One thing I’m grappling with as grappling builds spiritual triceps of plushy diamonds is how much time slopping around in the underbelly of the soul of the world where the demons of the damned play air hockey with people, and how much to spend immersed in the joy of life, and I always feel there’s something a little broken in me, an unbuilt bridge, a flaw when I cannot unite the two neighborhoods; not the classless utopian society so many imagine; an underbelly and a true joy of abundance; when I spend too much scouring the underbelly for lonesome, whistling truths I feel like I’m belying life itself, making a waste of moments full of soil and splendor; when I’m in the mode of complete acceptance of things as they are, I feel mature then incomplete and my heart-mouth begins to get filled like its lips are shrinking and then I feel bloated and drained of courage; so there’s grappling and it seems to me, somewhere there’s a split in the wood and the deeper I go, we go, the better chance of finding the root of the split and then it’s all good; sometimes I look around and see dilapidated monuments, spongy rocks slithered with colored chisels; then I’ll see others like lighthouses, clean and emitting something a wide laser with flags of countries that never formed hanging from them; I just wonder, because I’m a mood machine, if I’m slighted by my own vision or there’s truth in the distinction; of course, probably a fruitcake made up of both; I’m a purist and sometimes I am a Sith and do deal in absolutes; I believe they exist; burning flesh smells awful ; maybe on Planet Godor it’s like flowers; but any grappling with this Yin and Yang feels a little faded, a faded argument for being human now and yet something eternal; I don’t want to be a drag but I don’t want to feel like a liar; I feel fresh and angsty tonight, like a loaf of bread with exploding raisins in it.
Tonight I went to a fabric store because I am going to attempt to make a dress, or dye a white dress, in the vision of the character Meghan in Frenemies who likes to mingle strong women in history and what they would have worn in a time warp to now. And I want Kate, the other character, to wear it when we film our promotional video next month. I’m a detail hound with very specific ideas on the look and I’m new to dyes and sewing and such; vision is vision even if it’s cracked so I follow follow follow in bliss or brain swell.
At the tiny store there were two girls there and I had the feeling they were partners; the thing is I have very poor gaydar; it’s busted or missing and instead I got an extra thought track so I think twice as many thoughts per second as what’s considered safe for a person but I have no gaydar; there’s someone out there right now with an extra set of gaydar; for some reason I hope it’s Leonard Nimoy;I sense it would be in good hands and he would use his double gaydar powers wisely. I’ve just not been able to tell; when I was in high school, seventeen, I went to a play with some friends and this man was sitting next me; he was very nice; I was thin and young and polite; I still am; only later did my friend tell me he was hitting on me; actually, come to think of it, I’m that way with any and all genders hitting on me at points; animals too, when a dog comes onto me I get a little soft in my vision. Tomorrow I dye my test fabric and get ready for a new frontier of expression, Meghanwear.