owning my place in the cacophony
and sharing some resources that, to me, are not noise but angelic harpists
Confession: The woman who just renamed her substack Amused is actually sick to death of everything.
Life is SO funny like that.
There is just so much going on; so much noise, so many think pieces wanting me to think their thinks, and so many offerings for purchase so we can heal our “selves” and our guts and our buttholes. It’s not beyond me that I am part of this cacophony. There is no escaping it. But I try. Don’t we all? There are those who will die on that hill of escapism and then there are the escape~artist’s—which is what I’ve classically been or at least what I am now. It’s far more compelling to rebel the cosmic order with poetry and watercolor than huffing and puffing.
And let’s be real, if I changed the name of my substack every time I changed my mind it’d be a full time job. So in the meantime, this little Amused substack (formerly known as dear mortal, rip sweet pea) is a working prayer for return, because my heavens, it’s so tempting to lose interest when the options become (seemingly) endless. Recently I even read somewhere that there was a study where they found the less options someone had the easier it was to make a decision and the more confident they felt about choosing it.
The onslaught of modern day information, which presents itself as endless opportunity and abundance, instead feels like a wall of exhaustion. What if abundance is making us sick? What if having it all is too much? I know I’m feeling it’s mass when I spend most of the day rolling my eyes or comparing all of my x’s with their o’s. I begin to disengage, I begin scanning for the route out. This is very much a me problem and one I take responsibility for with better boundary hygiene, and still it’s frustrating. Some people are (seemingly) having a blast at the party while I’m in the corner trying to catch a buzz. But I’m proud of myself for owning that. For not purely recoiling or pretending I am not bothered when I am.
I am taking some time in the company of this proverbial “wall of exhaustion”. It’s so massively deep and dark it is more like the wall of a tsunami, and due to it’s overwhelming largeness, I can do little but crane my neck backwards and drool. There’s a few invitations I could take in this moment, I could get up to my usual gimmicks (cower, offer my lazy rationalizing, try to please), but instead I’m RSVP’ing to patience’s call. I’m learning patience is not just a virtue, it’s to stare upon what is present and bask in the limits of the eye. I’m looking up at the enormity of what I cannot control and I’m pausing. In small glimmers I’m even allowing myself to sense the awe, the eroticism, of its foreboding allure. I seek not a solution, I dare not panic, I cannot back paddle. I’m simply floating at the mouth of a monster.
~~~ transitioning to part II of this message~~~
In the face of rising fascism, it feels a bit silly to come here and write about my little life. Like maybe I ought to be writing about something more important… like “what to do about y” or “how to organize x” instead of…
How the tree outside my morning window, still naked from the stripping of winter, wriggles in the wind. It does not shake or even shimmy so much as wriggle. Like godd took individual hands to every branch and vibrated them in such a way that each limb has its own rhythm. It makes me wonder why we named trees “trees” and not “wind wrigglers”.
Or… the mating spring birds who will soon be parenting their hatchlings, some of their young will live and many will die—and how I will pick up their tiny carcasses and place them on the nearest patch of dirt and lie a stick or flower around them as burial.
Or… how stunning my life is thanks to all the supportive relationships that comprise it, I am them, they are me. And how I’m finally able to function (mostly) honestly and confidently with my friends and lovers and with myself. Conflict is no longer the walrus, mammoth threat to my being or the beings around me—in fact it even brings us closer when we meet our feely collisions with grace. And how this is nothing shy of a miracle for a historically people pleasing, resentful nice girl.
When I ponder further what fascism is—what it symbolizes—I recognize it is the loss of all these things^. These tiny beautiful things.1 It is a hunger that cannot be satiated, a single cell gone awry. A death throe, an existential crisis, a lonely departure from all that is connective2 within us. These “things” that make humans human are our ability to communicate, cooperate and to care—if you ask me. So to return to my earlier point, it would actually be sillier not to write about these things in the face of fascism, that in fact these “things” are the most important “things” and they always have been.
