A few days after Ebert's tweet after other sites began to share and repost from his link, a friend informed me that if you google "smile paul" the first site that pops up is actually the site "metafilter.com." I had discovered this name at first while learning to navigate the "Stats" feature of blogger, but until that moment I thought it was some sort of search engine or something. I am in fact still quite naive of how to take advantage of many social networking skills and tools or bit.ly links and probably all sorts of resources and pages that could help me get my story out. (Feel free to share any info or advice you have, please! Consider this, an old school analog boy asking for help!)
So...I googled myself and found the link and low and behold, despite a comparatively small number of comments on my actually blog (it would seem at least, for 30,000 views!) on metafilter it turned out that I in fact had 80 comments of people talking about me, arguing about me, sharing their own dental horror stories or advice, but all in all...overwhelmingly positive and supportive. It was overwhelming to fight my way through it all on the morning of Sunday, April 17th over coffee at my friend Jim's gallery in Miami, AZ, and it took me quite a while for it all to sink in. Ironically, as I was reading through everyone's comments, the creator of the site actually emailed me on facebook offering me a free membership if I wished to take part in the dialogue.
I still have not found the time to fully browse and understand what metafilter.com really even is or how best to use it (see also, twitter!) but I managed to finally get out a long reply which at that time I felt was probably the most accurate description, "defense" and point of pride regarding my blog and why I began writing it in the first place. For those of you who have since watched my recent feeble first attempt at an introductory video last week, you will no doubt recognize much of my dialogue I considered to be the most important was generously lifted from this reply. I hope this may clear up and answer any questions you might have that might have been previously left out. It if probably the closest thing to a FAQ I will ever have on here, unless someone finds me some sort of widget link to create one!
Thank you for reading. Feel free to share any more info about metafilter or twitter or anything that you think might be of use to me. Here is the link to the metafilter post.
And if you wish to skip ahead and read only my reply, feel free to Choose-Your-Own-Adventure below:
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
On How Roger Ebert Heard of Me, and 30,000 Views In a Week
I read this cheesy self help sort of book called "The Love Book," by Leo Buscaglia in college I picked up at a thrift store, being the bourgeoning hopeless romantic poet I was. It was a pretty simple book that got quickly redundant in my opinion and was mostly filled with common sense to anyone that had any sort of compassionate heart in them already, but there were several quotes I underlined back then and copied into the front covers of journals for years as inspiring reminders of positive ways to strive to live my life. One such quote, was this: "Just because the message may never be received, doesn't mean that it is not worth sending." I have lived my life that way ever since, if not before.
I have no fear of "celebrity," nor do I get starstruck, having met many of my "famous" idols and heroes in person throughout my life. I know that not every person on facebook or myspace is who they claim to be, but it has never dissuaded me from trying to message anyone. Even if perhaps my words might only reach a personal assistant at first, who knows? Right? Or, even if a celebrity might not want to support my fan art or read my writing, if it was a fanpage chances are those very fans would probably be more interested in a painting of their favorite star or to read similar lyrics, etc than the actual star. Maybe, at least.
I have known people previously who have written to Derrick Jensen and received personal responses, and I ultimately have always considered him a kind and thoughtful person who seems to respond to most everyone on his page, even if only to say "thank you," which frankly, is enough in my book. I was nonetheless grateful he chose to respond to my post on his wall, but I also was not surprised. He is after all, Derrick Jensen. You can certainly catch more flies for the green resistance to Capitalism, Civilization and Global Destruction with sugar, than you can with vinegar, or no response. Haha.
Shortly after I wrote to him that night, on Wednesday, April 13th, I happened to stumble upon a link to Roger Ebert's TED talk. I'd never actually watched anything on TED and didn't really know what to expect, and frankly, at first glance I thought it was Steven Hawking or something! (Hey, just being honest.) I have checked in with Roger's reviews most every week, along with rottentomatoes.com for the past few years, but honestly had no idea of his struggle with cancer. After watching his whole twenty minute talk with his wife and friends, I immediately went to his facebook wall and posted this, to which you can see his response shortly after, and my subsequent reply as well:
I went to bed that night, excited though somewhat in disbelief at what such a repost might mean for me and my story, my life. Early the next morning before work, I noticed that the views on my blog had jumped almost 500 overnight! How could this be? Could it really be just from actually having those two posts on his facebook wall? I had been writing for over two months and last night was only at a little over 1,600 views. I think I averaged 20-40 most days, the record being around a hundred a couple times.
I biked to work and shared my news with coworkers, trying to find out if he had indeed "tweeted" me or not. I could not find news of this anywhere, but I noticed that suddenly my views had jumped another few thousand! Now THIS, I got a kick out of. I hit refresh again, just to watch them jump 10, 20...50! Just in a matter of a few seconds! Where the hell is the world finding out about me??
As it turns out, I had been looking on the wrong twitter site for a different Roger Ebert. When I found the correct one and saw his over 400,000 followers, I found my answer. Though the title made me a little uncomfortable, there, below was his tweet:
The Man Who Dared Not Smile. One of the saddest stories I have ever heard. http://bit.ly/fV3RQN
Over the next 24 hours I would receive over 28,000 view from nearly eighty countries, almost a thousand dollars in donations from all over the US, and all sorts of comments, friend requests on facebook, emails and notes from all over the world, the response being overwhelmingly positive and supportive. I was reposted by twitter, facebook, metafilter, mentalfloss and who knows how many other random urls. And for the record, it made me particularly happy that this also happened to occur on my grandmother's 81st birthday, who for years always wanted nothing more than for me to be happy and successful, even if she can barely remember me from the confines of a nursing home in NY as she continues to live through Alsheimer's. My happiness and well being has always been the best gift I could truly give her after all she was watched me struggle through the years. I know that even if she can no longer use a phone and can't hear me, that on this day, my endless joy all day long glued to internet was one of the best gifts she could possibly receive.
I don't know what is to become of my story now, how many more people it can reach, and who will follow along with me for more than just the one entry of my sad backstory twittered around the office in the morning over Starbucks, but I am feeling more and more, that it is slowly taking on a life of its own. I aim to remain faithful to my voice and my intentions and keep writing, and simply enjoy the ride and see what happens. I have been joking with my dentist for some time now that I was going to make us famous, and I for one, don't think that she will underestimate me any longer, though I also don't presume that she ever even has.
Who knows what will happen next, but I for one, am excited, and humbled, and thankful. I have waited for over a decade to try to get my voice and perspective further out into the world, always searching for the one person in the back of the room in a crowded coffeeshop who I don't know, hoping they might give a damn about my latest poem. This time, though thousands of people I'm sure skimmed my words and clicked the next link and went about their day, I am incredibly moved to know that my words were capable of reaching so many people of so many different backgrounds all over the world yet were able to inspire them to write to me to say thank you or to "follow" me or donate or email. It truly made last week one of the greatest and most moving weeks of my entire life. It is hard to believe that a single tweet made it possible, and I am eternally grateful for the compassion that compelled Roger Ebert to read and share my words, despite every other possible thing he could have been doing at that moment. If you are reading these words Roger, thank you, for being part of my story, and helping me on my own quest to reclaim my voice. Thank you all for reading, and your continued positive support and kind words. Thank you all, who have made it through the crappy, depressing beginning of the story. Don't worry, I aim to make it a happy ending, for me and all of us who continue to help write these words with me. Thank you for giving me more and "more reasons to smile" as my friend Pete wrote recently in the only local press I have yet to get.
