snaps

One of the main ways I use the phone in my camera is as a memory aid. I take pictures of products at a store so I can look online at home and compare prices. In New York, I take a picture of where the car is parked, since we have to move it every other day and the days and parking spots blur together. I take a picture of a passage in a book if it mentions something I want to remember, like the name of another book. (I also use the notepad in my phone for things like that, but quelle chaos. I have 25 separate notes, each one listing dozens of fragments of things I must’ve thought I’d remember, but looking through them now it’s a disastrous approach.)

Yesterday I had to clear up some space on my phone and realized that I’d been collecting things with a similar tone. (I also had a couple of screen shots of Amelia’s pavlova recipe, and I’m dying to make it so I kept those.) A kind of theme emerged and showed me where my attention has been collecting:

kierkegaard

Isn’t that true — how horrible to lose yourself, and how invisibly it happens? How quietly? You just wake up one day and don’t recognize yourself, maybe you’ve been giving yourself away and there’s nothing left, or maybe someone has been chipping away at you and you flinch and diminish yourself until there’s no you left. Both have happened to me, and when you finally have that moment of clarity and see it, it’s shocking. And he’s right: it’s the greatest hazard of all.

mad

I think this one goes with the one above in an inverse way — and maybe especially for those who have needed to reclaim/rediscover/rebirth themselves. And if you’ve disappeared yourself, it was because in some way you were willing to choose what other people thought over your own thoughts or experiences or even who you were (or maybe you had to, to save yourself in some way). So coming back around to yourself, and being willing to be knowledgeable, willing to express your power, and especially willing to be angry . . . well, folks never like that. I’ve learned that, too.

pretty

YOU DO NOT OWE PRETTINESS TO ANYONE. Be pretty to yourself, the way you feel pretty. You don’t have to wear make-up and dye your hair for anyone (do it for yourself if you like it). You don’t have to wear shoes that hurt your feet. You don’t have to squeeze into clothes that make it hard to breathe. You don’t have to smile because a man on the street tells you to. Of course this is still a fraught thing for women, because you can be killed for resisting those demands, and in the United States, the political tenor is flying so fast towards Handmaid’s Tale it’s FRIGHTENING. Especially in states controlled by Republicans, like Texas, where you get the double whammy of federal and state constrictions on being female. (Or rather, not-male.) But I think this bigger view, “you don’t owe it to civilisation in general” makes it clear what a ridiculous idea it is that we have to spend so much time, energy, money, and discomfort on “being pretty.” Fuck pretty, man. Fuck it. If you are pretty and enjoy that, if you are pretty and like making yourself pretty because it pleases you, then go you. Do that thing. Otherwise, fuck it. I’m so done. I get to participate in a Handmaid protest at the Texas Capitol next Tuesday and national press will be there; we have to agree to be interviewed in order to participate, and I’m going to need to rehearse answers to possible questions, because I AM SO ANGRY my responses would likely be incoherent otherwise.

rape

The specific article that we were discussing in the thread is no longer available on the site, unfortunately, but I strongly recommend The What’s Underneath project. (FOUND IT! It’s by artist Diane Goldie.) Obviously I was moved by the comments of a woman who had been raped (who hasn’t?? Fewer than those who have, I fear), and still feel a chill at her perfect description of what it can do. If you have time for one video, you might enjoy this one: God is a Black Woman With a Good Sense of Humor. The article opens with this great quote: “My favorite thing about aging? That I’m still alive.” Me too, Roselyn Lionhart. Me too.

tas

The least we can do is try to be there. I love this quote that beautiful Maggie shared, because it resonates with something I always say, which is that the sky is just there, day in and day out, putting on a big dramatic show, new in each moment, and we don’t even usually notice it. (I mean, I tend to be one of the oddballs who does notice it, and when I point it out to someone they often seem a little bewildered, like yeah, clouds. 🙂 )

(Also, follow Maggie on IG. She’s a glorious writer of books and articles, and lives on a farm in Tasmania, and her photographs knock my socks off so often I just wear flip-flops.)

Happy Wednesday. After a cold, rainy, windy time in NYC it turned gorgeous yesterday, on my leaving day….and I arrive in Austin after a period of gorgeous days to a period of upcoming rainy days. Life, you jokester.

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