i don't know what to write

i don't know what to write

i'm a stalled writer and all i can think about is milk. not really all. but close. i feel grown up today like in the danny brown song because at my coffee shop job, i have finally gone through all the training and spent the time practicing and now i can do the milk drinks. those one things with milk from cows added to the espresso to ruin it. in hinduism, they don't eat the cows, they love and respect the cows. in islam, they don't eat the pigs, they don't love and respect the pigs.

institutionalized religion built on hatred of women is one of my least favorite things, so no, i don't fucking have anything more to say about hinduism or islam. practice your religion, turn that hatred of women shit around. it's gonna be harder than you think. the workings of the globe are built on hatred and distrust of women just like the workings of the globe are built on murderous hatred of Black and Brown people. it's probably in our fucking DNA, but my RNA has gone renegade.

while i was practicing steaming that nasty milk and practicing pouring that steamed milk into and on top of espresso, i felt anxious and angry about my methane footprint. those practice drinks got poured down the drain. i used to chug milk. when i was a kid. when i was a pregnant woman. but then a smart woman told me that we don't even really absorb the calcium from milk because reasons, you look it up. so now, after years, i'm not into it. of course i eat the cheese.


but i don't eat the cheese for calcium. i eat it for cheese. so i'm steaming this milk. and when you steam it when you don't know what you're doing, you explode it. i did that once. in the training space. not the actual serve customers space. milk got on my hair, god damnit. it got on my hair again today, god damnit. because after you steam the milk, you need to make sure it's smooth and not bubbly. so if your steamed milk is too bubbly, you have to bang the metal pitcher on the counter, and swirl the milk around.

bang and swirl. bang and swirl.

when you bang, fucking nasty shit flies up into your face, gets on your shirt. it pains me every time, poor baby. 

this sounds so much like sex. which makes me totally turn this around: when you bang, when you swirl, and the white stuff flies up in your face, it's heaven. 

"ignorant as fuck, but i'm smarter than you" danny brown (i identify hard with this statement)

i was watching this one thing this one time and the guy said when we were hunters and gatherers, our life expectancy was 70, and then we started farming and building towns and cities and having more and more babies, and creating new diseases and new life threatening stresses and anxieties, and now it's all stupid.

last year my brain changed a lot, at my coaxing. i used to think that there were some life rules that you just follow, like working for money. and working toward a goal. my brain changed on purpose so that now everyday is a new chance to do better. seriously, i wake up in the morning and think (or tell myself) that this is a new chance at life. i don't wake up with rainbows and unicorns and cinderella birds singing in my face; often i wake up feeling all the other things that you can feel that aren't contentment. and i still force myself to see that this is a new chance to do better. 

the work for money rule is not a rule. some people just have it. they were born with it, or they did something that made them a lot of money, or they do something that consistently makes them a lot of money. many many people work a lot of hours doing stressful things for their money. i'm done playing that game. my game is to become a master of my own mind so that i can be meticulous and rigorous with my thoughts. we tell ourselves horrible things about ourselves. we all do it. and then, we teach our children to do it. i used to watch my mother speak out loud to herself in her full length mirror, insulting herself, telling herself she was ugly, fat, not good enough. i hated her for doing this, but i still learned it.

the working toward a goal rule is also not a rule. for most people, the goal is death. they are working toward having more and more and more and more and then death. how long til we die is what a lot of peoples' lives look like. 

i only want to do my work. i don't want to do your work. and right now, my work looks like human child raising, home improvement and soil improvement, and arrangement of words on a page. i don't want to work for you, i don't want to do your work. we set up this whole world with meaningless, useless practices and systems and things that serve to destroy the earth. i let go of much of this shit every time there's a new day in my quest to be a self-sufficient renegade anarchist. 

so i don't know what to write because i wrote this academic essay and it's done, for now, it's being read by editors. i want to write creatively, and i want my words to reach people and i'm not sure that they are yet. i don't know what my creative writing even looks like yet. i'm doing it here, but this is still just barely the beginning. 



keeping a record of what i grow

keeping a record of what i grow

pep talk

pep talk