Next up...I'm working on submitting my story to This American Life on NPR very soon. Wish me luck!!
I have no fear of "celebrity," nor do I get starstruck, having met many of my "famous" idols and heroes in person throughout my life. I know that not every person on facebook or myspace is who they claim to be, but it has never dissuaded me from trying to message anyone. Even if perhaps my words might only reach a personal assistant at first, who knows? Right? Or, even if a celebrity might not want to support my fan art or read my writing, if it was a fanpage chances are those very fans would probably be more interested in a painting of their favorite star or to read similar lyrics, etc than the actual star. Maybe, at least.
I have known people previously who have written to Derrick Jensen and received personal responses, and I ultimately have always considered him a kind and thoughtful person who seems to respond to most everyone on his page, even if only to say "thank you," which frankly, is enough in my book. I was nonetheless grateful he chose to respond to my post on his wall, but I also was not surprised. He is after all, Derrick Jensen. You can certainly catch more flies for the green resistance to Capitalism, Civilization and Global Destruction with sugar, than you can with vinegar, or no response. Haha.
Shortly after I wrote to him that night, on Wednesday, April 13th, I happened to stumble upon a link to Roger Ebert's TED talk. I'd never actually watched anything on TED and didn't really know what to expect, and frankly, at first glance I thought it was Steven Hawking or something! (Hey, just being honest.) I have checked in with Roger's reviews most every week, along with rottentomatoes.com for the past few years, but honestly had no idea of his struggle with cancer. After watching his whole twenty minute talk with his wife and friends, I immediately went to his facebook wall and posted this, to which you can see his response shortly after, and my subsequent reply as well:
I went to bed that night, excited though somewhat in disbelief at what such a repost might mean for me and my story, my life. Early the next morning before work, I noticed that the views on my blog had jumped almost 500 overnight! How could this be? Could it really be just from actually having those two posts on his facebook wall? I had been writing for over two months and last night was only at a little over 1,600 views. I think I averaged 20-40 most days, the record being around a hundred a couple times.
I biked to work and shared my news with coworkers, trying to find out if he had indeed "tweeted" me or not. I could not find news of this anywhere, but I noticed that suddenly my views had jumped another few thousand! Now THIS, I got a kick out of. I hit refresh again, just to watch them jump 10, 20...50! Just in a matter of a few seconds! Where the hell is the world finding out about me??
As it turns out, I had been looking on the wrong twitter site for a different Roger Ebert. When I found the correct one and saw his over 400,000 followers, I found my answer. Though the title made me a little uncomfortable, there, below was his tweet:
The Man Who Dared Not Smile. One of the saddest stories I have ever heard. http://bit.ly/fV3RQN
Over the next 24 hours I would receive over 28,000 view from nearly eighty countries, almost a thousand dollars in donations from all over the US, and all sorts of comments, friend requests on facebook, emails and notes from all over the world, the response being overwhelmingly positive and supportive. I was reposted by twitter, facebook, metafilter, mentalfloss and who knows how many other random urls. And for the record, it made me particularly happy that this also happened to occur on my grandmother's 81st birthday, who for years always wanted nothing more than for me to be happy and successful, even if she can barely remember me from the confines of a nursing home in NY as she continues to live through Alsheimer's. My happiness and well being has always been the best gift I could truly give her after all she was watched me struggle through the years. I know that even if she can no longer use a phone and can't hear me, that on this day, my endless joy all day long glued to internet was one of the best gifts she could possibly receive.
I don't know what is to become of my story now, how many more people it can reach, and who will follow along with me for more than just the one entry of my sad backstory twittered around the office in the morning over Starbucks, but I am feeling more and more, that it is slowly taking on a life of its own. I aim to remain faithful to my voice and my intentions and keep writing, and simply enjoy the ride and see what happens. I have been joking with my dentist for some time now that I was going to make us famous, and I for one, don't think that she will underestimate me any longer, though I also don't presume that she ever even has.
Who knows what will happen next, but I for one, am excited, and humbled, and thankful. I have waited for over a decade to try to get my voice and perspective further out into the world, always searching for the one person in the back of the room in a crowded coffeeshop who I don't know, hoping they might give a damn about my latest poem. This time, though thousands of people I'm sure skimmed my words and clicked the next link and went about their day, I am incredibly moved to know that my words were capable of reaching so many people of so many different backgrounds all over the world yet were able to inspire them to write to me to say thank you or to "follow" me or donate or email. It truly made last week one of the greatest and most moving weeks of my entire life. It is hard to believe that a single tweet made it possible, and I am eternally grateful for the compassion that compelled Roger Ebert to read and share my words, despite every other possible thing he could have been doing at that moment. If you are reading these words Roger, thank you, for being part of my story, and helping me on my own quest to reclaim my voice. Thank you all for reading, and your continued positive support and kind words. Thank you all, who have made it through the crappy, depressing beginning of the story. Don't worry, I aim to make it a happy ending, for me and all of us who continue to help write these words with me. Thank you for giving me more and "more reasons to smile" as my friend Pete wrote recently in the only local press I have yet to get.
Next up...I'm working on submitting my story to This American Life on NPR very soon. Wish me luck!!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
On Derrick Jensen, and "Silencing"
On Wednesday, April 13th, I posted the following on the facebook wall of one of my favorite authors and people whom I consider inspiring and whose voice I feel is absolutely necessary to be heard in the world, Derrick Jensen:
His book A Language Older Than Words was no doubt the most moving of all I read last year, a great motivating factor for my desire to reconnect with nature, escape more regularly from the confines of "Civilization" in downtown Phoenix, deconstruct my upbringing, invite my best friend to bike and camp through the wilderness for two months, and try to understand and overcome the pain I had been carrying around with me for over half of my life.
Derrick speaks of many things in his book that though different from my own life, I felt strong parallels with. From his childhood stories of the abuse he and his family suffered at the hands of his father, to the subtle yet violent "silencing" of our culture that brainwashes us to turn our backs on everyday atrocities in our own backyards and in all we consume, to the curious way a disease can free us when we learn to communicate with it. Writing of a near death experience with Crohn's disease, I find this passage from "A Time for Sleeping" particularly moving:
"I did not die for only one night, but for the several years it took for the lessons of that night to travel to every cell of my body, and for the layers of old skin--formed in an earlier time of trauma, when I had different requirements for survival--to scrape away or slough off and be replaced by new ones."
"When we imprison another we must also place one of our own in prison, as a guard. Likewise, when we imprison a part of ourselves, other parts must move into that same dungeon. Prisons--whether made of steel, razor wire, floodlamps, and observation posts, or a steel will holding emotions and flesh in check--consume a tremendous amount of energy. When as a child I vowed to no longer feel anger, to no longer feel anything, not only did I lose access to banished feelings, but I lost also the energy it took to keep them at bay. Where did those emotions go, what did they do? They did not vanish into the psychic equivalent of thin air. How did they twist and turn to find their way out, as ultimately they must? How do frustrated emotions make clear their need for expression, and how, in the end, are they expressed?"
"...I realized that if I were going to survive this disease, I had better learn to listen. I realized, too, that learning to listen to the disease might not only keep me alive, but might also help to release me from the prison of my own steel will, which I had built as a child to keep the world out, but which I now was finding kept me locked in even more firmly."
