saml

I’m freezing here alone

And there’s nothing I will do
The warmth in my control

And yet my troubles freezing too

I have a choice and no choice at all

With in the prison cell of being

I will not escape the confines,

This is who I tend to be

The ends are all the same

And the method of denial

What the human calls the self

Is naught without a child’s terror left to wonder   

You’ll find the flavors only numb

Nothing matters

No, nothing

Least of all my soulless me

Here I can remember that I’m alive, make sense of my mental and physical circumstance and offer myself to something or someone else out there: All without having to decorate my tone or phrasing to coax some defensive, condescending, skeptic into listening. In this machine, I don’t have to defend my intentions or exercise caution to limit evocation of negative judgment. I can be my biological-biosocial self, character flaws and all, without the burden of bending according to the consequent reactions I perceive. As far as the eye can see, I’m sharing with everybody; faceless, singular, and impersonal much like nobody. And while my brain embraces this analogous absence of social anxiety, it is still infused with the alleviation of secrecy and privacy. In other words I still receive the liberation that comes with sharing. This is my liberation, my full expression of self. And here I cannot cause many abrasions in my immediate surroundings consisting of fellow humans, all of whom are as guarded, selfish, and self-centered as me.

Lesson of the day: Do not rush to polarize ambiguity; it exists intentionally. Without complications, living is only a series of facts.

I had a conversation with these two guys over break and for the first time, I picked up on the pervading insanity in the male species. Guys are nuts.  But I know girls are nuts too.

I don’t know. I’ve been feeling bitter; really fucking bitter about the existence of relationship dynamics and the fact that having one is important to me at all. I hate all the heartache I’ve felt and caused myself in pursuit of attaining one and losing.

Sometimes it sucks to have this nonchalant attitude masking this potent sensitivity. But it would make sense that my character developed precisely to mask what I perceived to be my most glaring flaw.

I wish I had a place to run to or close friends to rely on. But I have really shitty things to say, and I don’t trust people to understand or sympathize with this pain I feel as a result of over-indulging in what I thought at the time to be glamour.

Maybe it started before that, and the mistakes I’ve made in adolescence just give me an excuse to be sad. But when a boy misreads my overtly flirtatious humor and tries to convince me I led him on, it makes me want to starve myself. It makes me resent the presentation of self I’ve developed, and though I have control over how I act, certain mechanisms are so engrained without them I feel naked.

At one time starving myself was my defense mechanism and because distracting myself from hunger pangs was always on my mind, I never felt naked. Maybe that’s what a relationship is for me in some ways; just a constant, something or someone I know will always be there. It’s sick. I was sick. But we’re all sick in some ways. We all find self destructive coping mechanisms and I’m often afraid to talk about mine because well: I don’t care for the skeptical glares that come when I mention drugs, or the ambiguity people offer when talking about sex and relationships, or the fucking eye roles when talking about eating disorders. Just in general, I fear to face apathy when sharing shitty experiences and I don’t want to have to defend my intentions.

The worst part is all three of those, though they stem from deep rooted insecurities and complex psychological agendas, are also tied to very vein and superficial motivations. I can’t help but be disgusted with myself when I think about all the stages of self-destruction I consented to take part in.  

I wish I could rest. Find a place to drop my baggage off and a person that made me feel wonderful and valuable. But looking for that safe haven seems to add to the desperation to find one. It’s just another self-destructive project to keep me company in the empty moments. But what isn’t? What is the right balance of self-care and social intrigue that will illuminate the bitterness and let me feel all warm and fuzzy?

No one has the answer. Because everyone on this planet is equally confused they are just more or less delusional in their reductionist theories. And I know I have not been adhering to anything close to what I understand to be a good balance. But I am better than I was last semester, I am building strength. It’s just frustrating sometimes to not be as strong and unaffected as I want to be, and then feel the consequences of the action I take in moments of weakness.

Nothing major, just times I elected to play instead of work take a toll on my self-worth. But writing helps. I hope you understand. I hope you care.

I have a hard time trusting people to actually give a *** when they have nothing to gain from caring. Compassion is submission of self, and who want to take off their armor in this crazy cut-throat world. I don’t. And I project my feelings and philosophies which I have come to understand, onto the entire human race. I hate my own sadness so I assume everyone else must hate my sadness too. But I think there is tremendous potential for growth in challenging that error in thinking. Because it’s not the sadness that drove me to act against my health, it was the refusal to sit with it and the great lengths I was willing to go to in order to deny it.

