Visceral Soul: Narratives from a Young, Self-Destructive Artist

Glamour. Not Like the Fergie Song-but kind of Like the Fergie song

Sometime between 11:45 and 1 am- July 29/30 2016:

"How didja feel when ya walked in there? You damn feel like you was at home? that's because everyone in there is a fuckin god, thems are your kind, child, you's among your own kind."

She shook her head violently, gazed deeply into my eyes, then went on to say "Chlo loves her whisky." In a casual tone that contrasted greatly with the heavy southern accent I'd just heard.

In front of me was Kelly- A middle aged woman wielding a solo cup full of fireball, half-drunkenly sitting up on the hood of my friend's Hundai. She was talking to me in fits, her personality swiftly dancing back and forth between white bread country mom and a southern Louisianan psychic medium. She called it channeling, and that sassy Lousianian counter-part was a goddess named 'Chlo'.  I don't think it's just Chlo that loves her whisky.

'Chlo' took another swig, motioned at me with the solo cup, and continued to rant. By this time I'd only been sitting there about five minutes. My brain felt like a coffee filter full of nacho cheese, and all I could think of was "Why did I do this?" and "It's a good thing I don't drink." Regardless, I was still greatly intrigued by this woman's craft and stayed put.

"You ever hear of a siren?"

"Yeah, like, the men killing mer-people?'

"Exactly, now, story has it them things would lure men to their death, but they wasn't always just men, it worked the other way 'round but that don't make much of a difference ri-now. You've got what those things got, glamour- not like the fergie song-but kind of like the fergie song."
That last sentence quickly prompted me to think "lol wtf"
Still, I sat and listened, observant of my surroundings. The stars above the tiny strip mall on the outskirts of Ashland were crystalline, there was one crooked lightpost with a flickering bulb towering over the lot; struggling to illuminate even a couple feet of space. Most of the light where I was sitting was provided by the neon "Open" sign placed in the window behind me. I glanced down at my red heels, and sent my gaze back up to meet that of Kelly/Chlo.

"You have something to ya, a timeless look, you's beautiful- one of the most beautiful girls I ever seen- and you know you are too. I know you use it. Appalachia is renowned for its powerful women. Your grandmother, shewa like you- she could make the world work at her will, make it rain, sunshine, you name it."

I was flummoxed, I had no idea why she was going on about this, like yeah dude, I'm super hot thanks for noticing.

"Your glamour- not just the beauty on the outside- gives you an upper hand, you've made people succumb to you so that you could be where you need to be and you knows there was no other option then. Lyssa, you use people as stepping stones. They's been people in your life that served no other purpose than to get you to one place towanather. You feel bad about it. Don't. You's a damn good person and you were put on this rock to bright light to other people's' lives. There's been things that happened to you that nobody know about, that you learned from and used to help other people. There's things you know inside of you need to be told to other people so they can hopefully understand this world like you do."

Don't flatter me too much, my head will implode. [I was seriously hesitant to write this because it's so conceited but hey, she said it, not me] She was not wrong at all. I nodded in agreement.

Kelly-or Chlo rather- in her buzzed stupor, went on to tell me something along the lines of how when I was younger I dabbled in magic, and was always very self aware that I felt more spiritually connected with the world than other human beings. She was right, and I was legitimately surprised. She hit on some key things that no one knows about me, and because of that I'm still trying to convince myself she was just absolutely killer at generalizations. Who knows, right? Those 'generalizations' were shit along the lines of "you'll meet your soulmate by the time you're 18, don't fall in love until then!!" And "don't try to kill yourself again it'll make the gods real mad ya hear?" But isn't that bullshit you'll feed to any self-loathing teen in order to reaffirm them that what they're experiencing is normal? Gotta give it to ya Chlo, you did keep me from killing myself. Having the reassurance that your life means something is always nice, even if it's from a drunk Bayou goddess at 1 am.

Chlo is a crazy gal. I'm not one to say what's true and what's false. I genuinely believe in the beauty of not knowing, and because people don't know things like whether some 40 year old lady is actually channeling some powerful deity, or if she is just a hopeless film school drop-out rehearsing lines for the play she made that never got anywhere- that is proof enough that something exists that is stronger than us- at least for me it is. And based on the way things were going, things were just becoming more and more convincing.

"Now, you done felt reaaal bad for the past month havenya?" Chlo gestured at me with the solo cup again.

How in the blue fuck did you know this you crystal ball alligator bitch?

I was awestruck. I have, for seemingly no reason at all. It was the worst month of my life. I don't even think I said yes, she just knew by the look on my face that she was right.

She looked me dead in the face, then used her solo cup-bearing hand to gesture to the people inside the shop.

"We all have. Now get me more goddam whisky."

With that, my friend Kasey stood up from her spot beside me on the bench, smiled at me widely and whispered "Isn't Chlo GREAT!", and traveled inside the shop to retrieve the famed fifth of Fireball.