I surely didn’t know
the colors that show…
“TheFakeChick” (c) 2009
I have often wondered if my passion is a gift or a curse.
Seemingly, everyday I scurry about doing a myriad of passion-driven projects and then at the end of the day, feeling like a lonely dilettante.
But my greatest fear is that I should suddenly stop and crumble into a heap of smoldering ashes and then some insolent teenager comes along to pee on it just to make sure it’s out!
Everyday, I massage this passion alive, sometimes going around and around in circles, until I settle on an idea waiting to be sculpted, then presented to a world full of visions but lacking in color.
Perhaps this all began for me as I was sliding down the vaginal canal kicking and screaming, demanding an explanation for my sudden and brutal appearance into the stage of life.
I was my mother’s innovation and a sure extension of her dreams unfulfilled.
My sheer passion to survive this forced awakening has impelled me to be what I am and what I am not today.
That I would know so little in a literal world is the insanity of my intuitive self.
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