i'm trying, okay? i'm trying for art and beauty to manifest itself inside of me. i'm trying to become something beautiful and artistic. and it's just not working out the same way i wish it would. soft and beautiful gets lost inside the fact that i curse like a sailor, that, on occasion, i just become one of the boys. i'm profoundly feminine, but not within the standards of modern society. i know the ancient, the sacred, the internal meaning of being feminine. i know the murderous aching of an empty womb, the idea of producing new and beautiful things. but i am also tormented by the known future, by what is good and normal and what goals are interfered with by just taking advantage of the current circumstances.
the emptiness gets to me, sometimes. everything stops inside my head, and all i can think about are the same words, over and over. and i feel so incredibly empty. it's sort of scary, but it's also intensely wonderful. there are some experiences completely indescribable to other human beings, and i think this may be one of them.
i know what i want, and somehow, someday, i am going to get it.
i want sex without marriage; i want religion without worship.
i want the world to open up to me inside my bedroom and inside my brain.
i want soft bodies at four in the morning.
i want to learn everything.
(i also want my dog to come back home. it's a shame she ran away.)