A comment someone wrote about me recently on metafilter.com has been tormenting me for a week now. Though I have in my head, made many comparisons to my struggle with dental hygiene over the years to other eating disorders, for whatever reason, even when thinking of my own best friend's intense three year battle with bulimia, and also working in social work with homeless youth every day, I never really put the pieces together to think of my own history of bad habits throughout most of my life as "self harm." A week ago felt like the first time in my whole life it occurred to me that me not brushing my teeth was a "cry for help." Or more appropriately, a cry for love and affection and praise from my "real parents" who never seemed to want to try very hard to compete with the ones who raised me. I always felt stuck in limbo, unable to grow emotionally and overcome my shy, repressed, introverted nature because my whole life it had seemed like no matter what I did my parents would never come out of their own shells for me. They never seemed to take an active interest in anything I truly cared about, they never seemed to reward me for all I had accomplished. And how fucked up is it that so many of the gifts they gave always came in the form of candy and soda?
Growing up, since as early as I can remember, they were both always the two people I knew who had the worst teeth of anyone, yet, why didn't they care about mine? I could never understand. Didn't every parent always want their kids to have a better life than they? How much effort, would it really have took back then to make a difference? Hell, they could have used their OWN mouth as an example, they could have given me the guided tour of their own pain. If I had children now, that is seriously what I would do. I would do whatever it possibly took to get them to brush their teeth, so they would not have to live like I have. I simply will never understand how I grew up this way. To this day, I generally feel much more like a mature adult than I feel they act or live. In a way, I have for years felt like they stopped aging on the day I was born. Why else would they have never taken the time to even share with me their own stories of how they got that way, the circumstances surrounding my own creation, of how they fell in love, if there ever in fact, was a time when they would actually call it that?
I have been wondering lately, how it will affect our communication or relationship or the lack thereof the day this blog reaches them, if it will be a long overdue cleansing wash of perspective over them they have never allowed themselves to hear, or if they will ignorantly try to sue me for "slander" or something, never accepting their responsibility or role in creating and shaping me this way over the years, never learning from the past, never treating me like an adult? I wonder if they can finally, finally after all of this, say that they are proud of me, that they are thankful that despite their lack of being there all those years that all in all, I turned out a pretty awesome, compassionate person with a good head on his shoulders. I wonder if they can ever admit that they are thankful that I have found a way for years to live my life on my own terms and follow my dreams and generally always consider myself happy and successful, loved and respected among my community? I wonder, above all, if they can ever, ever...look me in the eyes calmly and say they are sorry, and mean it.
Looking back now, I can't help but believe that my lack of care for my teeth as a teenager directly correlates to my parents lack of interest in my life, to their lack of support in all my endeavors, their lack of positive reinforcement for all I continually accomplished. It feels like it was my way of throwing my mother's constant guilt trips back in her own face, to become a mirror for all she no doubt secretly hated about herself. Bulimia, cutting and other forms of self harm are rarely about a desire to feel pain or destroy yourself, but a coping mechanism to deal with other forms of pain and abuse beyond one's control. When you feel silenced or powerless to alter your situation, sometimes you find a way to control the one other thing that seems easier. Something that allows you to feel a momentary release of some kind when otherwise, you would feel nothing. Something that makes you feel like, "I don't know how to fix this, I don't know how to communicate, I don't know how to move forward, I don't know how to be happy, I don't know how to ever be good enough, to ever be sorry enough, but this...this is one thing, that I can do." So you do it. And after a while, you don't even know why you started. You don't know how to fix it. You don't know how to stop. And you certainly, don't know how to fucking tell anybody your secret. And even if close friends may occasionally hear you in the bathroom, ask you about your weight, notice a cut poking through out from under your shirt sleave, or maybe catch a brief glimpse and ask you about your teeth...no matter how much you might dream of finding that connection that was missing and in all probability contributed to the creation of the problem in the first place...it doesn't mean for a moment that you know how to utter a single word to talk about it to anyone.
Much of my years as a teenager, I felt nothing remotely resembling "love" or even interest or support from my parents. After my grandfather died when I was fifteen and they finally for the first time my whole life asked me if I wanted to live with them, I don't think I could have ever felt more disgusted than I did in that cowardly, decade overdue moment, where they walked me around by the lake for an hour before they could even mumble the words out. I, to this day, still do not believe that they remotely understand why I said "No." But as proud and content as I was to wish to remain with Ma, I could never deny the damage done to me on that day, and for the next eight years by their near total absence from my life all the way through until I graduated college and once again got yelled at by my mother for choosing not to walk across the stage. Similarly, they showed up at my high school graduation after barely talking to me for the past four years and if so, usually just to criticize my choice to be an artist, or talk about my cousin JR's art whenever I showed them mine. I could never understand how after years of silence they would show up with a video camera wanting to film me with my friend's whose names they didn't even know when they had barely even made an effort to actually get to know the real me.
When I think about it now, it feels like refusing to brush my teeth was the only way in my depressed mind that I subconsciously could feel closer to them. The less they were around, the less I brushed, until I really just stopped caring at all. Once I began to get a mouth filled with cavities by the time I hit college, I didn't know how to fix my smile again any more than I knew how to make my parents truly love me. And though Ma and my aunts and uncles always had, there was nonetheless always a divide in me somehow. Their support was never redundant, it was after all, all I had...but I spent the better part of my life trying to simply get my mother to CARE and find an unselfish, unconditional way to express it, that wasn't also served on a plate of guilt. I have waited my whole life to eat a happy, painless meal at their table, with all of us sharing nothing but gratitude for the moment. I have never, ever been granted this wish.
..............................................................................................................................................
In Trinidad, California when my front tooth broke (#8) and my voice changed considerably, crying later than night on the beach in Pinar's arms, I died. The heavy, old skin I had been carrying around with me my whole life, I left back at the restaurant the day before, like an old sweatshirt on the back of the chair as the last words with my previous voice drifted outside to disintegrate, dancing with the ocean mist. The next week I felt a violence taking place to me unlike any I had ever felt before, my shattered Ego falling to pieces as the shards leapt from my body to rejoin the earth as we pedaled further and further toward the finish line. I knew not what would come next after we finally made it to San Francisco, but I knew that our lives would never be the same. I could feel strongly that change would be coming, that the road ahead would be harder than any hill or weather we would face on the California coast, and I knew that this time, that I would once again, be left to face my next battle without the luxury of a partner. The next challenge, the next chapter, of the year 2011, would be about how I finally found the courage to face myself. To forgive myself for the violence done to my body over the years, to love myself, regardless of what my mouth looked like, but also, to fix it, and be free of pain again, and to find the free and playful voice of my childhood, and smile and laugh again.
Derrick writes:
"I don't believe it would have been possible for me to undergo a meaningful death and rebirth had I been working a wage job. There would not have been time. No one expects a caterpillar to spin a cocoon, pop in for ten minutes, then emerge a butterfly...yet not many of us are willing or able to make the time necessary to begin asking the right questions about who we are, what we love, what we fear, and what we're doing to each other, much less, answering these questions, and much much less living them."
As crazy as it may sound, I knew that Pinar and I needed two months of time away from our jobs and routines to actually face our demons together. We had planted several seeds over the past months and I knew they would only grow if watered by the mist of the ocean and caressed by the sun untainted by the smog of civilization. Somewhere, in the silence of thousand year old redwood forests, in rain and cold and wind in our faces up hills like we've never walked up, let alone biked up with 70 pounds of gear, we found our truths. We found a way to begin to face our bodies, to begin listening to them, to hear their cries when we punished them for five hours of exercise, to replenish them with solidarity meals of slow chewing, savoring every bite, however long it took, knowing that without which, we could simply not go on. We found a way back to ourselves, back to nature, back to listening when it was time to listen, trusting that we were on the right path. Trusting, that however long the journey might take us, that when it was all said and done, we would march boldly into the next, stronger and more in touch with ourselves and the Universe than we had ever been.
