idiosyncratic oxymoronism

recently i've had to introduce *m* to something called "delena logic." it's not the way most people approach things. however, if a person actually gave enough of a shit to really stop, change their perspective for a godsdamned minute, and look at something from this different point of view, things actually make a damn good bit of sense.

the problem i run into is that most people don't give enough of a shit. i only know of four people in my life who have the ability to follow delena logic: *t*, *aj*, suzi, and *cc*.

do you want to know my absolute favorite word in the whole, wide world?

juxtaposition
n.

1. an act or instance of placing close together or side by side
2. the state of being so placed
3. (in literature) two things which, being placed together for comparison, are contrasting to the point of opposition and yet are the same

the day i met that word, back in my senior year of high school, i fell instantly in love with it. why? because i knew that i was a juxtaposition. i am.

pronoia states we must let go --with love-- of those things which hold us back, while thanking them for being that which we needed when we needed them. pronoia also states we must love and enrich those things in our lives which need enriching and love, and celebrate those things which must needs be what they are by reason of their own nature, even should their nature be contradictory to our own. in fact, we must celebrate those differences, and love them more than we love them.

this is easy when it's something simple, like loving someone who forgets to turn off the headlights on your car and the battery dies. it's a small thing, right? the challenge comes when it means loving things like terrorists, predators of children, wifebeaters, and starbuck's.

and yet they are all necessary and good in the eyes of the Funk. they all serve their purpose. who are we to challenge the Funk?

and yet...who are we to challenge the Funk? we are manifestations of the Funk loving the Funk! we are second-generation star stuff come alive! we ARE the Funky Jive! and in our groovy love and psychedelic enthusiasm for one another, it's our funky duty to both challenge one another to growth and freedom and Funk, and at the same time our sacred responsibility to live and let live.

y'know, every single day i think about the other members of the now-defunct House of Dragons' Rest. i think about the House of Silverfox. i'm a sanchez, damn it all. i'm a silverfox, too. i'm also a chappelle, by declaration of my dad. i am of all these families, contradictory in values and customs as they may be, i am all of them, and they are...

ALL

...of me.

one of those families comes from the streets, borne of nothing but the fierce desire to rise above hardship and solitude. one of those families comes from a proud line across the sea, now numbering only fourteen individuals including myself. one of those families is so vast we number well over a thousand and span several states in america, and half of mexico.

nomenclature merely represents a momentary state of being which may change at any time, and yet reveals a fundamental part of us which is eternal.

how's that for juxtaposition?

i miss my mexican family, but not as much as i used to. i think time has cooled that longing, but my ears still long to hear mariachis singing. my body quivers to dance salsa and merengue. my tongue longs to speak another language among others who will understand. my eyes so fiercely long to look upon people who look like i do: dark and full and short and strong.

i miss my impromptu family. i miss the rough edges and battle-readiness that can only come from living on the street. i miss the dark humor and easy banter. i miss ravyn's laugh, the way it fills her whole body and she throws her head back and claps her hands. i miss the way we did for each other what we could, just because it was that sense of watching each others' backs which hailed back to the days when doing so meant survival. i miss that sense of running in a pack.

i hate how abuse, self-righteous misunderstanding, and the healthy need for space has distanced me from my culture and heritage. it was necessary, yet the physical distance and time have bleached so much that was mexican out of me. i'm a pale imitation of what i once was, and i actually feel stupid when people ask my nationality. "you look hawaiian," they say, "or samoan, philippino, micronesian." and i just smile and say, "nope, just mexican."

"i never would have guessed! you don't look it!" they say.

"i know," i think to myself. "i don't look it at all." and there is sadness, and shame.

i drive by the other entrance to my apartment complex at least twice every day, the one that would lead me right to the apartment with the rest of the silverfoxes. i walk by their building every day i go to the gym. after every payday, i think about the dinner i was supposed to take them to share with me, in celebration of finally landing my dream job. people ask me my name at work, and it feels like a lie.

and yet, in my desire to help create nothing but a sense of family, of challenge and growth and love in the way that i know best --as mother-- i've alienated them. they've turned me into a beastwhore like *cc*, who apparently is out to get them and only wants to browbeat them and tell them how horrible they are.

