The anxieties and the letting go of them. The wish for snow and getting rain. Wishes in an empty tumbled glass, a stomping taxi ride home- sometimes alone, many times not. Staying in the sun too long to burn, or being burned unwanted by the lights.
This is too, too vague. I'll come back to this and many more stories, as I have many to tell and all I can carry with me is memory. I have learned.
"I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me. To fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I will work up and down here. And I will sing that they shall hear. That I am not, I am not afraid. I am not afraid."
Though my hands grow tough and my ears furry and long, I will press on in this great task. I am not afraid. I will read. A Winter's Tale, Amazing Adventures, Dreamboy. Great, and then more.
A few steps back, several forward.
In a direction only you and fate and any poor fool that has the courage to push you can say. A dance regardless. Whether blithe and green or gray, heavy with awkward bags. A trudging along.
We'll struggle forward, we'll push through.
As long as there's music, the dance will never cease.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Re: what's up Matt?
so i'm writing this now (so late? so earlY?) only because i've been fortunate (or un-?) to find myself in an introspective mood. i don't want to be that guy that beats around the bush with people as i've often been. i don't want to be dragging people around, being socialable un-had acquaintances with every guy on the block. what i mean to say is, i want to try and begin to learn to be someone that can know themself to see a feeling in them and then, by choice, commit to it. own it. i really enjoyed having lunch with you and chatting, cuddling too on that dreary day. and i want to commit to the feeling of saying that i do not want to pursue anything more than a friendship with you. cuddling is always nice, but i hate-- i hate-- being-- ...having dragged it out for so many people i've truly grown to care about. i want to tell you this so i won't leave you waiting around for more. because i just don't think i'm in a state to give you more right now. i'll apologize for not being the gutsy guy to say something like this over the phone, or in person even. but i really do want to give you that, that honesty, as i'm figuring it out for myself.
as you can see i'm still very much in a lifepath of figuring myself out, if that can ever be done. most people tell me to just relax and let it be. we'll see though. stay tuned.
as you can see i'm still very much in a lifepath of figuring myself out, if that can ever be done. most people tell me to just relax and let it be. we'll see though. stay tuned.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Crash Reported
Just got off the phone with the Koeppel VW Service stooge.
$439.00 for the 80k, $420 and $350 for the front and rear brake pads that need replacing, $76 to repair the broken center console, $203 to repair the broken seatbelt lock, $470 to replace the missing front grille. Feels like some American Express ad, "Priceless" should follow this list. But alas, Koeppel VW does not accept Amex. Grr.
So I'm essentially paying $2000 to get my car fixed to sell for what I'll probably only get $6000, which, after paying a few debts and moving costs, I'll be left with about $1000 to plop into my forsaken savings. I'll attempt to step back from the jarring practicalities of things and calmly nurse feelings of any fulfillment my darling bug has brought me over the past four years.
I flip through the CarFax Vehicle History Report I printed from online, basically summarizing, in a few short pages, nearly every recorded affair my car has been through.
5/27/02 - Vehicle Sold
9/10/03 - 21,999 miles - Vehicle Serviced (surely there had to be some non-recorded service prior to this)
03/11/04 - Accident Reported in Brevard County, Vehicle involved in crash or collision, Vehicle functional
05/13/04 - 34,766 - Vehicle Serviced
03/07/07 - 69,503 - NJ DMV - Title issued or updated, New owner reported
12/29/07 - 75,601 - Vehicle Serviced, Brake Light Switch replaced
Some gal named Kelly is telling me I can get $7,365, but something in me, or rather, everyone else's judgment, is telling me to bump it down a grand or two. I flip back to 3/11/04 and, in trying to recall, the slew of un-recorded accidents resurfaces.
You rarely remember those moments where you're sitting in stillness inside your vehicle thinking of where the two of you will go and what will change for you because of it. But this particular time, I did. There was a moment's pause before I turned the ignition. It was only a mile to the Southgate apartments from my apartment at the time, random impulse trip to hang out with Derek. Misty Oak Drive, Babcock St, University Blvd, and Albermarle Street. Speed limit was 25. I was going it. Campus apartments on the left; Low income apartments on the right. Halfway down the street, a kid on his bike came sailing out--he might as well have been sailing, suddenly taken aloft into the sky as my the rounded hood of my beetle collided with his body and his bike. They rolled and his left stunt peg turned my windshield opaque with a shatter proof crackle pattern. Endless instants later, post-the loudest scream that ever escaped me, my physical reaction kicked in, and a slammed break just barely kept him from rolling all the way over the dome of my car. He flew what could easily be fifty feet forward in front of the car. Other cars stopped behind me. Blood stained his dark body. My only fortune was the responsiveness of everyone else. Friends from his neighborhood came to his side and determined he was still breathing. They surrounded him. I think I saw him move. In my tangential mind, crying mothers cradling his body screamed at me as her tears pooled at my ankles, blood on my shoes. 911 was already called by the people in the cars behind me and they told me it was an accident because I wasn't sure. A crowd of students on the other side of the street formed. In my mind, Sharks and the Jets. I stood, ambiguous, justice in deliberation, with a hand on my forehead, longer hair pushed back--making gestures of what I hoped would be taken as affectedness. I called Jon and Derek. The start and destination. They came and consoled me. A helicopter landed on the baseball field to take the boy away. Firetrucks and police cars. A photo was taken of my car that would appear in an article in the campus paper the next week. I gave my perspective for the report. Dozens milled about. I let myself be taken care of, be taken home. My car let the tow truck hook up by it's battered face and take it away.
Friends and roommates and lovers came to my side. The boy would be fine. Lawsuits for the apartment complex and it's botanical blindspot would follow for two years. Statements were required of me. My car came out of the body shop with a new face two weeks later. That's the most we've faced together.
And even since I have moved up here to NJ/NY there have been countless adventures she's carried me on. We drive to Redhook to sample local street vendor fare. Rockaway beach. I drive to Deleware Water Gap, camping and rafting. To Albany for a frost-bitten Glover tap performance or to Windham Mountain for disgruntled boarding incidents. To Niagra Falls. In my mind I lay out the map of the roads I have traversed in my minty scarab, here and there, back in Florida, and many roads in between.
When it comes to orientating, the mood of the map-reader colors the map itself. The ability to conjure, the willingness to fill in the blanks, the urgency with which one needs to know--all contribute to what the map becomes in the hands of the inspired imaginer; an instrument of destiny. It can involve public, national destinies, or simply a familial geography or history, a goad to take the transforming journey on which you meet the person or see the landscape or have the experiences that changes if not a life, then at least a trajectory. It is hard to look at a map without sensing, in our bones, private hopes and secret fears about change. In my Mercator daydreams, I see: An erasure, perhaps, of the laid-down lines of the past. A willingness to draw new meridians. A reconfiguration of the private globe. A silent earthquake.- from "I, Mercator" by Stephen S. Hall
Monday, October 6, 2008
Cornfed
So I'm back.
The wedding and my four days of being wrapped up in it was exhilirating. I often have this strange bittersweet observation of pieces and parcels of the seemingly endless staions and terminals of my life as it has progressed. Though, they are broken and jarred about as some uncared for dig site; where I can pick up a rock or handful of dirt and understand what shaped it, as similar forces shaped me.
I see things from my past that I hardly remember, but that seemed to trigger an attraction in something familiar to it in chapters that were to follow.
My best friend from high school (undoubtably holding the title for the long haul) says to me while we wait in the wendys drive-thru on the morning of his wedding, after having purchased some starfruit, a monkey, and all the ingredients for the peach sangria: "I feel like as we get older things move slower and slower.". On afterthought, I figure this sentiment of his could have his amazing moments-future wife and all of the carpe diem-moments they have shared as it's contributing factor, but my immediate response flipped it all around- embracing our precipice-clenching pasts and the futuility of our memories to grasp them forever. "maybe it's just because of hindsight. The more we progress, the greater the past contains and the harder it is for memory to grasp it, thus making it seem to fly by faster and faster and more memories are built up- and conversely making the present progression of things seem slower and slower. ..I think I now lean toward his understanding of it.
In some unnameable dis-order, I was able to, among the passing of endless not-so-remembered faces, experience:
- another father and son...and father...and father.
- crabs and crazy relatives I had met as a different boy in a past life
- Seville, the mega-(straight)bar of pcola, dueling pianos, with a beautiful bartender (derek)
- Being a best man but not; none of the typical responsibilties of getting to be by the guys side through the thick of it, straightening ties and combing hair, making sure the punch gets made and the music goes off without a hitch.
