posting some haste
Anything can be accomplished, but not everything obtained.
I was always on the outside, but not content with that. I didn't like my anti-sociability, grew very depressed when it began to develop. I knew what it meant. Also let's get out of the way the idea that I ever felt much different than other people. I don't think I did. It was more that I was less able to cope with what I felt than others were. Some of that was the lack of a proper support structure, of course, but only some.
Sometimes there was a comfort in being so isolated -- because then I had something concrete to blame my other difficulties on. I was good at avoiding responsibility.
I didn't get back to feet, which are also underrated. Perfect appendages, the workhorses of the body, the grunts, yet so beautiful. Some women will go their entire lives never suspecting how amazing their feet really are. What a shame; how much better they would feel about their bodily self-images if they could see the whole picture as I do.
But many situations like that: someone not knowing how they just lit up my entire heart by just entering the room. Sipping a cup of coffee, being themselves, an amazing, utterly unique being. Out of all the spinning matter in the universe, here you are, and there you intersect with my painfully short life.
But I am inside my own bubble, too, unable to see the body from the outside in. Maybe I too would be suprised and not feel so inadequate if I knew. Worth thinking about.
Yourself in a picture is not distant enough. You're still too caught up in the flesh -- you are that head and smile, so you can't judge it dispassionately. I'm going to live my whole life not knowing how I really appear to others.
The absence of certain things (like love) has given me much more of other (more valuable?) things, like insight ... If I had everything I wanted, I would be too lazy to continue. If I was ever really loved, I think I'd die the next day.
Also let's stop accusing me of intimidating you, or making you feel uncomfortable, or whatever. Whatever you feel is your own business, just as when you are alone in the dark and feel uneasy it has nothing to do with the dark. What you feel comes from within, so leave me and the dark room and the absence of others the hell out of it. Don't trouble me with your hangups; I have enough of my own. So if we pass a moment of silence together that causes your skin to tighten, look inside, and not at me. Because I am comfortable with both my silences and my periods of intensity. I don't like wanting to talk just because you want me to talk. Why can't I just sit here and be me?
I was always on the outside, but not content with that. I didn't like my anti-sociability, grew very depressed when it began to develop. I knew what it meant. Also let's get out of the way the idea that I ever felt much different than other people. I don't think I did. It was more that I was less able to cope with what I felt than others were. Some of that was the lack of a proper support structure, of course, but only some.
Sometimes there was a comfort in being so isolated -- because then I had something concrete to blame my other difficulties on. I was good at avoiding responsibility.
I didn't get back to feet, which are also underrated. Perfect appendages, the workhorses of the body, the grunts, yet so beautiful. Some women will go their entire lives never suspecting how amazing their feet really are. What a shame; how much better they would feel about their bodily self-images if they could see the whole picture as I do.
But many situations like that: someone not knowing how they just lit up my entire heart by just entering the room. Sipping a cup of coffee, being themselves, an amazing, utterly unique being. Out of all the spinning matter in the universe, here you are, and there you intersect with my painfully short life.
But I am inside my own bubble, too, unable to see the body from the outside in. Maybe I too would be suprised and not feel so inadequate if I knew. Worth thinking about.
Yourself in a picture is not distant enough. You're still too caught up in the flesh -- you are that head and smile, so you can't judge it dispassionately. I'm going to live my whole life not knowing how I really appear to others.
The absence of certain things (like love) has given me much more of other (more valuable?) things, like insight ... If I had everything I wanted, I would be too lazy to continue. If I was ever really loved, I think I'd die the next day.
Also let's stop accusing me of intimidating you, or making you feel uncomfortable, or whatever. Whatever you feel is your own business, just as when you are alone in the dark and feel uneasy it has nothing to do with the dark. What you feel comes from within, so leave me and the dark room and the absence of others the hell out of it. Don't trouble me with your hangups; I have enough of my own. So if we pass a moment of silence together that causes your skin to tighten, look inside, and not at me. Because I am comfortable with both my silences and my periods of intensity. I don't like wanting to talk just because you want me to talk. Why can't I just sit here and be me?