So there it is my break in an emotional hologram of a nutshell.

You know how I’m all about presenting internal conflicts despite the fact that self-care is deemed weak by society?  As I believe Indifference is a pathetic disguise masquerading beneath the term “socially acceptable.” We are afraid to take care of our emotions simply because we would then be admitting vulnerability to intangible burdens. Apparently that’s kind of gay. We must all be mechanisms of nature; submitting only to the natural impulses to sleep, eat, excrete and the optional *** (for those who allow themselves the luxury of succumbing to the “shackles of desire”).  

But G-d damn, it is so much harder to call society out on its bullshit when whisked away by the dramas of social interaction. Intellectually I know the world is bigger than the interpersonal one, but when so much of me is stimulated by the electricity of connectivity, I become so afraid to come down from the communally induced high.

I love to be loved. I love to be needed. I love to be of service. Perhaps more than I love the ecstasy of self-earned success.  Because what good is bliss when you have no one to share it with?

That question is of course a rhetorical one and not a concrete stance. I have to think about it too. How much am I willing to compromise one kind of pleasure at the expense of the other? How can I balance those things now so I will obtain the life I desire in the future? And who’s to say what is right or wrong or best or worst when it is all a matter of self preservation anyway?

What is best for us will be defined differently in every setting and circumstance and that is why we must choose for ourselves and extend our awareness to the procurements and consequences. No one would like to sacrifice in vein but at the same time no one would like to absent mindedly throw away opportunity.  

I have a vague idea of what I want now and what I want 10 years from now. Unfortunately following my every whim won’t lead me to my long-term goals. I know. It sucks. If only I could do drugs, sleep around, and skip homework while maintaining physical health, a high self esteem, and a steady climb toward my college degree. The world screwed me.

No I’m just kidding. In all honesty I don’t want to do drugs that often and I really don’t want to sleep around. I just wish self-care and exhilaration were one in the same. And sometimes they are. But I can’t always distinguish and unfortunately when something tastes good there is always this looming assumption that it must be bad for me.

For example: Anyone remember But I’m a creep? My tribute to a very interesting boy who was fortunate enough to cross me. Well, the *** is back in my life. Now, I neglected to inform you guys for two reasons. The first being the famous busy bee excuse. I was all too consumed in half-assing my work load, living it up, dancing, chasing boys, kissing girls, and repairing said creeps impression of me for my own self-indulgent validation. The second reason is because I didn’t want to reflect upon the rekindling of our friendship with honesty; I was scared to reach an unsatisfying conclusion. When every impulse in my IDs and ego were telling me a friendship with him is what I want, I shuddered to confront the fact that it may not be good for me.

That’s why I started this entry bitching about how hard it is to maintain ones values in a socially charged atmosphere. The stakes are different. It’s almost like some law of group psychology forbids you from taking the time to truly perceive things individually when you are satisfied by the group dynamic. It goes against a very potent intuition to meddle when pleasure surges throughout your senses.

And I don’t know if I can label this joyous relationship as toxic. I really don’t know if I’m going against some life-fulfilling value for some pleasure seeking gain. That’s why I’m writing this blog. I’m trying to recount the events of these past months and reflect upon their present and potential effects; because until now I have not been able to evaluate the condition of my internal world.  I’ve been enthralled by the social Aurora Borealis: glowing masses of colliding logos, ethos, and pathos. And as I stare stimulated and somewhat satisfied, my needs go on neglected masquerading under the pathetic disguise of indifference.

So here I am in this lonely dorm room on Friday night, March the 7th. My friends have left for spring break and my roommate is out for the night. I have a potential party to attend and/or a potential night of romantic indulgence (I would say sexual indulgence but that would inaccurately portray me as an impersonal chauvinist). And yet I am writing this blog. There is no one around to prove myself to and still something inside me tells me I should be doing something cooler/more productive. (***, I have a paper and math work due) Heaven forbid someone catch me in this act of alternating blogging and spider solitaire. I want to do this. Then why is my brain screaming “Sam, could you be a bigger loser?”

A prime example of an ego /ego-ideal conflict; the impulses of who you are vs. the impulses of who you think you ought to be. When I am alone these impulses are hardly conflicting, who I think I should be is untainted by the external judgments I perceive. But when I am stuck in an environment with endless opportunity for interaction, my powers to self-soothe dwindle, and my body screams at me to take advantage of the possibilities for validation and adrenaline.

