rantapalooza
Those who’ve known me for years know that I seldom rant like this. I tend to sit on things to make them constructive. I realised I had some harsh thoughts about Arcosanti and that I’d been somehow protecting it by not being forthright about where I stood with it. Unedited, unabashed, this is my view of it. This isn't even a fraction of what I've seen.
I think if I had more days like yesterday, I’d be a far less stressed person. This state of stress is so strange because it's so unlike the me that I’ve known and been for years. I want to rattle the bars of the stress-cage and let it go, but I find that things distract me in a way that is unusual for me. I want to be able to walk to the café without everyone having something to say about it. There are far too many people with nothing better going on in their lives. I crave solitude and people who have more to talk about than Arcosanti and its residents. I need inspiration that doesn’t come from the anger and resentment of those around me. I am not angry and resentful; everyone here is, and I wonder why people continue to stay for years and lifetimes when the dream isn’t what they’d imagined. The answer to that is that people get financially trapped; they come with open wallets and hard-working hands, college educations and life-experience only to be chewed up by the machine that is arcology. Being paid low wages makes it hard for people to escape once they’ve entered this labyrinth. I know this well, as I freelance outside of here and work multiple jobs just do to things like pay my health insurance, car insurance, my gym membership, my library fees, and be able to see friends for yummy dinners from time to time.
After living at Arcosanti, I know that I could never live in a true arcology. I still appreciate the ideal of people sharing more common space and commuting less, therefore making use of the natural landscape around them instead of developing it for roads and tract houses. I also believe in frugality, sustainability, organic living, and communities working together to produce less waste and be more cooperative. However, with arcology, there are too many people stacked onto each other and not enough private spaces. I never thought that I needed so much private space before here; those who’ve known me for years would say I am very open and willing to share my space and possessions. Arcosanti has taught me to be more sparing in what I grant to other people. There’s only so many times one can lend her things out to have them return abused or not at all before she says, “Okay, only family and friends, not just anyone who needs it.” Maybe that sounds selfish, but I am as I am, and that’s always been giving people everything to a fault. I’m learning to keep the things that matter close to my hands and to let those that aren’t go.
Private space is important for healing, learning, and growing, every bit as much as public space can provide those things. I like being able to have my secrets and not be exposed to so many of other people’s. What’s more is that I long for a day where a tourist isn’t snapping twenty snapshots of me like I’m an animal at a zoo, where I can have a conversation without someone eavesdropping on it and offering more than a dime’s worth of bad advice, and where I can come and go as I please without someone else snapping judgment on me and spreading it to other people. Who gives a damn if I don’t go to parties that often and prefer to spend my time boxing at the gym, writing, or hatching plans? Should I be at cowboy karaoke all the time or these awful theme parties that everyone uses as an excuse to get juiced up and molest each other in public? I certainly don’t care that almost all people my age here are doing is getting stoned and engaging in these incestuous-seeming relationships with the same batch of people. It’s like musical chairs but with beds. No thanks. Those of you who know just how wild of a child that I can be might find this mode of thinking hilarious, but shit, there’s only so much Girls Gone Wild on Spring Break for Life action that I can take before I get irritated and hermit-like. It wasn’t always like this for me, but even when I was more visible in the public eye, I had plans going on and was nurturing my talents. Arcosanti was not my life. Nonetheless, it became the stage on which I lived my life.
A real shift came about two years ago when I entered into what would be an emotionally abusive relationship. When my partner, a brilliant, but beleaguered alcoholic for twenty or so years, spiraled back into the liquor-game, I went along with him. I felt the social pressure of making it work because the people I lived with were also the people I worked with, and everyone knew everything. I was humiliated on multiple occasions where he either would hit on other women in my presence or get so drunk he blacked out or passed out in ditches, and the list goes on. During that time, I felt like an open wound, and yet, I was hiding things, pushing the bones under the rug and trying not to let people know the immense shame and agony I was enduring. As open and forgiving as I am, a part of me stopped being those things after that experience-or at least as much of those things as I had been.
Some might ask why I stuck around with someone who would treat me so awfully. There are a couple answers for that. One is the classic enabler stereotype where I saw the good in him and wanted to save him from the bad. Another is that all of my friends and co-workers here were pushing for it to work, in their subtle ways. I felt like if I let him go, I’d fail in the eyes of my community and that I’d somehow be viewed as a failure. Almost everyone here saw him be abusive with me, and not one person that I can recall ever had a conversation with him about why he was doing it or stood by me where it mattered. When things ended, I went through the majority of the pain alone; there were a few notable people who did listen and soothe, but the majority of the people here didn’t do anything. This is a common theme.
In fact, people who’d seen him berate me, damage my property, and throw things in my direction continued speaking with him, saying they didn’t want to pass judgment, as he hadn’t ever done those things to them. Something about me that confidantes and others know is that I’m the type of person that if I see you doing something fucked up, even if you don’t do it to me, I’m done. Maybe that makes me judge, executioner, and jury, but I don’t abide by people being awful with others. You are what you do. If you do something lousy, you’re lousy. If someone hurts my friend, he’s hurt me. This is the passion-tongue, willing to get into arguments, fighting with a fist wrapped in silk Jewel that sometimes causes problems. Hate that version of me, but you’ll always know where you stand.
