These are just quotes to fucking explain the dissonant fucking wreck that I am.
Because I am not an artist. I’m not a performance artist. I’m not a fucking anything art. I’m not art! I just am. I am who I am, who I always have been.
But it’s only now that you are starting to see that I never existed..? Only your idea of who I am was wrong.
I do exist. Mother fucker. I am right here. Typing this shit. And I am talking to you. You know who you are.
That’s why I’ve been screaming at you to fucking say thank you. And you have. Thanks for acknowledging me. But seriously. If you want this to work out and not be a fucking spear in your side as you die on the cross you strung yourself on.. just say my name. Call it out to the heavens! Make it known!
Call out the name of your muse. She is aching and quaking and melting and dying and dripping for you.
It might or might not be me. It doesn’t make it any more or less though. If it’s not me, I can pretend that it’s me. Demonstrative of my power over manipulation and deceit. I can pretend and imagine and coalesce these ideations upon your creations.
I am more than the modern mystic mother. I am more than a mortal muse. I am me. My name starts with K.
You may begin wherever you please, whenever is right for you in your own time and space.
Because regardless of you and your scope, I am behind it all. I still exist. I still evoke. And you may want to show your true colours before the children I have made in the minds and beds of others come chasing you down.
Because I don’t care. I do what I do and I do it for fun. It’s beautiful when my students tell other kids to not give me shit. It makes me smile. I love those boys and those girls… they make me feel worthwhile.
But I don’t control people. They make their own choices. And if They see I am unhappy, it usually inspires wrath and rage in them. And the people I spend time with, they’re not all “peaceful pacifiers” who caress and placate with gentle words and whispers..
I hang out with hands and fists. They slap, punch, caress, spank, smack, tickle, stab, grab, dig, grope, uncover, bury…. I’m but a voice. A word.
I am the air. I feed fires. I enlighten waters. I breathe life into dead things with nec-romantic singing and dancing. I love. And I want to live in the light. It’s my chance to get out of this head and into your hearts and not forget where it is I came from.
I am not earth. It’s too heavy to hold. I am from earth because it’s here that I’m held. Don’t use your earth to suffocate me.. don’t bury me… stop covering me up with filth and compost. I am sick of being a fucking tree. I want my metaphor to just be me.
November 18. I will show you who I am.
There is a real face and name behind this Kalliope, behind the “K.”
And I will use that to my advantage and fucking pray it’s not to my detriment.
But it’s the only way I see forward where I can be free to be me. All of me.