May 17, 2009

• Time for your archaic word of the day. I actually don't think this one is at all archaic, but I like the word and don't think it's used often.

  Deign [deyn]
  -verb (used without object)

  1. to think fit or in accordance with one's dignity; condescend:
      He would not deign to discuss the matter with us.

   

  -verb (used with object)

  2. to condescend to give or grant:
      He deigned no reply.
  3. Obsolete. to condescend to accept

  Origin:
  1250-1300

   

  I could not deign to retaliate against his foul accusations mauger the fact that the accusations were unfounded. Ere things got too heated, I opted to gainsay staying and left with my dignity.

   

   

  Time for another round up of entries that define me from the past - nicely compiled in one place. I'm going to assume my past two entries of this captured all the good ones those times around and didn't look through any older entries. From now until the second time I did this are the only entries I've added. This thing's getting pretty long, though...props to whoever actually reads it.

   

   

  Optimistic Realism
  If you don't know already, I deem myself an optimistic realist. A realist in the basic fact my life has been anything but pleasant and optimistic in what the realist sides consistently argues is a pointless, stupid, and naive will to live. I'm a realist: it defines every aspect of me. It defines why I'm so incredibly cynical. Why I can be sarcastic. Why I'm negative. Why when faced with something unpleasant, I can stare so callously into it and not give a damn. Why I can be obscene. Why my humor is crude, crass, and, at times, vulgar. For every side of me which isn't as pleasant (nor as pronounced) as the happy, willing to please individual so often present in the public eye.

  And yet - I am optimistic. Disgustingly so, my realism would like to add. And it amazes me how I can possibly be so. After all the lies, the half truths, and plain, outright betrayals, I still believe in people. I still find one of the most rewarding experiences you will ever have is the gratitude of helping someone and being content in the fact you made their life better: nothing more; no other reward. You would think I would not care about others but if someone asks me for help (depending on what they've done), I can't say no.

  I've been suicidal. Had depression. We all know those. And yet even those days when I was lying there, tear streaked, the feeling of utter abandon engulfing me, practically screaming, "Why?" at whatever remote ceiling or sky was in my vicinity, I never lost faith - to an extent never lost hope.

  And under no circumstance am I inspirational. Quite honestly, my realist side would like to say I would have done better to up and have died. It in fact still says that. It in fact argues that my will to not die is in fact completely ignoring the facts that life (or, I should say, mine) is not worth it.

  And yet?

  Point. Point, point, point. That's the focus of my life. What is the point? There has to be a solution. Otherwise, quite literally, there is no point to continue. I'm not going to sugar coat life: I do have depression, will probably have it for the rest of my life. I will probably never have a fully content life. Will probably always feel lonely, to some extent, no matter the amount of friends and who cares simply because my depression will cause me to head towards the negative. Will be miserable. It's not gonna be fun, plain and simple.

  And yet?

  And yet my optimism says, "Deal with it." Think outside yourself. You have people who care. Take comfort in them. If not for yourself, for their sake. They give a damn about you. Would you be so cruel as to throw that back in their face. Okay, you can't live for yourself? Live for others. That makes you happy, right? Work for others your entire life. Even if youaren't happy, you can still do good, help others. Live for others.

  And yet?

  It's human nature to want for yourself. No, I'll phrase that as common sense instead. No matter what, you want something. And I'm faced with the prospect of never, fully and often being happy. And realism takes the advantage and shoves it in optimism's face, putting him back in his place. What's your excuse now? Rot and decay on the inside from your discontent just for the purpose of keeping on living? Are you crazy? Mad? Sure, you'll help others but lot of good that'll do if you lose sanity due to the pain in the end!

  Optimism isn't the offense. At least for me. Never is. It lets realism rant and rave. It allows it the selfish spotlight it craves. It allows it to lecture and inform on its unfairness. It allows it to take the pity. Realism is a fighter, constantly trying to rectify its situation. It gives the facts and nothing but. It looks at what has been. It wants a solution and if there isn't one, it'll say so. Its not shy. Its brash.

  Optimism plays the defence. It looks at probability. It says, "Sure, you may die. You probably will. You will hate your life and yourself, certainly. You will die alone, maybe. Maybe your blind trust and honesty will fuck you over. Sure. But you may help someone too. You may live. And that's worth fighting for."

