March 24, 2011

occupy, inhabit, own

I feel contained, in the same way the contents of an aerosol can are contained:


I think that if, given total acceptance, a small amount of alcohol, and a bonfire, I might just do any number of interesting things. (Does this conflict with your impression of my state of mind when you saw me last, however recently? Do not worry; it conflicts with my own impression as well.)

I am bursting with the tumultuous energy of a million ideas, and I wonder what it would be like to feel like this all the time, or at least most of the time. I wonder if this is how "normal" people feel every day -- or just people who are on crack. Perhaps it is only so stimulating because I've been suppressing myself for so long?

Lately I've been thinking about my body, of it's power, of all that it is capable of; and how devastated I would be if I lost any of that power. I never used to think about my body. In fact, I used to not-think about my body as much as I possibly could. Now I find myself staring at it like an infant. My legs, my fingers; they do what I tell them to do. They are this shape; they are mine, not yours. It makes me want to dance, to fling myself about, to meditate, to breathe. To stare and stare and stare, because I think I've finally fully realized that this is mine, and it is not yours. My body, my life, my mind. You can't have it, you could never have it.

This is mine. And what I do with it is up to me.

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