i have come to a mildly shocking realization, as one often does. neither side really wants me. not an uncommon theme for a guardian angel, to be sure. too grounded for the high angels but too ethereal for the humans. a double world, double life, isn't too bad once you step into another dimension and see it as an axis. it's like walking; you're carried around from place to place at first, but then one day, you can choose for yourself. and i've been doubled for a long time. so what, might you ask, is this new revelation?

disappointment is a funny thing. freefall drop in your stomac, wile e coyote handsmeared legs pumping run off the edge of a cliff, nausea like you know it but its just too much to bear but just too little to take an ibuprofen funny thing. i know i shouldn't put angel standards on humans, but i just can't see why people don't see things like i do.

i've known one side hasn't wanted me for a while. "small waist winking eye walks like he owns the world" doesn't fly with the tshirt cowboy boots jeans boys (who i think have quitea sugarsweet charm if they'd just pick up a poetry book from time to time and left a little more grease under their nails). but i always felt like i had a wind behind me on the other side. when you talk and walk like they do, you'd never think they'd push you out, right?

it's funny to be an inventoxplorer in a world where people have been lying to you all your life. you took everything you read in fairytales and ran with it fast and hard, falling from time to time, but loving the pain of being human and the weight of your skin and the feeling of having your tiny body heal itself without any miracles. and you saw it in the world, the magick and the automata- the mechs whipping down the streets, the dragons out of the corner of your eye, the whispers of the faeries in the night. you saw it all. in the spaces between: the push and pull of newton third law pairs (has to be the work of a little tinkerer somewhere, one who always has a toothpick in his mouth and squints so hard you think he might be blind after all), the curl of a little integral (they pick them ripe from the vine, you know, only the hands of [] are delicate enough to harvest them without breaking), the tight braces holding their functions together in a warm hug (this is where robots get all their love from, of course).

but to realize that not only are you unfit for the grime and soot, the roughdrawn charcoal and the hums and skips of your children in the night, but also for the galleria, who you Thought, of course, were Wyld and Free and danced in the moonlight to the songs you could hear from the universe, you realize you maybe don't have anyone.

and maybe that means that no one can hear the songs you can. that no one can spin the yarn, which means that no one can sit next to you while you spin yours. and that no one would even care if they could. well, that's quite a shocking realization.

but i am nothing if not prepared, and nothing if not kind to the universe. and if this is how it is, then so be it, i suppose. but it's hard to enjoy the music when the only one who can hear it is you.