Okay so just to put it out there I’m actually a total troll (and a lusty one at that) and 2 am is sort of like our secret meeting spot where we discern on petty existential affairs and our favorite soups to drink, so here I am writing the What(sit) on the glitterblog. Because lifeish ways are begging for some sense of urgency from me (a revelation brought to me by internet astrologist Susan Miller/#astrodreamsdocometrue) I’ve shifted from prickly to pickled and have decided to write the ode before it festers itself outta me. To start, do you ever arrive at this incredible, heartwarming feeling that you are maybe—and you say this maybe sheepishly, because even you have to be modest to you—are this special conglomeration of all the stuff you want to be and think is significant and shapely and smart n all that? (and how suspiciously all these things begin with an ‘s’ but just bear with me please.) And surely you don’t go around thinking this all of the time, but how sweet is it when you get to perceive yourself in the dead light and, you know, you kind of like what you’re workin with—which has thankfully transgressed from the you of 2009 because god you said some lame things—but this persisting you, this ‘changing same’ vision of yourself that has a trained eye for interesting people and a damn good response timing (and even your own twisted idea of the perfect outfit), well, you could really see a [non-linear] future with this you. And my dear, dear patrons of the goat milk tragedies, this is a peek into why I’m dedicating a chapter in my blog to that which shatters and keeps you a bit strained with anxiety on both sides, each of which you failed to remember after all this feel-good, blank individual meets blank philosophical query meets blankity blankness.
Humor, or that which has no physicality to speak of, has made its insidious way into my messy consciousness and my even more distraught heart of hearts (i.e. some prefer to call it a conscience). And now there’s something about humor (or shall we call it the “humorization of cultural experience” and make it disgustingly anthro up in this biatch) that I am finding sooo irresistible. Like I’m not ready to go into this business about disrupting the reality of the nonindividual or somesuch mighty concept that places humor as its magic wand, but I will say that it’s allowing me to realise how I’m use to taking myself so seriously. That’s not a jab at my seriousness, and trust that I still think societal shit is serious. I’m mad as hell about cut funding for planned parenthood, about racist arrogance, about neo-imperialist leisure in ‘the developing world’, about not even craving to walk alone at night anymore, about explaining homophobia to homophobes, about lists of things that accumulate and lose their origins. So there’s that, and you can see how humor, being somehow both delicate and meaty in the same instance can really do a lot for me in this position. Something has to tell that person whose arrived at the exceptional hypothesis of themselves that they, too, are caught up in this ‘ol hybrid ‘”matrices of domination” and especially when they’re not looking (which is why we gotta keep talking! A dried up argument on loquaciousness next time…) and even when we are. As it’s conducted, humor tends to lighten things up and with the same air can keep us relatively tangled for periods long afterthefact. It dissipates, too. It's helping me to realize how much I like difference and how everything is going to be okay. It smirks at antithetical realisations like this one without hurting my feelings (remember this). How else are we to deal with all the –isms ists, essentializing bullshit and especially the lofty quest to name the Oppressor? I know I’m daring myself to get creative, not just slip the lousy banana under em. Is it fair to call it a coping mechanism? Generally this comes in handy around relatives and when someone you’re finding attractive says some problematic yikes-town stuff. “I’m not really calling you that, just suggesting you’re doing it—Ha-ha.” So god dammit, at least some of our self-respect seeps through. (And to clarify, we still take to the streets, have the protests, blog about it, cultivate la revolucion, et cetera et cetera.)
So you see if I was really that awe-inspiring individual described above, then I would probably not have uttered humor the word itself and just threaded its potent, non-identical metaphysics throughout the piece, channelled through coarse, garden-variety English (but woulda takin it to all sorts of fluffscure dimensions—duh) but really I’m just not that impressive. But do tell me: how is it getting to watch me grow up n all? #precocioustwenties.
