Last night my physical and mental engaged in a cold war. The cycle of knowing my purpose but failing to engrave it into my daily life has become obsolete. Luminescent ideas spark my body throughout, escaped from the brain they sit idle in the bones- f l i c k e r i n g – a second away from dimming. Action – they need turbulence. Our mouths move yet our bodies remain.
At a desperate attempt to feel useful, 21:00 pm on the clock, I grab my Queen ~ Your Highness Sewing Machine , empowered to create.
Threads, needles and swords out; the combat begins. The aim was to make a lovely black textured Burqa for Praying. Idea = fresh. Actual process = dull. 23:00 pm on the clock I lay numb on the couch, my Queen let me down, “technical difficulties” she tried to explain.
Defeated, as if the now malfunctioning sewing machine has a vile vendetta against me and only me. The cold war swells up, tensions tighten – my bombarded brain still yearns for a release. I refuse to give up. 02:30 am on the clock, I decide to bake. My very first love.
Tins, whisks and swords out; the combat begins. Realizing that at this moment, my temporary happiness relies on whether or not I achieve this one thing – just this one time.