He’s everywhere, on all sides of me, at all times, lurking. I see his glasses on the face of a much older man with too pale lips and crooked teeth. I see his hands gripping the thin metal pole on the train, but they’re attached to the skinny arms of a teenager. Looking up from my cell phone, I see him across the street, and I almost jaywalk to get to him. But it’s just wind. He’s not even in this country and if he were he would be more beautiful than when I last saw him. He must be.
—
I didn’t get it then, I couldn’t see how big his nose was or how his ears stuck out. His lips were too full. He never took care of his eyebrows except for occasionally when he would shave crookedly between them. It never helped: there was just the shadow of the hairs there and a bit missing from his left eyebrow. His teeth were straight and white but he never brushed them enough. The electric toothbrush he had was a gift from his mother, and he hadn’t bought a new head for it since she gave it to him two years before.
These things I then knew not, nor observed. They met my eyes on every side, and I saw them not. I composed poems, in which it was not permitted me to place every foot everywhere, but in one metre one way, and in another, nor even in any one verse the same foot in all places.
I started writing poems about him from the moment I saw him, poems where I noted his nose, his glasses, his shoulder blades. He sometimes would jut them out at me to prove he could, like wing flaps, like broken wings. I knew he looked unique. It was something I knew well.
—
Now I walk into a restaurant and see his hair from behind but when I walk past and do a double take, the chin is all wrong. I stare at too many tall, thin men with black hair and unshaven faces and plastic glasses. I look too long and it frightens me that they might be looking back.
—
His tongue was slick, licking syrup off of my cheek or spices from my fingers. His hands rough as he pressed them against my thighs to open them. But his skin was so soft and I would rub his back and say, “How did you get skin so smooth?” And he would always reply: “I moisturize.” But he owned no lotion. I saw these things, but there was so much I knew not, nor observed.
I am sometimes jealous of people who can have caffeine just because I loved Cherry Coke so much. I drank a lot of it, before I started having chest pains and found out I had mitral valve prolapse, and now I don’t have any. But I went to Dairy Queen for lunch and got a chicken sandwich and three fingers of it, treating it much like an alcohol, having barely enough, because by the time my chest hurts, it’s too late. I start feeling buzzed, half cocked, a headache, sleepy, out of control, unconscious of my own actions. I used to drink a lot of caffeine and now I drink none.
I have been writing a book lately, non-fiction about the period of my life from March 2005 until July 2006, when I was 22 years old, and everything was awful. I’m having a hard time figuring out the order I want to put everything in or the tense to use. I’m writing it in present tense and in episodes, but I don’t know if that’s the best plan. I’m in my school’s computer lab right now and the guy next to me is putting on his contacts at his desk. That’s almost hilarious.
So because I’m writing about a horrible failed relationship where the guy was controlling and abusive, I reread this book called Killing Me Softly by Nicci French. It’s not an amazing book, but it’s tolerable and interesting and there are very scary and strange moments. But in it, the main character, Alice, is walking down the street and sees this guy. He sees her. They both stop in the street and stare at each other without speaking a word. And from that, they fall in love, they go off and sleep together without knowing each other’s names. I can see how this is possible, but it makes me look at everyone who walks by, wondering if there is someone out there who could make me feel like that.
Creepy but it’s not something new for me: I tend to have these unexplainable and impossible fantasies that I don’t know if I really want to have come true.
I was reading my old livejournal entries for a project for school. It made me remember how I used to literally write down everything I did each day, so I thought I’d do an experiment and do that for today.
This morning, I woke up and played on the internet for a bit. I decided not to take a shower, even though I look a little bit like a hobo right now. My hair is really long and it’s kind of greasy because I was doing a long ass stream (meaning playing video games for the internet) for donations and stuff. I usually, on Sunday, stream for free for like 3 to 4 hours, but this was an elongated one where people paid me to play stuff. I earned a bunch of money, so that was great. I bought a camera to make up for the one that was stolen out of my house a few months ago and right now it’s charging. It’s an HD flip cam thingy, and I’m hoping it’s gonna be as awesome as I think it will be.
