Classical Sass

Impending Rant

Leave a comment

I very desperately wanted tonight to be a rant. I feel a rant, you know, where rants start? In your gut, or thereabouts, like way in there, where douchebag drivers and all that fucking multi-colored quinoa have clumped to bring you night sweats and inappropriate morning shits. I know that, when I have a rant, it will just happen. Like the best metaphors or the best phrases or the best anythings anywhere in life. I also know it isn’t just a matter of sitting on my (belligerent) ass and waiting; I am writing (shit words and shit phrases but I’m fighting the squall because my sump pump is broken), and I am listening and I am reading. It’s hard for me to remember that waiting is a part of the process in the pre-rant stages, though, because; I feel that rant. I know it wants to be there. I know it’s waiting.

It’s just….AUGH this emo angst! I’m not that person. I’m not that dribbling snide-bot who ponces through life like some sort of over-lubed butt plug. I mean, unless it’s consensual. Whatever your safety word is lube. I know my rants. I know when one is warranted. (They’re always warranted.)

I’ve never been struck by a cul-de-sac in my heart that involved not finding the rant. Rants are writing cardio, for me. But, unlike regular cardio, I can’t force myself through a 5k of petty. I have to feel it in order to write it. It’s not even like a short story, where a lot of it feels like constipated lemonade from begrudging citrus items that really wanted to be used to flavor a salmon fillet. It’s a raw, unchanneled avalanche of unrepentant fury that uses logic to polish its already unmarred doorknobs. It’s magic in a blaze of smoke and fire, and the reality of the heat prevents people from doubting the fire.

It’s a weird thing to want a rant, but not have one. My local activist group has been on the down-low for the last month or so, and I think, particularly with the last couple weeks, I have been missing it. I opted for focusing on local activism several months ago, when national activism left me feeling futile. I wanted to be immediate; present. I need to keep reminding myself to be aware of the local elections, because down-ballots are crucial and highly overlooked; they’re the reason so many parts of our national government get fucked out of functional anything. We need to participate more thoroughly, and that means investing in our cities on every level. I thought local activism would be the best way to integrate political and social justice empowerment into my life. So, it was hard when the group broke down a bit towards the end the summer. It was hard to realize that the few people in charge felt the momentum was all them, and then, they had to be proven right.

I guess my sum total today is not a rant, because the rant isn’t ready. The rant is waiting until I hear my sadness regarding (my) local activism. I’m worried the rant won’t be there until I find a way to address the need for a healthy, local chapter of activism here. And what if I can’t fix it? What if I have to go this on my own? I am not enough. I was never, when it came to humanity: humanity is all of us. All. Of. Us. I am scared of it being just me, but I am more scared that ‘just me’ is more truth than stress in this city. I am not that impossibility and I am not that despair, yet, here they both are; riding me like the pony they never got on their sixth birthday.

I need my rants. #cardio

I’m working on it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s