M.K.Harlan

Storyteller

I Sputter

18/08/2018


Sometimes I don’t know why I have this blog, it’s just not something I’ve been able to be consistent with, no matter what I want to do, no matter how hard I try. Do  you ever feel like you aren’t passionate enough about something to actually be doing it?

I don’t know how much of this is my depression talking, but I’m feeling that way now. I see how passionate other people are and I feel broken. I feel like I’m incapable of being passionate about anything. Of feeling those emotions.

I lack motivation. I lack the will to do things. I try to write and I just start to wither at the thought of creating. I try to speak about what’s got me so frustrated and all I can come up with is “It doesn’t matter, I’m fine, leave me alone.”

I feel like I’m fighting a monster, and that monster is me. I don’t laugh like I wish I could. I don’t sing and dance. I don’t take joy out of most anything. I feel like I miss the beauty in the world.

The only reason I keep trying is that once every while I get passionate for just a little bit. Last Christmas it was about C.S. Lewis. A little before that I had this strange obsession with Alexandre Dumas and the Three Musketeers. Myart takes over for a few hours once in a while. My writing too. But, most of the time I feel like I’ll never experience those things again, until I do.

I feel broken until I don’t.

Sometimes the brokenness is barely noticeable and I can almost convince myself that it isn’t there. That I’m just another cog in the machine. I feel two dimensional, but at least I don’t feel broken, I don’t feel like something is missing.

I live for the bursts of passion that spark through my life.

They’re like an engine that won’t quite catch. I cough and choke, and sputter and try to get all the pistons and spark plugs working as one, firing together. Striving for that glorious rumble that signals the journey’s start.

I have never been accused of beating around the bush or dodging hard subjects so I’ll make this brief:

Wenn ein Nazi am Tisch ist und neun andere Leute mit ihm reden, haben Sie einen Tisch mit zehn Nazis.

When I attended Ball State we were required to take a foreign language in order to earn our Bachelor of Arts degree. My language of choice – German.

I don’t know if I got the language part right, but the culture – I got that. For those that do not speak German the above phrase translates roughly as such: If there’s a Nazi at the table, and nine other people talking to him you have a table with ten nazis.

In regards to Papa John: looks like my Alma Mater has 9 racists sitting on the board and I’m disappointed.

I’ll be honest. I spent years denying my own racism, homophobia, Islamaphobia, and upholding of the patriarchy. I thought I was accepting of everyone and everything and as a woman there was no way I was anti-women. But I was all of those things and it showed in my actions and in my words.

It took the Ball State English Department and a whole lot of amazingly talented writers within to get me to pull my head out of my own ass and realize that by saying and doing nothing against injustice I was a part of the problem. That by not acknowledging people’s differences it was just as bad as if I hadn’t included them at all. And by not speaking when I heard something wrong I may as well have said it myself.

By continuing your relationship with Papa John you are collectively saying as board that you accept his behavior. That you accept his racism. That you are okay with it. You as a board who represent Ball State and the interests of those affiliated with her are deciding as a whole to declare, quite loudly through your actions, that Ball State supports racism, that you support racism.

Well, we don’t and we aren’t going to be silent about it. Ball State taught me to listen and to speak. They taught me the value of words and I’ll be damned if I don’t use my words.

I spy with my little eye: 9 Nazis sitting on the board.

I have never been accused of beating around the bush or dodging hard subjects so I’ll make this brief:

Wenn ein Nazi am Tisch ist und neun andere Leute mit ihm reden, haben Sie einen Tisch mit zehn Nazis.

When I attended Ball State we were required to take a foreign language in order to earn our Bachelor of Arts degree. My language of choice – German.

I don’t know if I got the language part right, but the culture – I got that. For those that do not speak German the above phrase translates roughly as such: If there’s a Nazi at the table, and nine other people talking to him you have a table with ten nazis.

In regards to Papa John: looks like my Alma Mater has 9 racists sitting on the board and I’m disappointed.

I’ll be honest. I spent years denying my own racism, homophobia, Islamaphobia, and upholding of the patriarchy. I thought I was accepting of everyone and everything and as a woman there was no way I was anti-women. But I was all of those things and it showed in my actions and in my words.

It took the Ball State English Department and a whole lot of amazingly talented writers within to get me to pull my head out of my own ass and realize that by saying and doing nothing against injustice I was a part of the problem. That by not acknowledging people’s differences it was just as bad as if I hadn’t included them at all. And by not speaking when I heard something wrong I may as well have said it myself.

By continuing your relationship with Papa John you are collectively saying as a board that you accept his behavior. That you accept his racism. That you are okay with it. You as a board who represent Ball State and the interests of those affiliated with her are deciding as a whole to declare, quite loudly through your actions, that Ball State supports racism, that you support racism.

Well, we don’t and we aren’t going to be silent about it. Ball State taught me to listen, to speak. They taught me the value of words. I’ll be damned if I don’t use them.

I spy with my little eye: 9 Nazis sitting on the board.

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