Category Archives: Uncategorized
Coming home for the summer, walking down the bridge to my senior year of college, and being incessantly bored, stressed, and overwhelmed all at once. It feels that this topic has weighed on my for years and won’t leave.
Before reading this: Don’t patronize me about this topic. In return, I won’t patronize you for talking about your daddy issues.
I spent hours looking through endless activist posts about LGBTQA+ people and I stumbled upon one that included that polyamory flag. (see above) This flag is not a well known symbol of practicing ethical non-monogamists. Honestly, most people who practice non-monogamy ethically or not tend to be quiet about it. It isn’t like being gay or straight, or anything in between. It isn’t like being transgender, its like being a monster.
Polyamory is often grouped into a fetishistic place similarly to bisexuality. It’s not considered a sexual, romantic, or gender identity that sets you apart and simultaneously groups you with other queers or straights cisgender people. But instead, it leaves you out in a weird waiting room, alone. I feel I’m in a glass box with tinted windows. I can see out perfectly, but when others look inside they just see a dark figure looming in a corner, not a human with so much love to give.
I could yell and scream for help from the inside of the box, but the people looking in at my tinted darkness see a raging beast of uncontrolled desires. And then it seems to make sense to them why I’m here in this box where I’m hidden from the mono-sexual normative world, because I’m a freak. Humans practice mono-sexual relationships because you only need one love.
“one love, one life,” etc.
Then it comes down to needs. “I only need you. I only want you. I ONLY SEE YOU.” all of these SINGULAR ideas. No duplicity. No multiplicity. Forget more than one, there are none but one. And having anymore is simply problematic.
Because monogamy is simple isn’t? or is it? The whole point of it is for you to some how find your single soulmate in a world of billions of people. Meanwhile, the average person only has physical access to less than millions in your area, fewer if you’re on a tiny island somewhere or an isolated rural town. And if you only have one soulmate and you can’t find them, whats the point?
Some people scoff, and say “How could I let my partner see other people? I’m way too jealous and in love to allow that!” and similar ideas. That’s fine. I mean, if you know yourself well enough to know that more than one partner makes you feel unstable and bad, then don’t have multiple partners. But to tell me that people any where should only have one partner and that its disgusting, ridiculous, overly complex, and immoral to have more than one partner, is pretty hypocritical. I’ll respect you for having one partner, because your happiness, sexuality, and interest in a romantic partner is NONE OF MY FUCKING BUSINESS.
I don’t feel jealousy like others feel. I don’t own my partners. I don’t own anyone. The point of polyamory is to be free. And happiness is found in the ability to love — in whatever way that may be: sexually, romantically, both, neither, etc. — for everyone, to everyone, by everyone.
But the word mono-sexuality is only known to even a select group of people who are even aware there are other options that just one partner at a time. A lot of people get things confused with serial monogamy, and polygamy, and polyandry, which aren’t the same ideas. These ideas don’t cater to the core meaning of polyamory which is freedom for everyone. Of course every relationship has rules to help respect and love each other, but they are on the terms of EVERYONE involved and not just the person in control or “wearing the pants” in the relationship.
This idea of the relationship not just having more than one person, but also being on the terms of EVERYONE and not just the traditional dominant lead male role or the nagging submissive female role blows everyone mind. That a relationship of more than one person is about equality and consent of everyone.
So that’s why most practicing non-monogamist stay quiet.
I haven’t been quiet like everyone else, and I seem to be losing more friends and likability over it.
Maybe I have to be quiet now, and I’ll find a new way to communicate these ideas. But to everyone who is so afraid of polyamory. If you don’t like it, don’t do it. If you don’t like cake, don’t eat it. But don’t hate everyone else because they had their cake, and they ate it too.
I wondered to my piano sitting up against the deep ocean blue wall where I broke it setting it there. I found myself composing, but then stopping and not liking a single note or style that I played. So I played old songs from high school and before. My oldest songs. I found them so utterly depressing I cried.
I’ve struggled with a number of puzzles, and I know now that everyone sees the world through different eyes so certain puzzles are easier for some people to figure out than others.
But teasing out this mystery, the one where we plan out our lives isn’t a simple science, and constantly finding only the easiest path is setting yourself up for a way that is building a circle around yourself.
