a new day, a new notebook. it's always a fantastic feeling. but for the passed three days i've been locked inside a NyQuil stupor, stoned as hell on over-the-counter cold medicine, trying to shake whatever bad bug this is that bit me. yesterday and the day before all i did was sleep. today, i was at least able to sit and write for awhile before needing to head back to bed. i won't be making in to class tonight.
and so i lay down in my warm bed and medication and twist black yarn around my hook. stitch by stitch, i go. how soothing it is. how familiar, how comforting. it is a balm and a deep, good therapy. maybe it is how i mother myself? making all these blankets and sweaters? i fashion sites of warmth and emblems of safety for myself. i wrap myself up in my tiny poems emblazoned in wool. i leave them on street in the hope that those who need a bit of comfort may stumble across my little offerings. i begin to dream of the future again... a future self and who that might be.
it occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning that i have occupied my white room for almost a year. may 1st is the anniversary. look at all these important markers of time all lined up in a row! it catches my attention in such a serious way. it's been an entire year now that i have been completely on my own, no hand to hold, paying all my bills myself, buying plane tickets and red lipstick as often as i felt need to, and never for one second letting the reigns slip from my fist. every time i've maintained control over my own life, day, and destiny the results have always been good. i've been happier, not to mention more successful. and likewise, every time i handed over control of my life to someone else the results have been atrocious. unhappiness followed quickly on the heels of such a horrible decision. i can't ever imagine making such a decision again. i can't ever see a day when i will sacrifice my financial Independence. being able to choose the terms and conditions of my own life is the greatest gift i've ever given myself and i will never give it up. my daily existence is so free, so respectful of my being and loves. now, more than anything, i simply want to be more and more my Self.
i've been crocheting a new round of yarn bombs the passed week. they read "cry harder". that's what i aspire to. that's what i want for all of us. to cry harder, cry louder. to be ourselves without reservation or apology. i hope to drop a few in san francisco and oakland in a few days once this sickness has passed through me and left me stronger as a result. in so many ways, street art is the pinnacle of artistic production because it doesn't seek permission or reassurance. it simply IS, and it is up to US to reckon with IT. i love it. i'm not very good at it yet but i'm thankful to take part to the small extent i do. it makes my life feel poetic. it makes me feel alive inside my own body, inside my spirit, inside the night and this world and all my unnameable desires.
relocation is Prime.
and in the art realm of things, i've got some work online at Darger HQ and more coming soon. i also updated my White Columns account. take a peek!
No comments:
Post a Comment