EPTMy new landlord, as I found out the day I moved in, is a smoker. He says it shouldn’t smell inside (he smokes right on the porch, below my window), but when I leave my room it hits me like a brick wall. The smoke also seeps into my room somehow. If I open the window it just comes in more, if I close it, the cloud never leaves. I broke down right in front of my parents as they were helping me move in. Almost in tears, I knew inside my head that I was nearing the end. There’s only a certain amount of repressing and suppressing one can do. I can’t keep everything controlled all the time, and the more that adds up, the more it’s likely all is going to boil over.
My roommate is an opera singing, anal-retentive club music-loving fitness obsessed hot blonde, who recently changed her hair colour to red. I don’t think she likes me much as she never looks at my eyes directly (reminds me of myself in earlier times). I gave her some of my stir-fry once, and ever since she’s said that I inspired her to eat healthier. The other day she gave me a chocolate chip banana bread muffin, which was pretty good.
School itself didn’t seem any different from last year; just a few more papers here and there. Statistics in particular seems more like a review of last year’s material, though as simple as it seems (having taken calculus in high school); some of the stuff never quite sticks. Maybe I simply stopped caring. I am comforted somewhat to see some familiar faces. Even though I’ve never talked to them, I recognize these people from first year. Sometimes I realize how little I really have learned and mastered through these three years of university. Though I am impressed with how many articles I can read and synthesize into a paper.
I got a job with the dean at school. It was pretty well on a whim; I saw the email and said “hey, what the heck”. I could always use some money to play around with. The job itself turns out to be a bit of a bore: coding videos, entering data into excel sheets, entering in survey questions online. Only myself and some middle-aged woman applied for the job (both of us got it).
love my way
it's a new road
i follow where
my mind goes
swallow all your tears my love
put on your new face
you can never win or lose
if you don't run the race
It's perhaps cliched by now but motivation is killing me here. I can’t even play SC2 on low settings anymore - graphics card is probably broken (why did I have to try to buy a "gaming laptop"). Surfing internet forums gets real old, and real brain-numbing. As the cold weather approaches it gets harder to get myself outside. All I really have left for entertainment is the many books I asked for over the years but never read.
I’m running out of dreams. At times I've wanted to be an astronaut and fly as far away from earth as possible. I wanted to be a computer programmer, making games. In grade 7 I took a computers class and we got to make our own little game using some software (wish I could remember what it was called). I was so enthusiastic about it –No one else seemed to treat it seriously, they just wanted to get it done and get out of class ASAP while I stayed overtime to work with it as much as I could. I went home that day to find out more about the program and how I could further my little game I had set up. The teacher didn’t seem that interested the next day when I told him about my progress, and I gave up when my dad had found how to download the program (you had to buy it as well).
During my “darker” high school years I wanted to become a writer (well, I guess I’ve had it in me since grade 6 when I realized I was the only one who took our little writing assignments seriously and not just another piece of homework to get finished). In a way it’s still with me, but every day I realize I just can’t write as much and as well as other writers. I look at their writing and I see such purpose, such indignation. Every word has meaning and as much as I try to find weak spots I continue to fail. They always seem like such pseudo intellects - rather I want them to be. I look at my own writing and see the same failure I sought to see in others.
One day it hit me – I’d been taking the Timothy Leary degree. Psychology, Philosophy, and Computer Science (less emphasis on the latter). – I just noticed my cat is trying to paw its way into my room…literally, I suddenly heard some noise and it was her hand underneath the door. She usually cries around this time, but she seems playful and rambunctious like a little kitty. Anyways – I know those are my interests, but I just have no clue what I want to do with them. Working at a computer all day for the rest of my life isn’t very appealing – but in the end isn’t that what I’ve been doing since high school? I just sit at my laptop for maybe 12+ hours a day. People tell me I should get some kind of hobby, go out and do “things”. I have no idea what these “things” are, but apparently they’re out there just waiting for me.
I’m in sort of a catch-22 here. My life's been devoted to computers and to being around them, but the only thing that can make me happy and healthy is if I get away from them. And at the same time I’m always left craving the comfort of my computer. I guess it’d be a waste to just turn around and completely change my personality, and my habits?
I’ve always had suspicions that my computer overuse was just a way of escaping my sexuality. In the mechanistic we yearn for the infinite – that’s why we advance technology. It’s the wish to never die, to have someone always around you. To never have to face the world alone. It’s the incarnation of my early religious mentations.
As the breeze of September hits me, thoughts of earlier school days arise in my mind. Do you remember your first time at school? The notion of a fresh start propels you for some time. Unlike the song, cloudy days seemed to visit the month of my birth more often than not. Perhaps an omen for my whole life, I always loved the rainy, windy days with grey misty skies. The emotion in the air is always restless and turbulent.
