the experiment: new mistakes

I am making a magic potion for myself to drink.

It is one part relief, two parts moxie, the distillation of my small self, who somehow got it in her head that I had to be right all of the time – doing the right thing all of the time, being the right person all of the time – into something I can swallow and keep with me, cradled and safe, rather than wear on top of my skin where they are constantly abraded; six drops of bitters, a dashing to your preference of a body that has lived with chronic pain for fifteen years while often pretending it isn't, one that is still learning to invite pain to the table and truly offer them an equal seat, a heap of Brave and a dusting of Lauren Oya Olamina (I've just devoured the Earthseed books, Octavia Butler's incredible Parable duo) inviting me to respect what I bring to the table, and my commitment this year to spend the energy I've spent a lifetime expending for others – for myself.

This magic potion will turn me into a ghost.

Which it turns out is something I would like to be.

When I was younger I thought I wanted to be seen. I think, perhaps, that heard is now more important to me.

My Giant is gargantuan. They dwarf me. I create but I don't share.

This year I have made a decision:

I am going to make new mistakes.
I am making new mistakes.

Remember when the word 'share' had meaning?
Not as in 'Like, Share, Subscribe.' For some reason the rhythm of that and the way the words simply become rhythm rather than meaning reminds me of 'Mind the Gap' and 'If you see something, say something' in the London tube and NYC subway respectively.

Something I realised yesterday, that I'm remembering as a police siren slides past the bizarrely idyllic place where I'm writing this: the sound of a police siren, the specific rhythm and repetition of it, from a slight distance, out the window, is a sound of home for me. Odd Things About Having an Animal Body Grown in New York #673.

Odd Things #27: I hear every criticism so loudly – that for a lifetime I have barely released anything and let anyone else decide for themselves. I am making new mistakes now.

I do have slight good envy for people who got to move to NYC to court their freedom. Even as I have unabashed pride about having grown up there.

On the subject of New Mistakes:

A small snippet of lyrics from the hook written at last week's jam session, a joy, the first with someone new:

And it's cold out here without you
Maybe cold is what I need
If I tie up all the loose ends
This binding will bury me

And just so you know: what my Giant is saying right now is that this whole post, let alone the lyrics - that everything I write is 'melodramatic' and you know what I say to that, Giant? I say: So?

So. Taking a shot of the potion now. Entering the summer of FUCK IT.