Persona || Architecture

Until I was 15, I thought that Feminism was something that ended in the 60s. I'm quite serious. I was flabbergasted in 2002 when 17 year old Sarah Michaels told me she was a Feminist. It made no sense to me. But, as I've always been curious, I immediately looked into it and started questioning, looking at the world around me with different eyes; and of course, I found my role models from a distance: Ani DiFranco, Marge Piercy, Adrienne Rich. It was exciting to me that people could hold views unlike the ones I'd usually seen around my suburban neighborhood, and experience worldly lives completely different from the isolated Midwest ideal I was in. I started questioning my faith, my judgment, and my style. With faith, I stopped displaying my Christianity like a badge that separated me from all the teenagers who just didn't get how much I loved God. I realized that that wasn't really fair, and still, I replaced church with my new-found sense of political emancipation and enlightenment. My judgment of my peers turned from "how moral are you?" to "how liberal are you?" When I turned 18, I dreadlocked my hair. Paisley skirts abounded. I fervently preached the gospel of Feminism and Neo-Hippy 101to fellow college freshmen.

Like anyone who gets wrapped up in ideology as a distraction from their own broken sense of self, I put on a parade where all the pretty floats covered up nasty, moldy mechanical skeletons. Just as in church I had evangelized and judged and never lived or believed anything Christ-like in my heart, I took Feminism and liberal politics and wore them as a mask to please, judge and impress others. It never even occurred to me that the way I behaved personally within my relationships to those I loved, my friends, family and myself might be in conflict with those ideals I touted so fully. I convinced myself that I liked masculine things I actually didn't and denied liking any feminine things I actually liked because I did not want my peers to think I was girly. I was femmephobic and obsessed with everyone knowing that I was unique in every single way. No, every single way, goddammit. I wanted to be a superhero. Both adored and anonymous, intriguing, odd, and surprising at every turn. I needed to be great at everything, while being altruistic and accepting of everyone. When I did something even slightly wrong, the guilt consumed me. I still time-travel back to most of the small shameful things I have done and wonder how anyone I know could look at me and not think I'm a monster (hint: because they might have healthier senses of others). I am easily embarrassed by my naiveté and clumsiness. It's because the committee in my head sees them as revelations of my humanity, the part of humanity that is not kind or loving but messy and unknowing. And the committee in my head did not want that.

How the hell is any of that attitude in line with Feminism? It's insane behavior, it's repression at its finest.

As I'm trying to get healthy in my mind, I'm realizing the ways I used the tenets of political Feminism to permit myself to ignore its most important personal applications. "The personal is political" has nothing to do with how I display myself to the world; it has everything to do with honesty. If I am not honest with my self--if I have constructed my self on the warped basis of what I think every person in the world would like, then I am a broken woman. I make choices based upon self-objectification. No doubt, outside forces have played their part. I think it's just part of the plan that I've traveled this path. I have a lot to learn about being myself, whatever that really is, and accepting my flaws as forgivable and present. For instance, I gained ten pounds in the last few months, and while I've defended the concepts of fat acceptance and health at every size, I have found myself under immense anxiety over my muffin top and tighter jeans. Now that anxiety is a signal to me that I need to relax and pay attention to how I feel inside and to my intuitive rationality. I'm trying to use anxiety as a tool/gauge rather than a jailor.

My LiveJournal username at 16 was facadesbanned (yep, LiveJournal). I "refuse[d] to put on a facade", as I put it. Of course, I can see now that I've worked all my life to create the prettiest facade I possibly could (and pretend I wasn't!). But you can only add so much to the front of the building before it crumbles on its own weight. I guess now I'm just working on fixing up the raw structure to let my soul grow through it. And it's okay if I'm not perfect at it.

Slow Down, Bessie.

It's mid-Autumn, which, of course, has its characteristic smells, sounds, memories, and compulsions. It's the most beer-friendly season, where warmth and family (in whatever sense family manifests) become more important than crazy hot nights. Even though Americans don't often operate how we used to when seasons actually dictated our lives, there's still some sense of needing to store, to take note of what we have, to plan. We see the animals doing it, and even though we can still get avocados in November, we're more compelled to use at least some seasonal vegetables. Many of us start staying in and drinking more, going into a little pre-hibernation or getting closer to our "best" friends.

