the duel is underway
It’s the first day of a commitment to blog. Daily. For a whole month straight. I’ve met the demon of a writing challenge in a sinister dark alleyway and I’ve challenged her to a face-frothing, dagger-wielding, hangnail ripping duel. And I’m in it to win it, bitches.
She’s brought forth a list of assignments, collected from the bulky yield of social media. The premise? I can choose from any of them. I can even stray from the list should I be so inspired. But I have to write. I have to stretch myself out of my tendencies for a stream of consciousness writing style. I have to consider things that aren’t always nonsensical and involve complex Labyrinth codpiece references. Or raise subjects that make my blood boil in the most angry of body parts, namely, my fingertips and, to a lesser degree, my trick wrist. Or ramble along on the theme of “here are all the reasons I’m justifying that I’m an okay-enough parent”. Just write. Those tendencies will probably happen. Are actually likely to happen. But I must poke at the inner uterine lining on the off-chance that I could birth my own self into an expanded writing style.
My alleyway demon duel is me and my words versus a commitment to use them. Sit tight folks. This could get ugly. Be prepared for mediocrity and for a lot of ellipses …
You know when you feel like eating sushi with one hand, cherry pie with the other while being spun on a metal merry-go-round on a semi-neglected playground on a blustery summer day? If you’re empathetic, you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org. ß that’s my real email address, so you can see I’m dead serious. Let’s do this. Because this we-might-be-drunk-or-dumb kind of entertainment and appetite appeals to only a certain niche of people. And if that’s you, well … (thumb to ear, pinky to mouth, whispers “call me”).
There are people who like to watch movies in 3D for the thrill of punches being thrown straight at their faces, and then there are those of us who like to pretend to watch movies in 3D and have their eyes closed (also known as “dreaming”). It’s a quality in a person that isn’t confined to socioeconomics, nor does it demand a penchant for finding morel mushrooms in May. It doesn’t require a college degree, though it may in fact reject the standard operating procedure for obtaining one. It can thrive in the solitude of a studio apartment in a Keep Portland Weird kind of way, and at the same time, can flourish in the ‘burbs in a house that looks like its neighbor, and its neighbor’s neighbor, and its neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor which was architecturally based on the neighbor’s cousin’s neighbor’s house, which is conveniently located next door.
Point being. Awesome is subjective. And organic. And shows up in the least expected of places. And in that, I’m going to name 3 people. * and know that it is HIGHLY likely that I’m holding back and really wanting to go “no wait! I mean 4 people! Wait! 7! 32! Gah. This is rough. 78. Final number." I have to draw the line somewhere. Because the more people I add, the more people I think about and then have to add, and then the more rambling will spew forth and then you’ll just wander off and probably end up in the middle of traffic with a straw in your nose, your pants around your kneecaps and a vacant smile on your face. See? It’s a problem. And I like to think that I’m more of a solution-suggester than a problem-causer. The greater good folks. I’m not naming more than 3 people for the greater good. You are welcome.
These 3 people came to mind because they came into my life via a channel that is at the same time esteemed and ridiculed, intangible and intrusive, addictive and evolving. And though the channel may fall under constant scrutiny, the crux of it illuminated these 3 people to me via their words. I met all 3 through their words before I shook their hands or hugged their bodies. Their words showed me that they would be willing participants (if not leaders of the charge) of a spice cabinet taste test. Open … open … nowwww … what do you taste? Mmm. Mustard seed. Why would they do this? Because they have that thing. Like a snake who can’t shuck the last of its skin and scoots about with it trailing along, a reminder of who it used to be. But kinda happy to still have it. These people are like kids, who simply couldn’t shuck the last of their childhood wonder, and will fight will every last nitrous-filled breath to wear it through the remainder of this life. And that wonder is woven into their core. They’re grown-ups, with slightly rosier glasses. They’re like banana bread vodka. Think about it. It would be delicious.
Here's the best part as I see it. The channel, which loses its magic if I utter its f'ing name (<-- hint) is only growing. It's opening up opportunities to connect with those whose souls seem to flutter along a similarly slightly off-kilter orbit. Those opportunities are magic. What happens, exactly, when we connect with other pie-faced merry-go-rounders? Even if it's only once at a bar in Texas. Or in thumbs up "likes" on a comment thread about chicken sex. Or even, and this happens, in finding a perfect love. Bottom line is, when we connect with others who fire a similar energy under unique thundery skies, and whose wonder explores the darkest of corners and the lightest of open spaces, when we ultimately connect in words and then in person, we become electric.
|oh right. names. Tracie. Tim. And Mary. (thank you Mary for the blog suggestion: your favorite things about Mary B.|