I'm so many things that I've sworn against.
If I saw me I would let myself have it. The long hair, the fitting funny-colored pants, the thick glasses, obscure music, studying obscure languages.
I can't even pretend to be disheveled and pretend I don't care anymore. This simulation is reality.
I might as well apply to work at Stumptown and practice frowning.
I'm in a new place. I have never looked in the mirror and really understood the person on the other end (to be me). I look now and slouch and laugh at what I've become. I'd love to judge the mirror for its faults and ignorance but I am the person on the other side. I can't give up being myself.
A strange amount of people think I'm better off looking like a college student / resident Christ impersonator. I don't know how to deal with that. Mostly, I ignore it. I look how I look right now out of compassion, arrogance and laziness. That concoction has led me thus far.
Speaking of Christ, I've decided that I have no interest in holding the mantle of a prophet. I was told by several reputable sources (those that tapped into the God-divine [read tarot]) that I am a prophet.
Maybe I'll become more of a prophet if I humble myself now and say that I don't want to be. It worked for Paul Atreides, I'm sure.
I think I might just make this a soapbox and complain about the ills of society, the thetanic ills.
Thetan...
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/02/14/110214fa_fact_wright?currentPage=1
I love a good romance novel, or I imagine I would if I was in to that sort of thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment