Bearcat (n): 1) an arboreal civet with a long prehensile tail; 2) (informal) a hot-blooded or fiery girl; 3) a group of lady comedians from Boston
My Cubicle: A Microcosm of Humanity.
What does a person crave more than attachment, to feel needed, to be wanted? It is a desire that we may attempt to stave off, to push away, to ignore, but it’s there – nagging at us relentlessly, reminding us constantly that if we do not give in to its pull, if we do not succumb, our souls will blacken and die. It is one of the most certain things in the world, one of the most powerful forces, and yet we cannot even see it. It drives us all, and yet it’s intangible… invisible. What will you choose to do with it – what role will it play in your life? Will you embrace it? Cradle it? Store it in its proper place (The Heart)? Or will you cast it aside, throw it in a drawer, forget all about it until you absolutely must acknowledge its sticky, cellophane existence? Perhaps the most important question is: who will save you if you cannot?
We put ourselves in a prison of compartmentalization every minute we are awake. “You belong here. I belong there. They belong here.” It is the epitome of self-destruction. I cannot awake without instantly considering my role in society, in my own small society – my role within myself. Which folders do I file myself into? What folder are you in? What does it mean about us, together, just two HUMAN BEINGS in this segmented world? Every day I thrive to escape from my manila cell, to taste freedom, to catch raindrops on my tongue. Every day I lose my way.
When will we break free of order and embrace the chaos around us?? Life, our lives, everything is just a set of numbers waiting to expire, counting down, causing our guts to knot up with fear and anxiety. I believe we do not have to live that way! Do not allow the calculations of your own life bear their despotic weight on your shoulders any more. It is a strong person who refuses to crunch the numbers of time, who will move into the light, away from the numbers, away from the minutia, and simply admire what is around him or her. Smash the calculator you live under, or at least take the batteries out. Breathe in the air of a weightless, numberless life.
Within the dark murkiness of our underbellies, we feed ourselves the influence of value. We place value on nearly everything – whether it’s an emotional value, a spiritual value, or, disgustingly, a monetary value. We breathe in air and bask in sunlight and only think about how much these things are worth to us. If something is not “valued,” it is thrown aside, discarded, trashed, forgotten. The power in that, and the ease with which we can abuse it, strikes my nerves like guitar strings. And yet I must discard items in my own life. The only thing more difficult to do is to accept that aspect of myself.
I wonder almost daily if it’s possible to create a water bottle for spiritual thirst. IMAGINE feeling uninspired, searching for a muse, and simply taking a sip from such a bottle. Imagine a world without war, without hunger, without poverty, without cruelty. Imagine what would happen if in that Sigg you weren’t carrying water, but you were carrying liquid hope. That is the world that I burn for. That is the world that I crave. That is the society that humanity needs in order to HEAL.
You’re welcome for blowing your fucking minds with my art.