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Thursday, 19 February 2009

Monday, 16 February 2009

  • Well, hello.  I read something earlier today that made me want to revisit Xanga, see what the old Xangans were up to.  And in fact, I haven't actually visited the people I wanted to visit.  I may run out of time.  Class at noon.  Homework constant throughout the day.  Very few things are constant, and yet so many at the same time.

    I'm probably going to get angry halfway through writing this.  I'm talking to my friend Linzy, whose life is a tragedy.  I avoid Facebook because of it.  I have no time to listen to chemicals telling me how terrible of a life they have inside a body.  I have lost all my patience for misfiring synapses that keep a body up all night long, lonely and with no motivation to carry on -- but plenty of motivation to allude to death.  Attention-starved axions that receive constant attention and affection.  They received the comfort of sleep and silence from my own bed, for God's sake, when I wanted nothing more than to sleep next to the man who told me earlier that day that he does not want a relationship.  I'm tired of trying to reason with disease.

    But I'm not quite angry yet.  I haven't been on Xanga in a long while.  It's really too bad.  I run out of things to say.  I feel like every time I write, I complain.  I mope.  But in life I'm not a mopey person.  In life, I often tend to the opposite.  I enjoy feeling good.  I learned long ago that you get to choose your happiness, that momentary lapses will inevitably occur and that when they do, you accept the temporary sorrow -- then move on.  Tears are the greatest proof for me of the existence of God.  Mourn for what is lost, then look ahead for the future that is gained.

    Too many people mourn the future.  They look for what they hoped would be, what they expected to come, what they waited to happen.  Then when some event in the present occurs to disband their hopes, dreams, and expectations from reaching realization, they mourn the opportunity they have lost.  But they have lost nothing.  The future was not theirs to begin with.  The future is not something we own until it is no longer the future.


    Sorry for the dissertation on life.  I think I need to pee and eat.  That would help me out greatly at the moment.  I have class at noon.  Homework is a constant.  My mirror is filled with events and assignments (but also love!).


    I'm sorry for the shitty ass writing here.  I just needed to write.  It's a cathartic experience, just the writing, even when the writing is something like nonsense.

    And Bilal, don't give up on humanity.  Don't give up on love.  Those of us who make you doubt in strangers as well as friends are some of the same who will become the greatest examples of the intense capacity of mankind to do good in this world.  To love in this world.

Thursday, 25 December 2008

  • I Choose My Boyfriends by Their First Initial ("J")

    I never write on here anymore.  I know.
    I should be writing about Christmas-related things.  I'm not.
    I should appreciate the time off from stressful school.  I don't.

    Happy Holidays.  Merry Christmas.  Happy Whatever-It-Is-You-Celebrate.  They're all good wishes, anyway.

    James is my boyfriend.  Jeremy is my soulmate -- I truly believe this.  In the short span of one year, all I do and all I know has been changed by the influences of Jeremy.  Even the way of use dashes, with a single space between the dash and the word, as shown earlier in this paragraph, I adopted from Jeremy.  He has enough of me to crush me, to break me, to shatter my heart into tiny bleeding pieces.  And he has.  And yet, I still find myself wanting to be with him.

    We say "I love you" over the phone when ending conversations.  We've designated rules for our friendship to keep us close yet far enough away.  We've decided that in 150 years we will get together, fly to Canada, and get married.  He's told me that he's "COUNTING on you being around in 150 years."  We want each other, just not right now.

    Or rather, we want each other; he just doesn't want me right now.  He wants to live a little.  Explore his options.  Make sure there isn't someone better out there for him.  He believes I'm the one.  He believes there is no one better.  But he has this uncanny ability to pretend that the boy he's currently having sex with is a potential lifelong mate.  It always fails.  He's playing with these other boys, too.

    I've tried to be so nonchalant.  I've done my share of hookups, my share of attempts at dating others.  But when I look at James, when I kiss James, when I'm alone with James, I feel displaced.  Things are not right with James.  He himself is ideal: gay, Christian, Republican, brought the "GOD IS LOVE" sign to the gay rights protest against the Westboro Baptists.  He's intelligent, just nerdy enough, fairly skilled in bed (never had sex, though, just judging from other things).  Perfect in so many ways.  And yet I do not want him.  I do not love him.