It won’t expand out.
Building a little protective circle is a bubble. An echochamber. Safe Space.
Exploring and expanding out beyond what you predicted your limits. Where you start to put puzzle pieces down and build the bits into a picture.
Everyone starts somewhere. It gives you the first couple pieces, the ones that you can see clearly, but you’ve grown so used to seeing them around you they are no longer seen as puzzle pieces of but reality attached to your personality. Things you cannot rebuild or eliminate. They are alterable, but sometimes, never replaceable.
Then out beyond lies the shapes that aren’t familiar, drifting around you advertizing parts of itself, paths that lead to infinite other paths. Each is ethereal and some more unpredictable than others. Picking them is difficult, because uncertainty is scary. It is a feeling that people try to avoid daily in conversation and action.
But because of instability, uncertainty never scared me. Like others, whose foundations were set in family values, mine was set in unstable ground, walking on egg shells over a glass surface forever. What I saw was always unpredictable and unstable, so looking out on the world of mystery, I found more joy where they found plethoras of fear.
I stepped out, alone, with a support system that I created with a foundation of sand. Slippery and changing with every movement.
Others stepped out, but instead of looking forward they looked back. They saw that stability behind them and then in front of them the clouded mist of decisions to be made a lone. And instead of knowing that they would always be alone anyways, they hid in the things that had previously known. Afraid to be truly alone. Afraid to know the truth. To step out of the cave, the light blinding them and cowering in pain behind their hands shielding themselves from the barrage of truth and mystery.
Backwards into the dark comfort of womb-like existence. Back to stability.
There was no going back for me. No place left. There never was stability to begin with, and returning to chaos where I was not in control of anything was more terrifying than creating a world for myself that I could control at least three aspects of. My choices, my body, and my mind.
My puzzle was simple, to solve it I had to leave the box and create my own.
For others, maybe their puzzle is like mine, but they can’t bring themselves to leave.
Or maybe I can’t see their escape from the outside. Only they can see it from the inside. And they are staring at it, eye agape, mouth wide, and ears bleeding. But they are immobilized by fear of the unknown. The unstable outside.
But it’s ok to come out.
1. While running around during the day or sitting idly at night, waiting for things; planes trains and automobiles, and during times I want to escape I have these vignettes that play in my head. Sometimes they get very complicated, going into extreme detail about the manner of my life’s course, career, hair style, particular characters with many idiosyncrasies.
Recently, I had a funny one about myself as a stand up comedian. For me, as a failed aspiring actor, model, singer, dancer, performer of every type, I like to think of this as another failed pipe dream I’ll never be good enough at regardless if I pursue and practice it with some flavor of natural talent. This particular vignette was the comedic act itself, not the process of my life getting to that point. So some of my jokes had to do with self deprecation of course, as every comedian should learn to do first, better to make fun of yourself than to be made fun of by others and not be able to take it, no matter the true or untrue allegations made.
“Being a blonde, dyslexic, woman, I shouldn’t be taken seriously. My brain is too wrapped up in a mess to be trustworthy.”
I can’t remember the exact idea I was talking about in this particular speech, but it definitely had to do with my appearance and how ironic it is.
2.A lot of my friends that have known me a long time are very hyper aware of my appearance and they make it very clear to me how they think I look and what that opinion means to them. Positive or negatively meant, I usually get “Barbie Body” comments, “You’re a fucking twig, eat something”, “Everything fits you/ everything looks good on you, I’m so jealous”, and stuff like: “I wish I could pull that off, you’re so confident.” Now, don’t take these things to mean I don’t know how to take a compliment, but at the same time, most of these compliments risk the integral identity of the comment givers. They make it seem like I shouldn’t be allowed to be this way, because they can’t, or won’t, or any other incapability. I don’t want to be complemented at the sacrifice of someone else’s beauty that is in a place so far from comparative to mine, in a place where we are actually equally and so differently beautiful. No need to bash barbie for looking a certain way, simply address the real problem, that all beauty is equal, different, and uniquely amazing.