(Note: Though it is not my intention to speak for Pinar in any of the stories I write in here and they all of course share only my personal perspective, I hope that she will agree with me, wherever her path has taken her right now, courageously facing her next adventure. I hope that she knows that none of these words would exist without all of the time we spent together. I hope that she knows that I am with her...)
Derrick speaks of many things in his book that though different from my own life, I felt strong parallels with. From his childhood stories of the abuse he and his family suffered at the hands of his father, to the subtle yet violent "silencing" of our culture that brainwashes us to turn our backs on everyday atrocities in our own backyards and in all we consume, to the curious way a disease can free us when we learn to communicate with it. Writing of a near death experience with Crohn's disease, I find this passage from "A Time for Sleeping" particularly moving:
"I did not die for only one night, but for the several years it took for the lessons of that night to travel to every cell of my body, and for the layers of old skin--formed in an earlier time of trauma, when I had different requirements for survival--to scrape away or slough off and be replaced by new ones."
"When we imprison another we must also place one of our own in prison, as a guard. Likewise, when we imprison a part of ourselves, other parts must move into that same dungeon. Prisons--whether made of steel, razor wire, floodlamps, and observation posts, or a steel will holding emotions and flesh in check--consume a tremendous amount of energy. When as a child I vowed to no longer feel anger, to no longer feel anything, not only did I lose access to banished feelings, but I lost also the energy it took to keep them at bay. Where did those emotions go, what did they do? They did not vanish into the psychic equivalent of thin air. How did they twist and turn to find their way out, as ultimately they must? How do frustrated emotions make clear their need for expression, and how, in the end, are they expressed?"
"...I realized that if I were going to survive this disease, I had better learn to listen. I realized, too, that learning to listen to the disease might not only keep me alive, but might also help to release me from the prison of my own steel will, which I had built as a child to keep the world out, but which I now was finding kept me locked in even more firmly."
A comment someone wrote about me recently on metafilter.com has been tormenting me for a week now. Though I have in my head, made many comparisons to my struggle with dental hygiene over the years to other eating disorders, for whatever reason, even when thinking of my own best friend's intense three year battle with bulimia, and also working in social work with homeless youth every day, I never really put the pieces together to think of my own history of bad habits throughout most of my life as "self harm." A week ago felt like the first time in my whole life it occurred to me that me not brushing my teeth was a "cry for help." Or more appropriately, a cry for love and affection and praise from my "real parents" who never seemed to want to try very hard to compete with the ones who raised me. I always felt stuck in limbo, unable to grow emotionally and overcome my shy, repressed, introverted nature because my whole life it had seemed like no matter what I did my parents would never come out of their own shells for me. They never seemed to take an active interest in anything I truly cared about, they never seemed to reward me for all I had accomplished. And how fucked up is it that so many of the gifts they gave always came in the form of candy and soda?
Growing up, since as early as I can remember, they were both always the two people I knew who had the worst teeth of anyone, yet, why didn't they care about mine? I could never understand. Didn't every parent always want their kids to have a better life than they? How much effort, would it really have took back then to make a difference? Hell, they could have used their OWN mouth as an example, they could have given me the guided tour of their own pain. If I had children now, that is seriously what I would do. I would do whatever it possibly took to get them to brush their teeth, so they would not have to live like I have. I simply will never understand how I grew up this way. To this day, I generally feel much more like a mature adult than I feel they act or live. In a way, I have for years felt like they stopped aging on the day I was born. Why else would they have never taken the time to even share with me their own stories of how they got that way, the circumstances surrounding my own creation, of how they fell in love, if there ever in fact, was a time when they would actually call it that?
I have been wondering lately, how it will affect our communication or relationship or the lack thereof the day this blog reaches them, if it will be a long overdue cleansing wash of perspective over them they have never allowed themselves to hear, or if they will ignorantly try to sue me for "slander" or something, never accepting their responsibility or role in creating and shaping me this way over the years, never learning from the past, never treating me like an adult? I wonder if they can finally, finally after all of this, say that they are proud of me, that they are thankful that despite their lack of being there all those years that all in all, I turned out a pretty awesome, compassionate person with a good head on his shoulders. I wonder if they can ever admit that they are thankful that I have found a way for years to live my life on my own terms and follow my dreams and generally always consider myself happy and successful, loved and respected among my community? I wonder, above all, if they can ever, ever...look me in the eyes calmly and say they are sorry, and mean it.
Looking back now, I can't help but believe that my lack of care for my teeth as a teenager directly correlates to my parents lack of interest in my life, to their lack of support in all my endeavors, their lack of positive reinforcement for all I continually accomplished. It feels like it was my way of throwing my mother's constant guilt trips back in her own face, to become a mirror for all she no doubt secretly hated about herself. Bulimia, cutting and other forms of self harm are rarely about a desire to feel pain or destroy yourself, but a coping mechanism to deal with other forms of pain and abuse beyond one's control. When you feel silenced or powerless to alter your situation, sometimes you find a way to control the one other thing that seems easier. Something that allows you to feel a momentary release of some kind when otherwise, you would feel nothing. Something that makes you feel like, "I don't know how to fix this, I don't know how to communicate, I don't know how to move forward, I don't know how to be happy, I don't know how to ever be good enough, to ever be sorry enough, but this...this is one thing, that I can do." So you do it. And after a while, you don't even know why you started. You don't know how to fix it. You don't know how to stop. And you certainly, don't know how to fucking tell anybody your secret. And even if close friends may occasionally hear you in the bathroom, ask you about your weight, notice a cut poking through out from under your shirt sleave, or maybe catch a brief glimpse and ask you about your teeth...no matter how much you might dream of finding that connection that was missing and in all probability contributed to the creation of the problem in the first place...it doesn't mean for a moment that you know how to utter a single word to talk about it to anyone.
Much of my years as a teenager, I felt nothing remotely resembling "love" or even interest or support from my parents. After my grandfather died when I was fifteen and they finally for the first time my whole life asked me if I wanted to live with them, I don't think I could have ever felt more disgusted than I did in that cowardly, decade overdue moment, where they walked me around by the lake for an hour before they could even mumble the words out. I, to this day, still do not believe that they remotely understand why I said "No." But as proud and content as I was to wish to remain with Ma, I could never deny the damage done to me on that day, and for the next eight years by their near total absence from my life all the way through until I graduated college and once again got yelled at by my mother for choosing not to walk across the stage. Similarly, they showed up at my high school graduation after barely talking to me for the past four years and if so, usually just to criticize my choice to be an artist, or talk about my cousin JR's art whenever I showed them mine. I could never understand how after years of silence they would show up with a video camera wanting to film me with my friend's whose names they didn't even know when they had barely even made an effort to actually get to know the real me.
When I think about it now, it feels like refusing to brush my teeth was the only way in my depressed mind that I subconsciously could feel closer to them. The less they were around, the less I brushed, until I really just stopped caring at all. Once I began to get a mouth filled with cavities by the time I hit college, I didn't know how to fix my smile again any more than I knew how to make my parents truly love me. And though Ma and my aunts and uncles always had, there was nonetheless always a divide in me somehow. Their support was never redundant, it was after all, all I had...but I spent the better part of my life trying to simply get my mother to CARE and find an unselfish, unconditional way to express it, that wasn't also served on a plate of guilt. I have waited my whole life to eat a happy, painless meal at their table, with all of us sharing nothing but gratitude for the moment. I have never, ever been granted this wish.
