I like to play. I don't like to fight

Me and this gorgeous little zine chickadee were talking tonight, and she was expressing how difficult it was to be her normal playful, magical self when there is a war going on. That got me to thinking about how resentful I have been that I have been unable to be my normal cheerful, sarcastic, flirty self these past few days. Normally at my retail job (and I am being specific about that job because there is noone to play with at my real work in the schools) I can joke around with the customers and the adult coworkers. Since Wednesday night, I have been making a conscious effort to not grimace when asked "how are you." Okay, this is kind of about war. But it's not. It's about how I prefer to be a joyful, outgoing, spunky creature...but have totally withdrawn once in my life, and don't want the current events to propel me in that direction again.

There was a time when I spent evenings totally catatonic.
That would be a good indication that something totally fucked up is going on in a person's life. I mean, catatonic. I would sit and bawl my eyes out, and I wouldn't even wipe the tears or snot away. I couldn't scream or fight.

We should be remembering that life is supposed to be filled with play and magic...it is not about killing one another.

Play.

I like chatting with my grrrlies who send teasing pics of themselves, and torture me because they live in far off places.
I like making plans to hang out with my long time friend Liz. Maybe we'll see Chicago again. Maybe we'll watch a NASCAR race or play Animal Crossing. Maybe we'll torment her downstairs neighbors.
I like telling customers, in all honesty, that they are buying something kickass when they are. Like when they get chai or focaccia bread mix. I like to talk to strangers about nothing.
I like to straighten out the pillows at work because there are fancy and exotic looking pillows. I like to fantasize about owning most of them and just sitting in a fancy room with my plush pillows and having servants bring me chai and scones.

I like making plans to go deli-hopping in New Jersey with a girl I was supposed to meet in Boston, and to go bar-hopping in Boston with with a hottie friend who is from Jersey. When I went to Boston last year I rode the subways with wide-eyes and awe and nervousness. I accepted free diet pepsi twists from street pushers. I ate good pizza with my friend Meg. We went to the zine fest and I made enough $ to get me back home.

I like walking through art museums by myself, dressed up, and pretending not to speak English. I like to dress up and walk through the west farms mall like I am a rich bitch who can plop down money for $20 tubes of lipstick.

I like to go to playgrounds and swing. Sometimes I try to write in my journal while swinging. When I get free time, I put on my headphones and walk around the park to the beat of Le Tigre.

I like to fuck with authority figures for my own amusement.

When nobody else is home, I like to blast music, like the song "Evolve" by Ani Difranco or anything by Lauryn Hill, and I dance like a maniac around the kitchen.

I've been playing with Ruby since I'm going to guess December. Her strap has loteria cards on it and I put stickers by every odd fret, and they're all numbered. I haven't broken any strings yet. I like to play "Fire Door" on her and "La Bamba".

I used to play downloadable jigsaw games on the computer a lot, but then I realized that was not fun. That was addiction.
I like to write a lot of letters to the dozens of friends I have fallen out of touch with for no reason other than I am terrified of making phone calls or getting into contact with people.

For fun, for play, I read zines. Because of my distro, I get a lot of zines to peruse because people want me to sell them. I'm very picky, and sometimes this is not fun because I have to do rejection letters. I like to see the different ways people express themselves. I like to see how far to the limits they go.

When I was younger, I used to write on walls, on floors, on everything in marker. I used to write my name inside of a heart with my ex-girlfriend. One time, we made out in the bathroom at Dennys. Our grafitti isn't there anymore.

I like to sing while I'm driving, and when other motorists catch me doing it, I roll down my window and sing louder.

Even though I have a bad voice, I like to sing improv blues songs.
I like reading poetry when I have a microphone because it is a game to me. I like to perform in such a melodramatic way to make fun of people who take themselves and art too seriously. I like to push myself to the limits in public.

Rollerskating and bowling are fun, but I'm not any good at those.
Floor hockey and target shooting are fun, and I am too good at those.

I like to rearrange my room and dress up in funny clothes.

I like to play. I don't like to fight.
"I like fucking. I hate danger"

imagine that I have a heart

Today I was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from Roni (goddess musings) in my post office box. I am not going to disclose the details of it, because some of it was personal, but the sweetness of it got me choked up. It really does mean something to receive both feedback on the zine I do, and to get it in the form of a handwritten note (and inside a pretty dolphin card, at that). These days it seems like nobody wants to make time for anything. The internet is great, in that it allows instant publication and dispersion of ideas, but it also tends to cheapen our lives by creating this norm that if something takes more than 10 seconds, than it is not worthwhile. Last week I had to teach adolescents how to address an envelope. This amazed me, that these kids had no idea that they had to provide certain bits of information, legibly, and in a particular order in a particular spot on an envelope, for it to reach its destination.
So, thanks Roni. You restored my faith in humanity for a few days.

