Americone Dreams

I never know what to say when people ask me, "How are you," or some variant thereof, but that's hardly ever stopped me from answering. In one sense, I use the societal conventions of brevity, for which I often cross the border into dishonesty, as a guidepost. For those who are obviously asking to be polite, or because "it's what you say," or are just waiting to give you some sort of gossip or news or pretty plainly don't have the time or the inclination for an in-depth answer, I stick with a non-committal "Fine," or, "Okay," or my trademark comment about my tiredness. (These responses are also freely and guiltlessly given out to those who are lacking in some other capacity, like compassion or ability to understand the my personal existential dilemmas, or anytime I just don't feel like introspection. In short, most people, most of the time get this kind of meaningless response.)

For those I'm more inclined to be honest with, I might tell them, "Been better, been worse," or, "I'm a bit drained," or the probably-not-as-clever-as-I'd-like-to-think-it-is, "The world's still spinning; I'm still on it," and let them seek clarification if they want it. The trouble remains that even if someone were clever and caring enough to notice that even at my most expressive, I almost never do much more than list facts and let others infer my feelings, and were to ask me how I am, making sure to find ways to bridge the great gaps over trivialities and my own defensive bullshit, I'd know of no response that could adequately describe my current condition relative to any other time.

Of course, attempting to do the impossible is in my nature, so a (hopelessly inadequate) description of my innermost emotions is forthcoming. However, for those (in?)sensitive to overly melodramatic portrayals in journals, ignoring the rest of this post is probably for the best. Given that I had to put in a warning flag for whatever poor, unfortunate souls read this, how could I ever actually say to another human being that I feel like I'm in a constant state of being torn apart and rebuilding myself like Prometheus' liver, only I'm not sure I don't always feel this way and have just had it laid bare by refusing to shield myself from recent pains? I'm practically ready to dismiss myself for whining.

Objectively, I know my life isn't terrible: I'm young, funny when I feel up to it, not incredibly unhealthy, and gifted with a brilliance that would be rare enough to be notable, if I chose to develop it as my defining feature, though I never thought it fair to compare one person's suffering to others'. Maybe I'm just so weak that I can't help but to seek definition in the constant inner critical destruction and unsupervised re-edification that I force my soul through. I refuse to censor myself in regards to my feelings; what comes out into this text box is as honest as I get. At least my lousy metaphor allows for me to be borne in the clutches of an eagle as the life drips out of me; Stephen Colbert would be proud. I wish I could like his ice cream flavor more, but I continue to find caramel unpleasant. Worst thing you can do to sugar.

In any case, I'm multiple kinds of tired and should attempt to relieve at least a few of them by getting some sleep. Maybe I'll feel less on the edge of creating bad Livejournal poetry in a few hours.

It burns us, preciousssss...

Ow. Ow ow ow. I'd almost forgotten this pain; it takes a lot out of me not to try to deny it, just to confirm that this is my pain and that it means something to me. I'm really good at running away from uncomfortable things; facing them down is not in my natural skill set. I can shift blame like I get paid for it, but I'm really bad at dealing with injuries for which there's no one to blame, no incompetence or cruelty. Heaven knows I've been more than a bit of a fuck up in my time, and I still feel like to some degree, I'm doing my penance. I may feel that way for the rest of my life, but I also have this urge that I've thus far resisted to fight back somehow, to argue my case, but I know that it'd be a massive breach of my character and an overstepping of my bounds to do so. In a distant sense, it's kind of funny how a year ago I was in almost the opposite position after Spring Break, knowing that I had to be the rain on someone else's parade. Knowing how hard that was for me, how could it be right for me to do anything but accept my fate with a smile?

I'm doing the best I can to slow the burning of my bridges; but there's this deep, vague, apprehensive feeling that I'm destined to end up an island. I have a desire to know how I'd handle it now, feeling stronger as I do, but I never want to turn my back on the world again. For a few days at least, I'd like the world to be a welcoming place for me; I think I want to feel like a human part of things, if just for a little while.

This Is A Call

He tells everyone a story,
because he feels his life is boring,
and he fights so you won't ignore him,
because that's his biggest fear;

and he cries, but you'll rarely see him do it.
He loves, but he's scared to use it.
So he hides behind the music,
'cause he likes it that way.

He knows he's so much more than worthless,
he needs to find the surface,
because he's starting to get nervous.