..............................................................................................................................................
In Trinidad, California when my front tooth broke (#8) and my voice changed considerably, crying later than night on the beach in Pinar's arms, I died. The heavy, old skin I had been carrying around with me my whole life, I left back at the restaurant the day before, like an old sweatshirt on the back of the chair as the last words with my previous voice drifted outside to disintegrate, dancing with the ocean mist. The next week I felt a violence taking place to me unlike any I had ever felt before, my shattered Ego falling to pieces as the shards leapt from my body to rejoin the earth as we pedaled further and further toward the finish line. I knew not what would come next after we finally made it to San Francisco, but I knew that our lives would never be the same. I could feel strongly that change would be coming, that the road ahead would be harder than any hill or weather we would face on the California coast, and I knew that this time, that I would once again, be left to face my next battle without the luxury of a partner. The next challenge, the next chapter, of the year 2011, would be about how I finally found the courage to face myself. To forgive myself for the violence done to my body over the years, to love myself, regardless of what my mouth looked like, but also, to fix it, and be free of pain again, and to find the free and playful voice of my childhood, and smile and laugh again.
Derrick writes:
"I don't believe it would have been possible for me to undergo a meaningful death and rebirth had I been working a wage job. There would not have been time. No one expects a caterpillar to spin a cocoon, pop in for ten minutes, then emerge a butterfly...yet not many of us are willing or able to make the time necessary to begin asking the right questions about who we are, what we love, what we fear, and what we're doing to each other, much less, answering these questions, and much much less living them."
As crazy as it may sound, I knew that Pinar and I needed two months of time away from our jobs and routines to actually face our demons together. We had planted several seeds over the past months and I knew they would only grow if watered by the mist of the ocean and caressed by the sun untainted by the smog of civilization. Somewhere, in the silence of thousand year old redwood forests, in rain and cold and wind in our faces up hills like we've never walked up, let alone biked up with 70 pounds of gear, we found our truths. We found a way to begin to face our bodies, to begin listening to them, to hear their cries when we punished them for five hours of exercise, to replenish them with solidarity meals of slow chewing, savoring every bite, however long it took, knowing that without which, we could simply not go on. We found a way back to ourselves, back to nature, back to listening when it was time to listen, trusting that we were on the right path. Trusting, that however long the journey might take us, that when it was all said and done, we would march boldly into the next, stronger and more in touch with ourselves and the Universe than we had ever been.
(Note: Though it is not my intention to speak for Pinar in any of the stories I write in here and they all of course share only my personal perspective, I hope that she will agree with me, wherever her path has taken her right now, courageously facing her next adventure. I hope that she knows that none of these words would exist without all of the time we spent together. I hope that she knows that I am with her...)
Appointment #10
On April 11th I went in for more fillings. I am going to test what I've retained from my appointments thus far (and also see which students are reading and choose to correct me :-) and see how much I can tell you about what transpired.
Today I would have a filling in two anterior teeth #22 on the mesial side (meaning the side towards the center of the mouth if split into two halves between teeth numbers 8 and 9 on the TOP, or maxillary side, and 24 and 25 on the BOTTOM, or mandibulary side. I would also have a filling directly ajoining this one on the distal side of #23. You follow? :-)
Today was a welcome change from the back corner of a windowless cubicle upstairs in oral surgery, once again being downstairs by a window. As endearing as the Pelton and Crane light has become, I will pick "watch the leaves on a tree outside the window" ten times out of ten.
Before we began, Rakhee pointed out my first BLUE mark from my last appointment on my Nintendo mouth on the Dentrix program showing where reconstructive progress had begun beside all the red areas to be bulldozed in my soon to be White City.
We began again with the topical, the SLOW so it doesn't hurt shot, the confusing clamp, tucking my teeth in with the rubber dam and the dremel dance party up and down the ridge of 23 and 22. Still no music. GRRR!
Due to the angle and slight crookedness of these two teeth Rakhee asked for some assistance from a doctor finishing off the filling. Though I can't really firsthand watch the process and haven't inquired about the possibilities of filming some video, it is amusing for me to picture the process as it is happening to the best of my mechanical knowledge. The resin filling material is in an adorale mini "caulking" gun, which is cured with ultraviolet light like some types of screenprinting inks I printed with ten years ago working for Electromark in my hometown, making safety signs and warning labels for other factories and power companies all over the US. It is "sanded" down and built up layer by layer. A thin piece of mylar (also used in screenprinting) is placed between the adjoining tooth as a "masking." In this case, however, we had to use a little piece of metal similar to a shim because the mylar just would not stick. The excess flashing on the tooth is later removed like how I grew up scraping the excess plastic imperfections from the injection molded pieces of my model cars I would assemble as a teenager before gluing them together. Finally, the tips of the spinning tool being used, not unlike a dremel or flexshaft used many times in sculpture classes in college, are switched out for buffing and polishing wheels, and the final test of flossing smoothly between those teeth commences. Oh, can't I just do one tooth, can't I, can't I? the artist in me is going to freak out soon if I don't get to play with any of these tools! I almost wish I could chip my own tooth just to be supervised fixing it in a mirror. How crazy is that?!
When everything was finished, I couldn't feel the difference on the back of those teeth with my tongue, and the color was a near perfect match. I dried myself off from my "complimentary shower" Rakhee kept accidentally spraying me with, as she gave me the amazing news that a doctor who had picked up one of my blog promo cards I left with her at the school who had been following along with my progress had given me a blank check to cover the cost of today's procedure! Speechless, once again.
We switched gears and prepared to make a second mold of my mouth after all the drastic changes over the past two months. Here is the old one, cast after my second screening appointment:
As usual, whenever there are no instruments or hands in my mouth, I never stop talking and asking questions and sharing all of my continued news and activities in the works that develop on a daily basis, but this time, midsentence, one of the rare times I seriously ever get forced to shut up so quickly, Rakhee interrupted me with a tray full of alginate:
I was sharing the crazy story of my mother's of how my uncle supposedly almost died when his dentist did that and sued for malpractice, and how I have hated that successfully suing someone has always seemed like a dream come true for my mother and many of the people I grew up around. The people that, as I often joked, if you asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up, would reply "someone who won the lottery."
I have never been one of those people, and frankly I believe more in the power of positive thinking and in myself, more than I will ever put any faith in the possibility of a big pay-off one day from a system truly based on once in a lifetime chances. Why buy a lottery ticket every day, when you can save that $2.00 for a year and do something exciting with money you would have otherwise wasted on something as stupid as lottery tickets? Why dream of putting someone else out of business because of a mistake they might make one day, when it is your own mistake you make EVERY day of not grabbing your own life by the horns and embracing all of the endless possibilities around every corner that forces you to live a tortured, unhappy existence, blaming everyone in the world for your suffering but yourself.
Today marked my tenth roll of the dental dice, and I continue to come out on top. I embrace the journey, believe in my students and doctors, and wholeheartedly accept each day as it comes. It is only the beginning, and things are all the time getting more and more exciting. I am excited to see what happens next, to continue to enrich myself with knowledge I have for my whole life been ignorant of, and to relearn to eat and speak, smile and laugh again. I will leave the lottery for the hopeless. Not this kid, not today. I will however, challenge all who play to save that money, and walk boldly into a new way of living with me.
