[kawrn-fleyk gurl]: This song by Tori Amos is based on a book by Alice Walker called Possessing The Secret Of Joy, which details the practice of female genital mutilation in areas of Africa.
I am sitting here on the bed, under a light with the Google Comcast screen saver on the TV. I like the screen saver. It flashes photos and art, and it makes me feel a little bit cultured. Sting plays from my telephone and I sit here and write. Seems so poetic for the five of you that read this blog. You get to hear me ramble on about nothing and waste a few minutes of your day with my cluttered thoughts.
I am not going to write about genital mutilation, or anything. It is more that I am going to write more about my reflection of what I have been seeing and thinking about this evening.
I surfed around on Facebook and here are the top three things I saw:
In that order. I have a dog, I have a daughter, but I have no activism. I sometimes wish I did. I could sit here and be a member of some anti-facist left guerrilla group that kidnaps Patty Hearst in some bumbling way.
Making manifests about how the “white man” of the 1970’s is keeping people down and how we need to rise up.
Or perhaps I could be a feminist and not shave my armpits (Ok to be honest sometimes it can go a week here and there that I forget to do that). That I could be a member in a revolt like punk band (like Pussy Riot) and sing songs and end up in prison. Don’t forget songs about vaginas (be sure to check out Straight Outta Vagina if nothing else to listen to their cute Russian accent singing in English) Going on hunger strikes and writing deep posts on Facebook.
I can be the politician that writes about how the government is going to hell. “Why is trump doing or not doing this” or even here in Sweden “When are the going to finally build a new government” (I can honestly say that in my opinion the “right” is just going to win more votes because they are not glad with how things have spiralled into chaos. BUT I am still going to vote for my little party that has the spokesperson that everyone considers a bitch)
I can be the sports fan (go Cowboys!) and write all about how I love my team and the players on them. I can tell you stats and which game I am going to be at. Drinking too much beer or fighting off hooligans to take the kids to the big game without having a beer thrown at you.
I can be the food person. The one that shows pictures of what they are going to eat, what they have made, or what they have thought about making. Wine on the table, candles lit and cozy factor on high drive. Forcing us down with “food porn”. I know more about what about you are eating than what I am stuffing into my own mouth everyday.
Maybe I should be a party girl. The one that has the selfies of me in front of the mirror. The ones that go to club. Hell… I changed my player to a remix of Missy Elliot’s song “I’m better” (take the one with lil’ Kim… it’s sooo dirty) I can dance on the dance floor.
No wait. I have no rhythm. I remember when they had some crazy idea when I was in the Army to do “Step Up” aerobics (It was the mid 1990’s ok?) and I would always fall off.
So party girl is definitely out of the question. Plus I am too old, am bad at plucking my eyebrows, have dry skin, wear makeup? no. Dress? Haha you’re kidding, right?
I can be the career woman. The one that writes about their job. The doctors and teachers, the lawyers and the artists.
What am I going to write about; “I opened a door today. There was an alarm and I got watch it on camera and spill out a bunch of nonsense no one listens to on the radio? (They are so stressed they do not listen. I could say “I do not like green eggs and ham” and they would still run around like rodents when the light gets turned on) Or don’t forget… I did a major victory. I finished the rest yard walks an hour and half too early. So I sat there with 3 people and stared blankly at cameras.
“Oh wait. That guy is getting put on suicide watch.” “That other guy is known for collecting his shit and saving it for throwing it around the room,”
Yes. I can be that girl. The one that can give a diary about a slightly boring job where my shit is the same day on and day off.
I can save my time on being that person and just lay it out here:
“I see people that take care of people that sometimes go over all boundaries of humanity. Some throw their shit, some are accused of undeniable disgusting crimes, some loose their mind. Some have lost all hope, and others turn into a little shell lost of everything because they are alone 23 hours a day”
Ok so career girl is out of the question. I doubt people would find that so exciting to read about.
Now we switch over to Led Zeppelin and now I can be the girl that smokes pot. I can be that girl that “takes a long toke for the road” that one that makes that sound when they take a drag of a joint. I can sit there in the middle of the night and listen to old rock music and post 50000 videos of meaningless shit.
Gym rat. Pictures of my body. Weights in the gym. Me flexing in the gym. Me talking about shakers, PWO and protein shakes. Getting my pump on. Look at my abs. Damn I look good.
The veteran. Something I proudly am, but I feel like a miserable failure at. My wife asked me once “Why don’t you ever talk about what happened to you in the Army?” I guess because it is all surreal that I never think about it. Ask people who know me these days. They can sit in front of me and talk about how they were in the army, but never even think that I spent 5 years of my life seeing things that (absolutely) blew my mind.
Maybe I should be a better veteran. Respect goes to you my brothers and sisters I sweat it out with in the U.S. Army.
I have been guilty of being the mom. Posting pictures of my daughter loosing her tooth, having a fever, eating an ice cream at playland. She is my kid. What can I do? The little monster is my life. The axis to the Earth, the unconditional love. Yes. My daughter is the best. In my opinion she is the best kid in the universe, just like you think yours is.
Animal Lover. The one that puts pictures of dogs and cats up. The videos of the panda bears giving each other baths, and monkeys playing tennis. So cute, but no I can’t be that either.
How about the writer. The one that writes long posts about their reflections. Much like the blog, but on their status lines. So long, people do not have the energy to read the words. Then there are the “fake” writers that use that copy and paste thing about suicide to see if you will read it and answer it.
The dog shower. Here is my pet and here is the pictures of what prizes it has won. Sure I own the “dog” pants as I like to call them. The ones that all of the dog people wear when they go for long walks with their dogs. The problem is “Ugh, do I really have to wake up and go with Rob in the freezing cold to watch his pee 8 times and take a dump?” Sure Rob is a Basenji and they are unique and cool dogs, but still. My weekends at dog shows and dog conferences are a little too much for me.
I can be the traveler. The one that goes on vacation and puts up 50 pictures of them and “I do not know who in the hell this other person is”. It looks like fun. I have a wife, 2 cats, fish, a dog, 3 children and no money. So nope. No trips for me.
I could be the spy. The one that posts nothing but has a total idea what you are up to. No likes, no hearts and no comments. BUT watch out! “How old is your little (insert name here) daughter. She is 6 or 7 now right?”.
Those just scare me.
The quotes monster. The one that takes pictures of quotes about God knows what and posts them on their page. “Nature is the way to happiness, and I am nature,” type of business.
Pictures of cars, motorcycles, houses for sale or whatever thing they are trying to get rid of at the moment. “I don’t want this junk anymore, buy you can buy it from me,”
A Bruce Springsteen said once “Glory days.. they’ll pass you by” then we have the ones that are stuck in the past. “I remember this place I used to eat, this bar I went to. They are all closed now, but anyway”.
Mental health. Look, I am sick as hell. I am riding high on being Bi Polar and I eat mood stabilisers twice a day like they are candy. Discipline. Hard core discipline. Chucking down those pills after I brush my teeth in the morning and then before bed before the “lay your head on the pillow” time. BUT still it is ME, but it is not the epic tale of my life. Ok, my life revolves around it, but who is interested in it? It’s REALLY REALLY boring. Fucking boring.
So who am I on Facebook? I have no idea. I just post this blog out there and silently hope people read it and comment on it.
That’s me for the moment. Pretty boring, right?