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Writer's pictureSherri-Lee

NOthing Serious

Updated: Mar 24

Today feels like a great day to stop beating myself up about the way I cannot seem to convince folk that I am perhaps one of the most benevolent beings on this planet.


If your planet is moving into a turgid region of the Great Central Plain, her Core Drive is buggered, copious numbers of brain-splishingly intelligent minds are working round that clock to build a new one and get it fired up, and she's towing a bunch of busted motherships filled with trauma-shagged survivors - I'm the kind of being you want doing problem spotting and mop-up for the Grand Show.


But then, what the fuck would I know about anything, anything at all. Some someones told me I need to check my ego, threw on a #tag of 'holier than thou', and told me to go flame somewhere else. I thought I was just sharing some personal understandings about what happens when engaging in motivation and character assigning a person you don't know from a frog- whether they are a toxic frog or green 'good' kind; not telling anyone that they are doing their whole lives wrong and something something about if I 'intend to ascend like the rest of them'. Seems not.


A distressing experience? Abso-freaking-lutely. I was bawling when I finally managed to skim through some of the comments, skim because they were paragraphs and paragraphs of heated words I just could not see the justification for. And still don’t. I backed out, not having the neural makeup for that kind of herd stomping. I haven‘t been back to read more responses. I am grateful somewhere for the sticky flypaper effect these events create to pull up deep lingering shit from the psyche. I found some more nuggets of self-worthlessness, ostracism, and their pal confusion. A helpful melancholia for personal growth.


No worries peeps, I'm just gonna keep on skimming along out here on the rim in my itsy dingy, pulling out cactus thorns, applying salve, washing off old grit. We can chat later maybe, like much much much later, when you ain't all covered in that human stuff, bein' all messed up in the spokes of your karma wheel. Thanks for the scratches and lashes, and the data points of correlation. I'm off to tweek a few fibre flaps. Perhaps that's just my ego smack-speakin', who gives a knob.


The air out here is cold and sweet.





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