Identity

I’m black-white. Indigenous white and red. White-black, indigenous-yellow.

All my nations have been deceased.

I am a survivor of this eternal attempt to adapt to what I am not and cannot be.

It is not my gender or social class, not the color of my skin. It’s beyond all those classifications.

Genetic tests cannot reach what has been lost. Neither explains the constant anguish of being inadequate.

A “new social dynamics” has been happening for thousands of years.

Oppression, abuse, exploitation, lies.

I am a woman who seeks truth and will not be a puppet on silly games.

Not clownish enough to be funny, yet laughing and making people laugh.

What some call reality is highly pathetic. Because what is called real does not represent the truth.

Clows make the failures ludic. But they can also hide inside a big hurt ego. Yet, they do a better service to the public than a lousy politician.

These days marketers mix everything, and a bad politician who is somehow a clown gets sympathy from people. Just because, for the joint opinion, a good politician doesn’t exist.

And if we consider numbers, as in statistics, that is absolute truth.

But as generalizations cannot be accurate and truthfully with absolute facts, they can also generate disturbance.

People lose faith in seeking and support responsible leaders. It is also unfair to be pushed into a stupid generalization for all the stigmatized groups who make the best to act ethical, legal, reliable, and empathetic.

I’ve been seeking answers, which is why I needed to add to my artistic talents a lot of research and strenuous activities. That is how I keep multiplying skills.

Adapt to power dynamics of oppressor and oppressed, authority and fear, is the behaviorist call. That caused and is causing misery in this world and will not honor the good spirits we call Gods or God.

If the measure of success of a political system is the happiness of the majority, I see we are far from that. If people were happy, they wouldn’t hurt others again and again. They would not kill or harm.

Judgments are wrong, often corrupted by individual and societal bias.

My cultural heritage has been stolen. But yet it is present and invisible on every fantastic inch of this society.

And I am not alone. Many of the whites, blacks, yellows, pinks, and blues are in the same page. We know there’s a smoke curtain covering the beauty of our best affections. The empathy blockage is happening through prejudice and separation. Misogyny, racism, and many phobias are ‘devices’ for segregation.

The ‘wild woman’ archetype is the woman not defined as a ‘girlie’, wife, mother or babushka. It is like rejecting the places society is giving you to ‘fit’ and, as you don’t, you get rejected too. Many times ‘kicked out’, often marginalized.

The power dynamics resist and tends to not acknowledge personal contributions to the ecosystem from those who present themselves differently. The potentiality of diverging from the norm is a world full of diversity and creativity.

As a sensitive warrior, I died many times with multiple rebirths.

Selfie @ Melbourne, September/October 2019.

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