Being alive, however, requires no time and place. I am as prim and as proper as the next charm-school brat, but I turn it on and off. I pick and choose. I do this with my Catholicism, or my Quasi-Catholicism. Yes, I do observe some semblance of a religion, but its less about religion and more about faith. This extends to all things. I say, let's just not get weighed down in the semantics. Take Kerouac, for example. If he went through his writings saying, "you know, I really have got to cut it out with these damn run-on sentences", I wouldn't love him the way I do. Those cracked-out, stream-of-consciousness rants are what kept me going on some strung-out and strung-along heartbroken nights. Its his dismissal of the rule book, in lieu of his uncompromisable lust for life. That's why I feel justified wearing fishnets at ten o'clock in the morning. Growing up, one of the small admonitions from my mom included, but was not limited to, "that outfit looks looks a little... nighttime, sweetie". I love her. But, maybe life could use a little more nighttime: a little more daring, and mystery, and boldness and adventure. That unabashed recklessness of youth that runs through the streets with eyes wide open and fingers crossed tightly.
Oh the soft-core pornographic naked ladies you will find if you search "fishnets" on Google images. I'd really recommend it, if one were to have the time. A few images looked sexy, but none captured the joy, and the freedom that comes with suggestive leg wear. I found one of myself dancing in a club on Hollywood boulevard when I was nineteen or twenty. I'm not even wearing fishnets in it. I'm wearing a thrift-store skirt that set me back about six bucks. Black boots I found while thrift store shopping with my most recent ex's mom. She bought them for me. The necklace is a gold skull I found on something of my brother's and he let me put it on a chain and wear it. Who knows where the lace top came from. But that's the point. Not with dress-up, but with everything. Life is a process. Its about playing, experimenting, and learning. Its about making love, making jokes, making mistakes. Sometimes I reminiscence, on back when I was crazy in a way that felt okay. Now at times I just feel crazy in a more straightforward way. In a way that just feels, well, crazy.
I don't favor rhetorical questions in writing, but who doesn't feel crazy? People say we're all slowly dying, but I see the glass as half-full. We're all slowly growing up. If you're seventeen, or thirty-six, or if you're fifty-five, you are still slowly growing up. You still have time to go crazy in a way that's beautiful, and awesome and perfect. You can still dance all night and howl at the moon. You can finish your novel, or your dissertation. You can get your dream job, and your dream income.You can, and I swear you will, find someone to kiss you in the rain, to kiss your tears when you're crying, and to wreck all your bitter cynicism. You can solve a Rubik's cube. You can solve two Rubik's cubes. Apparently it just comes down to an algorithm. Don't dwell on your failures, because you're doing just fine. And I think I read somewhere once, "if you ever feel alone, just know you're not alone in that". Just remember that life is a special occasion, I guess. Its a celebration, bitches! Drinks on me.
"....not enough ecstasy for me, not enough life, joy, kicks, darkness, music, not enough night." - Jack Kerouac
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