They’re Wrong About You
From One Freak To All The Others
They’re waiting for you to say the wrong thing, wear the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. But you know what? You can’t say the right thing, wear the right thing, or do the right thing in their eyes. So don’t even try.
Moreover, don’t believe them for a minute. Not one minute. Remember what that pink-eyed fatty albino from Pittsburgh said: “You don’t grow up in a small town, you grow down in a small town”. Andy was right. The people telling you that you need to “grow up”, “learn a useful trade”, “be realistic”, “cut your hair”, and — my personal fave — “get over yourself” are all full of it.
This gaslighting has probably been going on since the first accountant set aside his feather boa to pick up an abacus. And the second thing that accountant did — after registering his trademarked name — was to tell his son to ditch the lute and get to his actuarial studies.
And we’ve been going downhill ever since.
Every generation or two, there has been a mad outpouring of eccentricity, madness, art, and joy. There was Oneida and Woodstock and the Cockettes and the Cacaphony Society, the Summer of Love, and Burning Man. They shook things up, but the prevailing “wisdom” had it that those freaks needed to cut their hair, get jobs, and grow TF up. You’re getting that, too, hmm? Of course, you are.
You are free to totally ignore them.
Write your poetry. Paint by the light of the full moon. Dance with shadows. Make up stories about the impossible. Commit yourself to yourself. You’re worth it. They’ve got a lot invested in convincing you that you’re not.
They’re wrong.
And they know it. Which explains why they’re so loud about it. The louder any of them yells the more certain you can be that here is someone who once dreamt of colors and lines and rhymes and outrageous flights into the stratosphere. And they got shot down. Now they are understandably resentful and rigidly unable to do anything but continue the shooting.
Know this: they are shooting blanks. They can only take you down if you believe their lies.
Hold onto the hands nearest you. They need you as you need them as we need each other.
When they call you a faggot, a freak, a loser, a pussy, a nerd, a mistake, a slut, a mess, a sissy, do this: Smile. Smile wide and adjust that flower in the brim of your hat. Swing those hips, Sheila, and revel in the real power that you clearly possess. Every insult they throw is evidence of that.
We’ve got dancing to do, art to create, and sensibilities to mess with!
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