Sunday, July 15, 2007

feeling like a freak on a leash

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Great, here we go again...and when precisely does this new aberration end? Bring back the crossed eyes already, please--I'll be more patient, I promise! This...this...not knowing where I am in space and time, it...drains a body, you would not believe.

something takes a part of me
something lost and never seen
every time I start to believe,
something's raped and taken from me...from me--


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I seem to be getting used to it, at least. But now, it's everything else in the way...the constant struggle to understand, for example, to get what I've done wrong, to properly articulate wrongs done to me...without crushing souls...that's so difficult. You don't know how difficult.

I'm trying, though. Always trying. When I stop trying...that is when we worry.

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Something I'm actually grateful for, in all this--I went to a friend's rez day party in fins. I, being me, got stuck between a sanded knoll and the edge of the pier. In trying to get out, I snuck out by cam view, selected a chair, and willed myself into it.

I found myself...here. Wherever here is.

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But here was unbelieveably pretty. I admit, I got lost in the contrasts, the spaces between utter dark and glowing light, the sensation of sunset so near I could almost break it off in my hands and warm myself by the glow.

Truly. Breathtaking sights. I wouldn't have missed that for all the rest of it.

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Of course, the rest of it involved several jaunts into limbo, and more of the glittering febrile light than I wished to experience, all at once, but...one can't have everything, can one?

sometimes I cannot take this place
sometimes it's my life I can't taste
sometimes I cannot feel my face
you'll never see me fall from grace


But I'm getting tired. I'm getting tired of fighting. I'll rebound, I always do, but...it gets exhausting, living so guardedly at all times. I find myself wishing for just a space of clarity, of gentle rain after heat, of crisp cool wind after tornado. Something...different. Something...changed.

Mayhap I wish for deeper, more fundamental change, but I have no idea how to achieve it. All I know is...I tire. Of nearly everything.

feeling like a freak on a leash. (you wanna see the light?)
feeling like I have no release. (so do I)
how many times have I felt diseased? (you wanna see the light?)
nothing in my life is free...is free...


It does lead to interesting paths of contemplation, though. What does it mean that I fought the others so hard to gain even an inch of ground, and him, I accede willingly? I'm still my own person, I own my measure of independence, but I willingly hand such over, at my own will, at his.

What does it mean that I do this for him, and no other?

What does it mean that I can't envision something he'd ask I wouldn't willingly do, for him, because he asked, because it was my will to make him happy?

I'd say...this was a fundamental change, that I now should watch my interactions with other beings I encounter, but...no. Still no one else.

Still just him.

It's an oddity.

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And when I finally track down where the hell those face lights are, the ones I didn't even remember owning, and detach them...oh, I'll be so much happier.

(Lyric selections from Korn's "Freak On a Leash". I'm specifically thinking of the acoustic, Jonathan Davis/Amy Lee version, but you're free to find the studio one, as well.)

6 comments:

Amber_Palowakski said...

Regardless of what anybody else says, I think you have a beautiful soul, Miss Emily.

And in regards to that limbo feeling, when I was stuck accessing SL through Juno dial-up for 6 weeks, I frequently found myself in that limbo whenever I sat on something!

emillyorr said...

:blushes:

Thank you, Lady.

And I'm glad I'm not alone! It was beginning to feel very odd being me, and seeing...whatever else, rather than the pose, chair, cushion or chaise I'd suggested!

turnerBroadcasting said...

Don't call me daughter.

emillyorr said...

The what now?

I didn't.

turnerBroadcasting said...

Daughter. Pearl Jam.
-=-



Alone, listless. Breakfast table in an otherwise empty room.
Young girl, violence. Center of her own attention.
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it.
Tries to make her proud.
The shades go down. It's in her head.
Painted room. Can't deny there's something wrong.

Chorus:
Don't call me daughter. Not fit to.
The picture kept will remind me.


-=-


The part about pictures seems to fit with the approximately six photos you carry out from in-world

-
"she holds the hand
that holds her down
she will..
rise above "



sorry for being obtuse. :b

emillyorr said...

No, it's actually a Pearl Jam song I haven't heard.

*scurries off to find song*