- Emerald City the mega-(gay)bar of pcola, dead before 1130 and not the same as you rememeber, though the thrill of confident compasrison is worth it.
- Staying up the night following the wedding, not to get wasted and party but to sit in the hotel lobby with the best man, bridesmaid, videographer, and random others chatting about philosophy and concepts of culture and society, religion and politics til 6am.
- Noting that the men I see down there always seem so much better-fed than the average guys in the northeast; hulking, worn, cornfed boys with handsome lilting accents that makes you you remember the awkward adolescent days of your first attractions.
Despite my seeingly unavoidable list-making, I still hang onto a giant cloud of goodfeeling that my best friend, the man that shared some of his kind, honest soul, that I probably wouldn't have made it through grade school without, is now with his match, a woman of equal caliber in giggle-cry humor and zest and such an overwhelming amount of love and goodness-- so lucky a guy am I to have been able to stand next to them on the threshold of this great new adventure.
The wedding and my four days of being wrapped up in it was exhilirating. I often have this strange bittersweet observation of pieces and parcels of the seemingly endless staions and terminals of my life as it has progressed. Though, they are broken and jarred about as some uncared for dig site; where I can pick up a rock or handful of dirt and understand what shaped it, as similar forces shaped me.
I see things from my past that I hardly remember, but that seemed to trigger an attraction in something familiar to it in chapters that were to follow.
My best friend from high school (undoubtably holding the title for the long haul) says to me while we wait in the wendys drive-thru on the morning of his wedding, after having purchased some starfruit, a monkey, and all the ingredients for the peach sangria: "I feel like as we get older things move slower and slower.". On afterthought, I figure this sentiment of his could have his amazing moments-future wife and all of the carpe diem-moments they have shared as it's contributing factor, but my immediate response flipped it all around- embracing our precipice-clenching pasts and the futuility of our memories to grasp them forever. "maybe it's just because of hindsight. The more we progress, the greater the past contains and the harder it is for memory to grasp it, thus making it seem to fly by faster and faster and more memories are built up- and conversely making the present progression of things seem slower and slower. ..I think I now lean toward his understanding of it.
In some unnameable dis-order, I was able to, among the passing of endless not-so-remembered faces, experience:
- another father and son...and father...and father.
- crabs and crazy relatives I had met as a different boy in a past life
- Seville, the mega-(straight)bar of pcola, dueling pianos, with a beautiful bartender (derek)
- Being a best man but not; none of the typical responsibilties of getting to be by the guys side through the thick of it, straightening ties and combing hair, making sure the punch gets made and the music goes off without a hitch.
- Emerald City the mega-(gay)bar of pcola, dead before 1130 and not the same as you rememeber, though the thrill of confident compasrison is worth it.
- Staying up the night following the wedding, not to get wasted and party but to sit in the hotel lobby with the best man, bridesmaid, videographer, and random others chatting about philosophy and concepts of culture and society, religion and politics til 6am.
- Noting that the men I see down there always seem so much better-fed than the average guys in the northeast; hulking, worn, cornfed boys with handsome lilting accents that makes you you remember the awkward adolescent days of your first attractions.
Despite my seeingly unavoidable list-making, I still hang onto a giant cloud of goodfeeling that my best friend, the man that shared some of his kind, honest soul, that I probably wouldn't have made it through grade school without, is now with his match, a woman of equal caliber in giggle-cry humor and zest and such an overwhelming amount of love and goodness-- so lucky a guy am I to have been able to stand next to them on the threshold of this great new adventure.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Dream: AM 9/11/08
on a journey, with backpack (black)...walking, ((having just started Gentlemen of the Road)), walking the boyscout summer camp trail, circumstances and motives unremembered, a huge cart of some sort led by a dog and a dying buffalo, that falls over...but then is forced to get back up again, the cart is a huge surreal red carriage of some sort that has a small wheel at the front that upon a revolution, via an attached rubber-like driveshaft, rotates another wheel towards the top of the carriage that is actually a corn husker, you see now that the freeform carriage is actually a corn husking device, now in travel-mode, headed to a field to gather corn - there is a driver at teh top front and a man on the back edge of the carriage - unclear details - you follow it along until you come to the trail that, more familiar, is the road/trail alongside the field on the to piano teacher's old house, just outside of Defuniak, you remmeber why you'd be going this way, to reach the creek that you and albert/dixie once tried to find. you veer right off the road, and it's more developed here, a fence into a residential area, you try to stay on the public areas to find a way to move forward to access the creek, in the 'corner' just to the right of the fence is a building where black people are gathered outside, its a funeral home, you work your way around the building to the small road, paved, that follows behind it- the back of the building is smooth and covered in black glass, the road looks like a dead end - but the houses are all low income families. you get to where the road ends, but rather than a culdesac it becomes a opening to a park or series of trails. a couple of groups of people (white) are returning from a trail walk and regrouping, you slip in, but not before stopping to use your iphone to locate where you are in relation to where you believe the creek to be. the functions shift and become troublesome and there is some brief confusion/interaction between the people around you who are gathering and boarding a carriage/or car?.
(sometime between then and some unremembered duration, things change drastically)
At some point, you receive advice from an unremembered wise non-tourist character.... that to reach my destination i strive to reach, i must have a particular elf/fairy (?) accompany me. apparently he can be summoned from a nearby stump that seems to grow up out of the ground. he emerges and there is a puzzle i must solve first on a manuscript or a board? to begin my journey. i'm not sure if the buffalo is with me or if the fairy takes the shape of a small animal (the buffalo was never that big), but i have engaged an animal-like companion somepoint close to this. at one point the puzzle bores me and i need to take a break, but i am lying on a animal-skin bed in a natural setting and put the book of the current puzzle of the whole story itself down and say i need a break, and there's a tv embedded in a tree truck and start to watch a different story, but it's the same one, so there's mixed media messages here, that i can't quite pick out. just before the puzzle was delivered (looks alot like mahjong-with overlapping symboled tiles), i was explained the nature of the journey and what would have to happen to me- it seems i would have to undergo some sort of adaptation to be able to manage the trip. so, eager to do so and get on my way, the transformation slipped up upon me rather early on, but slowly without my noticing- signaled by a moment when the elf/fairy-guide, who in his early moments upon emerging looked like a stirring energy sandwiched between two half-shells, small almost like a broken open nut-- he looks at me and i, in turn see my 'character' and with admiration, remarks on how well my changes are going. already there is hocks of hair around my feet and lower arms, i have a more hearty tone, filling out my tshirt, and stronger jawline/visage. either its the growing muscle tone or sense of pride, my chest swells. the journey, back in this natural setting of resting the first night (?), i cuddle up in the animal skin bedding with my companion, the new companion animal or elf-turned-pigmy donkey , i'm not sure. i wakeup with the images somewhere along this point.
(sometime between then and some unremembered duration, things change drastically)
At some point, you receive advice from an unremembered wise non-tourist character.... that to reach my destination i strive to reach, i must have a particular elf/fairy (?) accompany me. apparently he can be summoned from a nearby stump that seems to grow up out of the ground. he emerges and there is a puzzle i must solve first on a manuscript or a board? to begin my journey. i'm not sure if the buffalo is with me or if the fairy takes the shape of a small animal (the buffalo was never that big), but i have engaged an animal-like companion somepoint close to this. at one point the puzzle bores me and i need to take a break, but i am lying on a animal-skin bed in a natural setting and put the book of the current puzzle of the whole story itself down and say i need a break, and there's a tv embedded in a tree truck and start to watch a different story, but it's the same one, so there's mixed media messages here, that i can't quite pick out. just before the puzzle was delivered (looks alot like mahjong-with overlapping symboled tiles), i was explained the nature of the journey and what would have to happen to me- it seems i would have to undergo some sort of adaptation to be able to manage the trip. so, eager to do so and get on my way, the transformation slipped up upon me rather early on, but slowly without my noticing- signaled by a moment when the elf/fairy-guide, who in his early moments upon emerging looked like a stirring energy sandwiched between two half-shells, small almost like a broken open nut-- he looks at me and i, in turn see my 'character' and with admiration, remarks on how well my changes are going. already there is hocks of hair around my feet and lower arms, i have a more hearty tone, filling out my tshirt, and stronger jawline/visage. either its the growing muscle tone or sense of pride, my chest swells. the journey, back in this natural setting of resting the first night (?), i cuddle up in the animal skin bedding with my companion, the new companion animal or elf-turned-pigmy donkey , i'm not sure. i wakeup with the images somewhere along this point.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A Matter of Principle
So, landing in Tallahassee all excited that I'm finally back home for the week, and eager to get into a car, because let's face it, that's really the only way to move around in my neck 'a the woods, I rush over to the line of car rental counters, luggage in tow. No cars. None of the companies. Apparently the day immediately following a hurricane, everyone rents cars. So I am forced to call the lovely Jordan to come pick me up. I keep trying the different rental counters with no luck. She's outside in her groovy bumblebee yellow Hyundai Accent. With Silk. We head over to Silk's apartment (Jordan now lives in P'city) so I can get online to see if there's any damn rental place open this dreary, wet sunday afternoon. Avis has another location in Tally, so we head that way.
