Thou Shalt Not Squeal

I’ve been dabbling a bit in unseemly pools, and I’ve not been forthcoming about it. My sister knows, as do three of my girlfriends, but that’s it. It’s as though I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’m…human.

My very sweet aunt is still around and hopefully leaving soon, having used up what should have been the awesome part of being alone, that nourishing half Paul Johannes Tillich affectionately dubbed solitude. Its shadow aspect, loneliness, recently offered itself as a replacement. My sister lives in Hawaii and regularly finds herself overwhelmed by circumstance and declares herself unavailable to me. Luke has been working on outside projects more than ever before, and we can’t even go out to eat anymore since my doctor put me on a special diet for 26 food sensitivities. In fact, because of that, I eat every meal at home, where my mom is either preoccupied or absent altogether, spending her spare time cooking and delivering meals to my grandma, who hardly puts a bite to her lips now that she is withering away in a nursing home.

“Why should I eat?” she asked, gobbling up her Thanksgiving dinner for the novelty of it, I assume. It’s not the usual beans and tortillas fare. It’s creamier. “I can’t even walk. I want to die.”

She somehow put her sad right hand to her head, that same hand which has steadily lost coordination, and she then burst into tears. Before they had dried, she revisited a conversation we’ve had hundreds of times. Perhaps thousands, thanks to dementia.

“You married, mi hija?

“No.”

“You not with Luke?”

“No.”

“Oh, you not in LOVE with him. You don’t have a boyfriend, mi hija?”

“No.”

But this time she threw in something extra special:

“Why not?”

“Because the boy I love doesn’t love me.”

Thus my greatest disappointment was revealed from behind a curtain to her new roommate at the rehab center.

Grandma doesn’t understand. In her world, her “so pretty” granddaughter should have no trouble snagging a suitable beau. Frankly, I don’t understand either. I haven’t had one in 9 years. I am rarely intrigued by anyone, and those few times I’ve turned my head, it’s blown up in my face, each more horribly than the last.

It’s been this way for so long that sometimes I think my eggs will simply go to waste, and I will have to take extra care to prevent the development of all of those diseases you get from not having children. Maybe I have some kind of genetic mutation that evolution needs kept out of circulation. It’s sad to think that I will not pass on these quips, hips, and lips, particularly when so many less endowed specimens have enjoyed the privilege of replication. I try not to think these thoughts, and although I haven’t mastered them, they are no longer my master.

That said, I am torn. Visualize one fabulously shoed foot in wealth, the other in love. Then further imagine my hands in Twister-esque play, one in health uncomfortably reaching to the left, the other in perfect self-expression, stretching back far behind my legs. It’s precarious. It’s the perfect recipe. For falling.

Something unexpected has caught my attention. And I’m not sure it should have.

My Wisdom of Avalon cards seemed certain enough, though, and who am I to doubt the wisdom of Avalon? These are the moments I wish Sarah Negahdari had enough time to befriend a tiny girl like me; she is the only other person I’ve met who owns this deck.

So I beat on, a boat against the current, Fitzgerald rules, yadda yadda, but I just have to do this. Sure, I’ve gone completely fairytale on you, but here’s a reminder: I’ve got everything to lose or everything to gain. 50/50.

It’s hard for me to be composed. I want to squeal. I want to cry. I want to explode. But I can’t lapse into emotional displays without missing what is really happening.

The part of me that dismisses my existence as my mother’s terrible mistake is at war with the nobler facet that admires my genius. Am I just an ugly, abused, untalented piece of crap with a possible DNA abnormality that my suitors can taste when they kiss me? Or has no one yet been able to handle my most magical incandescence? Have I been reserved for a most discriminating connoisseur? I’m a lot to say yes to, I realize.

I’m putting every effort into remaining calm. And daring. Indeed, I will be the boldest I’ve ever been, holding my favorite supergoddess Björk very close because, after all, it takes courage to enjoy it. Erica Jong knows that, too.

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it.... It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more. Life doesn't leave that many choices.”

So this is either going to blow me up or blow me away.

P.S. Fingers crossed for the latter.

A Chance to Be Nerd

I am trapped here with an aunt who has overstayed her welcome, having "visited" since mid-September. Recently she proceeded to ice this cake with the incessant burping that apparently accompanies acid reflux. She could just stop eating wheat to cease aggravating her gluten allergy, but no, she won't. Not everyone has my discipline.

