October 31, 2003
Halloween
I am so lame. I just don't feel like going out at all. I feel irritated and dirty for some reason. Bah.
October 30, 2003
Christmasween
It's indicative of my ever diminishing sense of time that I thought the night before Halloween was the night everyone goes trick or treating. It took me an irritating moment to wrangle it through my head that the big day is tommorow. In some ways, it was like those mornings you wake up and think it's the weekend, but then you realize it's actually Monday. A bummer, to be sure.
It doesn't help that today has a shimmering bi-polar nature to it. It's beautiful and sunny, and two days ago we had record breaking heat, but it's actually chilly out and the winds don't help. Liz, my ever-lovin' TV watching partner, is here but she's feeling ... well, "poopy", so the vibe here is a bit wobbly.
Girlmore Girls notwithstanding.
I had a bizarre dream about dating Halle Berry last night. She had a wicked case of diarrhea and I couldn't figure out why she was dating me. Perhaps I should blame the dream for today's doldrums.
October 27, 2003
God as Producer?
I almost blew cereal out of my nose when I read this. Basically, the smoking ears did it. How can one not laugh?
October 26, 2003
Let's go on a date sometime!
... ok this is fully lame. I was given a "rejection hotline" number, wherein you give it to someone you don't want to give your real number to and they get a message explaining that "this is a rejection hotline - the person who gave you this number didn't want you to have their actual phone number, and never wants to see you again. Thank you!"
So the number I had posted here? I thought it was that number. But guess what - I stupidly didn't check first and it was a dud number. Apparently the number I posted was some girl's house.
Sorry to whoever that girl is!
October 23, 2003
Lull but not Bye
Sorry for the lack of posting. There's been a lot on my mind, and a lot of the usual kathartic crap has been going on in real life instead of on this page. I've got a few new things brewing though. Be patient.
Sasha, send me an email!
October 20, 2003
Ping! Pong! Dooka-Dooka!
My youth, ridiculed by new youths.
For the record, generally speaking, I thought the same things they did - 20 years ago.
October 19, 2003
Echoes of Silence
It's a quiet Sunday. It's neither cold nor warm. Some lost 90's movie is on TV and I can't seem to care what happens with the rest of the day.
Maybe I'll take a bath. My subscription to the New Yorker just started... Perhaps I'll read that.
October 12, 2003
Quiet Sunday
It is so quiet today. I suppose yesterday was also quiet. I'm waiting for the groceries to arrive. I want to take a shower - but I don't want to miss the delivery.
I'd like a cup of coffee. I wish I had a cat.
October 11, 2003
The Buck Stops Here
Non-communicative. Sullen. Passive. Unyeilding. Closed.
I've been called these things, and worse, in regards to my intimate relationships. I assume during the negative, argumentative parts. I think today my bullshit-o-meter just popped, and for better or worse I figured I'd explain myself.
When you decide to explode in my face about something you've been (not non-communicative about, oh no!) holding back for weeks or months, and I choose not to respond with defensive invective about how you should have brought it up when it was only a teapot and not a tempest, it is not because I am being sullen. It's not passive aggressive. It's the placid sound of the buck stopping here. I am not going to play raquetball with anger and hatred.
When you act with callous disregard for my feelings, or worse stomp on them outright, trust me I am more than capable of returning the favor. I know you a lot better than you would ever imagine. I could bring up the things that happened with your family, how much that made you who you are, and how you're taking it out on me. I could reflect the shame and fear of self-doubt and the resulting lashing out it causes. I could go base and tell you what you really think of yourself - and how you're not wrong.
But I don't. The buck stops here. I will not participate in a game where nobody wins. I choose to be silent. I choose to be patient. I choose to redirect the anger and frustration and helplessness towards my writing, or towards trees, or against digital enemies online. They don't have feelings.
