AnnieModify

Renewal: It is the breath or the pause between breaths. It is the step or the poised, gathered energy between steps. It is never an ending: it is a beginning, or it is the wink in time, the pause in space, before the next beginning.

Moments come with such promise, such potential, then stutter to a halt, stillborn or unborn. Or not yet ready for birth.

In the moment, you don’t know: is this coming or going? Ending or beginning? Dying or developing into something viable and vivid, something more alive than life itself?

Because what is it?

The words you feel but do not speak.

The grandeur you see but cannot — not in a million years of words or pictures or songs and dances — ever come close to understanding, incorporating, celebrating in a way worthy of what it is.

The glory and possibility, the beauty and heartbreak, of that mountain, this tree, that choked-up voice, this half-stifled laugh.

What is it?

What is coming, what is going? What is over, and what is just beginning?

The engine revs and dies. The ball starts rolling down the hill, then gets caught in a tangle of tree roots. Things start and end in the space of a single breath.

Or so it seems, anyway.

So it seems. The waves crest and subside but hold on, hold on. Here’s that analogy again. The current underneath keeps flowing.

It keeps on flowing, no matter what begins or ends on the surface.

If you think you’ve lost skill, or vision, or creativity, or talent, or desire, or the ability to come up with ideas, you’re wrong. You haven’t. You can’t go backwards. Ever. No matter what.

It’s not up to you. This is the pattern: a cycle of birth, growth, fruiting out; then withdrawal, stillness — a kind of rest that feels like death —; then, regeneration. Birth again. A new creative birth. It’s always forward movement.

There’s a place, however, that feels like going backwards. You’ve been there before, and you’ll be there again.

Usually, for me, it’s the period right before that point of withdrawal and stillness. That phase is full of pain. You’re ceasing, you’re slowing, the cycle’s fruitfulness is ending — but you haven’t yet reached the point of letting go, of entering rest. It feels like waste and wandering. It is the desert for 40 years. It is when you question yourself and hate everything you’ve done. It won’t last.

You are creating, and you are being created. Let the cycle continue as it will, and try not to believe the feelings when they whisper death in your ear. You can’t go backwards. 

Everywhere, listen: the tiniest of invitations. The slightest of whispers. Because it is almost invisible does not make it unreal.

How much more real is a mountain than a molecule?

What we see on the surface is an edge of the thing, a glimpse of it.

Sun sparking and sparkling on water. The sun and the water do not cease to exist between flashes. Wait. Give it a moment. The wave reaches up as the sun reaches down and here it is: the connection, the flash, the spark.

Is that moment a beginning or an ending?

It is the breath or the pause between breaths. It is the step or the poised, gathered energy between steps.

I don’t know what it is — the essence of the thing, the meaning of it — but I know what it is not. It is never an ending: it is a beginning, or it is the wink in time, the pause in space, before the next beginning.

When I was 16 or 17 years old, I stood with a group of people outside an abortion clinic. I was holding a sign that said, “Choose Life.” I was earnest. I believed in what I was doing. I cared. My intentions were good.

I protest on the opposite side of that issue now. My signs say My body, My choice or Hands off my rights. (I want to make one that says Don’t let creepy old men make decisions about my daughter’s uterus but I have two daughters so it needs to be daughters’ and the plural of uterus is either uteruses or uterii and either one is difficult reading, for a sign.)

Along the road from age 16 to age 43, some fundamental things shifted for me. What I understood about the world changed. This caused my beliefs to change. And as my beliefs changed, my behaviors changed.

Most of these shifts happened in the last decade. A decade! Not really very long. 10 short years, 120 months. Just over 500 weeks. Not really very long at all. A year goes by so fast. A week is only a little longer than a blink.

But wow, things have changed for me in the last 500-odd weeks. Things have changed because I have changed.

10 years ago I was trying (and mostly failing) to be a good submissive Christian wife. Submissiveness is not one of my core character traits, turns out. But wow, did I try! Sure did!

