(no subject)

[pantryslut]

When Heather MacAllister died, I didn't write anything about it here, because, although I was very moved by her -- her art, her struggle, her personality, her passing -- and although I had performed at the beneFat last year in her honor, I didn't know her all that well as a person. I had no colorful anecdotes to share. We shared a community of long standing, we shared a whole bushel of friends, we'd been in the same spaces repeatedly, and I certainly liked her, but I can't say for sure that she would have remembered who I was.

Similarly, I didn't speak at her memorial yesterday. Anything I said would have been about me, not Heather, and I chose to keep the focus on Heather.

There are a couple things I want to say, here, in the space that *is* about me. So what follows is about me, not Heather, but it's important for me to say anyway, now that the memorials have passed and I have paid my respects with my community.

It meant a lot to me to have Heather around, because Heather was my age, queer, fat, a fierce activist, a strong and angry personality -- and from Detroit. She grew up more or less where I grew up, more or less when I did.

This was and is really huge for me in a way that I find hard to express. I think it has to do with being an integrated whole, with not cutting myself off from my roots.

Someone yesterday afternoon said something about how certain things make us alone, and certain other things show us we're not. I can't remember more specifically, and I don't want to misrepresent what was said. But Heather's presence in the world reminded me precisely that I was not alone, and in that she was tremendously, privately inspiring.

Because the other things I took away from the memorial yesterday were about anger and energy and how fully people can love you *for* that, instead of despite that. I am ambivalent about people who seem to be attracted to my anger. I tend to think they think it's edgy and cool and I am expressing the things they can't (there are exceptions, you know who you are), all of which is OK until I get a little too close, step on some toes, and then it's all reversed, and I am crazy and out of control and too loud and too aggressive and too much. There were people there, though, who loved Heather for her anger even after they'd been on the receiving end of her drama. That was powerful and profound to see. And important.

I am not dramatic, certainly not like Heather was. I am not a diva. I am a very different personality. I've chosen a different sort of path. (Strangely, G. and I had discussed this, in a way, earlier on Sunday. I don't actually scare people off so much, you know?) But I'm still messy and energetic and quick-tempered and outspoken and articulate and sometimes intimidating, and someday I hope to inhabit that like a second skin, since it is, after all, my skin. It's who I am.

I'm not saying this as well as I would like. Grief seems to do that.

Also while I am here I want to acknowledge something else. There were peopel there I have known in one form or another for about fifteeen years. I met fattest, for example, at the same OutWrite that I met bearsir at. And that's just my illustrative example; an exhaustive list would be, well, exhausting.

I am so glad we are still friends, folks. You are a big part of my history. You've seen me become who I am now. Let's stick around.

Comments

[fattest.livejournal.com]

I was acutely aware of the people there yesterday who have lived here for the past dozen years or so, and realizing that even though I'm not super close with most of them, they are my extended family in a profound way. We've grown up together. So many of us, so many of whom are STILL HERE. I am so glad to be here with you, friend.

[abostick59.livejournal.com]

Someone yesterday afternoon said something about how certain things make us alone, and certain other things show us we're not. I can't remember more specifically, and I don't want to misrepresent what was said. But Heather's presence in the world reminded me precisely that I was not alone, and in that she was tremendously, privately inspiring.

I'd lay long odds that you aren't the only person to feel that way. And there's a lesson here: Because you live your own life at least partially in the public eye, the chances are good that there are people who feel the same way about you: that because of what you do and say and write and perform, you show them that they aren't alone in the world either. You can't pay Heather MacAllister back for what she gave you, but you can pay if forward. The good news is that you're already doing it, by doing what appears to come naturally to you.

Also while I am here I want to acknowledge something else. There were peopel there I have known in one form or another for about fifteeen years. I met fattest, for example, at the same OutWrite that I met bearsir at. And that's just my illustrative example; an exhaustive list would be, well, exhausting.

I am so glad we are still friends, folks. You are a big part of my history. You've seen me become who I am now. Let's stick around.

I know that one well. At Mike Ford's memorial last October were people I've known for three decades now, people like pnh, tnh, jonsinger, and so on. What You Said.

[gordonzola.livejournal.com]

Anything I said would have been about me, not Heather, and I chose to keep the focus on Heather.


I felt the exact same way which is why i didn't speak either. and probably why I had to write such a long entry today.

Long, but only half as long as if I had written the analysis of whether or not one has to be a diva to get things done. My answer would obviously be "no" but my thoughts haven't exactly firmed up enough to write coherently about it.

thanks for writing this.

[nadyalec.livejournal.com]

i have this fear about my anger, also.

because it's not cute and it's not funny.

[pantryslut.livejournal.com]

My anger is funny. It's smart and witty and entertaining. That's what's attractive about it, why people do use it vicariously. (Whether they use it as much as I think/fear they use it is another issue.) But that's not love.