  Realism's take: You delusional FUCK.

   

   

   

   

  Another Installment of the Optimism Vs. Realism Debate - I've actually broken the original entry this is from up in two. There were two different ideas going on in the same entry. I've posted the first half here as well and put the same note. This is the second half of the original entry

  I smile into the rearview mirror instead. Why with such a nice smile are you trying to weep? he asks as we pull up to my building.
  -Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine, pg. 90

  So, another installment of the Optimism versus Realism debate. I'm starting to see how necessary Optimism really is. Realism has had most of the spotlight, really. Yet for all his show, he may come off more as cynicism. This is not the case, though. He can have a cynical nature, always reminding the downside of life. But that's because he sees all sides. He sees what is and states it. It is what it is; it is realistic. I saw somewhere that a cynic, when he/she smells flowers, asks where the funeral is. The Realist simply points out that there could be a funeral. And the Optimist hopes it's two loved ones (not dead, of course). Yet what happens when Optimism is gone? Realism has nothing to fight against. Granted, Realism is the one that sets the stakes, in reality - he's the one that looks and life and decides what is realistic or not. And, in turn, Optimism looks at what Realism has discovered and says where things could look up and be good. But, for cinematic purposes, see it as Optimism disappearing and Realism finding nothing happy to acknowledge. Everything becomes gloom, then. I need that optimism, those things to look forward to and to strive for. I need to believe there are answers, I suppose. Realism can state; "This is real! This is what is!" But optimism points to the solutions, that things can get better. Maybe I'm just stuck in that Optimism vs. Realism mindset and that things are what they are, simply, is not an applicable idea for me. But I suppose that would then assume that I am not happy with things as they are. To which I wonder why. To which, again, I have no answer. I don't know and that's the most obnoxious part. To not know is to not know how to proceed.

  In my dream I apologize to everyone I meet. Instead of introducing myself, I apologize for not knowing why I am alive. I am sorry. I am sorry. I apologize. In real life, oddly enough, when I am fully awake and out and about, if I catch someone's eye, I quickly look away. Perhaps this too is a form of apology. Perhaps this is the form apologies take in real life. In real life the looking away is the apology, despite the fact that when I look away I almost feel guilty; I do not feel as if I have apologized. Instead I feel as if I have created a reason to apologize, I feel the guilt of having ignored that thing - the encounter. I could have nodded, I could have have smiled without showing my teeth. In some small way I could have wordlessly said, I see you seeing me and I apologize for not knowing why I am alive. I am sorry. I am sorry. I apologize. Afterwards, after I have looked away, I never feel as if I can say, Look, look at me again so that I can see you, so that I can acknowledge that I have seen you, so that I can see you and apologize.
  -Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine, pg. 98

   

   

   

   

  Quotes and Realism vs. Romanticism
  "The best thing for being sad," replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then -- to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting."
  -T. H. White, The Once and Future King, The Sword In the Stone

   

  I wanted to find a quote from the same book but I can't seem to, which irks the Hell out of me. Essentially, Merlin comes in to see Wart licking a dog's nose - not vice versa. And he comments (paraphrased), "You know, in the future, they'll view that as an absolutely unsanitary habit. But I cannot see why. After all, the Lord made him with the same grace that he made you!" It's a great quote, really.

   

  The sea is calm to-night.
  The tide is full, the moon lies fair
  Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
  Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
  Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
  Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
  Only, from the long line of spray
  Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
  Listen! you hear the grating roar
  Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
  At their return, up the high strand,
  Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
  With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
  The eternal note of sadness in.

  Sophocles long ago
  Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought
  Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
  Of human misery; we
  Find also in the sound a thought,
  Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

  The Sea of Faith
  Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
  Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
  But now I only hear
  Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
  Retreating, to the breath
  Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
  And naked shingles of the world.

  Ah, love, let us be true
  To one another! for the world, which seems
  To lie before us like a land of dreams,
  So various, so beautiful, so new,
  Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
  Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
  And we are here as on a darkling plain
  Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
  Where ignorant armies clash by night.
  -Matthew Arnold, Dover Beach

   

  What do you get when you find someone full of ideals and beliefs? Yet still acknowledges difficulties and unchangeable facts? An optimistic realist.

