Preface: It’s starting to scare my arse off that everything I am writing on is realizing… just read my notes “provocation – artof getting attention” and other bits.
I’m not getting into these situations repetitively...
I am living through all the possible angles…
Like turning around in a mirror gasping over my pale shoulder watching every aspect of my naked self. checking out my skin, my scars, my curves, my strawberry marks, that weird wrinkle underneath my butt that I am born with.
My own full diversity much bigger than a finger print of my sinful thumb.
I try on different dresses.
Old ones, new ones, my pajamas, my track suit, my last wins at the winter sale.
Every piece opens a new perspective.
Like light breaking into its spectrum of colors.
(Whilst I am writing some sunrays fall through my window, painting a rainbow on my notes. Yeah how gay, some might say ;)
I learned in physics how white is broken off in facets. but did I really understand?
Did I understand that I haven’t only got the choice to pick a color but am also obliged to do so?
I can’t run about in my purest nudest form. No! I’d probably get a lawsuit for that.
Whilst “alive” I am supposed to step into some role, choose a color guided by my daily preferences until I may have run through all of them. The ones that look like puke YAK! The bitter dark ones,
the cosmic radiating ones like neon-beige ;), the ones as green as gras…
I am not sure whether I would like to experience the absence of these experiments like there is in other cultures. I like to cover certain aspects of myself but total silence, undercover like a submarine…hmmm…. Well, it makes me appreciate that
one day, I may wear a color way too hot, burning my toes on hell’s glowing coals. I may try a color way too cold and be freezing like a prude ice block. Both make my senses going numb. Testing my mind is tiring and sometimes confusing.
So I am bouncing back to somewhat shallowly rippled arrays in between. Maybe weave in some distracting stripes, checkers or dots to blend in with my environment.
Tossing, dancing circus. A wonderful system I can plot around in how I wish.
Every Eve I strip off my prism and get bundled back.
A last colored spark flies into the iris of my eye,
the window to my soul and all the hidden and forbidden accomplishments.
Finally seeing the 360°of myself. Free. No single secret. No single lie.
Until next morning.
When Adam hands me an apple and invites me to go shopping again.
“Yepp, I needa fill my wardrobe with some brighter spring clothes.”
“Suits your eyes” He says.