Today I would have a filling in two anterior teeth #22 on the mesial side (meaning the side towards the center of the mouth if split into two halves between teeth numbers 8 and 9 on the TOP, or maxillary side, and 24 and 25 on the BOTTOM, or mandibulary side. I would also have a filling directly ajoining this one on the distal side of #23. You follow? :-)
Today was a welcome change from the back corner of a windowless cubicle upstairs in oral surgery, once again being downstairs by a window. As endearing as the Pelton and Crane light has become, I will pick "watch the leaves on a tree outside the window" ten times out of ten.
 |
| I can't help it, I get a kick out of these monitors being coated with plastic. I've yet to coat one with a spray of bodily fluids! That must mean my students are doing a good job? |
When everything was finished, I couldn't feel the difference on the back of those teeth with my tongue, and the color was a near perfect match. I dried myself off from my "complimentary shower" Rakhee kept accidentally spraying me with, as she gave me the amazing news that a doctor who had picked up one of my blog promo cards I left with her at the school who had been following along with my progress had given me a blank check to cover the cost of today's procedure! Speechless, once again.
We switched gears and prepared to make a second mold of my mouth after all the drastic changes over the past two months. Here is the old one, cast after my second screening appointment:
 |
| As if my poor teeth didn't already look orange enough! |
I have never been one of those people, and frankly I believe more in the power of positive thinking and in myself, more than I will ever put any faith in the possibility of a big pay-off one day from a system truly based on once in a lifetime chances. Why buy a lottery ticket every day, when you can save that $2.00 for a year and do something exciting with money you would have otherwise wasted on something as stupid as lottery tickets? Why dream of putting someone else out of business because of a mistake they might make one day, when it is your own mistake you make EVERY day of not grabbing your own life by the horns and embracing all of the endless possibilities around every corner that forces you to live a tortured, unhappy existence, blaming everyone in the world for your suffering but yourself.
Today marked my tenth roll of the dental dice, and I continue to come out on top. I embrace the journey, believe in my students and doctors, and wholeheartedly accept each day as it comes. It is only the beginning, and things are all the time getting more and more exciting. I am excited to see what happens next, to continue to enrich myself with knowledge I have for my whole life been ignorant of, and to relearn to eat and speak, smile and laugh again. I will leave the lottery for the hopeless. Not this kid, not today. I will however, challenge all who play to save that money, and walk boldly into a new way of living with me.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Overdue Introductions
Greetings. I decided to post a video to put a face and a voice to these gory mouth pics and endless words. Apologies, I have a hard time memorizing things and am also quite exhausted. I hope this can serve as a general sort of introductory video, at least for the time being unless someone helps make a better one, if any of you wish to share and repost. Thank you, as always, for listening, and caring. Goodnight!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
We are all Nico Vega.
I'm breaking chronology again to post something I wish I had much earlier. As I'm sure you are aware, music can lift us up out of our darkest depths when nothing ever can seem to reach us. (Or keep us there, depending on the song) Whereas instrumental music can somehow seemingly capture raw emotion and jolt us every which way like the weaving bow of a passionate cellist, sometimes, there seems to be nothing more powerful as well as screaming along to the chorus of punk, or good old fashioned "rock and roll."
I happened to stumble onto the likes of Nico Vega about a year and a half ago during one of the low points of my life. I was drinking a lot and arguing with people all the time and felt incredibly alienated from many of the people in my Downtown Phoenix community. Shortly after I discovered them and got the chance to catch their amazing live show and meet them in Mesa at Hollywood Alley would be a turning point in my life. I know that I cannot thank Nico Vega for everything. It was also right around that time that I first met my life-changing traveling partner of 2010 who helped get me to the place I am now, Pinar. But I know without a doubt, that Nico Vega has helped me, and continues to. Their vocalist, Aja Volkman is perhaps the most passionate and powerful yet fun and playfully endearing frontwoman I have ever seen in hundreds of concerts. I have never been at a show where I felt that a band tried more to connect and reach out to every single audience member, be it 20 or a thousand. Though only a threepiece, Aja, Rich and Dan's amazing chemistry onstage is true evidence of their friendship and that they sincerely love what they are doing, and they love even more the ability to connect and inspire their fans. I am very grateful for people like them in the world. I hope you will take the time to read some of their writing below, and listen to their music. This first entry is a Bio from their site. The second is a blog that Aja wrote last summer that I have replayed in the back of my mind for months, thinking about the creation of this blog, dreaming of finally connecting with the world.
I hope you get the chance to see them someday. They are recording now but hopefully will be touring again real soon. I promise that you will not regret it.
www.Nicovega.com
www.facebook.com/nicovega
Here is a recent video of their song "Gravity" as performed on their newest EP, "Nico Vega Covers Nico Vega & Rod Stewart:"
"Gravity" (Acoustic) - Nico Vega
From the band bio:
For us Nico Vega is a way of life. We are 3 people who play music together. We write as a band and help each other develop our ideas. The root of the music is the relationship between us. Nico Vega is about collaboration. We are a family and we honor each other by listening and allowing each other to grow. We push each other to be better and to carry each other when we feel weak.
Nico Vega represents a modern day saint. A warrior that has led us to a more fulfilling, lighter way of being. She represents people and unity. She fights for all of us and teaches us to fight for each other. She is an idea that has evolved into a message and she fuels us in our bellies. She is the person we are all capable of being, but she holds the bar high above our head so that we must reach to be better human beings. We all have honesty inside of us, we all know how to love, we are all made of the same flesh, and we are all stuck here together. Nico Vega reminds us that we can learn to fuse these ideas together and grow more solid as a unit of man. Alone we are lost, we fail, we grieve, we search, we struggle, we feel small. Together we are solid, found, loved, and powerful. We are our own greatest natural resource. Our ego falls away when we listen to each other. It is when we stop believing that we can learn from one another that we stop learning altogether. Only then are we alone. We are no different from each other; the same flesh, the same pain, the same love, the same heart. Our greatness is no threat. The more beautiful we are individually, the more powerful we are together. It is our Ego that betrays and lies and tells us that we are threatened when we are not.
You are a part of our family and we will always make music to communicate our love and gratitude for you. If you come to our show, throw your hands up so we can feel you... you will feel us.
There are 100s of videos from the band and fans on youtube. I however believe that this is the best one to truly capture them live that I have ever found, especially as far as quality goes. (And trust me, I have watched them all!)
Wooden Dolls ( Live at the Roxy 10-29-10) - Nico Vega
Below is Aja's moving entry from the Nico Vega myspace blog.
This is an unreleased song about Aja's fear of losing her voice. The quality is not the greatest, and it is hard to make out a lot of the words, but it nonetheless makes me cry at most every viewing. Thanks for listening!Unknown New Song (Live @ Whiskey Richard's, Santa Barbara, CA 11-6-10) - Nico Vega
And thanks above all, to Nico Vega, for lifting me up from the depths to sing along with you no matter how crappy of a day I am ever having. You always help me to "Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!" I hope one day again I can find the confidence to scream along in the audience, open mouthed, with hands in the hair, and feel as free for once as you all make seem so effortless on stage.
I love you all,
Paul Jones Jr.
 |
| Rialto Theatre, Tucson, AZ. 2/23/10 |
I hope you get the chance to see them someday. They are recording now but hopefully will be touring again real soon. I promise that you will not regret it.
www.Nicovega.com
www.facebook.com/nicovega
Here is a recent video of their song "Gravity" as performed on their newest EP, "Nico Vega Covers Nico Vega & Rod Stewart:"
"Gravity" (Acoustic) - Nico Vega
From the band bio:
For us Nico Vega is a way of life. We are 3 people who play music together. We write as a band and help each other develop our ideas. The root of the music is the relationship between us. Nico Vega is about collaboration. We are a family and we honor each other by listening and allowing each other to grow. We push each other to be better and to carry each other when we feel weak.
