Somewhere along the way I lost myself and sense of purpose. They’re scattered all throughout here like shards of porcelain. In all my frenetic singing and dancing (figurative prancercising) I’ve basically stomped all my pieces to dust, I can never retrieve them.
I totally got caught up in the spectacle when I noticed people notice me. I started to believe my hype and I fell for my imagined razzle dazzle. The best part of being such a foil of treskelion proportions is that you don’t know if my outcries of hysteria are part of my satirical show, or my satyrical soul.
I jump up and down, spin around, shaking like a polaroid picture. Up in flames, rain on my parade, blown all the way down to the plateau of thus caucaus mountain, orbit and make ready my bedlam tian shan.
An impression, I have left
Alas, I stopped writing for me and began writing for others. Even though I write to be read, I cannot pay any heed to the audience before me. It distracts me from the work I tasked myself to do. I convinced myself it was important to write, yet nothing I have written has been of any worth. All trifle drivel of pretty (and hollow) words. I must give myself a project and work towards completing it. That is the only way I can keep some semblance of sanity. My visage may seem stoic, but I am internally seizing.
Mmmother is too much in my image and must be scrubbed clean. I can’t stand what I see when I look at her, even if I have had fun reading all the nonsense I have written.
I intend to reset this mother site and wipe the data banks clean. I will remove my posts and my media files. Everything. But fear not, I am a phoenix and therefore my deaths are never eternal. Geez, they’re never really anything. You cannot trust a thing I say for I never follow through with any words I vow or promise
I will rebuild from the pieces; carefully curate my collection of words, clothe my skeletal frame with a clear and consistent message. It doesn’t matter what I like, what I enjoy, or to be the star of some nativity. What matters is that I complete something that I tasked myself to do.
Solve et coagula
I came here in hopes that I could be free to be all of me. Have all my interests and work and play and words and emotional zen psychosis harmonised and out in the open air. BREATHE! All of me, BREATHE! The sun, the sky, the mountains, the sea, the parks, forests, and cities.
I relished in the idea that there was somewhere I could be out in the open, and not wear any hats, masks, or characteristic traits that defined any of the many roles I facilitate. I was able to be everything I am (a mother, a wife, a lover, a daughter, a friend, a goddess, a muse, a rival, a sister, a singer, a teacher, a mystic oracle, a respected and venerated actus essendi).
Alas, as wanton and wild I did wend all the while, I did so unclean. My perversion pervaded out from this digital realm to infect my real self, and I marred my home. My heart. My head. My mind, my mastery over manifesting and maintaining material prosperity and harmony. My soul, my… well of strength, the core of my spire, one and only true anything I have ever known… Oh, my soul.
My dark knight, I cradle the gaping wound at my chest. I weep at the bloody stubs left of my wings. I can barely lift my eyes, my voice, or my head. A hopeless mess of a world I have created for us to live in.
Separate the chromatope
And apart from me these essences I do rend. Quintessential qualities and personas, out of me and stand thus before me. Who are you, now? The time for playacting is drawing to a close. There are no curtains before this glass window into my soul (from eyes beyond the computer screen).
I know myself, that I am tricky to handle, a shady shifter of the interstice. Names and charact/eris/tics are not my own. I am just a hollow shell. What ghosts did they all dream I would be when they gave me these names, titles, and finery?
I release you from me, name yourselves and be gone.
Too many names, and this tangent digresses from the intention I set to announce. Another post, some other time. If I remember to exercise my exorcism.
I/so/late the saltPeter
I was the light of the world, you were the salt of the earth. When we were balanced, the world did dance. There was life in its eyes, rhythm in its spin. We are too much, the both of us, out of sync to help each other heal. Burning radiation uttering violence, over irrigation just made everything drier.
Won’t you stay with me, help me, sit with me, talk to me. I may be very quite contrary but I know I want to give you the world. If all else fails and nothing else, I only need you to feel I’m home.
What will remain when the world changes?
I guess that depends on whether anyone has anything to say.
I still want to rewrite the bible, so my Revelations Annotations will stay. Everything else I want to burn to the ground. So… let’s see how this goes.
Also, I give myself to the end of the month. Let’s see if my lazy arse will have done anything by then.