This whole murky thing of applied theory, when one is applying it in ones mind and not in ones body, is akin to a hairy globulous monster hiding under the bed. It advances thought,which changes the way we perceive being human, which changes the way we make policy and the way we interact. It is useful, but can it be angelic? Only when we love it as a monster.
This year I have been subsumed in critical theory, that is what masters degrees are about. It is an important incarnating step for birth into maturity as an artist. I could get sidetracked, but I have angels.
Those angels, they make me laugh and take breaks, and they get sick and draw me pictures, those wonderful familial angels. Those angels, they make me cry and pound the keys wildly on the keyboard, they make me take 2 hours for a mere four sentences, they flutter around my desk and give me great strength, those wispy apparitions.
And that monster, like most of its type, would rather giggle and smile as its hairy mass is brushed, as its globulousness is swaddled in care.
It flips, just like trauma flips in the healing process to become strength and resource, this monster also flips, showing its side of light.
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