Hugh Peacock

I think this is at least the fourth time I’ve given this blog stuff a shot. Part of me has no idea why we bother. No one cares. Part of me thinks maybe it could lead to something. Part of me knows I am doing this instead of going back to therapy. Part of me asks why we keep trying. Not condescendingly like the first guy. She genuinely wants to know. If you really think there is not point, why do you keep returning to this point over and over?

At some point in this existence - I am not sure, or when or how - perhaps it’s something I’ve carried all my lifetimes - but I digress. At some point I started to equate being “seen” with “survival.” Out of sight, out of mind? Not on my damn watch.

It’s funny. Or ironic. Or psychotic. I don’t know the correct term. I don’t know that it matters. One of my favorite daydreams. Or visions. Or fantasies. Or past lives. I don’t know the correct terms. And I know it does not matter.

Where was I?

Oh yes. Sometimes the timelines blur for a sec. Anyhoo, one of my favorite fantasies is that I am actually a Black Widow-esque, deep-cover agent. The girl next door who’d you never guessed knows ancient martial arts and quantum physics until she has to save you after you stumbled onto a Russian plutonium drug ring. I am guessing that has to do with constantly being under estimated. And yes I am an 80’s baby. Why do you ask?

I learned being an asset, being an offering, became key to survival. I was a shape shifter - transforming into whatever was most palatable, whatever was valued the most. For the low, low price of a couple of hours of attention, you can get ME - a girl who would be hotter if she lost weight but she is a loyal to a fault and follows you around like a puppy while all you do is lead her on! Not what you’re looking for? Maybe you need a non-threatening friend who will drop everything to hang on your every word making you feel like the most important being in the universe because, to her, you are? Don’t worry, she’s super low maintenance too! You don’t ever need to worry about her or ask her if she’s ok.

If some thing happened. If there’s a reason she’s gone so quiet.

SIDE QUEST: Oh there’s this thing called social media that will make prone people pleasers into OVERDRIVE. You might as well not exist if you aren’t seen there. And if you are, your hologram will replace any real connection. Plus! Everyone is using it to get famous. So what is your angle? You have to have an angle! What is your brand? You have to have a brand! This is where I was going to explain the whole starting a blog four times things but as I was writing this I decided that wasn’t the direction I really wanted to go. I love that about art. Hence the “SIDE QUEST” addendum.

I still haven’t answered the question. Why? What’s the why? What seems so darn important? Why even bother?

My favorite phrase, as of late, is “We’re on a rock, hurtling through space within a vast galaxy - nothing matters.” I say it tongue-in-cheek but it has become a mantra of sorts; flipping the entire way I think. Not only do we take this beautiful cosmic rock for granted, we actively seek to conquer it; to destroy the very thing we depend on for survival. How does anything ever make sense ever? Or maybe the question is: “Does it need to?”

The answer is, simply, no. No it doesn’t need do.

I wrote and deleted about 13 paragraphs explaining how I came to that conclusion. Explaining that this is not an argument for anarchy, but a case for community. Then I found myself arguing with myself because, because not only do things not have to make sense, our priorities are monstrously out of whack, and the real truth is even more terrifyingly simple -

we have zero control over our reality.

We, at one time, accepted this as divine truth. We were at peace with our existence, satisfied with leaving this place in harmony, if not a little better than we found it. We found purpose in community, healing and love. This was until an ancient faction, driven mad by the lack of control, sought to control everything. The land, sea, and sky. The known and unknown. Those who do not fall in line, who could not be controlled, are cast out, imprisoned, silenced. That’s why things like slavery, war, and institutional religion exist. But I digress.

I think that is why I have never felt truly comfortable with this universe. I can’t afford the cost of admission but admittance is key to survival. The game was

maddening

crushing

infuriating

excruciating

until magic helps you remember

it lifts the glamour

for the first time

you can see

clearly

you are free

truly

I started this blog post as an “explanation” post about the new purpose of this website and offer excuses as to why I am a terrible blogger. As I wrote, the words showed me I could do the first, but the second is hilariously unnecessary. This space exists entirely because I want it to. It is unpolished, sporadic, and has zero to prove. A stream of consciousness suspiciously resembling the milky way. Spelling errors? I am doing my best. Grammar? Poor girl is trying. Sentence structure? I ain’t the Queen of England. The Point? Hell if I know!

I know I am not a famous writer, and I don’t plan to become one. My only plan, a term I use loosely, is to use this site as a creative outlet. A space where my stories and thoughts can live even if no one sees them, even if no one likes them. Because my thoughts are allowed to exist. My art is allowed to just exist. My whimsy is allowed to exist. There is no price of admission. No pageant prize. No trophy.

Just me. I am allowed to exist.