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 anotherkelli@gmail.com.
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.
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oh right. names. Tracie. Tim. And Mary. (thank you Mary for the blog suggestion: your favorite things about Mary B. |
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