That’s why I could not ignore this boy, not that I felt the need to for the purpose of maintaining a grudge. I was and still am just a bit apprehensive to readily ignore the intuition that told me I was better off staying out of his narrow path.

In the beginning avoiding him was just fine. My routines were well organized and pursued and my attitude toward him was tasteful and empowering.  I put it best in a portion of this letter I later edited because of its backhanded snideness. But the ideas are well described and the damage is long repaired, so I feel no guilt in quoting this for our amusement.

Ha! I think I’m funny. Anywho, to make a long story short we had a pleasantly awkward reintroduction and my curiosity was from then on percolated. I could not suppress the desire to find out why he was mad at me, how that merited his severing the ties, and why the sudden diplomacy? But I had always wondered those things, what made the intrigue impossible to ignore was his presence and the tantalizing prospect of discovery.

This is my story and when told from my perspective it is about only me and him. But rest assured, there were and are other parties involved. ( Especially because the internet has allowed me to make this petty mellow-drama rather public). But basically in this World-View War, if I am small yet tenacious Serbia and he is self-important power Austria-Hungary then there is most certainly an Italy. Ironic for many reasons this Italy carries the same historical controversy over the exact motivation for the side-swap. I think we can all agree it was in part a reaction to disloyal hostility, a matter of convenience, as well as the result of a preexisting alliance. There’s also a United States, you know… a self proclaimed hero and selfless mediator (wink, wink). And perhaps a Belgium as well, one who tried to commit to contentious neutrality but was eventually bombarded by the wrath of the Central Powers.  

But that is not my concern right now. My concern is Serbia because this is after all, her blog. Whatever I did or didn’t do, was somehow the spring board for a chain of overreactions. And though I seemed to be the origin of all this turmoil, I came out relatively unscathed.  I don’t feel much guilt, I never asked for a raging war. I only refused to comprise my perspective; regardless of my size, circumstance, or stature-I will not be pushed around.

Without having to surrender, he welcomed me back… slowly but surely. He initiated with a reenactment of the early fall semester dynamic: A one sided sparing of pretentious intellectual vs. academically deprived bohemian. He even gave me a good old love punch in the arm followed by a merry “You Suck” during a drunken college celebration. But I wasn’t exactly ready to embrace his teasing as innocent play. Honestly, who the *** was he kidding? Not that I knew this at the time but he read my blogs, letters, indirectly heard my words…

“Of course every things cool, so what if you ignored me like I was some disgraceful human being not worthy of your time?, so what if you were fully aware that I had a crush on you as well as highly regarded our interactions?, So what if you knew your abandonment would and did hurt my feelings? No worries, it all water under the bridge…”

*** You. Seriously. I know you will eventually read this. And thank G-d, because I could never communicate this *** orally with the same candidness. I hope my writing puts it all into perspective for you, baby. You asked me to update the world on the latest in our Saga and I’ll let them know that you’re no longer my antagonist. But you are assigning me borderline sanctity if you think I’m going to let you off with anything close to a clean slate.

When I’m alone, as I am now. Thinking about this still irks me. You just- you wrote me off as a pathetic head-case who wouldn’t leave you alone. By flat out avoiding me you told me that I wasn’t even worth your anger… I wasn’t worth anything to you. And well, these blogs, my letters, our current friendship should say something about how much you were worth to me; even if it was for some unfounded reason. You know as well as I do, attraction is overwhelming, all-consuming, and hardly coincides with logic.  

One of the hardest parts of dealing with the death of that relationship was I didn’t quite know how to feel. How does one mourn the loss of something they’re not sure they ever had? If it had been distinguishable disloyalty it would have been easier to call him an ass-hole and walk away. But this was an internal battle too. I didn’t know if I was entitled to feel betrayed or if I had only to reconcile with myself for assigning him responsibility in a friendship he never asked for. How much of the hurt was justified and how much was self-inflicted by delusions?

I don’t know, but his apology restored my faith in the notion of “human decency.” So it was not just a farce preached in my eccentric tight-knit hippie communities after all... Thank G-d, because I would not like to know the self I would have become without this engrained value. If I can help it I would like to never involve myself again with someone who hesitates to abide by it.

He chose to relieve his personal discomfort over consoling my heartache. That fact will always be true whether the pain was justified or not: He knew it was there and he ignored it. That’s not cool. But I gave our friendship another go because I wanted to. Plain and simple. I like him and the reasons are ones that seem both acceptable and deplorable.

I am stimulated by him because he is the puzzle I struggle to solve, he is the equally valid but opposing perspective, he makes me think, he challenges me, he is a worthy opponent in my eyes and he, being a male specimen of the mildly attractive variety, turns me the *** on.