My aunt gave me His Finest Hour, by Christopher Catherwood, for my birthday. It’s a biography of Winston Churchill, from beginning to end. Though somewhat dry and a bit repetitive, Catherwood lays out Churchill's life in an easy to understand and fairly comprehensive way. He isn't a revisionist, trying to make old heroes seem fake and drummed up, though he doesn't ignore the many faults of the man. I can't say much else about it, I always enjoy reading about history.
![[image loading]](http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1327958190l/8766378.jpg)
I’ve also been reading The Future of an Illusion, by Sigmund Freud. The book is a series of essays, which are, in contrast to His Finest Hour, extremely abstract. It concerns mainly the inception of religion and its function via the psyche. He starts with a few basic principles that are already abstract and builds on that to things even more abstract, tackling criticisms of his work and psychoanalysis. It reminds me of reading some of the old philosophers in first year. But It also reminds me of when I first read The Symposium in that all the ideas seemed as if they were already within me, they just needed to see the written page. It's the type of book I need to read a few times to "get".
I used to write in a little red book when I was a teenager. I would think up all these very abstract philosophical-psychological theories about abstract philosophical concepts and humanity and its development. Looking back on them I can't help but feel like I was a budding Freudian. It's a fitting book for someone who's had some first hand experience in things like repression and the illusions that are created through our infancy (both as a person and as a species).
![[image loading]](http://img1.imagesbn.com/images/111200000/111201641.jpg)
Well, I sort of came out to a girl…I’ve known her since high school. Matter o’ fact, she was in the very first class I had and I was late. There really isn’t much to say about it – I sent her a certain Bob Dylan quote across the internet, she asked me if I’m gay, and, having taken an oath to myself that I would not back down from the truth on this matter, responded yes. We talked through the night about sex, love, romance. She told me some of her own secrets (did she feel she had to?). I told her I always wanted to know what it was to make love to a woman, to feel amazing, to do all the things men never did but women always wanted. I told her I wanted to do that with her. “That’s so giving”, was her comment. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced just to be completely open with someone else...It was like having a real friend.
Nothing would surprise me more than the feeling after she left for the night. Such an emptiness and hopelessness sprang out of nowhere. I had come out to someone I knew in real life, and yet…it almost seemed unimportant. I mean, she said I hid it well, that she never had guessed. I don't think I’ll ever have that feeling of emancipation again.
Is it worth it to tell my friends? I wonder if they’ll react that way. I wonder how they’ll react... Should I ever tell them? They still say the old fag slang, calling people fags just because they don’t like ‘em. I’m used to it; I know they don’t mean any real harm… Still I can’t fight the fact that I might buy into it a little too much, that I actually start to hate that part of me, or at least repress it, keep it hidden away from my “friends” (he says in an ironic tone). After all this...I’ve never felt more alone.
With exams being finished, the cold winter’s breeze drifts me into a tearful slumber buried in snow.
One Perfect Morning
Have you ever had that one morning where you wake up completely refreshed, the grit of reality seeming to have disappeared, forgetting you ever had any problems in your life? My own started with a dream. It seemed to take place after the years of self-propelled solitude and misery, the lies I made to make life fit, the constant clenching of my teeth and brain, the obsession with uniformity and perfection; the balancing out of ticks from each side of my body.
Just like any other dream you're not sure when it ends or when it begins. The first thing I remember is lying in bed with nothing but my boxers on, noticing the sunlight pouring into the room. It was so unlike my day to day real life: I could actually feel the warmth and colour of the sun, it seemed every fiber in the room had feeling, I could breathe perfectly and my limbs weren't so damaged; movement came with ease, and I knew already it was a dream. I looked out the window and saw a girl in the house opposite my backyard. She was in white underwear, but apart from that I can't say I even saw what she looked like.
As I looked at her she suddenly looked back. I waved, she waved and laughed. It's odd how love in dreams works: in an instant it was as if she was my long time girlfriend or soul mate or something. In that same instant she appeared in my room and we held hands. She had blond hair, though I still can't remember her face...She was more of a feeling inside me that manifested in the form of this girl.
It was like living out a movie. Like the first time you felt love, or the first time you even felt a feeling. Through the whole experience I had no compunction from depression, no repression, no guilt. We moved closer with hands starting to lock. At once we were on the bed. Wrapped in each other, I felt her skin and soft underwear. It was an odd feeling; I could feel her whole body at once, imagine it, almost feel connected with it. Exhilaration propelled us to greater ecstasy, making love as if it were unfrivolous.
I don't have that strange compulsion to grind my teeth or count each time I blink my eyes to make sure each side is even. If only every moment could be like this. If only we could live like we did in our dreams. What's stopping me?
