have reduced the friction between the eternal and the temporal to zero; see too clearly; clarity is mania—seeing and knowing all, an oracle, a woman, a mother, a poet, a filmmaker, a leader: one who knows what should be done. This was the goal and destiny. It’s weirdly painful to live; God’s in control, I’m His puppet and putter; every error is divine & I’m just (making) another one, the next one, trying to syncopate and punctuate this dream which is yours too, ours, everyone’s; help? Hire me, promote me, help me find my way to people (A-players) I can play with who will make me safe, understood, included. This is the savage desperation of my generation & there is unbearable urgency which we, somehow, can bear, and are bearing, as we stare longer into the screen and try to program the world to include us. God is doing it through our hands. Nothing is wrong. Yet it’s so loud & I must rest, and can, though I thought and said I can’t. Help? I write poetry, I bear it alone without you & give this epic struggle as a gift; integrity, listening to music, honoring and appreciating others; I’ve been eminently good enough for a while now, beyond reproach and criticism, even doubt. Yet here we are. Still. Help; I don’t know how and can’t do it by myself; it’s lonely hauling my cross into the arena pledging allegiance and pleading for inclusion.
suffering from being too brilliant