--From "This Is A Call" by Thousand Foot Krutch

I love this band. Best Christian rock band in the cosmos. I heard them twice on the radio today, and it's hard for a Christian rock band to get airtime, mostly 'cause most of them suck ass. But these guys are great. This song in particular meant something to me. Touched a chord, hit a little close to home, or some other little cliché designed to cover exactly what I mean. Really, though, I'm far too much of a collection of cliché and random memes, albeit in eccentric combination. That's part of the reason I've made a tad of an effort recently to at the very least appear to enlighten myself, to use language that much more exhaustively.

My mind, when it has the increasingly rare opportunity to wander without my usual careful boundaries, goes places I wish it wouldn't. It summons uncalled-for and potentially untrue images of my first love, of the girl she was, of the woman she could have become, and may have, for all I know. It conjures up all kinds of painful alternative pasts and presents, in which I wasn't a coward, or lazy, or poor, or so emotionally crippled, or afflicted with this damned apnea.

I saw the Pacific ocean today. I have now had my hands and feet in each of the oceans bordering this country which I've only on this trip come to know is truly as beautiful as it is sick. For some reason as of yet unknown to me, my first instinct when I reached the water, which I'm glad to admit I obeyed, was to put my hand in the water and raise it to my waiting tongue. Which is to say I've also tasted both of our oceans. My hand fell away, and I can't imagine why, but I was almost surprised at its saltiness. I think I expected it to somehow taste different from the water I tasted in North Carolina that summer.

We're taking a longer, and therefore potentially more dangerous way back to Cornell considering the condition of our adventuring vehicle. I have been a major supporter of this new route, as it takes us through more parts of America that I've yet to explore. I'm beginning to question the wisdom of our detour, not for the potential of breaking down and being stranded in the desert, but for the very personal reason that it'll give me more time to think before my consciousness is reabsorbed by the bustle of daily life on the Hilltop. The more time I spend among these guys, the more I'm lost to the morays of my memory and the other pitfalls of unrestrained imagination.

Shock and Awe

A: What's up there?
F: Shock and Awe.
Me: At least, that's what I'm calling it.
B: That's actually a pretty good name for it. You were talking about your penis, right?
Me: Yeah!
B: Cool!

Wow. We quite probably need to grow up, but great times among nature are to be found out in the middle of nowhere, WA. I have so much to share when I get back. It's not as if the city kid in me isn't groaning under the strain of being even further out of touch with the heart of human civilization, but more like his temporary irritation is worth the joy of experiencing the outdoors and slower-paced life and good food in a way I rarely get to.

I read a novel today. Sure, it wasn't a big one, but in way less than six hours, I read a book from cover to cover (and started another) without feeling the least bit rushed. In the past few days, I've made a trip halfway across the country in a day and a half; climbed down, and back up, a mountain; harvested and eaten raw oyster and oyster stew, nearly died about a half-dozen times, and realized what I love about this awful modern age. I should probably get back to the boys. This has been great for me.

Power Overwhelming

What is it about life that's so satisfying right now? Sure, the same old problems are about, but they seem more manageable. I'm still pancreas-deep in debt, racked by my unfulfilled desires, and no less at odds with the way the world works, but I feel like my life is more mine than it's been in ages. I've been a bit more honest lately and I lost a little weight, what of it? Without something a tad more substantial to measure my success, I suspect this sudden self-satisfaction may be just an upswing on my cycle of moods, but I'll be damned if it isn't a great one. Even if I only feel good for now, the boost in personal, internal productivity is way up. I'm braver, I no longer feel like I have to stumble over myself making up for my failings, and I'm mastering my body, one step at a time.

Strength seems to be a characteristic that was always important for me, and to which I never paid enough attention. My father taught me to always be strong, and his weakness of both body and character shocked and disturbed me. My own strength surprises me whenever I can be bothered to consider it. I no longer entertain thoughts of suicide even at my saddest, and I've all but come right out and stated my romantic intentions. And yet, I have to wonder at my real strength. I seem to have survived a great deal and come out relatively undamaged. But is this strength, or the cowardly act of never putting my heart out there where it can be harmed? Being an apparent romantic, my tendency is to believe, or want to believe, I've risked much, lost much, and won more overall. But how strong can my heart be if I've practically never known the feeling of being overcome by my emotions? Am I too strong to be overtaken be even myself, or do I have a shallow soul, incapable of the kinds of feelings that overwhelm a person?