  And thus the struggle of telling yourself, things may not get better. And yet hope shines ever so faintly, so that you cling to what you have all the more desperately. Because they've got to get better, right? Ahh, a romantic and logic - they really don't mix. Two time periods (Enlightenment and Romanticism) which were opposites and denials of each other to begin with. And yet. Well, logic says the romantic is possible in life. Reason may rule, but it builds up the ideal in the process. And isn't to uphold and praise reason and logic being a romantic? To claim the beauty of knowledge and necessity of truth - to glorify and uphold - that's being romantic of logic (how ironic a sentence). It is to clash and yet make sense in the end. After all, reason must have an answer. And romanticism doesn't always work, but it can so it is included in the calculations of the world. And when it fails, turmoil is resumed. And when it works optimism surges. To combine a well calculated plan with the hope of bounty in chance. My, how tiresome a way to live.

   

   

   

   

  The Perfectibility of Man and the Reason
  Oh, yes. In English, we're reading Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I, personally, really like it, though I can't say I agree with everything in there, particularly because some of it goes directly against huge personal beliefs on life and etc. So, I shall give you a brief overview, during which it will probably be imperfect.

  One of the principle comparisons is between the Man of Action and the Man of Heightened Consciousness. The MoA is stupid and unaware and, thus being so, has no issue making decisions accepting life, etc. The whole ignorance is bliss argument (to which I respond, only the ignorant say that. But another time). The MoHC is blatantly aware and conscious of everything and, due to that, cannot make decisions, always cannot come to a conclusion because he questions everything and continues questioning and questioning, and is utterly tormented by this awareness because he sees the futilely of it all, etc.

  The other huge argument he makes is one against science (big stab against my beliefs there, but a minor point in this entry), that at the time period (1864) they believed they could deduce what was best for a man and plot it out and that he would willingly follow such instructions as science could derive because he naturally wants to do what's in his best interest always.

  The Underground man disagrees. A good example would be right now. It's in my best interest to get to bed and get sleep, but also to finish my hw so I get an education. Which do I choose? He also asserts that man will deliberately choose to go against his self-interest (particularly if he's told what he ought to do (in this case, by science)) just to assert their individuality and free will. That is man's greatest self-interest - the ability and knowledge of being able to choose (I will agree with that statement, though with a slight twist in all likelihood). Therefore, he may precisely go against what's best for him just to prove he can.

  And thus we get into my main problem. He, essentially, if you were to read the entire original text, says that man is illogical, never will be logical, is selfish, stupid, and ungrateful.

  Now, as I've gone over a million times, I'm not an idealist. Optimistic realist, to reiterate. People aren't perfect. Nor is the world. However, to say we can't reach a level of perfection (particularly moral perfection) is to simply find a reason to not obey morals and be immoral. Dostoyevsky says:

   

  And here's what happens all the time: good and reasonable men, sages and humanitarians, try to live constantly good and sensible lives, serving, so to speak, as human torches to light the path for their neighbors, to prove to them that it can be done. And what comes of it? Sure enough, these lovers of mankind sooner or later give up, some in the midst of a scandal, and often quite an unseemly one too.

   

  I find issue with this. Because, as we all know, I love logic and reason. To assert that man follows neither is to misunderstand the meaning of human. It is to ignore the fact that man is the only animal possibly capable of such a talent, let alone any other living thing in this universe (minus God, I would argue, but that's another argument). Logic solves all problems because it is concrete and factual. Reason doesn't look at a murderer and say, "He is my brother, I must let him go." Further, reason can accommodate for these emotions by saying (in a case other than murder), "Well, the crime wasn't that bad and he can learn from it so I'll give him a second chance." Emotions and otherwise cannot make these decisions. There has to be an answer with logic - it's like a puzzle. Granted, it's more complicated than that (much more), but those being the basics.

