"But you see, here in America the attitude that is fed to us is that outside of America there live lesser people. "Fuck them, let them fend for themselves." No, Fuck you, they are you. No matter how much you want to dye your hair blonde and put fake eyes in, or follow an anorexic standard of beauty, or no matter how many diamonds you buy from people who exploit your own brutally to get them, no matter what kind of car you drive or what kind of fancy clothes you put on, you will never be them. They're always gonna look at you as nothing but a little monkey. I'd rather be proud of what I am, rather than desperately trying to be something I'm really not, just to fit in. And whether we want to accept it or not, that's what this culture or lack of culture is feeding us." - The Poverty of Philosophy Lyrics (Immortal Technique)

I'm wearing glasses and a huge sweater. My hair is hardly brushed and my eyes are falling asleep. I can't remember the last time I truly wore makeup?According to the current media female ideal, I am a savage. Barely a woman, more of a homeless street crack ho. I'm named after Venus, born after Venus and modeled after Venus. I wonder if she is disapointed?

Do you ever here music and it just makes you feel euphoric. Just makes you want to move your body, touch your body, hear, see, feel, smell your body? Makes you want to run your own fingers through your hair and just love the pattern of the sounds and feel the beat of the music. Your blood starts to pump in sync. The music resets your heart. Gives you a kick start. It's like a massage for my soul. Turn up the bass, the fingers press harder. Like a brilliant massage, if it hurts, it's probably better. And music can definetely hurt you. It can definetely influence you and change you. Violin makes me cry. Trombone makes me strong. The beat gives me grace. When the music stops the blood stops pumping and flowing.

I'm completely mad. I can't think normally anymore. My hands hurt and my head hurts (generally in the brow region). Why is it that? Oh well. I don't mind. Now my elbow hurts but only because I hit it off the desk. Is everyone on the edge of madness, and only those who are "truly mad" express it. I'm not mad like Plath-sticking-her-head-in-the-oven mad. I don't want to hurt myself. I love my mind and body and whatever components add up to me, but am I mad because I express my every thought. Articulated in colour or word or behaviour? God I need to paint something. So bad, I have the itch in my fingers. Something has to come of them quickly. I've got to make something. I've got to create something with them. I've got to be a mother to beauty, at least in my own eyes and fast.

mercy. unless you love me and are interested in the unfiltered thoughts in my brain, ignore this post. completely useless to say this at the end though.

0 people had something to say: