Keyboard Revolution

Published October 12, 2018 by April Fox

In a month or so,

we’ll all line up

heel toe heel toe

bootstraps high and tight

against our shins so as not

to betray the fact that we are

privileged

to be here;

we will stack ourselves in tidy rows and parcel out

our tiny pencils

we will color in the circles

very

carefully

(This is the Big Test that they told us

we’d all need to take someday. If you mark outside the bubble

your answers are invalid.)

Is your name at the top? Good.

Did you get your sticker? Excellent.

Don’t forget the perfect pout, or if you’re closer to the left

a countenance of precious outrage

One click

Two seconds

Fifty-seven likes and there’s the proof

you played your part.

And on one side there are guns, on the other

protest songs and the signs can be distinguished by

precision of the grammar and you know which one’s on your side and I know

who sits on mine and if things don’t go the way we want I

Swear

To

God

I’ll start a triple hashtag revolution

Man my keyboard

is on fire.

Forgot

Published October 11, 2018 by April Fox

Here are some things that I’ve forgotten:

the formula for pi

the recipe for chocolate chip cookies

the capital of Minnesota (perhaps I never knew, or cared)

the middle name of Paul McCartney

the way it felt to come down and stop and wait and hope my heart

would seize

in the split second that rested between my fingers hitting the door latch

and starting to pull

the smell of paper in the fire

how to take a word and lay it down

stack them, rushed and messy

fan them out like cards and give them voice

that hits your ears and fills your head

like rain that begs

to someday

be the flood.

Quiet Down

Published July 30, 2018 by April Fox

I wish that I could set this down

and walk away, rest it on

the table near the front door

and turn the lock behind me and

forget about it by the time I hit the button

to unlock the car door

by the time the music starts

and my foot is on the gas

I’ll have forgotten

its existence

I wish that I could

take it

to the landfill and bury it beneath the piles of moldy sofa cushions and

dryer lint and rent receipts and watch it

settle down into the sludge before a rat

takes notice of the smell

and carries it away,

a treasure found

to be devoured.

I wish that I could burn it on the gas stove, beer in one hand,

pitcher full of water in the other, watching as the ashes dance and fly

before they fade.

I wish that I could simply turn it off

turn it off, tell it to

SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A MINUTE

let the decades do their job of making it

at the very least

shrink into something manageable

I wish that I could quiet down the noise

that keeps me up.

 

Dale Crover of the Melvins — Interview

Published June 22, 2018 by April Fox

I recently had the chance to chat with the legendary Dale Crover, drummer for the Melvins. We talked about their new album, “Pinkus Abortion Technician,” Crover’s latest solo effort “The Fickle Finger of Fate,” and the weird shit Kurt Cobain used to decorate his apartment back in the day. Check out the full interview here in Glide Magazine

On Compassion and the Taking of Children

Published June 18, 2018 by April Fox

Note: I originally posted this on my personal facebook page. I’m reposting it here at my mother’s request, with some insignificant personal details removed. My mom helped teach me to be kind and to be fierce, and most importantly, that the two do not always have to be shown in conjunction. We are living in a time when we are encouraged to always respond with love and attempted understanding, no matter what the circumstances are; the reality is that things have reached a point where gentleness can be a detriment. We are not dealing with simple political differences, issues on which we can choose to disagree. We are dealing with the blatant and horrific abuse of our fellow human beings: people of color, the LGBT community, children. These are hardly new offenses, but our awareness of them is growing thanks to new technology that allows us to click and share anything in an instant. What is new is this sense of empowerment by those committing the abuse. As those in power show how truly vile they can be, those below who feel the same way feel justified in coming out and spewing their ugliness on the world. All of a sudden, it’s okay to be prejudiced again. It’s okay to be cruel, because the guy at the top said so. And the guy at the top, that pathetic excuse for a man sitting up there humping his golf clubs and shellacking his hairpiece, that guy draws strength from the numbers of people who support him because he shares their despicable mindset. These folks are not the majority, but they are loud and obnoxious and while we don’t have to be obnoxious we can certainly be loud and when we see someone acting like these government atrocities are justified, we HAVE to shut them down, hard.

