"You're so precious," he said as I wept into the phone. "You're a precious, creative being and you're presenting yourself as tits and ass."
Hearing him frame me in that manner put my existence into glaring perspective. I'd been steadily losing myself in whiskey and hot guys and image and modeling. What was I doing? I'd been conflicted about modeling since puberty. Being told by my mother that I was beautiful in a "unique" way but too ethnic to ever make it in that world filled me with the perverse desire to prove her wrong. Perhaps knowing now without a doubt that I could do it if I really wanted to is enough. Returning to the center of my being feels like the more righteous path. My art, my writing, my music and my ability to create all three in a truly profound sense fills me with beauty that emanates from within and makes my exterior appear more lovely than it might actually be in reality. Stay the course, do not deviate from the weight of genius, heavy though it most assuredly is. Even if no one is watching, even if no one is listening, I must resume the life I was born to live.
Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:
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