I made myself a promise: even if it meant becoming a stranger to my loved ones, even if it meant keeping secrets, I would have a life of my own.
—Saeed Jones, How We Fight for Our Lives
I know that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but in my solitude, I couldn’t resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometimes verging on prayer.
—Mieko Kawakami, Heaven
This month I learned about myself, and the world, and how I think I might fit into it. I spent September trying to entertain the idea that I have something to live for, and I actually started to believe it. I found myself wanting to believe it… And I can’t remember the last time that was true.
I’ve had bad days this month; health scares, writers block, increased fatigue… But I’ve also laughed so hard my lungs hurt. I’ve smiled so big that for a second or two, my heart stops and I worry my face might split in half. I like to think that I am learning to value my happiness over my hurt. I think it has more to offer.
I consumed many types of media this month. I read excerpts from Beowulf and novels from the Harlem Renaissance, I watched queer movies that—in opposition to the norm—were not rooted in guilt or shame, and I listened to music that made me feel bigger than myself. I wrote my first haibun.
I found inspiration so big that my words failed to express it’s all consuming power. My words failed, but I wrote them anyway, and I would like to share them with you. I’m okay with failing as long as it leaves room for expression, and to be honest I don’t think writing great words has anything to do with saying the things that matter. More often than not, I think the things that matter are really quite simple.
Here is What I Learned:
About Beowulf:
Beowulf is the oldest piece of English literature, one of the highest written achievements in Old English, and it is comprised of three segments:
Beowulf v. Grendel (a monster)
Beowulf v. Grendel’s Mother (also a monster)
Aged King Beowulf v. A Dragon
As a whole, Beowulf is centered around fate and inevitability. Beowulf is a hero whereas Grendel is an outcast—due to his otherness—and yet, at their core, both figures seek the same thing: purpose.
This epic weaves itself in many different directions. It considers the interplay between Paganism and Christianity, the roles of men and women, and defines heroism in the most unique way. There are hundreds of translations of this work from all over the world and it is incredibly interesting to see how concretely the modern fantasy genre originated from here.
Two retellings of Beowulf that are of particular interest to me are:
Grendel, by John Gardner, because it retells the part of the epic in the perspective of the monster, and;
Beowulf: A New Translation, by Maria Dahvana Headley, because it is a feminist variation of this classic tale.
About the Harlem Renaissance:
The Harlem Renaissance was a movement during the early to mid-1900s. Black people moved up North because it was rumored they could receive better treatment there, rather than in the South. Many people moved to Harlem, New York.
Harlem became a hub of arts and culture—literary, visual, culinary, and musical—and it gained international attention. The Renaissance brought the rise of many significant artists, such as: Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Archibald Motley, Augusta Savage, Countee Cullen, and many more.
There are so many raw, beautiful works from this period. Here are a few influential and educational literary recommendations:
The Weary Blues, by Langston Hughes.
Passing, by Nella Larsen.
Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston.
Go Tell It On the Mountain, by James Baldwin.
About Haibun Prose:
Haibun is a hybrid creative writing style that originated in Japan. It blends prose and haiku, and it is most often used to record a special moment. It can be used in autobiographies, essays, travel journals, and more. Here is an example by John Zheng:
Tongues:
One autumn evening while pacing pensively along Grand Boulevard with my head lowered, I was greeted by a jogger whose hi sounded cheerful like a cardinal’s chirp. I looked up blurting out wei. The person cast a smile as if to clear the brain fog, wondering how wei responded to hi. For three decades, Mandarin has drained from the mind like the lost waters on Mars. Without a chance to use the language daily, how did wei dart like a woodpecker out of its tree hole? An instinct, an eagerness to be used, or sound like a yoyo to delight the mind?
train to Shanghai
translate the conductor’s words
for a foreigner
Here is What I Loved:
Movies:
I watched three movies this month that really stuck out to me; But I’m a Cheerleader (1999), Pride (2014) and Predestination (2014), and I suppose that all three of them—in varying different ways—fall under the LGBTIQA+ umbrella. I highly recommend all of these but, if your looking for a mind-fuck in particular, Predestination is probably the one for you.
Letterboxd On: But I’m a Cheerleader (1999) dir. Jamie Babbit:
“Megan is an all-American girl. A cheerleader. She has a boyfriend. But Megan doesn’t like kissing her boyfriend very much. And she’s pretty touchy with her cheerleader friends. Her conservative parents worry that she must be a lesbian and send her off to a “sexual redirection” school, where she must, with other lesbians and gays, learn how to be straight.”
IMDB On: Pride (2014) dir. Matthew Warchus:
“It’s the summer of 1984, Margaret Thatcher is in power and the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) is on strike. At the Gay Pride March in London, a group of gay and lesbian activists decide to raise money to support the families of the striking miners. However, there is a problem. The Union seems embarrassed to receive their support.