Once there, I see a cute little Hybrid sitting in the lot. I want it. Go in, and after about 20 minutes of red tape, I am told I can have the Hybrid but it's gonna cost $89.99 extra per day. So much for incentive to help the environment. I decide without thinking to splurge. 15 more minutes of keyboard clacking. "Oh sorry sir, I can't give you the Hybrid because you're not 25." Okay, so now there's an age limit on trying to do something helpful. Or at least try it out. Ugh, so apparently because it's a specialty car, it has all these limitations.
Avis site lists the car as a specialty vehicle, which is all well and good, but look further...
So I don't get my little Hybrid, but instead a Nissan Versa. Which, although kinda boxy, is very comfy and has nice get-up-and-go and, best of all: I get from Tally to Defunk (about 120 miles) in about a third of a tank! Frustrations aside, I'm happy as I pull into ye olde abode of youth, where my dad's F150 and my mom's Ford Excursion sit glaring.
Once there, I see a cute little Hybrid sitting in the lot. I want it. Go in, and after about 20 minutes of red tape, I am told I can have the Hybrid but it's gonna cost $89.99 extra per day. So much for incentive to help the environment. I decide without thinking to splurge. 15 more minutes of keyboard clacking. "Oh sorry sir, I can't give you the Hybrid because you're not 25." Okay, so now there's an age limit on trying to do something helpful. Or at least try it out. Ugh, so apparently because it's a specialty car, it has all these limitations.
Avis site lists the car as a specialty vehicle, which is all well and good, but look further...
Additionally, the following restrictions also will apply for renters between the ages of 21-24: Renters of luxury, Mini-Vans, 12-Passenger Vans, Specialty, and Full-Size SUVs, Premium SUVs will not be permitted.
So I don't get my little Hybrid, but instead a Nissan Versa. Which, although kinda boxy, is very comfy and has nice get-up-and-go and, best of all: I get from Tally to Defunk (about 120 miles) in about a third of a tank! Frustrations aside, I'm happy as I pull into ye olde abode of youth, where my dad's F150 and my mom's Ford Excursion sit glaring.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
wordalicious
...so i told myself i would proclaim the aspiration to write one thing (anything!), posting it to this blog DAILY from a certain point onward - be it conjecture, mindless rambling, fun links, whatever - only once provided with the "feeling right" sentimental catalyst.
I would dare say that Wordle, the land of Beautiful Word Clouds, be it.
Here, I can take a quirky retrospective of all the crap I have blabbered on about up until now.
So, without further ado, and along with the high-falutin', ridiculously self-flaggelating (?) aspiration of once-a-day-posts, I give you my blog's wordle:
I would dare say that Wordle, the land of Beautiful Word Clouds, be it.
Here, I can take a quirky retrospective of all the crap I have blabbered on about up until now.
So, without further ado, and along with the high-falutin', ridiculously self-flaggelating (?) aspiration of once-a-day-posts, I give you my blog's wordle:
Friday, July 18, 2008
legendary
...was what the experience of witnessing this short-lived, yet unmeasurably influential duo from Essex could be described as.
The two lasted 18 months and put out only two albums. Though a quarter-century after Yaz's demise, it would have been impossible to tell by the reaction of the sold-out Terminal 5 audience. Nearly every song was sung along to by generations young and old. Some of the same people that heard them first perform live, and never forgot, were likely present. And while their music triggers nostalgia today, originally Yaz's sound helped pioneer a new style: synth-pop.
Could not ask Bill or anyone else for a better start to my musical education.
Overall a huge success from what I could tell, minus some confusion over pink paper hearts, the duo along with the crowd sans doubt dug each other. Rich, Paul, and a few other familiar faces were on hand to witness the unmissable event as well.
The two lasted 18 months and put out only two albums. Though a quarter-century after Yaz's demise, it would have been impossible to tell by the reaction of the sold-out Terminal 5 audience. Nearly every song was sung along to by generations young and old. Some of the same people that heard them first perform live, and never forgot, were likely present. And while their music triggers nostalgia today, originally Yaz's sound helped pioneer a new style: synth-pop.
Could not ask Bill or anyone else for a better start to my musical education.
Overall a huge success from what I could tell, minus some confusion over pink paper hearts, the duo along with the crowd sans doubt dug each other. Rich, Paul, and a few other familiar faces were on hand to witness the unmissable event as well.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
One Step at a Time
"here i sit, in the middle of the room; i don't throw a fit and i don't start crying..."
With some refreshing ol' buddy influence, a spark of memories, and a 'step-back-and-say-WHy-NoT?' perspective taken up, I begin to examine exactly that:
I can easily write about everything... this is the dog that lives with me, she is a such-and-such breed, here's a weblink; this is the camera i use, checkout this link to my flickr page; this is the tv i watch/obsess over, these are the things that interest me, that i am passionate about... sounds simple, right?
You start writing small blips about simple things, and be open to a variety of perspective sand styles, and see where it takes me. See where I take myself.
So, without further whining and blathering, let's begin.
Today is July 16th. 2008.
I've found myself sitting on a bench in a park in West New York overlooking the city as I first got to know it, from afar. From across a river where the full diorama of its skyline been seen from the "outside" and yet easily gained entry to peruse its mysteries....
what the fuck am i saying. i was just here, i just drove over to petsmart to get the dog some food, and was hungry so sdropped in on my favorieteds subway in the rold, in dangerously close proximity to the hyatt.... i wasn't ready to return to .... the suway was as bad as ever, even with two new hired hands, oviously still in training, a fly kept nipping around my head, perfect counterpoint to the rediculous service that still continue to provide....
the weather was hot and my ac was dead, hdesperatley hoping my car would continue running for me to at least get my to jonathans or a nearby bus stop .... but now, having arrived here, no answer from the notoriously bad signaled apartment on the 2nd floor which i can star into the darkened withdown with not answer, no answer on the phone either....so i'm essentially tuck, and to make ma-- confuound it alll, my bateries dying on my phone, resultanta of the whim to avoid overcharging it every night when i go to on the ihome when i go to bed....
its a rediculously beautiful day though.... my ranbans, begin stuck with as my fossils cheal seemed to be misplanced on the camping rtipthe ranbans are making all the greens greener and the blues blueer--- ...there's even some exuberant red coming from the shurberies behind my bench....
there is a rightness to smelling this smell - this natureal greeen, eathry smell....that i ve only found here in parks or on weekend excursious out into the woord awary from the compex ubanities,
i neeed to stop thinking whall the things i need to do and start doing things, ....practice doing things will make me better th at doing the ing i need to do rather than just continually noting them..... -- of course my entire journey would be littered with attractice people, making me wonderi yet again why i felt the ned to desert NJ.... was it solely based on steroetypes and my deisre to just ber in the midst of the dream of this place i dont' even know how to survive in, how to make a living in--- was i just thinking i was just going to ....*end streamofthought*
With some refreshing ol' buddy influence, a spark of memories, and a 'step-back-and-say-WHy-NoT?' perspective taken up, I begin to examine exactly that:
I can easily write about everything... this is the dog that lives with me, she is a such-and-such breed, here's a weblink; this is the camera i use, checkout this link to my flickr page; this is the tv i watch/obsess over, these are the things that interest me, that i am passionate about... sounds simple, right?
You start writing small blips about simple things, and be open to a variety of perspective sand styles, and see where it takes me. See where I take myself.
So, without further whining and blathering, let's begin.
Today is July 16th. 2008.