This season, along with my reading habits and living habits, have me thinking about these ideas; the tenets of Fall. After an exceptionally rowdy boyfriend's birthday party, and the two days of hangover that have followed it, I'm taking at least a month off. Not just the sauce, but caffeine, highly processed foods, overly-salted or sweetened stuff, store-bought drinks, and other things that just basically suck for my body (and my psyche!). I'm sick of consuming things and wasting so much. It's a full-time job to organize your own waste efficiently, but I'm going to at least make conscious decisions on what to buy. I don't need to get bottled drinks. I don't need to get that candy bar (which is pumped full of air anyway), and I certainly don't need to get spring and summer produce in the dead of winter! (Although, I must admit, giving up avocados all winter will be very difficult!)

I'm reading a book called Eaarth by Bill McKibbon, and I think this feeling I'm getting relates largely to his sentiments about the planet's Autumn, when we sober up and realize reckless consumption can't last forever. Basically, McKibbon reasons quite astutely that the workhorse, not the racehorse, will need to rule the principles of humanity's future. "Durable | Sturdy | Stable | Hardy | Robust | These are squat, solid, stout words. They conjure a world where we no longer grow by leaps and bounds, but where we hunker down, where we dig in." (Emphasis his) We are so used to demanding and getting exactly what material conveniences we want (and yet being constantly mistreated, oppressed, and repressed in essential ways) that the idea of personal sacrifice seems ridiculous to many. I'm certainly exhausted after a hard day of work and have had my fair share of microwaved Lean Cuisine broccoli fettucini. But I'm starting to invest far more value into the notions of Durable, Sturdy, Robust. They speak of more depth; they resound.

Connect Slow Food and Cittaslow with the current buzzy Occupations and finally publicized raised consumer consciousness (I may just muster up the gumption to move my money into a local credit union instead of the big bank it's been in for my adult life). The push for locality and conscious consumerism is hard in ways; some of us have been showed the inconvenience and price tag of paying attention our whole lives. Yes, it takes time to make meals. It takes effort to know what's in season. But the kinds of sacrifices we should be making are far more rewarding than the injustices that we endure regarding our livelihood.

I've been seeing a commercial lately that seems cute enough to work for lots of people my age. But I now have a hard time even being able to see the sense in it, and I have a feeling more and more people are starting to feel the same way. It's animated and the narration throughout it actually says that you accumulate Stuff through your life in your tastes and documents, and that Stuff is what defines you; it's who you are. It shows others who you are. Through the spot the cute little animated characters have balloons of music notes, calculators, computers, whatever that are attached to their blue and pink heads at all times. The end of the commercial is as follows: "...what are you without your Stuff? Better yet, without your Stuff, who are you?" It's a scary concept to consider "within the normal bounds of American ideology". I mean, by that logic Ghandi was a total loser, and so were all those other minimalists. If you don't have Stuff, like say, you're a refugee mother trying to freakin' feed her children in the Somalian drought, well. You're nothing, I guess.

No, it's silly to think that. It may seem like a harmless commercial but ads are powerful propaganda. With this said, my thoughts for the Occupiers everywhere boil down to this. Remember that while we are constantly brainwashed, our political power is constantly revoked, and our voices are constantly trivialized, we also have more power and responsibility than we sometimes think. The demands we make for freedom and justice really must mirror personal loosening of the shackles of consumer bingeing. It's got a strong hold, but it's important to even just be conscious of the Power we have. Not only the angry, demanding power we have, but the Hardy, Durable Power we have to hunker down and make things work for the Winter that's ahead. It's one of the grand human and American values a large portion of us have forgotten. I'm not trying to be holier than anyone--I'm a wimp who rarely follows through on any of her grand decisions. But we gotta try to wake up. Wake up and smell the leaves, feel the shift, gather the family, and tally the store.

Miss Guided

I had to run errands today. Apparently it's October and that means it's extra important to tell people their bodies are not their own, so there were a bunch of anti-choice church-related protesters all along Woodward for a good mile stretch surrounding the Shrine of the Little Flower. Signs that separated Jesus from baby-killing women, all that. I know that the people protesting (including preteen girls and boys and men and women of every age, all caucasian besides one family I saw) have no ill intent, and genuinely think that they are helping people with the blanketing notion of no abortion, and I feel no contempt for the actual vessels that hold the misguided ideas that seem to be spreading through a tired and cranky America.

