marrow.

“You are human. But my bones don’t break.”

“I don’t know why you always talk to me about these things. I can’t feel the way you do.”

“Then how do you see without eyes? Hear without ears? Smell without—”

“I don’t smell.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t.”

“How do you know you can’t?”

…

“After all that, why can’t you feel without skin?”

“I can feel. I never said I couldn’t feel.”

“This just keeps getting harder to understand.”

“I just feel differently.”

[just a view]

(Original photo by Richard Avedon with Audrey Hepburn)

I digress...

No picture for this one because the person, about whom this post is being written, doesn't quite deserve one. That person sent me the following ANONYMOUS comment:

"You seem like someone who is trying to bring together many disparate parts of yourself. I would say stop trying so hard and let it happen, but that might involve explaining myself and who I am more clearly, which, sorry, I'm just not up for right now. Take my word for it; your art will improve and feel better if you stop trying so hard to cure your despair, and just let the art do that for you. just a suggestion."

Now, please, readers and followers, try to stifle your indignant laughter. I already know this person is a _____, and I have a feeling so does he. But bear with me while I respond to his "suggestion."

Dear Anonymous,

Ummm, who asked you?

But since you already took the liberty of butting into someone else's life and making completely unwarranted judgments, let's just break it down piece-by-piece, shall we?

"you seem like someone" - Is the title of my blog Please-Feel-Free-to-Be-Very-Rude-and-Make-Character-Judgments-Without-Having-Any-Sort-of-Right-or-Reason-for-Doing-So? No, I didn't think so either.

"I would say" - Who are you? Oh, wait, you decided to be cowardly and not tell me. Better question: who do you think you are? And: why do I care what you would say about anything?

"stop trying so hard and let it happen" - Let me clarify something for your narrow, narrow mind. This blog, as so many blogs are, is a place where I can purge my thoughts, share my poetry, or simply just write. Although I have not been on here in a while, I still value the chance to let my photography clients know that I am also a writer. I think it enhances any relationships I might have with them. None of the aforementioned things involve me "trying so hard" to do anything. But thank you for the first of many inaccurate assumptions.

"but that might involve...up for right now" - If I was forced to choose, I'd say that this is the most ridiculous part of the entire thing. Just to let you know, the fact that you had the audacity to judge someone without telling them from whom the judgments were coming, speaks volumes about your character.

"take my word for it" - I changed my mind--this part is the most ridiculous. Why the heck would I take your word for it? Why? I have no respect for anyone's "word" that is not attached to its speaker.

"your art will improve and feel better" - At the very apparent risk of justifying myself to you: I do not consider myself to be an artist. I am a photographer by trade and a writer by major, but I am not so engrossed in the art world that I would call myself an artist. I have no desire for my work to "feel better," but thank you for the veiled insult that it needs improvement.

"stop trying so hard to cure your despair" - This statement just oozes with pretentiousness and disrespect. Despite having made my share of enormous mistakes, I am an extremely genuine person. (You would know that if you were indeed someone in my life about whom I actually cared.) I do not "try hard" to meet the standards of people like you--people for whom I have no respect and/or no knowledge of their existence. In addition, it is completely appalling that you would speak to anyone about his or her issues with depression. I can confidently say that I have no "despair" in my life. I am extremely blessed with wonderful friends and a family who takes care of me. Any lamentations on which you picked up in my blog posts are true feelings of which I am not ashamed. But in regards to those people who do turn to art to "cure despair," how could you condemn them for it?

"just a suggestion" - No. This was a judgement. No, this decidedly was not simply a suggestion. Furthermore, even if it was just a suggestion, you have absolutely no right to do that either. I do not know you; you do not know me. Your "suggestions" are not welcome. How about you tell me who you are and then I can approach you when I'd like input? Or is that too much basic courtesy for you to send my way?

Now, I suppose, it would be appropriate to use the trusty cliché, "How dare you?"

Readers, I hope you have enjoyed this little moment of compelling drama brought to you by some unknown, sad, little person. I believe that sticking up for myself was necessary, although not everyone would agree. I will leave you with the wise words of Tupac Shakur: "If you don't know me, don't judge me."