I've found myself sitting on a bench in a park in West New York overlooking the city as I first got to know it, from afar. From across a river where the full diorama of its skyline been seen from the "outside" and yet easily gained entry to peruse its mysteries....
what the fuck am i saying. i was just here, i just drove over to petsmart to get the dog some food, and was hungry so sdropped in on my favorieteds subway in the rold, in dangerously close proximity to the hyatt.... i wasn't ready to return to .... the suway was as bad as ever, even with two new hired hands, oviously still in training, a fly kept nipping around my head, perfect counterpoint to the rediculous service that still continue to provide....
the weather was hot and my ac was dead, hdesperatley hoping my car would continue running for me to at least get my to jonathans or a nearby bus stop .... but now, having arrived here, no answer from the notoriously bad signaled apartment on the 2nd floor which i can star into the darkened withdown with not answer, no answer on the phone either....so i'm essentially tuck, and to make ma-- confuound it alll, my bateries dying on my phone, resultanta of the whim to avoid overcharging it every night when i go to on the ihome when i go to bed....
its a rediculously beautiful day though.... my ranbans, begin stuck with as my fossils cheal seemed to be misplanced on the camping rtipthe ranbans are making all the greens greener and the blues blueer--- ...there's even some exuberant red coming from the shurberies behind my bench....
there is a rightness to smelling this smell - this natureal greeen, eathry smell....that i ve only found here in parks or on weekend excursious out into the woord awary from the compex ubanities,
i neeed to stop thinking whall the things i need to do and start doing things, ....practice doing things will make me better th at doing the ing i need to do rather than just continually noting them..... -- of course my entire journey would be littered with attractice people, making me wonderi yet again why i felt the ned to desert NJ.... was it solely based on steroetypes and my deisre to just ber in the midst of the dream of this place i dont' even know how to survive in, how to make a living in--- was i just thinking i was just going to ....*end streamofthought*
Saturday, April 26, 2008
April Letter
I start out trying to piece together some thoughts for this letter and end up getting lost in all the possibilities of what to write; but then I take a step back with a breath and realize it doesn't have to be a complex thesis of all that I am. The goal: express my interest and curiosity at finding this undisclosed backstory to my existence, because, though by no means all, a great part of what makes a person is where they come from.
Now, you can imagine, this 'not knowing' can certainly have an affect on someone. Certainly it has on me, and now buried deep within a past I've never approached I begin to explore how being adopted has really affected me. I have always known the fact and am certainly grateful for that. I think that realizing there's some things about me I haven't quite figured out yet in this transitional stage of life parallels this experience--a further discovery of myself is all I could ask for.
I shouldn't go on and on, intellectualizing the experience, which I have a habit of doing often. I should just get a brief glimpse of myself across and hopefully carry with it an expression of the true emotion-based desire to discover my origins--to encounter you.
Right now, I'm in New York City. Yes, I'm that kid who, after living his whole life in small-town ways, has sprung off to chase any number of uncertain dreams in the big city. After college, I came up here to experience all the city had to offer and I am loving the opportunity to learn to be an adult in this challenging, fast-paced world. I'm quite introspective (painfully so at times) and love to write and take pictures about my experiences. I love go to the theater and movies, cultivating friendships in all walks of life, always expanding my awareness of the world.
In that sense I've very glad to be alive, continually engaged in the great project of balancing where I'm going and where I've been--who I am--and happy that, in some far off place and time, you made the decision to have me--to put me into this world.
Certainly struck inept by this journey, I am uncertain of the specifics. Because of this, I have no clear expectations. I would be open to writing back and forth, email, or if we think we can handle it--working toward a meeting. Being a shy kid from way back, I typically find expressing myself a great deal more comfortable in an online format. At the same time, being someone that is eager to experience all life has to offer and always desiring to push myself to grow more, I am equally open to a face to face encounter.
So, without dragging on: Yes, I would love for us to meet in whatever way you're most comfortable with. I'll provide all my contact information below as well as some recent photos. Knowing how much this feels to me, I can't begin to imagine how you must feel. In that, I want to reiterate I'm open to making this happen on open grounds in which we're both most comfortable.
I am very excited about this whole experience and look forward to hearing from you.
I close in the same way a smallish note from across unimaginable distances was once penned:
With love,
Matt
Now, you can imagine, this 'not knowing' can certainly have an affect on someone. Certainly it has on me, and now buried deep within a past I've never approached I begin to explore how being adopted has really affected me. I have always known the fact and am certainly grateful for that. I think that realizing there's some things about me I haven't quite figured out yet in this transitional stage of life parallels this experience--a further discovery of myself is all I could ask for.
I shouldn't go on and on, intellectualizing the experience, which I have a habit of doing often. I should just get a brief glimpse of myself across and hopefully carry with it an expression of the true emotion-based desire to discover my origins--to encounter you.
Right now, I'm in New York City. Yes, I'm that kid who, after living his whole life in small-town ways, has sprung off to chase any number of uncertain dreams in the big city. After college, I came up here to experience all the city had to offer and I am loving the opportunity to learn to be an adult in this challenging, fast-paced world. I'm quite introspective (painfully so at times) and love to write and take pictures about my experiences. I love go to the theater and movies, cultivating friendships in all walks of life, always expanding my awareness of the world.
In that sense I've very glad to be alive, continually engaged in the great project of balancing where I'm going and where I've been--who I am--and happy that, in some far off place and time, you made the decision to have me--to put me into this world.
Certainly struck inept by this journey, I am uncertain of the specifics. Because of this, I have no clear expectations. I would be open to writing back and forth, email, or if we think we can handle it--working toward a meeting. Being a shy kid from way back, I typically find expressing myself a great deal more comfortable in an online format. At the same time, being someone that is eager to experience all life has to offer and always desiring to push myself to grow more, I am equally open to a face to face encounter.
So, without dragging on: Yes, I would love for us to meet in whatever way you're most comfortable with. I'll provide all my contact information below as well as some recent photos. Knowing how much this feels to me, I can't begin to imagine how you must feel. In that, I want to reiterate I'm open to making this happen on open grounds in which we're both most comfortable.
I am very excited about this whole experience and look forward to hearing from you.
I close in the same way a smallish note from across unimaginable distances was once penned:
With love,
Matt
Monday, March 24, 2008
March Madness
arrghh 0- spewing of thoughts! ... i want to get into it all , figure out a game, master the rules and strategy whatever it takes, even if that's not me and where i want to end up... this is a path i want to force my rusty rails onto -- machinery. like opening my chest up to anyone i meet new, that i enjoy the company of and see love and truth in, i open myself, one stitch at a time, and u can look inside and see all the gears and innerworkings, and maybe there's the chance that someone will poke at a little pendulum that will get something moving inside me that i never thought possible.
3;24;08
how would a reporter-style blog of the bear-community play out? would it be received well, or pompous and limited and judgemental?
3:14:08 - Green Finch and Linnet Bird
butt clenching - endless artifacts and to-do's held suspended in midair
why should I ignore details such as the fact that i cannot be more fascinated with the ___ scores of one Stephen Sondheim, and whatever stereo-reputations that might ensue?
dress up ideas
the boy who works in nj and lives in brooklyn and the other who is vice versa
writer of pet horoscopes
all the wrong people saying 'woof, aren't you too cute!"
you say 'fuck it, embrace the prosody'
meticulous meddling
can this be viewed from the sidelines?
IF YOU DON"T TELL THE WHOLE TRUTH, IT IS NOT A LIE.
The Victims:
The Disappointed Dreamer and Pampered Royal
spectacle is distraction
You seek variety, but does he?
Exurberant romance and drama
The Novice
fatally curious
experientially new exposures
more spectacle
be weary of a clever mix of innocence and corruption
The Exotic Fetishist
strong rebellious streak
position yourself as exotic - highlight your differences
a struggle to hold their interest
nothing will offer escape from themselves
The Professor
cannot escape trap of overanalyzing
feel physically inferior
escape their mental prisons
would like pure physicality but cannot get there on their own
hide your own intellectual tendencies
let them judge you
what makes you tick?
the iris showed me you were vulnerable
still waters run deep
busy people have too little space in their minds for you to occupy
we yearn to be drawn out of ourselves, out of our routines and into the drama of eros.
nothing is more seductive than a sense of destiny
the use of deliberate dullness
Mute your colors, seem unthreatening, blend in
Create a power by hinting at something contradictory within you - send mixed signals.
the key to both attracting and holding attention is to radiate mystery
3/7/08 - Excercise/Exorcise
adulthood = letting go of (childish) things ?
when people start to disappear, and you realize they may be gone for good - when you are forced to encapsulate a moment with a person or experience, a place - when something becomes finally finite - perhaps when we have become resolute with this fact is the moment we have "grown up".
