Such a rainy day at IKEA. The rain coats our car in white noise. The escalators purr along ceaselessly under our feet and the carts wait patiently for our hands on their grips. No one else around. Trails of sparks sizzle out behind us, tiny fires from daily friction, matches left burning under the cap of the car to snuff them out. 200 square feet. 987 dollars. What a sweet rug. The rain beats down like a gentle chime. The grey sky rolls on forever over the blue hills outside, an ocean ofAppalachia. Inside it’s just us walking arrow to arrow at a quiet shuffle. Soft musings on bunk beds and didn’t we want them so badly as children. A tease about the bottle cap glasses. That glance, almost feline. The empty store hums beneath our pressed palms. Organic electric when our fingertips touch, an earthy calm. Four-eyes. Yes, we should get that rug. It’s so sweet.
“No, bumptious reader, this story is not a continuation of the Elsie series. But if your Elsie had lived over here in our big city there might have been a chapter in her books not very different from this.
Especially for the vagrant feet of youth are the roads of Manhattan beset “with pitfall and with gin.”
But the civic guardians of the young have made themselves acquainted with the snares of the wicked, and most of the dangerous paths are patrolled by their agents, who seek to turn straying ones away from the peril that menaces them.
And this will tell you how they guided my Elsie safely through all peril to the goal that she was seeking.”
Epic groundscore in West Hollywood. My reasearch has led me to surmise these pages fell from this O. Henry here. Oh, Elsie and O. Henry. The perils! The parody. I love that this literally fluttered into my lap on my rooftop(ground) in WeHo.
One of the things that got me comfortable with my body was the chance to own it.
Because I get tiny symbols on my skin it doesn’t mean I disrespect my body. On the contrary, I highlight places that mean something to me. A place that catches light often. A body part I want to love more. A symbol that documented a change in how I treated myself. An homage to how I see time, the world, an inside joke with myself, a self-bestowed body embellishment lacking shame and guilt.
I took parts that hurt, scared parts, doll-perfect parts. But in the end: the best Ownership of a scar that which is uncomfortable and that I try to accept. I go to a specialist to work on my inner self, but my outer self is what I decide based on those realizations. In my tattoos, I am discreet, loving, and decorating my vessel, my body, how I want at a certain point. Sleep on it or be spontaneous–you must realize that everything on our skin is as permanent as the choices we make.
Many are uncomfortable with visual representations because they are just that: visual. Confronting us. But if you can own your choices and life and get something that flows with your heart and aesthetic and soul at the moment you need it: own it. It’s a ‘scar’ you choose. It’s your body canvas and your urge. The truth is: nothing is forever here. Our choices and decisions are more defining than a piece of body art. And a little ink is a beautiful thing.
finally a freedom
from living under others, carrying houses like a snail.
away from hiding, hearing, hurting:
it’s great to be alone.
un.lonely, not unloved.
not unloveable, not I.
but on a road and on a trail.
happy trails, i’m hearing me.
i throw the un from the window as i roll on,
there are those parts others cannot hear,
whispering the secrets i’ve always known,
to my upturned, eager ear.
Anger and pain are two seperate things. Born of fear perhaps, but totally different beasts.
Hurting, as with a wound, may heal. It is pain and may also cause anger and outlash before it scars.
But anger comes from inside, and doesn’t heal with time. Anger, like a bomb, needs to be diffused by a professional, taken apart bit by bit to see its components before it explodes and maims all surrounding it.