The Futility Of Forcing Oneself To Appear As Anything; The Emptiness Of Seeming-to-be.

The futility of forcing oneself to appear as anything; the emptiness of seeming-to-be.

You need to practice. Living is a craft, so is love.

But you are on the verge of dangerously veiling everything. The problem is not the magic, it’s that you chose the dark kind. Veil this room in light, veil this room in wonder. Understand that life is rising and falling consistently. You desire creative ownership. But do the right thing. There are days in which I want to sleep through the day. I want to sleep through the day because I want to close, to close myself to the excruciating crushing of life. I want the drug of the dream, I want to float headless. I want to not be affected by blood, pain, bones, or gravity. A rainbowed mass of vision and no form. I want to be full of the beams of fantasy. Sometimes I am like that.

I want to be so full of life. I want it so much I don’t focus. I die among other things. White wine, joints, cigarettes, too many naps, reality television, the mixing of substance. I want to feed without having to feed on anything. I want to be full without having to move. My craving for that pure dark stillness. It is a blackness made only of a blinding brilliance. That stillness which is life in its most basic essence. It is like nothing on Earth. So far here I have only found glimpses.

The witch took her sharp green finger to the fabric of life.

She could not be sure of life.

— Her Green Pedicure, Cyber Diary