You Don’t Care About Me
Y’all just don’t give a [bleep], and that’s amazing, y’all — for realz!
Swallow your kidneys, children. Goddess isn’t here to chastise, but to, instead, celebrate the community of people who are basically, y’all. If you’re reading this, it’s you. Even if you can’t stand my Black ass, and you are hate-reading this right now, it is you too. Get it clear, ‘cause knowing your complicity is essential in understanding what follows. You did this.
I have shown my ass for the last two years. Truly, I have. I carry not an ounce of animosity towards anyone who thinks of me—first for thinking of me—for thinking I’m come unhinged. I have come unhinged, but more in the sense of reimagining myself as having more options than simply to be hinged or not. I hope my work is more intentional than the ravings of an unstable person (I’ll do a story one day on life at 40mg of Fluoxetine). My motto has become, “Do you wanna know me, or do you wanna feel comfortable?” Knowing me is a boon, y’all, because this bitch is magick.
F*ck it! I walk around challenged AF about the work I have put out into the world. I insist on explicitly revealing myself as sexually relevant, engaged, and enthusiastic. It’s a process and it’s triggering. I work with people’s kids, for goddess sake. When I consider it, however, I’ve sent nude body parts to strangers who might use them to any purpose they might. I’m not concerned to the extent I think I’ll be ostracized or anything. I’m not afraid. It’s annoying to think of myself being categorized as fringe for bringing sex and sexual expression to the center. I hope people will give the work more thought than that. I refuse to be relegated to anyone’s Mammy, unless it’s part of a kink fantasy. Still, I guess I still want to consider myself mainstream, and I have to accept that I am not at all mainstream. I’m still in recovery after all.
The main idea—the takeaway [inside reference intended—it’s okay to feel some type of way] is that none of you care. I’m convinced of it and the evidence points to it as my reality. You just don’t give a good Goddess damn it all.
And that is amazing!
I’ve attracted a community around myself that refuses to be phased (in the negative sense of the term, meaning shocked) by me. I’m new to this intentional striving to follow my joy. I’m still waiting for someone to reveal this has all been a sting operation and the game is up—imposter syndrome. My PTSD flares and the FBI is breaking down my door. That happens to the innocent with sometimes fatal results. But, it ain’t happened to me yet (go figure) and I’m still amazed and grateful.
Apologies for the clickbait lead-in. I couldn’t have people not getting some praise today. Praise you and bless you and the Goddess watch over you. The safety, which I do put to test often, is essential for healing from trauma. Living in relative assurance that one is accepted, and under the protection of a stable community, is prerequisite of a well-functioning nervous system. To become, one has to trust that their environment will sustain them with relative assurance. Otherwise, we devolve. The goal is [r]evolution. Thanks for helping me find a new radical edge. Get on my stuff y’all — for realz.
—Notorious Pink