People I encounter seem so "over it" with so many things.
Perhaps my (foolish?) idealistic hope is simply a defense mechanism to avoid fully approaching/resolving things to their natural conclusion.
Maybe your natural unconscious habit of assigning a 'good' or 'bad' to your overanalyzed motives is the real problem. Maybe in acknowledging the tragedy of human existence you actually apply it to yourself while saying: "Yes I do love to be around people because I love things other than myself, other lives, a myriad of experiences await to share," -- simultaneously: "I need people to avoid feeling alone, and sometimes because I just need some attention." Both are equally valid.
3;24;08
how would a reporter-style blog of the bear-community play out? would it be received well, or pompous and limited and judgemental?
3:14:08 - Green Finch and Linnet Bird
butt clenching - endless artifacts and to-do's held suspended in midair
why should I ignore details such as the fact that i cannot be more fascinated with the ___ scores of one Stephen Sondheim, and whatever stereo-reputations that might ensue?
dress up ideas
the boy who works in nj and lives in brooklyn and the other who is vice versa
writer of pet horoscopes
all the wrong people saying 'woof, aren't you too cute!"
you say 'fuck it, embrace the prosody'
meticulous meddling
can this be viewed from the sidelines?
IF YOU DON"T TELL THE WHOLE TRUTH, IT IS NOT A LIE.
The Victims:
The Disappointed Dreamer and Pampered Royal
spectacle is distraction
You seek variety, but does he?
Exurberant romance and drama
The Novice
fatally curious
experientially new exposures
more spectacle
be weary of a clever mix of innocence and corruption
The Exotic Fetishist
strong rebellious streak
position yourself as exotic - highlight your differences
a struggle to hold their interest
nothing will offer escape from themselves
The Professor
cannot escape trap of overanalyzing
feel physically inferior
escape their mental prisons
would like pure physicality but cannot get there on their own
hide your own intellectual tendencies
let them judge you
what makes you tick?
the iris showed me you were vulnerable
still waters run deep
busy people have too little space in their minds for you to occupy
we yearn to be drawn out of ourselves, out of our routines and into the drama of eros.
nothing is more seductive than a sense of destiny
the use of deliberate dullness
Mute your colors, seem unthreatening, blend in
Create a power by hinting at something contradictory within you - send mixed signals.
the key to both attracting and holding attention is to radiate mystery
3/7/08 - Excercise/Exorcise
adulthood = letting go of (childish) things ?
when people start to disappear, and you realize they may be gone for good - when you are forced to encapsulate a moment with a person or experience, a place - when something becomes finally finite - perhaps when we have become resolute with this fact is the moment we have "grown up".
People I encounter seem so "over it" with so many things.
Perhaps my (foolish?) idealistic hope is simply a defense mechanism to avoid fully approaching/resolving things to their natural conclusion.
Maybe your natural unconscious habit of assigning a 'good' or 'bad' to your overanalyzed motives is the real problem. Maybe in acknowledging the tragedy of human existence you actually apply it to yourself while saying: "Yes I do love to be around people because I love things other than myself, other lives, a myriad of experiences await to share," -- simultaneously: "I need people to avoid feeling alone, and sometimes because I just need some attention." Both are equally valid.
Monday, February 25, 2008
broken thoughts
i need to sell some of my junk. stacks are rising to the ceiling.
ZTEJ321 : what did you do today'?
Epicurus83 : i sat around - slept in - read - bought groceries - blogstalked
night photos from the vantage of seven feet in the air looking down
flash washing everything out - a few random angles of strangers scattered about - putting the pieces together....
generation gap - carbon dating
branding identities - virtualizing human connections
focus on the details - take it easy on the prose
and why this method of 'knowing' rather than the classic, tried-and-true meeting someone face to face, approaching them, expressing a downtoearth interest...could it be out of cowardice/shyness? .... there again, there are endless seas of therapootical analysis (anal-is-SEAS) ..... methane enduced over-analysis.
and while i've got a stack of books sitting in reality not five feet away from where i now type - to-do reading - and a constant supply via half.com still coming in - i still gravitate toward the intraweb - content to thumb through a blog of someone i don't even know....
my posse, friends and i.
ask anyone standing next to me in the bar and they're sure to be able to list off anyone's bear411 sn quicker than they can remember a real name.
we're still cavorting about, self-image complexes in tow , while one generation above us is... , while one generation above that is.... (maybe i seek assistance with filling in the blanks)
I seem on the fast track to becoming the gossip girl (fanboy) of this newly discovered community...
lives - i can spend an entire day off crashing my safari with *apple-T*-action endless tabs, mapping my through all the blogs/interconnectedness
it's almost better than mapping the intricate mythology of Lost *gasp*. Much to this avid viewer's chagrin, characters on lost have become somewhat 2-D/predictable within the last season. The only current tv i'll watch.
relax. i can be patient. "Italia" by Gabriel yared from Talented Mr. Ripley soundtrack plays as i cross the hall to get a glass of unfiltered tap water. returning to my room with it's random bulbs lighting corners of the vaulted ceiling and awkward angles, making it look like i live in a giant lantern, the day dusking away out my open window. a morsel of contentedness is stirred up by my cozy lantern.
ZTEJ321 : what did you do today'?
Epicurus83 : i sat around - slept in - read - bought groceries - blogstalked
night photos from the vantage of seven feet in the air looking down
flash washing everything out - a few random angles of strangers scattered about - putting the pieces together....
generation gap - carbon dating
branding identities - virtualizing human connections
focus on the details - take it easy on the prose
and why this method of 'knowing' rather than the classic, tried-and-true meeting someone face to face, approaching them, expressing a downtoearth interest...could it be out of cowardice/shyness? .... there again, there are endless seas of therapootical analysis (anal-is-SEAS) ..... methane enduced over-analysis.
and while i've got a stack of books sitting in reality not five feet away from where i now type - to-do reading - and a constant supply via half.com still coming in - i still gravitate toward the intraweb - content to thumb through a blog of someone i don't even know....
my posse, friends and i.
ask anyone standing next to me in the bar and they're sure to be able to list off anyone's bear411 sn quicker than they can remember a real name.
we're still cavorting about, self-image complexes in tow , while one generation above us is... , while one generation above that is.... (maybe i seek assistance with filling in the blanks)
I seem on the fast track to becoming the gossip girl (fanboy) of this newly discovered community...
lives - i can spend an entire day off crashing my safari with *apple-T*-action endless tabs, mapping my through all the blogs/interconnectedness
it's almost better than mapping the intricate mythology of Lost *gasp*. Much to this avid viewer's chagrin, characters on lost have become somewhat 2-D/predictable within the last season. The only current tv i'll watch.
relax. i can be patient. "Italia" by Gabriel yared from Talented Mr. Ripley soundtrack plays as i cross the hall to get a glass of unfiltered tap water. returning to my room with it's random bulbs lighting corners of the vaulted ceiling and awkward angles, making it look like i live in a giant lantern, the day dusking away out my open window. a morsel of contentedness is stirred up by my cozy lantern.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Every little piece
Reading over someone's shoulder .... in the library, on the train...
do you assemble an identity out of fandom... an attraction to something others find alluring...or do you find it alluring yourself. and what do you find alluring yourself - the artifacts? the wrapped up lives? the chase?
and why should any of your efforts be directed elsewhere - double entendre - every effort is not worth it unless it accomplishes multiple objectives you mean?
It's like - you don't know where to start - what to pursue on your own...where to begin. So it's naturally easy to peek over at someone else's newspaper, someone else's crossword, someone else's story and follow along for a bit. And hey, maybe somewhere along the way, you may have the answer to 17-across or some other random clue. In that way, we should look out for opportunities to help each other out. Using our talents to do so. And mine is research. A jigsaw puzzle of unknown breadth is brought up in a helicopter and scattered across the whole of the city. Maybe it's not my job to put the puzzle together, but it sure can be fun to stumble upon some of the pieces. Maybe we're all kinda lookin for where our next pieces are gonna turn up.
Lost mythology teaches us that nothing is irrelevant; every little detail should catalogued and remembered, because one day it will connect with something else, make a little more sense or explode a whole new mystery.
do you assemble an identity out of fandom... an attraction to something others find alluring...or do you find it alluring yourself. and what do you find alluring yourself - the artifacts? the wrapped up lives? the chase?
and why should any of your efforts be directed elsewhere - double entendre - every effort is not worth it unless it accomplishes multiple objectives you mean?
