I wish I had genius inspiration growing from my bones. Like, inside my bones, if instead of marrow I had inspiration, I would find it much easier to breathe.
Sometime, I don't like looking at or listening to really beautiful things because they make me want. They make me want to be within them, surrounded by them, a part of them. They make me want my life to be the sounds the words the images the colors. They make me want to melt into the sun and wake up only when I am satisfied with living outside of the picture book.
I was not born an octopus, with eight legs made for running and skipping and swimming and spitting ink in people's eyes, even though squids do that. I was not born a colossal squid, with giant eyeballs and the ability to live in the deepest depths of the ocean, with hooks on my limbs and a beak hidden somewhere beneath them all.
I was not born with the biggest eyeballs in the universe.
All good things come from New Zealand.
Was I alive in the 1920's? Was I a flapper with a dress that zig-zagged from side to side and made men notice me singing from a picture on the wall. Was I a model in the 1920's wearing long skirts and hats that fit better than they could today?
Did I witness the first man on the moon?