Paper-winged Ideas

today's weather: S L I G H T .E L E V A T I O N
anxiety : 0
agitation : 1
today's guests: paper-winged papillon ideas


I love elevations. In an elevation, I feel happy and healthy and pretty and energetic and overall positive. I feel like all things have a very good chance of going right - and if they don't, everything's still hunky-dory.

My mind keeps uncaging little ideas and possibilities, setting them free to flutter about and orbit around my head. If I don't catch them soon I lose the little lovelies. I want to catch them - no matter how trivial and irrelevant they are - and pin them into shadow-boxes for showing off, but sadly my hands are hardly ever quick enough.

There's that constant feeling of "antsiness" and discontent. If I had canvasses and paints, it would be a nice idea to mill out a few "whatever abstracts" that just happen to be outbursts of excess energy but might turn out to be something meaningful to someone else.

I mused about buying painting stuff but decided against it; it's unwise to make big purchases at this time that we're saving up for a trip.

I thought about creating new necklaces and fashion accessories but realized I still haven't recovered from my tendonitis. I could keep forcing my right hand to work, but I know I shouldn't.

I settled for drawing in my sketchbook. It didn't quite have the satisfaction of filling up a big canvass, but it was fun still. My hand movements were limited by the pain of tendonitis, so I can only make big, sweeping lines. I'm going to have to fill in the details later on when my hand is okay.

I thought about writing poetry, but I found no inspiration. The thing about elevations is that it's kinda hard to focus, and I can't seem to access the depths of my soul (During depressions though, writing poetry is as easy as giving myself a manicure).

High on Antihistamine last night, while my conscious mind was engaged in watching West Side Story, I let my subconscious write. I forced the words to flow out onto the paper as quickly as they flowed into my head, blocking out rules or logic and grammar. As I remarked how flawlessly airbrushed Tony and Maria looked, made fun of the phony "Puerto Rican" accent, and imagined how spectacular WSS would have looked on the stage, my right hand scrawled this on a sketchbook page:

if i knew how to reach it with
the tiny arms i have
and nothing but a dream
perhaps i could
even without

if it were so

and if i didn't know how far
i still might

something so beautiful
desirable
deserves a dream

wounded as my hands may be
something so absolutely wonderful
must be sought
outside the dream
i take it in my hands
and make the dream mine

Jagged and disjointed as it is, it still kinda makes sense, me thinks. A little later I'll polish this up a bit, switch the lines around and make it presentable for "sharing" (i.e., turn it into a "poem").

The process reminds me of a time when I was younger and I'd write while I was drunk or hungover. It often produced interesting verse in a pretentious style that hoped to emulate e.e. cummings.

I quite enjoy letting my mind flow like that - no thinking, no editing. It gives me a glimpse into what's really in my heart. Maybe I should do it more often, maybe have a small notebook dedicated to it. Looking at what I came up with last night, I seem to be fixated on the fulfillment of a dream.