Nico Vega represents a modern day saint. A warrior that has led us to a more fulfilling, lighter way of being. She represents people and unity. She fights for all of us and teaches us to fight for each other. She is an idea that has evolved into a message and she fuels us in our bellies. She is the person we are all capable of being, but she holds the bar high above our head so that we must reach to be better human beings. We all have honesty inside of us, we all know how to love, we are all made of the same flesh, and we are all stuck here together. Nico Vega reminds us that we can learn to fuse these ideas together and grow more solid as a unit of man. Alone we are lost, we fail, we grieve, we search, we struggle, we feel small. Together we are solid, found, loved, and powerful. We are our own greatest natural resource. Our ego falls away when we listen to each other. It is when we stop believing that we can learn from one another that we stop learning altogether. Only then are we alone. We are no different from each other; the same flesh, the same pain, the same love, the same heart. Our greatness is no threat. The more beautiful we are individually, the more powerful we are together. It is our Ego that betrays and lies and tells us that we are threatened when we are not.
You are a part of our family and we will always make music to communicate our love and gratitude for you. If you come to our show, throw your hands up so we can feel you... you will feel us.
There are 100s of videos from the band and fans on youtube. I however believe that this is the best one to truly capture them live that I have ever found, especially as far as quality goes. (And trust me, I have watched them all!)
Wooden Dolls ( Live at the Roxy 10-29-10) - Nico Vega
Below is Aja's moving entry from the Nico Vega myspace blog.
Let it Out! August 2nd, 2010
I am coming into a new place. In this place I have began to write some new songs with the band. One song is called "Human Animal".
"This is who I am... I am who we are." I say. I have began to realize the fullness of my humanity. How through frustration is born surrender. How every bottom gives birth to a new beginning. I guess you could say that I feel as though I am being reborn.
"Human Animal" (Acoustic) - Nico VegaI know in my heart that we all share the same emotions, the same doubts, the same desires. That we all want to be loved. And that we all have pain.
Hmmmm. Pain.
Some of us have pain that goes so deep that we no longer address it. As if we are so sick of our own story, that we close the book forever, and put it on the shelf. The scariest thing about that is how it will begin to contaminate the rest of our lives if we never open it again. I have a lot of respect for religion. I admire people who have found faith in a power greater than that of the mind, body, and soul. How much peace they must feel in the end of days. I am by nature a seeker, and I do have strong faith in the fact that I will find peace within myself when the time is right. I do not rule out a God, I believe in eternity, I understand the oneness of life, and I know enough to know... That I understand very little.
As I was saying, I have come to know that when we bottle up pain, and try to forget the past with distractions, the things that hurt us remain unhealed. We will constantly search for a band-aid. I believe that this is the human condition. We hate pain, so we will do anything that we can not to feel it. It really is a survival mechanism for the Animal part of us.
At one point I experienced pain. I allowed myself to be hurt by the actions of someone who was very close to me. I was attached, which can also mean that I had invested a part of myself in that person. When it was all over, I had decided to move on. I have an incredibly busy life full of adventure, and people. There are a lot of opportunities to feel caught up in. I have also had a strong aversion to feeling like a victim since I was younger, so I will take responsibility for things even when they are not in my control. This can appear as strength. Its not. It is a ploy to avoid feeling pain. I had began to notice how I was sabotaging my relationships, and the trust that people had in me, because I was trying to avoid being hurt. All the while I was only creating a thicker darker shell, and burying the old pain with new pain. Can you see how that could end up jading a person? How a person could become harder, darker, more alone, and guarded by protecting their pain? I have decided to write this out, because so many people identify with me on this subject. One of the most beautiful things about a child is their ability to properly grieve. They let everything out, and even dramatize it at times. Yet, the moment passes and then they are on to the next thing. And they are able to remain light.
I am exposing this part of myself, because I want to communicate how important it is to feel your feelings. They, (as everything in life) have a purpose. Once you have allowed yourself to feel them, you learn how to deal with pain. And its likely that you will be less afraid to face a potentially painful situation. You may even provide strength in your relationships because of the confidence that comes from feeling less fearful.
I am in the studio now. Rich is tracking guitars with Tim. Its such an amazing song that we are covering. Its quite funny how it has got my thinking. Next time you are out in public, look at the people around you. You can see in their eyes, and even on their faces how much pain they carry. Try to see them as a small child, and imagine the evolution. Now look at yourself. Know that every piece of pain you protect is weighing you down. Every person you don't forgive, and all of the things you pick at yourself about. All of the judgments of others that stem from deep painful insecurities, all of the baggage. Find a place to let it out, and don't be afraid to let it out.....Its not going to kill you.
Love Aja
This is an unreleased song about Aja's fear of losing her voice. The quality is not the greatest, and it is hard to make out a lot of the words, but it nonetheless makes me cry at most every viewing. Thanks for listening!
And thanks above all, to Nico Vega, for lifting me up from the depths to sing along with you no matter how crappy of a day I am ever having. You always help me to "Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!" I hope one day again I can find the confidence to scream along in the audience, open mouthed, with hands in the hair, and feel as free for once as you all make seem so effortless on stage.
I love you all,
Paul Jones Jr.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
On My First "Home"
I just found this poem I wrote three years ago and thought I would share it with you. I considered it somewhat of a breakthrough at the time in trying to get out years of repressed feelings about a few of the subjects I could never force myself to find the words for. I have, as you can see, come a very long way. For better or worse, this poem was an important early step that helped me to be more honest with my most hidden feelings. My mother really did fall down the stairs the day before I was born. I wonder to this day if it was an accident.
"My Mother's House"
My first womb was owned by a 15 year old slumlord
and I was evicted 2 months before my 9-month lease was up,
just because they fell down the stairs the night before
and apparently had the epiphany that I wasn't a worthy tenant.
The next morning, me and all my bloody belongings were thrown out
onto the curb, left wet and exposed,
my eyes unable to focus on the flourescent sunrise
surrounded by a blur of blue and white-coated strangers.
It might have only been a cramped little studio with thrift store furnishings
and nicotine-stained walls that had never known a cleaning,
but it was still "Home" to me before my Grandparents took me in.
Its thin walls never held onto the secret lives of the building too tightly,
and I always felt like some body had its hymen taken away
like candy from a baby in my bedroom
before I started unpacking the contents of my consciousness.
But it's 30 years later now,
and I've still never had the courage to ask the neighbors about it,
though I still often drive by the old place,
every New Year a rock thrown through a window,
an overgrown lawn obscurring where flowers once bloomed.
They say someone resembling my "mother" used to live around these parts,
but I've still never seen her.
"My Mother's House"
My first womb was owned by a 15 year old slumlord
and I was evicted 2 months before my 9-month lease was up,
just because they fell down the stairs the night before
and apparently had the epiphany that I wasn't a worthy tenant.
The next morning, me and all my bloody belongings were thrown out
onto the curb, left wet and exposed,
my eyes unable to focus on the flourescent sunrise
surrounded by a blur of blue and white-coated strangers.
It might have only been a cramped little studio with thrift store furnishings
and nicotine-stained walls that had never known a cleaning,
but it was still "Home" to me before my Grandparents took me in.
Its thin walls never held onto the secret lives of the building too tightly,
and I always felt like some body had its hymen taken away
like candy from a baby in my bedroom
before I started unpacking the contents of my consciousness.