But I do, and although I have frightening reserves of patience and forgiveness, when I hear platitudes like "you'll get over it" or "time heals all wounds" from the very people who caused the injury - it only aggravates and compounds the difficulty of enduring it. Trust me, I know I'll get over it. I'm all too aware that time heals all wounds, and I have the scar tissue to prove it. The only reason you're giving me the fortune cookie condolences is because you don't have anything better to offer. Fortunately, I don't have that problem.
My problem is more obvious, more noticable. I hear about it all the time. I'm sullen. I'm closed. I'm passive agressive.
You're welcome.
October 07, 2003
Governator!
I am 1 for 1. This was my first vote ever, and I picked the winner! The Terminator is now my governor!
I just can't stop laughing.
Love
The floodgates opened and so swept in the torrent went I that heads from tails and passion from care became indistinct and merged unto themselves.
So fluent is my ability to absorb and adapt that when love and lover knocked, or banged loudly rather, I could do nothing more than reverberate and respond with the beat and beating. Just as one rap rapped rapture, a second blow blew black and blue. Whether or not it was a stagger or a profound dance, I know not at all, but in either case my movement grew or changed or both. In any event, the steps left potentials and possibilities in its wake.
I am willfully stupid. I refuse to learn. I can not and will not accept certain lessons. Perhaps it's the ornery nature of my bloodline. Bullheaded. Tenacious. Dogmatic. Stupid. Certain things are beyond intolerable, and past my sufferance.
Love does not die. It does not. It may lose its way. It may find its coat entangled on brambles, or stumble over loose ground, but it is precisely as immortal as the warmth of your mothers breath. Sometimes it falls asleep, and wakes in the evening with wafting smells of liquor and a shy sunset. It can hide behind a speck of dust floating directly before your eyes. It's an olympic runner, in the mythical sense. It taunts and teases better than any sweet store window, and knows your palate twice as well. But it knows death only as a dream between paper scented accountants.
I do not care a jot for your reason, or your proofs. You can keep them, and the sweating isolation caskets they came from. I am deaf to your earnest imploring designs. Have you heard nothing?
Underneath your fingertips, in the start of every inhale, behind your shadow, and in the shimmering reflections of your eyes; love is the ringmaster with a smirk and a flourish. It tips its hat to your debate and strikes up the band to match tempo. Love laughs at obituaries, scoffs at epitaphs, and giggles in the back row of wakes. Nothing earns death's impotent rage greater than love.
So go ahead and call me stupid, for as far as I am concerned there is no place at the table for finality when it's love bringing the banquet.
October 04, 2003
Fun and Happy
Things have been way too stressful recently. I've taken the full tour of Places You Don't Want To Be, with a couple of side trips to How Did I Get Here and Where Did This Blood Come From. The food gave me stomachaches and loose bowels. The natives were restless - literally.
Well, enough is enough. Now it's time for smiles and laughs.
Pick one, any one.
Even if you dont eat it...
I can't help but laugh every time I read it, even though I couldn't agree less
Ever feel like you're falling?
October 02, 2003
Force Fabulous
I see what you're trying to do. I see your intention. I feel your desires. I want what you want. I'm the autumn leaf blowing in your winds of change. I try. I'm alone. Exactly as alone as you are. I want to make more of the emptiness you feel than I can for myself. I want to feel that there is hope. I have faith there is a goal, however unreachable, that makes the journey worthwhile. I cannot allow the void to absorb what remains. I'm here for you. I'm here for you. Give me that faith, and we have a chance.
I'm reaching for you. I'm waving a desparate clutch for your aid. I cannot do it alone. Help me.
October 01, 2003
Pop Muses
"If you leave for good, it will hurt, but eventually you'll be stronger for it. And maybe you'll find your way to the kind of love you deserve."
- Angel
I don't know. I hear sentiment like this and I have to wonder. Are you stronger having left, or are you leaving strength behind, or perhaps both? What kind of love do you deserve, anyhow?
I've left love behind, suffered the unbearable agony of the loss, found it again, lost it again, suffered the - well you get the idea. Am I stronger? What did I leave behind? Did I deserve it?
I suppose in the end I am absolutely sure about the pain, and only marginally confident about the strength.