I will never understand

Saw someone tonight. Someone I have written about, if you are keeping track. She was walking with her boyfriend. She looked miserable, the fire in her I have come to revere extinguished temporarily. It could be I'm wrong. Who knows. Regardless. What's funny. All the relentlessness of my self-doubt, all the moments of reflection, self-laceration, it's easy to forget that others are insecure, that others make mistakes, and, what's more, stick with them, even, out of fear, out of a lack of self-awareness, out of stubbornness, out of the mind's capacity to believe in the holographs we create from reality, the simulacrum of a person that leads us astray (I may be just as guilty, walking down a path in my imagination that culminates in fantasy).

I am an only child, and my childhood was tough, and I didn't even have anyone to discuss it with, didn't even know how fucked up I was, how fucked up my family life was, for so long. And yet, having realized that there will always be, at the core of my being, a profound loneliness, never to be surmounted or overcome, the bane of lovers and wives future and past, I must say: being a beautiful girl in a small town in an unhappy relationship must be the loneliest life ever.

How to trust?

Sorry to be so, um, male, but I used to think that being an overweight and ugly female was the loneliest life ever, and it may be, but if someone wants you, they probably do, you know?

It's true I desire her, that everything above was written with bias, and yet, what she could be, she's not, and will she be if she continues to be who she is? I don't know. I don't think so.

And it's funny. Because the isolation of the pedestal. Because she is a lonely god. Because I am sure I will do more and see more, because I have lived and will live a richer life (a necessary lie). I keep thinking I would be lucky to have her, but, stuck, as she is, in this small place of small thoughts, it may just be the opposite. That's not arrogance.

The freedom of masculinity, why I believe the male gaze exists, even as I wonder, exactly how am I supposed to use my eyes if not to see, is invisibility. To only be seen when one is ready to be seen. I can hide.

The  isolation of femininity, of those not yet fully-emancipated, women whose lives are activated by switches they cannot access by themselves.

The curse of beauty. That I'll never be Dostoyevsky, or Davis, Miles, will make me sad at times,  but the pressure on her is greater.

I can walk away. Easily. And I sort of want to, but, until I meet someone whose words bring me as much peace,  I will continue to light a candle every night, devoting myself to a possible reality I still believe will be just as fulfilling enacted as envisioned.

I do.



It's been too long...


If Not Perfect...

... enough so I don't want to think any more deeply about it.



sorry about that

for those who saw.

alcohol and loneliness is bad.

i am on a journey. there was no home to start from, and i get scared that there won't be one to be found.

that's really all.

what was "sexist" was really just my jealousy. of those whose journey has ended. of those who never even bothered to take one in the first place. male or female. i keep pushing myself, keep tearing myself away. it's not easy but it is necessary.

because every time i have stopped, things have gotten worse. the inauthenticity reeks.


Phrase Must Die

I have heard a lot of people using the phrase "first world problem" lately and it is pissing me off. I can't help but think that the phrase really embodies our present times - a seemingly liberal facade concealing a deeply conservative attitude. On the face of it, the phrase is a reminder of just how bad life can be in seriously-underdeveloped countries, a note to oneself and others that a broken iPhone presumes a perviously-working one, a product that symbolizes and actualizes all of the money and comfort and security that preceded the purchase. On the other hand...

... the phrase lumps together all people of the first world, obscuring the very real poverty that exists here. The phrase communicates the idea that we are all so lucky to be where we are that criticism is ungrateful. The phrase presumes that unequal development globally is the result of a natural process instead of a deliberate one, and that our relative "luckiness" is merely coincident with the misery of other parts of the world, not contingent.

In fact, if there is a first world problem, it's that we have become so bloated with our own wealth and so deceived by our ideologies that the need to understand reality and change it for the better, to not live perpetually infantilized by the world we have created around us, is one we can forgo and forget.

The phrase "first world problem" is the first world problem.



If a culture must be preserved, it no longer exists.

Culture is internal, preservation external.


Enough Of This Shit


Nobody is who they want to be, and certainly not who they would have expected to be.

Myself and adulthood are getting acquainted.

Not to say I'll give in. If I'm going to be "nothing" at least I can be somewhere with better Thai restaurants.

Here's some music I like.


Did I Lie Or Not?

(sorry to my regular readers - more existential angst)

I dunno.

Have I written this about Providence? A summary:

I feel abstracted from any and every context that could give my life meaning or purpose.

That's it.

And people here, or at least the ones I talk to, settle. I don't mean in the pejorative sense. Just. They say "ok", and they are not necessarily wrong. But I can't yet. I know why others do. I have high(er) expectations for myself. But why? And do those expectations mean anything? That's why I am so confused (funny to think that relativism has its origins in the Left).

Because now when I combine: I feel abstracted from any and every context that could give my life meaning or purpose and I have high expectations for myself. You see it now? All my actions, when I act, are based purely on faith. A faith that may never be rewarded.

I am working on my first serious DJ mix in years. The audience for this mix, the idea that it could mean anything, or affect others in any way, however small, all faith and imagination. I could bake cookies instead, but my oven is broken.