We spar with equal force now that I have integrated academic pursuit into my priorities and he social status. We use each other, we help each other, and we have fun together.

But fun isn’t enough. I can’t say that this is a healthy relationship. Not yet. Though there are moments when I feel like I can trust him to love me, like I can cry on his shoulder, like I can say anything or nothing at all and he’ll still be there… Sometimes I even love him like a little brother: Probably because we have this kind of shameful origin to our bond. Our current relationship stems from a much needed reconciliation that now eases discomfort with perpetual inside jokes.

We have this history now and we share a mutual forgiveness for the abrasions caused by our conflicting awkward stages. Kinda like family. And the bottom line is he is not the self-preserving obscurantist I feared he was capable of being. And I am hopefully not the nonsensical waste of time he once thought of me. He is the sweet and sensitive person I saw glimpses of under his destructive struggle to mechanize life. He’s different now, he allows himself to be happy. He lets me in, he laughs with me, he reflects with me… he treats me with our unique, stylistic equivalent of respect and I often feel close to him.

But that doesn’t change the guard I now feel inclined to preserve or the foreboding I feel during inklings of attachment.  In my mind I try to keep his friendship dispensable to me because I know I can’t rely on the strength of our camaraderie to persevere.  But I doubt I am capable of true indifference. My ego is still very sensitive and it can hardly stand the “who gives a *** less” game we sometimes play. I only strive for apathy out of fear.

 I, for one, do not trust myself and the reasons for my interest in him to be pure. I’m afraid I long for his company for the stimulation it brings me and/or that I have subconsciously given him authority over my self-worth. I don’t trust my attraction to his character either and I’m afraid it’s just some accidental psychological spell he cast by inadvertently triggering the right sensations and pushing the right buttons at the right times.  

I also don’t trust him not to get caught up in his own obsessive projects. I know better than most that determination quickly turns into rigid and self-destructive pursuit. It’s not the boy who is evil it is the nature of self-deception which his intellect makes him prone to. In rehab they called it tunnel vision; the prospect of light offers a kind of empowering and blind hope. One hardly registers their isolation when all they can think is “must get to the end.” Freud called it the Causa Sui project: A fascinating concept really. And Sometimes I think I am just a part of his; that he treats me well now because I am a useful pawn in his little scheme. Similarly I have to speculate that he might just be a pawn in mine and that I’m projecting care onto him that I want to feel, and not one that he has earned.  

Well this blog took a big fat chunk of out my night and all I figured out was that I have to manage my time better. *** me.

Hi Jordyn... How have you been? I'm not back yet but break is coming soon... Yay!! For now I'm mostly posting assignments.

Wakeful Being

 Like Bathing in Candlelight

Swimming in the lull of warm

Sensation of beating, flowing, falling

 Ripples at the navel

Like the butterflies

 So overt and sinful

While church bells sing

No is subtle

No is safe

No is real

But yes courses through the running water

And bounces off the porcelain tiles

Glowing as the fire sublimes

In the fervor of my senses

In the hems of the fabric

In the secrets

And in the undertones

It’s true that sometimes

The desire never comes

And to the literal

We fall prisoner 

In the abstraction of disappointment

Until clarity conforms like water

Church bells ring outside our psyche

And security sings from the outside in

Was it the departure you thought you wanted?

That shivers outside the womb

Or was it the fervor, the wakeful being

That lives between the tiles

And glows beneath the grout

Across the Street and then across the street again

The man with the mustache sold snow cones

That would leak sticky purple before I could finish

I learned what a yellow Jacket was

And that bumble bees don’t sting

When tag birthed my competitive spirit

The cement bleachers were like big stairs

Concrete grounds for amusement

 The basket ball courts were grounds for breeding

The orgy of 98 he later told me

He didn’t know I was eight back then

But I remember him

When I was little and I would watch the big kids play

And when I was older and they were older still

Until one day “Big” became relative

Because I thought to myself

“If I am still little we must all still be little to someone.”

But we didn’t know it then

Or at least I didn’t

I didn’t know my fear was envy

Or that my envy was fear

But every time I sat there on the concrete bleachers

I would remember my lopsided training wheels

Designed to teach balance

And prepare me for the two-wheeler

I still haven’t learned to ride

 I hope I still have license to go on introspective tangents as if it hasn’t been a month since the last one.

I know I’ve been a negligent blogger lately but love me anyway. My latest thoughts have been channeled in my classes which are, FYI, going well. I’ve more or less, come out of the self-destructive coma that envelopes adolescence.  I’ve been taking good care of myself, maintaining my beliefs, and not doubting the value of my perspective. I’ve realized that sharing my thoughts eloquently free of looming self-doubt is my meaning in this meaningless life. Because well founded arguments can only lead to better counter argument, insight into the nature of perspective, and/or confidence in the ingenuity of one’s reasoning. All of these elicit the orgasmic satiation of accumulating truth.

The argument of the month has been the prosecution and defense of my personal writing style. The result of my advocacy has allowed me to prove the competence of my rationale as well as provoked insightful criticism that will facilitate further progress. The exceptionally bright faculty and students at my school have helped me to realize this:

To be a good writer I have to trust myself. My voice does not emulate from my words when my diction is calculated. I write fluidly, I think methodically, and I much prefer the climax of spontaneity controlled retrospectively than the predictability of rhetoric formula. My talent lies in my honesty. My honesty lies intuitively. I will not sell myself short by ignoring my impulses and doubting the dexterity of my senses.

That being said, I know that I am not my only audience and that language barriers will forever separate society and the self. I know there are choices I will have to make, manipulations I must employ, and allusions I will have to clarify and solidify. But I trust my sense of rhythm and reason and it is that strength in individuality that I believe pushes me into the realm of greatness.

Until the true strife of self sufficiency I have a new youthful struggle before me. And that is the limbic challenge of severing childhood impressionability while resisting the comfortable misery of adult cynicism. We are all jaded by our world-view and that is why we need human interaction. Voicing one’s opinion while keeping an open mind will unravel the greatest pleasures of life.

They are [in my humble opinion] as follows in no particular order

1. Validation of intelligence

 2. Thought provocation

3. Expression of self

4. Accumulation of insight

5. Interpersonal connectivity

I’ve been working on my writing a lot and I’m coming to comprehend the meaning of “Higher Education,” although I couldn’t define it in any way that doesn’t sound trite or vague. I guess I finally feel like my life is my own and I’m not taught to strive for any particular standard. Instead I’m taught how to exercise awareness, sensitivity, and slight skepticism all to sharpen the fluency of my ideas.

P.S. I have so much work to do this weekend but I also have so many updates: New relationships, old ones salvaged, new outlooks… No time. I have a couple of papers I wrote that I’ll post when I “Perfect” them. And one day I’ll get to editing my month-long streams of consciousness.

Life’s pretty good. Kinda exciting, kinda boaring, kinda getting my work done, kina having too much fun, kinda happy, kinda sad… Balanced; Pretty well balanced. I still have pages and pages of notes that were supposed to be comprehensive blogs. Perhaps over some break when I have a bit more time… But  I uh wrote this thing for fiction writing. It’s not edited yet but I’m a fan so far. The assignment was to develop two characters and describe a brief interaction between them. Enjoy.

Goodnight guys. G-dspeed.

Red. “Why red?” He wondered watching her aggressively chip away at today’s fresh coat of finger nail polish.  It seemed too explicitly feminine for the little grunge goddess that she was. Sitting in the front row, smooth legs crossed, faded flannel plaid unbuttoned conveniently at her chest. She was sexy. She knew it. He knew it. He saw no reason not to stare behind his dark Armani frames before the synthetic light faded the UV protected lenses back to clear. He watched her gaze pensively, you know; diagonally upward, lightly biting the eraser on her suspended number two pencil. He smirked. As he very much doubted she was thinking or writing anything at all. She’s an actress, he thought, living on a twenty-four hour stage using seduction as her only motivation. But maybe he just wanted to believe that. He also thought that it was entirely possible his escalading thirst for intrigue was responsible for the hidden intentions and calculated gestures he assigned to her. It was thrilling to believe someone in this crazy world knew what they were doing.

She drops her pencil absent mindedly and searches for its location with a piercing stair. She can feel his gaze narrow in excitement as she gathers her dirty blond hair and rests it on her right soldier. Subtle, she thinks. Be subtle. She lets the sleeve of her flannel blouse fall exposing her left soldiers and extends her arm to pick up the writing utensil she will never use. It’s no secret; they all know she has yet to take a single note in Professor Shevchenko’s Calculus class. But judging simply by the nature of men in general and the mastery she has honed over her allure- she’ll pass.; probably with a B minus. Looking up swiftly and dramatically, she catches his gaze no longer veiled by tinted lenses. Her eyes widen and she cocks her head innocently provoking him to severe the eye contact immediately and bashfully. Scratch that, B+, she reassess.

