on guerrilla creativity
when i was younger i wrote poetry on everything. on bathroom walls in high school. on pavement. on paper that i would insert into all the newspapers in the bin. in zines that i would leave in odd places. i was in love with the idea of finding beauty in the strangest places. in places one ordinarily found graffiti and ugliness or sterile commentary.
the name i used for myself was “goddess 360°”
this is who i was. and yes, now, i do realize i was defacing public and private property, but i only feel a little bad about it.
it was delicious. it satisfied a part of me that seemed to be at the very core of my soul. i called it guerrilla poetry. it never occurred to me to second-guess what i was doing. i just did it because i could, and because i wanted to spread words like confetti, like a beautiful anarchy, in my own small-town southern world.
well, this was the early 1990’s, before the internet, before one could virtually band together with fellow weirdos and at least feel a little less alone.
well i’m sad to say that after years of trying to have my writing published, having my words picked apart and strung back together into pitiful things i didn’t recognize as my own, i stopped believing in my own voice. that free-spirited me who flung poems out into the world like little galaxies turned, slowly, into someone who looked at creativity like a feast I can’t touch.
i don’t want to be 20 again, but I do want that part of me back. i’m not saying we should deface property, more like a defacement of the status-quo of ourselves.
what would it feel like, just for one day, to completely trust yourself? to follow your own magical impulses, like electricity, into the wild unknown? to just start painting, instead of worrying about it. to just write, instead of feeling like you have nothing to say? to use all the materials you have, instead of thinking you can’t create anything “worthy” unless you buy this, or buy that?
today i say fuck it to all that.
any act of creation is worthy. any act of creation is saying yes to life. any time you dare to tell your story you are opening a window, you are breathing fresh air, you are cracking the spine of resistance to life.
i have decided to stop the bullshit of pretending. this is a lifelong process, i’m sure. it starts with being aware, and it ends with being aware. paying attention. paying the muses. our currency is love, not product.
remember that girl who was a mess of audacity, a whirling goddess of chaos, shaking shit up. take her in and feed her, she’s very hungry.
she needs you as much as you need her.