'mirrors' and the voice (s)

Mirrors and echos. I went to Liberia today and I think it all started in Baltimore.
If you want to trip, just research Liberia's origins, the constitution, etcetera.

I was in a room of mirrors for less than ten minutes today.
I haven't wanted to see photographs of myself. I feel like an ogre. I wear green like shrek.

I listen to the tiny fan in my computer and the crickets outside and I know there is more to life.

Echos, mirrors, smoke.
Smoke and mirrors.

I googled a quote from a friend today and it came up as Dadaist poetry.
And I am NOT AT ALL SURPRISED.

I'm pleased.

The party flopped, it was an all-out failure, and I am not angry.
It was what I expected.
I was able to be a friend because that's my role in the thing.

If I were a killer...

If I were a killer, I would want you to kill me.
I am reading the news now in a different way than I was while I was working on my New York Times Project.

A few months ago, I read the New York Times like it was my job. I scanned the stories and wrote reports. I boiled things down. Then, I got tired of the perspective of the New York Times and I started reading Viceland magazine and exploring their video journalism about Liberia. It was an intense journey that lead me down the rabbit hole. No one cared except for me, and I instituted no change and made no artistic or creative success. I was just doing it for fun, to entertain myself.
I had finished the third leg of my academic career and was on hiatus. Still desiring to learn and write, I have been reading the news. Somehow, I have compartmentalized the news in my mind. I have divided it from reality. In the age of reality television, I have no other choice but to call the news another form of entertainment. I am playing on the computer, my toy; reading the news, my game.

On the sidelines of the game, there are the 'comments' section, where anyone with fingers and a keyboard can voice their opinion. Often, the comments are more entertaining than the news. People get fired up and agitated. People make jokes.

There are internet groupies. There is media fanfare.

Many times, I get fired up just like the people on the sidelines. But, I get fired up for a different reason. I'm not particularly a snob. I have no reason to feel better than anyone, or more entitled to freedom of speech than any other person. I get into a mode sometimes where I want to tout my credentials. I paid a lot of money for them. As I stated before, no one cares, but it doesn't take away from the fact that I was trained and received a degree to write, to be a writer, and to have a minimum of authority in this area of expertise. I went to school to analyze and study the meaning of different combinations of words. I was trained to boil things down.

What I have read recently about crime in my city has frustrated me. My training and my expertise can be described as 'having learned to re-state what the other person is trying to tell me.'

"So, what you are really saying is..." blank blank blank. "Am I correct?"

Editorial ensues. I state the facts and I ask questions. I've observed people who have been in the business long enough to word their questions to shape the other person's response.

So, this summer was a summer of murder. There are a lot of murders in my town. I have chosen to live in a neighborhood where the murder rate is very low, simply because I like to take my groceries into the house without having to run. I'm getting older and the handles break on the bags when I run. Besides, I've become prone to chronic neck pain, so I can't really afford to be looking over my shoulder WHILE running all the time. Peripheral vision in Baltimore is a MUST, and there are ways to minimize neck strain.

This is beside the point, but I once had a friend who used spatulas to look around corners. I assume this would be a good alternative to looking over my shoulders all the time. If I did live in a dangerous neighborhood, certainly, carrying spatulas around with me all the time would work in my favor to prevent violent robberies. I could carry my bags and have a pair of eyes in the back of my head. Most likely, this would intimidate any would-be attackers. I know how criminals think. When chosing a victim, rarely, does a spatula-weilding white girl rank high on the list. I don't care how badly the bad guys want the four dollars I keep in my bra, they are gonna think twice. Is it really worth it? Is it worth rushing up on the girl with the spatula? Do you really want to take the chance that she is crazier than you? Chances are, she is. Much crazier.

Is it worth being told-off by a girl holding a spatula? Almost every time I've been robbed in Baltimre, I've told them off.
I can give quite the lecture.

Although there was that one time in that Miami Diner where a guy with a gun made me act a little coy. It was early in the morning and I wasn't wearing a bullet-proof vest. I'm not stupid, I'm just pissed off and poor. I'm more pissed off than anyone who would rob me about being poor, because the thing is, I've worked my whole LIFE to be poor. I get up every day and show up to work in order to not have very much. And I will tell you that if you rob me. Try it, you'll see. Something wells up inside me. I can't stand injustice.

The last time I had a run-in was around mid-town. I was walking to my car and a guy just pulled a knife out in a very casual manner. He was near the bus stop, so, it could have just been what he liked to do to pass the time while he waited for the bus. I stopped about eight feet short of him and turned my head to the side. Although belting out an Usher song might have gotten me out of this particular jam, I was at a loss. Michael Jackson had died earlier that afternoon, and I couldn't quite come up with the right lyrics. I remained silent. He said, "Oh, this isn't for YOU."
Gee wilikers, I thought it was. I observed some nearby alleyways and abandoned buildings that I might be spending the next few hours of my life. I won't run that way. Perhaps I could run backwards? And wouldn't a SPATULA be good in this situation? Am I going to jump into the street and get hit by a car to avoid this guy with the knife he said 'wasn't for me'?

I didn't get robbed in this particular situation. I guess what was meant by the 'guy with the knife on Michael Jackson's deathday' story, was to let you know that I don't really think like other people when I'm in dangerous situations. I'm surrealistic about them. I don't think I'm a victim. I think, "This is FUCKED UP. How can I be MORE FUCKED UP than this person who might want to harm me so they get confused?"


It's remarkable that I haven't been robbed more often, but maybe I don't look rich, I just don't.

Whatever. I'm bored writing this. It's really just my way to say that unless you have a solution, don't complain.

How many free concerts can you go to?

Blue grass? Really?
I enjoyed it. And I had to look it up.
Why it's called blue grass.
It's something about Kentucky and that's fine with me.

Lincoln logs.

It's because some of the grass is blue there.

The most interesting thing about Kentucky is that you can dig around in the dirt
and find quartz crystals almost anywhere.
I'd fill my house with them if I lived there.

I once knew a guy from Kentucky who said he wanted to breed the biggest cats he could.
A big cat breeder.
It was the coolest thing about him.

The most valuable thing about the people I meet is what I learn from them.
Everyone is a teacher.
I learned about Appalachia.

One person taught me about guitars.
I learned what a riff was and I still appreciate it.
I still appreciate yogurt soda.
I learned how to like dogs.
I learned how not be grumpy by staying hydrated.
I learned that writing takes discipline.
I learned that sometimes it takes over a year to get a power job, and you have to keep applying, even if it takes one year to fill out the application.
I learned that places have spirits,
like the hostile contempt of my region is just the local flavor.
I learned that supporting someone is as good as being supported,
It serves the same purpose.

I keep learning to live better.
I keep learning to not be mean.
I keep learning that I need to explain myself sometimes.
And I learned that not having to explain myself is priceless.