‎"Diana Ross told me that people in show business can get hurt. I don’t see how...maybe one day I will." - Michael Jackson, 1971

Artist of the day

...is Nathalia Edenmont. Minus the animals.

The right to love a child

Gay adoption.

Two such emotionally charged words in separate, and even more so when put together. I overheard someone debate the issue today, and as usual, I need to vent.

In the world today, there are thousands of children in desperate need of a loving home, or simply a roof over their heads. Yet these children, already having suffered more in a few years than anyone should have to do in a lifetime, are denied the stability they so desperately crave because someone, somewhere, got stuck when looking at the biological process of child conception, and decided that that is what determines how capable you are of providing someone with love, values and attention. So. If the only healthy thing for a child is a mother and a father, then that argument, in order to be consistent, would also mean that all single mothers and fathers out there...are unfit parents. That no family where one parent has passed away, whether be it from cancer, a traffic accident, or violence, should be called a healthy family anymore. Feels kind of illogical, doesn't it?

Sweden recently became the 14th country in the world to allow gay couples to adopt. The problem is that the countries that have the highest number of children in need of a home, are more often than not very traditional and religious, hence will not allow "their" children to go to families that consist of same-sex couples. And to be blunt, it blows my mind that someone can be so cruel as to deny a child in need of love and stability those things because of their own twisted morals and backward thinking. That is pure selfishness. And to then, on top of it, say that it's "with the child's best interest at heart"...is laughable.

The "think of the children" argument is not only the most popular one, it is also highly illogical and inconsistent. This argument is mostly followed by some "well-meaning" person bringing forth the B word. Bullying. Like it would automatically follow, and like it's an inescapable fact.  Here's a newsflash for you: kids get bullied for everything under the sun. To deny gay couples the right to be parents out of the fear of their child being teased is like dying your ginger child's hair blonde or putting your overweight child on a diet before they start school, because ginger hair and extra weight stands out, which - gasp!- might lead to bullying. Yet no one in their right mind would ever consider doing that. That's just crazy talk, right?

So as usual, you are putting the responsibility on the possible victim, instead of the bully. It is not the gay couples that need to refrain from having children to avoid bullying from taking place; it's society that needs to change, and it is the other parents in the society we live in that need to open up their closed minds and teach their children that you do not pick on others and that love is love no matter your gender. That will solve the bullying problem before it even arises. And it also raises the question...if straight people are so much more suitable for parenthood than homosexual couples simply because they're straight, explain to me then, why it is their children that will very likely be responsible for the bullying of the "gay" kids that their own parents - and our so very hetero-normative society - so seem to fear will take place if we let gay people adopt? Hmmm. 

(And while we're on the subject of teaching your children the right thing, who better to teach their child love and acceptance of everyone, than parents who have lived to experience their fair share of the pain that judgment and bigotry can bring? Call me crazy, but in my world, that's what parents do: take their own experiences and use what they have learned from them in raising their child so that they will be prepared for what may come their way one day.)

Ignorance and judgment does and will always take place. It happens every day. Some children growing up with two parents of the same sex will tell you it made their lives horrible because of other people's intolerance, and some will tell you it didn't affect them negatively whatsoever. Why? Because it's the same with this as with everything else. In the words of Chuck Palahniuk:

"You grow up to become living proof of your parents’ limitations. Their less-than masterpiece. Fathers. Mothers. With all their caring and attention. They will fuck you up, every time."

All parents will make mistakes, whether they (or we, when that day comes) want to admit it or not. But no one ever tells a straight couple that the mere fact that they've decided to have a child might lead to that child being bullied - in fact, no one would ever dream of saying such a thing. We have to wait and see, right? Let them try first, at least. Yet gay couples aren't even given the CHANCE to fail like the rest of us, and all they are told is that they will, automatically, ruin their children's lives. Because of who they are. Because they happen to love eachother. Now tell me how that makes sense?

Ode to my family

Because without you, I'd be lost.

Music & me (or the post also known as "why so many shows?")

Since today is Valentine's Day, and people seem to expect that you recognize it (sigh), I'm going to write about the love of my life: music.

