11/3/25 - You're Not The Only One

Just an advisory, I guess. This one is a little exhausting. If you're a fan of my ruminations, by all means, keep reading, but I'm not proud of this entry. It's all just me and my whining. Boring, if you ask me.

Let me start with the good works. With smiles from Gaza. That which fills my heart...

Remas and Manal, they are both still alive. Remas has found a solution to her problem, and she has a new campaign. God is good. God is good.

Everything is good. Ibrahim is alive, he sent me a video. His neighborhood is nothing but rubble. But he was smiling. He believes in tommorow.

Zahr is alive, but her life is difficult. She looks after her husband. She is having to learn so much, in order to save her world.

These people, you know... they are the emotional bedrock from which I stake my strength, in this day and age. I am not a superhero, I am not Mr. Schindler. I am just trying to do the best I can.

Ibrahim is one I do not text super frequently, as much as he provides me with updates on his family's welfare. He is a trusted friend, and I try to look after his condition. He is trying to make this all work, with a new child. God bless him.

Remas is my dear friend. Remas is so close to my heart. Every chance we get to talk, my heart can be at ease. She looks after her daughter Amal, and they survive day to day. I love her so much. Remas likes to ask me questions about my life, about my feelings. I work too hard these days, this job ran me dry the last few weeks. I listen to her speak on her life, on her experiences. She is the same age as me, we are so different... but there is never judgement. She wishes we could be friends in a better time. God bless her.

Manal is a close friend of mine, as well. She has three kids named Qasim, Luay, and Jamalat. Sometimes she sends me pictures and videos of them playing. I try not to cry when she talks to me of her life, of her exhaustion. She works herself to death to keep her family fed. I could never know what that's like, that struggle... but she always wants to know about me. She sees the multitude. She's always speaking with wisdom to me. She empathizes with my life and my struggles... I don't know why she cares. I could never have that blessed of a heart. I could never be so tender and understanding. God bless her.

All of these friends, they see me as something so much better than I really am. Every day, I hope I can become even half of what they see in me. God bless them.

Sometimes... I think my work in managing Manal's campaign, my friendship and communication with these families, are the only things I'm doing right in this world. All I want to do is see the terrors finally end. Our age of genocide, the coagulation of the blood altars... it's starting to feel heavier.

They're beginning to take their seats.

And I'm so tired. 

And the Ring is so heavy, Sam. 

And I begin to see it in my mind all the time, like a great wheel of fire...

I don't convince myself of my better value. I don't believe that my service makes me a good person. I don't hurt people, I don't lie, I don't steal, I don't cheat or fight. But it doesn't matter. I'm missing something in my heart. I know in my mind I shouldn't look for anything tender. I shouldn't be trying to talk to anyone. I'm not put together well enough to entertain the company of... these angels, these champions. Sometimes I'm almost grateful my job surrounds me with mediocrity. It pulls me back down to Earth.

This job makes me feel more confident, for two different reasons. One pure, one bizarre. What is good about this job is connecting with families, with children and elders. I learn so much. I have been able to ingratiate myself into the community of attendees at ABC.

But I do not like my coworkers. I've a great disdain for my supervisor. They're very conservative and straight laced, they're a bit homophobic. This office likes to engage in gossip and tribalism. Some of the worst tendencies of our community become very evident in the way this team treats "others." It's a lot of jealousy and emotion with these people. It helps me understand my worth and my value as a person, because I know that I'm better than that. I have no shame in admitting that. I don't think it's haughty or unfair. I don't.

But what pulls me back down to melancholy is my crucial vice. I can't stop thinking about them.

I don't know what I'm saying. All these feelings are bullshit, you know. All these feelings, they will pass. The good ones, the bad ones. The only feelings that can never pass is my devotion to seeing this through, my mission with these families.

I just need more money, I just need more time. If I had a million dollars, I could free one of them. And then, another. And another.

