Like us all, I’m certain, I have these time periods where everything in me is internally writhing for difference, for change. And usually it’s a welling up that desperately needs a physically altered expression.
Could it be that I’m finding myself in aversion to the lulling and warm pulses of normalcy? Ergo! Tattoo my face!
I’m not joking though, it can be that intense. Tattoo a large heart around my eye or a rabbit’s foot on my cheek or a really large mole above my thin upper lip-anything to convey a divergence from what has become homogeneously lumped as Caucasian American. I get bored with trends all too easily. They are truly ephemeral and don’t latch onto the particularities to each unique person and moreover, there is no requirement for any of us to employ our individual creativity. Merely follow and consume what has been put before you as standard, add a little flare and voila. I’m bored.
Clearly, though, I’ve concurred with trends, of course. Trends have also helped me continue to think forward and beyond what is. Plus, I see how trends stabilize a structure to appeal to the creative faculties and modes of expression. Yay, wahoo, holy cow, I’m holding the “tension” of something.
Yet I must insist, there are too many times in my little life that I feel cocooned by the norms, even if the norms are uber creative, artistic, and era specific. And right now I’m in the final stages of cocoon life–break. me. out of this stuffy silk. I want to wriggle free and come out with only one wing, allotting my life a completely different twist and bent.
Obviously I’m not going to pray to God for one less leg so my life would have a dramatic outtake and expression, but I am wondering how to burst out of my nice silks that I’ve spun ever so intricately.
So, last night I cut my bangs. Yeah, I know, real risky and real normal. It was satisfying, like taking a poddy break. Thus, my viscera is writhing all the more. I need to perform, paint, experience a part of life, in which I’m momentarily astounded upon what I’ve found with another.
African dancing is coming my way this week, so hopefully it will be quenchable and I’ll let loose to the point of transcendence. Ha, hokay, I’ll let you know if that happens…the point of transcendence that is.
Until then, break out! Tattoo your face. Tell your mama you loove her. Shave your legs. Paint your face. Just try something different.