mixedupfilesofkelli-blog

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Embrace the Chaos

I’ve been listening to a lot of folk punk lately. Like a lot.

Folk punk is kind of a slippery genre of music. More “I know it when I see it” than objectively definable. Musicians often use traditional folk instruments, but played chaotically, even frantically. It feels authentic in the extreme, and I would argue that that’s very much the point. Everything about folk punk expresses authentic chaos.

The lyrics, like the concept of “folk punk,” often represent contradicting spirits. They are hopeful and pessimistic, loving and spiteful. The singers express an urge to become better people, but also reject most mainstream notions of “better.” The songs also exhibit a sense of moral neutrality, that everyone is just doing what they have to do to get by in life. Consider these lyrics from Ramshackle Glory’s “Your Heart Is a Muscle the Size of Your Fist.”

Ian built a cabin in the woods to live in For years, terrifying noises kept him up at night With a twelve gauge under his pillow He’s living in Boston now, going to art school I forgive him, I forgive him Hell, I’ll admit it: I’m proud of him

Building a cabin in the woods is just about the most folk punk thing one can do. It’s independent and unconventional. But it also made Ian miserable. Even though Ian presumably left the folk punk scene for something conventionally artsy, the singer doesn’t condemn him for being mainstream. Ian simply did what he had to do. It’s worth noting that the singer, Pat the Bunny, has since left the scene as well.

This sentiment is what draws me to folk punk. Artists tell stories about the turbulent lives humans lead and the difficult choices we make without editorializing or moralizing. It embraces life exactly how it comes: unpredictable and chaotic.

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My Flower

Oh, my flower, don’t listen to the insects when they buzz about my past. The blowflies buzz lies and that beetle is lethal. They swarm the flowers and take what isn’t theirs. Don’t listen to the insects. Listen to me.

Oh, my flower, don’t watch the scavengers as they circle our garden. The vultures lack culture and the jackal’s a rascal. They dig up the flowers in search of death they won’t find. Don’t look at the scavengers. Look at me.

Oh, my flower, don’t speak to the men outside. The officer is a gossiper and the agent is contagious. They crush the flowers beneath their boots. Don’t talk to the men outside. Talk to me.

Oh, my flower, please stay still. Bloom where I have planted you, safe beneath my windowsill. Please, my flower, don’t smell the air. It’s the sick-sweet of flowers, I swear. Please, my flower, don’t feel the dirt. I promise, the bones in it came with the earth.

Inspired by The Gardener by The Tallest Man On Earth.

I’ve been wanting to write something based on this song for a while. I initially hesitated because the show You is so similar in concept that I felt any short story I wrote would read like a folksy version of the show.

After a while, I settled on an approach that is more poetic than narrative, without abandoning the perspective presented by the song. I hope My Flower resonates with you the same way the song resonates with me. Cheers!

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Mori: The Forest Folk

Unless you have been locked in an underground bunker for the last twenty years, you probably have a passing familiarity with the style known as lolita.

Lolita style is marked by voluminous petticoats, childlike ruffles, and exaggerated accessories such as large hair bows. The style originated in Japan, but has become popular in the Western world, even for those who are not generally Japanophiles. Like most distinctive fashion styles, a subculture and even lifestyle surround lolita that makes it more than just fabric.

Many Westerners, however, are not aware that Japan has numerous fashion subcultures, not just lolita. I was vaguely aware of this, but had not put much extra thought into it until two years ago when I came across the term “mori-kei.” After amassing a collection of images on pinterest depicting forest cottages, herbs drying in a kitchen, and other woodsy wonders, Pinterest became insistent that I learn about mori-kei. Overnight, every other suggestion was a girl in a loose-fitting dress, surrounded by knick-knacks and plants.

The style intrigued me, so I did what any curious person did in 2017, and I Googled the term. I was instantly hooked. I found that this style, filled with crochet shawls and warm stockings, was just as much a lifestyle as a fashion statement. Mori shares qualities with lolita, like a love of cuteness, but also stands as its own unique way of life.

Mori girls (and the less common mori boys), are calm, gentle folk who behave and dress as if they live in a forest, regardless of whether or not they actually do. They are the eccentric hermit whose overgrown house you stumble on while lost in the woods. But they don’t frighten you, like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. If you come across them in the forest, they are more like deer than bears. They are practical but daydreamy, with creative hobbies and introverted spirits.

