So, I'm sitting here at my computer, pissed off because I need a quick and easy answer as to just who the fuck I am. What does that frigging question even mean. I've asked myself all the cliché questions because they've all felt genuine at one time or another, and I'll like an answer, please. So, no one is about to help me out with this, so I get to be self reliant again. Hoo-fucking-rah. I just want to go to sleep and not be plagued by all the ignorance and death that's floating around. Ignorance and death and unfulfillment are the shits. Why the hell am I cursing so much? I wasn't doing this before. I thought I had it under control. I'm going to play a game now. The game will not be given a title or name. It's just this: How do I feel about cursing now more than before?
My identity is like a tiny flame. I think I'll crush it at any minute. What if it's actually a bonfire and I just can't see it? What if it's the biggest, most beautiful thing I may ever know, and I'll miss that because I'm too busy worrying that it will blow out. If it is a small fire, easily blown out, then I have made it that way. I'm not alone, but I'm not sure what to do about it. Which is more important, truth or happiness? Compassion or stark reality? You've got one life to live as far as we know- should you enjoy it (is it really your reality to mold as you please?) or are you responsible for it and to others? If so, where did that responsibility come from, and who made it yours?
Debts Owed(written some time in January 2003)
He's always finding faults but won't hold them against you
He reminds me of the childhood best friend I never had
She's the one case I could make for conformity
I talk about "humanity" and she says that's bad
If the eagle would open her heart up to me, I'd learn to say the right things
If the cave bat would wait we might heal
I am a believer; I know that she sings
But the flying fox leave me alone to congeal
If the cream colored mule knows what he needs
Why won't he audaciously take it?
And if I really heed all the symbols he heeds,
Then why through the coals do we rake it?
If they're my responsibility, when did they become it?
What do I owe the oblivious crimson bunny?
Why do I feel like I'm denying the angry frog what he deserves?
What debt did I incur with the melted peacock?
"You would love them" is not a judgement on you
Just a casting of characters not in your theater district
And if they weren't mine, I might not prescribe them as the medicine of life
As it is...
Right now, only questions themselves seem to be able to answer the question of "Who am I?" Is a political agenda the only reason for staying alive? Is it right to let other people make you challenge your belief in what you stand for? Is that healthy re-evluation or weakness on the part of you and your platform of beliefs? There is so much to life that it's overwhelming. All the things that call your attention. Perhaps we are so insignificant that it doesn't matter what we think, or perhaps each person needs to dedicate themselves to a cause. We can't all fix every problem in the world. Do we even bother? Do we only fix the ones that interest us? Do we work toward fixing the most pressing problems, and how are we to decide what those are? Does it matter how you are informed, just as long as you are informed? Do you need to be knowledgeable about one thing, or is having one sort of exemplary quality enough? If you're trying to be an individual, you can't even listen to the rebels. If you want to interact with people, it seems inevitable that they're going to change you, because they'll challenge you and somewhere inside you there'll be the desire to please them, but in the end you won't be able to please them by just believing everything they believe, or by agreeing with them. You have to be your own person. It's just so hard though. Look: opportunity. It could be anything:
I'm not looking to you for an answer. Maybe I'm not even looking to me for an answer. I just like the questions. Let's ask more.
Why is it that whenever people are late, the waiting party immediately wonders if they have died, as though only death could keep them from punctuality? Is the purpose of making mistakes to learn from the mistakes, or to learn how to make mistakes without becoming uncomfortable? Why does being in (reciprocated) love make me feel strong and detached? My new least favorite (or most hated) words are DECADENCE, DECLINE, and DEPRESSION. They're all about the unpleasant decay of the great things that can be, and I don't think there's anything worse than deterioration of things that were once good and then because a strain to keep up, or that fall into disrepair, particularly when they're things you cherish that you don't want to lose. I'm always afraid of because distant from the friends that I care so much about, but for some reason I find it hard to open up with then or sometimes even carry on a conversation. I just don't know how to be strong.
It feels most honest to be a learner and a questioner, because there is no stereotype for those. There's the college student, but I am not a college student, and I reight now intend to be those things for all my life. I will be a learner and questioner, just because they seem ture. And new.
April 27, oh three.
Floating in space
Am I missing something?
The familiar ways- all the familiar ways- are not to be trusted
I'm so good at seeing things from other people's perspectives that I don't know where my own perspective is
I blame the movies
Subtle Subtle Subtle Subtle Subtle Subtle
I see now
I can't hunt down th source. The mob doesn't see. The hope can't see me but it must know I'm here.
Why can't you see? Why do they choose blindness? How can he not know? She's lying when she says she can't explain.
Don't be clinding by consumerism! Shopping is not a hobby! What is image anyway? You'll be dead physically anyway.
If someone has said it before, is it still my voice my voice? How can you still be back there? Don't be content as a proletariat. Don't be content.
If you are able to love take a six month's leave, just don't be blinded in your contentment. It's real, but there's more. You won't fall as long as you remember there's more.
Reality is large and ugly and loud and haha has a stuffed nose.
I'm not here to affirm you. I mean that encouragingly.
I'm so tired tonight (if I've used the word "tonight" earlier on this page, note that it means a different tonight from this one here- WIP, work in progress). I'm burned out. I just want to sleep, I've been having trouble focusing recently, I'm mentally and physically beat. I need a long sleep and some thoughtless movies/books/entertainment for about a straight week, and then I might get back to normal. I'm getting annoyed at my friends' jokes, which is a clear sign that I'm pushing it since so much of their humor is mocking me. Generally, I love it. But some of it gets old quick. Like friend A whom I love making facetious racial slurs to friend B whom I'm fond of when friend B's humor is somewhat different from friend A's. I'm just tired and I think I'm taking things a little too seriously. I'm too tired to read or research and not tired enough to sleep- so what do I do? Edit my website, of course.
My identity is no longer hidden somewhere on the internet. It's not something I will get in touch with by doing menial chores, it is not in music or dreams and I will not find it by thinking about it or by acting subservient. It's outside. It's out in the world. It's soaring around waiting for me to match it. I can't fly high if I obsess over the intangible- i.e. this website. I have to go act. The sun and the air and sweat and blood and passion. I will not mold over- I will shake the moss from me and be. Pursue. Live.
2/27/06
Hearken. Think. Respond. (my version of Danny Zamora's philosophy, or one of them. Can't decide how I want #1--absorb/attend/listen/pay attention/observe)
When was I my most authentic today: crying in the SRC and then talking to Jamie about coming out, getting distracted by books (Arabian Nights!) in the library
