Grown-ups and children are not readily encouraged to unearth the power of words. Adults are repeatedly assured a picture is worth a thousand of them, while the playground response to almost any verbal taunt is 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.' I don't beg so much as command to differ.
I have a really dark, rich, thick sense of humor.
Love is a positive, symbiotic, reciprocal flow between two or more entities.
I have laughter dates with myself, where I find comics on YouTube and watch them. Louis C.K. was my first laughter date a couple years ago. I'll also watch those videos of people doing idiotic things. That cracks me up.
Abuse is the means in which violence retards love.
Words outlive people, institutions, civilizations. Words spur images, associations, memories, inspirations and synapse pulsations. Words send off physical resonations of thought into the nethersphere. Words hurt, soothe, inspire, demean, demand, incite, pacify, teach, romance, pervert, unite, divide. Words be powerful.
Passive violence can be as simple as someone honking their horn at you for not turning fast enough when the light changes. And it can be highly complex, like when your co-worker undermines all of your work relationships by spreading rumors and lies about you. That's how passive violence rolls.
I dance. A lot. I work grief and sadness out of my body when I dance, and I bring in joy and rhythm.
I work grief and sadness out of my body when I dance, and I bring in joy and rhythm.
Describing passive violence in this culture is kinda like someone who is drowning in the middle of the ocean giving you the low-down on water. The only way you can really understand passive violence is by going somewhere far, far away from phones, news, TV, the Internet.
Ancient, woman-centered words and beliefs never, like, fall off the planet. Having long done taken on a life of their own, they - like womankind - evolve, and survive. Chameleon style.
