Turbulent Indigo by Joni Mitchell

You wanna make Van Goghs
Raise 'em up like sheep
Make 'em out of Eskimos
And women if you please
Make 'em nice and normal
Make 'em nice and neat
You see him with his shotgun there?
Bloodied in the wheat?
Oh what do you know about
Living in Turbulent Indigo?

Brash fields, crude crows
In a scary sky
In a golden frame
Roped off
Tourists guided by
Tourists talking about the madhouse
Tourists talking about the ear
The madman hangs in fancy homes
They wouldn't let him near
He'd piss in the fireplace
He'd drag them through Turbulent Indigo

"I'm a burning hearth," he said
"People see the smoke,
But no one comes to warm themselves
Sloughing off a coat
And all my little landscapes
All my yellow afternoons
Stack up around this vacancy
Like dirty cups and spoons
No mercy sweet Jesus
No mercy from Turbulent Indigo"

Apologies to Joni Mitchell

These are the times when I think I would gladly welcome sadness or solitude or tedium or even the feeling of stagnation rather than this unpredictable cruelty: a sinking feeling that pulls me down slowly and then pushes me up again, leaving me weightless and light once, then heavy and burdened after. I wish I could come up with a metaphor for this. Like Joni's turbulent indigo.

***

I feel that I am being stripped off of my feelings. My emotions and sometimes my thoughts are questioned: why are you sad? why should you be sad? why do you get mad?

I used to feel like a complete person. And part of being complete is being able to give myself wholly to another; being able to trust.

I hope I am not turning out to be a stranger to my own self. And because you would not understand, I shall not give any explanation anymore. I am very, very tired of being asked why I am this way...

***

I am a woman who is kind-hearted but fair and just. I take care of those around me: family,friends, a Partner,strangers even. I value honesty so much.

I love my body. And those who know me, or who have known me, men and women, know how my body arches in delight when secret crevices are discovered or how it winces when pain comes, physical or otherwise.

These are just a few things about me. I do not know if-- despite the fact that you claim to love me with all your heart, all your life--you know this woman.