ambiguity

I am tired of being ambiguous. My flowery writing is starting to bother me. Is it time for me to go all Bukowski on your ass?

I could make this post about toxins, displacement, fractures, impact. I would be writing about a love I don't really feel anymore, attempting to make it sound genuine and with a heartbeat. But I would be lying. Or else I would be indulging in nostalgia. Either way, I don't think it's the best way. I want to write with a pulse. I want to write something with a pulse. I want authenticity. Being a creator comes with a set of ethics and I am dedicated to what is true. That is the goofiest thing I have written in maybe a long time. Is the truth goofy? Is Goofy really a dog even though he wears pants and drives a car? And what's the deal with cars? They just get you tickets. :( (More on that later/never.)

I feel a shift happening. I feel myself cutting a lot of things out and embracing an entirely new style. I CANNOT EXPLAIN. It's a feeling. Feel, don't tell. Wait. Show, don't tell. Wait. Show and tell! Or better yet, truth or dare. Who do you dare to be? How can you be who you are right now? Let's get real and smoke a cig on a stairwell. Coffee stains our teeth! Uh... Women! Ham on rye!

Ambiguity is pretty rad, though. So is androgyny. So is Tilda Swinton. Lord, she is rad.