From Art, With Love

From Art, With Love
(A Rough Sketch To Be Refined Soon)

You frustrate me.

You frustrate me because your work is binary and your perception is globally desperate. You have grand ideas of how you would fix things –

Strange verb, that. To fix: to fix dinner is to make, to fix furniture is to mend, to affix is to attach.
And you are fixed.
Still, immovable, impenetrable. Fixed in your ways.

– if only you were granted such power. There it is. If only you were granted. What internal fear prevents you from grasping that power? And what good comes of merely observing and critiquing? And why do you dismiss my offers of help? Why do you deny my entire existence and in doing so negate your own power?

You do not believe that the “feminine form” may be used with an flexible masculine force to achieve your means. Instead, you isolate the masculine force, try to make it unbeatable and fixed, as yourself.

Give it up. Stop compensating. I could be your firearm. Your sword. Your cannon. I could be diplomacy and I could be war. And yet you deny me this.

Use me as your catalyst.

This remains purposely unfinished. The writer finds herself too frustrated with this character to remain kind and so plans to resume in a few days once she has worked through her personal issues with this unfortunate indoctrinated bast — man.

The writer reminds herself to remember the representation of history in Marlatt’s Ana Historic when she decides to continue this note.

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