'If reading on a mobile, rotate your device to landscape,' if you will.
Bus-stop.
thoughts, reflecting on watching (a) 'waking life' :
Narcissus and I
The nature of existence, the essence, kernel or core, does not mind whether the person we address is yellow, brown, black. Or even he, she, this or that; it revolts in play and dances in fear. The primitive essence of being is tentative, by virtue of safety. It is nervous, by virtue of caution and it is insecure by virtue of condition. It is fragile, yet so developed and to be free is truly to be condemned: to a life of decision, which, however hard to take, requires making.
Self fashioning, or self-creation exists in a luminal borderland, between light and darkness, enlightenment and anxiety. It is limitless and liminal and is always in flux, bordered by the mechanistic structures which we have built. Time seems to hasten and through proportion is understood. If one is to age, a singular day slowly loses its importance, lost to the ether of other days, other memories too. Thrown into this melting pot is taste, which however folly to appearance is central in reality. That is, the reality which we call ourselves the driver of; for you are the conductor of your will and, similar to god, are creative and innovative, too.
For Joseph built his house on solid rock, it stands and remains today. For I stand and remain here, today, I must learn to listen and I must learn to pray. Maybe not a deity, but to something else out there, spiritual or freeing, but with hope in its soul. Evolve and develop into the being you desire, a human marked by insecurity and naked passion. As the candle flickers to the midnight breeze, life licks upon the frayed edges of me. A call to prayer and a fall to arms, for my legs cannot carry this burden anymore. Ask yourself that question and look past the mask that you have set beyond yourself, in a game of second guesses and gaiety. Fuck, am I free? Or condemned to be lonely and listening to inaudible ecstasy - to Ecuador I shall travel, for there they have the golden frog, which my aunt has on a golden key-ring.
Travel and commerce have changed the soul of man, woman and further afield. Cultures have collided and the realisation, to me, requires re-focussing; or simply just a understanding of this being you and this being me. Your me is different to mine, but has the same questions flickering in the shadows of night, and the blurring hazes of day.
The essence of your beauty pervades me,
Like the fierce unbounded force of nature.
Something stirs beyond me - all portraiture,
is faceless, displaced with your image. Flee
from my mind, my vision is conflicted.
As the sticks image refracts in water,
my body is bound in this restricted
perception, something engulfs me. 'Tis Me.
I love towards you with my hands open,
my heart rupturing. With a hopeful note
of your sweet voice, I am mended, hope in,
inside of me! Passion makes my soul bloat.
Look at me! Half of hermaphroditus,
totalise me, for destined double-ness
Don't gaze in to the sparkly carpet or glittered D I S C O-ball. Cosmic harmonies tickle at my toes. The rest is peaceful, if you will, but I have to admit that I've seen the ending before. Putting your shoes on only hurts if you sleep on an uneven mattress. Walk on the right and stand upside down, if you will.
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