From Balconies instead of Ivory Towers

Lyrics of Contradiction’s Maze playing

Sounding louder in my head than my ears

I pretend that I listen a lot, when people say things I don’t really care about.

Instrumentals creating a robust carpet of vibration I can feel in my feet.

This contradiction’s got me feeling strange, is this the place, or is this the way.

I think I want a job in an office. The epitome of what a boss is. And yet I want to take more risks.

I want to pray five times a day.

In a circle of self worth and judgment, how you match it up is puzzling.

Gathering research on dissociation, I personalize to end with what’s worked.

To do lists kept to less than three tasks.

Starting with five times that avoidance enters and I pick up a book.

Teenage brains. Adult myths. Adult ears.

My train of thought is interrupted by the sound of trumpets, coaxing me to stand.

Leaves rustle to a rhythm not obviously musical.

Sunny and colder than I accept.

Not dressed for the weather.

Pairing from multiple seasons. Keeping my feet bare. Keeping my hair wet. Keeping my coffee iced. Keeping my full mug set away from me.

Registering my adult voice compared to my memories of how adults have spoken to me.

Eating popsicles still for meals.

Telling the truth in greater and greater amounts at a time.

Leading with whiteness. Isolating only irrelevant factors.

Relabeling nothing as irrelevant.

Focused on accessibility of ideas.

Mindful of weapons of opportunities.

Mindful of weapons that warp how we learn.

Mindful of whose voices we hear in our learning.

Mindful of learned illegitimacy.

My attention shifts to wisdom that has not adultified in my internalization if its lessons.

My avoided to do list distances me from identifying with aging, incurious about what adults have to teach me.

Restless as teenagers are restless.

Irritable as teenagers can be, irritating, unprovoked, unbought in resourcefully.

Nerves firing as information resists being made to feel unimportant, narrowing of where to attune oneself registering as unsmart.

Remembering the importance of smarts.

Registering the dis-ease spilling out as judgment.

Resembling authority but showing up as fear.

Controlling how one can be controlled.

Canvassing for gut checks that recalibrate around deception, buoyed by experiences that haven’t yet gone poorly.

Rejecting baggage that doesn’t belong to them.

Holding onto unmanicured reactions against a beautifying aesthetic, antiseptically removing a feeling of fullness.

Junk food full and unchased liquor tipsy. Numb in the face of unset priorities, giving us time to do the work of facing our fears.

Giving us sardonic jubilee and overwhelming fertility to steward differently.

To steward well, if also for the first time.

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Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.

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Amanda Lindamood

Writer. Thinker. Facilitator. Advocate. Invested in accountability for power based violence, creative initiatives, and meaningful, nuanced dialoguing.