I have tried to embrace this way of life more and more as I’ve come to learn about it. Much of it is innate in me. I habitually collect baubles and I love old things that wear their years of use with pride. Other elements of the lifestyle I’ve far from nailed. I’m not especially calm and I often neglect my creative hobbies. But perhaps my adoration for mori-kei is like the rest of me: a work in progress. And if this time next year I am more mori than I am today, I will be pleased with my progress.

(For images, inspiration, and a more detailed rundown of mori, I highly recommend Kathryn’s post here.)

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The Art of Getting Scammed

Do you remember the first time you were scammed? I remember mine. Rome, 2008. A burly man dressed as a gladiator bounded over to my mother and I. He introduced himself then offered to pose for a photo, free of charge. My mother and I, eager to take advantage of this fun opportunity, snapped several photos with the man. He even let us wear his helmet! But as soon as the helmet was back on his head, he dropped his bubbly facade. He pointed at us and demanded payment for his services. We spoke no Italian and had scarcely been in the country for two hours. We had no context for this scam, so we dug through our bags and handed over the money with mild annoyance at our miscommunication with the man. It was only later that we realized the gladiator went into that interaction planning to scam my mother and I. He deliberately took advantage of our naivety and willingness to believe in honest mistakes.

I felt awkward, embarrassed, and a little angry. What a terrible way to represent your country, I thought. But the experience made me aware and more thoughtful about my interactions with strangers. When I returned to Rome for study abroad I steered clear of anyone in costume, while my roommates proceeded to experience the same scam that I had 7 years earlier.

Recently, I watched the two new documentaries about the Fyre Festival, one on Hulu (Fyre Fraud) and the other on Netflix (Fyre: The Greatest Party That Never Happened). For the lucky few that are blissfully unaware of the Fyre Festival debacle, I can only recommend watching the documentaries or reading up on the event. No summary can do justice to the many layers of scamming and incompetence involved in making Fyre Festival the “dumpster fyre” of 2017.

The attendees of the doomed festival have taken a lot of heat for not realizing the event was a scam. In hindsight, the event was obviously never going to work, but think back to the first time you were scammed. Is it obvious in hindsight? Probably. I still feel a little stupid for thinking that men dressed up in gladiator gear to take free pictures with tourists in the blazing sun.

Con artists rely on people who haven’t yet been tricked, on people who don’t have an inner voice that tells them when to jump ship. Fyre Festival targeted the demographic of inexperienced young people. This guaranteed a consumer base right until the bitter end because the attendees didn’t know what to expect from someone acting in bad faith, as opposed to just being bad at their jobs.

In a time when the news is filled with hoaxes and cons, I hope we find mercy for the scammed and save our ire for the scammers.

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This is a blog about everything

In my life, I have wanted to be about a million different things. Astronaut, veterinarian, photographer, museum curator, groomer, park ranger, interior designer, entrepreneur, tour guide, Imagineer, and a whole avalanche of other dreams. Every dream has been fleeting, lasting somewhere between hours and years. I never changed my mind because I realized I disliked the subject. I still love space and animals and art and Disney parks with a fervor that surprises even me. But with numerous and varied interests, all of considerable intensity, I struggled to find one that stuck to my bones.

Except, of course, for writing. I never struggled to write. Putting my thoughts down in ink always came more naturally than speech, where I hopelessly stumbled and lost track. But to me, writing was never a realistic career move.

For all my interest in creative fields, I never was the starving artist type. I admired the practicality of lawyers and plumbers, who seemed to have a proper game strategy. I could never live with an artist’s ambiguity and lack of rent money; I needed security and certainty.

Instead, I lived a directionless life, shifting between potential careers and odd-jobs with little long-term plans. I’d have a dream, but then a week later I’d talk myself out of it, always preferring the definite over the potential.

Then earlier this month I hurt my back and in spite of my best efforts, I couldn’t heal fast enough or well enough to return to work. As of yesterday, I have no full-time job. All my security and certainty disappeared until all that was left was the wild west.

Today is the first day of my frontier exploration. There will definitely be less racism, there will hopefully be less dysentery, but there will not be fewer covered wagons. This blog will host a bit of my creative spirit and explore every topic I never got the chance to delve into while pursuing certainty

Thank you for reading! This adventure will be, at the very least, interesting.