Death & Beginnings - Why I Write
George Orwell on 'Why I Write', says the writer needs ego and the "devil" in him to write and his book 1984 was written when he was very ill. The success of that book spurred the urge to live, but I don't want to wait to be very ill to write something meaningful. 1984's success is on the idea of dystopia, a living death that plagues us in a future time where we are separated not by the mortal confines of life and death, but ideals. My blog is concerned on how my active voice identifies not only my own fate, but the fate of others. I don't want to live a life where my voice is obsessed with the nihilism inherent within being white.
As a history and criminal justice student, poet and musician of increasing creativity, I've got plenty of experience within 'white culture' which I believe to be a passive, unspoken experience of reactive hatred bottled up over time. I won't rest until my voice on my experiences are heard. I've walked the path of being transgender but not only that, growing up around special needs children, ignored children, traumatised children and importantly right now - immigrant children. My voice developed through a Disney pass on the seemingly perfect Aryan poster child that neglected my very slow, methodic and analytical mind inside. I was taught to ignore other people's struggles or my incessant inquiries, being told, "a chair can just be a chair". I've heard various iterations of that as, "You can't fix the world" and "There's what you can control and what you can't control". I've watched The Chair Company on HBO Max where I may as well be Ron on his comedic chase that he's obsessed with uncovering truth. The thing about truth is that we'll never find it. It finds us. Do we ignore or do we listen? I'll choose to listen and the road of me being a white Christian man is paved with the blood of the unrighteous outside my family as allegedly, they're out of my control.
The irony of control is that its very malleable. The sound and definition of control is on the authority to direct or manage. We've got control over our bank balances apparently, but the upcoming sale or insurance renewal will likely put you out of pocket as of writing this today. Finance is the same, malleable until something controls the outcome. Politics too. Despite malleable change, we resign ourselves to simplicity. Good vs evil, artificial vs real, white vs black, male vs female. The 'isms of the world are criticised for their simplicity yet real because we can boil the points down to the 'isms. As a child I thought the world was binary and didn't hear the 'isms yet, my black and white perspective written off as Autism Spectrum Disorder. Turns out Autism Spectrum Disorder is not a spectrum but a video-game. There's levels, one, two and three to the diagnosis these days. Three's cannot be independent, two's are "functional" but require assistance and one's are independent that 'deal' with the world. It was explained to me as a child that I had Asperger's Syndrome (not my diagnosis) as I had the extended vocabulary and acted on a need to mingle with others but the spectrum linguistically says I'm on a spectrum. A sea hue in world of oceans. Oceans and seas are not the same, Aspergers and Autism Spectrum Disorder are not the same. The Pacific Ocean is not the Mediterranean Sea and the "seas" as a word means the ocean. The malleability of autism is fascinating to me. I've been at level three autistic levels, "non-functional" and hardly "eloquent" but I look to other children and adults and see a world full of - I'll be frank - non-functional hardly eloquent human beings. Are you autistic? Am I autistic? I dare you to judge me and yourself within this model of language and thinking. A chair can just be a chair. My mother taught me that. Language is malleable, antisocial and forceful, so I'll change the word "control" to make more sense - normal. One force.
One plus one equals window. One plus one equals two. One plus one equals... one? I learnt of Vanuatu's independence, a happy nation of ones living together as I also start my journey being another one in an ocean of ones. I wish to also look after the ocean. We can't do it alone. The Folk Flock is a concept, one sea that binds us within an ocean we re-chart using language. We look to children, the teenagers and the young adults coming into age and see every mistake we made and in our pride and selfishness, believe we can fix that. I dare you to guess who wants to fix the world, I dare you to fix these people's hands. Is it your right to change that? They cannot afford the rent that hikes on holidays in Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands or elsewhere. You sit on a goldmine of language, law, knowledge, paid breaks and money. They sit on the curtails of privilege, volunteer-work, our consequences and philosophies. They're scared. They've learnt from us. What they have are our vices and voices. Whatever destroys them, destroys us. The Earth of one plus ones. Multiply faith in one another, assist not where you can but serve wholeheartedly.
By speaking up I add my voice to the hundreds, thousands or millions of Christians that speak against our extended families and communities under God, through fear. Fear of transgender people, fear of the government and most of all, fear of thy neighbour. This is white noise. I hear about my people causing pain, ongoing trauma and a continuous fear of Christianity and institutions. Your voice is within reason as Christian people succumb to fear of the unknown within our creature comforts. We need to remember that people, as fucked up as we are, fight a holy war that isn't ours. I must admit the fault of my human teachings through my Christian perspective that comes with the role of being Christian in an increasingly faithless world. This is part of my uphill fight as yet another white voice complaining from a position of comfort. It's not about excuses, it's about what people see.
I see a world with multiple voices that chime together as an orchestra. There's multiple ensembles and styles, but I play tuba. I've been told I'm the foundational instrument, the baseline. It's not a popular instrument as parents languish to flourish the case holding thousands of their hard-earned dollars on an instrument that might not be played again. My everything but in name Christian parents had faith when they purchased me a second-hand E-flat tuba that I played in high school, graduated and played some more then ignored for seven years. On the seventh year, I walked out of my hole I had cradled myself in and I started playing again. I joined a band, then I lost interest. I joined another band, got excited and joined the rest of their ensembles and then quit most of them - sticking to the big band.
Big band tuba was contentious as I constantly asked myself if I was a bass trombone or a bassist. I'm a tuba player. I learnt trombone parts to go to the Goodna Blues Jam to be reminded by a vocalist that I need to be playing all the time as a tuba player, the foundation of the band - the bass-line. My oh-shit moment was annoyingly frustrating to me, that I've lived my life playing classical when I'm a bass player in a tuba suit. The man who laughed, "It's not a tuba!" at me when I left the last jam was very happy to see a tuba player at a Blues jam. I've since learnt about other tubists that have played with Roger Waters, Duke Ellington and his orchestra and the sousaphones of New Orleans brass. I remember seeing Bullhorn for my 30th birthday in Brisbane, a New Wave brass band that rapped itself into my heart to pump oxygen to the foundation of my music journey. My life story is a tuba's, where I see trombonists, violinists and pianists everywhere - I just need to be strong with my foundations.
The foundations are hard. Re-establishing foundations after a long hiatus and daring to re-teach yourself anything is hard. I recommend it to everyone. The daily battle of simply counting how long I breathe is soothing. The rush of lights on a highway, skidding to avoid the police camera is not as fun when you eventually have to make a claim on your insurance just for it to be an at fault incident because you're speeding, just to wonder why your premium increased on the next renewal. When you breathe, a bunch of science-y stuff happens and you feel better. The foundational, revolutionary invention of breathing.
Breathe in... two... three... hold... two... three... and out, two... three...
There is no devil in me when I breathe but it turns out we say "bless you" when we sneeze without realising it. The flutist chiming a sharp note is excused by non-Christians blessing non-Christians all the time. Fascinating. When I'm scared, "Holy Shit!" and "Jesus Christ!" still dominate my language in an attempt to process my fear. In fear's presence, my religion reigns to reflexively defend me as a foundation. My foundation is not everyone's foundation as we all come from different ensembles, but I'll still stick a mic down the tuba's bell so my message to God goes to you instead. I'm a writer as I'm urged to write so I interact with the world, not as a passive tool. Christianity is not just faith in the unknown, but the radical acceptance to love yourself as the Lord does. George Orwell may have needed the devil of dystopia to write and live but I've got the euphoria in a post-apocalypse. You may not write in response yet, but you'll criticise the ways as everyone does these days. My writing is a critique of myself, from comparing my life to News and all that dominates the soapbox.
