Author, Poet, A Modern House

Thank you to all those who submitted for our August Author Spotlight. September has already been chosen, but if you want a chance to be our October Spotlight, submit your work here.

This month, we’re proud to feature an excerpt from Elliot Grey’s upcoming book, The ClusterF*ck Collection, a collection of personal poems and short stories about love, trauma, and healing.

Elliot is also the guest on our latest episode of the Moxie Press Podcast:

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You can also find it anywhere you get podcasts (Apple Podcasts, Spotify, etc.)

The ClusterF*ck Collection

Prelude

by Elliot Grey

I am a house. I have always held this idea to be true but the way to bring meaning to this assumed absurdity has not been clear until now.

Someone I thought I was close with recently asked me a question to the tune of “How can you have worked your job before if you have all these… problems?” Their tone was not one of concern. It was disappointment. Or was it disgust? Judging by the intonation, it was probably both.

This statement of discontent made me angry. Not for the reasons you would think. I was mad at the image in my head and the inability to put into words how such a thing could be true. I was stuck and once again, feeling delicate because of the sudden realization that I was no longer in a safe space.

For transparency's sake, due to a series of unfortunate events, I am disabled. This person was referring to my depression, anxiety, PTSD, and ADHD. All of these things have finally reached a point where they can no longer lay dormant. I cannot partake in serving my community in the ways I had done before. I cannot socialize like I used to. My “quirky” and “unique” traits have now become cumbersome and redundant. My life has changed. I am unbothered by this in an overall sense because I am now privileged enough to have the resources to manage myself better.

I know that I owe no one an explanation. Not a single person has the need to know access to my inner self.

But for me and others like me, let me explain…

The warm, light scent of pine. The creak with each step as you walk into the kitchen with the vastly lower ceiling. Hot coals from the fire are your main source of light in the wee hours of the morning. Multi-paned windows and heavy wood doors. Galant gables.

Old houses were easy. Simple materials. Simple features. Simple purpose. There was not much to them, romantic in theory and they were built to last. Foundations were strong despite the lack of technology. There are some older homes with an age of a few hundred years that are still standing. I am not that kind of home.

I am a modern home. One built with the same urgency and complacency as a cis-gendered middle-aged white Karen who has to make a complaint every time they are inconvenienced.

My foundation was cheap, lazy, quick, and easy. It is not sound. Poor decisions were made, and the contractors left the job in the beginning stages. I was left to figure out the rest, and I don’t know a damn thing about power tools (or electrical or plumbing… etc). My walls were made with two-by-fours, particle board, and filled with subpar insulation. The foundation was built with the assumption that routine maintenance would be available.

Routine maintenance was not available.

It took years to find a contractor who was willing to create a whole new home with the dilapidated scraps of what used to be. The wind blew too hard one too many times. The paint began to chip. Everything leaked, including the pipes. The attic was home to squatters and critters who were both rabid. Even a walk around the perimeter proved that I never truly lived in my home. I was a perpetual guest in my own space.

The time has come for a control burn.

Before the burn can happen the house has to be disassembled to a degree. The copper wiring can be picked apart and sold for money. The windows and mirrors should be removed to prevent the possibility of projectiles. Delicately inspect each element until the house is brought down to the bare bones. The point of the control burn is exactly that, control. Leaving any hazards behind could lead to an explosion. Or, perhaps, an even more troublesome conclusion.

This book serves two purposes:

One, to allow myself the ability to slowly gather the last of my tools and begin pouring a new foundation with my construction team.

Two, let others know that they are not alone. You are valid. Every home is different and it’s ok to remodel or rebuild to fit your needs.

Stay safe. Drink water. Eat a snack.

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