wherever i go, i'm still there.

sometimes, coming to terms with yourself means coming to terms with the things you can't change. i could learn a new language, write a new song, paint something moody & lovely. i could dance. i could drink, but it's not an escapism i care deeply for, and i drink for the taste anyway.
life is whatever you fill it with. i don't want a lot.

maybe i could do music for a while. what is love anyway?

i remember existential ennui at two and a half, and now i'm twenty five and a half. all the flavors but everything starts looking the same, feeling the same. self-medicate with everything, music, sex, drugs, afternoons alone, novels, art, television, paint, strangers, friends, urbanscapes, wandering.

at 8, on an august day, the baby was asleep, so i sat on my window sill with the voyages of dr. dolittle in a favorite skirt. there was no guard rail or screen; only myself on the little ledge, right over the backyard. and i thought, if i jumped, i'd break bones. or i could grow up. i could become a lawyer, or anything else. and maybe things would be different. maybe life would become magical. i didn't believe that good or evil existed. there were only brief people, with their streams of drives & desires, some doing pleasant things, others, unpleasant things. i was waiting for the age to begin, where i'd have my multiple careers, my art, my lover, my children, and my cohorts.

and the world has progressed and merged a little more, but my interiors haven't really changed. the same emotions & possibilities exist. people drift in and out of my life. i try different jobs and arts. some appeal more than others, depending on the day. i am the same girl i was at 8, but with an older body and more awareness thrown in. what is joy? books are my companion, as are my own thoughts. i love a lot, and i don't love a lot. tastes & colors, i am an easily bored experimentalist trying to find something that sticks. and i don't want romance. and i don't want ugly cynicism. there is only reality. the rat races go on, and materialism goes on, both spiritual and physical, and people weep, from happiness or suffering, and i am a strange outsider with only a taste for the unworked truths.

i want the world, and all the worlds that exist in souls. i can stay put, which is a hard choice, but nothing holds me down.