A Secant Query

Between Disabled and Barred

Where I'm housed in water, so never unhoused...

Between Disabled and Barred

🎶 Sylvia's Mother - Dr. Hook

I have transitioned: I used to identify as living more than half my life unhoused. Since moving to my current watershed, this is no longer the case. For perspective, visibility stops at ultraviolet light; for housing, that same spectrum stops at: "chronically unhoused".

Must Be Nice

Being outside most the time (must be nice), one neighbor puts it: "unhousing saved me from a video game addiction."

When housed, I want the screens out. I want no screens in windows so vicerally, they stop being there. Nesting (after repeatedly unhousings) ran its course and no longer serves me:

The stool has become a collection point, draped with multiple layers of fabric—there's a blue pattern with zigzags, what looks like a soft pink fabric or garment, and some darker textiles with various patterns layered together.

— Sink Into the Heart of Her Sea by Coral Mead

For me to see something means to also see it in 50 weeks at the curb. I must choose to not see it there, to not see it there. I must, to not see it there, forsake myself 50 weeks from now. Dice love loads roll in favor of the house (not my person). Declining her emotional gamble; I amass no things, for love, for sake itself. Every "Do you want this?" - all "This is for you," say, too: "for you, dear curb." Please, love, it's mean.

Isn't That Sad

Neurotypical projection of emotional landscape serves; or it directs.

A masc once very violently offers me, homeless teen, water. Freshly molested while hitchhiking, I wasn't looking for more. I turn down this man. To feircely protect with a challenge as vital as "You'll die if you don't take it" was a choice. I say may I die leaving. The interaction distends: "Do you want this?" What's in me and wanting things is here. You're not talking to them. Thank you.

Patterns i live in and nets I fall through leave a clear signal: I must live, so I might be exploited, as to die denies that exploitation, I must not die - take this, drink. Not free to die and not free to collect things I won't lose in four seasons, a thing in spring I house is an annual - it is housed for one spring, in my life. In my world, the world I'm left to, and hold on for you, each dawn casts its own light once.

How much context am I invited to permit, where it may be sad (my don't have things)? The reply hinges on that f[ ]eedom.

Growl All You May

All show and no bite makes Jake a dull drum. That was supposed to say "dog", but I got distracted with a good thing from childhood: hiding in the dryer during hide and seek. Every game, for years, no sibling found me. I play hangman, and pick "hymn" - they all hang1. In recess, I would hang out in the covert.

Since five, where I was the only one to fail to introduce myself, the ten people in my class in the US South I never moved school from never liked me. At home, I am locked in a house with a lock taking a key to open from either the inside or the outside. I sneak out through the window. Head to the forest.

My first journal, every sentence ends in a question, buries here. Questions decompose to love: sunlight and water try something out as each other's zero and one, made electricity and magnetism, connect with displacement as suspension.

Account Suspended

Showing someone my art, I learn a blog of mine from childhood is removed. I go to a backup on a device, display the art. It takes a moment, not a bother. For effort, having shame for having nothing to show is a learned response I never develop; my contingencies suffice, or don't.

Disabled, the word, I invite describe what sense be invoked. Word offers "a state (person, place, thing) whose needs are forgone" - needs people are yet to meet. Am I needs people are yet to meet (may it be clear: it is not my place to say)?

As sure as being handed a ticket and told to wait "over there" is a thing I am told: being disabled is a thing I am told. I am not handing myself a ticket, I am telling myself to wait "over there". How I see it: I am not disabled - I am society working as intended.

Maybe That's It

  1. Hangman Is A Weird Game↩