Propaganda

Tonight I made another copy run of my zine because I was fresh out (or just being fresh. depends on who you ask) and then decided to head up to "The Mall" to go to the pseudo punk store because I had a little money I wanted to spend on fuck-offish items in a futile attempt to make myself feel better. I got the evil Hello Kitty t-shirt especially to wear to my retail job because, well, because. And a skull & crossbones bracelet to wear at my real job because, as a figure of authority, I think I ought to have death pendants.
Anyway, while wandering through the maul I saw flag & war propaganda crap everywhere. Sears had their "army girl" t-shirts and flags on everything. I'm pretty sure the other stores did too, but I steer clear of Abercrombie & Bitch to begin with. It made my skin crawl.
Everywhere.
I do not try to veil my beliefs in the media lie of "objectivity."
So, that is my half-baked telling of why I might put up lots of anti-war propaganda. It's to counteract.

bookstore spam

"Borders Celebrates Educators
By Offering Them 25% OFF Almost Everything in Our Stores!
I just thought I'd bring that to everyone's attention. Or to remind myself. Now, everyone go pretend you're teachers and take advantage of it. All they want is a school address and phone number. I'm not encouraging deception exactly, but I think most people can be considered educators, even if they are not employed in a school system.

Thanks

Thank yous to everyone who left nice comments or wrote me several long emails (which a few people did). I am not feeling much better, but I am grateful that it doesn't feel like the entire planet hates my guts right now. Just a select few and most students.

I'll repeat here what I wrote on my livejournal-- don't call a suicide watch on me...but don't think I'm a happy camper either. My smile is a disguise. I know this funk will pass, but I don't
know when, and I don't know how to change the things that are supposedly not in my hands to change.

[I'll post more later tonight maybe after I do zine, distro, and research paper stuffs]

my scream got lost in a paper cup/

I think there's a heaven where my screams have gone

The most discouraging thing is feeling like I have nothing new to add to the collective (un)consciousness.

I was going to write my interpretation of American Beauty, because it really struck me when I viewed it for a second time on Tuesday. Now I don't feel like bothering because I am sure that I made no real new observations. It must have already been written about in that way. The ambiguity of the ending has surely been analyzed to death.

I have been feeling like this about everything lately. I have no different angle...nothing new to add to the conversation...nothing witty to say...nothing remotely intelligent to say...and I feel so repetitive.

+post scriptus+
(warning, spoiler)
(with apologies for not knowing characters' names)
fuck it. i'll be repetitive.
I guess what I noticed this time about the movie was The first time I saw American Beauty, I took the ending to mean only one thing...the boy's father was a closet homosexual, and so that is why he goes to confront the main character, and kisses him, and kills him. I took it to mean that the army guy was so fearful of his own sexuality that he had to kill the other man for making him aware of it.
But then, I was thinking this time, that maybe the army guy kills him because the main character is like a doppleganger or mirror image, and that he has to eliminate the reflection of himself that is literally across the street. It is a reflection, in that both men have defective relationships with their wives and children. Both men had gotten too serious about life.
But then, my friend Liz twisted this even more. She thought the army guy had gone over to kiss the man to "test" him, to see if his suspicions about his son were correct. And when he is rejected, the army guy has a meltdown because he realizes that he kicked his son out/disowned son for something that never happened.
And then, Liz and I agreed that it was interesting that the only characters who have a healthy, functional relationship are the neighbors who are openly gay. The boy and the girl seem to have too much self-destruction, and are too impulsive, plus, the boy was videotaping her, which is just creepy if you ask me. The cheerleader and the father...well, beyond the fact that she is a student, and probably a minor...her entire existence is based on being the center of attention with as many people as possible, and his objective, if he had one, was to have fun without responsibility.
Anyway, that was my observation. Any other bits of speculation on the ending (why the neighbor killed the girl's father), let me know. It's been driving me nutty for a few days.

Community y Diaspora

Because I am procrastinating on my school work, I already posted this week's collab topic question. Go answer it and make me feel special. I really don't know when I'll have my own answer because this is not a subject I think about very often, or at least, not in these terms.