I went to class. I’m not really feeling the Gay and Lesbian lit class I’m taking. The people in the class and I don’t seem to get along very well, but I like my teacher so it’s not a huge deal.
Then, in the hour and a half between classes, I went and did some research on my LJ into the past for the nonfiction workshop class I’m taking. I’ve been writing about someone in my past who I don’t talk to anymore and I needed to remember more. It’s been a few years. I wish I had written more stuff in my LJ back then, but I don’t really write much now either.
After my Queer Poetry class (which I hadn’t gone to in two weeks but my teacher was ok with it and really nice and helpful into getting me caught up), I came home and talked to Kris for a bit about the past shit again. Dustin just finished playing Indigo Prophecy which had a really shitty ending, in my opinion. I was going to write, but reading all this history shit makes me wanna not. I’ll probably play some Katamari Forever (addicccccted) and maybe look at my camera a bit and make some videos for youtube. If I feel like it.
Dan’ll be home in an hour or so and then we’ll watch Venture Bros (woo the show is back!) and then I’ll have to go to sleep so I can get up early enough for class tomorrow.
That’s my life. I actually did stuff today, so it was more interesting than “sat on the couch and played video games” which some days end up being. I like having Dustin here, but I also like my privacy. I accept that Dan probably has even less since we’re BOTH always here, but I’m sure he’ll survive.
So the other day I went to see A Serious Man. The movie, not a dude. It wasn’t really serious. I mean, like all Coen Brothers movies it was a tragedy, but it was definitely a black comedy more than actually depressing. The movies they make are always a bit twisted and I love them. This one was set in at late 60’s and featured a family of Jews and their problems, which made it interesting for me.
My mom’s side of the family is Jewish. My grandfather was a lawyer but his dad was a rabbi and it was that way for a few generations back. My dad’s family is Christian but he actually converted to Judiasm before I was born. I was raised Jewish until I was about ten years old. But i haven’t been to temple in over fifteen years except for my cousin’s bar mitzvahs. I did not have a bat mitzvah myself. I don’t celebrate holidays. I don’t even believe in God, and I don’t remember when I ever did. Would I still call myself a Jew? Yes. I’m an atheist Jew. And it’s totally possible.
Being Jewish is not just a religion. It’s also a culture and a heritage. There are people who convert to Judiasm like Sammy Davis Junior. My mom’s parents’ families came from eastern Europe to America in the early 1900s. According to what I know, if your mother is a Jew, you are a Jew. When I was younger, we observed the holidays — Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashannah, Hannukkah. We did so until my grandfather died and my family fell apart. I don’t talk to them anymore and I don’t really celebrate the holidays. But it was a big part of my environment growing up. It’s part of my family’s heritage.
When South Park started getting popular, I was in high school, and one of my friends said something to me like, “I kind of feel weird calling you a Jew, like I’m insulting you.” I wasn’t shocked — the show really bastardized the way people thought of the word Jew. But I am a Jew, culturally.
There’s something my grandmother used to say to me when I’d tell her I wasn’t a jew anymore because I didn’t believe in God — she’d say, “but you’re still a Jew.” She didn’t really explain it well to me when I was younger, but as I got older, I realized it on my own: no matter what I believe in, my ancestry is still what it is.
KishiScott recently twittered, “You know what the worst conversations are? Politics. Oh my god. I wanna dive out of this car that’s going 80mph. Kill me now.” And I responded, “I agree 100%. no one ever gives up and everyone is always angry, even if they agree.” Even if you agree with the person you’re talking to about politics, you still get angry, and it’s because you end up joining them in commiserating about how stupid the other side is and how angry their opposing views make you. And you know what, I don’t care about politics. I know that sounds fucked up because I should be aware of the arguments going on in society, and I am, but I still don’t give a fuck and I never ever want to discuss politics. With. Anyone.
