pan. the boy who wouldn’t grow up. who never ages. leader of ‘the lost boys.’
as soon as i was able, i actively sought to revert to the childhood i’d always felt i’d lost. and i think it is quite possible that i believed this with such fervency that i might have manifested it physically.
his androgyny. and mine.
then there’s this…
i think i might have written about this before. but i can’t seem to get it out of my mind. and although i don’t play piano, i can’t help but draw a parallel to writing. writing as dreaming. something i strive for, even in my writing for school.
tomorrow i will have been here one year. and it’s been a year of profound growth and change for me. renaissance. a rebirth.
and i know this is going to sound pretentious as fuck, but for the first time in my life, i am able to see myself as an artist of sorts.
just finished the fifth draft of my novel. based on a specific time of my life. the voice. is me. but not. a version of me. the blending of fiction and reality.
i guess this is just an experiment, really.
living in drag, in a way.
as the outlaw.
a way i can make my life into a work of art.