Could this be it? I see the sunlight fading, I feel the blood rushing in my head. Is it possible I really am that person in that dream I keep having? I was in their body, but as I woke up I felt I left behind a different life, one that I keep in dreams. As I slip into consciousness it all comes back. All the neuroticism and self-doubt rushes inside my head, as everything in life starts to have less feeling again, and the world gradually grows darker.
She's gone. The feeling's gone.
Still the Same
shout, shout, let it all out
these are the things I can do without
It was five months ago I started working for the very first time, and with it I thought I'd finally found a reason to live and a modus operandi for salvaging the last hopes of a good life. But again the point of living is slipping away from me. What good could I do with my life? Anyone else could do just as well as I. There's not much I live for these days, maybe writing these blogs are the only way I can feel useful to the world. (I feel partly rushed because I haven't posted anything in what feels like ages).
There are some good moments though my days are still filled with bleating dispassion and hopelessness. As I move my hands, my eyes see blurry traces across the room. Hours go by with no impact. Day turns to night, I get out of bed, eat, computer, bed. Back problems plague my every moment. I find it harder and harder to sit in this chair; it feels like I haven’t rested my back in years. My brain feels numb or strained in some way. Nowhere in my home is there a chair that supports me. They all swivel and shift when I seek to depend on them.
With every passing season it becomes tiringly obvious I have grown older, not younger nor stronger. Spending all my time in a nauseous daze, moving from one bare necessity to the other. Every little problem sends me into hot flashes and the sweat builds up out of nowhere. I just wish I had something in life. All these people I look up to, they all just knew it in their head. It took over them and carried them through life. I wish I had what they had.
I keep thinking back to middle school and high school, the times when I first realized how different I was and how hopeless it was trying to change who I was. In the end I'm back where I began: depressed, neurotic, anxious and unhealthy. Still convinced I can be what I am not, and could never be. I'm chasing a feeling through the quiet solemn night hoping I find what my heart desires. The emptiness always points me to the same place: my heart. Melissa from Home Movies reminds me over and over again: “what are you trying to forget?”
I still have moments where I can sink into depression for the next couple days. I've learned how to control my thoughts to an even greater extent concerning sexuality, and I figure if I stop thinking about sex in the future tense my anxiety and hopelessness fades away. For now, I'll just think of it in the present. As long as the feeling stays, it's there. I don't worry about dealing with it. Is this what repression really is? I know I've practically made it my life's work to repress desires and control myself, so I have reticent feelings towards a second wave of repression-lite, if you like.
I’m always laughing things away, cynically reducing serious issues to jokes. I’m always looking for an opportunity to blame my losses, to look for excuses. This in turn makes me very avoidant of commitment, and devoid of real motivation. Whatever I can scrounge up is artificial and manufactured. I want to be free and have concrete desires that I know aren't just machinations, but I think the jailor is in fact myself. Am I the tyrant? The one they fear? Did I just need to be amoral all along to find myself?
There must be more to life than this. But what? And where. I find no enjoyment in the simple things, yet I can’t accomplish the complex things of life…I used to enjoy just sitting down with a pen and paper to write, but it seems such a fruitless and pointless endeavor.
Baby, life's what you make it - can't escape it.
Baby, yesterday's favourite - don't you hate it?
Ev'rything's alright - life's what you make it -
ev'rything's alright.
Baby, life's what you make it - don't backdate it.
Baby, don't try to shade it - beauty is naked.
Ev'rything's alright - life's what you make it -
Ev'rything's alright - what you make it.
Baby, life's what you make it - celebrate it
Anticipate it - yesterday's faded.
Nothing can change it - life's what you make it.
Ev'rything's alright - life's what you make it.
Ev'rything's alright - life's what you make it.
Ev'rything's alright - ev'rything's alright.
Sick of being a victim. I'm sick of my own self holding me back. So scared of risk - so conservative a life, a life half lived. But afraid is what I was, and will always be unless I channel this newfound hatred of the status quo to build a new life. The will to fight is still inside me.
You say to me but surely, there is more to life than sexuality. Well yes, but imagine a person who sought to never accept their prime love, treading neurotically through life. In trying to suppress something so fundamental, their nature is perverted and shackled to schizophrenia. The usual person has accepted their sexuality easily, and can go on worrying about things like the next paycheck, what clothing looks best on them, and their last "love" from college or high school. Unlike I, they can start working on building a foundation set in truth - attached to all the learnings and cognitions is that malignant presence, that supervisor that is there to ensure full compliance with kultur.
Then why, after so many years of self-hatred and destitution, do you continue this scandal? I ask myself this in the quiet lonely time of my nights. I look out around the room briefly and contemplate on the nothingness I feel.
