To be called weird is a compliment.
Normalcy is an illusion, constructed by people who spend their entire lives pushing any confusing thought away. For creativity springs from confusion and questions, unbidden into the mind of every person to ever live. I truly believe that.
It can only be stifled, never erased. Imagine the trauma of a person who suppresses their creative spark forever, because they believe their world would reject them in an instant should that spark find tinder and rise in glorious flame. The self-declared pharmacist – be it mother, father, teacher, priest – prescribes a fistful of pictures and words and histories to be consumed each morning and afternoon and evening: White picket fences, the same old street signs, the butcher, the baker, the chemical candle maker. The yammering drones who cry “Buy!” and “Sell!” and “They’re coming for your freedom.”
Long have those who wield power directed their charges to the trough of inside-the-box, where, head down, they (we?) feed oblivious to the fresh air just inches above. Where they worship at the altar of those creatives they fear to emulate.
A round of applause for those brave souls who live with five random Craigslist roommates in downtown Hollywood writing that pilot. For those single ladies fighting to rise on their creative merit through the glass ceiling of a normal, suite and tie society. And a shoutout to the bloggers, chugging away, without pay, emptying their souls and sharing their studies for the benefit of their fellow space agers.
Sitting with a calcified smile plastered on your plastic face with a brain working overtime to maintain a façade of polite distraction…that’s no way to live. Join Janelle, the weirdest sentient android queen on the block, and shed yesterday’s skin. Emerge into the light of a sun that doesn’t care what you think or what you’re wearing, a sun that will outlive you and all of your neighbors who cluck at Mrs. Peterson’s teenage daughter who shaved her head and is heading to art school.
And if someone calls you normal…them’s fighting words.