[Excerpt from a book]
Maybe if Morgan’s hair didn’t look like a rat’s nest then she could chill a bit about people ever saying she and Adam looked alike. Oh my god. Get me to a nunnery and get me a hairbrush.
So that is her side of things. Not to be like, that. Literally *proudly with chest out, tits hidden* it is very bold to make these connections herself because; maybe other people wouldn’t have seen her messy black hair and glasses and thought of someone else. It’s just how she looked and occasionally she felt horrified that, she looked like this, only because someone who could have been a really pretty adult as a woman (herself Morgan) now somehow actually, looked the f*** like, this.
It’s fine. I mean. It’s the clothes she looked best in, she thought; that could always change but she didn’t want to keep changing her mind on stuff. She was staying in school at her old digs, Columbia. (She felt safe here, just sometimes depressed. It was like her only real home where she could kind of honestly be herself.) She was stronger now than as an undergrad, and probably smarter despite some brain struggs and so it shouldn’t be that big of a step to let herself be judged not just in private-seeming art, like the student film she made here and in her diaries — but, of course in public too for having tits and wearing Zara men’s trousers, with a belt and white blouse, sometimes a bucket hat which was just-partly to draw attention away from the interesting shape of her jaw and mouth which for years she’d been so insecure about and people did double takes, for one reason or another, it’s true but, she had been spoken down to for years in public (e.g. just in coffee shops or corner stores) and it didn’t bother her [him?](they/them.) as much as it truthfully used to. What would it look like to make art that wasn’t sealed in a vacuum. She’d soon make films with her sister Alexis Wilcock, who wasn’t trash at all, was a better human than Morgan in that she’d never stolen from people or murdered her life, or you know–Morgan unlike her sister had definitely murdered her own female side, and, Alexis wasn’t in a rush to make her art but was generally discontent with her job in the toy industry (where she ended up, weirdly, after working corporately on Broadway a while); Morgan by contrast, did write like she was running out-of-time. She pretty much didn’t care about anything else quite as much as film so it was interesting that she kept moving, further away from it. She used to say and wanted this under her name on Brainy Quotes: “our greatest fears are signposts to our purpose.” Maybe, if this quote-of-her-own was true, that’s exactly why Morgan kept moving away from film; because she was just terrified of it and possibly quite traumatized. It is hard to become disillusioned in one’s twenties and, many people never really, become undisillusioned. The love of her life named Hope was kind of a trope but, Morgan still hoped to do a masterpiece film and in doing it, to be working now-and-then here-and-there once-or-twice in this life with someone good [like that character] or plural good people who she could protect (and vice versa she guessed) because; people were horrible, sometimes, and the film industry was basically like Valhalla. People, to other human beings. Could be really fucked up. That was an actual fact that she had by now an ass amount of life-experience and historical evidence to support: this was not some sort of delusion, like it wasn’t a moment, for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to cheer-her-up when she knew [for instance] when someone was not on her side. When someone had seemed to plot her downfall and she still forgave them because her religion kind of insisted she find a way to.