People often ask me why, when I go to see a band or a singer that I love perform, I go to so many shows. I usually try to go to as many in one go as I can afford, often two, three or more in a row. Explaining to people why I do this is tricky, mostly because when I'm at a show, it's all about emotions, and I find it hard to put those emotions into words sometimes. Also, there's the simple truth that if you know what it felt like, you would understand completely and I wouldn't need to explain it to you - but if you don't, there isn't anything that I could say that could fully make you understand the ecstacy.

When I am at a concert, it is so much more than just a good night out; so much more than listening to someone sing. Because I don't just listen to the music; I feel the music. To every song that is being performed, I have a memory and a feeling that goes with it. I re-live all my gut-wrenching pain, all my ecstatic joy, and everything in between. It is a hugely emotional experience for me, and it's like that every single time I hear the song to which I have a memory attached. And it's because of that that I don't find it boring or repetitive to go to several shows in a row. ”My” bands and performers have shared the ups and downs of my life for years, some of them for decades. That does unevitably create an emotional bond between my heart and their art.

There are so many things I love about a concert crowd. Those that know me know that I am hugely fascinated by large, enthusiastic audiences. It is something about the way they sound (that differs depending on where in the world you are, or if the crows in question is largely male or female) that really gets to me. Then there's the roar it makes when the lights go down and people get pumped up for the big release that happens when the performer in question finally enters the stage. From that moment, and for two hours on...nothing else exists. Nothing matters. All your troubles, all your insecurities, and the memories of anyone that has ever hurt you or let you down...are erased. It is a world within a world, where reality is left at the door when you check your ticket. It is tears, laughter, sweat, confetti that clings to your damp skin, rhythm, lights, and racing heartbeats. It is arms in the air, goosebumps, unison and symbiosis, and an exchange of energy where the performer and audience feed off each other. It is acceptance and belonging and being a part of something; of that audience that becomes like one big, breathing organism and life force of its own.

Some of the most amazing and memorable moments of my life have been during concerts. I have heard Take That perform ”Love ain't here anymore” under a sky pink from the summer sunset, with 60,000 people singing along. I have seen an entire arena rise to its feet at Céline Dion hitting that high D in ”All By Myself”. I have felt my seat vibrate from the impact of the tapping shoes of fifty dancers in flawless unison at Riverdance. I've seen Marilyn Manson on his knees, holding on to bassist Twiggy Ramirez's shirt sleeve so hard the knuckles on his gloved hands where whitening, screaming ”let me show you where it hurts!” during "Pretty as a Swastika".

I have queued for hours in the blistering cold and the scorching heat to secure my place at the front, I have refreshed the ticket sites non stop for hours on end for the hope of that one ticket. I've held the hands of strangers, sung at the top of my lungs, looked around me at a crowd of twenty thousand people bathing in light prisms and hues of green, yellow, blue and red. I have closed my eyes with tears streaming down my face at the sound of my favourite singer's voice breaking with emotion. I've had my favourite performers and inspirations look straight in to the lense of my camera creating stunning shots, I've had them sing to me, I've had them touch my hands when I've reached out to touch theirs. I've seen them laugh, cry, scream and whisper with broken voices thick from emotion. Some artists I've seen shortly after discovering them, others I've waited years to see. Some I never will, as their lives were tragically cut short before I was lucky enough to get to experience their magic in person.

Music is my oxygen, my prison window, and my sanity. It's how I live, how I die, how I am resurrected, and how I survive. Inside the walls of an arena or on the grounds of a stadium is the only place where I can be who I want to be, and feel what I want to feel. It's where I feel accepted and part of something, and where that huge label screaming "OUTSIDER" that I have always had atatched to my skin is ripped off in one quick go like a bandaid. People will hurt and leave you if they can, but music...never will. Without those moments of acceptance and sense of being okay and for once belonging, even if it's just for a little while...my soul would wither.

You ask me how I can go to so many shows, but with everything I've just tried to explain to you...I ask you how I could not.

"The Chocolate Donut", Fred Einaudi

(http://www.fredeinaudi.com/)

“Don’t you know?” Sheila says. “The damaged love the damaged.”
Cyanide and sugar. Poison and antidote. Like maybe we balance each other out."