me and social media

 

I have been trying to write about the world wide web and social media for a while now, and have never been able to finish; the idea inevitably explodes into a million firecracker tangents, seemingly impossible to capture and share intelligently.

I fell in love with the true democracy of the net. This of course presupposes that you live somewhere that affords you internet access-but theoretically, every person on the planet could literally have a voice in a worldwide conversation. That is an astonishing thought. The internet, such a lovely word. An interchanging web of shared human consciousness and experience. Communication on a personal level with someone who lives in a place you’ve never been and probably never will go.  A window into an alternate reality that maybe could have been your life but for some reason isn’t. A place to share to whatever extent you are comfortable what your life in fact is. The internet is throbbing with voices and the world is changing. It’s simply a matter of frequency. It’s not much of a stretch to see this as an evolutionary shift toward a state of being that is wired differently-sensory expansion, CONSCIOUS collective consciousness. Sometimes I almost see us all decide to make worldwide changes together for our common good. I somehow think that the more we know about one another, the more sense that idea will make.

On a side note, and pardon the departure, I would like to share that that last comment elicits some guttural fear in me.  I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home and was taught, biblically, that a one world movement would signify the end times, triggering the Rapture and the Tribulation. Part of me is afraid that I am becoming the Antichrist and helping to usher in the unleashing of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Brainwashing is a tough thing to overcome. I am apparently willing to gamble my mortal soul for this one; just don’t really see the benefit in isolation.

About two years ago I got a Twitter account, my first truly immersive experience in the world of the web. I learned that I like the remove of Twitter. It’s very low commitment. You can post pictures but it’s a lot of WORDS, and its character limit makes you hone your idea and wrestle it into tweetable submission, also appealing. Gotta have a positive outlet for those aggressive tendencies. Facebook, on the other hand always kind of scared me. I would laughingly joke that I didn’t want to be found, but I guess I actually meant it. Social media is showing me the limits of my comfort, my boundaries. It’s easy for me to share what I think or believe, even if it’s somewhat shocking, but to share my LIFE with people? Squirming, party of one. Privacy is a very personal, emotional conversation, just look at the headlines. Recently, I got myself a Facebook page, but just for business. Problem is, the web has the power to connect all my disparate selves. Find a Facebook page, find a blog, find some Tweets. What then of my separate business and private lives? Why am I separating them? I am in fear of some fundamental unacceptableness in myself. I’m afraid that my opinions or beliefs might adversely affect my business. The split is making me crazy. Once again, I am gambling on unity. If i can’t yet unite the world with this bloodless coup blog (aim high), maybe i can unify my life. I am sure I will lose some business, sure I’ll gain some. But there will be nothing to hide, no hats to switch out.

Let me just ease into these communal waters gently and float.

Diptych

 

                                                    I.

The young girl sat uncomfortably on the cold exam table, hunching over protectively in the strange paper gown they’d given her to wear. Her mother’s presence nearby did little to alleviate the feelings of exposure and vulnerability that washed over her as they waited for the doctor to enter the room. She was already too familiar with this scenario and she hated it; a man in authority coming to examine and touch her small, unclothed  body. It didn’t really matter to her that it was his job, and it did not feel ok, regardless of the number of times she was told it would be. She stiffened as he opened the door, saying hello kindly to them both.  He asked her her name, and told her to take deep breaths as he listened through the frigid disc he slid inside her gown and placed over her heart. It was beating like a rabbit, her heart, and he withdrew his hand and his equipment. “Don’t like doctors much, huh?'” he asked.  She shook her head no.  “Well, you’re not alone there.  I will be as quick as possible-but it’s my job to make sure everything’s working right. That’s why your mama brought you here today. Now, how about just taking a deep breath, and lying back on the table for me?” She resignedly complied, hoping that it would be over soon.  He again reached inside the flimsy garment, feeling about her chest and abdomen, occasionally listening through his device and writing things down.  What he was doing certainly felt different than what she was used to, but she still didn’t like it. “Your mom tells me you just had a growth spurt.  How do you like being taller?” he asked. “I like that well enough, but this happened,” she said, timidly pulling back the paper to reveal her inner thigh peeking out below the leg of her white cotton panties which were covered in cornflower blue blossoms.  She pointed to the angry purple stretch marks that had appeared with the growth.  They looked like the meandering trails she had seen left by hungry worms in wood, and she felt they made her ugly. “Will they ever go away, turn beautiful again?” she asked.  “I’m afraid not, honey,” he said, sadly.  “But in time, the purple will fade, and you won’t notice them as much.”  She felt hot tears well up, but she refused to let them fall.   Everything there was all wrong, ruined.  She felt certain that something important had been taken from her, before she even knew she had it to steal. 

 

                                                  II.

It was Friday night and Alex was on the prowl.  She slipped into a casual, rolling gait, relaxing into the night with a feline grace.  She had always been most comfortable at night, as her nature possessed the same velvety nuances as the shadows just beyond the pools of city lights. She saw best in low light.  You only ever saw so much of Alex, but those brief flashes were her siren call.  She left indelible marks on every client she entertained.  She was elemental, her movements fluid as water, eyes simmering with fire on a constant slow burn.  Her beauty attracted the predators, but there was an air of weaponized damage about her that simultaneously held them at bay.  How to harm something already so broken? Everyone knows about the dangers of the night.  What they aren’t always prepared for are the dangers of Alex.

before we built the walls

 

before we built the walls, there were none between us at all.

in that freedom of openness we reveled and revealed ourselves,

passing tenderly into sacred spaces;

we worshipped in wild abandon and were each the other’s best defender.

when first we built the walls, we were safe together inside them.

deep within our fortress, we opened all our doors, even ones that

had never opened since the day they’d been shut,

in places we didn’t even know. inside were animals,

the fruits of our wounds, and we suffered hurt from their unleashing

where we had never hurt one another before.

after the bloodshed, there were walls built between us

and now we walk alone, haunted by the other’s ghost

in a picture turned a negative, wondering how we may

return to the land we lived in before we built the walls.

question

 

what makes us good? did we invent religion to give us a means of feeling ‘good enough?’ and if one stops believing the things he or she counted on for salvation, what then? 

night drive

in the dream it is dark.  i am riding in the backseat of the car my parents owned when i was fifteen.  my father is driving my mother and me through the nighttime streets of some vaguely familiar town.  it is quiet.  the only sound is the gentle rush of the road beneath our tires as we pass hypnotically through pools of soft yellow light cast down from the streetlamps above.  i don’t know where we are going, but am content to ride along.  outside the window a concrete bridge appears, carrying us across a robust river.  we have left the city behind and are now in a quiet countryside.  the car’s headlamps illuminate the road ahead, and i catch glimpses of things at the edges of their light: a cluster of pines, an old ramshackle barn, an animal of some kind.  we begin to climb.  soon after, we drive through a sheer rock pass that rises out of sight on both sides, drawing my eyes to the stars. they are crisp and bright in the cold night air.  there is as yet no sign of the moon.  i lay my head back against the headrest, feeling lulled by the forward motion, the nearness of my parents in this space.  it’s almost a strange regress to the womb, as if my adult self could return with all its consciousness to that time between times and float weightless on those healing amniotic waters.  it is then that i feel a light touch on my knee.  instantly alert, i raise my head to see my now dead mother turn to face me from her seat in the front and say: ‘Love, you have always had a beautiful heart.’  i am relieved.  i’ve had doubts, and forgotten the sound of her voice, but now, in this fluidity, my whole being reverberates with the tone of rebirth.

unfettered

it was the teeth.  she was certain of it.  they were holding her back, blocking the flow of her thoughts like restraining bolts, worrying her sleep with constant grinding.  they ached throughout the day and were becoming sensitized to heat, cold and sweet.  the idea crept horribly into her mind and wouldn’t leave: they had to go. she sat quietly with this knowledge for a while, accepting it deep into the molecules of her being. after some time, and with resolve and peace, she got up and retrieved a pair of pliers from the garage.  she took the time to boil some water, drop them in, and wait for sterilization. she let them cool, breathing herself into a meditative trance. thus girded, she calmly and carefully pulled each and every tooth. she felt a lightness creep in as the process occurred; she cried a little with relief. when it was done, she rinsed her mouth with a shot of whiskey, spitting it out in offering to the muse inside her head.  she stood a moment and looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, observed the offending bits of bone in the trash, feeling triumphant. she smiled a raw smile, went to her computer and began to write, a torrential flood that stanched the spill of blood from her now empty sockets.  she had never been as happy. 

nashville saturday morning