I’ve got it all wrong

get it right by being wrong, permissions, & confetti beakie in progress

And now and I can stop trying to get it right.

Hey you recipient of my letter, real people I imagine I know in reality in which things you can’t touch is just as real,

I thought online communication is visual, and so I must make it look good, but with quantum physics and all other stuff I don’t understand and can’t understand but know to be true, I’ve always known it’s how it feels that matters.

Edited: Lots of heart pouring today, scroll down down down to skip the mush go straight to beakies.

Permissions

Always has been but perhaps I didn’t allow myself the space , didn’t allow myself, full stop.

The making and the doing was easy, the hard part was censoring, or the fight against the censoring.

Mind you it was all me—the creator, the person, the censor, the critic, the protesters, the anarchist, it was tiring.

Not to mention the undiagnosed family trauma, undiagnosed autism, my hubs family trauma triggering my own trauma, then undiagnosed adhd, hyper-mobility and as recent as last month that a health problem that was missed by health check.

Thanks for asking

Now that so many of the underlying problems, no let’s call it foundations of my being, have revealed themselves, I’m in a place, better than I ever remember. Thanks for asking.

Love them and leave them

I’ve always liked people .

I like talking to people. I like bringing people joy, sometimes also making them cry, spend them with them and watch them forget time. I don’t think so no, I’m not a masochist. It is my presence seem to be a permission to let their bottled emotions out.

At my old job people come talk to me, when my real job was making clothes for their big day, but I really felt the work was the listening which was also the reward. I got to listen to stories about the baby that was born, the baby that wasn’t born, and the baby they initially didn’t want born.

What am I trying to say?

Not censoring the flitting attention span.

Miss the details

I was reading listening to No one is talking about this by Patricia Lockwood . The comment on reddit was that it was hard to listen to even for audiobook aficionado.

I checked out the book twice from the e-library. I just couldn’t.

It was like having a conversation with Mr Lunarian where we talk to each other about different things at the same time, respond to each other weeks later. But on text in a paper book, which I’ll have to stop doing anything else to sit down long enough to scan the page, was hard.

So I tried the audiobook version. I generally have a lot of difficulties with audiobook because I can’t follow and I end up not understanding the audio or the task I’m supposed to be doing.

Capture the feeling

If you asked me what it was about as I was listening i could only have shrugged. But in the end I can tell you what it was about and how the whole thing felt.

Which made me realise that I absorb the environment and the vibe and it’s people and people and their vibe, I can miss most of the precision of the content, like birthdays or where the party will be, but etched in me is the feeling, like an ocean seen through the cruise ship round windows in an impending storm, or a prairie painted onto a mural wall in an urban dump. Only the vibe lingers.

Shame shaming

For so long I was ashamed that I missed the oh so important details, that I can’t follow a sequential linear point by point conversation.

But what’s important to me, and that I learn really counts, is how it feels to me, how it feels to you, I see that, I witness that feeling, but also knowing I’m not responsible.

Phew

That was more than I thought I’d say for a ‘hey I’m back’. I was going to tell you none of that actually , but about what I’ve been working on, but as I write I can’t put it in sequence, so I’ll show you what I was doing before I picked up the phone to type the bunch of stuff above.

Hiding is not discarding

Found her recently lying in a corner.

Abandoned or relegated to the backwaters.

She was not torn apart like some of the rest, but she had no clothes, and little hair.

I was censoring. Her and me.

She was too lopsided, too ugly, too little hair, to be adopted, but too happy to end her life. So I put her in a corner where I secretly take in the joy she exudes, but too ashamed to admit it.

I brought her out on a rainy day, because some other beakies were too pretty precious too pristine should my clumsy self dropped them. I brought her out.

With her arms sewn upside down, she her arms flap around in the air saying life here I come here I come.

When I came home she was no longer with me. I thought she finally freed herself from her prison. I was sad but I was happy for her.

A few days later Mr lunarian looking for keys fished her out of his canvas tote. She came back. Or maybe she never left.

Just her

She sat. Smiling as she always had.

She deserves better.

She has always been her. Not worse not better just her.

I picked up some scraps that happened to be there, which would become hair.

Two is not one, two has each other for company. I grafted two buns to her tiny cluster of thread for hair.

The sparse verticals like rain, or, hair wet in the rain, or, shine on wet hair after the rain remained.

Put on her in a found ‘stand up’ tee shirt picked over by other beakies. Just like all second hand clothes, not made for you or your decade, the fit can be weird, so both of us decided against it.

In the same bag was a painted seal I can’t remember the reason it was ripped apart, which perhaps could possess Lele and allow her to do cruel tricks like clapping her hands to earn a meal.

She says,” maybe for cosplay, but not today.”

With her new hair she explores the room and pokes her head into every bag I’ve forgotten I have. Guess what she found? A bag of small felt scraps from way back, each bit so small it was not usable, until LeLe declares it otherwise.

LeLe says,” I want confetti. I am the paaaaaar-tay” While throwing her arms in the air.

What choice am I left with but to oblige?

Scraps of each colour fell onto LeLe, unedited.

She says with an exaggerated nod,” Joy is unedited, uninhibited, uncensored. ”

I may have gotten it wrong. Lucky I’ve someone to show me how to do it right.

What’s new what’s new what’s new

If you’re a regular here (like me), you might have noticed (or not) that I’ve added a header here or a dotted divider there that does not merit mentioning.

Except, when it’s an ushering of a new Noisybeak.

But implementing all the new things I want to do, that keep increasing with each new change (like I used to try doing), causes traffic jam in my head and a body shut down. To be kind to both my life and yours, I’m just gonna chip away one thing at a time! Omg, I didn’t even know that one thing at a time can be real!

Among the numerous changes, one thing you need to know now is:

You can now comment on this substack!

Plus one more thing you need to know:

Everything is gonna be alright! (Tears in eyes)

Out,

Beakies & marn

Noisybeak HQ