I Will Not Rest Until My Project Is Done

I will not put out another piece of cover content. Not another product review, tutorial, get-ready-with-me, recap vid, or life lesson.

When I get called by a project, it makes me different .  I take longer walks and I have a shorter fuse. I have vivid dreams and vivid nightmares.  I hear melodies and one liners and chord changes I didn’t even know were possible.  I feel the vibration of a new energy under my fingers, and I have a deepening relationship with my creator.

Also,

I have a bone to pick with just about everything,

Cause I’ve been gracious enough, I’ve been scapegoated enough, I’ve been criticized enough, I’ve been stolen from enough,

I’ve brought people together that all cliqued up and excluded me.  Did the community thing like yall all said. Let it bleed me dry in the name of trying to procure a little dignity and protection. Got more dues to pay and hoops to jump through and keeps to earn instead.

Y’all aren’t hearing the words though, you’re too busy trying to guess my emotions.

“Wow something must have really upset you” yeah no shit, ICE is upsetting, the death of Jason Arday is upsetting,

But that doesn’t mean the words aren’t true. It just means you’re afraid of how you’ll feel about yourself if you admit I know what I’m talking about. 

Epistemic violence, is what that’s called.

It’s either comply and make myself easier to abuse, or not comply and make myself easier to exclude .

But no matter. Cause I ain’t really been taking shit from y’all but notes fr.

Judge the way I say this, judge the way I do that, but watching me fall is not going to save you.  Doing my friends wrong will not divide us.  Traumatizing people will never gain you control.  Subliminal admonishments have no dominion.

Reactive abuse is the act of provoking someone over a period of time until they snap and using that to assassinate their character and guilt trip them further into a state of compliance and exploitation.

Each cruelty is an attempt to tame a person over time.  It isn’t easy to reorient your mind around your own truth when you have seen so much.

The most horrible things in the human experience, look neat.  And the greater things are often clouded by a throng of gossip and denigration.

People will always pick the easiest narrative.  It’s easier to say I was neurotic and mentally unstable than it is to say I was subjected to bullying, relational aggression, gaslighting, provocation,

How my warnings went ignored and my vessel went unprotected and my gifts were picked apart and how my ambition was punished.

You see, this project demands THAT.  It doesn’t want something palatable.  It doesn’t want something that “doesn’t overthink it.” It doesn’t want to hear all of that and I don’t either, and I’m the one sitting up there and mixing it.

It’ll never be valued, it’ll never be appreciated or accepted, it will always be trashed and slept on,

But it will be done.  My project will be done, and it will be real, and it will be sincere.  It will transcend the institutions that refused to support it. It will transcend the platforms that suppress it.  The 40 and 50 and 60 and 70 year old men that lie on it.  The people in denial about their own jealousy.  The older women and their “not so fast little girl shit”.  The incels and the “good ones” who benefit from their dirty work.

And the queers who are growing tired of retelling the truth.

The former friends that comforted themselves with the cautionary tale that it was over.  And the new onlookers who treat it like it’s a joke because whatever I survived pales in comparison to their struggle, always, no matter what happens to me, it’ll never be enough to consider maybe I could use a little understanding sometime for once.

“You sound bitter,” in a society addicted to sugar, perhaps so. Anything to discredit me, but nothing will silence me.

“Well we’re ALL going through stuff” and you think suppressing it is a virtue so you lowkey resent my ability to talk my shit. Don’t get mad at me for what you refused to confront in a point of seeming easier to deal with.

In the name of Jason Arday who took it all with grace and still was hounded to death,

I’ll do it messy and uncouth.  With ears ringing and hands trembling, with bills piling up and all of that.

But I will have done it.  So I am doing it.  And I will not rest until it is done.