Crush with Eyeliner

From Monster, 1994.

Identity is a messy thing. You think you know who you are. You dress a certain way, act a certain way, speak a certain way. You present your best self to the world, or so you think, every time you post a new profile pic on social media, post a pic of the complex meal you just cooked, post a pic of your immaculate/kooky/cozy/eclectic/artsy/worldly house/flat/apartment/room. You do all of these things to assert your version of who you are, so that everyone knows you're that guy/girl.

But are you really? How much effort did it take to get yourself that way? But maybe that's part of your identity. You aren't really you without the purple hair, the face jewellery, the sleeve tattoos, the dress made of bits of Moroccan tapestry held together with kilt pins.

And that's cool, man. That's perfectly alright. It's better than alright, because who wants to be normal in this weird world anyway? In the sea of beige, be the neon. That's how that saying goes, right? The beige deny their true selves, choosing to wear the uniform of the masses, while the neon go out of their way to hide their authentic beigeness. Or, the beige are presenting the most authentic version of themselves to the world, while the neon are the rare birds who can't keep their true colours hidden. The fake is true, and the truth is fake. What a mess indeed.

But really, the messy part isn't the mess you made of your vanity to get your make up just right, or the mess you made on the kitchen counter to cook that spectacular meal, or the mess you made in the living room to perfectly wrap and decorate the myriad Christmas presents under your tree.

The messy part is that you don't get to pick how other people see you. You don't own that. Your identity, however self-created or accidental, is all in your head. You present yourself as a writer; your mother buys you a ukulele for Christmas and tells you it was always your calling. Not that validation from others is required. You know who you are, and that's all that matters. Right?

Turning inward... every day I wake up and wish I was something else. Goth. Punk. Harajuku. Jedi. For about a year, I wasn't my true self unless I had asymetrical rainbow coloured hair. Right now, all I want is to be invisible, to fade into the background and let someone else be rainbow coloured and asymetrical. Until I bump into her on the street and curse her under my breath for being cooler than I am. Then I'll take it back.

Harborcoat

Reckoning (1984): track one, side one.

(Click to enlarge)

Have you ever known anyone who never went out and tried? Someone who was so rooted in her own sense of self-entitlement that she balked at the idea of working for something. You know, that person who dropped out of school and then never started anything, never started anywhere. Because she's too good for that. Holding out for management position.

Then maybe she fell on hard times when, well into adulthood, her parents made her move out. Maybe she shoplifted her clothes. She had to. It wasn't her fault. Shitty parents. They didn't want her to have nice things. 

In reality, the parents thought this would be the push that made her start something, start somewhere. But they were wrong. All it did was cement the idea into her head that the world was against her.

Maybe her parents said she could come back, but she wouldn't. She had her pride. She'd rather sleep on the street. Her time would come. Until then, she had her iPhone. Her parents kept paying for that. They're not total assholes.

As the years fell away, this poor, hard-done-by girl endured much at the hands of the universe. How long would she have to wait? How long would it be until her ship came in? She was ready, after all. Ready to take what's rightfully hers, whatever it was. Unfairly, yet patiently, she waited in the harbour for that ship. She waited relentlessly to start. 

Maybe she's still there.

Have you ever known anyone who was so completely rooted in her own sense of self-entitlement that it led her to her downfall?

You don't know anyone like that? Funny, neither do I.