and yet they refuse to hear that those things are never what i'm trying to do. when i love someone, i will do what i can to challenge them to be better people, to grow and not be locked inside habits that will only kill them. the only people i let do whatever they want are people i don't give two craps about. and yet i'm demonized, and every word out of my mouth is an attack. i say one thing, and somehow (i'm not quite sure how) they wrest other, more horrible, meanings out of what i said until even i don't recognize the words that supposedly came out of my mouth. it's frustrating because i'm only trying to give love, caring, and concern.

not only that, but when i finally expressed serious discomfort and uneasiness because one of the members of that family wouldn't stop touching and grabbing me in inappropriate places, suddenly i'm ostracized by that person. what, the only way to enjoy a sense of family and friendship with that person is by allowing him to molest me whenever i'm in the same room, and to allow him to disrespect when i've said "no?"

half the time i'm tempted to just let them the fuck go. they've obviously turned me into a worse demon than they turned *cc* into. they refuse to hear what i'm really trying to say. i try to approach things reasonably when i see a problem or am upset, and another one of them always has to pick a fight.

this situation reminds me a lot of greggo, actually. yeah, he's a lot better than he used to be, but that's not saying he's fantastic. sure, we're all traveling our own paths, at our own individual speeds, and we'll all arrive at our own destinations in our own good time. but my path is not his path, and my speed is not his speed, and my destination in my time is not his. but more and more lately i've been forced to admit something i've been trying to ignore for years.

my exponential growth lately makes it very difficult, however. it's like being underwater and trying to shoot to the surface carrying fifty-pound weights strapped to your arms. and i'm going to drown soon if i don't get some air. he knows this. he knows i know this, too. so we both know it, and both of us do nothing, and my lungs are burning for want of air.

do i hold on, or let go? do i let go of southern california and the rich culture and my heritage i love so much, and embrace the fact i'll never go back and live in a part of the united states inhabited largely by people who will never quite understand me the way the sanchez clan would? live in a place where the color of my skin, the way i look, and the way i think will never allow me to really fit in?

do i hold on, or let go? do i shed what might be an outmoded name of mine, and simply let a meaningful and important connection fizzle, fade, and die? is it worth trying, one last time, to help them see my perspective so they don't think those horrible things about me? or are they too blind, and i should just accept my losses? they don't hear when i admit my own culpability in the breakdown of our makeshift family. they don't hear my observations, only blame. they twist words i've spoken, twist meanings never meant to be twisted, and then refuse to listen when i try to tell them my own meaning of my own words. they think i'm a demonwhore, when all i've ever tried to be was fair. they don't know just how deeply it's hurt me. i've managed to keep that much from them, at least. i always thought they believed i was a better person than *cc*, but i suppose i have to admit they hate me as much as they hate and distrust her. maybe it's easier for them, i don't know.

do i hold on, or let go? *m* has been a great friend to me, listening while i worried and lamented and wrung my hands, trying to figure out how to fix greggo's growing jealousy of my relationship with someone-not-greggo. how to resolve the issue of a married man's love for me, and a very real sense that someone not my lover is trying to pee on my leg and mark his territory. i hate feeling like a possession. since he admitted he loved me a few years ago (which utterly blew my mind because i had NO idea, despite what he believes), i've been more and more sensitive to his feelings when i'm with someone. i've caught, more and more, the derisive and hurtful, snappish comments, the biting sarcasm between the lines, the passive-aggressive lashing out and guilt-tripping. he used to guilt-trip me a lot, especially back when i was pregnant and dying and too damn weak to speak, let alone deal with his emotional issues. when i start a new relationship with someone, it blows my mind how fiercely that old greggo comes back with a vengeance. the same old phrases, the same old logic. it's kind of scary, actually. but this time seems different. he doesn't quite hate *m*, but he's been pissed as hell and i can tell. he knows he has no right to feel possessive, no right to want me that way when he already chose his cold fish of a wife, no reason to look to greener pastures when he won't dare to grab hold to freedom --in all its terrifying dizziness-- with both hands and hold tight.

i'm sorry, but i'm riding the tail of the Phantasmagoric Comet of Funkywild, and i have no room anymore for people, emotions, dysfunctions, or past issues that are going to hold me back.

this does include, to my abject horror, my issues and lack of peace with my bio-dad. i have to let it go.

i don't want to let it go. i don't want to let any of it go. i want to resolve it all, make it better than new, make it work, make it something i can carry with me and enjoy their company in the Vastscape of the Funkywild.

but pronoia isn't about denial, or sugar-coated lies. sometimes those Funk-colored glasses paint things a very real shade of Kali Love.