Well it happened, a few days ago, the tiny cracks of my thin social resolve and brave game face in midst of all this global genocide connected and broke open - rendering me sobbing, weeping and helpless in the face of this disgusting machine of a country and world. I must have gone through half a roll of kitchen tissue mourning all the broken systems overworking my family to death, keeping me and others - poor yet educated and in perpetual debt; killing, raping and plundering people and land for profit and dominance. I was enraged, embarrassed at this business opportunity of a country my family fought for, overworked themselves to death for, abused me for in the name of gratefulness only for me to see; years later - with a full heart and wide panoramic lens with the proverbial scales fallen off, that this is how the global powers that be have generationally harvested their power and might. Using terror, violence, triangulation and weaponizing nature and her bounties of land - we are fooled into settling and accepting the status quo after millennia of colonization, imperialism, genocide and eco-pollution. Please don’t get me started on Queen Elizabeth, I was never a fan once I left England and her death only brought about pain and horror on her imperialist rule, (she had someone hung from the gallows in the West Indies) and once testimony came out about her and those First Nations boarding schools - I officially cancelled her from my consciousness.

It’s exhausting to broker the privilege I have in the US despite feeling like a social pariah in this body and thinking about the atrocities in Gaza and other sites of genocide. It finally makes me sick to my stomach how people have had to broker their identities  in the face of Islamophobia, casteism, anti-semitism, apartheid, dehumanization, racism, classism and sexism just to survive because the trauma of conflict and capitalism rear its disgusting head generation after generations its overt and subvert ways.

So many societies have generational trauma from global decisions governing occupied territories with human beings seeking to live and exist. Whether its the Partition, KrystalNacht, Trail of Tears, The Middle Passage, The Rwandan Genocides - or occupied spaces in the Congo, Amazon and other spaces of conflict - there is always a fissure, a rupturing of native people and its sustaining systems and I’m overwhelmed and sick and tired of seeing this play out again and again.

The conflict in Gaza as horrific as it is unnecessary - shines a light on so many others global terrors. I knew that the initial decision was inhumane but didn’t know how to support Palestine without sounding like a parrot, because inhumanely moving people like chess pieces is traumatizing and disgusting. As a person dedicated to land justice - once I learned about the initial decision for the British Empire to displace over 750,000 Palestinians (Native People) in 1948 - the Nakba (not the first displacement, apparently) and create Israel and to blatantly weaponize, destroy and criminalize the living and ancestral ecology of Palestine - I was galvanized. More than the art or the music - it was the documented fact that like the people - the once thriving, nourishing landscape of Palestine was grounds for erasure and it’s olive trees, being native species and in families for generations - were and continue to be cut down and erased like their families who tended to them. Various crops and herbs (Zatar, et al) and other animals (black goats) were criminalized for not landscaping the afforestation placed on top of desecrated Palestinian homes, and who can blame their innately superb instinct? In 2016 the Israeli government did pardon/repeal the law criminalizing the black goats, basically admitting it was a wrong approach. I walked away from this knowledge finally seeing that a Colonizing and governing country knows that in order to try and take over a territory, one destroys not only the people but also the heritage and ecology of the land. The governing body is twisted, depraved and clearly ignorant to the innate wisdom and power of the land they keep trying to destroy as well as it’s resilient people. This example while centering Palestine is prevalent in so many other occupations and once I got the model of this genocide and food apartheid in Palestine - I saw this lens on other global occupations as well and went through another roll of toilet paper for my tears.

I cannot condone the suffering that Israelis have had to deal with recently, especially those in solidarity with Palestine - but continuing to oppress Palestinians and destroy their people, their lands and food ways in continued food apartheid is dehumanizing and reveals a harsh calculating truth of the oppressive body knowing the power and heritage of land and seeking to exterminate it.