  Thus, man can reach a point of perfection if he puts his mind to it. There are things I think should and should not be done. **forgive me for this portion because, due to believing there is a way to live, I try to live that. But I always feel like I'm being pompous or conceited when saying, "Well, I live appropriately." So, if it strikes as thus, forgive, if you would** I don't believe in lying and living the best life possible, except in specific situations (such as someone tells you something you cannot tell anyone else. To protect the person, lying is acceptable). Granted, even outside the exceptions, I have lied. Yet, I have done my best not to. Laura, Erin, Jill Jill - I have never lied to any of you (to my memory. Granted, I haven't really talked to either Erin or Jill Jill on the same topics or to the extent I have with Laura (sorry guys, just the way life played out) so, Laura, you bear more significance. But still).

  I strongly believe against the value of appearance and have very strong anti sentiments towards sex and the general topic. I don't just say I believe these things, I follow through on them. I don't check people out, I don't factor someone's appearance into evaluation, etc. That's significant when compared to who else you can think of who does that - no one to my knowledge. You have there going completely against the majority (if there is a minority other than me who does it to the extent that I do) and me keeping my word - full and in total.

  Granted, this is all if you believe my word that I do do all of that. But, if you do, then that's me living up to the moral and reasonable conclusions I have come to. To think that ideals (in my case, what I would call realistic ideals) are impossible, well, is just wrong, in my mind. But nevertheless - thank you for reading.

   

   

   

   

  Appearance - I had originally used this title in the past entry like this with a different post, but I feel this one does a better job than the original post for "Appearance" did

  All too often, I find myself talking in terms of my ex-girlfriends because I think I've learned so much of them. Not to say all of them. Geez, the last thing I would say is all of them. Some of which I learned from strictly in the sense, "Never do that again." A lot of comical stories, really, that you could spin as "growing up" and "coming of age" but felt far more like snatches of good amongst continual tragedy. Heh, I regard them with a bittersweet remembrance.

  But if you take out the ones I'd skip, you have people dearingly close to my heart. I've never quite understood those who say they would rather not date a friend; to me, what makes up a person is what really determines whether I'm interested in them or not. Thus, it would stand to reason, that the closer of friends I am with the individual, the more likely I'd be interested in them. In the context of the current subject, the girls I most remember are those I'm very close friends with now. Succeed or fail in the relationship, if you can walk away with a tighter relationship (I'd assume, for most, a friendship, if dating didn't work out) at the end of it, it was worth it. I suppose that's what I'm really looking for when dating - let me get to know you. You hold untold complexity and beauty.

  Recently (over the past few days, I think), I'd come across really ignorant comments and thoughts which reaffirmed by belief that we're far too superficial. They didn't exactly ruin my days. I'm still running off a high which I'm surprised hasn't died yet. And I hate to phrase it that way. Those people who want to be utterly cynical and assume everyone's soul is black and awful I've never quite got. Maybe it's the optimism in me talking but I continue to believe that people are good; not necessarily at heart or at all always but they have potential I believe in. Yet the bad in us all got the better of me.

  I had a girlfriend in Sophomore year of high school. Well, technically, I've had a girlfriend every year since Freshman year at more rapid a pace and in far larger a quantity than my middle school self could have fathomed. But this was one of the more worthwhile ones.

  It wasn't long; less than two months, actually. It also happened to be a long distance relationship. And it didn't end well, either. She thought the wisest way to end it was breaking up and then ignoring me. Shortsighted is the best way I can continually describe her. Even still, the girl I knew then was out of this world.

  Do I still have your attention thus far?

  The requirement of my mother for a girl has always been (maybe this attribute so much more because it's the one I've always refused to value) that the girl be attractive. She can't be overweight. Probably not too skinny. Her face has to be perfectly shaped. It's a tragedy when I break up with the "beautiful" ones and a joy when I forget the "ugly". Those quotation marks are there for a reason.

  So, when the family's over our house one time, my cousin's at-the-time boyfriend asks if I'm dating someone. I say, "Yes," and he asks if I have a picture. I only had a few. While I had known the girl for about a half a year at the least before dating, swapping pictures wasn't something we really did. Poor way to make certain the person is real, I know, but the multitude of others I talked to at the time and phone conversations I had confirmed it for me. Nonetheless, the pictures I had I had to go searching for.

  To be honest, she wasn't the most stunning thing you'd ever lay eyes on. In her state, she seemed to be radiant (I had to "yell" at my other friend over there multiple times for admitting his eyes had wandered). By Illinois standards...not so much.