She continues to belch away any possible enjoyment I might derive from eating at a time when I am forced to dine at home. My food sensitivities test came back negative for a gluten allergy but mildly positive for 26 other foods. For three months, avoidance is mandatory, and because one of the culprits is PEPPER it's virtually impossible to find suitable food for myself outside of my house. Before 3:30, when I leave for rehearsal with Sean, Luke, and Vanina, I have to prepare and pack a dinner and snacks that are basically devoid of fun and flavor. Whatever I take has to be enough to power me through the pehrspace party tonight.

But hell. At least I CAN eat. The National Inflation Association's new projections came out yesterday, and they are horrifying, but because I am in a state surrounded by "progressives" who deride "conservatives" for policies that are virtually indistinguishable from their own, I have learned the hard way to keep most of this stuff to myself. I still don't see how bashing mirror images of ourselves advances our humanity, but if you do, feel free to enlighten me.

Almost all of my facebook friends applaud the free lunches that are killing our currency. Round two of quantitative easing is upon us, but we're drowning in petty talk and pejorative terms. Both sides are pushing monetary policies that will likely destroy the dollar, and the only thing, I think, that will unify the people behind a better way will be the hardcore experience of struggle that lies ahead. "Within a decade a loaf of wheat bread may cost $23 in a grocery store in the United States, and a 32-oz package of sugar might run $62. A 64-oz container of Minute Maid Orange Juice, meanwhile, could set you back $45.71 (http://www.naturalnews.com/030309_food_inflation.html)

We are looking at a deadly combo of price inflation and dollar deflation, and not enough of us are talking about it, and even fewer are suggesting solutions because who wants to be that guy? That unpopular dude who will make the cuts that will hurt? A representative of sound money? WHO? There are a few, but they're kept on the periphery for the most part. Alienated. And I feel their pain.

When I used to be a "progressive" who derided "neocons" as racist buffoons, I would have found solace in my facebook roster of liberal cheerleaders. Now that I actually read about the world beyond mainstream media sources, I have a broader understanding of the ideological framework, and both parties leave me unimpressed. These days I'm cheering for a new team. Gerald Celente suggests it is the emergence of the progressive libertarian, but it's not growing fast enough to save me from alienation today. So I stand by and watch my friends on both sides gut each other over nothing, wielding that ever-potent weapon of deletion.

Then I go quietly to practice what I no longer preach. I buy only organic food. I use baking soda and lemon and vinegar to clean my house. I have my own garden. I filter the chlorine and fluoride out of my water. I exercise. I support sustainable businesses, and I am starting my own, details to come, of course. I refrain from unnecessary travel as a boycott of increasingly intrusive searches, and if I must travel, I will opt out of naked body scanners. I embrace holistic medicine. I use pure cosmetics with fruit-pigmented ingredients. I read. I breathe. I make an effort to be a good girl. For these reasons and many more, I appear to be a radical among my peers when the truth is I represent a growing minority of people who have no allegiance to anything that doesn't serve themselves, their contemporaries, or their planet.

I'm sort of a transcendental vigilante in a sea of distraction and complacence. In 1856, antislavery orator Wendell Phillips warned, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," and that really resonates with me lately. I feel it viscerally. A primal desire for unadulterated freedom. And, like Tantra, it has opened up new pathways in my brain, body, and heart. My most recent creation, "South," is a record of this unrestrained way of being, and it's just the tip of iceberg for this "queen of cool," to cite my own lyrics.

I can't wait for tonight. It's going to be so much fun having a proper lineup instead of a phantom one like that band of bones in the Grateful Dead's "Touch of Grey" video. Who am I kidding? Even those skeletons are a realer band than we have been over the past couple of years. Finally. A chance to be heard. What every artist wants. To revel in my devotion and my difference. And maybe when I've accomplished that much, my social acceptability will simultaneously soar, and I'll be lauded for my liberty-loving, article-devouring, discipline-cherishing self. A chance to be nerd.

For those of you who cannot make it to the show tonight, you can buy our EP on iTunes!

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/audition/id402380199

OR if you want a hard copy, hit me up ASAP! My limited edition jersey girls are already selling out, and they're not even officially for sale yet. They include four acoustic tracks. Positively charming!

UGH! After staring at me all the way through the rough draft and the rewrites, my aunt has begun rummaging through my stacks of nutritional information, supplements, and receipts. Talk about intrusive searches! Mother drssshhhhhh!