over it

Sleepmaker small

Xmaz has come and gone, new songs, lots of change…but none of it loose. Reflections mirror the mirages, marriages of past and future meld to become the new now – and I still wonder about a lot of things that stressed me out during this year of madness and eventual calm.

It has been a thinking season of festive tidings, as the thoughts shift and recede, leaving debris; the debacle of debate that never quite ends as its fading echoes, somberly disintegrate – as the grating of frictions foster fathomable furies, it all starts to make sense.

I am glad this year is ending. In my mind, it has ended already, and I feel steady, ready to reap rewards and render past foes forgiving facsimiles of finite words. I learned a lot, and I burned too – bridges, its just water that flows beneath now, nothing more as emotions turn to tacit flinches that I will not forget, but will for now at least, let dissipate in the energy that flowers around me.

I can hardly remember the person I started as this year, because I have changed so much. My promise was to become myself, and as this happened, I forgot who I ever became in the pasts of parry and thrust.

I trust who I am now.

Perhaps in the days gone by, in the rivers that carried me along through forests, and desserts of dust, I could never really have faith in the facade that I foist upon the world. I think it’s easy to project a pretense, and to pretend that it promises a type of pastiche – an almost plaster puppet of self, that has been molded to manage daily doldrums, dots, commas and question marks. I made myself into my mirror, and mapped out my horizons much lower than I could stand, so that I stood hunched in the hurt and horror or humanity at its poorest. I prayed each day that my porcelain back would not crack under the weight of worries that I could never really carry. I cried each month as the mortar joints between my bones crumbled to ash, passion became black ice, hidden from view, me, askew and flipped over like some tragic crash in some long forgotten ditch. Pitch tracks, nothing, empty years, yearning for a void that would eventually swallow my sedated cinders, the extinguishing epitaph of my concrete body, no longer buoyant, but buried forever…beneath the sand, beneath the sea, beneath the sky, beneath the stars, dark and asphyxiated by the weight of the universe as it turned in upon itself into the blackened hole of invisible hope.

Where was I? I don’t know, because I cannot remember.

I went blank as the power outage fried my circuits.

When I rebooted, I rebelled. I refused to re-enter the skin that would not sing new songs, because the music all of a sudden seemed discordant and distant. I remembered some things, faces mostly, but the forms they found did not belong and neither did I. It was a dizzying detour, that lasted an eternal moment in time, like a faded photograph.

I look at that picture and study it’s signs. There is no longer a pulse there, its heartbeat has turned to rust, and the wind warms the salty breeze that tirelessly evaporates the carcass I have left behind.

And now I wonder, as each waking moment is alive, and I feel vigor and my vantage is omnipresent – “where is the horizon, I cannot see where the sun both rises and sets, because the light feels like it will always be there, where have I been?”

Unseen and undone, a new web has been spun.

flight

Flight

Well, I haven’t posted in a few months. If anything, I have been too distracted trying to work shit out and stay on top of the game… what a shame, being busy sucks the life out of all the things I usually enjoy doing. Lately, a lot of the fun things I do have seemed like grinding cogs. The fogs have lifted, and perhaps I am seeing the inner mechanical workings of what used to seem like magic; the truths of being?

Regardless, life has been arduous.

I think on the surface I still seem chill, but if I seem chill on the outside, then my boiling blood is well hidden. Perhaps not such a good thing to focus my energy on being a lie. I try though, as thorough as I am, to play a range of emotions to dupe others into forgetting that I am just another robot. My routines are invisible to all but me these days, because I spend so much time in seclusion… nobody sees the secondary me.

It’s a type of seduction really, to stay within the confines of a particular space, to hide and while away the hours in memories that are outside the four walls that frame my daily fracas. In some ways I have been actively living in the prison of my personage, performing an assortment of licorice lollies; on the one hand I am being true to my inner-self and the intent I have inscribed into my imagination, on the other, I am committing to the observable outward spiral of growth that is only, perhaps, to be expected.

I suppose I am being two people at once; duplicitous – to achieve the desires of the daydreamers and the duty-bound, all at once.

It’s only a fool who thinks you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

It might seem rude to be so open about being two people at once… but I have realised there is no other way.

When I merge my genders and live as a single unit, the world perceives me as a trick, and in doing so I become a trickster to even myself. Instead, the dual way that I have forged has helped me morph multiple realities; by being two people, a public and private self at serious odds, I can shape-shift the world around me to suit my ultimate ends. I wonder about morality…is it morally, or ethically right to be one person in the searing light of day, and another in the dimmed corners of my consciousness?  As l wonder through this question I know the answer can be neither right nor wrong – the moral of the story tells me that being able to pose the question in the first place, is what makes my double-selves ethical.

It’s a slippery slope, sober and salubrious, drunk and domesticated. Answers change by the millisecond, they are as untrustworthy as the worlds forged upon foundations of indisputable truth… because what is a truth but the absence of a lie; is there even such a thing; how would anyone ever know – if there were no lies then how would we even understand the concept of truth?

Philosophical positions, they really don’t make much for practical solutions. All I know is that being two different versions of me, to enact whatever it is I need to get done, is what works for the moment. I am enjoying being a man, and I am enjoying being a woman, even if it will only ever be me who sees the glimmer of light that demarcates the dissolving gender boundaries.

Today I am bound to just be me.