So I sometimes go off on strangers wherever, meaning a lot … and … if I go off on a person of color, I see it in the person’s expression. And I can tell that expressions are hardening earlier now, as if I’m known.
I shave my head for seven reasons:
1. It’s been my only haircut since the early 90s (almost)
2. It’s the only free haircut (and I can only afford a free haircut)
3. I’m a punk rock fan, even though I never go to shows, because I’ve been a shut-in for like twenty years
4. I happen to think I look good with this haircut, in a Sinead O’Connor sort of way.
5. I’m showing off to the beautiful wives (my age) of the boring men (a bit older than me) that I care so little about losing my hair that I can maintain a good hairline and just … fuckin’ shave it all off. I just don’t care.
6. I’m losing my hair. It’s half-grey, too.
7. I still feel like I’m a 20 year-old.
People have also always assumed I like guys, which … I’m horrified by the idea of men in a sexual context … but it’s especially prevalent now, that distrusting distance, because I’ve been chatting up black men at the bus stop and around the building, to help spread the word that I’m not a racist.
love is the unconditional God, and justice is the conditional God. i don’t want the injustice of first being broken inside to later found the justice against my involuntary hate. my purpose is not supposed to be a pressure cooker’s purpose (to not burst) especially if the lid is off and the pressure isn’t lessened.
I think of a time in my life as the time I was a “mannequin”. That name is because of the Wire song all about people who go to parties and stand there afraid.
Well, you’re a waste of space. No natural grace. You’re so bloody thin. You don’t even begin to interest me. Not even curiosity. It’s not animosity. Just don’t interest me. Well, you’re an energy void. A black hole to avoid. No style, no heart. You don’t even start to interest me. Not even curiosity. It’s not animosity. Just you don’t interest me. Oh, come on! You’re a disgrace! Tell me. Why don’t you tell me?
For me that was the last three years of college. Communicating was this awful puzzle I didn’t think I’d ever solve. I didn’t yet know that I was schizophrenic.
Here is a song on the same topic by Sonic Youth, from a little over a decade later, when people were more aware.
When you feel the spiral turning for you alone and you feel so heavy that you just can’t stop it, when this sea of madness turns you into stone, a picture of your life shoots like a rocket. All the time. Put “me” in the equation it’s alright. I’ve seen you moving in and out of sight. My friends tell me it’ll all cut through you. From nowhere to nowhere. Cut together. Cuttin’ through. I’m island-bound, a mote inside my eye, and I can’t see you breathing as before. I am airless, a vacuum child, and I can’t stand to reason at your door in this time. Put “me” in the equation it’s alright. I’ve seen you moving in and out of sight. My friends tell me it’ll all cut through you from nowhere to nowhere. Cut together. I’m down in the daytime out of sight comin’ in from dreamland, I’m on fire. I can see it’s all been here before. Dream a dream that lies right at your door. When the seasons circle sideways out of turn and words don’t speak just fall across the carpet, you’re just in time to watch the fire burn. It seems a crime but yr face is bright you love it. All the time…..
What makes this song especially beautiful is that they devote so much stubborn mournfulness to the mentally ill in the last three or four minutes. Kim, the girl you would be afraid to talk to, hammers her bass into a tower of noise as if to say, I’m right here for you. I know.