Free Palestine - Her lands do not lie.
#freepalestine

I stand in solidarity with Farm School, NYC and other collectives and people working to end  global oppression and enliven land justice

For additional sources:

• https://mondoweiss.net/2017/12/israels-palestinian-inflicted/
• https://open.spotify.com/show/43YRDL7kMyIi3EdHdn7e8k?si=qEvjB5aEQsK14YktAhw0yg
• https://tribune.com.pk/story/1565720/black-goat-causing-environmental-damage-thrive-israel
• https://issuu.com/leadtolife/docs/solidarity_syllabus-3-compressed

That strange space between Fall/Winter of 2022/23 to Winter of 2024…. Maybe its me getting older or just the times and the heightened grief and genocide, but like many folx - I hobbled, prayed, cried and screamed my way to the finish line of 2023. Too exhausted to make it to some New Years Eve happenings - I drudged up what little energy and respect I had for my West Indian Ancestors and cleaned my home checked in with some core folx, shut my eyes, told 2023, “thank you for coming but you gotta git” and woke up to 2024. While my eyes weren’t as bright as they’ve been - I had more light in them in a long time and with a few brushes - my proverbial snarled tail looked presentable and bushier than it had in a while.

As the fog of global grief clears from my mind eye - I recall some of the highs and low lessons navigating life after finishing all my learning projects around the trades, land and art. Somehow, after all the deep work I did on how I learn and whats best for me - I fell into the love bombing and habitual guilt patterns of associating capitlalism and a consistent paycheck reflecting my self worth; convincing myself I should get a 9-5.  I rationalized this thinking after taking an incredible trades speciality course, hyper focusing on a delusional finish line of consistent employment that actually ended up sending me back into burnout and nearly undoing all the healthy patterns I had worked so hard to build.

In taking a job offer that promised one thing and did not deliver, I was able to lean into my land and art community (who I missed tragically) when I realized I would make myself sick if I stayed in such a toxic space. For a consistent pay check, I gave up seeing friends and chosen family consistently on land and around art, herbs, plants and at workshops and events for land justice - often coming home from a day of 9-5 work too exhausted to move, eat or barely shower or to take myself to bed. For regular deposits - I learned and performed a trades skill that had me around mostly cis-white-het-men who had no idea beyond the scope of their lives and routine to where my thoughts could infinitely expand as a queer, black, immigrant artist. For regular deposits - I cried before going to bed at night and once a week I would sit with my therapist trying to stay alert so my eyes wouldn’t roll back in my head mid-session from burnout, depression and exhaustion. For regular deposits - I showed one co-worker my dream for A Vanderful Life and decided not to tell him about Pirate Jenny because I didn’t have the energy to explain, because I knew he wouldn’t understand; I hid and shuttered myself after speaking up and being punished. During this time - I would eat outside under a picnic umbrella in the company lot, facing a chainlink fence that was covered in green volunteers because it was the closest thing to eating outside on a farm that I had gotten accustomed to. Once, I cut short my lunch break, because I saw a dead baby bird that died on the asphalt next to my picnic table. I  dug a hole in the earth and carried it over and placed it gently in the ground - covering it up with respect and dignity in a cool, earthen resting place. 48 hours before I left, and not 10 minutes after I got to the job site -  a truck did u-turn, crashing into the building, taking out a huge chunk of structure and downing some wires - signaling that it was certainly my time to leave.

When my moon cycle started going all over the place and my 3 month probationary period at this position was coming up - I knew I had to act on a choice or become sick again. Leaning into community can take many forms and this occurred in the most effective text I have ever sent, to date; asking my network if there were any post season harvesting jobs. Within 2 weeks I was in a new land based role and while it was short lived with it’s own social limitations; several incredible things occurred - I was on land, processing and harvesting a crop that at times felt like another worker. I maintained this new position by car sharing and staying with farm fam; commuting from urban to rural setting regularly. My participation in farm events, work days, projects, festivals and activities re-emerged and  someone mentioned that the light was back in my eyes. I was back with my tribe, especially my core crew - helping on site, learning infrastructure as well as basic arborist and ancestral landscaping work. I also saw what farm community truly meant when I couldn’t bring myself to scroll through the on-ground horror’s of the Gaza Genocide and a friend was verbally passing along and explaining what was happening and in mid-sentence paused because an herbal farmer dropped off some mini-bushels of Tulsi at their doorstep.  Several plant friends including Tulsi, Mugwort, Yarrow and Garlic got myself and this land art community through the end of the 2023 farming season when so much was unfolding on the global landscape. As I write, I’ve added ginger, turmeric, and sesame oil to my list of plant allies as it has made the colder months are bit warmer, especially with dashes of cayenne pepper. So many products, tinctures, teas and salves uplifted, soothed and regulated my mind, body and systems and this body would not be able to deal or cope with current events if not for these allies of care made by incredible and talented beings.

