Kintsugi and the white knuckle angel
So I took a better part of a month off from doing these. What started as a sabbatical of a week or so turned into an experiment of both retention and evaluation. Seeing how the perspective as a whole shifts on the day to day when the content of my own unwashed Keurig-brain has to take perspective on the sedimented patina of a scumbag tranny who thinks it's an angel sent here to talk about cameras and pro-wrestle.
I started with a trip, a small getaway to New York for the benefit of clarity and wrestling connections. Deeply lucky to have a flight funded by dear found family who wants me to succeed just as badly as I do, probably even more. Packing my things after s night of advice here in my home gym from a TNA superstar who could only really uplift the things I already knew. Lofting myself sky high with nothing between my teeth but miller light and a single golden nugget on how to stretch a match further.
I found a place out there that maybe I'm too equipped for. Gloves that fit so easily I'd have to be guilty. Making fast friends, a feedback loop on how my local scene has bred me into a self doubting huntress tiger. Fulfilling simple dreams of chinatown walks even more majestic than my sleep aides, filling my lungs with factory smoke and my chest with cheap dumplings under a small Brooklyn sky that was patiently waiting. My feet made of glass, my heart beating with affirmation that i'm truly the "real deal". Squeamish live eels speaking in my native forked tongues that I'm beginning my "Almond Year"...
Coming home made the world bigger and smaller, liberated from the halo of a "Hometown sweetheart". Broadcasting far and wide.
I went to shows, deepened my hearts truths. Stacked myself up in ways that people don't see. Candid caught in joy and skepticism. A fishnet of health...
Folk punk once again sinking it's teeth in my neck and never letting go, leaving a mark so purple amount of concealer would be sufficient. I'm now picking up a guitar daily, plucking away my woes if only to crystallize their worth.
"White knuckle angel"
I proudly moniker myself as the rain begins, as I receive word that my dearest daughter had made a final decision. "Uh oh sorry" and 60 hits of trazadone...
Threading the needle so tightly that her body made a decision her mind couldn't, vetoed and stamped back to earth, back into my heartbeat and her own taste of "girl interrupted".
A bubbling oil of fried feelings clashed with ice cold frozen realities. Traumas floating back to the surface. A realization that this "middle place" was one I hadn't observed since I was a ripe 19. My body is only equipped when things are "Too late".
Tears in a hospital bed, two tongues of anger and relief bitten simultaneous. Be present, tough love comes later. Slimepilling on art in the mental ward and talks about the weather. Holster full of reckless new ideas I suppose I can't teach, but maybe I can maintain the teachable moment. Devenomize and disarm...
It's so tough to cry until my body reaches a physical limit, it makes my emotional one seam boundless to a point of lethality.
The lioness returns to her cub. God in his heaven, you know the drill...
Attempting to smooth out my normalcy just came with intuition on the things I parlay with, reminding me never to get too close. To quit feeding the fucking bears. Art will never live in a soul that sees television hard cams, sloppy right side rolls, an artifice of unattainable and ease stricken femininity, and what I have dubbed "turkey pills"...
Gluing myself back together with gold. My favorite bartenders "employee of the month". Someone who would have let fascism make a martyr of a long time ago, but keeps coming back with new brilliant cracks and sparkling grooves...
Preaching all the things I can only wish I still had the opportunity to practice. Praying for hands on my thighs that have only set their own impossible standard. Missing things that will only strengthen their successors.
A poser in every way but action and attitude. I am a consistent creature...