seeing the future

Just what I needed: my father steamrolling through my apartment, huffing through his nostrils turning fuschia, to install my two air conditioners for what now totals to a collective five installations in one week. Saying nothing, looking furious. Alongside my mother telling me how to handle my relationship, or make that my lack of relationship, while watering my plants and sponging my counters.

At some point, when I signed up with my first online service, or got my first email address, I started giving up my privacy. I started building a public face, wittingly or unwittingly to a point where people I have never met or spoke to feel like they are intimately acquainted with my person, physically and emotionally. Where people can virtually obsess over or actively ignore any piece of information they choose, be it important truth or a completely random fiction for humor or drama's sake.

My breathing has returned to normal but so shaken was I to see in print, for public consumption one single word on a myspace profile belonging to one recently exed-boyfriend. A necessary shove I guess, which reduced me to a pathetic quivering mass of hyper-ventilated tears. Before I can fully absorb the word, I am being called and bombarded with emails. Moments after I have likewise changed 'my status' I can feel the collective waiting internet groins rubbing up against me.


outburst © Laura Kicey

I have known the greatest trust, the warmest love, the best friend, the truest equal I may ever. Those are things I have not yet lost, for better or worse. Trying to peel back the motley layers of sadness to find the core of that and hold on to the parts that matter. I am doing what I need to do to keep myself moving day after day. Hoping. Refocusing. I keep wanting to explain the intricacies of everything that is happening, draw out a giant map of emotions and actions and plot them over the course of time, to clarify it to myself. But I do this mostly everyday. I do it with photographs. And everything I try to hide I am in some way revealing on the other side. After the incident with Nerve, I felt like I wanted to erase my face. I make these things and then they stop being mine. 2,600 bastard children out there telling my life story for me.

insert another puffy-eyed imaginary photo of me here

Flickr afforded me so many gifts, meeting and exchanging with many brilliant and kind people I would have never dreamed of being able to meet. Giving me the best way to say without words, the things I need to blurt out sometimes, other things I need to whisper. But it has taken some things away from me, like my larger sense of control and my hope that I could grieve this broken heart in peace. At the same time as I want to hide and be alone, I need to empty myself into... something.

Which urge wins?

Currently sleep...