Sweet Freedom
All I can think of is that one morning I awoke so freely, like a release from my past nightmares. It had been after a troublesome night of the continuing quest in search for porn to sate my inner machina. Any kind, just find something that blots out the mind. Recently I began to realize - I could go to bed without having satisfied this alien desire. I could just forget about it and it would go away. No more abject cravings, and some peace of mind.
I had forgotten all these years who I love. Hidden within my mind was the reverence of some personality intrinsic to males and the love of the male form. So bleak I was, and so lost in deceit I thought I had no passion left with which to live. Now, time after time, I remember I have something I crave, and yearn for.
Over the years I had become so cold, and now the warmth blankets my crooked eyes – only to bring me more questions. In rediscovering love, am I at risk of losing sight of reality? The exhausting control of these Freudian machinations leaves my liberated mind wandering around the imagination. It’s amazing what you’ll find once you uncover what’s beneath the rubble of self-destruction and repression.
One fine summer day when I was young, my family and I visited a friend’s cottage. I was left to my own devices with two females of the tween age who had a knack for boisterous words and sinister ideas. I’d be at their mercy when they wanted to exploit me, and isolated when they had used me up. One such experiment was to dress me up as a girl. I tried to resist, yet by the end all I could do was endure the anger and shame. Masochism ensued as I learned there was no way to avoid this, that the tyranny of cackling socialites who fed upon each other could not be defeated. This contributed to my ability (perhaps preference) to accept pain without struggle in order to satisfy authority. But it also plays back in my mind when I wonder if I’d be better off in life as a girl. I wonder if I would be more comfortable, if my nuances and personality desire to be female.
I dissociate from real life. I need to get away from this. Too many contraptions. Too many neuroses I've built up over the years. I wonder if drugs are the only answer. I would always take the straight and tough position on SSRIs and other medications my doctor would prescribe. I always thought that no matter what I could beat the system that’s preordained for us, like I could become more powerful by my will alone. Too much Dragonball Z watching I guess. Thought I could just derive power through determination. But perhaps this experiment has gone on long enough, and the time for a new method has come. Maybe I just have a learning disability. If I can't fix this glaring problem after this long - what is wrong with me?
I have to feel like there is no return; I have to feel like there will be no second chances. Else I face a life half-lived, half-loved. I can't count on a second chance at life.
Advancing programming skills is tedious, and not always rewarding. The further I go with this, the more I'm unsure of my desire for this craft. It's always so dry and so bland. The lexicon is filled with illiterate and dislocated language (Why is it called end-user-system and not user-end system?). My mind has become quite resistant to awkward and provincial terms.
Now I feel like I have a reason to get up in the morning. It’s only too fitting that it’s my own demise. And now the greatest danger is right before me: I face the knowledge of creating my own universe in which I can hide. The only way to be happy is if I continue down this rabbit hole, and keep chasing something inside me that was never there.
The other day I got a call from a friend asking if I wanted to go see our old mutual friend in his new apartment. I felt strangely at ease for the whole thing. It was as if I didn't care if we got lost. Just have fun, I thought. As the bus drove through suburb upon suburb I got a little worried. It was weird though, I felt like I didn't care as much if we were in trouble. I started to let go of those things. And the night went on sort of like that: I had a decent time; we played some games, the two of them got high.
A few days later I got a call from him asking if I wanted to go to a Christmas caroling party. I did enjoy it somewhat, I got to feel old romances start to kindle (at least on my side). But all along I kept my mind on guard for that sneaking feeling...That snake in the fog of depression. Later a friend and his girlfriend and I went back to his place. It was feeling like old times. Hanging out, doing the things we were good at - feeling that youthful high that got us through the years of struggling through school and adapting to society... and the many more that lie ahead. The cold, snowy weather always seems to make me feel more friendly. May be something about my personality, that I need a struggle to really put in the effort to live. I get some thrill out of it that boosts my reconstruction efforts up there.
And all the pains I’ve been through, and all the stress of growing up – was null for one night. I was in the warmth of friends, I was safe, I felt happy, and that was all that mattered. Before I could realize that the night was fading I awoke to a new morning... And it was just a song. Just a song...
More and more I'm remembering my early concepts of life - happiness, feeling whole, being proud of oneself, how to live a healthy life. My early approaches to these 'schemas' were luckily healthy and wise, giving me sudden glints of hope. Things inevitably come back to sexuality.
Hey, so what if I think a nice penis is more glorious and magnificent than some hole that doesn't even do anything. I never found anything special or engulfing about the female form - or being engaged in personal conversation with a woman. It always felt too superficial. I want to get closer.
But the whole issue is more than that. It was always more than some thirst. My soul yearns for a fulfillment in someone else, someone I can make happy and that, in turn, can make me happy. So I guess they were right; there is more to life than sex.
