Monday, October 27, 2025
Disgusting myself wasn’t helpful. I couldn’t be pleased, always rubbing my nose in it. I repulsed myself. Apparently, I hadn’t disgusted myself enough until I realized it’s all part of the package.
My body was disgusting. Everything I did, everything I had, and everything I was, contained the “eww factor.” Just because it contains the “eww factor,” does it make it wrong, bad, or unnatural? I guess nature is disgusting then. Is a dead body disgusting? It’s appetizing for the organisms that feed upon it. Is climate change disgusting? It’s a banquet for creative minds. Is homosexuality disgusting? I am certainly not repulsed by a penis, nor a vagina for that matter. To each his own.
The “eww factor” will seem to make you run, but those know better walk right up to the filth and prophet from the ‘trash.’ They have learned to face nature’s bottom-dwellers. Jesus hung out with them. Eww. It’s not until you stop wincing that you will fall in love. If you love a baby, you love their messiness. Same with a dog, or the dying. You’ll pick up their poop. You love them no less.
So, when you can love your own stench, you’re getting somewhere. You’ve handed yourself over to nature. No more “eww factor” when you look in the mirror, read your own writing, or look at what you left in the commode. Look at you – wasteful!
I am often moved to tears by my own music-making. Not because it’s awful, but because it’s so innocent. My writing, the same. I see it like a parent adores their own child’s chicken-scratch artwork ‘trash.’
I pick it up like I scoop my own pup’s poop. It’s just a little poo-poo. Puppy love or Puppy (G)love. Gee-whiz. It’s only a G… Get over your repulsion. It’s just a turd, and everybody makes them.