It's like - you don't know where to start - what to pursue on your own...where to begin. So it's naturally easy to peek over at someone else's newspaper, someone else's crossword, someone else's story and follow along for a bit. And hey, maybe somewhere along the way, you may have the answer to 17-across or some other random clue. In that way, we should look out for opportunities to help each other out. Using our talents to do so. And mine is research. A jigsaw puzzle of unknown breadth is brought up in a helicopter and scattered across the whole of the city. Maybe it's not my job to put the puzzle together, but it sure can be fun to stumble upon some of the pieces. Maybe we're all kinda lookin for where our next pieces are gonna turn up.
Lost mythology teaches us that nothing is irrelevant; every little detail should catalogued and remembered, because one day it will connect with something else, make a little more sense or explode a whole new mystery.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
shrink me
There is a question I'd like to posit/throw out there:
What is the dialogue or where is the line between fear and desire?
How can they be intermingled?
What is the dialogue or where is the line between fear and desire?
How can they be intermingled?
Monday, February 11, 2008
angostura embitters
valley of ashes
the gerbil that runs on the grassified chain link fence wheel, and when it trips it jumpstarts the awakening of the clutterbots
they get beamed to the valley of ashes where they battle for the title of best clutter
experimental stop motion short film of clutter monsters - collect clutter from someone's apartment. brainstorm what monster could be made of as well as what it would use for weapons/powers.
it's like a homemakeover show that turns into a powerranger/godzilla spoof
real guests at beginning...
play off on japanese movies....as well as lifetime home design shows... as well as reality tv - yugioh - the homeowner has some power-integration of some sort with creature -
reality tv into fantasy spoof
another short film of a tv show idea - me and javi vespa-in it around the city and gay bar hopping. critiquing all the bad stereotypes but at the same time being horrible stereotypes ourselves - reflexivitiy - and questioning them all.
i think sometimes people just sit online - on the meetup websites or AIM - just staring at the sn's of people they wish they could talk to or be talked to by - and just stare away, wondering how to start a conversation and only thinking with the Vampire of Despair, "who do you think you're kidding?" - i think i think this of other people simply to validate the fact that i do it.
Old Sock Drawer > o, o, a, e > l, d, s, c, k, d, r, w, r > I give up ( http://www.mbhs.edu/~bconnell/cgi-bin/anagram.cgi?cpw=4&phrase=OldSockDrawer ) anagrams for this phrase seem infinite when you let the words be smaller than four letters.
I love maps. The act of simply laying things out (cut/pasting paper/computerizing the pieces to make a bigger map) and seeing where things are. I like being able to walk out of a subway and be able to just tell which way is which based on where i feel the sunlight coming from. Almost unconsciously. I like ancient cartography - the idea of making sense of things in a senseless world. I like orientating myself. I keep maps of all the parks and places I visit.
There was this story/fable/rhyme in my Science/Lit Seminar as sort of a tiny, italicized intro to one of the ten or so random books we read. The story essentially goes: an ancient civilization works to create the greatest map ever made, the map becomes greater and greater in size to encompass more and more detail. Make a long story short, the map literally outgrows the size of the kingdom itself, overlays it in a sense- thus, we arrive at our current state of affairs: the representation of something has gained a greater value than the thing itself. Do we really need to explore places that have already been mapped out and discovered - or, better yet - recreated in a virtual world?
Now, don't get me wrong. Up until now u (reader implied) probably think I'm a poor fool that sees no benefit in the unknown. There's nothing I love more than getting lost. In the literal sense. Maybe it provides the literal counterpart to an overarching internal feeling of disorientation (Ugh, is there EVER a moment I'm not psychoanalyzing myself?!). Regardless, I love maps but I also love getting lost.... not knowing my way, making my own maps in my head.
*Shrug* conjecture. click the little magnifying glass in your browser and begin (continue) your orientation of our virtual terrain.
the gerbil that runs on the grassified chain link fence wheel, and when it trips it jumpstarts the awakening of the clutterbots
they get beamed to the valley of ashes where they battle for the title of best clutter
experimental stop motion short film of clutter monsters - collect clutter from someone's apartment. brainstorm what monster could be made of as well as what it would use for weapons/powers.
it's like a homemakeover show that turns into a powerranger/godzilla spoof
real guests at beginning...
play off on japanese movies....as well as lifetime home design shows... as well as reality tv - yugioh - the homeowner has some power-integration of some sort with creature -
reality tv into fantasy spoof
another short film of a tv show idea - me and javi vespa-in it around the city and gay bar hopping. critiquing all the bad stereotypes but at the same time being horrible stereotypes ourselves - reflexivitiy - and questioning them all.
i think sometimes people just sit online - on the meetup websites or AIM - just staring at the sn's of people they wish they could talk to or be talked to by - and just stare away, wondering how to start a conversation and only thinking with the Vampire of Despair, "who do you think you're kidding?" - i think i think this of other people simply to validate the fact that i do it.
Old Sock Drawer > o, o, a, e > l, d, s, c, k, d, r, w, r > I give up ( http://www.mbhs.edu/~bconnell/cgi-bin/anagram.cgi?cpw=4&phrase=OldSockDrawer ) anagrams for this phrase seem infinite when you let the words be smaller than four letters.
I love maps. The act of simply laying things out (cut/pasting paper/computerizing the pieces to make a bigger map) and seeing where things are. I like being able to walk out of a subway and be able to just tell which way is which based on where i feel the sunlight coming from. Almost unconsciously. I like ancient cartography - the idea of making sense of things in a senseless world. I like orientating myself. I keep maps of all the parks and places I visit.
There was this story/fable/rhyme in my Science/Lit Seminar as sort of a tiny, italicized intro to one of the ten or so random books we read. The story essentially goes: an ancient civilization works to create the greatest map ever made, the map becomes greater and greater in size to encompass more and more detail. Make a long story short, the map literally outgrows the size of the kingdom itself, overlays it in a sense- thus, we arrive at our current state of affairs: the representation of something has gained a greater value than the thing itself. Do we really need to explore places that have already been mapped out and discovered - or, better yet - recreated in a virtual world?
Now, don't get me wrong. Up until now u (reader implied) probably think I'm a poor fool that sees no benefit in the unknown. There's nothing I love more than getting lost. In the literal sense. Maybe it provides the literal counterpart to an overarching internal feeling of disorientation (Ugh, is there EVER a moment I'm not psychoanalyzing myself?!). Regardless, I love maps but I also love getting lost.... not knowing my way, making my own maps in my head.
*Shrug* conjecture. click the little magnifying glass in your browser and begin (continue) your orientation of our virtual terrain.
Friday, February 1, 2008
IF THEY EVER DID
If he showed up here, right now? ...
I fell like I've been abusing, or rather wasting away the fact that I have a perfectly clever and accessible blog/arena in which to express my thoughts/meanderings upon my notion that certain subject are not valid for psuedo-public display. Thus, finally straying from this notion, I would like to finish what was foolishly begun...
Their moon was cardboard, fragile; it was very apt to fray
And what was last night scenic may seem cynic by today
The play’s not done. Oh no – not quite,
For life never ends in the moonlit night;
And despite what pretty poets say,
The night is only half the day.
So we would like to finish what was foolishly begun.
For the story is not ended and the play is never done
Until we’ve all of us been burned a bit
And burnished by the sun.
- "This Plum is Too Ripe," from The Fantasticks
An until this time, unpublished draft:
"IF THEY NEVER DID....":
Fear lulls our minds to sleep.
Fear runs this main character... it makes the animal more fight/flight, it makes the performer never have auditioned at all, it makes the scientist paranoid and
How do you remove fear? THat is the journey of our main character.
Maybe realizing there's something bigger than you - that' you're not the THE main character.
he's reaching out. he's reaching out and he's a coward. he's a coward and he's frozen in fear, relieved to have no made the decision, hating himself for hating everything... hate.. fear... fear creates it. that hate. what are we so afraid of - being hurt
i'm allowed private moments of madness...just as long as I don't stay in that madness.
“Use your talent to save him. Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There is no other way. The show must go on, Satine. We’re creatures of the underworld. We can’t afford to love.”
I can't afford to quote my life away. I have to write my own story.
We met at Ty's. It was planned, we had been talking on the phone, rather infrequently for a few weeks; I had just returned from my family summer vacation--beach house at Grayton.
<<<<<
in the days of writing this - a hotel stay for LOST was lost upon my efforts - and jonathan and I pondered a story idea he had been working on:
(to get the story out, to encapsulate it, to get the story there, down on paper, so it's not in here"
slice through that cheesiness with a very very sharp, hot knife
Jonathan's story: Rainbow Springs: America's Only Gay Seaside Trailer Park
the drag queen, Delta Dawn (DeeDee for short) , is murdered early on, but then reappears as a ghostly fairy godmother to guide the "perpetually single guy" - haunts the newly arrived "single kid" - and her haunting of him is on the surface "solve my murder mystery" but the subtext is "find yourself" which ultimately ingratiates himself into the community, he finds his place
PSG - reason he's there: forced into it?
all the little lanes are named after dead gay icons.
>>>>>
(So the facts may not all be there or quite right, but i'll do my best)
We met at Ty's. He called while I was exceeding at my usual role of wallflower in the back. I came out the door and saw him there standing in the street with two friends. I did my usual giddy glance to the side, unable to look him in the eye the first moment and walked up. Shook hands (or did we hug?). Met the friends. We parted from them, back inside and he bought me a jack/gingerale. I finished up and we blew the joint. I had parked somewhere on Greenwich st, one of my few times actually driving in to go out, don't remember why - maybe to get there fast? So we walked around looking for my car which quickly turned into exploring the village. The maternity wear, the giant wooden fish in Ralph Lauren, the gorgeous-dark succulent plant shop, magnolia, the indian/tibetan store...the bench. In afterthought i could say I was drunk and more....but it still felt like the best thing. But then again, meeting someone and clicking right off the bat usually does. I offered to drive him home, I had sorta sobered up and we drove all the way up westside to 181st. Playin the ipod on shuffle produced great songs that'd become our own personal soundtrack. He showed me Cabrini with attempting to park five feet away from a hydrant and Chittenden with the overlook and fog enshrouded GWB. Escapades further concluded the night; I drove home enamored.
That was 6/8/2007. Today is Friday, February 1st. Between now and then has been 237 days of giving up defenses, crystal escapades, the space--whole chapters of yummy goodness that spoke only 'forever' and 'together'. Not to mention a whole menagerie of time dragons, brass estate cats, frightened turtle heads, and polar bear expeditions. Soggy shrimp dishes in the park we wanted to live overlooking, july 4th and point pleasant, mahopac and cold spring antiquing the day away--we let each other in fast and eagerly. We parasailed over an ocean we thought big enough to hold an entire workable future. In August, my mother came to visit, and along with Jordan and some other ancillary characters, they all ate him up. I couldn't have survived my planned lunch at the Boathouse in the park without the cocktail-but all in all, mom spoke-realized that she felt comforted I had someone to keep an eye on me up here- I did too.
Gradually though, and mostly through encounters with each others' friends, the promise began to waver. November has always been my month of doubt. But this was not before the camping trip, fall leaves above hammock, feeling home-comforted in the woods. We were always okay together alone. It would be our immersion in our own separate worlds that began the downward plunge. There were talks and arguments with seeming resolutions and they would resurface. In the most base sense, values held or not held were presupposed to have to match up and ultimately be the same. In his eyes, there's no place for a person in a relationship to be going out to "single's bars", that it would be disrespectful; and I thought I could grow to believe this. I tried to explain to myself and my way out of it that I needed to go out to be with my friends. It went on and on. The pressure could no longer be negotiated out of the equation.
Conversations with friends validated ideas that i wasn't always wrong about it, that I had to continue to change for someone else's path before I had even begun to create my own. I thought to myself:
what's making this fail is not the fact that we have too little in common - but over time we've developed a mutual fear that our differences will make us not work --- and it's THIS fear that's making it fall apart. it's making communication break down and everything fall apart.
i don't think i've chosen my friends over you. i think i've balanced it quite well. my time between
the decisions on what u do with that anger is the problem here. hasty decision he's made
actually kinda childish.
after anger passes, if he's still doesn't see a desire to be with me, he doesn't deserve me.
you're jealous that you're not the only thing in my life.
ike your plate gets full (strike, training, mom) and then you basically say to me "matt i don't have the energy to ask you waht you're thinking all the time, so i'm shutting down." -- ... >>
i feel like i've made some choice in your eyes - and that i've done something wrong - and its unacceptable to you - and you just take it for awhile ... and then it becomes even worse so it becomes essentially the break point for you - adn you can back up your case with the fact that its been going on and i haven't been perceptive of it or done anything to change.
I'm sorry i lied to you. it's because I'm afraid. we've both been afraid too long. what's making this fail is not the fact that we have too little in common - but over time we've developed a mutual fear that our differences will make us not work --- and it's THIS fear that's making it fall apart. it's making communication break down and everything fall apart.
i feel like the consequence you have given me does not match the crime. i know you're angry, i know i did wrong. as soon as u are at a point where u and i can talk and not be upset, i would like to talk. i would like to be with you. I'm sorry. i know the decisions now are up to you. and i want you to do whatever you feel is best for you. i'm here for you.
and i think the hardest thing to realize is that
i wouldn't have had the courage to face/confess my distractions/doubts if it had gone on.
but then a classic case of you don't know what you have til you lose it - i would've wanted to make it work - whatever the cost.
is love truly love without a little pain and heartbreak? i think not.
i wish you could have known a fearless me. (...but then maybe I would have never chosen a fearful you.)
I loved him. I don't stop loving people, but sometimes I'm forced to say goodbye. All random thoughts I've had and should have spoken, or spoken more clearly. Ultimately I've come out of it, disposed mementos in hand, a little worse for wear, but realizing a great deal. Not only my usual easiness-to-become enamored in someone, but also solidifying a good deal of beliefs in how a relationship would work for me. I he was here I certainly wouldn't have a clue what to say; if that says I'm not over it, then so be it. But I'm like charlie who wound the pocket-watch one too many times, I can never go back. Goodbye.
I fell like I've been abusing, or rather wasting away the fact that I have a perfectly clever and accessible blog/arena in which to express my thoughts/meanderings upon my notion that certain subject are not valid for psuedo-public display. Thus, finally straying from this notion, I would like to finish what was foolishly begun...
Their moon was cardboard, fragile; it was very apt to fray
And what was last night scenic may seem cynic by today
The play’s not done. Oh no – not quite,
For life never ends in the moonlit night;
And despite what pretty poets say,
The night is only half the day.
So we would like to finish what was foolishly begun.
For the story is not ended and the play is never done
Until we’ve all of us been burned a bit
And burnished by the sun.
- "This Plum is Too Ripe," from The Fantasticks
An until this time, unpublished draft:
"IF THEY NEVER DID....":
Fear lulls our minds to sleep.
Fear runs this main character... it makes the animal more fight/flight, it makes the performer never have auditioned at all, it makes the scientist paranoid and
How do you remove fear? THat is the journey of our main character.
Maybe realizing there's something bigger than you - that' you're not the THE main character.
he's reaching out. he's reaching out and he's a coward. he's a coward and he's frozen in fear, relieved to have no made the decision, hating himself for hating everything... hate.. fear... fear creates it. that hate. what are we so afraid of - being hurt
i'm allowed private moments of madness...just as long as I don't stay in that madness.
“Use your talent to save him. Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There is no other way. The show must go on, Satine. We’re creatures of the underworld. We can’t afford to love.”
I can't afford to quote my life away. I have to write my own story.
We met at Ty's. It was planned, we had been talking on the phone, rather infrequently for a few weeks; I had just returned from my family summer vacation--beach house at Grayton.
<<<<<
in the days of writing this - a hotel stay for LOST was lost upon my efforts - and jonathan and I pondered a story idea he had been working on:
(to get the story out, to encapsulate it, to get the story there, down on paper, so it's not in here"
slice through that cheesiness with a very very sharp, hot knife
Jonathan's story: Rainbow Springs: America's Only Gay Seaside Trailer Park
the drag queen, Delta Dawn (DeeDee for short) , is murdered early on, but then reappears as a ghostly fairy godmother to guide the "perpetually single guy" - haunts the newly arrived "single kid" - and her haunting of him is on the surface "solve my murder mystery" but the subtext is "find yourself" which ultimately ingratiates himself into the community, he finds his place
PSG - reason he's there: forced into it?
all the little lanes are named after dead gay icons.
