I think very strange thoughts.
The inside of my head hasn’t caught up with the rest of me. Once, I was very dark. My words were dark, my clothes were dark, my thoughts were dark. I outgrew this pretty quickly, because in general my persona is happy and bright. The clothes became neon, the smile grew, I became bubbly and sickening in a fascinating turn-around that relieved my mother (even though she prefers I wear dark red rather than intense green) but confused my friends. The thing that had taken me into the darkness wasn’t overly sensitive emotional crap, but rather a fascination with all things morbid. Whereas my outward appearance has changed, that inner morbidity is still thriving.
Monkeyface still remembers, the day we first met, when Oni and he were slightly tipsy and Jubby was a-visiting. A cat skull to the face, reconstructed to the point where the jaw could be manipulated, maniacal teenage laughter and scampering away, leaving the boys bemused, confused, and shocked.
We didn’t kill the cat, but the cat was dead, and the parts left behind were cleaned and examined, our curiosity grown to great leaps and bounds.
What was death?
I feel the past couple of years of my life have been a kind of death, for me. My own internal purgatory where I struggled to change things instead of accepting what I had. The desire to change is still very there, and wiggles around often, but instead of just hoping for the future I’ve decided to also live for the day.
I’ve re-invented myself, again.
Unlike the phoenix, who leaves in a flash of glory, I’m more slowly clawing my way out of the darkness with the strength of will alone. No glorious firebird am I, rather a creature that still remembers what death was like, still has bits clinging.
Rebirth, yes. But as a zombie.
I mean, at the very least, zombies dance a lot more often.