But it's 30 years later now,
and I've still never had the courage to ask the neighbors about it,
though I still often drive by the old place,
every New Year a rock thrown through a window,
an overgrown lawn obscurring where flowers once bloomed.
They say someone resembling my "mother" used to live around these parts,
but I've still never seen her.
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I have come a tremendous way mentally and physically in the past 6 months, and feel incredibly blessed and moved to tears daily by strangers' responses to my writing and the courage of others to reach out to me, to tell me how they made their first dentist appointment in years thanks to my story. I am tremendously lucky. I have never denied that. Nor do I in any way mean to trivialize the pain and suffering of others anywhere or treat my blog as some sort of elaborately creative entry in a "my life sucks" competition with the world. It really, really doesn't. Frankly, I feel slightly disappointed that the context in which my blog was just ushered so quickly out into the world by Ebert's tweet in a way presented it as a sob story, a charity case. "The saddest story ever." That is absolutely crazy. I am thankful for sympathy and support and connection, but...I wholeheartedly recognize how privileged I have been in so many ways. I was the first person in my family to go to college. I have traveled extensively throughout the US, during which I survived for two years off of the sales of my own art. Now I actually work full time at a day resource center for homeless and at-risk youth ages 18-25 in downtown Phoenix. Before that, I created a a tshirt screenprinting business I was the coordinator of for 2 1/2 years as a day labor and vocational training program for youth as part of the same non-profit. http://tumbleweed.org/tumble_tees.php
It frankly, makes me a little uncomfortable to be perceived as "charity." I bare witness to poverty and misfortune and shame every single day in the stories of youth whose lives are far more incredible than mine. I am humbled and honored every day to be able to serve as a mentor to them, offering my own struggles as an example of how I was on welfare, homeless, abandoned by my parents, in poor health for most of my life. It took me 33 years to finally figure out how to flip the switch in my brain and truly begin to change my mentality and body image and self-esteem. My wonderful student dentist I lucked out with, the first one I saw in 20 years, was the first person who ever made me feel like a "whole" person. Every day is part of my healing process, every word I write, everything I do. It feels great for the first time in my life to focus my every action and all the spare time I have into this greater cause of healing myself, and being a positive inspiration to others. I have spent the majority of my life taking care of everyone else I loved, and always putting my own issues on the back burner. It's not about karma or balance or feeling like the world "owes" me anything as my mother has spent her entire life doing.
So you're right, whoever posted above. It is "my" fault, as much as it is my parents and childhood dentists fault.As much as it is all of our faults for turning a blind eye to others in pain around us each day, rarely ever reaching out a friendly hand to those who are suffering, be it friends, family or strangers. It is a cruel fucking world sometimes, and I for one try to change that on a daily basis with the way I have lived my live for years helping others, even if I never knew how to help myself. Honestly, when I created this blog, I really mostly thought of it as a way for me to finally communicate with my large community of friends in the Phoenix Arts community who have known me for years, but never known this ONE thing about me that has affected EVERY ASPECT of who I am. It was my way, as a writer, artist, organizer and well-known community member in the public eye, of "coming out" to those around me, of sharing my perspective I have my whole life been unable to get out. My blog I at first almost thought of as a mutual aid experiment to unite a community to be able to discuss their issues while also organizing events, highlighting all our skills while also helping me to raise money. The "donations" I earned first began as cookies and food I made myself and offered on a sliding scale. The "charity" that was offered, began as compassion and freely-offered talents from friends who know me as more than a series of blog posts who wished to help me in any way that they could. But as my story got out, and more strangers began to read it, people began to offer me money in solidarity and support of me trying to change my life, not out of sympathy for my crappy childhood or whatever, inspired by the very vulnerable public way I chose to share and face my darkest secret and biggest fear after all these years, and the incredibly positive changes in me that continue to develop. A doctor just the other day at the dental school I have been going to for ten appointments, where a dozen students and faculty know me by name and are grateful for my feedback and honesty with the experience in a way they rarely ever receive, last Friday handed my dentist a blank check for that day's treatment. I am certain that "pity" for my mouth and upbringing, was the LAST think on their mind when they signed their name. If that is "charity," or if it turns some of you off, so be it.
SO.
You don't have to donate. There are a dozen causes I could list that are doing amazing work all over the world that affects the lives of children without clean water, survivors of sex-trafficking, to the recent earthquake survivors of Japan, which I recently donated artwork to a local auction to raise money for. The point is, we are a global village. As long as people anywhere are suffering, we all suffer. As another of you said above, suffering sucks. Pain and infection and not being able to eat and isolation and shame and fear and having people look at you like you are subhuman if you open your mouth fucking sucks. "billy bob teeth" sold in Walmarts and the fact that there is a stereotypical impoverished "hillbilly" character on a show I have loved practically since my problems started, The Simpsons, sucks. "White Trash" is a classist, derogatory term meaning "less than" that should be forbidden in the same ways that other sexist, racist, hateful and discriminatory words are but to this day it stands as a popular joke and description of anyone poor, impoverished, uneducated or generally less fortunate than the middle class.
Suffering sucks. I am absolutely through with suffering. I am determined to finally fix this issue, so that I will be a stronger and much more capable person, to continue to help others and fight all the other struggles of the world. If people happen to be more monetarily fortunate than others, I wholeheartedly hold the no doubt unpopular belief that we as people have a dire responsibility to live in compassionate ways and to help others with whatever skills and resources we have to do so. I believe that most humans, really really are good people, deep down inside, capable of caring for one another. I believe that maybe even, the more that they do, they might just be amazed at how good it feels to give, in whatever ways they can. None of us can do everything, but together we really can make the world be whatever we want it to be. One person, one community at a time, never doubt that change is possible.
Thanks to a post I put on Roger Ebert's facebook page, inspired by his own story of perseverance through cancer and overcoming the loss of his voice to continue to be a positive and productive creative force in the world, and him happening to be moved by my first un-edited attempt at an autobiographical childhood narrative, my blog got 30,000 views in the past 2 days. I can't help but joke to myself, "Wow, if everyone who had the privilege of viewing my perspective and labor and time I put into the creation of this blog online, whether they like it or not, donated a dollar like buying a song on Itunes they can listen to at any time, I would have just payed for a mouthful of implants." But ultimately, I will think no less of any of you if you donate or not. I am going to raise all the money I need, even if I pay for it all myself with the $600-$800 a month I can currently afford while buying absolutely nothing extra. Above all, I am writing my story, to give people hope. To show people that change is possible. To show them that there are in fact amazing, compassionate dentists out there in the world that care. To show them, that it is okay to be afraid. That there is absolutely NOTHING shameful about asking for help. To show them that if a bitter, negative, cynical prick like me can learn to, after 20 lonely, painful, alienating years, finally learn to smile, and be a positive inspiration for change, that ANYTHING is possible, if you truly want it bad enough, and allow yourselves to be open to the possibilities, of you actually getting exactly what you want.
Health, happiness and love, is worth the risk. It can get better. I promise. I am living proof, and I wholeheartedly believe in you all to overcome any obstacle in front of you, though maybe with a little help from friends.
Thank you sincerely for listening, and sharing so much of yourselves, regardless of what you might think of me. I am humbled and grateful to have overnight had the chance to have my voice become so much more than a monotone mumble, capable of being heard around the world.
Love,
Paul Jones Jr.
posted by themightyhumanrace at 2:39 PM on April 17 [25 favorites +] [!]