One thing that gets me everytime is the “eat something” comment. I had an eating disorder for a long time and didn’t weigh more than 110 for most of my highschool career. Now, after leaving home and eating by myself with no one around me that knew of my eating disorder I could eat perfectly fine like a normal person. Or as my partner would say, twice the normal person. Coming back home this Winter 2016 break, everyone is picking on me about my eating habits. “Oh, you’re not gonna finish that I’ll take it”, assuming that I’m not going to eat something on my plate and taking it before I could even respond. Constantly having my eating habits picked at and scrutinized is rude, regardless if I have an eating disorder or not.
- How I live now
- Good Fellows
- Taxi Driver
- Hurt Locker
- Sun Shine Cleaning
- Decoy Bride
- Blue is the Warmest Color
- Soylent Green
- Ultra Violet
- Water world
- Day Breakers
- 20 years after
- The Host
- Settle my belief disputes
- Process the year of my life torn in different parts
- familial love
- How to function in my room again
- See people I love –
- Who matters ?
- When reality settles in will I be ok?
- How will I cope with being away from him?
- Can I understand my closeness?
And then it dawned on me;
our conversations are shallow our voices loud and confident.
Our intellect in comparison nothing and more base than we thought.
Where did we stop progressing? Where did we stop becoming better and getting smarter? Wasn’t our arrival here supposed to spur a new life of learning and thrust us into a world of inspiration?
We tackle problems without resolve. We argue and research but bring no final answers. We find proof and we find disproof. We still know nothing.
Weren’t we supposed to surpass these things?
Finality seems to exist somewhere else, somewhere we will be someday, like it did when we were younger and adulthood seemed like a fantasy.
What if we pretended we had never kissed before
and we just stared into each others eyes and then glanced down at each others lips
embarrassed and hidden smiles into the crook of your neck.
My stomach a knot of nervous excitement,
you trembling slightly like you’ve never done this before.
We would intertwine our hands, feeling the valley’s of each others knuckles and wrists.
I wonder what our first kiss would have looked like if it was in day light,
did I make a face at the odd way our mouths were introduced to each other?
Did you smile? I can’t remember. I think we looked away.
I remember how soft your sweater was and how it made it easier to touch you
because it was cold and I had never really been with someone like you,
My Seattle boy, with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes,
With the shaky hands and the reassuring smile,
that I never imagined could end up so frequently crossing my mind,
until I started writing about the corner of Madison and 6th,
In the middle of the city in all its tall, metal, shine.
Until I started to remember our first kiss
and how you still don’t know what I mean when I say “kiss me.”
Now I know why it’s on my mind all the time,
and my heart drops a little,
but I know that it only falls for you.
Although my blog is named Sincere Diversity, I’ve never really written about my thoughts on it.
When I think about diversity, I dont always think about race, ethnicity, gender, religion, sexuality, or blood type…. I think about what makes humans different as people.
Here is a short list that separates me from a lot of other people my age:
- When I go to the beach, I don’t lay in the sun, I lay under my ornate colorful umbrella and wear silly glasses and a rainbow bathing suit.
- A flower crown is a necessary accessory for traveling.
- I take a blue crayon every where I go. (pronounced cran (rhymes with fan), because I’m weird.)
- I don’t like listening to hip hop for a long time, it grates on me.
- I collect small pieces of paper and put them together for my memory books. Most of them seem really random.
- I don’t believe people can exist happily without creating something that pertains to art.
- I love cemeteries and I am very comfortable with death
People who are different in personality, preference, style, and speech are the people that diversify us as humans. These are the things I fall in love with.
- The small reactions people make to specific actions
- Their way of being sneaky
- How ticklish they are
- What amuses them
- Small things that make them so happy
- Pet peeves
- How they sleep
- What makes them comfortable
- What makes them feel sad
- What reminds them of bad things
- What things they wish to not discuss
- What things they could discuss all day
- Whether they like being feminine or masculine more often then the other
- Who influence(d/es) them
- What is their favorite music to rock out too
- How often do they shower
- What’s in their wallet or purse
- What they can’t leave the house/dorm/apartment/basement without
- What keeps them up at night.
These are the things I love about people. I fall in love with their perspectives of things and their face. Their souls. Their humor and mannerisms.
But then, I fall in love with the things I learn to expect from them. The things that make me laugh. The irony of them. The things I know I will always laugh with or smile at.
Then I come to adore how our quirks rub up on each other. How something I hate doing makes them so happy, because I do it for them, because I love them. Or things I like doing makes them cringe and shy away.
v: It’s a never ending story,
My lipstick tastes like strawberry and your mouth tastes like fireball whiskey,
It seems like this night goes on forever
Even as the memory fades I wish you had never left that place
C: Sleep on the floor, I’ll come curl near the door, open up your window, I’ll crawl through quiet as a rat
Come quiet, don’t let me scream, I’ll just hold on with all my might to the pile of wood in front of me.
v2: It’s a never ending story
and I cant explain why I relate this way, maybe I’m much more than you thought I was
The time lines goes not from start to finish but from start to close,
but the curtains don’t close on a mental show because we just
C: Take off our clothes, I’ll forget what I know: you told me not to do it anymore.
Come quiet, don’t let me scream, I’ll just hold on with all my might to the wreckage of our love’s first flight.
v3: Its never after story, I’ll read Greek to the kids at night while you recite that hip-hop crap you know.
I’ll pull all nighters rarely, and when I do it’ll be late date nights with you
C: Where we take off our clothes, become vulnerable, my masks all strewn about the place,
Keep peace in our hearts and forget when when we had something else on our minds.
It’s never ending story,
You better accept me for who I am, which is a fucking psycho.
The lost art of really listening to people. The secret to it is we communicated with our bodies. Open stances or closed stances, fiddling and looking away, shifting glances, wild gestures or uncomfortable arm crossing. The saying “Actions speak louder than words” is a lot of the time true. That’s why reading body language helps tell us when we are being lied to or how people really feel versus what they are saying. A good listener can see these things. A true listener can start to understand someone better by these things. Seeing how a person responds physically can communicate their insecurities and their confidences, the things they like and dislike, and also whether they are extremely selfish or are relaxed and loving. Someone who really listens can see right through people.
Then sometimes silence (or the lack of action) speaks louder than words. Whether that inaction is someone saying one thing and doing another or being completely passive and not communicating at all.
That’s why I wrote a song called “Silence is death”
I wrote this because the lack of communication is a huge scream in itself. Crying silently, suffering in silence, sighing silently. It’s all a way of showing a burden, communicating pain or indifference. Especially indifference. “The silent treatment” is a way to communicate my pain that doesn’t need words to describe it. Everyone knows what it is. Everyone understands why. It’s because sometimes the amount of weight I’m carrying inside me is boiling under my skin and its turning my eyes red and soggy, its breaking me so much I can’t even speak. Sometimes the silence is necessary because I’m screaming so loud on the inside I can’t bear to speak anymore. Or maybe its the opposite, maybe it’s because the world and people around me are so loud I can’t handle the noise anymore so I stopped trying and shut down. Maybe I’m too tired of this sick mess to speak anymore. Words fall short of the things I want to say.
This is why people say things like this:
“If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so that it can hold evermore wonders.”
― Andrew Harvey
Sometimes its really hard to be bursting at the seems like this always. I take a chill pill and reseed into a happy numbness, which sometimes solves the problems and I start to see that I don’t have to hate and hurt from all the noise around me and inside me. I can let it out and in and breathe and be one with it or separate my self from it. Nothing is permanent. But I do wear my anger on my heart and not on my skin. I wear it on the inside where it festers and starts to boil again and I start my silence.
There’s a difference between serenity and being numb.
Communicating like this isn’t all there is though. Sometimes small talk and social interaction in the trivial pursuits can be a fueling ground for socialites or a draining all-consuming pit of terror. Sometimes I love to gossip and joke with my friends, and other times it tears me apart inside to hear idiotic and pointless words. I get so upset I give a silent tantrum and stop speaking to people.
‘Cause I’ve seen more spine on jellyfish
I’ve seen more guts in eleven year old kids
Have another drink and drive yourself home
I hope there’s ice on all the roads
And you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt
And again when your head goes through the windshield
Is that what you call tact?
You’re as subtle as a brick
In the small of my back
So let’s end this call and end this conversation