| What would you do? IF . . . |
[Dec. 17th, 2006|03:38 am] |
I would be the blinding light of staying up all night whence I could be doing nothing else.
I would be beyond the very words I speak and the air I breathe and the time I straddle to get here right now.
I would be a recipe for a new way of living, a shear delight in the triumph of satisfaction. And many more such happenings every empty space, filling the openness, sharing in the happy tales wagging in the sun shimmah. Yes, I would be something over the hills and far, far away, untold, yet unrolled for all the children's nimble ears, and all the ears' children.
I would be more than the very things I've been taught, more than all the words I weave, more than all the people's impressions I've made.
I would be a radiant flurry in the distant horizon, showering aflutter fantastical feelings.
I would be a nonstop exit for the way I want to be, off the ramp and down the pipes. I would not care so much for keeping with the times and the ways and the sameness of all that was before me. Nay! I say goodbye to the shackles that clip the very wings that guide me unt'words the goals which haft me ever-so-rapt.
I say goodbye to all this nonsense! All this having to be like THIS just because i was like THIS before. Fuck that. I can write and act any way I want. That's fucking right. I can drop any fucking thing I want on this fucking journal because, first of all, I'm not so sure anyone really even reads it, and second, because it's a load of utter crockery. Poppycock. I will not accept this.
So what will I accept, then?
Well, not that. I will follow a new guide. A more natural, clear-feeling one. I will ride the wave of intuition and see where it takes me. I will turn away from the backlit walls of repetition. They have nothing for me but the same old same old. I need more. I want more.
So what, then? What shall I do? Well, I shall write - faster and faster, with less and less emphasis on the proper shizzat. I will look back less and less and write more and more. And, someday, I will be on a sky flutter and will feel the moon and the stars and the sun on myself, and my cherubim face will smile. WHAT?? What the fuck am I talking about now? AM I totally out of it now? No, not today. I haven't even got into it yet. I can't wait to exercise a brand new hypothesis, mos def. What if I follow myself fully? Truly? Completely? What if I say YES? I can only breathe the answer. I know it is true. It knows it is true. It is wavering like the wind in the trees. I am like the spoon of a thousand generations. Whose evolution is this? Can we all get along?
Okay. So I'm gonna pick up some slack here. I want to make something clear here. I want to be valuable to myself in whatever I do. I want to have a real impact. I want it to be time well spent, worthwhile. I want to really enjoy it, at least somehow. Somehow. I want to escape escaping things, those which I do not want to do. I want, instead, to follow things, what I DO want to do. I want to chase after all those things which make me feel shiny and sparkly and warm. I want to bubble over regularly with a feeling. I want to feel the hand which feeds me, as it enters my mouth. I want to lick it, caress it, blow it kisses. I want to feel the light and glow like the light and float like a hummingbird. I will turn these tables like the very Westerly winds which haunt the morningside slipperily. Fuck this shit. I do not have to make sense. I want to shake off this inner critic somehow. I want to be more cooperative and encouraging and accepting of myself and what I do and what I say and just go along with it. Ya know? I just wanna roll. I wanna roll. I wanna roll. I wanna get in the zone. I wanna really feel this. Feeel this. Feel this 'til it feels me. I wanna know thisself. I want itself to know what it is, so that it can do what it wants. I want it to know that it does not have to look back, it does not have to question, to hesitate, to even be ahead of itself, as is oft to do in today's society. But how many ways must one say something in order to be respected, in order to be enjoyed, in order to be taken seriously? P-lease. Come on now, people. Let us be nice to each other. Let us behave. Let's be friendly. That's what there appears to be not enough of these days. Ahhh, this constricting is kinda a bitch. Ahh well. So be it for now, I guess. I can take it. I'm a man...right? Oh god...what if I am totally doomed? What if there is no turning back and I'm stuck forever? Well, it was a fun ride then. I happen to believe otherwise, though. I have much to do. If I was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing I would be writing, conversing about my favourite things, topics, listening, being listened to, playing ridiculous games, doing absolutely nothing inside of nothing. My future is plentiful. Inside, I am a god. I am not, in such as the necessarily familiar interpretation - nay, of any kind - but a god, indeed. I will be the flowers tilting the room's feeling, comfort level unto its glorious evolution. And my spine will streeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetch itself forth from a classic case of the scrunchies. My jaw will relax. My ears will find their way. My lazy eye will learn how to live in harmony with my other.
My dreams are a colour to paint. No other time is now.
If I can write, and write and write and write and not look back, and not feel the need to correct everything, and not have to achieve perfection, and just trudge forward, roll onward towards liberation I will go. Do you like that?
I do. Because, I am tired of this wack shit. I am no longer going to put up with this. It is not a tirade of exhausted patience, but a redemptionary tongue swaddle. And I will crush the wings of this nemesis. I will splinter it. I will splatter it upon the sidewalks of my mind. It cannot rain inhibition forever. All sounds line up and play with each other playfully. Surprise? Why shouldn't it be? It's exactly what it wants to be. Do you see what I mean? I want to to just write what I am writing and not what I am thinking about writing. That is the trick. if you can do this, what CAN'T you do? I mean, our whole social system is set up with people trying to think of something witty and "interesting" to say to everyone else so they can stir up some funky impressions of themself. And maybe later they'll wallow in their self-pity and low self-esteem. Do you see why this is a problem? I have a problem with it. It is one thing to be taken on a ride through your mind into the various things you have to offer, but it is quite another to be not listening much at all or to be simply waiting for the other person to finish so you can speak. Or how 'bout just interrupting the bastard. They're not very interesting anyways. Yeah. I fucking love that. I ramble all the fucking time and I make no attempt to deny that. But I still have feelings. And I try. And I don't really blame everyone else for my shortcomings here. But, I must say I am quite disturbed by how difficult it can be have a true "conversation". I mean, that word is supposed to be 2 people - not 1 - talking! What the fuck! Man. I seriously want to change this in some small way(at least.) That would appreciate me. Even beyond, I suppose, is a desire to not change things and just enjoy things as they are - as they're potential. I want to use things to my advantage. I want to utilize situations to the max. Use them as an opportunity to talk about these things (not in a confrontational way - I want to guard against that, actually, and learn how to comfortably, naturally communicate in this way).
Okay. I'm out. |
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