It’s a pretty Saturday morning, full of the sounds of birds and music. My beads are calling me from their velvet tray by the window; I badly want to ignore everyone on Earth and take a day off.
For your pleasure
In our present state
Part false part true
We present ourselves
The words we use tumble
All over your shoulder
Gravel hard and loose
I discussed my oversaturation with society with Orangelina yesterday and she wasn’t tremendously helpful.
I mean, she just stared at me.
I load the lizards with preconceptions, with my own angst about individuality, consciousness, and of course I rail against even the concepts of destiny and obligation. I am outraged on behalf of Orangelina that her life is not her own to command; do any female lizards choose not to reproduce, and successfully repulse all mates? What sense would she make if she opted out of her destiny to gestate the lizards of tomorrow, or began to indulge in existential thinking?
I am the last to discourage her role in life, after all, I badly want more lizards. I think about her bad luck not to be born a male lizard. To me, Orangelina represents society, the order of nature, the obligation of species. She moves within expectations, and she generally looks the same to me, no matter what light or situation I see her in.
But when I talk to Alexander, I feel like I’m getting somewhere. He makes his own decisions, he looks different in every light.
He cocks his head, he opens his vent so he doesn’t miss anything, he turns around and lifts his scales, so I can see how golden and flashing orange and copper he is from one side, how blue-white from another. He studies me carefully, he makes assessments. I can see him thinking, deciding.
Just by holding himself in a different way, he can present an alternate scenario, he can show me a viewpoint that I had failed to postulate. He can seem larger, smaller, bluer, more or less like a snake, or a dinosaur. He can lumber or be nimble, he can flick like a whip or sit unmoving as if made of stone.
He reminds me that there are a lot of different ways to look at things.
I was talking to Evan about summer, summer camp specifically. We haven’t made any plans yet, and he’ll be 16 soon, and his brother will be 17. I had the very Kate-centric idea that he, being introspective, must secretly chafe in his captivity, would long to be treated to an experience away from his brother, his parents, the routine of life. As it turned out, though, he couldn’t think of any possible reason he would choose to be away from his family. The concept doesn’t really exist for him. He likes us; why wouldn’t he want to be near us? Summer time is family time.
As much as he and I are alike, we are not; it’s like he has (at this time) none of that longing, lone wildness I carry inside me. The desire to be apart from society and to not be supervised is my majority particle. I don’t expect him to suddenly develop a sense of oppression, either. People are who they are and life can only thwart or encourage their natures.
My goal at all times has been to suss out the truth from people who obscure it (Santa Claus my ass), pull aside the curtain, trick my minders, reveal the magician, to ditch my tail.
And Alexander literally lost his tail; he is alive today because he could throw it off.
Is it any wonder I bond with him?