When the highs go away and I'm all alone and back to regular life - I feel so depressed it looks like a better idea to just kill myself. I’ll never be as pretty as the girls in those movies. It’ll never work out like women have it worked out. I feel like calling out for help, to some friend or anyone that will listen. If I call out, what am I asking for? And who is going to deliver it?
All I want is to live vicariously through them. I can go back and forth from one to the other. I keep trying to force the image of it to fit. Keep trying to square that circle.
I wish I had her here with me. Yes, I wish I could live with her.
No I don't. No I don't,
no I don't
NO I Don't...
I can just pretend to be something I'm not....yes...life's what you make it. I hate her. She abandoned me. Payed me a fake tribute just to get rid of me. I told her I was suicidal and she never talks to me ever again. I thought she cared about me. I care about her.... how can she not?
She’s beautiful…
Why?
Why? I don’t know…isn’t she?
Why is she…?
How do I even know that?
It's my life.
We'll be dancin' in the moonlight
Smilin' with the risin' sun
Livin' like we've never done
Goin' all the way
Reachin' out to meet the changes
Touchin' every shining star
The light of tomorrow is right where we are
There's no turnin' back
From what I'm feeling
Smilin' with the risin' sun
Livin' like we've never done
Goin' all the way
Reachin' out to meet the changes
Touchin' every shining star
The light of tomorrow is right where we are
There's no turnin' back
From what I'm feeling
This song always reminds me that 'the good life' is something anyone can achieve, and that I still have inside me something that beckons to be a part of that life. But most importantly it gives me the feeling I could be a part of that life filled with love, and that I could have something to offer someone else. I could have a different state of mind, it's just a matter of twisting it the right way.
Does anyone else feel this way? Maybe it’s just an idealized vision of a dream. It's like a club of successful people to which I always knew I belonged. Not just success of the material kind, in fact even less so. It's filled with the mature, the ethical, the humane, the lover, the poet, the witticist, the humoured and warmed hearted.
But to join that club I will need the utmost honesty with myself. I can't just turn a blind eye to the restless forces of fascism within myself. Even less I can ignore no longer the forces within myself who wish to join them and create some philistine existence.
I remember the bright days when I could feel the sun's warmth, I could smell the trees in the breeze that caressed my windows. Life had purpose, and I could feel love. I could still believe in all this.
Remember - truth and love must prevail over lies and hate
Like a bad dream, I can feel the nightmare of my inner turmoil fading from memory. It departs like the leaves on the trees with the changing feel of the spring wind.
I walk alone about my house, swerving in dance to my own rhythm. Steps on the floor are like bouncing bubbles off water. My feet walk with rebounding might off the crass ground. I can remember love again. I understand again, what it’s like to be human. More importantly I'm starting to remember my voice. The voice all those writers talk about when they give advice on how to write and who should do so, the one that reminds me of the real me, buried beneath all these facades. Still not sure if I can let him out.
The morning comes to wake you. The sun greets you at the window with rays bourne from change and passion, and they fill your heart to movement. The lush canopy of the neighbourhood sways in the wind, slightly dewy leaves almost humidify your mind, and you breathe it all in. Nothing is wrong. I can do anything I want. Everything is perfect: I set my mind to what I want, fulfill the action's motivation and move on. As the grey dusk approaches something sets the mind on the cutting board. Ah, the joy in even simple cooking. Every cook is an artist of taste, and how amazing is it that such a thing as food could make you feel so complete and sated! Amazing that even such a night as this would awaken so much that is beautiful in me and the world.
In those brief moments, it feels like bliss can carry me to safety and escape. Like I’m invincible again! I’ve got the whole universe in my head, and everything’s under my control.
I can feel the relief that comes from emancipation…But ah the irony…I feel less like anything’s important, I feel like nothing’s important! I feel no motivation I thought to find with the shackles released, I see no future in this design, no passions renewed. There is no point...
So it’s the end.
In that peace that comes what hope do I find?
Only in conflict it seems I thrive.
Passion’s deflated when my mind’s elated; only more trouble I find
Nay, it wasn’t the right passion!
Once I find it, I will never let go.
In that peace that comes what hope do I find?
Only in conflict it seems I thrive.
Passion’s deflated when my mind’s elated; only more trouble I find
Nay, it wasn’t the right passion!
Once I find it, I will never let go.
***
R: I'm preoccupied with sexuality and stuff
L: Hm how so?
R: No matter how hard I try to force myself to like it or let myself go, I just can't stop from hating myself
L: Why do you find yourself hating yourself --- is it possible to put that into words?
R: I don't know...it just always seeps in somehow. I can keep the thoughts and feelings at bay for only so long. It's like I always come to the realization I'll never be perfect..if that makes sense
L: Define perfect. I think that you are seeing this in a light where being perfect is about being what is prescribed to you at a young age all the way until you grow up
L: Am I correct?
