What inscrutable sorcery one must wield to remain genuine! Who of us can keep it real? I mean truly, utterly legit through and through. I’ve broken rank with myself too many times to count that high for you today. I’ve pretzeled myself into a weird version of me when wanting to be in certain relationships, a particular job opportunity, or late night clubbing in some ritzy place. I’ve worn platform high heels and rented giant white angel wings whilst donning a matching white wig aiming to keep a lovers attention. Along the same sexy lines, I shared a risqué photo of that costume with the Playboy Mansion back in the day to gain access to one of their coveted ‘real’ Hef parties. It worked! I got in invited, though I never got the photo back. All for the thrill of seeing what it looked like to live a life very unfit for me.
I do think acting out of character feeds the lure of Satan as easily as any down-and-out female succumbs to considering a stripper pole solution. I’ve put down one thousand bucks for a VIP table hoping to make a splash with new friends who might have vomited if they’d seen my unimpressive bank account. I’ll bet the same synergy pulls the puppet strings of many an actor into Hollywood’s Oz-like influences. Without any kidding, there are some finger-licking great actors. We’re also swathed with those who thrive on Freddy Krueger Oscar hope and I’ll give them their space to struggle so long as they choose. Then we’ve got loads of wannabes who might cut their throat in a B-slasher flick before they ever cut the mustard. Humans are lunatics for striving to be something beyond themselves.
For decades I’ve been Great Gatsby obsessed with having lives that aren’t my own. It’s a timeless imagination tool to see myself thrown into fantasies of that man, the mansion life, the endless money, the movie-making box-office cha-ching-machine dialogues. I can spin into The Tasmanian Devil Looney dervish as if an anxiety suppository got wedged where the sun don’t shine and doesn’t want to be plucked out for hours that feel likes days at a time. There’s a dark overwhelm carved into my DNA to balance me I’ve projected. I’m determined to banish such brutality.
Maybe an alien race can come put us out of our misery to render us all blind, causing less focus on surface assumptions beauty beckons and drastically sidetracks. Although, I’m guessing a few ‘geniuses’ would fastidiously tilt the Richter off the charts with groping charges, barely better than ogling. We have enough issues with lack of consent as it is presently. Slice in cliché boilers and we’re finally getting to the truth of depth. Beauty being only skin deep isn’t just in the dermis sense. My friends Fiji village hut without window panes, bathed in full moonlight, took my breath away beyond any swanky Central Park high rise I’d ever seen.
Instead, let me slide you some well-lubed benefits without you needing a condom. It’s how we look at the world and not how we look personally that matters. Get into your own way by getting out of your own way. Listen intently to what you adore. Prioritize all of those things. Stop engineering mania and accelerate self-sympathy. Fall in lust with you — all quirky, goofy, smart, sexy, feverishly floundering or successful aspects of you. Linger in loving yourself.
My current bucket list includes pretty public nudity, making penne arrabbiata with Tutu and friends, squishing my bare feet in some lunar surface dust, and waltzing underwater with a manatee. I want to like my two-tone dark with mixed summer-highlights hair coloring. I don’t mind showing the organic me for the sake of writing. I devour a salaciously wry banter. God bless the man who decides to keep me for life for his own wit will be the downfall of my panties over and again. This girl isn’t afraid to sashay her insanity or silliness.
I believe in me and you in our raw and unfettered state. I’m hereby invoking some alakazam wizardry that we may be ourselves as precisely and profoundly as is authentically possible, she proclaims with a wild-haired incantation of sorts. Be spectacular and not a spectacle of anything less than the true you. You are an innate beauty.
BE — YOU — to a T!