  When I show him the picture, he bursts out laughing.

  I had actually met her through another ex of mine. I would never have assumed we'd become as close as we did then.
  All too often, our friends would describe my overprotection of her as brotherly. This is nothing new. I'm overprotective of anyone I care about and I'll bend over backwards whenever needed for them.

  My mom hears the commotion and comes to the room, immediately realizing what's going on.

  I originally didn't want to ask her out; I totally had a crush on her, though I didn't realize it until way later, but my previous girlfriend had left me daunted. It was only once I had been told she was thinking of giving up on waiting for me to ask her out (since it seemed I never would) that I went forth with it.

  I remember that day so damn well. She was playing some sort of video game when I called, because she was bored; this is very comical because she totally has no clue about video games because she normally never plays them.

  You could totally hear the surprise in her voice when I asked her out. She has the most adorable voice.

  My mom starts laughing along with my cousin's boyfriend. They proceed to start making jokes about her appearance.

  There's so much I could tell you of her now and yet so much which I still don't know.

  I could tell you she has the biggest fear of snakes. When she got incredibly frightened she'd start to hyperventilate.

  She was also the biggest dork ever. She'd be eating frosting out of a canister and get some on her nose and not even notice. Then when someone would tell her, she tried looking down the front of her nose to try to see it, which only resulted in making her cross her eyes.

  She'd blush like none other whenever she got embarrassed. The funniest thing was she'd always admit it, even if you couldn't see.

  She also had one Hell of a sweet tooth. She'd constantly be eating some candy or another. She had this thing with gummy bears. She even did a project one time on them. I have no clue how she pulled that off, but that was her for you.

  I think the commotion dragged in a few more people into the room, at that time. They were having a gay old time, I can tell you. "Look at her!" "She must have been beat with the ugly stick!" Absolutely hilarious, let me tell you.

  She really liked to talk. I remember I'd call her up and just listen to her talk to herself as she emptied out her backpack, it could be that simple. We used to scold each other, at times. It'd never work for her because I'd always be able to construct a better argument but sometimes just acting upset about it was the fun part.

  One of the things I always loved about her was she was a paradox. She'd go out one day and just shop. She'd call me up and tell me what shoes she got or what dresses her cousin was stealing from her. Then, another day, she'd go out and play football in the mud with her guy friends. She also always wore high heels, because of her height; she'd probably wear them to bed, if her parents had let her.

  She was also stubborn as Hell. You couldn't make two ways with her, once she made up her mind. And she never forgot a grudge; heh, ever.

  By now the commotion has wound down. Mom's going back to her cooking, wiping her eyes from laughing so hard.

  I remember the time she passed out. I was absolutely livid because I couldn't do anything, being a state away. I had to basically command our friend in how to take care of her, make sure she was doing alright. It resulted in us having to call 911. I was terrified.

  She was always suicidal. She'd hide it, often, but it was always under the surface. Like all less-than-pleasant things.

  Of course, she had damn good reason to be. Her parents were abusive, always fighting and beating on her when they got pissed. She'd have large bruises she'd have to hide at school.

  She self-injured, at one point. I don't know when. I remember being slightly irked that she told me so far later, well after we'd broken up. She's one of my best friends. And yet, despite all she ever says, she still doesn't totally trust me. I'm sure there's a thousand things about her I still don't know. You always had to play by her rules - she refused to open up, otherwise.

  Sadly, there's no happy ending to this story. Anything past that perfect two months just gets somewhat depressing, when all is considered. I don't really know her - I just know parts.

  What I have is a memory. I have a girl who could make me laugh like no other, who I had totally trusted and who made me feel we had a solid relationship, someone who I literally watched over. Eh, I can't even tell you. I loved her though.

  But what do I know? What do I know about her? I'm just some idiot babbling about the same shit for the hundredth time. Apparently the world knows something I don't.

   

   

   

   

  Appearance as Usual
  
  Can anyone guess the momentum for sales for this game? Is it the striking graphics? Is it the rivetting storyline?Is it the fact that the focal points for this photo is right beneath her hand???

  Why do I bother? No one is this world will ever render the body as being insignificant to the extent I do. We like the appeal way too much.

