This is the remix.....
For a split second, I'm wondering if in my new life, I will be the writer I dreamed of being as a kid. I imagine that I am writing my memoirs. This is my burning moment of transition.
I've allowed my memory to present things with an antiseptic cartoonish quality. A golden softness. Like the way Tigerlily draws me in her comic book style. I suppose it is more a sort of warm soft focus lens. It takes the edge off the bitter jagged reality of my behavior.
I like to see things through my funhouse mirror comfort zone. The last of my defense mechanisms.
With a jolt, the mirror shatters.
The chasm between how I view myself, and how I actually am closes.
Slams shut.
Swallows me.
I'm not the paper doll angel that I like to think I am.
I have become what I despised. I'm one of the faceless, tunnel blind, automated herd that Seicko warned me of.
I have become a Pharisee.
My shadow rips off me & I leave it behind.....for good.
My hearts not in it anymore...
So let them come.
Let him look.
I disapeared once.
Rebuilt myself from the boots up.
From the face down.
A new scar on my back to add to my collection.
Cutting the Mark from my flesh.
THe razor slits put me into a warmth I don't recognize as pain.
...Somewhere between the blade in my flesh, and the endorphins triggered by my brain, is a kind of calm keen meditation.
Not unlike my state of mind during physical training. Body pushed beyond percieved limits.....
Sense of ego melts away.
The action IS the art.