He didn’t know why, but he decided to look back at her and found her facial expression to be less than surprising. Naturally she looked quite pleased with herself, her little tricks, and her little games. Why do these spoiled college girls think they’re so damn clever? Your sexy, we get it, but we’re in math class. Can you please find a more appropriate time to reassure me that you are exceptionally competent at evoking sexual arousal? She stares at him again. What now you deviant? Back to reaffirm your suspicion that I would in fact like to see you naked? Ingenious, someone give this girl a Nobel Prize.

He was still staring but now his gaze said nothing at all. All of a sudden she feels exposed; the assurance of careful manipulation drowns in the elevating self-doubt of a vulnerable spectacle. Her confidence falls and the talent she only moments ago viewed as empowering feels like a glaring flaw. She glances at his left ring finger sure that it was decorated in a wedding band. Still there; sparkling and gold.  So why was he acting as though he had nothing to lose; like she was free entertainment. “Alright, let’s get started” he says in his slight Slavic accent. He nods at her as if to ask her permission and she shrugs in response. He gets up from his black fabric desk chair and the sound of the spinning wheels echo across the yellow lecture room walls. Let the games begin.

Facing the chalk board, he hears the discourteous shuffling and knows that class has ended weather he likes it or not. Papers crumple, Zippers proclaim themselves shut in irritating crescendos, and latches sound as doors swing open. He knows she’s still there. She was always still there packing up slowly and silently in the front row. It was rather charming that she took her sweet time; it always made him believe it was magically possible to borrow some. But his skepticism and disenchantment always won out. O well, at least he could stare at her again as she walked away.  The fact remains she was still nice to look at.

 He finishes his white chicken scratches and announces to those who care “As x approaches negative one, Y approaches infinity.” Eh, she supposed it was at least slightly stimulating to learn today. She stuffed her spiral notebook into a stained and worn corduroy back pack and slipped her unused pencil behind her right ear. She swings nylon padded straps over her soldier and approaches Professor Shevchenko’s large wooden desk at the forefront of the room.

He looks up from tomorrow’s lesson plan to find hot girl walking steadily toward him. “Yes?” he makes no effort to suggest candor. She doesn’t quiver, she only speaks in her collective tone. “I never got my test back.” He motions to a beige-ish file folder on his desk and explains his clever structure for anonymous assignments. “Find it and prove to me it’s that it’s yours.” He watched her silver cross dangle above the vector that is her cleavage as she rummaged through his organized papers carelessly. He was so tempted to suggest she take her sweet time but whether her demeanor suggested or not, this was a respectable institution. He reminded himself that his salary in part depended on tolerating the antics of this youthful generation. The shift in her stature indicated she had found what she was looking for and he lifted his gaze just in time to meet hers.

“How exactly would you like me to prove that this is mine?”

“Just turn in a page from your notes.” She hears in a methodical disinterest.

***. O well, I guess I’ll play the truth card. “I don’t exactly take notes.”

She sees his eyes grace the red number indicated on her exam. “88%, that’s pretty impressive. I bet if you took notes you could get 100.”

How is one supposed to respond to that? “Thanks…” 

Her strategy; when all else fails make him feel awkward.  But clever Demetri is no stranger to manipulation. “Very well, just write your name at the top.”

“Julianne Levi.” She says coolly. He looks at her pensively and rests “Well, nice to finally meet you Julianne.” Intrigue slips into his generally composed tone. Wrong move. “Pleasure is all mine.” She insists and she slips away long before he has time to lose interest in her chest and speculate that she did not even take the test that she just handed in.

He was nothing to me

If only an object of disdain

Needy

Greedy

But gentle too

Loving and lying oozed

Like bloodied battle wounds

Lost and longing for something unknown

Overt Camouflage among verticals among verticals

Very strange indeed

He spoke of Lions, Liaisons

Was bitter and cynical

dishonored, mocked, Violating

Yet laughing all the time

Barriers extending beyond language

Still I never cared to ask

Why did he hurt so badly?

I guess it doesn’t matter now

I’m sorry too

Uzi Submachine Gun

If peace is what you’re after

At last I hope you’ll rest

I wrote this for my fiction writing class, it’s supposed to be short poetry prose.