- Sera x

frenzy.

it's that sinking feeling after a day of lightness
lightheadedness
lightfeetedness

lightspinningness

lightness of being

it's that feeling that your mistakes keep reoccuring
no matter how often you stand outside yourself

with a look of maturity on your face

and a book of lessons

and a mop

And you tell the future

Half a World Away

1 a moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection
2 chandeliers tangle and untangle
5 miles into the heavens
5 there they revel in the endless stretches
5 half a world away
4 "you are a very special young lady"
1 she had a big yellow wig that made her face look too small and smelled like
6 her cigarette changes position and her face changes expression
1 "I do this, this, because it feels good"
2 toxic
6 in a mad rage
5 ruggedly beautiful
7 "remember remember"
7 her voice has a strength that is a metered by a calmness
8 "we are being punished"
9 tell us
7 "sometimes I wonder where we would be"
9 tell us
7 "if he hadn’t failed"
9 tell us
2 "never stop fighting"
7 my entire world was erased
5 absolute isolation half a world away
2 fragile without breaking it
4 "burn burn"
9 tell us
1 "boiling wet insides"
9 tell us
2 "you’re only given a little spark of madness"
5 half a world away from their homes
3 two houses shall be sitting
1 they walk away with another fleeting memory that almost got away
8 "am I in the place of God?"

[ask about my process]

Thinkwonderimaginepicture

I rest my head on the crusty yellow bedcover and think about how many angry mothers have tossed their babies down on it to change their shitty diapers, how many long-legged girls with tattoos on their butts have sat on it, bent over, and painted their toenails, how many big hairy Wall Street guys have grunted and pushed their way inside some girl they gave a big wad of cash to.

I wonder how many people like me, afraid and alone, lacking any sort of control over their own thoughts, have scrunched themselves in the corner of this dirty hotel room, trying desperately to block out the scraping gnawing roaring thoughts. Pushed themselves tight between the nightstand and the squeaky bed. Laid their heads right where my head is laying now.

There’s a dark yellow spot under my cheek, and I imagine all of the dirt that my tears have dissolved, all of the disease they’re carrying back into my body through me eye. I imagine some dude with HIV splooging all over, falling asleep on top of his boyfriend, and forgetting to clean it up. I imagine some chick with blood positive for that baby-killing virus squeezing her palm over her bleeding wrist but some still getting out. My mind is like one of those CSI black light things. I can see it all. You clean up your blood with everything under the sink, and I can still see it in my mind.

I picture my mind being a ferocious lion that all the zookeepers are trying to pull away from the limp body of some kid small enough to fit through the bars. They’re roping him and choking him and using the tazer, but he bucks and rears up and roars a roar so loud even the mom and dad want to run away. I picture my mind something not just out of reach of my fingertips but so fucking far away it looks like just a speck on the smoggy horizon.

buffet.

Her pink sausage arms jabbed into his ribs and nodded vigorously at the rows and rows of sliced deli meats and cheeses like brightly colored decorations in front of them. She licked her lips and drummed her pudge fingers on the plate pressed against her thick breasts. I look one way and I see magic. I look the other and there’s more magic. Oh, Mr. Yeast how I love your All-you-can-eat Feast! Her indecisiveness ended as soon as she saw the sweaty brown and pink glazed ham smothered with sugared pineapples and melting butter. Her wide eyes were like two bits of coal in a fleshy pink snowman. Jackpot, she thought.

He rubbed where her meaty elbow had struck him and frowned down at the stacks of small plates on the table in front of him. How do they expect me to pile all I can eat on these shitty little plates? His mouth was set so deep in his face that the flesh around his lips and nose and eyes reabsorbed any facial expressions back into his face. He set to work. His thick arms couldn’t bend at the sweaty joints of his elbows. They simply curved to accommodate all of the quiches and crust rolls and bacon-wrapped hot dogs and rump roast and macaroni and brownie bites he scooped onto his plate. He shook off his food-covered arm and looked down the row of horrified faces. "What?" he growled from the hole between his two huge cheeks.