I have been feeling quite ‘odd‘ recently; thus creativity shrinks its wings and plops down as lead, leaving me stuck in this body like the robot farrago I both love and loathe sat next to me on the bus. I have to try so hard to remember the kindness of opticians who recommend apps so I can practise meditation and taxi drivers who quit their old jobs to be happy, who read Paradise Lost in Pakistan when he was just 18.
To try to explain what my bouts of ‘oddness’ feel like, to try to untangle the sloppy spaghetti knots that are my trains of thought, here is a little quote from my diary when I got really drunk instead of trying to face the miasma of conundrum that is myself.
“AT LEAST I’M KIND OF HOT WHILST I’M BEING DISAPPOINTING. WHEN I DREAM OF ME AND YOU AGAIN YOUR FACE MERGES WITH PEOPLE WHO FUCKED ME BEFORE YOU DID- I WANT TO BE CLOSE TO HUMANITY DOES THAT MAKE ME BAD OR NAIVE OR BOTH?????”
None of the bad things I think, or call myself, or want to be when I’m sad feel true- they just feel more solid, heavier than my hopes do- and gravity lasts forever. When I’m happy, singing with my feral wail and dressed up slippery in coconut oil with no bra on, daydreaming about reading my future book in another city with this same sun- I look insane but I FEEL so real. Like this planet actually DOES belong to me and I do have a right to be here. Reality rears up its bedmessy head from the pillow greeting me with a morning breath and dreamstinking smile.
Today was my first shift helping out at my favourite charity shop here in Peterborough. For some reason (perhaps the knowledge that each electric pulse of movement sorting hangers into arrangements of spectrum weavements on rail was going to help make people who the Sue Ryder Care Trust look after a little happier) even though the tasks were mundane and I haven’t changed really- it was simply so lovely to be a puzzle piece that fit in its own fucked up way.
The poem I’ve chosen for today is only a small haiku I conjured up on the bus one day at Uni- analysing into inimitable static electricity on my arms some spring pinked blossoms cheering out their inflorescences into a nothingness of hot blue sky. I must get better at learning that you do not have to be important in order to be special xoxoxoxoxoxoxox
A flower blooms each
time we remember ourselves-
grow into “I love you”.
PS- If you live near Peterborough in the UK, you should give the Sue Ryder Vintage shop a visit- not only are the clothes and treasures all so loved and cared for there, but the people are angels on earth and all your money goes towards magic making!!!!!