blackswanevent: (The most accurate dolldevine)
[personal profile] blackswanevent

When I was twenty four, I decided I would write a memoir. It would chronicle the first twenty five years of my life in their entirety and when I turned fifty I would write about the next twenty five years. It would be a great publishing smash, and I assumed with the arrogance of youth and personal accomplishment that I would become a great success. A movie would be made, I would write a dedication and I would by virtue of doing this write my name across the pages of humanity. I would be remembered and no one could take that away from me.

In times of real darkness or absolute pleasure, I think about my memoir. I use a lot of really flowery prose to describe my activities, how in order to know me you have to know about California and my family. About how I'm surrounded by these creative and amazing people and they shape by virtue of their existence who I am even if we meet only in passing. The memoir however always begins the same, "I was looking at a baby's face and deciding if I wanted to live or die."

It's a really dramatic beginning, Each time I think about that and I think about how low I can go in my own mind, the world seems bound and determined to bring me lower. When I think like that I always go outside because uh oh, a lesson is coming and I need to know I'm not alone in needing those lessons and there is something incredibly calming about a large crowd of people just as confused and just as alive as I am. I don't feel alone in a group, and I know that even if I tried something or something happened someone would do something.

Sometimes I learn a lesson and sometimes I grow but sometimes I come back to that dark place and I think about it and I try and figure out why the fuck I'm still here. How the hell did I make it to twenty-five years old. How can I even plan on thinking until fifty in a world where bombs fall like rain, men pay women to lick their feet, men assault women in the middle of the night and people scream foul words? How is that even possible someone comes along and says "stop it" and that's when I realize what's going on and that's when I know.

This isn't a great epiphany post. This isn't a turning of the screws post or a post about horrors. This is something that I should have said a long time ago to the world at large. It's for all those moments where I reach out and up and there's a hand there to pull me to my feet. It's for this season and all the other seasons but this season where I think - maybe, just maybe I can get away with saying this without seeming like a total fool.

They say; however, that deeds are truer then words and yeah that's true - but words are easier for me. I think, as I grow older that's the mark of an uncivilized human being. You should be able to back up what you say with deeds rather then words. Words are like writing a check to a pay-day loan place. Eventually you're expected to pay them back.

I thought about words as I eased out into the Christmas hustle and bustle to try and talk my way down to work so I could pick up my tips and try and sort out where I was coming and going. I thought about what I asked people to do before I left, and I thought about the typical holiday depression that hits around this time of year and then the real horrors - families without presents, people who lose loved ones around this time of year, struggles, a world without love. I made myself sad a little bit, until the truth hit me.

I realized maybe that I needed to say what I wanted to say in my memoir on a smaller scale. That perhaps it was time to say what I've wanted to say for years. I came home, I checked some things and I understood that it's time to write that check - that check for that loan I'm getting figuratively, that I have been getting all my ill-lived yet fully lived life.

This is a check to you, reader. For however you might come across this, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Take it to heart, because I think for every desperate social media plea, for every frightened plurk post there's a post behind that that's a lot like this one. Call it grandeur, call it delusional if you want but I mean it. I've always thought it, and if you do too then come to me and let me shake your hand. We're in this together after all.

Dear Humanity,

I have swallowed these words for years. I have ridiculed you, I have hurt you, I have damaged those closest to me, I have taken, I have cheated and I have lied. I have been so angry, not understand where all of you with your gods and your civilization and your social justice and your order are coming from. There's been threats humanity. I won't deny it. I've wanted you dead, I've wanted you suffering, I haven't understood why you inflicted being homeless on me, why you inflicted years of emotional misunderstanding, years of people yelling at me and at one another. I didn't get and blamed you for emotional manipulation, for loss of products, for the mistakes that I made and there are some days when I watch you in movie theaters or in public and I just go I don't understand any of you.

I still don't.

I think I understand instead, where my place needs to be in this because those things I did and's all me myself. You, through God, through service, through prayer, through talks, through love are there. No matter how far down I bring myself you come through to me. "Reach up." you tell me through movies and television shows and things I want to be more real then my real life "Just reach up." and it comes. Help comes, love comes, support comes. You don't drag me down, I do - you're just there to witness me having the experiences I've had. Then you bring me back up, "Reach up Carolyn. Yeah it's hard but we're there, and by god we're all in this together. Live together or die alone, no man is an island, no one is forgotten. Reach up, reach up."


I have to say this for those moments humanity. It's long overdue. Dear Reader, Dear Humanity, Dear Brother, Dear sister, mother, father, pastor, support, boss, coworker, bus rider, bus driver. Dear driver, movie star, programmer, customer...dear You. Yes you reading this, skyping while reading it, drinking tea or coffee or beer, watching TV reading this.

I love you.

