Return to Earth
Part of me desires complete, uninterrupted solitude. Like Akasha asleep. The rest of me wants to be Lestat in a rock band, with a never-ending sea of people. I am probably more like Louis, even tho tests keep telling me I'm ESFP. I sit in my room, brooding.
I recognise the fragment of me who wants to hide. She is scared of my becoming (don’t worry, it’s not a scary becoming like Francis Dolarhyde. I probably won’t eat William Blake paintings.). She still can’t trust that she is worthy of goodness. I remind her she is Freddie Mercury’s child, and she needs to get up. Time waits for nobody, and she's hated on herself enough.
Goings on that don't involve becoming one with my mattress:
I wrote a screenplay called Pale Shelter. It weaves together the experience I had in an emotionally abusive relationship & a maladaptive daydream I had as a child.
I am working on an EP. I pretend I already know French, when I can only understand Vincent Cassel cussing. However, I will name my EP: Je suis là. No one can stop me. I’m a full adult, born in the 1900s. Its production quality will be rubbish, but I'll share it with you anyway.
What we create is not always meant for us, and it's asinine to horde it away because we view it as imperfect.
Wishing you beauty.
x S.