She wanted to believe that everything would be ok. But she also saw no reason to stop; crying felt so good. She wished she could be strong- be stable, unyielding. But what does that even mean? Why is society so confused about truth? Why is it everything that’s so mortally unique is viewed as weak? Like we’re all supposed to be g-ds; stern and unaffected. Whatever. This hurt. And she couldn’t go to lunch with her friends because she couldn’t show her raw and reddened wet cheeks. So instead she walked, walked in the blistering cold, hands drying and freezing further in each moment and tears dripping tenaciously. Until she found a gentle concrete bench under a gentle wooden tree- right out of the secret garden- right out of childhood- and she remembered life is just a series of symbols ringing true in all these individually perceived clichés.

Been busy with school, I'm a little ill but still; nothing but good news. My ***-list has completely reoriented itself yet I’m pretty darn chipper. My classes are great, I’m getting my work done, I have some really amazing friends… It’s cool. I still feel misunderstood but at this point I’m ok with that. I either A. deserve it or B. deserve better. It just feels like I’ve said everything I needed to say and heard everything I needed to hear. I tried really hard to stand up for myself, to take care of myself, without reaching into the cookie jar of spite. I almost got there. So close. O well, at least my malice is entertaining and well-decorated in prose poetry. I still maintain that I more often portrayed borderline humiliating honesty than I did unfair bitchery, but who am I to judge? Still whatever I contributed to the circumstances at this point seem to be working out in my favor. Because whether I am universally disliked, disregarded, or the like- I don’t really give a ***. I am content with the results from my pursuit of balanced self-sufficiency and philia. I will continue to try and stay open and honest but for now I am a resolved entity floating merrily along… la la la la la

P.S. I cried yesterday and it felt soooooooooo good. Crying is so under-rated. Why are tears so scary to people? They’re so pretty. I know that sounds really weird- but body language is such a perfect depiction of sincerity. Words twist and embellish what only natural expression can communicate with purity. Weakness; Human weakness. It felt so good when my body acknowledged my own emotional vulnerability and bio-chemically reacted. I didn’t feel guilty, or lost or ashamed… I agreed with my body that the tears were justified and accepted the hurt knowing that tomorrow I would feel better. I was right. Today everything’s A ok.

I disagree strongly with Christianity. Well, all devout religious communities for the most part however I am choosing to pick on Christianity specifically. I believe the beauty and benefit of religion lies in the unique and personal connections and convictions. Established rules and matter of fact orders seem nonsensical and really, what’s the point?  Why put unnecessary and burdensome constraints on the only life that we’re conscious of? I find Christianity to be the most misleading simply because it gives a human figure the G-dly power of immortality (Jesus Christ). I think it best not to rely on the idea of a second coming or any sort of endlessness. The odds really aren’t that convincing so my advice is to concentrate on how you can live the most fulfilling life in the world you are in now. The one that tells you, you got about 75-85 years.  Also, I think it’s counterproductive to answer the question of existential purpose with the promise of redemption in the afterlife. Selflessness is promoted through the promise of heaven. Doesn’t seeking compensation go against the very nature of selflessness?

The more definitively a certain faith answers the mysterious questions of existence, the more delusional the religion. It can’t be healthy to be convinced of any one explanation for existence when clearly no one knows for sure. Or rather, many people claim to but the reasoning of Osama Ben Laden, Pope Benedict, and Rabbi Menachem Mendel Shneersohn seem somewhat contradictory. Remember, we are born into our religions, we only believe what we believe through way of teaching. Every Perception and interpretation is given and received by humans; ones as clueless and imperfect as we.

On the other hand how can it be healthy to be sure that consciousness is insignificant and accidental? I think it equally deceptive to believe that every aspect of nature is comprehensible. There must be some roadblocks in our mind preventing us from knowing the “whole truth.” We are just animals, granted we’re smarter than most, but we are just a product of something bigger, something grand, something that we cannot rule out as mysterious. Faith in the unknown, submitting to the idea of a dimension we only see glimpses of in aura is a way to live fully in the appreciation of everything life has to offer. But it is impossible to be sure so why do we keep trying?

I don’t see why people have to be so narrow-minded. I’m not denouncing the idea of G-d at all. I’m only saying that what makes faith truly challenging and therefore gratifying- is that it is and always will be- blind. That means accepting that one doesn’t know for sure and that one chooses to live up to particular standards only because they personally believe it is the best way for them to spend their lifetime. All these religious records that claim certainty are kept by humans, humans who each contain personal biases and altered perceptions. Why can’t people see Moses, if he existed at all, was just a guy who held up two stone tablets and said “Hey guys, look what G-d gave me.” That doesn’t mean G-d actually did. How much can you really trust another human being? Especially one you never met. It is the nature of man to want to be certain- to want to be immortal- No one is above intentional deception while in the act of self-preservation.

