What happens when we don't conform? This is a question we should all be asking ourselves, because our sheer existence doesn't conform. There is the Norm and then the Non, which I find highly ironic given that the idea of normality didn't exist until the 19th century. That's right. Normality is a fraud posing as a wanna-be-historic-presence. But really, normality is a trend setter, and a terrible one at that. Boring.
Yet, there it/they is.
The ideologies--skin itch.
Follow the leader tendencies--brain washed.
Sitting in a pizza shop called the "Mellow Mushroom" with Phred and swaying our heads to the sound of the reggae rhythm I am eased back into my roots. Nestled, really. And happy. Disability activism and culture is a way of life that I have never taken lightly. I have also always approached it with a style of flare. Often, people say, "tone down." Within the last two years I've bumped into their wall. I wobble. Then I look at the wall placed in front of me. I bow. Respect its wishes. Stop where I am told. I am the worst type of activist. I am a conformer in disguise.
I am no better than Norm.
Disbelief. Shame. When did I start taking orders from this perspective?
But tonight is different. Phred and I are planning a revolution. There will be no boundaries. I am speaking my mind and she is worrying about me getting us ostracized and I tell her not to worry because, "all the great activists have been blacklisted."