This summer was fucking queer; in fact the weirdest. Forgive me, but weird is reductive, it is all I have at the moment. I am sitting in a coffee shop populated with those, who I could imagine, embrace the term “emergent adulthood”. Possibly using it as an excuse for not washing their dingy-ass dreadlocks; evidently appropriated. A smattering of yoga mothers, a gaggle of bike punks, and two lone women who clearly thought this was an ice cream social. They are currently screaming about their ex-boyfriends, Birkin bags, and the prospect of husbands who “wears nice watches”; what the fuck? So needless to say I can’t exactly focus all my energy and will on crafting this timelessly tome; who am I kidding I’ll procrastinating my way through 237 pages…….max. Also, every time I hit a stride in thought and my mind is honed, one of the swaddled babes that one of said yoga moms is carrying decides to whale. Why is she just sitting there letting this larva cry in her face, how fucking Zen can you be, for the love of Christ please step outside. But yes, no excuses I will come up with a synonym for weird, the thesaurus option on my computer is limited.
It’s funny how words work, I really want to use exquisitely crafted words to descried this story. I hear people use words, ones that are story like , the etymology, the history and context are enough to keep me up for hours reading about it. A waiter the other day used a glowing example, I can’t remember it though; which means I probably was just impressed about the phonics of it and actually not the context. This shows you how consistent I actually am. Anyway this is all really pointless. This summer was weird, weird works; it’s an appropriate word.
My evening playlist
Big Jet plane-Agnus and Julia stone
Milk Crisis - The Go! Team
Skeleton Boy-Friendly Fires
A song about Ping Pong- Operator Please
Standing in the way of Control- Gossip
Agreement is a profoundly joyous happening when it happens between two complete individuals. When both parties experience an alignment of their singular consciousness, and heart. When constructs, nuanced psyche, compulsions, and historical experience come so close that one does not feel so alone. How close do they come to being exact? No one person can say they smelled a flower the same way another did. For instance a peony for me smells oh so sweet, but it also reminds me of my grandmother. When the smell enters the periphery of my smelling sense she is there with me; reaching her calloused hand over me as my face leans in to catch the sent. I feel her warmth and the sensation of her touch; so comforting. I see her hand, so worn from hard work, delicately maneuvering the thorns of the adjacent rose bush as to not prick herself. When her hands moved they looked like a conductor’s, knowing exactly where to place her fingers and flick and sway. She picks one and tucks it behind my ear; I smiled and felt pretty. Before I knew what pretty was she had a way of making me feel that emotion, the specialness that comes with being adored. She would say I had the prettiest hair, the bluest of eyes, and skin like pink roses. For me peonies are my grandmother, and my first introduction to seeing beauty and feeling beauty. I have carried this with me all these years, and that experience woven in with others has formed my experience with peonies , influencing me in the present and any time I see, smell or touch one I have my own unique reflections. Now how could someone be so bold to say that they know and understand that experience, it is mine and mine alone. I’m sure others have had their own time spent with peonies, maybe an old lover used to give them as tokens, perhaps someone’s father used to plant them in a garden, or perhaps someone has never really seen them in their lives. Whatever the case may be most feign understanding in an attempt to feel on step with another person; no one wants to feel left out. I do this often, most commonly when someone is sad, or forlorn. It is an effort to show empathy. One may say that a rainy day makes them sad, when the sun is hiding behind vividly grey clouds and the deluge is too much to handle. I will agree and say “oh yes me too I can’t stand rainy days.” Why would I lie about this? I love rainy days; in a vain attempt to not leave the other feeling alone I lie so i can commiserate with them, but in return I am disingenuous and I am doing my truth injustice. To disagree may cause discord or dissonance, and most loath both. Generally, and it is a big generalization, when people disagree they may tend to feel lost on two separate islands sending misread smoke signals of distress to each other, they feel alone. Insecurity, and fear of loneliness tends to guide us into the most interesting of places. We ignore the beauty of dissonance and disagreement and have trouble standing on our own truth and experience. This leads to judgment, misunderstanding and quarreling, or just a repression of truth. Disagreement, or a varying of experiences can actually enrich. While I have beautiful memories of peonies, another may be deathly allergic. Normally if someone was to tell me this I would scoff at the idea of something being so ephemerally beautiful possessing bad qualities, but if I ignore my urge to defend I can take the other and apply it to my ideas on beauty. That which is beautiful is not exclusively benign, that which is good can also be bad. Already my philosophies have more dimensions and when I apply another story, another’s experience and another of my own void of judgment and defense my feeble mind, which is a ultimately a blip in the course of things, is far more whole. Agreement and disagreement are merely constructs, one to make us feel less alone and the later as a shield to protect our internal lives and experiences with peonies. If we acknowledged that each one of us has a separate truth and our own will not be invalidated if we honor another’s, life can be a special experience shared with another.