On my way to church...

I fly through the city passing the litter of last night’s parade. I ignore the filth and the underwhelming presence of others. I fill myself with air and music. I fill myself with my Self. Lyrics shift through my brain creating categories. LOVE—my Love, my father, me, God. SORROW—my father, me, God. I am preparing and I am lost but not without direction. I will not let it overwhelm as my soul is mine alone to cleanse. The people I will meet there under the cross, they do not know me and God, they do not see the difference. Yet they hold a sort of wisdom I do not have thus I will listen as they judge and speak.  

A faulty deity

What if I were a goddess? The Patron Saint of something or other. I see all this beauty in innocent neglect; I could be the Goddess of Faults. It would explain why I forget to pay the proper amount of attention to detail in the tasks I set out to fulfill. It could be my destiny to share with the world that our little failures, they are what helps us learn.

             This is what I think as I tape post-it notes with the logo of an indie lit press onto the side of my desk. The logo is of a spring gun drawn in what may have been either charcoal or water color. The cellophane keeps bunching, leaving several air bubbles in the wake of my fingers. As hard as I try to be careful, I just can’t seem to stop myself from zoning out.

             I realize that my supercilious thoughts are the reason why I keep fucking up this simple task. But I reason that perhaps the messy job I’ve done gives a more natural prettiness to the decoration. Ever since, I’ve been trying to decide whether my supercilious thoughts are just excuses for my lack in diligence.

If I could simply put in the effort I could be great at something, just one thing. I am merely good at many things refusing to dedicate myself to one practice. But what if I focused all of my energy into one art? I could be amazing, a prodigy. I know this. I think about it almost every day. But I don’t have time for that. I am far too tired to focus, thus I will always lack dedication. Instead I will continue to strive on knowing the basics of everything.

It’s not that I don’t want to be great or that I don’t try. It’s just hard. I cannot focus because I have these thoughts. Such wondrous thoughts that never become more than ideas yet there are so many of them that sometimes they do become words spoken aloud, with no one to listen but myself. Sometimes I consider writing these thoughts down, but I am not always the glorified world wind writer that I claim to be. Often I do not have a pen or paper, or I just don’t want to plug in my laptop. If I do, I only seem to remember half of what I meant to put down and my words contain merely a sliver of the grandiosity I had originally thought up. And so I am constantly wrapped up inside my head, burrowing myself as deep as possible. Until I forget.

But I can be a faulty Goddess if a goddess they'd allow me to be. I'll always allow myself to keep aloft.