But I couldn't just ignore it. It made my blood boil. The youth were laughing about the seriously twisted things they were saying: a joyful fellowship of horrific judgment. I had to express what I was feeling. Not angrily. I had to go to the mega-grocery store anyway for a couple things and I picked up a marker, poster board, and masking tape. In the windy lot I marked the thing up and then taped it to the passenger door (I debated the hood at first, which may have been more effective, but who knows). I trawled by. I don't think anyone even tried reading the sign, but you know, I don't care. Because I said something I believe wholeheartedly, publicly, without malice. And this was such a trivial little gesture, but for me it was big because I'm mostly unable to articulate myself. It's a step, just one of many. Ineffective to others as it in all probability was (except maybe for that middle aged guy with the pickup who watched me tape the sign up), it still signified a movement within me; a movement from reserved, tongue-tied sputtering frustration to clear, responsible expression. Whew.

The displays of white crosses I see on church lawns are angering and disturbing. I know someone who walked up to some protesters and asked them if they wanted someone else's shoes to walk in. I'm realistic; I know that this issue will be debated for a long time. But really, being vehemently against personal bodily choices is silly at best in the grand scheme of things. Really. 

A Note on Creation and Destruction.

I'm a guilty pseudo-punk. Intellectually, I despise the forces of modern slavery (corporate rule, sanctioned addictions, etc.) and the subliminal traps we as humans are born into. Concretely, I pretty much don't do a damn thing about it. I think a lot about changing that. A lot. I think about art's role in revolution and change, and I think about the creative power of community, and I think about the uses of current modes and tools in the fight for better ways of living for everyone. I think about the "I" versus the "we" and I think about creativity versus destruction. But I think. Part of the problem with that is that it doesn't even get to the physical, visceral "talk" point with other people. I just sit on it. Mull it over. Get angry. Post an article. Complain with friends about the obvious things through well-thought-through Facebook comments. And then let it recede, nestling into the little pacifist blankets in my brain to sleep until next month.

I mean, look at this, what I'm doing right now. I'm writing on a blog which a dozen people read but I don't update enough to expect them to, into the continuous self-purging noise of the internet, for what? A release? I guess that must be what it is. I have a hard time talking with people but I can be eloquent in text.  However, the obsessive attachment with non-physical, non-verbal interactions that riddles the globe and my generation especially is ruining the very spirit of life, empathy and real communication that is so key to actually changing anything for better. Yes, outrage spread by angry consumers can get demeaning shirts off the shelves, and can generate conversation about the horrible things that are being publicized all over our culture, but what about the things that are only experienced in reality? At the end of the day, the Western world is hooked into twisted machines of continuous insatiability while the third world uses water they shit in (and the wealthy dump toxins in) to make their food and wash their clothes. When it comes down to it, our culture is eating itself and we can't even really fathom what it's like to struggle in the way that people trying to survive actually struggle.

Living the way we do causes a lot of anger and repression. We are one psycho bunch of people. More than half (I'd be willing to bet at least 3/4) of us have some sort of psychological issue or mental disorder. We're grossly unhappy, and many of us, especially the young ones, react in almost a knee-jerk fashion. We want to destroy what's making us unhappy. Many of us are smart enough to know, even just in fragments, what is responsible for pushing in on all sides (other than our own selves, of course). We know it's that boss who won't let you take a break on your job because you don't smoke, that logo that keeps insisting you won't be able to live without an iPhone once you get it, that movie that reiterates exactly how a woman and a man should act and present themselves. But it's bigger than that. We just lash out at the small stuff. Sneer at the Apple employee. Tell people how awful the movies and how fake the actors are. Hold a deep contempt for all the smokers who stand outside and talk about things you couldn't care less about. Maybe we sometimes take direct action. Spraypaint the crap out of a billboard. Spit in our boss's face with the final straw. Egg the producers. Destroy. Even if it's well-prepared for and thought out, it's still knee-jerk.

