the name of the game is don’t get mad
Sometimes my perceptions, the things I understand, the people I see. Sometimes they make sense. I try not to judge others for the weaknesses that they exhibit, but some lack or over abundances for perceived humanity certainly don’t aid in the selection process.
I look back, try to turn my head and remember what I was like at 22. 23. Francis says I was beautiful then. Took her head in my arms and taught her how to live. To love. We spent endless hours pounding coffee in the back of my omni, praying for the car to just go on in between puffs of camel lights. The cigarettes littered the floor of my car along with styrofoam, soaked papers, pictures tickets. I had more than one notebook foresaken in the girth of the slop. I think I am constantly in the learning process; broken and bleeding, waiting for the coagulation to summon the synopsis. I tend to judge myself at an accelerated level, far above and beyond any semblence of steady.
My boy is amazing. I rarely feel any iota of satisfaction for the idea behind another person breathing and teaching; existing. He said something to me last night about not wanting to be the square. I find that his speach, the way he moves, the way he creates imagery, the way he smiles to be some of the most beautiful, complicated but excitingly simple gestures imaginable. The way he dances will always drive me crazy. That crazy good thing.
I am busting my ass to do the things I need to do to be happy. Modeling, though potentially profitable, is not something I feel like necessitates alot of the pain people cause themselves. It’s easy to pinpoint these girls who seem to feel so absolutely full of themselves that they can essentially break themselves down into fanclubs, with assorted activities and breaking news paralyzing your view of them as a person. I do alot of shit. Alot of different batters I have dipped my finger into. Alot of people seem to care sometimes about the things I utter. speak words write scribble slash. I thank whomever for giving me the opportunity so see so clearly through the bullshit. I might do music. I might be a writer. I might be a thinker. Hey maybe I am an artist.
It’s just that I’d much rather do it and stop talking about it.
