Homes of Whimsy

Liminal space. Between day and night, I sit on a great rock, one of a pile put here to keep the tide out and small children in. the light races the sun to the horizon in wild swaths of yellow and pink, the blue veil of night just behind in silent chase. The clouds that float above and within the fray reflect all that they see, water table communities dancing, showing the world a glimmer of something ‘more.’

I am a part of that 'more,' I'm finding more and more recently. Separate, though not the cold, untouchable, museum kind of way. But in a dancing starlight, firefly in a field kind of way, knowing I've got one foot here and one there, caught between two worlds much like time in this receding twilight.

I was called 'bizarrely fascinating' today by a woman I find amusingly attractive. She'd watched from her car as I raced along a curb, trying to see how fast I could go without losing my balance, all before ducking under a tree to take the grassy, pine needley shortcut. As she put it, I "just didn't care."

I've been called bizarre before. I've been called fascinating. And I've even been called both a time or two, but it's rare that someone says that I don't care. It's happened twice now in as many months, and both times it was an outsider’s perspective of my reflection of simply being. It's not that I don't care. I simply care differently.

It occurred to me rather sadly that the world has lost the necessity of whimsy. The absolute requirement of existence the shove aside custom and pretense and expectation (read 'prejudice') and be willing to accept the ridiculous and fanciful as being. We have it as children, with our faerie tales and our knights and their dragons and pirate journeys in cardboard boxes. Yet somewhere along the road we let them drop away, these fancy, fanciful things. Not all of them, mind you, for they can cling to us tenaciously, drawing our eyes and hearts to these tales and treasures in the form of movies and books. Yet still do we succumb only a moment, letting fancy pass as amusement.

I cannot exist thus. I never allowed the fanciful to drop away. On the contrary I swept up these fancy friends and kept them to me in pockets and bags and song and verse, desperate not to let a single sparkling one escape my notice. I am not always successful, but what fun it has been! And discovering new ones, new moments of wonder, little glimpses of prose and color, alive and dancing.

I see now that so many of these children swirl and spiral on the winds. They are homeless, orphaned. Is it any wonder they cling to one such as me? Like cats, the whimsy eat well and live loved in my care.

The edges of the liminal fade as blue waters flow to black in the coming night. The waves crash upon the rocks below me, white foam waving goodbye as I climb back down and return home, the Moon growing stronger, showing more of her wondrous face with each day, keeping the stars company.

Moving, and other nonsensicals

It’s been a bit, but it’s been a BUSY bit…

So, I moved. It went a lot smoother than it could have, but I have come to the point in my life where I will simply have to hire movers. Between the books and the piano, I’m not doing this again myself. Grant you it was a lovely day spent with my mom and my brother-in-law and my aunt and my cousin, cracking jokes and having a rather grand time between carrying crap-loads of stuff, this will be the last time I move myself.

Speaking of which, can I just say PIANO!!! I’ve been playing for about four weeks now regularly, and I’m getting good again. It’s an electric masterpiece, 88 keys, and it has sound-changing features that are too much fun to play with. Makes me SO incredibly happy!! Thanks, Mom!

I’ve also started painting regularly again. My walls are WHITE, staunch, stark, YOWZA white, and it makes me a little weak in the knees to look at how naked they are, so I’ve started creating work to hang. It’s going REALLY well, and I’m finding some interesting things popping up to be painted in colors I normally wouldn’t use. Give me 6 months and this place is going to be dancing off the walls.

Speaking of dancing, my living room is big enough to dance in. It’s also big enough to practice poi spinning in. I love this place. Can you tell?

And honestly, what I love is living alone. I was hesitant at first, being me and being afraid of being alone and forgotten, but in all seriousness, I fucking LOVE this. It’s less about responsibility and more about expression and self-revelation and being able to let loose and not give a crap because it s MY SPACE. I love people, I love being with people, and I love living with people, but it’s so nice to have my own space where I’m able to chill out and not feel cut off or shoved away.

I also live right down the street from Dominick’s, which means shopping is a challenge. I don’t like shopping at Dominick’s because they are expensive compared to Jewel which is about a mile down the road, but it has REALLY nice produce and their organic stuff is nothing to sneeze at and it’s 200 feet from my door. I can’t argue well against it. Although I did bike to Aldi’s then to Jewel and back home with almost a months’ worth of food about two weeks ago, which was very fun. Also being alone lets me eat exactly what I want, no more no less, and I’ve managed to lose almost 10 pounds already! Huzzah! 10 more and I’ll be set for July. What’s in July, you ask? More on that later.

All in all, life is good right now. I’m comfortable in a way I haven't been really ever, and I’m meeting my main goal without even trying: letting go the mask of reflection. Not entirely, mind you, because it has its uses, but for most of my life, I’ve felt like I was a mirror of all I see, reflecting back what I thought people wanted by mimicking and absorbing (to a point) who they were and showing them that image played back a la personal improv. It worked for a while, but I started noticing the difference between the mask and me. The more I noticed, the more the mask slipped or malfunctioned, leading to profound social awkwardness and leaving me not knowing what to do because I so rarely flew solo.

Now I’m finding that not only do I leave the mask at the door, I don’t always bring it with me. I have whole days outside my own little world where the mask comes up rarely, leaving me exposed. I do feel exposed much of that time, but not in the shameful, ‘I need to cover up’ kind of way, but in the ‘Here I am, world, worship my awesomeness!’ kind of way. Or something like that. Perhaps not the worship, though there are moments when I truly am worthy of it. And that understanding of self-worth is cropping up now as well, which is both new and exciting. It’s hard not to celebrate yourself when you hardly thought you were worth much and you come to find out, “Wow, I’m kind of a big deal.”

But anyway, I just came in from a walk and I have a second post to put up. It’s the result of Orion Foxwood and a beach walk sonnet, so prepare for Whimsy…..

Carrie under crass

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually think this semi-nude photo thing for Carrie Prejean is a positive development. If nothing else, it has the power to inspire empathy on her part for being attacked publicly for a conscious display of sexuality. Now she knows what it is like to have her own sexuality attacked simply for existing. She knew it was against the rules of the pageant, so she hid it. Now she understands what LGBT individuals go through with their own families, with friends, with society at large when they come out every single day. Some hide it, knowing what consequences there might be, much like Carrie did when she hid the existence of these photos, but others don’t. We step into the world, and we come out as being who we are each and every day, fully aware of possible consequence.

Personally, this nudity stigma that the has been hammered into current thinking like an ice pick is unnecessary anyway. I think the image of Carrie Prejean, aside from the pink, is quite lovely, and in different context could be seen as almost artful.

Needs better lighting, though...