One of the concepts I dealt with a lot in art school was destruction as a form of creation, and vice versa.  Burning a house fertilizes the soil, etc. Destruction brings renewal. It's something I definitely agree with, generally. In fact, I'm sick of making art that just adds more stuff to this miasma. As much as new images seem constantly needed (especially on such an image-heavy environment the world is in now), the value of the image is a far, far cry from the value of genuine experience, and the ecological impact of artistic materials (including computers, production, and more, not just paint and canvas) weighs out the value of that image, to me. The spraypaint that was used to "subvertize" is horrible for the Earth and for our health. The eggs used to pummel the bigwigs were taken from probably abused chickens, a total waste of unrealized life. That window you smashed cut up the feet of a little boy walking through the street in his sandals. Using bad destruction as symbolism is dangerous too. You want to smash your TV? Go ahead. The chemicals in there will make people sick and kill plants and curious animals. This kind of "destroy" mentality is counter-active.

The emphasis needs to shift from selfish anger to active responsibility. The same goals can be accomplished, but through means that benefit or at least stabilize the people, animals, plants and geography around. Yeah, it might take more time, it might mean scratching ideas that would make more sense because they "work with the concept more aesthetically". But ultimately, we have to ask ourselves what is more important; the individualistic triumph of cleverness, or the ethical, communal triumph of intelligence. It's a weird place for us to come from. Considering we are continually told to be ourselves, screw the crowd, and that everyone is out to get us, it's hard to think of others as our allies. But I think it's high time we do that. Not by following the masses, but by seeking out genuine companionship, responsible ways of creation, and honest, open dialogue.

Cynicism ain't gonna get us very far. In fact, I believe that's the biggest problem with the portion of the youth who can actualize change. We gotta stop smashing our Stratocaster on the stage floor and start putting it in the hands of a thirsty young girl. It will make far more difference. In a spectacle that proclaims as its mission, "MORE, MORE, MORE!", we need to become the louder voice, screaming, "WE CAN DO BETTER!" What is better than more? I'm not sure, but I know some things that go into it. We're sick with an absurd hunger and the doctor's telling us there's no reason to change our diet. He doesn't even acknowledge the tapeworm comfortably inside. We have to tell him we know it's there. We have to become the doctors, the teachers, the students, the explorers, the crafters, the farmers, the builders, the ambassadors and councils that determine our own well-being. I know I've got a long way to go. I'm writing a blog post that I'll post on my Facebook wall in hopes that someone reads and comments. But I swear, I want to make a change. I want to try to engage people in conversation. I want to learn what people have to offer, no matter what their background. I'm just so sick of all this... stuff. I want to experience reality, or at least the quasi-reality we're offered, to see what transformation needs to happen, through creative, responsible destruction and construction. I don't like being so cynical, as easy as it is. Anyone else?

No, I'm not posting lyrics.

I realized today that I write far too many "lyrics" to ever put to music. The problem with these little couplets, stanzas, one-liners and phrases is that they would look ridiculous as poems. And the ideas that are deserving of their composition are so varied that they could never be put together in a single "clever" song like Dylan has done well time after time. And so they collect in little notebooks mixed with drawings and exhibition concepts that I hope will overtake the bookshelf eventually, crowding out the leftover textbooks and old Juxtapoz rags that junk it up now. But these are inactive words.

Here, now that I've given you a readable, interesting paragraph, let me confuse the shit out of you and myself and go completely off topic.

The problem with the era of the simulacra is that language and valuable/meaningful action are so vastly set apart that language becomes its own hyperreal action, set apart from valuable/meaningful action. An easy (albeit, very superficial and non-interesting) example of this is the popular facebook copy/paste status that is intended to raise awareness for one thing or another. we've all seen (or posted ourselves) that "90 percent of you won't repost this, but 2 billion people die every year of horcruxes. If you know someone who's been affected by horcruxes, put this as your status for one hour and I'm sure so many people will all of a sudden cry a cure into existence." Thing is, it's an easy way to tell people that you care. The digital world is a funny thing (here I'm jumping ahead; follow me!): you can renege on just about anything you type by indicating your tone wasn't taken in the right light. This is different from previous print-based communications because it takes place on a more immediate context and in much smaller sentences/fewer characters. Twitter statuses can be taken as poetry because they are packed with as much information as possible that anyone with a bit of wile can use to invite all sorts of interpretations. ...Hence, trolls. It's like a triple dog dare to be a troll. And anyone can do it at any time, because there is no font for sarcasm and the anonymity of the web gives so much power to play with serious people. The internet segregates and separates people just like "IRL" because it's language-based, and language is the origin of segregation. So you have well-educated people (who have been shown the tools to use language in a wide variety of ways) and poorly-educated people (who have not) communicating on a single platform--not to mention all the age differences, and they often will separate from one another, or when they clash, more virulent results are seen than when they clash IRL, because of the mask and immaterial nature of digital communication (no bodily risk is associated, usually, with online bickering). The cleverest wins online, and seems to be the ultimate goal of modern Homo Sapiens. So this is the contemporary problem. A platform for an ultimate world community to congregate is invaluable and utopian, but when it is immaterial, the results will ultimately be immaterial. ...Right?

