an interreflection pause:
a light bite out of my book-meal of sustenance for the day:
Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown.
Tally: 3 cities, 4 forms of transportation used, friends on the other end of free phone calls, 1 book read, 12 hours of sleep for the first time in a month⦠no large revelations or outbursts. Gold star over here.
Phases -or- dream sequence/when I went back to cull the pages that I had poured over with such devotion earlier in the day, I couldnât find the ones that struck me most any more, and it just seems that the whole book will have to do.
Here is a selection of qâs I choose for now.
Context optional. (Iâm using artistic license and a dash of escapism)
(to keep it interesting and coherent here are Possible reading suggestions: read phases 1 through three repetitively until it has meaning. Or read the book (again).
Context in art is arguably created by the âreader/receiverâ any way. art is life/is artâ¦so, go make something of it.)
1. In times like this, intellectual analysis does no damn goodâ¦123
2. Enchantedâ¦141
3. Something tells me I have to stay in this ugly city for awhile. 151
Sometimes I feel like I live in the late 50âs or maybe 60âs; that I actually am living in a house with an avocado-green refrigerator, and yellow linoleum floor. That Iâm married and a secretary, and have plastic flowers in the flower boxes outside my window. That the child sitting at the table is mine. (insert caveat. If this is your life, and it makes you happy, good for you. The Nuclear world awaits your participation. I on the other hand would like to imagine that I am reaching for a strap-on as I bolt for the Exitâ¦.)
You may now bite down on your pillow and take a moment to release anxiety with me.
AH.
There are moments also where I wonder where in the hell my teen years went and why I didnât rebel just a little more. Cut out Just a little, change more to period. Continue: Now Iâm older. It doesnât 'look' as good, but it is starting to itch. Again. I need to cause some ruckus. The image of the avocado green fridge (and I love avocados) will be enough to incite my rebellion, maybe.
In the mean time, for all of you who have heard my âabout my futureâ monologue, I thank you. It is a process that requires much ironing out, and while you might have felt that the discussion was repassing over the same crease of indecision, in fact it was always an new one, but I just couldnât express the minute adjustments that were occurring with in the frame work of a circular-seeming conversation.
-What the hell am i going to do with my life? Tell me what to do?
-I cant. It wouldnât mean anything if I told you. You got to tell you.
-Itâs so hard.
-For Christâs sake, its always hard no matter who you areâ¦itâs the hardest decision every individual has to make in their life, probably.
p.175
As s. suggests, perhaps if we can't figure out what we want to do, by eliminating all the undesirable options we will be closer to what we do in fact want.
Lets eliminate the avocado-green fridge and thank the printing presses for publishing books that are better than yelling at family members out of repressed frustration, and projected suffocation (I am actually doing quite well here despite the tone of this sentence. The fridge imagery does make me a bit edgy though. No one talks about what kind of fridge i'll get around here mind you, since its just expected⦠though I suppose a beige one won't be too scandalousâ¦what I paint on it how ever... (nope if this makes little sense dont worry, i let the analogy get away with me...just for old-times sake.)
ââ¦And for a future I didnât want a split-level home with a station wagon, pastel refrigerator, and a houseful of blond children to walk into the pages of McCallâs magazine and a husband or any man for that matter.â
really.
â I wanted to go my own way and maybe find some love here and there. Love, but not the now and forever kind with chains around your vagina and a short circuit in your brain. Iâd rather be alone.â (p.88)
Ok âloveâ is a whole other kettle of fish.
I wonder if I believe in love like I (donât) believe in labels.
Andâ¦if 'all you need is love'â¦when would I have an excuse to eat chocolate?
I have all my priorities straight.
Hahahah.
Hahahhahhahah.
Ha.
(ill leave the last clisheed quip to you. It's subtle, I know.)
Ps. Iâm home.
Yep. My cough matches my humour: dry.
Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown.
Tally: 3 cities, 4 forms of transportation used, friends on the other end of free phone calls, 1 book read, 12 hours of sleep for the first time in a month⦠no large revelations or outbursts. Gold star over here.
Phases -or- dream sequence/when I went back to cull the pages that I had poured over with such devotion earlier in the day, I couldnât find the ones that struck me most any more, and it just seems that the whole book will have to do.
Here is a selection of qâs I choose for now.
Context optional. (Iâm using artistic license and a dash of escapism)
(to keep it interesting and coherent here are Possible reading suggestions: read phases 1 through three repetitively until it has meaning. Or read the book (again).
Context in art is arguably created by the âreader/receiverâ any way. art is life/is artâ¦so, go make something of it.)
1. In times like this, intellectual analysis does no damn goodâ¦123
2. Enchantedâ¦141
3. Something tells me I have to stay in this ugly city for awhile. 151
Sometimes I feel like I live in the late 50âs or maybe 60âs; that I actually am living in a house with an avocado-green refrigerator, and yellow linoleum floor. That Iâm married and a secretary, and have plastic flowers in the flower boxes outside my window. That the child sitting at the table is mine. (insert caveat. If this is your life, and it makes you happy, good for you. The Nuclear world awaits your participation. I on the other hand would like to imagine that I am reaching for a strap-on as I bolt for the Exitâ¦.)
You may now bite down on your pillow and take a moment to release anxiety with me.
AH.
There are moments also where I wonder where in the hell my teen years went and why I didnât rebel just a little more. Cut out Just a little, change more to period. Continue: Now Iâm older. It doesnât 'look' as good, but it is starting to itch. Again. I need to cause some ruckus. The image of the avocado green fridge (and I love avocados) will be enough to incite my rebellion, maybe.
In the mean time, for all of you who have heard my âabout my futureâ monologue, I thank you. It is a process that requires much ironing out, and while you might have felt that the discussion was repassing over the same crease of indecision, in fact it was always an new one, but I just couldnât express the minute adjustments that were occurring with in the frame work of a circular-seeming conversation.
-What the hell am i going to do with my life? Tell me what to do?
-I cant. It wouldnât mean anything if I told you. You got to tell you.
-Itâs so hard.
-For Christâs sake, its always hard no matter who you areâ¦itâs the hardest decision every individual has to make in their life, probably.
p.175
As s. suggests, perhaps if we can't figure out what we want to do, by eliminating all the undesirable options we will be closer to what we do in fact want.
Lets eliminate the avocado-green fridge and thank the printing presses for publishing books that are better than yelling at family members out of repressed frustration, and projected suffocation (I am actually doing quite well here despite the tone of this sentence. The fridge imagery does make me a bit edgy though. No one talks about what kind of fridge i'll get around here mind you, since its just expected⦠though I suppose a beige one won't be too scandalousâ¦what I paint on it how ever... (nope if this makes little sense dont worry, i let the analogy get away with me...just for old-times sake.)
ââ¦And for a future I didnât want a split-level home with a station wagon, pastel refrigerator, and a houseful of blond children to walk into the pages of McCallâs magazine and a husband or any man for that matter.â
really.
â I wanted to go my own way and maybe find some love here and there. Love, but not the now and forever kind with chains around your vagina and a short circuit in your brain. Iâd rather be alone.â (p.88)
Ok âloveâ is a whole other kettle of fish.
I wonder if I believe in love like I (donât) believe in labels.
Andâ¦if 'all you need is love'â¦when would I have an excuse to eat chocolate?
I have all my priorities straight.
Hahahah.
Hahahhahhahah.
Ha.
(ill leave the last clisheed quip to you. It's subtle, I know.)
Ps. Iâm home.
Yep. My cough matches my humour: dry.
posted by blueolive at 2:10 a.m.
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