You make my life so very difficult, dammit. You make me feel more out-of-control than anything else. If it isn't out-and-out meanness, it's a minor, insistent torment staged in such a way that even I'm not sure whether it's intentional, or just the natural consequences of our discourse. If it be intentional, I must praise your skill at manipulating me, and if not, remain dumbstruck at your ability to surprise me. Which do you play at, devil, or angel; serpent or saint? Either way, every minute's a challenge. I'll get you yet, just you wait and see.

Playing Jeopardy

So, this whole "Black Friday" thing... I think I made it out intact, and without buying a bloody thing, and not just because I was flat fucking broke. For me, and for certain like-minded others, it was International "Buy Nothing Day," the best freaking holiday ever on the biggest shopping day here in these United States. I find that I've been in an activist/world-improving mood lately, and a decrease in consumer madness is a cause I can get behind. After all, we have the world we make, don't we?

I've given some thought lately to the way I interact with the world, in a number of ways. I do, after all, have a lot of time to think, since I'm hardly ever spending that time communicating my inner workings effectively. (Why am I simultaneously so strongly desiring to help the world and pick on myself?) Why do I no longer spend the time and effort using the online mediums which I'm more traditionally known for? I no longer post in my other online community sites or newsgroups (and haven't for some time), e-mail many of my friends, sign on to instant messengers frequently, or any of that. Am I so very disconnected from my past? Maybe I'm just sick of the act. Is it so obvious that I spend so much time playing the fool and hiding those parts of me that mean anything that no one's willing to spend the time to find them? Or is it that I play all too well, and it's gotten hard for me to express truth anywhere where I think somebody I know might stumble across it. Whatever the pathetic little story, I want to keep the loved ones that I have, but I want them to see me as something that I have no idea how to show them. And if I were to find a new group, I'd probably just fuck it up again. After all, how do you get people interested in you without putting on a show? And if you do draw them in, how do you keep from becoming the show in their eyes and in your own? Hell, what defines a person besides the fact that they are conscious? Don't we, as consciousnesses, have right to create definitions as we understand them? Can the parts of me that are hidden from others even be said to exist if no one else can see them, and I refuse to define them? Can something that doesn't exist, in the strictest sense of the word, hurt?

Ugh, too much thought for this early in the morning. Why can't I just be happy with the friends my shell's made? I used to take pride in my ability to seem interesting, why only now has it become important to me to be loved for something I actually am? And who cares what I want? Haven't I given up any right to demand anything out of my relationships by hurting others and being openly , or more often, just loosely dishonest? Hell, isn't my (relatively) careful anonymity a form of dishonesty? (Not that I'm arrogant enough to believe that anyone actually reads this whine-hole, but if anyone were to read it, would I be lying to them?) Who the hell wants honesty, anyway? The truth hurts more than the games we play, and I always lose at the game where we stop playing games. I can't lose and can't get hurt if you can't pin me firmly to anything, so what is it in me that wants the risk now? And who'd even want to be there to be the reward for that risk? Who could love something that has trouble pinning itself down long enough to be looked at, that's barely strong enough to stand up to the light of scrutiny, that's too shadowy at the the borders to be sure it's really there and not just a trick of the light?

I've been worried over recently, but with every questioning soul that expresses concern, I've known how to turn them aside, to at least tide them over until they get distracted by something more pressing or less indefinite. I want with everything in me to be strong enough to decide to be something because that's what I want to be, and not because I think it fits in with a persona I've generated or because it's what I think someone else wants of me, but because I'm happy with it. I'm better about that than ever, and it's an uphill battle, but I could win it, I swear. But more than that, I'd like to have something that others love about me that isn't mere physicality, or something I'd intended to show them, although being well aware that my charm isn't in my looks, having some part of them complimented is a rare treat. Ugh. Now I'm just being a bitch. The world is what it is, and it's hard to remember that there's nothing I can control about it but me, and to try to increase others' control over themselves rather than influence them to act in the way that I prefer.

*sigh* I think I've emoted enough for one morning. I should sleep. After all, I'm a being with responsibilities, right? Can't disappoint.

To live by..

