[Turned inwardly from the excursion at No Answers with stylistic apologies to Alcoholic Poet.]
± She is often told that the initial proposition is that she is, and that she must continue in order to meet with her confirmation of this.
± She gathers statements unto herself about whether she has correctly restated and summarised herself; if she has contradicted herself then she must comes to terms with this and with her tangential wanderlust, take herself in hand, and question her terms. She resumes anew then, or as anew as she can; anew that is, in whatever form it suggests itself to be today, appearing as it does from between outright rejection of herself and tenets reliable enough to modify. Advice on this varies from advisor to advisor, requiring navigation as appropriate, a manoeuvre seemingly at odds with itself under the circumstances, what with herself being the problem from which she launches all solutions.
± And eventually she must make decisions. How strange then that these decisions are the termini at which her incursions have met with what made those incursions the incursions they are – the cessation of themselves that they were previously. She is the exhaustion of who she could be. She is also the exhaustion that marks the renewed need for renewal.
± She is the matter of taste that is created by and within the interim.
± She sways and is swayed among others like herself who are as unlike her as she is. It depends on the mood you catch them in. They shape themselves to the amorphous, project themselves with an image that recedes upon approach, speak a language that nobody can be fluent in, and in this, learn to tolerate the intolerable.
± For some it is an end in itself. To chase the unchaseable in all directions is the exhaustion of who they can be to the extent that the exhaustion fuels itself circularly. It is the movement from the field of vision the moment the sight rests on them that is the target. This is the being at one with restlessness she must master if she is to have any rest. What rest/lessness? Her shortfall from others pushes her on to them in the hope that she can lead them astray one day as they have her. Making the right mistakes is where her elegance will come from. One day it will happen, she tells herself, whoever that turns out to be. She has no idea who it is within her who doubts who she is. She worries that by the time she finds out, it will be too late.