After that fiasco, I started withdrawing from the community. I saw the idea of the community as a sham if so many people could witness so many heinous things and do nothing. They’re a band of ostriches that stick their heads in the sand and make excuses, as long as the slight doesn’t apply to them. I believe in standing for people and ideas, not wilting in some corner and letting people be hurt. I believe in people. Obviously, I am not perfect; I am mostly fair-minded and loyal, though. Really, what I see in this situation and my subsequent self-imposed exile is that my idea of community is different from other people’s ideas of it. I came here to stand for my beliefs and also, to belong to something greater than me. Needing to make roots and belong to something has been important to me as I’ve moved all over the world for my whole life, and everything can seem impermanent. In saying these things, I’ve found more clarity than I’ve allowed for a while. I’d taken to ranting in private to people like Shaun, instead of just saying what I felt and standing by it.
A person could feel broken-hearted to have given up so much to come and be used so much-because that is what Arco does: it uses people-but I feel I’ve gained and grown so much more for having experienced all of it. Still, I’ve had some of the most amazing experiences of my life here. When I tried to make it work, I was sheltering those things. Appreciating the good doesn’t mean ignoring the bad. What I see now is that my view’s become more balanced, and made me more ready for the wider, wilder world that awaits me outside Arcosanti's space-age architecture and aging, misogynistic architect. When a writer comes here from Oprah’s O magazine to be an artist’s model and is propositioned by said artist-like the rest of us have been-it shows that we are not people in Soleri’s eyes. We are prey, little girls to be tied in pink ribbons and harassed when we pose for an art project. She begins her article, quoting him as saying, “May I have the priviledge of kissing your nipples?” NO and no. When I posed for him, he tried the same stuff; I just never told anyone about it.
Before today.
Talullah Jewel
P.S. Another thing that makes me see that my decision to leave has been sound is how many nutty men they allow here. Our site coordinator has a thing for misguided males and makes excuses for and shelters them. The newest one has everyone up in arms because he lurks around, jumps out of bushes, and stares at certain women. When we ask if his references have been checked, we're told no. When we protest, we're told there's nothing concrete. Great, let's wait for him to do something like Martin last fall who was screaming the F-bomb in a prison jumpsuit in front of tourists and stole Stefan's suit from next door, amongst other pretty things. When we complained about him then, we were given nothing but platitudes for six weeks. "Maybe he didn't know it was someone's suit," the site coordinator said. YEAH! Because people just walk into houses that don't belong to them, assume a suit there isn't anyone's, and take it.
I think if I had more days like yesterday, I’d be a far less stressed person. This state of stress is so strange because it's so unlike the me that I’ve known and been for years. I want to rattle the bars of the stress-cage and let it go, but I find that things distract me in a way that is unusual for me. I want to be able to walk to the café without everyone having something to say about it. There are far too many people with nothing better going on in their lives. I crave solitude and people who have more to talk about than Arcosanti and its residents. I need inspiration that doesn’t come from the anger and resentment of those around me. I am not angry and resentful; everyone here is, and I wonder why people continue to stay for years and lifetimes when the dream isn’t what they’d imagined. The answer to that is that people get financially trapped; they come with open wallets and hard-working hands, college educations and life-experience only to be chewed up by the machine that is arcology. Being paid low wages makes it hard for people to escape once they’ve entered this labyrinth. I know this well, as I freelance outside of here and work multiple jobs just do to things like pay my health insurance, car insurance, my gym membership, my library fees, and be able to see friends for yummy dinners from time to time.
After living at Arcosanti, I know that I could never live in a true arcology. I still appreciate the ideal of people sharing more common space and commuting less, therefore making use of the natural landscape around them instead of developing it for roads and tract houses. I also believe in frugality, sustainability, organic living, and communities working together to produce less waste and be more cooperative. However, with arcology, there are too many people stacked onto each other and not enough private spaces. I never thought that I needed so much private space before here; those who’ve known me for years would say I am very open and willing to share my space and possessions. Arcosanti has taught me to be more sparing in what I grant to other people. There’s only so many times one can lend her things out to have them return abused or not at all before she says, “Okay, only family and friends, not just anyone who needs it.” Maybe that sounds selfish, but I am as I am, and that’s always been giving people everything to a fault. I’m learning to keep the things that matter close to my hands and to let those that aren’t go.