And yes many, many rules and regulations promote hygiene, foster a sense of community, tradition, purpose, mental and physical health. All these things lead to a sense of fulfillment and inner peace. All I’m insisting is that you develop a healthy skepticism. Question what you’re told for the purpose of leading a true and fulfilling life. Societies, religion, social constructs and standards are all created by other humans trying to make sense of existence. We are all creatures and therefore no one knows the best way to live, the best way to love being alive, the best way to feel significant, and the best way to contribute… We just all fashion something from the merge of values imposed and perceived. In a lot of ways we are just functions; different solutions from different variables. There is no right direction; only the direction we are programmed to take. At some point we have the opportunity and awareness to program ourselves and follow a new pattern if we choose to. Just think about it.

I read that conversation is believed to serve the same purpose for humans as grooming one another does for monkeys. To me this says that our imposed societal practices deemed essential are only complex manifestations of our innate animal instincts. The pursuit of knowledge is nothing better or worse than self sustainment. It’s ok- it shouldn’t have to be. It’s ok to do the things you love simply because you love them and want to enjoy being alive and not because they serve some deeper meaningful and righteous purpose.  Let’s exposes the bullshit as bullshit and accept the challenge of taking care of ourselves. As far as I know, we only live once. And to me this means I need a healthy dose of mind numbing selfish pleasure, physical health, sense of accomplishment through school work and societal contribution, and oh my favorite- love.

Here’s my own personal plug, caring about others and being cared about is my favorite thing that life has to offer. It’s not everything, no one thing is, but it just feels so damn good. I do leave myself a bit vulnerable in my constant emotional involvement and attachment. But when hurt, I do bounce back eventually and I do learn from my mistakes. Despite the inevitable heartache of rejection and abandonment I wouldn’t trade friendships for anything in this world. To know someone and love someone so intimately compensates for the existential emptiness I believe is universal.  Genuinely caring, whether the act is self-serving or not, fills me with what can only be described as a natural high.

:)

There’s no emptiness, it's so directly stimulating I can’t feel anything but the passion exerted in the intricacies of musical sound. Mmm… I like it. It’s the perfect numb: No thoughts, no doubts, no questions, no inhibitions-Just heightened, guilt free, live in the moment pleasure. Nothing matters when all you can hear is music. I love it.

P.S. Classes start tomorrow, wish me luck. I don't want to *** up again.

I feel so numb. Like I just want to do my work… I wish I could be enthusiastic- I will be soon. But for now I’m just scared; scared to *** up again and scared of how I’ll handle this abyss of tension that I spun. I’m human, I make mistakes and there is no doubt in my mind I will find myself in the discomfort of paying for them. I hope I’ll be ok. I think I will. I do have my own agenda and I think I’m strong enough now to really truly not care what others think of me… I sort of deserve the back lash of this sticky situation. I know that; I’m just scared it will be hard to deal with. I don’t blame or hate myself for the mistakes I’ve made; I know they were just externalizations of an internal battle. But I don’t expect any sort of compassion to be shown, especially not in here- in this rigid and competitive environment. But maybe I’m being too pessimistic. Maybe people can see that I’m just a girl who takes action hoping to feel at ease, just like everybody else. Sometimes I make mistakes and cause pain. And sometimes I pay the price. I just hope that if I do find my character under scrutiny that I can handle it without taking it personally. I hope I can remember that anything toxic thrown in my direction is a result of somebody else’s mistaken way of feeling at ease. It doesn’t matter- no matter what I know I’m good inside. I care. I know. 

Wow, I haven’t written in a while and I feel naked when there is so much to write about so many new notes from the many new realizations. I didn’t make time when I found myself in an overwhelming state of bliss with the company of my true and beautiful friends on my birthday. The big one eight mother fuckers. I hope to finish articulating my ideas soon before classes start and I find myself too preoccupied for introspection. Stay tuned, ok? Worry about me if I’m not writing. I need this outlet to keep me sane or rather too stay in my own unique and uplifting adaptation of insanity.

I want to freeze with you

But I don’t

I just want to feel like you

But I don’t

Cold white snow

Naked throat

Nothing better, nothing worse

I know

The Bliss

 The Numbness

I love it too

Just not the sickness

And I’ll never know

The full meaning of this sigh

Whether it's my aching heart