Quote of the Day: “It is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.” – Delores Ibarruri

In my Contemporary Topics in Art class this morning, we discussed our art as activism.  All five of us who showed up went around in a circle and they all agreed that I have the most socio-politically active/aware work.  Alright!  When my turn came around, I explained that I wanted to use my art and art therapy as social activism while I was an art therapy major.  I wanted, in particular, to work with people who are trans, genderqueer, intersex, etc. as both art therapy and as social activism.  The art therapy department here frowned on that; apparently that is the “wrong” kind of art therapy and the only “right” art therapy occurs in schools and nursing homes. 

I realized that the way I feel about leaving art therapy is how I felt about leaving the church: LIBERATED!! 

Since all this dad crap went down, I’ve been trying to get a return to normalcy.  After I originally came out to basically everyone, I wanted to get to life after coming out – something that was difficult to do with all youth-oriented LGBTQ literature and organizations focused almost entirely on coming out!  Now that I’ve come out to the last person, I have to get back to my post-out life.

Last night was the Thanksgiving feast on campus and these four old ladies sat at my table; one asked what I was thankful for.  All I could think of was that I’m not pregnant.  But finally focusing on something other than dad crap has greatly improved everything.  I’m also thankful for not being in art therapy any more!


Monday, Voldemort/Karl/my dad emailed my half-sisters, who passed it on to me, that he thinks he’s dying. His previous emails and letter for the past . . . his entire life have been long and drawn-out, taking about five pages to make one point. This email was different, it was just two Bible verses, a Latin phrase, and song lyrics all about leaving with Jesus. Even though he’s apparently in good enough condition to write an email, I think he might really be dying.

Many of you IRL have probably heard me say that I couldn’t wait until he dies, that it would be a big relief, etc. Due to the uncertainty, though, it isn’t a relief, it’s more like emotional turmoil. I feel like, by referring to him as “Voldemort” and keeping him at such an emotional distance, he became more of an archetype than a person. Now that it’s probable/possible that he’s dying, it’s like he’s turning back into a person; not just a person, but a father who was there, went crazy, and then left. I haven’t been sleeping well since Monday, when I also wasn’t able to eat well.

When we know that he’s actually dead (how we’ll find out is anybody’s guess), I will be relieved. And then we’ll probably go to excavate his house and go to court with the State to take Power of Attorney over his will since he didn’t live up to any of his divorce contracts. Right now, it’s depressing because it isn’t depressing: I’m sad about it because this experience with death, the death of my father, is so different from the deaths of my grandparents, cousin, and great aunt. When Gramma died, my entire family was there with her, talking and praying with her and holding her hand. And, at her wake, we shared stories about her. My experience with the death of my father should be something like that but, because he rejected his role as father, it can’t be. It was a relief when Gramma died because she was in a lot of pain, but it will be a relief when he dies because I won’t have to look over my shoulder everywhere. And I’ll be able to forgive him because he won’t be able to use that vulnerability to hurt me any more.

I do plan on writing him an email just for my own closure. And I’ll finally come out to him! If it’s too late, whatever, I’ll still have closure just from him being permanently gone.

One Beat by Sleater-Kinney


I’m a bubble in a sound wave
A sonic push for energy
Exploding like the sun
A flash of clean light hope
All you scientists can hold your breath
Can I decide to show myself, oh oh

Oh oh oh…
(Take me to the source of chaos let me be the butterfly
oh my, imperfect symmetry has underlying poetry in rhyme)

If you think like Thomas Edison
Could you invent a world for me
Now all that’s on the surface
Are bloody arms and oil fields
Could I turn this place all upside down
And shake you and your fossils out, oh oh

Oh oh oh…
(You can’t predict everything with Newton like certainty, why
Oh my, cause it floats around all we see with oscillating energy on high)

And you soothe yourself with the sounds you know
You tune out out out the hypnotic drone
Perfect hexagon of the honeycomb
And you soothe your soul with the shapes you know

Should I come outside and run your cars
Should I run your rockets to the stars
Could you invent a world for me
I need to hear a symphony
If I’m to run the future
You’ve got to let the old world go, oh oh

Your word for me is fusion
But is real change an illusion
Could I turn this place all upside down
And shake you and your fossils out

If I’m to run the future
You’ve got to let the old world go
Could you invent a world for me
I need to hear a symphony, oh oh

Barack Obama Logo

I’m ecstatic with how the election went . . . except for CA (FL, AR and AZ weren’t that surprising)