Have you forgotten that I am the muse?

3 January 2018, 9:05am. I made a new graphic. Just 1, but I also made the quillwave fix font larger. And just threw everything here into a single post. Because I clicked the “share” button on my phone. And I refuse to curate and polish this shit. This is my “diary entry” or intention setting post, as this is just the beginning of the day.

  • META-TROPE
    • I’m not a trope. I am a real girl living in the real world.
    • Poets can follow my free-balling, free-falling, shit-spinning word association.
    • Perverts can follow my dazzling display of imagined imagery. The seductive whispered words I speak freely.
    • Primates can follow my veracious visuals that I pick to point where I want them to see. All arrows are phallic and they look like a V.
    • Primals can follow the ephemeral elementals, for wisdom can be discerned when one waits for signs from the divine.

  • MATERIAL-GIRL
    • I’m real, I already told you. I’m not imagined nor insane.
    • I love and live music. I’m only guilty of being insane in my membranes.
    • My muse? My life! My body, my experiences, my mind and my memories. I’m both more and less than my words, deeds and philosophies.
    • I want to receive some material indication that my worldly contributions are valued… To justify the effort and strain going digital has placed on my livelihood.
    • I have no idea what I’m doing, but I think it’s worth some-thing…?

  • MORTAL MUSE
    • I am not going to live forever, I know I am going to die. I was hoping it was going to be later rather than sooner, but I’m not the one who gets to know when my time will be up.
    • I like surprises. But not knowing stuff fills me with dreaded anxiety.
    • I know only that which I know, and I apply that knowledge to the way I live my life and in my interactions with others. And all the shit that I know if just from my hyper-obsessive learning all about ME. me me me me meme
    • People go onto the internet and read stuff for a variety of reasons. As an (as of yet, still without a contract) English teacher, I know that for a piece of writing to be effective, one must know their audience.
      • My audience is so widely variegated I lose track of who the fuck I think I’m trying to reach out to.
    • My voice varies dependent upon the context in which I am writing… reading.. to whom (and where) I am responding… So… I dunno. EVERYTHING IS UP FOR INTERPRETATION! WHATEVER! HOWEVER! YOU CHOOSE.

9:23 am; I have a hair appointment today. Booked that last week. It’s time for a change. I need to shed the bullshit and change up the colour again.

I remember a while ago, back when I brought you all through that adventure through Skullcrusher Mountain, that I was going to talk about my hair and I never got around to it? For context, I was reminding you all why I was Rapunzel. Even though I don’t look like Rapunzel, her characteristic traits are what make me like her anyway.

My hair gets friggen EVERYWHERE.

20190103_093035.jpg

Exhibit Above: That’s hair in the electric socket. Like.. WTF. I have no idea why, but it is more than likely my hair. Houses don’t grow hair. And how it got in there? I have no friggen clue. I took that photo last month, 14 December 2018. SO yeah… my hair does get everywhere…

But I won’t shave my head because my skull shape is.. boxy… like.. I have ‘horns’. The back of my skull, around the crown, my head has ‘corners’, and big ol’ dent in the middle between them. It’s like I got a massive POKE in the head when I was a baby, when the bone is still soft and hasn’t fused together fully (this is a normal biological thing, all babies have soft skulls).

But my hair has been corvette red, pink, purple, blue, green, honey, copper, rainbow, etc etc. But once my hair reaches the length of my bra strap, it doesn’t grow any longer than that. It legit stops growing at that length.

What can you expect from my blog, readership? My fellow starship convey captains?

I guess… just… more of me? But.. not me.

I will share what the public say of me, what they think of me. I will share all the publically known visages, homages and tributes made by others in honour of me. I will not give context other than “hey, this is part of the me that is just me”.

I AM CRAZY AND INSANE DO NOT LISTEN OR TRUST ANYTHING FROM ME.

Ok. Good. Rightio. Well then.

My message? My truth and honest to fucking goodness real intention here?

  1. LEARN TO LOVE AND TRUST YOURSELF.
  2. We are at war, and you MUST PICK A SIDE.
  3. There are 4 sides to every story.
  4. There will be no “fence sitting”. You have been warned.
  5. This is Metatrope. And this is my side. I represent team #3. THE FENCE SITTERS. The original fallen who would/could/did not decide.
  6. THIS IS MY FINAL ROUND, WE’VE MADE IT TO THE BOSS LEVEL ARMAGEDDON FINALS! Yay!
  7. If I die before we all wake? It won’t be ‘me’ (the pink crusader) who takes my place.
  8. Every leader has an agenda. So whatever shit I build here BY MY OWN HAND, are empowered with my own intentions.
  9. My intention is to bring all of my fallen brethren together. We will not be greyfaced in this war. Because it is war, we will wear RED.

My mother is red, my father is blue. My skin is yellow, my motivation is orange. My heart is both pink and green and can be nauseating trying to pull it apart and decide which part is whatever it is. Black is death and decay, white is everything purified – these 2 are the colours of my husband. When I am sick and unwell my skin goes from pinky/yellow to grey.

I am a mixture of my culture, my environment, my heritage. The land is orange, and is my motivation. My parents are red and blue, and in me I AM PURPLE.

But I’m a force for “good” and “love” and “light”

SO I AM THE PINK RANGER. FUCK YOU. COME AND FIGHT ME.

Or not. Because it’s all metaphorical.

I gotta get going to my hair appointment now actually. It’s 9:56am.