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Wounding Others Is Lame and a Poem
The whole Kathy Sierra drama is sad. And it is decidedly a drama. I’m not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing, it just is, for better or worse. When anything traumatic like this happens, communities will often go through a modified Five Stages of Grief. In this case disbelief, anger, retribution, resignation, and, though not always, perspective. Reading a bunch about the situation this morning I witnessed some disbelief (”I’ve never understand how people can do this sort of thing.”), more anger (”Mother Fuckers.”), and a scattering of retribution (”Mother Fuckers should/will pay”) and resignation (”Nothing new here.”)
I have not seen too much perspective, though some seem to have tried in their own way. I’m sure others have as well but I’ve only read what I’ve read. I cannot offer much in the way of perspective myself for the simple reason that I don’t know. I don’t know Kathy. Though I’ve subscribed to her blog for some time. I don’t know Chris Locke or the other Mean People. I don’t know them and I won’t pretend that I’m a part of this particular incident. I’m simply a witness from the shore, watching with my own opinions, presumptions, inclinations and biases.
I can only go by my intuition on this, an imperfect instrument to begin with, but one worn to a dull point when dealing with digital words riding waves of bandwidth. My intuition tells me Kathy is feeling frightened and angry. I believe her when she says this because my intuition tells me too.
I can’t blame her either. It would take a cold heart to do so and anyone who feels inclined to invalidate her feelings on this matter is someone who’s chosen to ignore much of their own experiences in life. There’s not much worse than someone telling you you do not, in fact, feel the way you do. Or that you shouldn’t feel this way. Or that you’re being silly. Or short sighted. Or stupid. “Yeah, thanks, maybe you could go somewhere else and miss the point. I am this now. Let’s start from there shall we?”
Of course, alleged death threats are serious which is all the more reason for people not to jump to conclusions and grand stand. I understand the impetus towards taking a perceived virtuous action. I also understand the wisdom in being. Be first, do second. There’s nothing wrong with anger but bitter anger will halt all progress. Insightful anger will not. I believe it was Ghandi who once said everything he accomplished he began because he was angry (or something along those lines). He transformed his anger into peaceful action which quite literally freed a nation.
So I don’t know and it makes me sad. Sad that, regardless of the legal issues, people would choose to spend their time weaving words that serve one pointed purpose, to hurt another simply because they can. I’ve done many things in anger, said cynical and sarcastic words that have hurt feelings. It was and never will be an attractive action or a pretty part of me. Deliberate harm to another is sad and that is what the following is (text actually written in the comments of Kathy’s post about this situation, which is just mind numbingly absurd, utterly narcasistic and about as advanced as two Neanderthals fucking in shit.):
That’s pain.
That’s hurt.
That’s cruel.
And I’m sure whoever wrote these words felt entirely justified in doing so which is why it is sad to me. They’ve trapped themselves in a model where their anger, jealousy, confusion, pain, and needs are reason enough to lash out. It is a poisonous food they eat.
So, I sat down on my stone bench after reading the whole drama this morning. I sat there, looking out at the Lake-Pond, and let it fade - my anger, disbelief, sadness - and then I wrote a poem to bring it all back up again. Such is the work of a poet. Letting go to bring forth and saying things that don’t make sense. In my case because I can’t make sense of anything. “I don’t know? What the hell, I’ll write a poem about it.” And this one came about because of this familiar tragedy of which we all bear a responsibility for if you don’t take responsibility for all of it you will never change any of it.
They Call Me That Which Is Not
Dirty words they say.
I know not why.
I am to them -
an other Thing
that They may mold
out of swap mud and rotting fish.
Hurtful things they say.
I know not why.
I am that which is not -
to them.
Easily They dismiss me
of bone and root.
Embers they hurl -
try to burn me sweetly -
with smiles and applause.
Spit and fire from some place fragile
envelopes the cracks that were once
possibilities.
It is a tragic game.
Lost time spent in a log -
Ant Fury and sour.
But I am not that which they call forth
nor am I the opposite.
I am Them -
with ears to hear
and eyes to see.
I will the crack of these stones and sticks
And chuckle my day forward.
I am too full of holes and stars for Their words to be
Me.
Though for Them the implication is clear.
They have quit trying,
abandoned grace and
have fallen for the blue crush whisper in Their head.
It is so very sweet is it not?
Would I join you if not for knowing
that which you choose to ignore
That you exist for this world to behold.
Glorious dawn is MY making or
a grand statue of granite and brass
that all may wonder -
how on earth did it ever get built
and what does it matter.
Further Reading
So Sorry
But comments are currently disabled while I work out some bugs and explore the feasibility and wisdom of implementing the Intense Debate comment system. I apologize for being a buzzkill, but they'll be back up soon. You can always contact me if your about to burst with a classic riposte or feel a pressing need to reach me.