Private space is important for healing, learning, and growing, every bit as much as public space can provide those things. I like being able to have my secrets and not be exposed to so many of other people’s. What’s more is that I long for a day where a tourist isn’t snapping twenty snapshots of me like I’m an animal at a zoo, where I can have a conversation without someone eavesdropping on it and offering more than a dime’s worth of bad advice, and where I can come and go as I please without someone else snapping judgment on me and spreading it to other people. Who gives a damn if I don’t go to parties that often and prefer to spend my time boxing at the gym, writing, or hatching plans? Should I be at cowboy karaoke all the time or these awful theme parties that everyone uses as an excuse to get juiced up and molest each other in public? I certainly don’t care that almost all people my age here are doing is getting stoned and engaging in these incestuous-seeming relationships with the same batch of people. It’s like musical chairs but with beds. No thanks. Those of you who know just how wild of a child that I can be might find this mode of thinking hilarious, but shit, there’s only so much Girls Gone Wild on Spring Break for Life action that I can take before I get irritated and hermit-like. It wasn’t always like this for me, but even when I was more visible in the public eye, I had plans going on and was nurturing my talents. Arcosanti was not my life. Nonetheless, it became the stage on which I lived my life.
A real shift came about two years ago when I entered into what would be an emotionally abusive relationship. When my partner, a brilliant, but beleaguered alcoholic for twenty or so years, spiraled back into the liquor-game, I went along with him. I felt the social pressure of making it work because the people I lived with were also the people I worked with, and everyone knew everything. I was humiliated on multiple occasions where he either would hit on other women in my presence or get so drunk he blacked out or passed out in ditches, and the list goes on. During that time, I felt like an open wound, and yet, I was hiding things, pushing the bones under the rug and trying not to let people know the immense shame and agony I was enduring. As open and forgiving as I am, a part of me stopped being those things after that experience-or at least as much of those things as I had been.
Some might ask why I stuck around with someone who would treat me so awfully. There are a couple answers for that. One is the classic enabler stereotype where I saw the good in him and wanted to save him from the bad. Another is that all of my friends and co-workers here were pushing for it to work, in their subtle ways. I felt like if I let him go, I’d fail in the eyes of my community and that I’d somehow be viewed as a failure. Almost everyone here saw him be abusive with me, and not one person that I can recall ever had a conversation with him about why he was doing it or stood by me where it mattered. When things ended, I went through the majority of the pain alone; there were a few notable people who did listen and soothe, but the majority of the people here didn’t do anything. This is a common theme.
In fact, people who’d seen him berate me, damage my property, and throw things in my direction continued speaking with him, saying they didn’t want to pass judgment, as he hadn’t ever done those things to them. Something about me that confidantes and others know is that I’m the type of person that if I see you doing something fucked up, even if you don’t do it to me, I’m done. Maybe that makes me judge, executioner, and jury, but I don’t abide by people being awful with others. You are what you do. If you do something lousy, you’re lousy. If someone hurts my friend, he’s hurt me. This is the passion-tongue, willing to get into arguments, fighting with a fist wrapped in silk Jewel that sometimes causes problems. Hate that version of me, but you’ll always know where you stand.
After that fiasco, I started withdrawing from the community. I saw the idea of the community as a sham if so many people could witness so many heinous things and do nothing. They’re a band of ostriches that stick their heads in the sand and make excuses, as long as the slight doesn’t apply to them. I believe in standing for people and ideas, not wilting in some corner and letting people be hurt. I believe in people. Obviously, I am not perfect; I am mostly fair-minded and loyal, though. Really, what I see in this situation and my subsequent self-imposed exile is that my idea of community is different from other people’s ideas of it. I came here to stand for my beliefs and also, to belong to something greater than me. Needing to make roots and belong to something has been important to me as I’ve moved all over the world for my whole life, and everything can seem impermanent. In saying these things, I’ve found more clarity than I’ve allowed for a while. I’d taken to ranting in private to people like Shaun, instead of just saying what I felt and standing by it.
A person could feel broken-hearted to have given up so much to come and be used so much-because that is what Arco does: it uses people-but I feel I’ve gained and grown so much more for having experienced all of it. Still, I’ve had some of the most amazing experiences of my life here. When I tried to make it work, I was sheltering those things. Appreciating the good doesn’t mean ignoring the bad. What I see now is that my view’s become more balanced, and made me more ready for the wider, wilder world that awaits me outside Arcosanti's space-age architecture and aging, misogynistic architect. When a writer comes here from Oprah’s O magazine to be an artist’s model and is propositioned by said artist-like the rest of us have been-it shows that we are not people in Soleri’s eyes. We are prey, little girls to be tied in pink ribbons and harassed when we pose for an art project. She begins her article, quoting him as saying, “May I have the priviledge of kissing your nipples?” NO and no. When I posed for him, he tried the same stuff; I just never told anyone about it.
Before today.
Talullah Jewel
P.S. Another thing that makes me see that my decision to leave has been sound is how many nutty men they allow here. Our site coordinator has a thing for misguided males and makes excuses for and shelters them. The newest one has everyone up in arms because he lurks around, jumps out of bushes, and stares at certain women. When we ask if his references have been checked, we're told no. When we protest, we're told there's nothing concrete. Great, let's wait for him to do something like Martin last fall who was screaming the F-bomb in a prison jumpsuit in front of tourists and stole Stefan's suit from next door, amongst other pretty things. When we complained about him then, we were given nothing but platitudes for six weeks. "Maybe he didn't know it was someone's suit," the site coordinator said. YEAH! Because people just walk into houses that don't belong to them, assume a suit there isn't anyone's, and take it.