The Whole is Other than the Sum of the Parts

-Kurt Koffka

gestalt

I can recognize what my pac-man sides are, but I don’t know who I am entirely, the triangle. http://www.intropsych.com/ch04_senses/whole_is_other_than_the_sum_of_the_parts.html

I don’t know where to start. I’m queer, I’m trans, I love cooking, I knit, I play guitar, I garden, I love the ocean, and iceskating, and contra dancing.. But those are some my pac-mans. I don’t know what the whole of it is, what I wear on my sleeve, to hopefully find a tribe with other sleeves like mine.

I have been trying to fit in with the queers here. But being queer is for me an ‘Oh P.S, I’m queer’ thing, not an ‘I’m queer!’ thing, if that makes sense. It’s part of my make up, but I’m not front and center about it, nor am I about anything else up there, so I have to figure out what my front and center things are.

I can obviously go into the ‘”I am thoroughly used to being different shades of shadow and not being allowed to be otherwise so that’s the only thing I know how to do’ pity party, but fuck that.

…okay, I am really tempted to do that, actually =D

Obviously I’ve got to allow myself.

I want to figure this shit out. I want to find a tribe, instead of bursting out everything that’s happened during the week to my shrink, because she’s basically the only person I talk to. (I can’t help but see it as some kind of horrifying Wilson, Tom Hanks thing). That doesn’t seem useful shrinkage, at all. A tea party, instead of actually getting down to business. So, I don’t know how, but let’s do this.

air staffs mulan

Daily Post (In which yesterday, you came up with a name for a horoscope, and today, you write October’s)

Hold on, dear woodst.

The waves will be pushing against your heart, and you’ll feel the need to keep on your toes, and to keep the suit jacket on.

Who cares about the suit jacket? You know about the rainbow flag, and whatever the color of ‘madness’ is, hiding underneath, and maybe someone will see it some day.

But now is not that time.

I know you feel like jello, like too much water added to that strip of water colors you get from the dollar store, and you don’t know who you are now, and what you can manage runs across the canvas.

But you do see who you want to be.

So work on it.

The silence leaves sorrow in my mouth, now
I taste woodsmoke, and my mom’s lasagna
A memory made out of something that
never came home, in the end

A stuttered pause
I went below the surface
too long, too much again
they couldn’t breathe around me

The silence leaves heartache in my mouth, now
I taste herbal tea, and sprite as it runs through my fingers
I carefully went along, ever watchful
for a safe place to build a den
But there was no room, in the end

So, I packed my truth tightly
my flag of the wild
hastily folded
as my eyes dimmed
treasures swept aside