Second class, kicking ass at the back where I’m always at. But that doesn’t mean I don’t talk. Well sometimes it does. I either talk a lot or I just don’t talk.
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The best places to cry are during sex, during yoga, and during transit looking out of a window watching the world go by. Order of importance will vary.
I’m currently attending a wonderful lecture on artistic expressionism. Not only do I not like anything that’s not super personal both to me and to the maker, but lately I can’t absorb or understand it.
After a few weeks of seclusion I managed to leave my room. For incentive, I bought a little membership to a yoga studio (not Bikram!) and I attended my second class this morning which has a lot to do with why I’m feeling higher. It was so lovely and opening and grounding I feel like I could throw myself.
Alas, stretching saves my life once again. And the Subway. And Boys.
And for your information, I’m not planning on stopping being a hermit. It’s my nature and can’t be fought. It seems I progress faster and things just make more sense.
Also, that scarf in the picture smells like spaghetti sauce which would be nice except for that I’m eating a cranberry muffin.
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All this time under the covers has got me thinking. More than I usually think. I am not who I am. I am someone else. And I know who she is and what she’s doing. But I can’t say it out loud. Even to an empty bedroom.
I’m dreaming of bravery.
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I prove it by being. That’s all I have to do.
I put a very bad vlog on my youtube account as opposed to here where it was not being welcomed. Well, it’s only thirty percent uploaded right now. But I like the number thirty so I’m putting it out there now.
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I lost my keys. I can’t remember anything that I just did. I’m not moving because I can’t.
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I am very sick.
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It is quite significant that our own body is inaccessible in so many ways: we cannot see our face, our back, our head - the most elegant part of out body - we cannot lift ourselves up with our own hands, cannot embrace ourselves [...]. Thus it is essential that our body metamorphose us in the moment of pure perception. - Walter Benjamin
This is why I do what I do.
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