You're probably thinking, that is not pure. Not well founded. This is not activism. You're not well, you're mentally sick. You don't have the right mindset needed to perform acts of service to the greater good.

You might be right. You might be right.

I have discarded the mindset that just because people are living through worse things in other parts of the world, doesn't mean that my problems don't matter. I understand that. But I feel as if these people I've mentioned... they deserve a better friend. They deserve to admire someone who isn't so lost in her emotions. Someone with the mental fortitude to ignore the conniptions of their heart, who can focus on the good fight.

Enough of that, aye. No learned helplessness, no learned helplessness.

I haven't done enough to stop La Migra. I haven't done enough to help families on food stamps. I have to do more for those poor people in Sudan, those families in Congo. In Tigray, in Jamaica.

It is so heavy. I think things about myself, about my responsibilities, that are wrong. 

I keep thinking, I shouldn't ever admit how I feel about the good fight. I should speak of how we will win. Of how we must fight. And we must, we are! We must become harsher, we must grit our teeth and ball up our fists. We must batter and bruise and cripple the fascists, the zionists, the capitalists. We must kill, we must link arms together to create a superbeing of the masses. The common people, the working people, the disabled people, the poor people, the sick people, we will win...

But my rhetoric, my ideals have become corrupted by bitterness. I've let that sort of cynicism take me.

I keep repeating myself. It's childish. It's so embarrassing, you know.

I've decided. This is a bad decision, this is a bad decision, but I tell you that every piece of wisdom I recieve from my peers about the needs of my spirit, the resolution is fire. It is danger and uncertainty.

With tear in eye, and heart of love, she said, "She would leave."

Then with a questioned expression she asked, "Do you believe?"

I don't read tea leaves because I'm afraid of what they will tell me. I keep telling myself to buy a set, to read the cards, but I cannot allow myself to become superstitious. My infatuation with this girl is making me crazy, I have to forget about her. I don't want to, but I should.

Maybe that is untrue. What could I ask her, what could I say... You know what I was reminded of? Unicorns. Re'em.

That's not a topic of conversation. It's just the motif I can never get away from.

I keep trying to become less of myself. I lose my own magic in these diatribes. Lady Amalthea finds herself forgetting her true nature...

Have I been hiding? Is that what this is?

I tire of uncertainties and siege tactics, I tire of it. I am choosing to be vain, I'm going going on be selfish for once, I want to try something with nothing at stake.

I'm almost changing my mind as I'm writing. But in spite of the complaining, the whingeing... I haven't given up.

This project, it's killing me. I hate Unseen, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I will stop working on that song. Banshee is good. Updo is good. Even Leg, as much as I hate it, is good. Unseen is not good.

I can feel my friends getting tired of these blog entries. I can feel your exhaustion. I should just shut up and do better, right? I applied to a couple different jobs, y'know. I got a call back today. I'm gonna see how much they're offering. If it's north of 40k, I'll take it. But I want to be ambitious, yeah. I want to do something creatively fulfilling. So maybe I'll pass on that one.

Today I'll apply to unique positions. Positions out of my wheelhouse. At the museums, at the clubs. Who knows?

I just know that this album is in a weird spot. If I find work, it won't concern my output.

You know, I keep entertaining the digital company of artists. People with vision. What do you say to these people, I dunno. I guess I am artist, whether I want to be or not. I keep making it, its uh...

That's just negative self talk. Just like at the conference again.

Whatever. I got sick and couldn't go to Samhain XXV, sister went with their friends with those tickets. They had a blast. That night was when I was talking to Taco Girl. Sick out of my mind, sniffing and sneezing. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the UAE. Weirdly enough.

How hard will it be to wash my hands of being complicit... a different lifestyle is calling to me, you know. A way to make it possible.

No. We're gonna get a cushier job, I'll finish moving back to the East Side.

Yeah. Hmm. The work continues, I'll see you tommorow.