be loved,

k.

P.S. Let me put my book of matches down for a moment and show appreciation for everyone who is off of the mainstream path.  Here I am thinking of the weirdos and artists and inventors and hustlers whom I love.  Photo from whitewit.ch tumblr

The Cutlery of Theives; The Familiarity of Covens

Last night was black thin thigh high cable knit socks and high contrasting stilettos. It was a black tulle and mesh and silk lining skirt. It was 2 am in a wooded, secluded part along the water.  It was park bench. It was being given head (heels crossed upon a soft back lit only by the moon) while night boats glided by a few yards from our vantage point.

It was watching the water side by side- conversations of our lives, our worlds, our languages, our cultures. It was musings on magic, performance, and smoking all threaded within the unconcerned, long-time-friend-like quality that instantly occurs

when two bad kids unite for a while.


k.

(image: "Fuego por ella" Magdalena Frackowiak photographed by Daniele Cavalli for Vogue Spain February 2016via giampixxx 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)

Cross Cultural Discussion of Eyebrow Make Up Application, or, The Chills Down My Spine

Eyes tired from adventure and necessity.

The past week has been strangers and friends and strangers you meet, on purpose, at night.

I haven't been writing much.

Sometimes the stories I live are so vast and bizarre that even I have a hard time believing them.

But in their truth, they take time to dissolve, digest, understand, enjoy.

This time around they involve magicians and mimes and Draculas and gay organists (redundant) and education administrators and no less than five languages and dancing with a person in a tuxedo whose name I do not know and speeding to get to a destination by 2 AM and beautiful views of the city and bites upon my neck (not the kind that leave gross marks) and a charming doppelgänger of Mikhail Baryshnikov who drinks apple-tinis and orders them as if he is stating a fact. 

Life is huge. 

On multiple levels and for a thousand reasons political and enjoyable: 


Step outside of what you know.  



be well; be loved,


k.


(image: Mikhail Baryshnikov)

One Hand Loves the Other

The sun is glaring through my window, illuminating me and the pile of note cards that surround me with things like ANDROGEN INSENSITIVITY SYNDROME and BIPOTENTIAL STRUCTURES PRESENT AT EACH STAGE scribbled across them. My elbow rests on a page from the American Journal of Human Biology to reach my keyboard.

I'm taking a break from studying to write...something...and to take care of the cherry pits that are scattered around my books and cup of coffee upon the table.

These days have been so happy.
Fulfilled.
Strange.
Connected and solitary all at once.

Beautiful.


The family I have created is a strong one.

The visions that I have are strong ones.

Let's get to all of it.


(Imagine the most emotion pulling film score, here. Full of trumpets and violins; crescendos and elation.)


Back to the books and The Case of the Missing Androgen Receptor,


k.

Listen to An Echo a Stain.

(title credit: A lyric from Bjork's song Unison, off the album Verpertine)
(image: I fucked up, here. It's from Tumblr. I'm not sure where it's from, but upon investigating, it looks like it originates from Stephane Rolland Haute Couture)