10 years ago I owned books by people like Debi Pearl and Gary Ezzo. Having actual children had caused me to toss their advice out the window, but the books were still on the shelf.

10 years ago I was homeschooling my kids because I thought God wanted me to. Oh, also, my kids were not vaccinated. Don’t @ me, I know. They are now and have been for years completely up-to-date on vaccines and I keep it that way. But 10 years ago? Nope.

10 years ago I was sitting in church every week, trying to pull insight out of the rambling sermons delivered by an unhinged, unqualified man. I was trying very hard to reconcile the words of Jesus with the doctrines of the church and the behavior of Christians. This turned out to be an impossible puzzle!

But I believed what I believed for as long as I could believe it.

The unraveling of those beliefs happened over time. Slow internal deconstruction. So gradual I didn’t notice for years. Then I did notice and I didn’t like it. Quite disorienting, to be honest. I clung to what was familiar as long as I could manage the denial. Not just in one thing, but in many things. I wanted the security. And I wanted to have not wasted so many years, so many months and weeks, so many days and hours and moments, turning myself inside out to serve truths that were nothing but dust and ash and dead men’s bones.

Some days I miss the comfort of knowing, or believing that I know, so many absolute truths. It’s easier to have things mapped out, lined up. You don’t have to do so much figuring out of life when you already know what it’s all about (or think you do).

Now I don’t know anything! But I also don’t feel obligated to hate people. So that’s a good trade-off.

People can change. The only limit on what you can learn in a lifetime is how many years you get. There is not a hard stop on openness or curiosity. Change is difficult but people can change. It is right to ask them to do so because things change when people change.

It is right to ask ourselves to change, too. There are a few things in my life, in my heart, that are non-negotiable. The rest is up for discussion. It is good to require ourselves to be humble and curious and willing to learn. It is good to say things like I don’t know. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m learning. I could have done better. I will do better.

Calcification occurs when you don’t pay attention. The tissues harden in place. Things get dry and brittle. Another word for calcification is death. Change is life. Be open, and don’t be afraid to ask others to be open, too.

I’m sitting on the floor in a convention center. Lily and her friend are wandering around nearby in their Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun cosplay.

The cosplays here are amazing. I don’t recognize most of them because I don’t watch that much anime, but I don’t need the narrative context to admire the creativity and attention to detail and the swagger. 

It’s a specific swagger; self-aware, a bit self-effacing. Inhabiting the role while acknowledging that it’s a role. And ready to be kind: dropping into smiles easily, accepting and offering compliments, handing trinkets out.

I’m not dressed up this time but we’re already making plans for next year. 

I’ve seen parents and grandparents here decked out in costumes and gear, shopping and chatting and having a great time. And others who are a little bewildered but doing their best, buying posters and holding drinks. They maybe don’t get it but they’re supportive. A few minutes ago a young person dressed as the Grim Reaper walked by, with a parent right behind literally supporting the blade of the giant 10’ scythe they carried.

There are all sorts of people here, at the anime con. 

In the U.S. in the 1950s it was still pretty taboo for women to wear pants. Some women did, anyway. But most didn’t. The daily dress code, the culturally defined acceptable look for women, was a literal dress. Or skirt, I guess. And most women stuck to that code because social ostracization is painful.. 

Three decades later and the first official anime conventions in the U.S. are happening. Small, informal, few and far between. 

By 1999, the year I graduated high school, we’re up to 17 anime conventions in the U.S. 

This year, I don’t know. I quit counting after 20. There are a lot. 

There’s plenty of valid criticism about the cost and commercialization of the current cons. Fair. 

But what’s cool is that they exist, in many places, pretty accessible. What’s cool is that there are hundreds of people here having a good time and feeling safe. I just watched a young person strut across the room in a pink mohawk, go-go boots, and shiny Sponge Bob shorts. Appearance: Glorious. Gender: Unknown and irrelevant.