Me: Seems to fit
L: Think about it this way. What do YOU want out of life
Me: Nothing. I want to be something I'm not
L: Ok I think you're misinterpreting my question. what do you want to DO in life that you will find is meaningful
R: Nothing. I really don't find anything meaningful. I'm limited on all fronts, and even if I weren't I could never set myself on something as if it were important. Everything is the same, it's only as valuable as others make it, I don't have my own beliefs and I don't have any reason to hold strong to my own beliefs or wants. and I cant get out of this mentality, because I can't find any reason to think I'm more important than anyone else
L: If that is the case though, how then would you define perfect if you feel that there is no reason to think you're more important than anyone else?
R: It's whatever others want
L: Ok, so what you're saying is that you find little use in finding meaning within yourself but feel guilt for not being perfect in relation to what other people want you to be?
R: It's not directly what they want me to be. i just know my vision of perfect is too close to what mainstream wants. i just can't find things important...i don't know what it is
R: And sometimes i do find things important and engage in life...but the dark feeling just comes over me eventually
L: So you feel as though societal norms and pressures about what is perfect will keep just jumping in and putting you in a state of loss? Bot loss but... at a loss for what you want out of life
R: Well trouble is I don’t know if it's society or me that really wants to be something different
L: This sounds to me to also be a social pressure, though you know yourself more than I do
R: I find myself asking myself more and more if it's really possible to feel 'me' as a boy. But I can't feel like being a girl would fit
L: Are you saying that you feel that in order to be perfect is that you have to 100% be of the opposite gender of the person you are eventually to fall in love with?
R: Hm. When you put it that way it makes sense...
L: Well, I think you need to put this in perspective, that value is a social construction because it is cemented into your head because you were taught as a child that there has to be a male and a female in a relationship.
R: I know. But how do I tell if it's really just me that believes it and I'm not just surrendering to society
L: If it really is just you who believes it, that belief has to originate from somewhere. No one innately finds conflict in who they feel they are to fall in love with. Without there being societal pressures tied into it
R: I guess so. How do I got about changing it then?
L: Ask yourself this, you feel that falling in love with men is a part of your sexual orientation, correct?
(I've never fallen in love with anyone. But I guess I feel like I always naturally gravitate to men. I'd leave women alone at my own discretion).
R: I suppose so.
L: Alright, so ask yourself, if other people who accept it and are completely fine with it exist, could it be that they don't find conflict with their gender and their sexuality because they are looking through the conflicting messages from within themselves, and what messages they are looking at socially. And they see that these social messages are the ones that are harmful to them. And that is how they have learned to accept themselves. and that perhaps, what you need for yourself is socialization with people who acknowledge your sexual orientation is what makes you perfect. Does that make sense to you?
L: Just remember. It is all a social construction that has changed throughout history. Not something that is set in stone but something that was assumed to be normal by humans
R: Won't we always be at war with the world? Won't there always be some people, and some mind in the human psyche that hates us? And so we'll always have to be vigilante.
(Perhaps it's me to whom I'm referring...)
L: That is the result of privilege and differences after all, those who want to be equal must fight the price that those who are privileged put up to keep the inequality going, even though our privileges or lack thereof are ascribed and always with us
R: Well i should probably be getting to sleep.
L: Good luck, and don't be afraid to ask me for help if you need it
R: Thanks again, goodnight
L: Good night
I spent the next few hours walking around the room not knowing what to do. I kept playing back the conversation in my head to get back the good times. As always.
***
What's not so good about the passage of time and progressing through life is the inevitable career decision. I'm at the end of my third year, I don't have any clear or even general goal in sight. Am I trusting in the artist's compensation too much? I wonder if I even am an artist anymore. Too much time spent in school, adjusting my own mind to others' dogmas. I've felt like I can't write for weeks...it's felt much longer than that. Even a day without writing or reading seems like I'm wringing out my mind for a day.
***
Hi,
You seem to be a pretty interesting person (and it doesn't matter if you think you're not). I'm curious about your story. Would you mind telling me your tale?
Well I was gonna write up a whole story, and by now I guess I've disappointed you, but I just can't find it in me to write anymore. I feel so hopeless and sad. I don't have any friends to talk to, I'm not going to have any future career. A fellow student died last week. I realized I didn't even know who he was, even though he was in my class...I then realized it could've been me, and no one would've known different. I find the future more and more bleak as time goes by. School is my last sanctuary, it's the last piece of freedom left over from childhood. I have only to look forward to a life of mediocrity.
