I am a division.
Sometimes it feels as if i’m straddling several worlds. My mind is a conflict of interests, a battle for an identity I have no power to control, not in a world where societal constructs fashion who I am. Who am I? I’m white. I’m a woman. I’m small. I’m a red head, ginger…or blonde…or neither depending on whose speaking (it’s been a matter of debate my whole life actually). Asides from this, I am a human with passions that define my values and beliefs. 8 years I’ve worked with horses; 6, supporting bands, traversing London and Birmingham meeting new people for the sake of seeing music artists; another 2 planning a career in music journalism only to say, no this isn’t for me; years spent being told I should be an artist, not a writer. Where am I now? Left to define myself in the concepts of fantasy and the macabre because these are what give me inspiration to go on. I drip into fantasy as it cascades over the earth, bringing zeal to its audiences. Yet I also turn into the shadows, waiting to be drowned by the murky abyss that no one is prepared to enter, so I must go alone and alone I shall be consumed. One is more universally favoured than the other. To admire fantasy is to enter adventure; to follow the macabre is to bare your organs and let your fears fondle your spine.
Am I a traveller for sharing in both worlds? Because I am ready to deal my cards against death? Because I am tasting the temptation of evil but staying rooted to the moral code? Or is it just because I am confronting human nature that I’m beginning to realise we are all travellers? It seems it’s a matter of being. We are all divided by the mind’s fancies. We all make that journey in pursuit of our identity. We are all cogs whirring forward in life, pushing evermore for an understanding of the human condition.