now I'll have you know that summer was never my favourite time of the year. I know that in America summer makes the romance, the new friends, emerging bands and road trips. That sounds rather fantastical, because summer's never been quite the American dream for me. Yet I have decided to expose my skin to the sun, naked I feel, but what, a little vitamin d?
in South Africa, December is sunny and warm and bright. We don't build snowmen; instead we visit the beach and eat and eat and wait for New Years Eve. I have myself a new haircut, shorter, let go, cut it all off, and watch cuttings of conformity litter the floor around you. Chop it all off and tease it and make it all shaggy.
so you see, i am feeling rather trapped at the moment. I'm feeling so last summer, wanting to be free of this, clean of this, yet the rock and the hard place are still yet to come. I wake up with the day, and end with the day, as if nothing's chnaged, as if i haven't moved in a forwardly direction. as if i haven't taken enough photographs to satisfy my love of the lens, as if my reality is somewhat blurred and misfocused, as if my friends are fading without word or a letter in the post, as though every project i wake up with is without birth by the time i go to bed. I would like to have some kind of liberation, without constraints of the part of the System i have to fight, without torturance of my own mind. I suppose i've got to break out before i break (by break, i mean fall apart) because nothing seems right, nothing is good, enough, and as i've protested before, 'enough' is never the ultimatum.
i would like to contain myself-because i think too much and that is my vice as well as my birth-gift-perhaps within poetry and words, when brushstrokes are enough, and i never go to sleep feeling dissatisfied and empty, as if i were not filled to the brim, but merely draining away lifeblood that is creativity.
please don't let me break.