To live outside the thousand impositions, without inordinate fear, needless apology. Invent myself with Scratch.
Human Voices. They come, they die away. And this....
This luminous alphabet and how the syllables move round and soft, to coo and smooth. To safety. To dream.
Once I roamed an imaginative land. Joy punctuating the landscape, drenched in sunlight. Limitation, like death, incomprehensible. Heart beating wildly. won't-die, won't-die. The pure erotics of childhood. Of everything there is to say and everything there is to do and be. The potential!
Hugging every tree, twirling in the rain. Dancing freely with no constraints or embarrassment to a dizzy song in my head. Wandering free with a tendency to explore joy, pleasure, irreverence, kindness and empathy. The Irresistible Universe.
I flew with arms extended once. Sang with candlelight. Dug to earth. Adored the Green Rain Smell. In freedom I imagined being anything, going anywhere. Everything was possibility, All options and optimism.
And if teachers or other forces tried to quell my enthusiasm early on - well, they were easy enough to ignore. Didn't they always want to reduce a complicated and terrible and terribly beautiful universe? I did not notice.
Imagine the shock of puberty when imagination seemed to desert me? When everything I loved seemed taken away. Roamed freely and unencumbered, the voices out of nowhere started demanding in a kind of staggered unison and from every direction the same thing: Conform. Conform. CONFORM.
The message was death.
Abandon song, Conform.
Abandon irreverence, Conform.
Surrender you freedom and all you love, Conform.
Against your nature, against intuition... DO SOMETHING USEFUL.
How did I find myself suddenly estranged in a black sea with a black sky and a black wave ready to engulf me? At sea in an adulthood not of my own making? EXILED. I struggled, trapped under glass.
I was Glass, i felt my wings disintegrating as I pulled away from the pins.
Insects of Iowa
The cracks and stresses are showing, bulging & I always have been.
The Stress Of Wanting To Know What To Do!!!!
The burden of a self repressed talent, completely unrealised, utterly nebulous, just a pressing, nothing even close to words. Yet.
Leave all that behind. Discouragement from every side. Even before I had barely begun. Goodbye.
Who is that sniveling baby who feels so terribly sorry for herself? I'm walking slowly but undeniably further and further into my remoteness. Not so lonely there really. A terrible weight of conventions on me and the Arrogance of it's demands. Such a subtle method? Give up your life for mine, step into line, hand it over now, and go quietly. Who is that in the Mirror who asks for one hopeful thing and tries (its a little pitiful) to console myself, or erase myself.
What in the world is she wishing?
Alice in Dead Land