A Vessel

It's times like these, when I spontaneously leave my apartment at midnight to have a milkshake at a diner in Manhattan, that I'm so happy I came home. Because I'm the hero, the protagonist of my own novel. I have acted. I could be living the weird, interesting years of a pre-icon icon. I'm manic and free and sensing and in love with the world right now. Despite my mistakes and flaws. No, because of my mistakes. Because of my flaws. I am groping at the walls of my rough and beautiful cave. I am young. I am learning. I am becoming.

Fuck cynicism. Fuck eye-rolling. Fuck a knowing glance and a critical, objective point of view. I will have achieved a cross-eyed life of subjective feeling by the time I have made my heinous errors. This mood helps me understand why some people like to get incredibly drunk. There is something vital and visceral found in dulling of mental faculties. The absence of self-awareness. Sensing but no interpretation. A vessel. It is sexy, somehow, to function, just for a bit, as a mere vessel. As a neuron. Reactionary. Binary. Yes. No. Off. On.

all material copyright laura podolnick, 2005-2006.