Happy

This is my attempt at writing a post when I'm happy. My hair is flying out of a ponytail, I have one of my favorite outfits on, blasting music, clapping and dancing in a way that no one has ever seen me dance. Ever. I'm talking to people and I'm relishing in the fact that everything went my way today. That just everything about the world looks so perfect and going for me, that I can't even believe it's happening. And the chain of events that are so blissful, send me on a high that has me looking to the sky unable to breathe. Even something that has been known to bring me to my knees crying, is simply invisible at this moment, and I'm convinced it has to do with the sunlight streaming, and the gentle wind. I can't tell you much else about what this feels like, or anything going through my mind, because everything in is a heated whirlwind. So this, relating to my earlier post, is what I'm like when I'm happy. I don't care if the neighbors bother me 'cause the music is on blast, and I'm stomping my feet. What I'll do, is I will go out on that fire escape, and I will shout until they can hear me down in Harlem and up in Inwood cause I am SO DAMN HAPPY.

Satisfaction

I do not function well under happiness. I think I've mentioned this before in some other post, but I guess I'm going to reitterate: when I'm happy, my productivity level sinks. Some people, I've heard, are more capable to commit to things, and be creative, when they're happy. My problem is, when I'm happy, I'm too distracted to be creative. When I'm happy, the sun is too bright in my eyes, my heart is too light my head is flying, and I can't actually focus on creation. For some reason, when I am left dissatisfied with ANYTHING, it becomes a drive for me to write, or drum, or just to work. There suddenly seems to be more inspirtation, and a deeper view on the world - which sounds like bullcrap to me when I say it, but it's true. I'm not one of those people who will purposely throw themselves into a depression "for the sake of their art", but I will admit to being frustrated when I'm having a really great time of it, then I sit down to write, and I just can't. It doesn't come out. I guess writing solves my problems, and creates little safety places for me to be comforted or for me to work them out. When I have no probelems to work out, when life is satisfying, the creativity slows down. Still, it makes more sense to me, that being sad/dissatisfied would be too much of a downer or distraction.

Future

Pain is a barrier

preventing motion towards your future.

Happiness stimulates

progress towards the future.

Memories exist

to allow the future to be the future

and not a repetition of the past.

Honesty

I sailed the ocean blue, days and nights, love and sad, searching for the thing that would make me feel complete - for more than an hour. And finally, while flipping my head around along with ten other people one night, I discovered. Honesty. It is that honesty that never exists but is constantly strived for. And once this is found, discussed and enjoyed, life is so much easier in a way. While, most of the time, we will feel let down, disappointed, insulted, etc, at least the suspicion is gone! At least the little bugger at the back of your head will finally have something for fact, instead of working itself into a state of Chicken Little. (The sky is falling! The sky is falling!) Alas, when are human beings ever honest? It's too much of a risk.

Swing

I wonder what the original purpose of a playground swing was. Even back to hanging from a tree branch. The feeling of swinging must be forever soothing and happy to people. Maybe because it sort of feels like you're flying. That's why I love swinging. You can just sort of go through the air, and be apart from whatever people are trying to put into your head. I close my eyes and think of someone. Then it's cold and dark and alone the wind is cutting through my skin and it feels good, like I'm happy and at home. Or, it's warm, and filled with existance, and the sunlight is soaking into me, but I'm happy and home. Just because of that one swing, and that one person.

Show

The first most horrifying thing is the smell of the theatre when you first walk in. Early in the morning, smelling like air conditioner, lysol, and traces of make up. As you descend into the dressing rooms of backstage, the outside world draws away. You have entered your dungeon. But it's not a dungeon yet, because it is till cool and spacious. Only a few of your friends are there, enough to keep you company. Locate your spot, claim your territory and don't let the little kids mess with you. In ten minutes, you're organized. Hairspray, water-spray, hair-gel, random crap in a bottle, hairbrushes, hair ties, pins, nets... and that's just the hair. Eyeliner: liquid, black and brown. Lipstick, three different shades. Light blush, dark blush, from white to brown to blue green and pink eyeshadow. Make up kits that are 1' by 2', lined in rows. Light bulbs wrap around the mirrors, and burn the room out; "It's like a sauna in here!" 

But on the stage, it's cold as hell (oxymoron, if you think hell is hot). A rainbow of warmups, leg warmers, sweatshirts, socks, slippers, leotard sleeves, and happiness. Jumping around on the stage like maniacs, and snapping pictures while you're at it. Counting reserved seats, loosing tambourines, organizing quick changes. Ten in the morning till four. Dress rehearsal. Break.

FREEDOM!!! Outside! The world! For the first time in hours! Out from the hot lights, and stifling dressing room. It's raining. Feels cool on the skin. Starbucks. Double chocolate chip frapp. Sugar. Oh so bad, but good. Dinner time. Sandwich. More pictures. All together now, laugh, smile, "VKDCNY 2009!" Six is curtain call. Out of warm ups, into costume. Panic. Ten minutes. A bag of pretzels passed around. Show. Applause. Cry.