Occlusion
It's my birthday. I wanna talk about teeth, clowns, and power.
Today is my birthday.
Thirty-three years, Earthside. Time is a fascinating little construction.
I never thought I’d make it past 25, but here I am at 33.
By the time this lands in your inbox, I hope to be atop a mountain in New England, taking in the crisp Autumn morning. I could also be face-first into a squishy with arm thrown over my partner’s back. Both are good ways to start the day.
My birthday falls on a Wednesday this year, the same day of the week it fell when I was born. The Sixteenth is also the halfway mark through October. The Libra in me is screaming, as is the middle child.
This particular birthday is special to me, partly because of those things. That type of balance feels really central to my being right now. I’m craving it, and actively working to build more of it in my life.
Imperfection
I’ve been away for longer than anticipated because of 1) computer issues and 2) fear. I had another entry planned out, but computer issues have been my life over the past few months. I spiraled, then got in my head about not showing up on Substack perfectly.
Then recently my therapist told me to “give myself permission to be imperfect publicly.” Even without recognizing, my own fear of being perceived crept back in. This time has been humbling for me to confront my own fears, especially doing so publicly. Returning to my art – returning to my core – is what helped me re-group and write more even in the midst of computer challenges and fear.
Appreciate y’all being with me on the journey as I continue to navigate this strange passage of time.
I have a poem to share at the end of this newsletter, and a call to action to support my birthday fundraiser.
Birthday Fundraiser
As I enter my Jesus year, I’m doing a birthday fundraiser for Nader, his wife Doha, and their family in Gaza. Nader and his family have been displaced more than 12 times since October 7. As Gaza continues to be under fire, continued support is needed.
There are so many issues happening right now, and this economy is not kind. If you can’t donate, sharing online is incredibly helpful! Please share with others whom you know may be able to donate financially and who can also share.
Much appreciated. Details below
Occlusion
I wrote this poem after a workshop that explored Haiben as a form. Prose that turns itself info a haiku. I tried my hand at it and loved what emerged.
Occlusion - 2024
It’s in the middle of my father’s monologue that I realize his personality is only matched in size by my mother’s. The pair of them who aren’t even a pair: nostrils flared, gesticulating hands, beads of sweat at their temple as they swap stories of their time on stage in the 80’s. The “golden days”.
Perhaps that’s when I learned to slide deeper into myself. Close my mouth I grind my teeth to pearls. I sank into the background as they took up all the air between us at the restaurant. I fill my soul with half-cold fries and stare at the posters of the clown that sells meals in super size hanging on the wall. I hate clowns. Always have.
I’m brought back into the conversation at the request of my father, who waits for me to praise him about performances that occurred before I was even a thought. With parents and personalities like that, it’s no wonder I learned to keep quiet. Be afraid of being perceived; afraid of the stage I was born onto.
A Black Buster Keaton born in the ‘90’s: jaw clenched, teeth tight, so silent it hurts.
Years later, mouth open wide under bright fluorescent dead lights, my dentist told me, “Your occlusion, the natural clench of your jaw, is too tight.” Saliva and blood dripped down my chin while he continued, “Have you kept your teeth clenched a lot during your life? That much stress can be detrimental to your jaw.” Thanks Doc.
Maybe it’s why mimes fascinate me so much. They can express themselves without words, without making a splash like their colorful cousins. No flared nostrils, gesticulating hands, or sweat at the temple. I bet they even slide to the background when clowns are around too.
A curious oxymoron. Afraid of clowns, but fascinated by Mimes. I can handle Charlie Chalplin, but balk at Bozo. Grew up on Krusty, but can’t stand Ronald. Homey D. Clown don’t play that and I love him for it - but if I see one at your kid’s birthday party, I’m liable to throw hands. After I clench my jaw, of course.
When I finally took to the stage, unclenched my jaw after years of occluding my own voice, I found that there was more truth inside me than I realized.
* * *
A mime born to clowns.
Monochromatic, silent.
Tiny truth-telling Tramp.
Thanks for being along for the ride.
Kenyatta ✨