I’m like the princess and the pea

I can’t get it right 

 unless it is derived by 

     

 you don’t learn anything

from sophic “knowledge”

 you have to go through the door 

to find out what’s behind the door 

Bran/BethStudio floor thoughts

It has occurred to me, as often I know I have said; but then I forget…. but I desperately need my walls. Whatever the form they may take; mural or physical large work …. or even a heavy knife 

I start to open the large pre-stretched canvases that are sealed in protective wrappings and for hours I stare at them. I am thinking. About so much. And I do not have words for my thoughts lately. 

I feel like a bumper car stuck in a corner at the fair. I think about this. And the still life’s or scenes in my head to paint as I can see them. And even as I see them. Watch them. My inner eye is turned elsewhere 

So I don’t even see the blank canvases anymore. 

I sit on the floor of this fresh new art studio he has built just for me. I think. And wonder. Why. It is my boomerang/lasso effect I seem to have which even I get caught up unawares within

 ….And then i find myself thinking about a book I read a long time ago. It was about incest; it was called damaged and it left a heavy aftertaste with me. Why? Because it got slightly too close to so many things 

So many things form your mind. Some things you accept but others you do not. I think once you get past that wall of the “forbidden” you don’t and cannot go back, especially if it all began as a very young child…. I think over these thoughts and my conflicts with society 

What am I doing here? I wonder ….why has he convinced me to find out our ‘WhatIf’ story after we closed that book so long ago

Do I really matter to him? I wonder. Actually matter ….

But still I think about my ineptitude within social norms. As if I have to pretend I am just like society expects. But I cannot stand their walls. I can’t live inside their walls 

Maybe that is why I am here. Bran …. could have guessed, well, obviously he did as he planned his approach like a clever rabbit trap. But I never fit that uniform, the one where everyone behaves expected, dresses expected, says exactly as expected, and too plugged in to realize their vanilla life. 

Once past that garden gate ….you are changed forever 

but how you got there—by threat or violence or is 

the original thought of the original sin ….and once you feel the taste of it you can never wear their uniforms, you just want to run naked because the need to defy and be outrageous is prompted by the something that you cannot say because it only happened about from the need of it— the need of escape from inner hell. so how can that be wrong? and do those mindful figures of authorities have the depth to understand at all if they have been cushioned in vanilla?

Those things Bran does not say but his actions ….speak volumes….leave me often wondering ….what are his secrets? 

When I walked in, I saw him, he came into the room. He was golden and tan, hot and sweaty and working on some equipment and took me by surprise

“Oh—are you here for the job?” he asked me 

“No, I —I’m lost, I’m looking for —eighth street? and uh….” looking at my phone then look up at him. And I stand there 

but where are you now?