Sending that text set off a beautiful yet rigorous wave of events reminding me that I had almost let myself stop dreaming and tending my visions. While I was commuting between states and valleys and being on land, I was in community. I drove to work, worked with plant allies and their people, I drove home - co-taught a high tunnel course once a week (virtually) - and picked up/dropped off things at different farm fam for different people. I supported and socialized at farmers markets, met up and engaged at work days and events and remembered to find the space, time and people to nourish my visions. While it felt like it all came to a screeching halt when the post harvest position I had ended earlier than planned - it was hard not to look back in admiration in all that I and others had accomplished in community during the whopper of a farming season amidst so much needless grief, genocide and climate shifts. December and the beginning of January were tricky emotionally and financially - but pausing to understand my non-negotiables for land and art work helped me to focus and eventually manifest consistent and meaningful work, making me feel like I belonged in community.

Recently, it felt like home, being back on land with farm fam. Holding space for folx, cooking and listening to each other present our collective dreams and visions presented an opportunity for teach ins, advocacy and holding each other accountable in solidarity in a hybrid mix or IRL and virtual time. Those moments and that time provided strength and confirmation; giving me room to dream and fully envision life bridging land, art and the trades with A Vanderful Life. This is also the Chinese Year of the Dragon and it’s my Chinese astrological sign. One of the characteristics of this creature is luck - and while I’ve had a downright bad lot of it over the past 7 years - I have shifted and psychically feel my dragons old scales fall off and new ones start to shimmer. I can’t wait to shift into creating action with the things I have learned and experienced 7 years ago, as Pirate Jenny is celebrating 10 years. I do feel rather emboldened coming out of this harrowing 7 year uphill cycle of a battle - and am literally stretching these dragon’s crusty leathery wings and seeing where they’ll take me.

If anyone is bold enough to try it -  I”m happy to show you its shiny spine.

As the year 2021 closed out, I reflected on the dawning horror of 2020 and how that was somewhat transformed into hopeful productivity and excitement over the course of the year.

I took the warmer months by the horns as I got to go up to Grafton, NY for a BIPOC farming immersion,
continued learning more about urban agriculture, had a fire escape garden and radically eased back into performance art
and art making up at Three Phase and Art/Life Institute, primarily at the Queerteenth Festival (yes, I literally, radically “Queerteenthed” my heart out).
I was also blessed enough to be able to take one of the final classes in cordwood masonry from Rob Roy, a natural, earth building pioneer in upstate New York and also gained trades certifications through a trades
pre-apprenticehip program focusing in the green trades.

An artist residency at Three Phase Center for 2021-2022, Documenting process  was crucial.
After time on land in Grafton, NY, I tapped into making PJ some more time traveling tools whose purpose not only centered farming, but also self-care and fighting narcissism (professional, institutional, systemic, domestic, intimate).
A dawning realization further into pandemic revealed logging on to social media and engaging with people on social platforms, began to give me anxiety. Even keeping up with cultural affairs, pop culture and my own website maintenance  and sending out updates and was exhausting and anxiety inducing with self-ingrained “performative” pressure.
This greatly contributed to my  mantra of low-to-no-social-media, which I currently practice.
Self awareness and some evaluations revealed that I was severely burnt out and that the process is usually a 4 year healing journey...
I showed all the signs, and struggled wildly against growing fatigue, racing thoughts, sensory overwhelm,
not being able to function executively; flailing desperately against  severe depression, difficulty with tasks, and
articulating thoughts/feelings. I had become extremely socially withdrawn to the point of isolation - being hyper selective around public and social interface. Learning to be in that space and accept that I couldn’t just work it, wish it, or-try-a-new-activity or imagine it away has been a difficult journey but serves to provide systemic rest, time and insight and tune into the core of a resiliency I didn’t know I owned.

