FA+
Shop
cross posted from . . . well, everywhere
16 years ago
I have always had a fascination with masks, literal and figurative. I collect them and, like most of my collections, the collecting is tinged with mania and compulsion. I am also aware that my own life echoes this as well. I collect names -- Jesse, Jess-Roger, Joner Boner (please don't ask), Simon, J. Lynn, Tippy, Moonsinger -- and that's not even the explosion of names and personalities that I have used since I ran afoul of internet roleplay or the voices in my imagination that belong to the OTHER characters that exist in these various worlds.
There is no one voice that is me, it seems, but a complicated host of contradictions. Human, in other words, with all the "what the hell" that self-awareness tends to bring. I am ... okay with that. As I have written elsewhere, "The personality is shattered, but the colors are pretty." The next part of the journey is to MAKE SOMETHING out of it.
Yes, I am shouting at myself as I type that. A mask then, of stained glass, mirror, and shards of ceramic, over a papiermache base of pages from Shakespeare, Erma Bombeck, and The Anarchist's Cookbook. *mutters* simplify, simplify, simplify . . . .
The possibility of getting lost, of spending so much time in such a whirl of different faces in different places is hard on me ... the friends on facebook that knew me in high school -- the ones who have walked my spiritual path with me -- the Lodge brothers who have taught me so much -- all of the shades and shapes of "Furries," "anipals," etc. -- and all of these things in a world where any future employer, insurer, or banker is apt to Google any of the above names and find ... oh Dear Diety. *head in hands*
Pulling back. Cleaning out. My virtual life as well as my literal one.
There is no one voice that is me, it seems, but a complicated host of contradictions. Human, in other words, with all the "what the hell" that self-awareness tends to bring. I am ... okay with that. As I have written elsewhere, "The personality is shattered, but the colors are pretty." The next part of the journey is to MAKE SOMETHING out of it.
Yes, I am shouting at myself as I type that. A mask then, of stained glass, mirror, and shards of ceramic, over a papiermache base of pages from Shakespeare, Erma Bombeck, and The Anarchist's Cookbook. *mutters* simplify, simplify, simplify . . . .
The possibility of getting lost, of spending so much time in such a whirl of different faces in different places is hard on me ... the friends on facebook that knew me in high school -- the ones who have walked my spiritual path with me -- the Lodge brothers who have taught me so much -- all of the shades and shapes of "Furries," "anipals," etc. -- and all of these things in a world where any future employer, insurer, or banker is apt to Google any of the above names and find ... oh Dear Diety. *head in hands*
Pulling back. Cleaning out. My virtual life as well as my literal one.
I suppose the point, if such ramblings could be said to have anything so organized as a "point," is that I find that I cannot be so many people in so many places. How one acts at work is not how one acts with family; is not how one acts with drinking buddies; is not how one acts with the golf club etc etc etc. I guess I just started to find that each of these were getting so far apart; that expectations were becoming so divergent that the center will not hold ... and I am not, it must be said, terribly stable as a baseline anyway.
The reason I posted this rambling here and LJ, etc, is to throw something out for the *counts* two people that actually read my journals and might wonder if I had dropped off the face of the earth. To hear anything at all means ya'll are stuck with me, if I were going away I would simply do so.
me 'n Vixxyall of us so much.V.