reinventing geometry, a journey
i wake to a message: “we’re going to reinvent geometry.”
a response to the suggestion, “i need want you to fuck me from every angle.”
yes.
delicious mornings. delicious everything. no need for coffee with sugar and cream. everything feels sweet. serene. in the midst of chaos, i’m stillness, waiting patiently to meet her... ah, yes. handler.
how do you know when the spark is really lit?
i’m not sure. but i seem to find it in the edges of things.
when someone reaches out a hand unexpectedly and i almost can’t believe it’s really happening. i notice i still have stories to let go of.
maybe that’s what all these tears are. grieving all the past mes. i do shed a lot of skin. often. write stories with it. on the walls. with my fingertips. painting every sensation i can get my hands on.
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i hate this tension suddenly. a wave of frustration washes over me. i know because my pace is quickening. like i have somewhere to get. that’s what i have to feel tonight? the deepest parts yet.
god damn. this fucking mess i’m in. again. always i am. i thrive in the center of it. noticing the golden threads, glistening. singing to me. i weave them into my being.
poetry always teaches me something.
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i’m tired of being innocent.
i show Him.
i reclaim my canvas
i am reborn
a virgin
immaculate conception
i get it - at least in this moment. i suppose that’s why i’m recording it.
this biblical shit is rife with wisdom if you look past the dogma. it’s all in how you frame the narrative. which lens are you looking through? whose perspective? what’s in her bag?
i am a new woman. unattached to who i was. chosen family lets me accept my story, alchemize it through my body, let go of it meaning anything about who i am currently.
ever-changing. i am shapes shifting.
how do i want to experience life, having let go of the death grip?
open pandora’s box and let it in. that’s the secret, right? once you open your eyes to your freedom, there’s no way to forget.
here’s something i’ve learned: i don’t have to remember everything. everything, in fact, is always coming.
i do practice remembering this:
there’s never a lack of inspiration. just breathe until it comes.
please. read into every word i say. like a painting that’s only half done. use your imagination to fill in the rest. the words roll off my tongue, but it’s your job to fill them with meaning. what you imbibe, you choose. hold yourself. write a story you’d like to read. write beauty into your being.
one of the things i want most in this life is for people to feed me their experiences so i can weave new narratives to share with everyone.
a new geometry. a new story of my own making. that’s what coming is. freedom. creation.
we are building a personal mythology.
new foundations. strength.
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let me retrace a few moments.
all day, i wait. i feel creative bursts and follow through. all the way to the end. even finish a project or two.
i notice, in a way i never have, the end is the beginning.
the categorization of things - the seeming separation - is just a way to help me organize. but there’s no need to hold onto it after the art is created.
a poem becomes a hundred other things. i let them come and edit later. let myself see what lies in the pool of scenes i’ve imbibed and find that when i let go of the need for a reason, i have a million.
and i have endless giving to give. let me nourish you with my pleasure’s wisdom. let me touch you without touching you.
thank you.
gratitude.
tears.
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a conversation:
“guess what happens tomorrow?” He asks
“you enter the bun shop? we play a game? there’s a secret room somewhere?”
“so far batting 1000,” He tells me
i go on. what else do i want?
“i get to fuck for the first time.”
that’s how it feels to me.
“we’re going to see a movie you’ve never seen,” He tells me when i ask for a guess.
what’s going to happen tomorrow?
i wonder endlessly.
how it feeds me to anticipate our meeting.
nourishment.
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