Culture is what we make it. Culture is what we collectively agree upon. The loudest voices seem to have the most influence: people with fame, wealth, in positions of power, getting media attention and amplification.

People like us, normal people, might think: I can never be influential like that. I can never be influential enough to matter. 

The first thought might be true, like that. But the second one is not. You do not need power, or money, or fame, or media, or a big following, or any kind of following to be influential enough to matter. You need only to inhabit the space you inhabit here, now, in this time in which you live. 

Culture influence happens when one person amasses a lot of reach; one voice gets amplified, cranked up.

Cultural influence also happens when a lot of people (a mass) each have a little reach. Like, say, the reach from your home to your neighbor’s, from your phone to your friend’s, from your keyboard to your blog. 

Every small thing you do actually matters. 

How did we get from the 1950s — when a housewife needed to wear a dress and heels to be socially acceptable and couldn’t open a bank account without her husband’s signature, when Whites Only was a commonplace rule, when queerness was taboo — to 2025, now?

We got here with the buzzing of bees, one little bee to the next little bee buzzing, humming, swarming, insisting, spreading ideas, changing, whispering, nodding, dancing, buzzing. 

You can be sure that at every point there were loud voices in positions of power saying Oh no no no no no no no we can’t have that. 

The bees kept buzzing. Many tiny voices, singing quiet, tiny reach, tiny movements, massing together, moving individually and creating collective irreversible change. 

We’re a hive, we’re a swarm, we’re widespread, we’re numerous, we’re more. And every buzz matters, adds to the volume, adds to the noise. We choose what is known, what is normal. We define the cultural standards by how we live in the culture. We do this by amplifying within the limits of our own reach our values, our loves, our interests, our lives. The moments and the choices, the mundane and the dramatic.

What we amplify and what we allow matters. 

What we ignore and what we overlook matters.

Every small thing you do matters.

Your influence is unknown, widespread, limitless. 

Voices in power will continue to scream, as they do. One day maybe we’ll fix that. 

For now:

The bees keep buzzing. Many tiny voices, singing quiet, tiny reach, tiny movements, massing together, moving individually and creating collective irreversible change. 

You’re whatever color, ethnicity, ability, physicality, gender, sexuality, neuro-ness you are: Cool, welcome, come on in!

You’re carrying whatever heritage (or burden) of history, class, culture, connection, lineage, background you’ve been given: Cool, hi, hello come on in, welcome!

You have whatever education, skills, experiences, memories, interests, preferences, sensitivities you’ve picked up along the way: Hi, hello, welcome, nice to have you!

You have whatever religion, outlook, beliefs, opinions you choose to bring with you: Cool, welcome, hello!

You disregard, demean, dismiss, dehumanize others because you don’t like their [color ethnicity ability physicality gender sexuality neurodivergence history class culture connection lineage background education skills experiences memories interests preferences sensitivities] because you choose a/n [religion outlook belief opinion] that says it’s okay to hate other people when they’re not just like you: No, goodbye, not welcome here, so long, get out, absolutely not, we don’t do that, we don’t tolerate hate. 

Acceptance means we accept how people are and who people are and treat them all with respect even when we don’t quite get it (whatever “it” is). 

Assholery is when we think some people don’t deserve to get treated with respect because we don’t quite like or understand something about how they are and who they are. 

Acceptance is active. It is shown by demonstrating (in word and deed) respect for others. 

Assholery is failing to demonstrate respect for others. It often instigates a spread of active disrespect which ultimately leads to dis-regard and de-humanization of others. 

We don’t welcome assholes because demonstrating respect is a choice and being an asshole is a choice, and they are mutually exclusive choices. 

“Hello! I am a developer. Here is my relevant experience: I code in Hoobijag and sometimes jabbernocks and of course ABCDE++++ (but never ABCDE+/^+ are you kidding? ha!)  and I like working with Shoobababoo and occasionally kleptomitrons. I’ve gotten to work for Company¹ doing Shoobaboo-ing code things and that’s what led me to the Snarfus. So, let’s dive in! 

