insomnia

1::
I am overwhelmed by the understanding of and agreement with the Buddhist notion that all sentient beings have the same instinctual capacity to seek happiness and to avoid suffering. A tremendous priority in our existences is to ensure that no harm is knowingly extended toward any living thing, and that we do everything in our powers to work towards their well-being. Buddhism is the religion that I've found to be most adament about people and animals sharing this existence, both being worthy of living without suffering.

2::
Nudity is beautiful. It is the utmost expression of our natural selves, and is relentlessly suppressed by our own society. The innate comfort level with one's own naked body is an admirable aspiration and, once achieved, should not be hindered.

3::
Sex, too, is a natural expression of our bodies. This is not a discussion of the bullshit you read in Cosmo, but instead the complete and utter articulation possible through sex. Good sex is devoid of self-consciousness, outside thoughts, perpetual elements of control, obligations, or routine. It is, quite simply, the most pure sensuality shared and exchanged with another being. It is spontaneous and genuine, pure and uninhibited. It is not an activity of the genitilia, but instead one of the whole body, inside and out, until every moment is synchronized with your partner's, every touch is erogenous, every sigh is shared. Great sex is gung-ho sex.

4::
My shoes used to be white.
But now they're brown.

The disctinct emblem of negligence that is apparent to every person I shall encounter while I wear them. "My God, Krista, you need new shoes," they'll say, accusing me of poor hygiene and thinking to themselves,
in clandestine,
of the tremendous pity they feel for a girl who lacks a new pair of shoes.

But no, I smile.
These shoes are exactly as shoes are meant to be.
Goddamn, these shoes and all the other cousin shoes- from $5 Payless to $5,000 Prada- serve one purpose, and that is to take me where I want to go. These shoes have been places that makes them superior to your overpriced, brand-whore investment pieces whose tread will never shows signs of wear beyond the hands of underpaid factory workers of Malaysia. Although I suppose - like you - your shoes be satisfied with a futile existence. Your shoes must be recluses, in the closest created just for them, nestled behind the clothing they're bought to match. But my shoes are adventurers.
And, by God, we've got places to go.

I like your stockings, but excuse me while I move around your completely self-centered, self-satisfying, self-assured aura that you've so meticulously maintained with the newest season, the latest trend, the necessary ignorance to global reality and collective consciousness of a world beyond the brand-name, fine-print embossed too conspicuously on your feet. Excuse me, I'm nauseaus and have more important brains waves than the comparison of shoes that your ignorant consumerism begs of me. My shoes and I have adventures beyond the mall.

But enjoy your latte - those pumps are perfect for sipping that venti and adhering to a life of stagnance. I hope my feet don't scuff them as I move with conviction toward more important things. Where life is gritty and honest and real, and where getting dirty means taking it home with you.

My shoes used to be white.
But now they're better.