I got back from Guatemala this morning and walked around with my hair a little too curly and wild, in black shorts and a t shirt. I love looking moderately underdressed and underwhelming in NYC. I can wear my scent, my skin, my emotions, instead of someone else’s expectations.
The city feels like a straitjacket. I remember when I was abroad people kept saying to me “you look so organized” or “you look like an organized person.” Those words stuck with me and I reflect on them with a certain disdain. The months prior to my trip I got into skin care and would apply loads of creams every night. The next day I would put on a headband and press my face out to the world, giant earrings dangling on the sides. It feels weird to think about that brief foray because it was a desperate attempt to appear smooth and shiny. To undo the grittiness that had calcified over time in my spirit.
I’m trying to lean further and further into writing. Maybe I lean so deeply into it that I fall over. There’s a desire to lose control on a page, to be able to move around with an unusual fluidity. It’s hard though. I feel like the city is always lurking in the background, reminding me to stay in my lane, reminding me how little I am worth.
Value is intrinsic to relationships here. In tarot there are these things called Pentacles. Pentacles represent energy, resources, time, money. I feel like New York has heavy pentacle energy. Everyone is weighing out their resources, their value, in everything they do. It’s weird to think about how little I am valued. There’s a tightness in my body, and after I wash and straighten my hair, it parts a bit too perfectly. I think the clean lines are an attempt to show the world that I’ve done my best to scrub off the ugliness of my unworthiness. I remain poised despite my most tragic circumstances.
I’m working on building a parachute, or maybe an escalator to the clouds. I texted a friend and asked him to help guide me through an MDMA trip to alter my consciousness. I will probably do it around July 4th. It’s difficult to carve the path to spiritual freedom through so many dense energies but that doesn’t stop me. I’m collecting my weapons for the fight and soon I will have an arsenal to carry me through war. I want to taste blood.
a soft death 