14 Sep. 2021
“A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others” is what Oz tells a man of tin, whose empty caverns creak & croon for a fulfilling love, a loving filling. A feeling.
I’ve only seen the film once but am getting to know that quote well. I actually used it in a song I made yesterday with my friend Chaz. He lives in LA, where parts of me will always live. I really grew up in this city; is it by chance that all of my bestie babies grew up in this city? Maybe they smell it on me. Creaky caverns that shine in the light & croon in the dark, believing in the magic of smoke & mirrors.
The caffeine is starting to hit so my ADHD will carry the torch from here on out. It’s 7am rn. OK let’s see what my tinny life has consisted of these past months. Last time we spoke, I was back in New Mexico, working on a few different TV shows. I love to work on multiple things at once.. is it a deep-seated boredom that derives from my privileges of access to culture, race, & class? Is it because I like to expel all of my borrowed blessings, wringing them to their rinds? yes & no to both. I was an assistant producer for one tv show & composing the music for another.
I’m quite young to be doing these things, but that’s only according to you. I’m sickeningly competitive. I played sports my whole life & was absolutely primed to play college football until a car crash made my lower spine creak & croon. So music // art became my sport, my obsession, my discipline, my identity. & as for the competitiveness… it’s not really about outperforming // outselling other fools.. it’s just more about innovation. What can I do that no one can ever do, blurring my lines in the sand afterwards.. leaving a treasure map for the few who loved my judging heart.
To answer the question that nobody asked, I work a lot because I want to do a lot because I have a lot to prove. In my mind I’m already late for my age & itching to get ahead. I keep a list of folks who said I would never amount to anything. They’re all getting copies of my first Emmy // Grammy // Oscar // Tony. I’m not even kinda kidding.
So I was in New Mexico hehe. Soon after I posted the first diary entry, my friends DA & Beka came to stay with me indefinitely. We all lived together in Pasadena during the heights of Panny Rama 2020. They joined my first New Mexican Summer ! Past few months were a cute time.. we went to museums, white sands, & shared many laughs. I was very alone all of this year in a myriad of ways. A new surrounding brought out old habits of isolation. Denying grief for my dad. Itching for intimacy… dude i joined all of the dating apps haha.
DA & Beka coming to stay with me was very nice. I felt loved by them; they never even paid their cut of rent so they better fucking love me! haha.. i have a very morbid sense of humor.. DA & Beka if you ever read this.. y’all are stank & broke & need to get your bands up. I was told recently that i use humor as a coping mechanism.. i didn’t get the joke.
In August I finally had a few in-person performances at Indian Market, otherwise known as Natives-Not-In-Paris Fashion Week. I was running around that whole weekend, unbridled in my speech & candor.. which should be interesting because a reporter was around me the whole weekend.. & that story is about to be published in Indian Country Today, otherwise known as the Native-Not-In-New-York-Times.
Idk man .. losing folks in your life really changes you. Since i lost my dad & just recently my uncle & just recently my other uncle & just recently visiting my cousin in ICU.. filters become frivolous. That’s at least how i’ve internalized it. That’s all to say that I was very much on one during ndn market.
In whole shebang was very fun. The performances went well for what they were — away games :) I met some really great folks who are internally beautiful & dummy talented. I rekindled my friendship with someone who has since lent their ears to my creaky caverns made of tin. Infinite gratitude to my ndn market memories!
& now .. almost a month later… the memories of New Mexico mark me like ink blotches from a French fountain pen onto an Indonesian fibrous polyester comforter, where i sit Indian style talking to you ! May your creaky caverns empty themselves out to me, just as mine will to you. Love yourself baby!! Because others love you.