About this tutorial

I first started doing Very Simple Thing² with Snarfus, but the more I used it the more I saw the potential! Despite the jaggle of the chromus, it’s really multi-purpose. And that’s what led me to argyling the pintafore with the quagmire instead of the hoobastank! I know, crazy. But it was kind of working, and actually a lot of fun… Until I hit a big roadblock: the fisterfunk will NOT talk to the shamrock portal or even send beep-boops back to the Snarfus! Of course, you know what that means³ — Now the entire hoob-tunnel is clogged with gramelions. Unacceptable. 

I almost gave up but then I realized: If I connect the backside Snarfus stagnator to the backside shamrock Klingon troglodyte emulater, it’s good! Everything beep-boops and ding-dongs and I get the Actual Topic of the Tutorial, which lets me do the Very Simple Thing the way I want after all! Pretty cool⁴.

So here’s how to set it up: 

1. In the terminal, ajkl;gawgor;iqeg;iJLkqen.  wl;R aw;oeiga 4648664 arjarwgj;llj;ja fadgfgajkljl; wlj;sdjk;lfas

2. Next go to folder/hidden/deep/in/the/file/system/surprise!.file and copy the contents of the file. If it’s not there, it might be in library/library/library/llibrary/liiiiiibrarrrary/llllliiiiibrary/hidden/hidden/hiding/you can’t find me/hidden/nope/never/hahahahereiam.file.

3. Now go back to the terminal and paste in the file contents, then type in 64A786AGR45JAR; rdja;jg [[]][[]][[]][[]]][[]()()()()()()()()(){{}{}{}|{}{|}{}{|}{ ////////////////!! !!!! !! //// !!! agjlkargji;lwej;OI [ASRGASG[]ASGDASG[]EAEadgasg[]EAGE[edaga][]ahgr-0-0=-0-=0-=0=0-0=-0-=0=-0-=0=-0=-0!!!

4. Boop!⁵

5. Open Snarfus and upload the file you just made. 

6. Just for shits and giggles, you can de-sham the chronostatiomatrix by running —()()(]]asdg a=-do —cd go cd stay —sususudododo baby shark—][] but that’s optional. 

7. That’s it! 

Let me know how it goes for you. I’d love to hear if anybody uses this approach with GewGawGamma or ometer2.7.”

1. I probably should recognize Company because it seems illustrious but I do not recognize Company or know what they do. 

2. It is not simple. 

3. I do not know what that means. 

4. It is cool. I don’t really understand how, but I believe it. I’m glad you know how to do it. 

5. The first 3 steps will take me approximately 7 hours and 193 internet searches to complete. When I finally get to Boop! it will be really satisfying.

   This is meant in good fun. I really appreciate the folks who take time to share their knowledge and write up tutorials and give tips and so on. 

Many see that in this nightmared land, language has no meaning and the work of the writer is ruined. Many see that the triumph of authoritarian consciousness is its ability to render the spoken and written word meaningless — so that we cannot talk or hear each other speak. It is the work of the writer to reclaim the language from those who use it to justify murder, plunder, violation. The writer can and must do the revolutionary work of using words to communicate, as community. 

Those of us who love reading and writing believe that being a writer is a sacred trust. It means telling the truth. It means being incorruptible. It means not being afraid, and never lying. Those of us who love reading and writing feel great pain because so many people who write books have become cowards, clowns, and liars. Those of us who love reading and writing begin to feel a deadly contempt for books, because we see them vending their tarnished wares on every street corner. Too many writers, in keeping with the Amerikan way of life, would sell their mothers for a dime. 

To keep the sacred trust of the writer is simply to respect the people and to love the community. To violate that trust is to abuse oneself and do damage to others. I believe that the writer has a vital function in the community, and an absolute responsibility to the people.

—Andrea Dworkin, writing in 1973