If you actually read all that, then I congratulate you upon your mapping of my brain.

In keeping with the theme, TL;DR version: OMG the world sucks and is awesome too and it's all the internet's fault and it's just like real life dood.

Rant that occurs while waiting alone and drunk for supposedly the best pizza ever and looking at stupid pictures of Eminem and watching basketball

I find myself caring about this stupid shit. And I'm not sorry, it is stupid shit. Perfectly constructed characterizations based upon statistical findings about the public coma that has settled on the vast majority of the first world population.

I know it's easy to relate to these people we see on TV. Of course it is; that's the way they are designed. The more relatable, the more interesting (in the most formulaic sense of interesting) the setup is, the more people that watch it, the more money that is made from ad revenues. Duh. It's as though everything is a ploy and we're not just victims of it, we become the perpetrators of it through out complete belief in it and surrender to it. Ironically, reality TV is set up to be just the opposite, with its grotesque portrayal of everyday life taken as somehow candid and believable. And I enjoy it. Of course I do. I have a hard time being strong enough to resist it, considering my receptiveness, but Jesus Christ, I really fucking should. There's absolutely no fucking reason that I should be feeling sorry for the nice girl in the Office or the shrink in Bones or even the feminist in Community. Because as nuanced and complex as they seem to be, they are really cartoons. Without a doubt. The viewer must be either entirely sympathetic to them or laughing cynically at them. It's the winning equation. And it's the human condition to have this strange sense of community--we're the weirdest herd animal that has ever existed. We simultaneously pit ourselves against one another and become obsessed with one another. We need to be around friends and crowds and need validation of sorts in various ways, and we need the serenity of isolation that being by ourselves provides us.

It's like media does its job: to be a mediating force between individuals and the society to which they belong. And that is exactly the point at which we need to fight it. It does the important work for us and creates for us meaningless tasks to replace those important things with--to satisfy our chemical impulses and philosophical questions that have lost their original ends, as we surrender our decision-making to an artificial intelligence that we ourselves have created.

Which is the exact definition of a drug. It's fucking worse than any drug a person will take in her lifetime. Because she's forced to be on it 24-7 and it's the very fringe not to be, and no one is telling her there's anything wrong with it. It's perfectly normal and healthy to be not just addicted, but absorbed in it, according to our education.

I need another glass of whisky.

The Steve Barman Show

Sometimes people think of things that would be nice to do. Steve Barman is one of those people. He's done oodles of interviews, reviews, and articles pertaining mostly to the music scene in and directly surrounding Detroit. My band's first gig was a show he put on so he could get higher-quality equipment to do such things with. It was recorded on VHS, as though to prove a point. Aw, how cute we were. Barman has been co-running the music blog MotorCityRocks for a while now, documenting the city's events and ideas. It's wise of Barman to use the opportunity he has in Detroit DIY talk-show history to bring in voices from various aspects of Detroit metro culture. By widening the scope of interests covered, he can help localized groups step away from this inversion that so plagues them (us). It also, conveniently, makes it so there are much more possibilities for upcoming episodes, seeing as it's just a baby right now. I'd like to see it come into almost a themed talk show, where the content is always as diverse as it is now, but loosely centered around a topic or word or person. The bridging aspect of the project is important; as they say, "commitment to fostering the link between contemporary art and contemporary society" is key in Detroit's growth.

The third taping for The Steve Barman Show is coming up this Sunday, so you should go if you can. It features family band Woodman, activist, professor and writer Shea Howell, and artist Mary Beth Carolan.

Here's the sneak peak for episode two.

You can watch the pilot and find out more here.