a mostly sad blog post + (much) sadness
Ahhhhhhh bots and babes,
The world is a very scary place. I cut my sister's hair for the fourth time and missed a few strands. Here is a video for your viewing pleasure with all credit going to @maryyyyymango:
other dumb/sad things
WHEREAS the word whereas means it being the case that, or considering that, or while on the contrary; is a qualifying or introductory statement, a conjunction, a connector. Whereas sets the table. The cloth. The saltshakers and plates. Whereas calls me to the table because Whereas precedes and invites. I have come now. I’m seated across from a Whereas smile. Under pressure of formalities, I fidget I shake my legs. I’m not one for these smiles, Whereas I have spent my life in unholding. What do you mean by unholding? Whereas asks and since Whereas rarely asks, I am moved to respond, Whereas, I have learned to exist and exist without your formality, saltshakers, plates, cloth. Without the slightest conjunctions to connect me. Without an exchange of questions, without the courtesy of answers. This has become mine, this unholding. Whereas, with or without the setup, I can see the dish being served. Whereas let us bow our heads in prayer now, just enough to eat;
Whereas under starlight the fireflies wink across East Coast grass and me I sit there painful in my silence glued to a bench in the midst of the American casual;and, painfully, this stanza...
Received the nicest gift from the nicest woman/mom/warrior in the mail and cried: Broken Horses by Brandi Carlile. Listened to Brandi Carlile. Thought about Washington, state and city, with both dismay and faithlessness. Scrolled through celebrity Instagrams and felt bad about my body. Decided once again/once again/once again/once again to unfollow them. Sat outside.Whereas I cross my arms and raise a curled hand to my mouth as if thinking as if taking it in I allow a static quiet then choose to stand up excusing myself I leave them to unease;
There is so much to grieve, so many ways to grieve, so many kinds of grief, and we all carry our griefs differently. I think grief makes me a better person. I think grief gives me a kind of empathy I didn't have before without failing to remind me that I know very little of grief, of grieving, of the many griefs. All of this is simply to say, this one goes out to the grievers and everyone/thing/time/home/place/breath/life you grieve.
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| El Autobus, Frida Kahlo, 1929 |
And what more is there to say? It's already been said.
XO

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