I love everything about you. Your actions, your reactions, your joys, your hates, your triumphs. Call me a fool, call me delusional, call me suffering from grandeur, but oh the rising sun, the stream of social media, listening to your music on products you make along a crowded highway with my arms to the sky and my heart in my throat my joy in each and every one of you is boundless. My love is deep for you, I imagine us together beating with one heart, one pulse, one music we all dance together to. Yes, there's jealousy, but jealousy is only a feint dear reader, dear you, in my heart of hearts buried down beneath everything is absolute joy...and a feeling that I'm not good enough for you.

And the thing is, that when you're an individual and you face up to the sheer majesty of the collective group and the microcosm of the whole universe that is one individual...are any of us good for each other? I don't know.

I don't think I want to know.

That doesn't change that I adore you, I realize that now. That I am who I am because of the things you do however small and however remote. A man built the highway I walk beside, humans planted the flowers filling the air with their fragrance, a human made the ipod I listen to, made the music on it, made the headphones and by gravy a human gave me the ipod in the first place . In one way or another I am connected to each of them as you are connected to me. It's like being a part of the most magical, wonderful club, herd, group, collective.

"That's really reaching." You say, "I mean...reaching and kind of creepy."

Yeah, but as you yourself humanity, reader, listener, have said...Reach up. Reach up, reach out. Even if you do what you do because of fear of a higher power and to try and earn your place in an still do it. That's what this season is all about. Reaching up, giving back, even when things are going to shit and the world as we know changes we're united by this single perfect ideal of reach out. Give thanks, come together, winter is coming we must ban together to survive. I can't be the only one to look at times like these where we must come together and think that can I?

"Love is too strong a word" you mutter, "Love is for lovers. I don't know you, you don't know me as an individual."

Is it? If I pulled out a knife on the side of the street someone would stop me. That's not love, but if you consider the scope of life - that's one person willing to do anything to keep the most precious thing we have from ending. I may not know you, but I'd like to and if we do come together I will shake your hand and call you friend and if you need me I'll be there and if we disagree that's okay. I still love you and you add something new to me with each talk, each song, each word however long. Even if you just don't want me dead, that's still wanting something for me. Is it so wrong for me to want to love you for that?

"You give back." I do but not enough. I don't know if it will ever be enough. I don't know how much of it is mental illness and how much of it is pain and horrors and how much of it is genuine admiration but those moments when I sit back and I look at the scope of what we've done? What you've helped to do? I am moved to tears. "My god." I say, "Together we made Dr. Who, Together we made the internet, Together we made rockets to the moon, tamed dogs and cats to our will, built houses, keep each other warm. My god we're amazing"

"I'll accept your love. Accept your reaching, even accept that you give back, but honor what we do with deeds, not words. Join the herd and stand out from it. Keep your head down and your opinions to yourself or to a group if you can find them but we just want you to live. That's all we want from you. Live and be happy. That's what love is, wanting someone to live and be happy. You do that for us and we'll do that for you and we'll all be in this together.

I do know happiness. I do know joy. I am trying, succeeding and failing to live. It's a check I'm writing that I finally intend to cash, that I finally have enough in my bank account of life to make good on. All those crying and fussing moments, yeah they'll come but at the heart of it is this truth. However distant, however remote, you make me who I am and contribute to a part of me, and for that I love you. Since I love being me. It's like getting a present every single day...and I wanted to say that. It needs to be said more often instead of an unspoken rule of living. The first rule about being a human being, is you do not talk about being a human being well why the hell not?

It's a present. A present I don't get without you.

So to you, dear reader, dear humanity, take a moment and sit back and know this. You make me who I am, and I love you for it. I absolutely adore you and one day I'll tell you this in front of a cheering crowd and thank - everyone ever because you deserve it. No matter what trials, no matter what hardships you endure, no matter what I might ask of you or what you might chose to do I absolutely and utterly adore you. You are perfect in your imperfection, you are the single most important being in the universe to me, you And when I face up to you as a collective or as an individual I am moved to tears by the power and majesty that is most wonderful you.

I want to thank you, but I don't know if I have the right words now that I've poured my heart onto my sleeve. I want to hug you, but I can't hug seven billion people at once. Those I can though I'll hold so tight I'll never let go, and the rest - well. My life is a paltry thing, a small and tawdry device but it is yours in whatever capacity you want it to be.

This is my check, that I'm writing humanity. My check to all of you in this moment of delusion and grandeur or just absolute thanks for the holiday season. These are words I've wanted to say for years.

I love you. You are loved. You're the most fantastic thing I've ever had the pleasure of being part of, the most wonderful person I've ever had the pleasure to know.

You're amazing.

Sincerely yours,

Carolyn Amanda Poddig.
Southern California, 2012.
Human Being. Planet Earth.


blackswanevent: (Default)
And that is why that girl is called a tease.

April 2014

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