i have recently often found myself to occasionally be lost in thought, daydream, reverie
no fault of my own (of course) (after all, who am i if not victim, if not martyr, if not scapegoat, effigy burning in the open, smoke blowing eastward?)
i did not put myself here, he put me here, He put me here. i did not have a choice but i pretended to choose this.
so here i stand at the intersection of east and west, family on one side children on the other, joy on the left and pain on the right. i stand tall- no that’s not true i am slouching, hunched, sacrificing inches- perhaps someday you will be taller than me, seems inevitable.
i am checking insta stories over and over trying to see more - i am looking, for you know exactly what, seeking out that which i have sought. sometimes i am so lucky as to see it- ten seconds or less of it of It - the cycle begins anew.
how many times can i repeat the cycle? well how many times can i breathe? theoretically both infinitely hypothetically both eternally. time is a fat flat circle after all, a snake on a one dimensional plane. contrary to popular belief it is actually treading on us. is that really so bad? yes/no
cycles infinitely repeating what else is new- i do my laundry every week same socks same dresses same panties i fill the bathtub up with water and measure out detergent and fabric softener and use my hands bare to scrub everything and release them of what they carry
like a machine
just human
the water changes color and even consistency the bubbles grow and shrink no two snapshots will be perfectly alike- yet it is the same every time.
my friend said i wear “church dresses” i think that’s fine, i think that’s okay, what’s wrong with french toast? children’s sizes i want to fit into but my shoulders won’t allow it, barrel chested small breasted built for a life i will never live
so many people talk about neanderthal dna but it makes no difference, i want to know how much of each of us is intangible, etheric, something of nothing, celestial dna
when i feel empty long enough i start to feel full because of course an empty vessel will be filled that is a law of nature
pictures of myself so many pictures of myself not for public consumption not for open viewing but a performance, a one-girl show, a one-man audience. i am on stage, affirmative consent, i have chosen this i am choosing this i made the right choice right? sometimes art is not seen by anyone except the artist and it hurts me
have i not turned the lights bright enough? whhy so inattentive? a pirouette and i plead for attention not even applause just a recognition. notice me why won’t you notice me it’s just too inconsistent to feel real
my art is not forgiven or pardoned
my art is condemned my life is condemned - it’s all condemned