It was destined to get weird due to the person
(moi, #laidbackvirgoan, aka #laidbackgermaphobe #iprobablyDOknowwherethosehandshavebeenandimamusedbutdonttouchme)…
(set by that selfsame Angel).
But you guys who’ve been here a while pretty much come for the weirdness that makes beautiful, rational, decadent, logical, restorative sense in the end…so buckle up lol.
I am talking to you today about your girl…
who lives atop my head. That’s Right.
If you only knew the joy that has been in my life since I gave the entity that moves through this current universe as my Hur her own name all those years ago, you too would quickly name and make peace with your god-given crown.
And then~ it’d probably get kinda freaky, you two’s relationship. Good freaky, not “oh my God I need borax for the inside of my eyelids…and other things~” kind of freaky.
I’m talking about the Good-timey, old-fashioned Weird Science, “drop and give me a million” type of freakishly beautiful this here blog is Known and loved for.
Like Calvin & Hobbes, when yall ( you and your hair[Hur, Har, haR~) fall for each other, the adventures you have together will blow your mind and renew your faith in there being a point to (both this blog entry and) this here rock we’ve all graciously awakened on this morning.
“What the sam Hell Weird Science silliness are the two of you up to now?” You say?! “Why are you cheesing so big in that pic above?”
Because Esmi & I went stealth whole hog this summer and are starting to see the startling effects of all our crazy like a fox theories play out on the tops of our head.
It was the ultimate Hur Guinea pigging! The Perfect synthesis of old-school, damn near Pharaonic 80s buppie tween hair luxury ritualistic dances, off the grid and of the earth educational swaths on the sides of mountains and stone cold genius, amplified by the twisted joy I get from my gift of splicing my own oils #healthydecadence style and rooted in the realization that something I was trying to make peace with wanting to do was utterly from God and he had my exploratory back.
But before I could truly do it, I had to commit to something that was 120% out of my comfort zone, 120 because it was such a big deal there was a percentage point factored in for each year of life we’re technically capable of having. It was deep, and dark…and utterly necessary to prove all Hypotheses and theories. I had to commit or it was going to be a shitshow, a very expensive one that had me wasting my time and my Kerastase stash for no good reason. It was “All IN” or sit the fuck down, you don’t really want it.” And it was the first of many things on a very new list for me. the “Are you going to commit all the way to just fn doing this shit or not, ya lazy-assed genius?”Operating at 50% and scoring an easy 89% throughout life is technically fine, but eventually… even you kinda want to know what you can do when you go Ham on a motherfucking goal.
Esmerelda raised an undulating tendril [by her self lol] and volunteered that our weird goals be the first ones we tackle. I asked her if she was sure. Any of you who’ve actually met me knows my hair has full on conversations with people from across the room when I’m minding my own business so there should be No surprise at her doing such a thing lol.
She said “What do you think I’m raising my f ureakin hand for? Of course I’m sure!”
I calmly told her “You have no hands” and she flicked me in the eye for being a smartass and said “Let’s do this Blanche! lol-” and we got to work.
Making tings. Splicing oils. Figuring out the beeswax God had preternaturally had me buy my last farmer’s market in Venice with the shove that i’d need it…which turned out to be the secret ingredient in a formula being riffed across the sands of time. All my Globalboho Beauty archives amassed in this life and all those prior came to the forefront and we mixed, the music from Wyl E. coyote’s laboratory echoing in the outer space inside of us both.
I was grateful for being in the middle of “nowhere,” in a Eucalyptus grove on the edge of the ocean, ordering in weird supplies sans judgement alongside a pod of foodies in an 111 year old mansion. The iodine in the air, though cool, inebriated Esmi all the more, made her double down on calculations and machinations while I happily ambled around on hikes amping my circulation up, and blissing the fuck out at the balls appearing to do this thing having appeared out of nowhere with only peace and no backstory amp needed.
And then the day came.
I started to ask Esmi if she was sure about this one more time. She groaned and I muttered “okokok~” and gently picked up the last of my Kerastase Oleo curl replacement formulation deep hair mask, gingerly placed it at the far back corner of my drawer and closed it. I then got in the shower and lathered up, dousing my hair with Apricot Kernel Oil afterwards to detangle and condition it.
…Then I sucked air through my teeth, sent up a little faith-filled prayer that I’d make it out alive…and put my shampoo in the back of the drawer alongside the conditioner.
My weird hair life flashed in front of my eyes as that dresser drawer closed. I’d arrived on Earth just shy of two feet tall with more hair than most two year olds to the chagrin of my mother, looking like a lanky lil eskimo baby for some reason. By the time I was four I was almost four feet tall and my hair was inching past two feet long of its own accord. By the time I was ten, my feeble haired mom had been outlawed from my hair due to resorting to vicious violence whenever Esmi yanked the comb she wielded like a knife and popped her back with it, and I’d been having to punch bald-headed black children for saying my also black ass had injun in me( true, but so the fuck what,we all did, whole nother post], which apparently their dumbassed and also baldheaded parents had told them meant “so you wont hit back if I yank it” for about three years. 82% of the fights I was in up until I was 21 years old had to do with motherfuckers coming for my hair and me zen whupping their asses for trying to touch me as it roared around my face like tumbleweed, smacking at them too. Telling you, Esmerelda went through ALOT.
In 2001, after closing all design hopes in Japan, I’d stood in the bathroom of my friend’s apartment in Azabu Juban, crying over every damn thing…as a quote from an interview with Lenny Kravitz talking about why he chopped off his locks scratched itself into the bathroom mirror…and I cut her off.
A funny thing happened too.
She grew back in sporting these dense, insanely waving ringlets.
In all that kicking and fighting my way to adulthood protecting this crown’s right to be all over the place if she wanted to even before she had a name- she always Was a ride or die nother entity lol- I’d completely lost sight of the fact that my hair had been naturally curly. The curls had always been roughly combed out at home, and the de riguer hair stylists that were part and parcel to the Cosby show era middle class black kid’s life- just marveled huffily at my hair’s blatant disregard for relaxers and how it turned to what they called black silk when it was just pressed. Claire wasn’t doing nobody’s hair, that was a chore that was eventually farmed out the more money the family made anyway.
So much of that…and all the stuff I’m not writing about I had already long made peace with. But it all had to be honored as I closed that drawer…because something larger than all of that was being stepped into with the Deep Space Nine level decision that, many moons later, Esmi & I had agreed to set off on …together.
Honor the grief you carry with you in the strands of hair that make up your crown. Your ability to process that grief expands your crown…making more room for the uptake of joys.
Utterly free from the past, we were setting off into the future,
Golden Age mode.
“Let your food be your medicine, your medicine be your food.” style.
I got weirdly elated, this odd ringing happening around my thymus as, even though it was only going to be a set amount of time initially [#Science/ #Ihadalreadydonethecontrolgroupishprior], I knew I was hoping to have discovered the holy grail and that this Particular day was going to be looked back on as… the last day I used conventional shampoo on my hair for the rest of a beautiful, long, abundant life.
[…to be continued.]