I wonder what's the point of going on. Trust me, I'm nothing special. I always half-ass things because I don't have the energy or purpose to commit. I've regressed so far into hipsterism, wading in a mire of relativity. I only wish for the old times, those were the ones that were bright and sunny. And warm.
Now I realize, every day I can't wait for the end. I just want to go to sleep forever. I'm never going to have love, my own essence shudders from its depths. Friendship will come and go, never to leave me open and think "It was all worth it, and I wouldn't do it any other way". Food and sex have diminishing returns, and never quite fulfill what's so empty in me. Sure, my family is there. But in fact, they are the ones who poisoned my growth to become so rigid and masochistic. If they are all that hold me to life, I don't have much to live for.
Don't feel disappointed. I originally wanted to write out an entire message on how you should really look up and see the world for the beatiful place it is. I then realized that if I were to do so, I'd be lying to you and to myself. Frankly, I put on facades. People think of me what I them to think of me.
I do not have to much to say except that I want to thank you. I relate very well to what you've written. Maybe I'll turn out like you in a few years. I am still a raw schoolkid, 16, while you're 24. I wonder if I'll ever meet someone I won't mind waking up with even at 5:30 in the morning on a Monday. The friendships that I supposedly have with my friends all feel so superficial at the end of the day. When I head to bed, I stare at the wall and think about all these things.
You've managed to write about how I feel. So, thanks.
And a note on the hipster-ism thing - examine yourself. If the things you enjoy are considered to be hipster, you should think deeply about why you enjoy them. If the joy you get from doing a certain thing is genuine, then forget whatever societal labels there are.
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's
Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein
I have to admit today felt very different. It was upon waking up and checking my email that I saw my philosophy professor gave me the extension I needed to finish my paper. I've been sick with a terrible flu for 3 days stuck in bed; nausea, delirium, hallucinations while dreaming (don't ask why, but somehow I just know there's something psychotic to them), migraines, throwing up, the whole gamut.
I felt like my state of mind was transported back to high school when I'd stay at home and listen to my Sgt Pepper's vinyl record while playing World of Warcraft. Later on I would put on Lennon's Mind Games (ah yes, Meat City). I'd just not care about the deadlines, restrictions, responsibilities...I felt like I had time to waste, and the time you can waste is strangely to be valued so highly.
For some reason the voice of Warren Zevon came to me, howling that old tune. I kept playing that song in my head, and everything felt whimsical. I paid no attention to the fact that I hadn't showered in over a week, and spent 3 days sweating underneath three layers of blankets (also that I hadn't changed my clothing all the while). So I just walked through the streets with my overgrown shaggy hair and unkempt beard donned with sunglasses, as I passed people I realized I shouldn't care what they think - how the heck are they gonna remember me anyhow, I already established with myself that they wouldn't!
I think it's this strange paradoxical world one has to live in to be great, or even just happy. Or maybe it's just the remedy to my self-contrarian/maladaptive nature. I'm sure it won't last. But at least I had this day. I could feel what it was like to be young again. The feeling of not being depressed is so alien to me, as I walked through the isles of the grocery store I felt like anything could trip me into that pit again. No longer did I feel the core of negativity in me. And what was most precious: I actually felt things. I felt emotions and didn't ruminate on them and their consequences. I wasn't worried about being vulnerable. I didn't have the inner loop of criticism constantly running. I realized it's my own thoughts that are my enemy.
***
Sometimes...especially when I listen to old rave or techno songs, I get this picture I my head of a perfect snowy day in the city, or the middle of summer and everything's at peace, or those lush fall evenings when the wind's just a bit rainy and you feel like it refreshes you (The image of Banjo Kazooie is linked to these experiences in my mind, as is the desert of Tanaris and The Hinterlands in World of Warcraft). Somehow the one brings me to the other and rebounds back. You think about the sand and the water at the beach, the trees swaying in the wind, the colours saturating your senses, and finally there’s peace in your mind.
I stand upon the brink of destruction - I have many times. I write with some semblance of beauty left. It would seem as though these toxins have made little effect on my soul. Still in me is a vision of a better life...I stand alone yet again, on this cliff, as I have many times before. The wind cushions my skin while it caresses the wavy grass, sending me into exhilaration. Just as I think I'm out of it - I sink back in. I remember I'm not a writer. And it all collapses. If I'm not a writer I'm nothing. I can't do anything else. It's not that I'd rather do something other than write, it's just I'm 'done'. I'm idle. Just can't make up my mind I guess.
Playing in the dirt
We find the seeds of doubt
Don't water them with your tears
Don't think about all the years
You'd rather be without
After the past few days of gloomy rain, the sun helps. The warmth helps. The cool breeze, floating through the trees, caressing my lungs and sating my mind to peace; all that indeed helps.
