”..but there are things inside you that are mysterious and magical and impossible to explain”
(from hitrecord.org, which I’m pretty sure is on its way to being a labyrinth of Awesome)
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”..but there are things inside you that are mysterious and magical and impossible to explain”
(from hitrecord.org, which I’m pretty sure is on its way to being a labyrinth of Awesome)
Life is just a matter of translating light. Everyone does it differently. Some more effortless than others. Relay more than you reserve, stay near to the sun, and keep yourself shiny for maximum conduction.
I had a dream last night that I was on the moon. It seemed completely normal until it was time to leave and I was told to “jump off the edge” to get back to the spacecraft, or lunar module, or whatever. And when I did, I felt like I was falling, which as far as I understand is not something that happens in space, which I noted in the dream and momentarily hated (that falling feeling is awful at first) and then just opened up my arms and settled into it, watched the earth twirl and rise next to me, and eventually felt like its pull had me somehow cradled. Like I was caught by earth’s gravitational arms and no matter how far away I wandered or how much a a free-fall I embraced, it would hold me at a safe distance, hold all my people in place on those rugged beige cut-outs, and let me gaze in awe, in a million star-filled midnights, at the swirls of radiant blues and greens, the ocean tides, the clouds without the skies, the whole without its million tiny little complications, this sphere of mine, without me. And when I was ready to return? I leaned into the fall, picked a target and plummeted through the atmosphere until I could decipher a cityscape; pulled my parachute, caught the wind, and landed lightly on new ground.
As a girl who continued to curl up in the crib my grandpa built me as an infant until I was too large to comfortably lounge even in the fetal position, I adore this.
Love, love, love enclosed leisure spaces.
UM.. Can we talk for a minute about how DOLPHIN ASSISTED BIRTH is a thing???? It took me about .25 seconds to determine that I want to do this (whenever it is that birth-related endeavors become remotely relevant to me) It seems dolphins frickin love pregnant women? … so much so that pregnant women are often excluded from “Swim with the dolphins” excursions because nobody else in the group would get any attention. They are gentle and curious and seem to feel a sense of purpose around pregnancy. Of course they do. Dolphins. Get cooler with every tidbit you learn about them. So you submerge yourself in this enclosed oceanic nature preserve when you’re in labor and the dolphins flock to you and hang out while you do all the toiling it takes to meet your baby. I feel like I invented this on an acid trip I never took. In the end you get the huge number of benefits that come with water birthing, without the disgusting prospect of sitting in a lukewarm inflatable bath in your living room with placenta and whatever else floating around you. AND you get a fleet of dolphins respectfully tending to you, pushing their noses across your belly in the right direction to progress the baby downward, and you feel their sonar, and the waves keep you loose during contractions, and a midwife delivers the baby, who is greeted to the planet by a bunch of DOLPHINS in the OCEAN. I mean come on.
I kindof want to get a tight Biggest Loser tanktop. Everyone would assume I used to weigh 300lbs and see my current weight as a phenomenal success.
You ever get obsessed with a song and start listening to it on repeat and realize days later that the lyrics are actually really depressing? And then you feel weird about yourself for subconsciously connecting with it so hard? And then you like it more? Because now you’re consciously sad/disgruntled? Yeah metoo.
Whenever I hear this I start out enjoying it and then remember what it’s about and get really, really disturbed. Did the dude who wrote this really kill his girlfriend? And then write this light, catchy tune about it? “Where oh where can my baby be?” Dead? On the road? Because you were too busy thinking about how to get up her poodle skirt to stop in time? This is weird.
Letting go: first life asks and then it tells.
In other news, I miss my friends.