2022 brought all kinds of surprises including a second health intervention - but one that I now know was induced  by relapsing into hyperproductivity, amidst anxiety and neglect. However, I now have the insight to notice and decolonize toxic practices around productivity and family patterns and can slowly pinpoint and identify their presence.

It’s been a boon to complete another Queer/Trans/LGBTQIA2+ BIPOC rural farming immersion, gain various
trades certifications and a certificate in urban agriculture. I’ve really tuned into some wonderful learning spaces and
affirming queer/trans/LGBTQIA2+/BIPOC communities, held virtual space while facilitating daringly bold and vulnerable allied and gender affirming youth exploring theatre and world making, learned how to tractor and continue to relish in the uncomfortable space demanding stillness and self reckoning that the universe has yet again mandated to me.

This season of life for Pirate Jenny is far from what I envisioned, but being held in the loving hand of the creator
and leaning into life from such a tender, supported and authentic place -  feels different, but right.
I hope to continue examining this art-life continuum with PJ -  existing within the trades and BIPOC farming justice; outfitting her in tools that fortify her in food, care, farmer, artist and land justice while also uprooting and defending
her and others against narcissism.

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ

lIn February of 2020, It took an acute health intervention and hospital visit  - later revealed to be associated with severe burnout -  to put me and my racing ambitious thoughts in check. This intervention exposed that I had been rather unwell; engaging in highly toxic practices around hyper productivity, most likely trauma related.

Somehow, I mistook tolerance for resiliency; functioning through a nervous breakdown, depression and CPTSD (triggered by a 4 year narcissist relationship & breakdown/discard) and burning the capital candle and both ends trying to "make it" as a performance artist.

Grateful to transition the same black therapist pre-pandemic into the virtual space - I was able to piece together that a lifelong association with Complex PTSD and anxiety/depression and (at the time) a rare yet thankful diagnosis of ADHD in the late 90’s  - had finally rubbed my system dangerously raw to the point of successive blackouts.  Furthermore, my time in therapy provided much self reflection of the 4 years spent in intimate narcissist abuse; (love bombing, pursuing, gaslighting, hoovering, discarding then regret/supply stalking) while somehow managing to pay my rent mid-throes of a nervous breakdown down - triggered by Post Traumatic Infidelity Disorder. Then there’s the post-breakup carnival of animals with flying monkeys, catfish and random ex-wack-a-moles popping up and down in supply seeking delusion (aka a relationship).  Additional insight was spent on me scratching the lucky 7's with an increasingly and fiscally controlling sociopath. True to lesbian fashion, this union darkly erupted into the inevitable saturnic-return of a relationship fissure, replete with one trillion crisis coins, naturally unlocking beast mode into Break-Up-Stalker Upgrade.

I also began reckoning with how this toxic tolerance was a precedent set up in childhood, being the offspring of divorce and emotionally, physically & narcissistically abusive parents. Inevitably, this set me up for countless sub-par and dysfunctional relationships that I thought at the time were beneficial (professional, institutional, social, systemic, et al). Throughout my early 20’s and 30’s, my tolerance for high stress knew no limits. My hyper productive default allowed me to soar on the fumes of organically powered high octane immigrant guilt and I continued to mask and highly achieve, proudly learning later and immersively. By the time I finished graduate school (just after finishing my undergraduate degree) - my ongoing panic attacks were self-justified as a normally exhaustive event and regularly throwing up during thesis was par for the course. Culturally, I was already a "standout" to some members of my Antiguan family, not just as an artist (forgoing the typical health/nursing school track) but as someone openly in professional therapy (not a pastor) for Major Depression Disorder, ADHD and motherloss. Up until 2020, my life long occurrences of palpitations, dry mouth, and tingling hot flashes were internally deemed normal either in conflict, on the way to or during work, job interviews or other daily occurrences. It took 2020 for me to digest that as a black queer immigrant lesbian - there had been no collective platform for me to connect with other black or BIPOC women around anger and anxiety within our respective cultures. Earlier interventions around childhood anxiety, learning disorders (specifically around math/dyscalcula) and rage stemming from domestic abuse, trauma and my parents divorce - were not even in the books for professional intervention let alone for an immigrant family in capitalist survival mode.