>>>>>
(So the facts may not all be there or quite right, but i'll do my best)
We met at Ty's. He called while I was exceeding at my usual role of wallflower in the back. I came out the door and saw him there standing in the street with two friends. I did my usual giddy glance to the side, unable to look him in the eye the first moment and walked up. Shook hands (or did we hug?). Met the friends. We parted from them, back inside and he bought me a jack/gingerale. I finished up and we blew the joint. I had parked somewhere on Greenwich st, one of my few times actually driving in to go out, don't remember why - maybe to get there fast? So we walked around looking for my car which quickly turned into exploring the village. The maternity wear, the giant wooden fish in Ralph Lauren, the gorgeous-dark succulent plant shop, magnolia, the indian/tibetan store...the bench. In afterthought i could say I was drunk and more....but it still felt like the best thing. But then again, meeting someone and clicking right off the bat usually does. I offered to drive him home, I had sorta sobered up and we drove all the way up westside to 181st. Playin the ipod on shuffle produced great songs that'd become our own personal soundtrack. He showed me Cabrini with attempting to park five feet away from a hydrant and Chittenden with the overlook and fog enshrouded GWB. Escapades further concluded the night; I drove home enamored.
That was 6/8/2007. Today is Friday, February 1st. Between now and then has been 237 days of giving up defenses, crystal escapades, the space--whole chapters of yummy goodness that spoke only 'forever' and 'together'. Not to mention a whole menagerie of time dragons, brass estate cats, frightened turtle heads, and polar bear expeditions. Soggy shrimp dishes in the park we wanted to live overlooking, july 4th and point pleasant, mahopac and cold spring antiquing the day away--we let each other in fast and eagerly. We parasailed over an ocean we thought big enough to hold an entire workable future. In August, my mother came to visit, and along with Jordan and some other ancillary characters, they all ate him up. I couldn't have survived my planned lunch at the Boathouse in the park without the cocktail-but all in all, mom spoke-realized that she felt comforted I had someone to keep an eye on me up here- I did too.
Gradually though, and mostly through encounters with each others' friends, the promise began to waver. November has always been my month of doubt. But this was not before the camping trip, fall leaves above hammock, feeling home-comforted in the woods. We were always okay together alone. It would be our immersion in our own separate worlds that began the downward plunge. There were talks and arguments with seeming resolutions and they would resurface. In the most base sense, values held or not held were presupposed to have to match up and ultimately be the same. In his eyes, there's no place for a person in a relationship to be going out to "single's bars", that it would be disrespectful; and I thought I could grow to believe this. I tried to explain to myself and my way out of it that I needed to go out to be with my friends. It went on and on. The pressure could no longer be negotiated out of the equation.
Conversations with friends validated ideas that i wasn't always wrong about it, that I had to continue to change for someone else's path before I had even begun to create my own. I thought to myself:
what's making this fail is not the fact that we have too little in common - but over time we've developed a mutual fear that our differences will make us not work --- and it's THIS fear that's making it fall apart. it's making communication break down and everything fall apart.
i don't think i've chosen my friends over you. i think i've balanced it quite well. my time between
the decisions on what u do with that anger is the problem here. hasty decision he's made
actually kinda childish.
after anger passes, if he's still doesn't see a desire to be with me, he doesn't deserve me.
you're jealous that you're not the only thing in my life.
ike your plate gets full (strike, training, mom) and then you basically say to me "matt i don't have the energy to ask you waht you're thinking all the time, so i'm shutting down." -- ... >>
i feel like i've made some choice in your eyes - and that i've done something wrong - and its unacceptable to you - and you just take it for awhile ... and then it becomes even worse so it becomes essentially the break point for you - adn you can back up your case with the fact that its been going on and i haven't been perceptive of it or done anything to change.
I'm sorry i lied to you. it's because I'm afraid. we've both been afraid too long. what's making this fail is not the fact that we have too little in common - but over time we've developed a mutual fear that our differences will make us not work --- and it's THIS fear that's making it fall apart. it's making communication break down and everything fall apart.
i feel like the consequence you have given me does not match the crime. i know you're angry, i know i did wrong. as soon as u are at a point where u and i can talk and not be upset, i would like to talk. i would like to be with you. I'm sorry. i know the decisions now are up to you. and i want you to do whatever you feel is best for you. i'm here for you.
and i think the hardest thing to realize is that
i wouldn't have had the courage to face/confess my distractions/doubts if it had gone on.
but then a classic case of you don't know what you have til you lose it - i would've wanted to make it work - whatever the cost.
is love truly love without a little pain and heartbreak? i think not.
i wish you could have known a fearless me. (...but then maybe I would have never chosen a fearful you.)
I loved him. I don't stop loving people, but sometimes I'm forced to say goodbye. All random thoughts I've had and should have spoken, or spoken more clearly. Ultimately I've come out of it, disposed mementos in hand, a little worse for wear, but realizing a great deal. Not only my usual easiness-to-become enamored in someone, but also solidifying a good deal of beliefs in how a relationship would work for me. I he was here I certainly wouldn't have a clue what to say; if that says I'm not over it, then so be it. But I'm like charlie who wound the pocket-watch one too many times, I can never go back. Goodbye.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
timeout
what have i done, what have i done
how could i be so blind
all is lost, where was i
spoiled all, spoiled all
everything's gone all wrong
but i never intended all this madness, never
and nobody really understood
well how could they?
that all i've ever wanted was to bring them something great
why does nothing ever turn out like it should?
Well, what the heck and went and did my best
and by god i really tasted something swell, that's right
and for a moment, why, I even touched the sky
and at least I left some stories they can tell, I did
and for the first time since I can't remember when
I felt just like my old bony self again
and I, Jack, the Pumpkin King-- that's right, I AM THE PUMPKIN KING
when there's nothing in it, you'll make me sniffle to hand me your hanky so i can fold i neat and put it in your empty pocket
"Truth is the first casualty of war."
The therapy chair and a pink balloon sneaks across a green while the silent seconds run out.
The Owl is an object to satisfy my addiction of guilt.
how could i be so blind
all is lost, where was i
spoiled all, spoiled all
everything's gone all wrong
but i never intended all this madness, never
and nobody really understood
well how could they?
that all i've ever wanted was to bring them something great
why does nothing ever turn out like it should?
Well, what the heck and went and did my best
and by god i really tasted something swell, that's right
and for a moment, why, I even touched the sky
and at least I left some stories they can tell, I did
and for the first time since I can't remember when
I felt just like my old bony self again
and I, Jack, the Pumpkin King-- that's right, I AM THE PUMPKIN KING
when there's nothing in it, you'll make me sniffle to hand me your hanky so i can fold i neat and put it in your empty pocket
"Truth is the first casualty of war."
The therapy chair and a pink balloon sneaks across a green while the silent seconds run out.
The Owl is an object to satisfy my addiction of guilt.
Monday, January 7, 2008
December Dreams
We'd find some beautiful place to get lost...
Ocsicnarf Nas
12/5/07
if you imagine everyone watching you, the Performer imagines a continuous and sizeable audience --- even when there is none. Classic backstage musical turned nightmare.
The Ego overtakes the heart
The Id takes over the loins
The Superego takes over the brain
12/27/07 -
another show where i forgot my lines
a scene in a classroom - that i feel i know so well - i'm the teacher...
we're milling about.... am i the teacher to begin with?
it's an opening exposition song - i end up by the back table looking at a fully written on blackboard... mark on my left, dylan on my right.... they're cracking up -- like the whole play is a joke to them and they've been forced into it --- i slide over to the right...suddenly not rememebering the lines... the musics' approaching..... aand i think to myself that it will automatically come back to me because i've sung the lines so many times - and it doesn't come - the music hits -- i hear the backup singer ? quitely in the background.... and try and put it together -- it seems like it'd be a very nice show
Jamie, jimmy, michael, this house, that job....
these are the challenges you face
and it is these choices that you make today that will affect the rest of your life
12/29/07
new archetype facets to explore:
boy in jungle: ....brother, initiated, join me, temptation,
boy (submission) to man (domination) -- gaining power, use facets of Stag-God story -
woman on stage: ..... sins of the heart, murder, crime, passion--
pain -
as the story and the growth of the main character progresses, the archetypes lives become more intertwined (boy dressing up with woman.... becoming hardened/jaded with man) until they lose their "costumes" revealing the same character..... the final image of a mirror.
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