22 October 2009
Talking to strangers.
A while ago I wrote about a guy I met while standing on a balcony in the french quarter.
He talked to me about having purpose and fulfilling that purpose, heartset on not letting me continue living as a damaged individual. Since then I've grown into myself even more, needing to rely less and less on my surface and sort of live sitting back into myself. Inside my skin. Well, it happened again. After a night of the questionable behaviour of others (that is all my projection btw) I went for one last drink before heading home and stumbled upon another of these cognizant people. We talked this time about living our lives and discussed ice cream as a metaphor for doing so. He also told me that the reason that people look past me and rarely approach is because I have alot going on and I show it, in otherwords I'm not a one-dimensional entity whose purpose is singular (hook up, drink, fight.) I agreed with him. He demanded I claim my abilities as an artist and stop with the bull shit of why I can't do things and my repressive politesse that keeps me from things I need out of regard for others. This is the very step I need to take in getting "there," looking out for my own interests. It is kind of the way we have to live now.