As the shock wore off post 2020 hospital visit - the need to be proactive (not too hyper) showed up as me recalling a friends prior suggestion to play in dirt and that I also wanted to learn how to build things. A carpentry for queers class was happening in Brooklyn, and I found a community garden up the street from me and an additional gardening class in the Bronx. I began learning about urban agriculture and BIPOC farming justice and got into some great farming immersions and programs, and even learned how to ride a tractor. If Pirate Jenny hadn’t had the medium and truth serum of dirt along with her other tool making implements, especially when the stillness and reality of life patterns got to real and raw; I’d be more compromised and not for the better. I’m proud to say I’m not, but *Trigger Warning*: it was hard not to feel hopeless, overwhelmed, isolated and desperate enough to end it all initially during the pandemic, as I didn’t know how to deal with the stuff that finally came up when the chance to peel back layers was presented.
*End Trigger Warning*.

I’m no longer suicidal or posses intent of harming myself. There is a fully whole value in the community and the professionals I deem safe and loving enough to support me in my quest for living the fullest most revealing life yet.

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ

A mere "lucky" 7 years later after walking across the stage with my terminal art degree in Baltimore.
Systems reengaging but knitting.

This is probably the first of a series diving into PJ making more tools to deal with more life, mainly centering black joy within recovery and healing from CPTSD/Narcissism & Domestic Abuse and severe burnout. Life has been bold and full, while my ever extended low-to-no social media communications have been sparse and on hold. Yes, the cliche of motion sickness is over used, but Pirate Jenny has been out to sea, reflecting, pausing and learning how to hammock, build, grow food and dive into the art as life continuum, amongst other things.

There’s been a deep lull. 
Finally forced to take stock and heed of the words I’ve used lately to describe PJ for the past few years  -
“PJ’s Tired” “PJ’s hammocking” - I’m taking my own advice. We tired - been tired - so tired -  I’ve been low and quiet.
The Quiet has been stereotypically deafening and its been hard for everyone. For me, the silence undulates between muffles screams of a dealt blanket party - replete with life’s bruises, bashes, bumps and backstabbings and betrayals - to its comforting weight; stable, grounding, validating and anchoring while holding space in a protective, subconsciously woven cocoon.

I thought everything leading up to Freddy Gray was horrific enough.
We lost George and continue to lose black, brown, poor and native lives while I continue to naturally experiment with and slip into social distance physically and emotionally; a new language in self-protection. There’s an innate drive to keep unpacking my key, jolting and revealing life memories and patterns while today’s worlds affairs and collides and converges; threatening to toss my last tactile reminiscences under a digital rug and into the meta universe.  These reminiscences float, dart and backstroke in this comfort; brushing past my eyelashes, neck and hair in acknowledgement of their impending release. Pirate Jenny, hypervigiliante of the social seas has finally been taking the rare privilege of time, graciously mandated to me by the Universe - via a job layoff right before the Great Pause and some recent other worldly interventions. It’s been a sacred challenge and blessing to afford the space in this queerly non-conforming edged form; this black, brown, lesbian and artist immigrant body -  just to stop and analyze my ghosts. More importantly, I get to deeply articulate how each of those complex creatures got there...

This is a gentle work in progress.
Pics, posts, work images and such will later ensue with gentle insistency and ease.

#staytuned
#lovePJ