Happy Saturday morning. Bluesky and blue skies. And some words to kick this day off.
Hallo loves.
I’m reading comments here all day. Talk to me and to each other please. Comment on others posts.
Also: head to the forever chatlandia chat, I’ll be there all day, posting photos of laundry and other calming images. I’m not kidding. That’s the vibe today.
Cross-posting this to socials. I wanted to let you all know that I’ve joined Bluesky and have started my (sad, but necessary) migration off Twitter. I just cannot with Elon Musk. It’s like a death for me, given the amount of community I’ve built there over the last 15+ years. But now the community is….here.or hopefully migrating here slowly. I’ll write more about it, but if you’re over there or want to join, it seems the time is now. I’m amandapalmer.bsky.social. I am not advertising it on other social media at the moment. I’m too tired.
Anyway.
Happy Saturday everybody, especially my Americans. I thought you might all like a post to set the day off right.
It’s Nov 16th, 2024, 8:19 am here in Boston. It’s cold but not too cold, the leaves are orange rainbow blazing, the coffee is percolating, and I’m about to spend the entire day doing laundry, cleaning the house and unpacking from my recent hell-move.
I’m going to work on some writing about an art project I’m releasing to the patrons on Monday. I’m going to cook dinner with my partner. I’m going to try to get to go on a walk to visit some of my neighbors. I’m going to get to bed early.
I was at a dinner party last night and there was a long discussion about the exhaustion – especially the exhaustion felt by women – that is permeating the zeitgeist and leading to the fact that the women’s march expects 50,000 people instead of 500,000.
I am one of those exhausted. Since 2016, I’ve had the life energy sucked out of me. My mama bear instincts have shifted from pointing the finger at the administration to wrapping my arms around my son, my mouth spent ever fewer moments shouting at the White House and more and more moments kissing boo boos.
Many of my friends have felt this as well. My life may have had some extra-extraordinary twists (divorce, New Zealand, a handful of deaths in the chosen family) but even without that…surviving four years of the last Trump term plus covid was probably enough to empty anybody’s tank, not to mention all the other devolving and despairing factors. Everyone I know is turning towards community. I’m turning towards my Patreon, towards my Boston community, towards the idea of running local events and robust spaces for art and discussion. Everyone seems to be down with the idea of not just “preaching to the choir”, but SAVING the choir, because it appears that people are listing and drowning in the pews.
Or to switch metaphors: it’s Go Time on the home front behind the trenches. It’s retreat and not attack, it’s tend to the wounded in the converted churches, it’s bring bandages to the bloody tent, it’s prayer.
And: If you’re feeling this way, you’re not alone.
Art: Favianna Rodriguez, sent to me by a friend in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Tend to the immediate.
Be. In. Community.
Do what you can do. It’s enough. Do not try to change the world today. Take care of what’s in front of you. Clean the kitchen. Call the cancer friend. Empty the trash. Read to the child. Pick up the Lego. Breathe in. Bring the cans to the food pantry. Breathe out. Check on the old neighbor. Wave to the lonely. Think about who might be the most afraid and send them a text.
I love you all. Hang in there. I’ll be on the general (free) patreon chat throughout the day, checking in.
♥️
A
Upcoming/remindet: I will be at Harvard Book Store in Boston Monday (Nov 18) at 7pm in conversion with AI-warrior Dr. Joy Buolamwini and trans musician and activist Evan Greer, discussing community, art, AI, what next. Free and all ages.