I find in myself a need to get back to some kind of base, to re-define why it is I do all the crap I do, and just as I was beginning to worry that there was to be no method to my madness, I found a document on my computer with a list of life rules I pulled from some forum or something. I've long lost the name of whoever I got these from, and I definitely modified them a bit to fit within my worldview, but more interestingly, is a rules-based life what I want? I mean, I've always had ethical principals, and I modify them as I find necessary, but to what extent can even broad self-imposed mandates be right or wrong, even for me? And what does right or wrong even mean? There's definitely "right-" and "wrong-feeling," and there's the religious ethical code, and the sense of justice that laws are meant to defend. I suppose the best use for an ambiguous, lazy creature such as myself would be "right" as a square peg fits a square hole. So how do I know when I've found the most fitting way to be? Certain things that have felt like they might have fit in my life at one point have since proved to be quite incompatible with my often-contradictory nature. If I'm wrong about the fit of a guiding principal, what kind of chaos could I cause? At least I know that I'm not alone in my belief that the world does not have a guaranteed reward for anything. No matter what I do, I might never have any of the big things I want. But on the positive side, being "moral" is something I do for its own sake, since I can expect nothing from it. The smug satisfaction that I get from knowing that despite what I and most of close friends say, I'm a "good" person. Hear that, buddies? Not that anyone knows about this place. Maybe I'll eventually be comfortable enough with being/sharing myself to tell someone about it. That'll be the day. *shakes fist* You'll never get the chance to take me seriously! In the meantime, for the random people I don't know who might read them, here are those rules that have attracted my attention for the time being.

1. Happiness is at least as much a state of mind as it is a condition.

2. You are responsible for you. You are responsible for all of your action and hence for all of the foreseeable consequences of those actions. People make their own fate. Yes, there are victims, but most often, your own misfortunes are your own doing.

3. If you don't like they way things are going, the conditions of your life or something about yourself then change it. Don't whine about it and expect it to change itself.

4. Everyone has opinions. That doesn't mean everyone is right. However, don't give up on yours just because someone tells you that you are wrong.

5. If someone doesn't like who you are or something you do then fuck them. You don't have to answer to anyone and if push comes to shove, you don't need someone like that around. Always be true to yourself.

6. Know the people who love you and stand beside them. One day you are going to need them to stand by you.

7. If you are afraid to try, know this: if you give up you will almost certainly fail, and definitely have failed yourself. However, if you try you might win. Possible success' is a lot better odds than 'almost certain failure'.

8. Let the little things slide, because, seriously, who needs that kind of aggravation?

9. If you live only for the weekends, you're wasting an awful lot of time.

10. You are always worth it.

A *moment* of weakness averted...

There are not words to describe my mood lately. My heart oscillates between fullness: with memories, with friends, with the legacy I desire to create, with her; and fearful emptiness as I tremor at the possible paths my life could take at this juncture. What would have happened had I been healthy; who will I be when I become so? Isn't it likely that I'll be lonely forever, since I'm unwilling to settle for less than amazing? Are my principles worth eternal/nearly impenetrable solitude? Who could possibly even care that I have more inside me than the goofball almost all of them see? The facts of life are far less terrifying than the questions unanswerable by simple facts.

Aw, listen to me being all emo. (So cute!)Far be it from me to censor myself in my own expression space, but all this worry doesn't suit my devil-may-care attitude. She'd laugh at me if she saw me like this. Hell, I'm almost laughing myself. I know what I need: hot noodle soup and a hug, not all this addictive self-pitying shit. Maybe a coffee. The world will be better when it's back on track, playing itself into the palm of my hands. Because megalomania is always healthier than depression. *smile*

Harrumph

So, I have a Blog, now, eh? I suppose this is as good a time as any to start expressing myself again. I usually seem to wait for landmarks, things like new years and birthdays and other arbitrarily human milestones. Perhaps I'm addicted to new beginnings just a tad too much, to starting something without obvious ties to the past. But no matter how many times I re-invent myself and my relationship with the world, there's no keeping my history out of my memories or behavior patterns, or erasing others' perceptions of me to date. I guess I just want a video game reset button for my life, to be able to do it all again and be taken seriously this time around. Is that too much to ask for in a metaphysics? Also, Universe, while you're up, I'd like a set of good looks, world peace, and a pony, just to make all the eight year old girls who ask Santa for things jealous. Come on, don't tell me that Santa thing doesn't bug you, too.

So here I am again, with another all-too-cleverly named, self-congratulatory public bitching forum, probably on some level deluding myself into believing that this time will be different, that now, this page with its big orange-and-white B is somehow going to save me years and thousands of dollars in therapy over the big white goat over at Livejournal. How would that be for an ad campaign? "Come over to Blogspot, where our emo rants are a guaranteed 29% more therapeutic than our leading competitor." Ugh, the "real world" awaits.