White Fragility or Steel Yourself, A Storm Approaches

I just had a Twitter conversation with a violent racist. This was a self identified white female (we'll call her SS) who was enraged by the issue of race. She attacked someone (who we'll call K) who called out Lorde for blaming all white people for "the system."

All K said was that blaming all white people increases the hate problem.

SS decided to tear down K. "Actually what helps feed hate is the white insecurity you're whining about with these tweets. It emboldens hard core racists... It demonstrates that you're more interested in how POC frustrations might affect your bloated ego instead of the civil harms of real racism...There are nazis marching in the streets, but you have time to clutch pearls over "not all white people" nonsense. Have some dignity."

It was at this point I chimed in, "Don't let an awareness of evil bloat your sense of understanding. If you think white people are the problem, you're missing the point... it's hard not to combat hate and violence with anything but more hate and violence, even if only in our hearts. We have to stop it..."

It was as if I lit a Quran on fire in front of SS. "Meaningless nonsense. If POC expressing their frustration over their very real problems triggers your white fragility it's not about peace."

SS proceeded boldly, calling me everything from Nazi tolerant and racist to weak and an armchair psychologist. If you want the whole thing, hit up my Twitter.

I guess I'm confused by the whole thing. I'm looking for some clarity.

If someone blames a whole group for a problem, isn't it oversimplified and wrong? Like, always? Isn't trying to find common ground and focusing on actual solutions more productive than angry rhetoric and name calling?

This is why I can't identify with the progressive left. It's as if "polite disagreement" is interpreted as "seething hate." If you're not in lock step with the exact auto-updated program, you are unworthy of their esteemed approval. You are ridiculous. You are the problem.

I disdain racism. What happened in Charlottesville is beyond contemptible. Donald Trump is a huge box of tools. These are things most of us can claim on both sides. Why can't we build from there?

I don't think I should have to feel bad about being white any more than anyone of any other race should feel bad about being in their skin. I bleed if you stab me, get fat if I eat too much, and want my children to grow up unafraid of being who they are just as much as anyone else. How is that fragile? How is that racist?

I wish I could show people how hate really tears apart the soul. It's actively wanting harm on others. I reserve that special feeling for child molesters and people who talk at the theater. And, even so, I don't let that control me anymore. It's so taxing, being angry. I was for a long time. I know the rush, the righteous indignation, the cost to the sanity. You just look for more things to hate. You find another. And another. Until one day you discover, revenge has become your whole life.

That's not real life.

That is hollow.

Serenity Forever

Are You Watching Closely?

"Hello, I've Waited Here For You Everlong" or The Strange Way We Make Our Fate

It was 7 years ago.

I was living with one of my buddies and working security and just "celebrating" a year of being single again. I put it in quotes because I was still very, very not okay then.

I passed BFE Rock Club on my way home from getting paid or something and saw "Open Mic" on the marquee. I thought, "Why not? I'm off tonight..." as I drove home. I had started doing crappy YouTube cover song videos, like one does in 2010. I felt like I was missing something. I needed to play in front of people. It was a flame, and I was most certainly a moth.

That was the night I met Series Six. Those boys --my lord, they were all babies back then-- stole me from second one. These showmen varied in age from 12-17, and they put on a higher energy show than I'd seen Puddle of Mudd do. And I loved Buzzfest 13. Just sayin'.

And they were cool. Cooler than I was, at their age or at that time. They played like they were the house band, or like they had 100,000 people watching, or like no one was. I couldn't figure it out, but I was mesmerized.

Then, it was my turn. Me, the new guy with his guitar-that-don't-plug-in.

I still remember that first time on stage alone. I remember it every time I perform. The anxiety, the joy. I'd been on stage probably 100 times before that. As a piece of a large ensemble. Or even the one time with guitars with a friend jamming Wonderwall for a talent show at church. But this. This was different. And scary. And beautiful.

Rich the Sound God and Stone Cold Spencer set the mics for me and my acoustic. They spot lit me, and everything went quiet. It was all mine. The stage, the air, the whole bar belonged to me for that 20 or so minutes.

And those baby boys, and their rockin' daddy, came up to the front and just watched me. They just stood there and stared at me like I'm sure I was just doing to them not 5 minutes prior. It was, simply, the greatest thing that had happened to me that year.

Then it was over.

And it began.

The baby boys and their dad became Jeff, Logan, Nick, Shelby, David, and Devin. Stone Cold Spencer became, well, still Stone Cold (but he sometimes tells me I have the voice of an angel). I met Frankie and Shane and Connie and Gary and a whole host of others because, one day, I decided to take a chance on some little divey rock bar I saw on my drive home.

Because of all of you, I found out how much music truly means to my well-being.

Thank every single one of you. Especially those of you I didn't mention. I remember it all. You've all made my life, if not better, at least "more interesting." As Harvey Danger once said, "If you're bored then you're boring."

And y'all never have been boring.

I still love you.

Keep going.

Are You Watching Closely?

"Staring into the Strings of the Universe" or Writing Practice 5/1/17

I haven't written in Dog knows how long. So when it finally came out of me this morning, I figured I'd just drop the unpolished product. I may revisit it later.

..... .....

What do I feel like doing?

I couldn't say.

I guess I'm merely mourning days that never were,

Wishing on maligned stars and unwound clocks.

I fool myself into thinking I'm not just

A fool for thinking in 4 dimensions,

Running past the future and back to the present

In a million threads of thought,

Arguing with Fate as if she were an old friend

Weaving the tapestry in the couch next to me Instead of out of me.

I see so much.

I feel so much.

Every thread pulling and tightening,

Twisting and winding while I do nothing but spin the wheels.

The tapestry turns both picture and prison as I see every beautiful stitch,

And each one before it,

Every direction I could have gone

Had I pulled a little more left

Or made a hard right.

..... .....

Thank you for helping me break through the fog.

I thought I'd be mute forever.

Are You Watching Closely?