Whether or not we contribute to this life or not is our choice. If we make the most of it – no matter what our circumstances or where we might find ourselves at any given moment. Why don’t we? If you want to do someting or call yourself something, why aren’t you? (Let’s not talk about me this time.) What frustrates the impitus?
Anticipation rattles the catapult but there’s no release of the pressure. It seethes and rots, robs you of sleep and joy; wasted potential makes your life stink and pervades your thoughts. Not criminal you say? But why isn’t it? Pot is! Um, who makes these rules? Don’t we have a responsiblity to our fellow bipeds to do our best; to be a vital part of the whole?
Scripture speaks of the body of Christ (I prefer Yeshua, haMeshiach) being made up by its members; the toe esteemed or needed no less than the heart – all having unique abilities and positions/stations. Each necessary for the proper function of the whole.
I once heard this joke about which part of the body rules. Give up? It’s the anus. Think about it. You can’t shit, you can’t think, your stomach hurts, you have a headache, eventually you croak. But I meander…and just a banana and an apple keep mine soft and moving. Sorry, but it might just be a valuable tip to somebody who might be stopped up right now. Like I said, every little possible positivity is worth it.
And to feel the surge, the stomach turning jump, no matter what it is you’re jumping into: it’s something thrilling, something rewarding, something positive, that has positive effects on our lives. Improving us, broadening us. Opening us to who knows what opportunities, adventures, satisfactions, less depression.
It’s so easy to slide down into that pit, though. And I can feel it happen when it does. Only rarely can one talk oneself out of such a fall. The rise and fall. Rarely centered. Mostly hills (mountains) and valleys (crevaces). Life’s no picnic, but it could sure be worse.
Isn’t it funny that the top chain eaters - the least populas on earth, enjoy eating the savengers of the greatest portion of this planet? The scum makers eat the scum eaters.
Being human is rather alien, don’t you think? My husband says I’m creepy. Creepy. Eeeewww. I don’t want to creep anybody out, although it is bound to happen – probably with everybody in some way. Who’s perfect anyway?
Frohawks. Scalp/hair decorations are so cool. Body art that isn’t permanent/invasive. I’ve never pieced my ears (or anything else), never got a tatoo (but only by chance), never dyed or bleached my hair (unless you count lemon). Somehow, I think our bodies are made just the way they were meant to be made. Hair and all. Although if I was a man, I don’t think I’d like having a beard. Seems so itchy. Not inviting to my lips. If I want to kiss something, I might as well kiss all of it – experience it to the fullest. And maybe it will kiss me back! Or touchme!
Boyfriend lets his fluffy, soft tail lightly brush my legs as he asks to be fed, or just want smy attention. Dogs wanting my attention creep me out. But a cat is somehow different – certainly doesn’t crave human interaction like a dog does. Too demanding. That’s creepy too. People need space. At least I do.
Since working on the 6th floor of a 12 floor building, I’ve pressed myself to overcome claustrophobia. Making yourself do something that scares the shit out of you is good for you once in a while. But Wednesday, I actually took the girl directly between me and the still open elevator door by the shoulders and physically moved her out of my way as I profusely apologized. I feel like I have to explain, but I hate theose kind of people who always have to explain themselves; like I care. So why do I bother?
I must try harder not to hate. Focus on the parts that are good. The moments; the excepti0ns. The inherent beauty of this dimension in time/space (and who knows what else that we have no inkling of) in which we live.
Some people live such simple lives. Like the indiginious folk that live on reed islands in the middle of Lake Titicaca. I was there in ‘76. Total head trip, but valuable memory. Or Dick Kopekne, who built and lived in his own log cabin, depending on and shipping in only the bare skeleton of what he needed to survive. Alone in the Wilderness. But I can’t help wondering what drove him there. Or maybe it’s just what he always wanted to do and he finally did it.
Living with an alcoholic isn’t ideal. But then neiter is living with a creepy, inappropriate. less than desireable chick (why are females referred to as birds?) Humans can live in isolation but they tend to get kind of weird. Rather, weirder. I know a guy who hasn’t bathed in 30 years. Thirty years! And he doesn’t smell like that – whatever that would smell like. (But then I don’t shower on the weekdays usually. Is that gross? I really think Americans tend to wash their bodies a little to much. And perfume. Antiperspirspirant. Smellaphobic. What the fuck. Aren’t smells (some anyway) interesing and sometimes pleasant, or at least unique? Why not make the most of them too?
Thanks for listening.
