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if I could make wishes
…presuming I didn’t just accept myself as I am
I would wish to
understand music
keep a clean house
eat better
be more athletic
have a better spiritual/mental/emotional discipline
be more compassionate to other people’s lives
enjoy the world around me more
see things more of what they are than of the projections I beam on them
generally what everyone wishes for
right?
/
I love seeing my idols (always temporary for me) in their human frailties
it does me good to see someone terrified
when I know they perform graceful and sublime work
/
I’m a fine freak
I don’t try too hard at it
I don’t feel comfortable in or out of it
I tend to agree with their actions more than I do mainstream people
but criticize just as many
I always fantasize about appearing "normal" again
just
really
ya know
shaving my face every day
and tucking my shirt in
. . . maybe even tying a tie. . .
but then
I’m fetishizing "normal"
which, again, makes me a freak
so I’ll always be more comfortable being an obvious misfit
clearly imperfect
instead of playing the game of appearing solidly ideal. . .
/
ah,
I gave a litany of imperfections about Humans
I can’t help but always see them/us for our insidious evil
destroying the earth
exploiting eachother
etc
my self-loathing is multi-ply!
being a man
being white
being American
being Midwestern
etc. . .
all of these are umbrated by being Human
deep shame at this sorry state I have fallen to. . .
though I know I could see all and any of these same traits as reason for Pride!
(yay! happy pride! happy lust! happy gluttony! . . . )
. . . if I were more a celebrant
than tedious old Ezekiel
2 thoughts on “34.2”
Anonymous
I guess I should feel previleged, you actually posted one of my responses to your life. Some of us love you that have never touched more than your hand. Remember that, Aloha – as if you didn’t know
Anonymous
I have live most of 63 years as a freak, I didn’t want to change, just to be allowed be myself.
“There is no milk.” she said as she lifted the dinner plates from the table. As no milk was needed and none had been requested, I looked into her face, a half smile crossed it and I felt as though something had been exchanged between us.
Placing the plates in the sink, she looked out the window out to sea, “Sometimes, you can see an island out there…” Suddenly fanning the air with one hand as if to chase away some unbidden memory.
The fog horn sounded from a distant light house and she asked, “How do you do it? I mean, it must be like boulders grinding together, I can never go back.” She shuddered.
I like it, it’s more like bumper cars” I said, “No one gets hurt.” But the look in her eyes said that wasn’t true.
Standing in the doorway, I looked down into what once may have been a flower bed. “You be alright?” I asked, knowing she would.
Nodding towards the mist rolling in from the sea, her hair hanging like winter’s willow branches in the humidity, she said, “Stay on the road, it’s easy to get lost in fog.” She closed the door.