    I love Jeremy, the lying, cheating, indecisive, insecure, blaspheming, lonely, afraid, and arrogant bastard and coward.  He has hurt me very deeply four times.  He runs away from whatever it is he finally gets his hands on.  He does the exact opposite of whatever advice you give him.  He can be so cruel and insensitive, so kind and charming.  He's the guy I'd demand that you run away from.  And yet I find myself unable.  I love him so dearly.  I hate him, too.  The feelings I have for him have never been so intense for anyone else.  I truly believe that he is my soulmate, that he is the man God has placed on this earth for me.  He is quite flawed, and yet I love him.

    This is Christmas Eve, and I cannot stop thinking about Jeremy.  Jeremy finds himself able to date other guys, even with the knowledge that he loves me and wants to end up with me.  I cannot.  I have tried.  Hookups don't work.  Dating (even someone as perfect as James) doesn't work.  I am trapped in limbo with Jeremy, never fully friends but never fully lovers.  When the time comes, I'll have to have a decision:  Will Jeremy pretend that we have skipped ahead 150 years and will now be faithfully mine, or will I have to cast my hopes for Jeremy aside and pray that God may bless me with another (though less frustrating, hopefully) love?

    I go to Jeremy's New Year's party.  I'm going to tell him that I changed my mind about kissing at midnight.  He wanted to know if we could do it; I said we could not.  I think we can.  Probably a bad idea, but what better way to bring in the New Year than by openly loving the man you've loved almost immediately after meeting?


    I'll be ending it with James once school resumes.  I'll be ending this madness with Jeremy whenever I can no longer handle this current state of friendship.


    Merry Christmas, everybody!  Such a terrible update, I know, because I haven't updated you on anything.  If this is what family and Christmas stress does, then so be it.  These are the issues governing my thoughts this Christmas season.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

  • The Only Language in which Words Dance

    I wanted to post this poem on my Facebook, but it's long and no one would read it.  So instead I posted "Hyla Brook" by Robert Frost, definitely one of my favorites -- possibly my second favorite.  Still, I want to discuss the intensity of Dylan Thomas's metaphor in "Fern Hill."  I want to present the idea of the sun as a visitor, a traveller, one that flees every night and comes back in the morning.  We, as human beings, take for granted the fact that the sun will return in the morning.  But on that first night, the very first night of existence, things must have felt different.  There was no way of knowing what would happen, no way to tell if the sun will return again.  No way to discern if nightfall would fall forever.  We return to this near the end of our lives--is tomorrow another day for us, or is tonight the night we leave?  In youth, we take the ascension of the sun as given and therefore "run [our] heedless ways" with the world, living for not one thing in particular.  In age, we see with more clarity that the sun cannot burn forever.

    "Fern Hill"
    By:  Dylan Thomas
    Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
    About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
        The night above the dingle starry,
            Time let me hail and climb
        Golden in the heyday of his eyes,
    And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
    And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
            Trail with daisies and barley
        Down the rivers of the windfall light.

    And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
    About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
        In the sun that is young once only,
            Time let me play and be
        Golden in the mercy of his means,
    And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
    Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
            And the sabbath rang slowly
        In the pebbles of the holy streams.

    All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
    Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
        And playing, lovely and watery
            And fire green as grass
        And nightly under the simple stars
    As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
    All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
            Flying with the ricks, and the horses
        Flashing into the dark.

    And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
    With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
        Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
            The sky gathered again
        And the sun grew round that very day.
    So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
    In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
            Out of the whinnying green stable
        On to the fields of praise.

    And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
    Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
        In the sun born over and over,
            I ran my heedless ways,
        My wishes raced through the house high hay
    And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
    In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
            Before the children green and golden
        Follow him out of grace,

    Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
    Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
        In the moon that is always rising,
            Nor that riding to sleep
        I should hear him fly with the high fields
    And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
            Time held me green and dying
        Though I sang in my chains like the sea

Monday, 17 November 2008

  • Quick Update

    Here we go:

    I came out to my mother.  It went as well as it could possibly have gone -- considering my mother.

    I have a boyfriend now.  His name is James.  We plan on taking things slow, especially since he has absolutely no time this semester for anything.

    I dont know how school is going.  I'll find out when the four tests I took last week come back.  I anticipate 1 or 2 C's, 1 or 2 B's, and an A.  Unfortunately the C I'm pretty confident about is Chemistry, and the A is in something stupid like Spanish.

    I'm exhausted.

    Sandy actually took three Jello shots in 30 minutes.  Holy hell!  I wish I could have been there to see the little Asian girl down those.

    Marzock will be playing at the Hard Rock Cafe in Station Square on November 21.  Doors open at 9.  Admission is $9. 

    "Jena loves me absolutely, completely, wholly."



    I can't think of more.  it's 2:38 AM.  I need my sleep.  Goodnight

fortitudenow

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