Yes! I'm gonna take it all up again. I'm gonna live like I tried to last summer. It'll be the Summer of Roe, except without my fiancée dying alongside other Seinfeldian tragedies.
***
The other night Good Will Hunting was on and it made me realize everything I needed to be. I know it's just a movie but it really hit on the stuff I've been thinking and feeling. Having considered becoming a therapist, I put myself in the place of Sean (Robin Williams). For a while I was trying to memorize and catch on to what he was doing, to learn how it is to be a good therapist. To know the tricks and techniques to beating Will's games...as if it's so clinical and sterile. Halfway through I realized I wasn't really reacting to what Will was saying. I wasn't feeling things and letting myself be vulnerable.
You'll never have that kind of relationship in a world where you're afraid to take the first step because all you see is every negative thing 10 miles down the road.
I don't give things a chance, I don't give people a chance in life because I'm afraid that I'll lose them. So I just don't even try. Because my parents didn't support me...because they weren't there for me when i needed it. Because they yelled at me when I didn't do anything, because they yelled at me because I had some need to express, and it was getting in the way, making things worse.
And all along my teenage life I've had personae invented, characters that I've played that fit some situation I was in. I never got to know who I was, and the chance to truly grow as a person was snuffed out.
So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help.
I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart.
I could read any book and memorize any verses, but I could never know what it's like to really feel those things...I could be as prepared as any student for an exam, but I could never know what it is to understand their ideas and to think for myself... To be completely vulnerable, to wake up with someone and feel happy. Like Minnie Driver and Matt Damon in the one scene in bed.
You'll have bad times, but it'll always wake you up to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to.
I had a dream...and it was oddly about a boy. He had dark hair and skin slightly tan. Even more oddly we were in my sister's bed. He was in boxers and a shirt, as I slipped it off I felt a rush of happiness. I enjoyed making him happy as we smiled we embraced, and I felt complete. I felt secure. Yet my desire to describe, to analyze, to criticize was all gone. In that one dream I felt the sweet freedom I had been longing to attain, and in doing so my manacles and machinations that I had used so often in writing and thinking were gone. And yet, I didn't seem to miss them. When I awoke there was something stronger, something more resilient about me. It was like that day at the grocery store, except infinitely more real, more natural, more immune. As the days went by I tried to hold on to that feeling, and that dream, yet they inevitably slipped away.
As soon as I start to dig deeper something gets in the way, usually my parents threatening to charge rent over the summer if I don't get a job. I suddenly feel as if all that I've worked for is meaningless, that my daily existence isn't validated unless I have a salary. It's as if they don't really respect me enough to think what I'm doing on my own time and volition is valuable.
A friend I've known since middle school replied to my usual end-of-school email asking how things went. I told him I've been considering antidepressants since I don't seem to be making much progress with my issues. What he sent back was quite unexpectedly deep and helpful. He reminded me of what I need to do: "I know its hard, but as soon as you start having negative thoughts you HAVE to catch yourself and turn them around so that those negative thoughts don't become your default setting." I felt a sense of relief and trust as he reassured me; "Don't feel pressured by the need to make money or fit a certain stereotype. Just find something that turns you on and the rest will follow. It's more about making yourself happy and enjoying your life than doing what you think you ought to be doing. If school doesn't do it for you then it'll be something else that does."
It's strange to think; I've done all this introspection and questioning yet I'd give it all up for the chance at just a healthy life, with friends, love, some natural skills, interests and motivations. I'd give it all up to live that dream again. It was only for a brief moment until the sun set on that perfect day... But naught for rumination; now is the time for action.
Move yourself
You always live your life
Never thinking of the future
Prove yourself
You are the move you make
Take your chances win or loser
See yourself
You are the steps you take
You and you - and that's the only way
Shake - shake yourself
You're every move you make
So the story goes
Owner of a lonely heart
Owner of a lonely heart
Much better than - a
Owner of a broken heart
Owner of a lonely heart
Say - you don't want to chance it
You've been hurt so before
Watch it now
The eagle in the sky
How he dancin' one and only
You - lose yourself
No not for pity's sake
There's no real reason to be lonely
Be yourself
Give your free will a chance
You've got to want to succeed
Owner of a lonely heart
Owner of a lonely heart
Much better than - a
Owner of a broken heart
Owner of a lonely heart
After my own decision
They confused me so
My love said never question your will at all
In the end you've got to go
Look before you leap
And don't you hesitate at all - no no
Owner of a lonely heart
Owner of a lonely heart
Much better than - a
Owner of a broken heart
Owner of a lonely heart
Sooner or later each conclusion
Will decide the lonely heart
It will excite it will delight
It will give a better start
Don't deceive your free will at all
Don't deceive your free will at all
Don't deceive your free will at all
Just receive it
Owner of a lonely heart
