Sunday, 21 August 2011

• Soft Black Stars

  I stumbled across the entry below on one of my old Xangas today.  Sadly, I can't remember my credentials for that blog, so I can't do anything with it.  I'm glad I never deleted it.  Anyway, I know it's a little tl;dr, but I am so glad I found this.  I remember writing it, in 2005.  I really need to remember things like this more often.  I felt this way once, perhaps I can again...

  

  --

  Wednesday, July 13, 2005

  Now hearing Soft Black Stars by Antony & The Johnsons

  

  the phone just rang as i started to post.  the too-loud tone i selected interrupting Antony and that voice.  but i'm being selfish like a Libra again.  it's a friend from Oklahoma City, a rather secondary friend i never really got to know that well to begin with.  and now the conversation is over.  it was brief.  it was nice of him to call, but i'm in the zone.  i'm being selfish like an artist again.

  discovering life is a transition, like skin morphing into the meaning hidden since before i knew what it meant.  new patterns of breathing, ways of thinking, shining through the thick black velvet lick of the nights.  i'm playing this song on a loop; it's the only choice i've got.  he's too undiscovered a genius yet to proliferate the cyber realm, committed to the underground by his very being.  as am i, in a way.  i'm too weird to be like the clones populating the city's statistical data, too same to be as beautifully unique as he is.

  i'm okay with that.  life is a beautiful, fragile thing.  we've only got a few days, and we're ingrained to make them as difficult as we know how, with little devices, our little hands bleeding in the moonlight.  if you look through to the inside of the soft green gelatin orbs that give me sight, you'd see a cocoon opening.  a change.  things i never could accomplish snuggling in a former life, i'm setting into motion here.  deliver me.  from these dangerous ways of living.  from the unhealthy patterns of eating.  from the sin of body issues.  from the pain of not living up to made up expectations.  life is a gorgeous flawed creature, suffering under the soft wet ground.  gather round children, i'll spin a tale - the tale of my life.  a letter scrawled carelessly on parchment, left trickling like rain, for years i wandered. 

  i tried drugs, more than tried them.  i lived with addiction, i struggled under my own laziness and fear.  consumption.  i want them to know when my light comes,

  something

  happened

  here

  i happened.  we happened.  we were born differently, populating space and time and planets like this sordid primative rock.  we were hurt, mostly by ourselves.  building prisons for ourselves while we weren't looking, hoping to the heavens complaints would be enough to unlock them.  i want to be beautiful like a dead boy, floating in the deep black river running through their town.  i want them to be shocked, moved, by my face.  by my voice.  by the contents of my head.  my heart.  i want to manifest all the crazy notions locked unmoving in my psyche.  i want to appall them if it will make a difference.  the society our forebears formed is the broken thing.  not me.  not us.  we are soft black stars (thank you Antony), coating the world silently by our very movements.  a languid liquid running through the veins of the universe.  and if they were truly able to look directly down inside our middles, the greater proportion would be less than equipped to translate us still, or handle the flood. 

  let them read my silence like a bullet, hear my words and shiver like an ice age.  let them trace my face at night and tremble at what they too might become.  we are trapping ourselves in our own very lives.  let's close our eyes, breathe in tight, and start over here.

  i am turning into the artist i was born to be.  i am turning into the creature i was born to be.  a thousand years ago, my place in line was saved, by soft white fingertips of the stars, far too real to be discerned by little mortal man, who would outcast me, castrate a pariah in the name of little agendas and minds. 

  deliver me from the Book.  deliver me from the world.  i am born under pink skies into the world i was made to create.  my name erased from the wait list, brushed aside.  for i am fulfilling a destiny here...

  i am on the journey

  of my life

  and it's a stunning and yet rocky road.  i love it.  thanks for taking a peak inside...

  if i can leave you with anything tonight, don't ever forget to breathe.  and always, always remember what's really important in your life.  it's a fleeting dance, this flesh, this life, these minutes and hours we're given.  don't forget to live it.  smile at a stranger, it might just make you both feel a bit better, because it had no meaning other than kindness, without pretense or posturing.  tell your friends you love them, and mean it, and do it often.  respect your family's flaws and difference, you are bound to them.  enjoy the silence, for it comes all too infrequently in these modern days.  don't forget now, laughter can heal more than medicine, western or otherwise.  it's not the big things that make you swell with pride, but the trail of little things that take your breath away.  learn to forgive, let the petty things go.  they won't go with you anyway when your light comes around.  many moments will have been wasted in bitterness.  but do not ever forget.  lessons are just that.

  remember to love yourself.  take 10 minutes to stare in silence at yourself in a mirror, tell yourself you're a beautiful creature.  hug yourself every chance you get.  hug others just as often.  feel the electric touch and connection with those around you, don't do stupid things to damage it.  keep it fertile and real, don't be afraid to cry in front of them or tell you them you love them in a crowd.  they're your kindred, remember them always.

  i love you, all of you.  take my hand, and we'll bathe in the very breath of life.

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