But the activists are not deterred. They decide to ignore the Union and go directly to the miners. They identify a mining village in the deepest Wales and set off in a mini bus to make their donations in person. And so begins the extraordinary story of two seemingly alien communities that form a surprising and ultimately triumphant partnership.”
Letterboxd On: Predestination (2014) dir. Peter Spierig & Michael Spierig:
“Predestination chronicles the life of a Temporal Agent sent on an intricate series of time-travel journeys designed to prevent future killers from committing their crimes. Now, on his final assignment, the Agent must stop the one criminal that has eluded him throughout time and prevent a devastating attack in which thousands of lives will be lost.”
Music:
I like most genres of music but, this week in particular, my “vibe” from Superfan was “melodius aurus: creatures with sharp sensory perception for intricate and timeless melodies,” and, well… To be honest I have no idea what that means.
I’ve mostly been listening to the soundtrack from Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums (I strongly recommend) as well as some country-gaze here and there. These are some of my most recent favorites:
Hey, Who Really Cares, by Linda Perhacs
S P E Y S I D E, by Bon Iver
White Winter Hymnal, by The Fleet Foxes
Flume, by Bon Iver
Wigwam, by Bob Dylan
Starman, by David Bowie
These Days, by Nico
Needle In The Hay, by Elliot Smith
It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue, by Bob Dylan
The Passenger, by Iggy Pop
Heart of Gold, by Neil Young
A Horse with No Name, by George Martin
Once A Bunch, by Adrianne Lenker
Here is What I Built:
I feel like since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic I have been coasting through life. My mental and physical health went down the drain during the pandemic, and after it was over I didn’t feel strong enough to pick myself up out of the gutter. Slowly, I was able to claw myself out… but so many parts of myself drowned in the process.
It saddens me that I can’t even remember that girl. I wouldn’t know how to retrieve her if I tried but, despite all I don’t know, here is one thing I do: she wouldn’t want me to sit around in the guilt of lost remembrance, but instead create something new. Build a new life for myself… one worth being fully present in.
I think subconsciously I have been building up to this point for a while now. A point where I feel comfortable going after the things I want and, hopefully, deserve. Last year, despite incessant commentary from my family and friends that majoring in English was some kind of back-water pipe-dream, I enrolled in it. I have never known myself to be someone who goes against what is considered acceptable in my household, and yet this is a dream I decided it was worth fighting for.
I defend this decision like it’s life or death and, in a sense, I think that might be exactly what it is. I don’t know who I would be without literature, or the freedom to express myself in such limitless verbal ways, and with this truth I am blotting the shame of this decision out of me. I am coming to understand that this was the right choice for me because, even if I fail, my heart will feel full with the knowledge that I tried. And, hopefully, I will believe my future self when I say that failing is a part of growth.
Recently, I read this writing schedule of Ursula K. Le Guin’s:
I love it. It might not be realistic for where I am in life right now, but at the very least I would like to start practicing this kind of scheduling with myself. It is strict but, at the same time, very gentle. I am working on shaping my life like this; in a way that enforces clear goals, but respects the ebb and flow of potential mental blocks and busy times of year.
I have spent this month building myself a safe space on Substack. A place where I feel safe sharing my strengths and my weaknesses… So, here are a few prose I wrote and (for now) have trashed:
I bought her perfume, and I bought her shampoo, and I picked flowers I knew she loved, and loaned her books that reminded me of her words. I grew comfortable in this aching bubble of want; I could smell like her—almonds and rosewater—and make her laugh, and stroke her hair, and cry while she cried, and that could be enough. I thought: here. I will love you from right here. So close you will never have to wonder, you will never even have to reach.
You asked for a son and received a gender queer, maladaptive “woman” with porous skin, spoilt blood, and an unabating urge to make you proud, instead. I knew you loved art so I painted us everywhere. Your favorite color was blue, like the dark wash of your work denim, and mine, in case you’ve forgotten, was yellow like the sun (which is to say, in the end, I think we both wanted the same things for me), and I thought green was a good hue for us; I thought it meant our love might grow.
These are some of my keep-sake prose. I know they’re not good but that’s not the point. I will not touch them for weeks, or perhaps months, and I hope that when I return they will welcome me back. I hope I will have gained new insight and new ideas. I hope I will be better.
hello hello! this post was is so random but, i don’t know. i really enjoyed making it and i think i might start making a re-cap post like this every month. lmk what you guys think!
—brenna dean ౨ৎ
so beautiful — “you will never even have to reach.”
But I’m a cheerleader is so goddamn good