****

Here’s what I can’t stop thinking about: For the past several years, taking children from their parents has been part of my job. Whether it’s the start of a new school year or a child is just having a hard time that morning, there are times when a parent has to hand their child to me so that all of us can start the next phase of the day.

 

This often means transferring a child from their parent’s arms to mine, detangling the child one limb at a time while they do their best to hang on. Sometimes we walk to the window to wave goodbye; other times it’s best to move straight to circle time or to the peace corner for a story. There is plenty of reassurance that they’re safe at school, that their friends are here, there’s new play-doh on the shelf and we have carrots for the guinea pigs and I heard Mom say you have strawberries in your lunch and those are your favorite, and you know that Mom or Dad or Nanny will be back to get you at the end of the day, just like always.

 

I don’t mind the tears. I tell the kids it’s ok, I’m old and I still want my mommy too sometimes. We send hugs out and feel them coming back.

 

My point is, these are children coming into a place that’s warm and inviting. They have their toys and nap things. They have their teachers who love them. Their parents trust us to care for them until they can come back, and the children know this. They know what to expect and still the separation can feel excruciating sometimes. It’s hard on the parents too, you can see it.

 

I cannot imagine the terror that some children and parents are feeling at our borders. I don’t understand how anyone could feel good about doing this to families. There’s no justification for this; humanity and compassion aren’t stopped at the border like a dog behind an invisible fence. These are families trying to escape from horrific conditions at home and if you think they’re less than and deserve to be treated like farm animals simply because their home of origin is on a different patch of dirt than yours, I don’t want to know you.

 

I don’t want to try to reach out to you with love or to try and understand your point of view. I don’t want to “agree to disagree” so that we can keep up a facade of peace and getting along. I want to tell you with no ambiguity that you are nasty and cruel and wrong. I will not respond with love and compassion to someone who refuses to show the same to an innocent child, running with his family toward safety. If, in your mind, the children don’t deserve your grace, you sure as hell don’t deserve mine.

On Acknowledging the Reality of Suicidal Depression

Published June 9, 2018 by April Fox

Can I add one thing to the really good discussions happening around suicide and depression right now? I love that I’m seeing more acknowledgment of the fact that “please reach out and talk to someone” is well-meaning but not always helpful advice. (When it takes half an hour to convince yourself that you are in fact capable of putting on your pants without triggering a domino-effect catastrophic event and listening to a voicemail feels like the mental equivalent of climbing an active volcano, calling someone up like “Yo, kinda wanna die again, talk me out of it” is a bit of a stretch.)
I like the acknowledgment that depression can hit anyone (although it’s a bit amusing to hear the “It doesn’t matter how little you have and how rough things are right now, that’s not what joy is about/Wow, it’s crazy that people can be that depressed even with all that wealth and success!” juxtaposition.)
I like the acknowledgment that folks can seem super happy and chill and together right up until the last moments, and still succumb to suicidal depression. 
That’s all super helpful, but please can we also acknowledge the validity of those darkest feelings? “You don’t have to feel that way; it will get better” is often only half true. Sometimes you DO have to feel that way, and having others try to talk you out of it can feel demeaning and overpowering. 
There are times when folks get sick of keeping on the company smile, of letting down those they love by not keeping up the facade that’s so clearly expected every day. As someone who has lived there and frankly, still visits frequently, I’m asking you to please also acknowledge your friends’ reality in those darkest times. Sometimes the most helpful thing, the ONLY helpful thing, is to have someone say “This fucking sucks so hard, I hear you, hey scoot over and let me share the dark with you for a minute.”
Gracias. 💕

*I wrote this on the fly, waiting for the oil to heat for the pancakes this morning, so it’s kinda incomplete… I want to add that it’s really really important to remember that sometimes that darkness is simply part of a person, as is the intense aversion to seeking connection for the sake of connection. So when people try to talk that darkness out of you or force you into conversations you don’t want to have, it can have the opposite of the intended effect. Rather than making us feel better, it reminds us of one more thing that we’re doing wrong. It confirms our idea that we don’t belong in this place. It’s not that we want to fit in where everyone else is, but that we want to feel like where we are is valid too. 

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