Monday, May 30, 2016

'Cause her head's up on some cloud

By Joanna and Mikhaila.

Sometimes a person may think about certain aspects of life or humanity more deeply:  for example when he or she is under the influence of alcohol or a natural substance, or if he or she is feeling particularly thoughtful, or just in-tune with all things, in all ways.  

My sister is a big thinker.  I am a thinker.  We think a lot.  But she thinks in a way that I can't completely reach or touch.  I admire her for that.  


I (Mikhaila) am thinking very ponderous thoughts about Disney Princesses. I am always thinking deep, ponderous thoughts about Disney Princesses. So much thoughts. So much thinking. So much neediness. Really. Even (soon-to-be) self-made princesses like Cinderella or Snow White, royal-servants who toiled amidst coal and… murderous abuse verbal threats. Okay, I take back the term ‘neediness’ I utilized quite mockingly. It’s hard out there on the streets, especially if you have to tell people your name is Snow White. Respect.
But the song remains the same: they needed help; they were looking to help; searching. And they welcomed all they received. Why, after all, did the little forest animals flock to Sleeping Beauty; the various pieces of fine quality dishware so eager to dance and sing alongside Belle (besides pure self-interest--in the latter case--which will not be elaborated on or explained at the current time, issues of self-involved potter are for a later date).


My sister, she can make me think so deeply about Disney Princesses, that I realized to even to sit on a pink carpet tile with Disney Princess character representations printed onto them, and possibly sit on a Disney Princess's face that wasn’t corresponding with my own personal feelings and emotional experiences at the time was absolutely ridiculous: (i.e To sit on Belle’s face, when you are, at the moment, greatly opposed to the idea of dishware and candlesticks (and freaking furniture) dancing and singing, [instead of at least the normal animate creatures--mice, birds, squirrels--doing the fucking singing], would just not make sense). 

Get off her face.  
Cinderella is absolutely more appropriate at that moment.  
Of course.


(If Mikhaila were to imagine the perfect Disney Princess she might have little words fluttering around her instead of birds or woodland creatures, making gestures in helping her emphasize the important statements she was conveying through song).
Which is deep.
And ponderous.


It’s crazy, though, when no one else can understand your mind, or cares to follow your thoughts…  

Gosh, if they do: If they can follow your thoughts, and you excitedly say, “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant…” Or just, “Yes, yes, that’s what I was thinking,” in a very prim and proper way of expressing emotions…  It’s beautiful. 

Because too many fucking people don’t think at all… or not enough.  Not enough.  Not enough…  Words don’t have the same power to others.  Words don’t hold the meaning and power that some of us, like Mikhaila and I, feel…  Which doesn’t fucking make sense.  How are they even in the same realm us?  I don’t know.  I know I feel the depth of every word I think and write.  I feel it and I ponder the committing it to page endlessly… “Can I say this?”  “Should I?” “Fuck it, I’m going to.”


Like writing them right now, is kind of mind blowing and also weird because I feel like they are not going to be quite right tomorrow, but today they are just right and so perfectly articulated at exactly the most effective moment.  Tonight I mean.  This morning I mean.  We think about that.  How each word will take shape and meaning today, tomorrow… yesterday… because we think so much and so deeply.


And that’s the problem.  And the beauty.  

Thinking can be dangerous.  Hazardous.  But we can’t stop ourselves.  We’ll think and express and think more, we’re exhausted, but not sleepy.  Our minds are still thinking.  We’re just tired.  From thinking and talking.  We wish we could stop…


My sis started singing this as we were writing. (It’s funny, we were silently writing, yet she started singing and it seemed so perfectly right and perfect to break a silence of intense expression of thought):


I’ll take the high road, and you’ll take the low road, and I’ll be in Scotland before ‘ye…”

“Is it we will be in Scotland, or I will be in Scotland...”


“It depends on if we’re singing together, or I’m singing alone.”

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