My grandfather who was one of the coolest dudes ever once said to me that the two things you never ever talk about with anyone ever are politics and religion. And I really don’t like discussing religion very much either, but I see that as a kind of conversation about beliefs and morals rather than attacks on each other and our wants and needs.
I do have strong opinions about the state of America, the world, and our government, but I really, really, don’t give a fuck. I can have strong opinions and care a lot, but also not give a fuck. It’s totally possible and I’ll prove it right now.
I am pro universal health care. I don’t have money. I am not insured. I have thousands of dollars in medical bills that I just can’t pay. And that’s a serious issue with me and if I voted, I would make sure the person I was voting for agreed with me on that issue. It matters, a lot.
But, I don’t want to have a screaming match. I don’t want to go stand on the steps and picket. I don’t want to discuss why my opinion is valid or invalid, because it’s not going to change. Arguing about it is not going to make me or the person I’m talking to suddenly “see the light.” And I think that most people who want to talk about politics want to change the minds of the people who they are talking to.
And my opinion is just my opinion. Because I’m a moral relativist, I don’t think my opinion or my belief or my morals are correct for ANYONE but me, and no one can change my mind on a decision I’ve thought over carefully.
I also really just don’t like discussing shit that pisses the other person off if we disagree. I don’t even talk about politics with my best friends because seriously, who gives a fuck? Just because we disagree doesn’t make either of us wrong. I don’t care if my best friend is anti my stances, cuz who am I to say they’re wrong?
This is going to be the first blog I’m doing as a joint blog/vlog. The videos will not necessarily have the exact same wording, but will be similar.
I hate social networking. I really do. It started out great for me. I loved myspace and getting closer to people I barely knew from my group of friends until I realized that people post way too much information on their profiles.
When I say this I don’t necessarily mean that they put up every menial detail of their lives. I don’t even mind that too much, to a point. I like knowing my friends have watched some new movie that came out because then I can ask them what they thought about it and possibly go see it myself. I don’t even mind someone bitching about a bad day at work. These are things they’d likely tell everyone: even if you bump into randomly on the street. “Oh, hey, yeah, work sucks. You know.” The problem comes when things that are said are what you should only say to close personal friends or to the person you’re you’re talking about.
I’ve seen a couple break up through wall posts on Facebook. I’ve seen someone on myspace post passive aggressive rants about her roommate that the roommate could read. (And that quickly digressed into a flame war involving the poster, the roommate, and his girlfriend.)
Privacy is fading. I have had a livejournal for years upon years. I never saw it as a social device since it was more about writing details of my life to look back on later. That’s why my livejournal name is completely different than every other screen name I’ve ever used. The other day, someone was bugging me about not having enough information up on my profile. He looked up my screen name and it seems someone (not me) has an account on a dating site with the same name. No other details match up though. But he told me, “I’m going to assume you are Samantha from Washington D.C. because I found this. Since you won’t give me any more information, you could be anyone.”
And he hit it on the head there. We’ve gone from email addresses on message lists where you talk about They Might Be Giants all day and no one ever knows ages, faces, races, classes, to this social delving into each other, where we all assume that we must give up any information or facts on command, and that if we don’t, we’re hiding. But it’s not hiding to just not want to show every detail of my life. I deleted my Facebook for quite a few reasons (another one being that I didn’t want everyone’s personal lives detailed to me!).
There’s gotta be a balance where we can still talk about the new shoes we bought but people don’t send me replies on twitter to ask me questions they should be asking in private.
As a poet, I feel like any photography I do will always be a reflection of the words I use. When I think, I think in words, not images, unlike visual artists. This site houses a minimalist dream log, my poetry including poems from You May Waltz To Your Doom In Sanguine Stained Shoes, my photography, and a blog with Let's Play related entries.