I’m still very much in process of learning about fascism. I will not be someone to come to if you are seeking its definition, consequences, or what to do about it with any academic clarity. But what I am learning is that it is a “brief aberration in our span of humanly time”3—and though it is scary and overwhelming, yes—it must be kept in its right size, which is actually rather small in the grand scheme of all these things that are not “things” but are processes, or maybe just one big amorphous mouth opening and closing (and chomping).
I don’t have much else to share about my little world today, but I do want to share some resources I find valuable during these trying times; other writers, some essays, instagram accounts, and a few books. Indeed I think sharing resources, material and immaterial, is both subversive and the most direct, simple thing we could do. Share. Give. Trust. Where I lack knowledge or an opinion, I can point you in a more correct direction.
Here are some writers I recommend right now:
by Sky Fusco, who is an artist’s artist (whatever that means). She is up to incredible community building offerings for artists and the like. is a heart centered activist leading the way in both organizing and healing. She offers insights into Palestinian liberation (ie. liberation for all), the fall of the American empire, and the upending of white supremacy, amongst so much more, all written with beauty and ferocity. is created by my dear friend Stephanie who moved herself to Spain a couple years ago. She is facing the world in brave and bold ways and shares of her experiences as a woman and hair artist abroad. If you are considering leaving the country, she is an incredible resource as an American who made it happen. writes about the realities we as societies are often too afraid to face with a force and tenacity unlike anyone else. She is a great place to learn about childhood incest, politics, cancel culture, and so much more. She is, in my opinion, a modern day philosopher through and through. for all your rewilding and rerooted myth making, and just generally thinking and feeling beyond our anthropocentric, health obsessed ways. She just wrote a book called The Body is a Doorway and from the small inserts I’ve had sent to me from a friend, it is a must read for any and all who’ve suffered pain and want to understand healing in broader ways. for all things empire falling and politics. for deeply exploring collapse and what to do in the face of it.And of course me, hehe, for what’s leftover.
Some essays:
Some instagram accounts:
My old pal Madi who is a retired hair artist and is now in law school. We grew up together in our early 20’s, both in an assistant to stylist program at a long ago salon. Though we differ on certain things politically, our values are so in touch I almost can’t tell that she should be more classically right than left. It is possible for people on the right to align almost entirely (on what really counts) with those of us on the left. This is really fucking important and she is an incredible resource right now to follow. @ haristylist.madison
@ brown19170 is just a human, just some lady, but she seems tapped into something and offers really interesting, calming insights during this time.
And some books:
Lately I’ve learned, my it took me a while, that you don’t really need to read self-help books to help yourself. You can read fiction. Stories tell us everything we need to know, and arguably in more poetic, less direct, “fix-ating” ways. Seldom do I think directly looking at a problem is how we solve it, maybe this works in math, but many, many other things invite us to come up from behind and give a big squeeze.
Carnality by Lina Wolff. Two words, diabolical nun. Just do it.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin. This book is a portal. It allowed me to fall back in love with fiction and is deeply yet simply written. A must read.
Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders. Can’t really explain it, but the way this man writes is nearly psychedelic. Start here, there’s many more he’s written, and he has his own very cool substack called
that helps teach you how to write.When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron. I don’t find Buddhist teachings to be all that self-helpy. It’s just a really honest book that in turn can help you help yourself and in turn help others.
Escape From Freedom by Erich Fromm. A deeply philosophical book on how we strive for freedom and the paradoxes that are created, such as nazism, fascism. It It was written a while ago but holds up and is fairly easy to read, honestly.
Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed. A modern day bible.
And one last thing. I don’t know how to survive fascism. But many people do and have. I recommend finding these people and thinkers and reading their words. Reality is brand new but there are always footprints from the past signaling little passage ways towards safety and courage. Sometimes we have to stand our ground and sometimes we have to hide under the roots of a tree. But we always have the choice to continue towards our shared and beating heart.
Become a curious believer in your own life, in your own capacity to live and thrive and grow, and support yourself and trust yourself.
Find the hands that are looking for other hands and hold them.
A book by Cheryl Strayed, it’s on the list
Using this word in place of “good”.
From Elad Nehorai’s Newsletter, which I shared above.