   

   

   

   

  What is Beautiful?
  
  I've never understood pictures such as those (forgive me iconsatmidnight, if you happen to stop by; nothing against you). "Look! It's beautiful and happy and perfect." I've never understood the appeal in such things.

  I like cloudy, windy days, where the scent of air is heavy and the actual precipitation is light enough.

  I like sad songs, questioning and shaking with emotion, as if the soul could save the mind.

  I like the damaged objects which have faced so much wear and tear and still maintain in one piece. Objects which tell more story than they can actually say.

  I like greasy skin, pasty and pale complexion, an awkward figure, and a weight that can't stay constant.

   

  "Perfection" is over-rated. The imperfect are far more interesting and varying. Why be boring?

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Alright, so the above isn't entirely accurate. I love the sun dearly and good sunny days are rare to come by. And as much as sad songs are wonderful, that's obviously not near to all I listen to. Let's be honest, I'm so in-between on all things, how could I love one thing without the other? But you get the point I was making. Fuck what the world thinks.

   

   

   

   

  Photography Idea?
  I've had this idea for a while, so I guess I feel I ought to say something. I've had trouble thinking of things to write and, while not literature, it's close enough.

  I can't remember the reason I thought of it, only that I did. It's to be a photograph.

  The setting is a large walk-in shower. I have this idea the tiles would be blue, though that's hardly important; maybe it just avoids color clash. In any case, very large, so that it basically becomes the "room" of the photo. Small windows toward the top of the ceiling are placed in the wall. I don't think I thought it should be day or night, but just a slight bit of light makes it in, illuminating the area in a mellow fashion.

  The water is turned on, showering the person underneath. We only see the side of her, her head on our left side and her legs toward our right. She's bending over, her back (going from bottom to top) arching from the right to the left. Her right hand reaches down, perhaps to pick up soap (it doesn't matter what she picks up). Her left hand grasps her breasts, holding them in toward herself.

  She has a noticeable gut, made more clear from her bending over. She's not obese, but simply chubby. The water trails and trickles off in a clear stream from her stomach, making an arching shower as it travels to the floor.

  She shouldn't look like she is utterly concentrated on this one task but simply as if it is an everyday task (which it is), unaware of our eyes watching her.

  She is exactly centered in the picture, inside the large shower.

   

   

   

   

  The Flaws of People - Breathtaking - I've actually broken the original entry this is from up in two. There were two different ideas going on in the same entry. I've posted the second half here as well and put the same note. This is the first half of the original entry

  I suppose this is a long-delayed response to another entry, in a way. They're a frequent reader (heh, of my, like, three). I've been thinking of parenting often, for some odd reason. Various things in relation to it, but part of it was what we, as parents, will have to tell our children or may pass to our children. I think every parent fears that, to an extent. And all I can think of is being utterly sure that things will be fine. I've noticed lately I seem to be attracted most to people who have or have had history with depression - think the product won't have it? Have to explain the complex family situation on my side. That one'll be fun. Yet why should it be impossible? Been there, done that (for some, all too literally). Children are all so accepting, so long as you raise them that way. A child doesn't love because they're instructed, but because it's instinctual. What do you tell them? That's just it - you simply tell them. The second you start building those walls, you weaken and ruin any kind of relationship; further, for all marks, there are those who still see you perfectly.

   

   

   

   

  People
  On a last note, I really think people don't respect the human life enough. And when I say the human life, I mean an individual: the personality, the struggles, hopes, dreams, pains, fears, and every other thing that makes up that individual. When you think about it, do you really think you know someone? Know every aspect and quirk and dream or moment? Can you map out everything about them? I doubt it. I can't say I really know anyone truly yet. A lifetime. That's what we live. And we expect to know someone in a time frame less than that? I try to respect every person as well as I can and certainly remember every aspect about them (the best I can with what my memory persists with) because each person is not the same. Each one is uniquely different. How can anyone take for granted any bit of a person? If someone shares something with you, you ought to cherish that, because it's more than most will give you. It's part of them, which to me is the most valuable thing a person can bestow. To me, nothing is more precious than a human - the individual's personality and background. And yet everyday we try to surmise and judge someone in a single meeting.

   

   

   

   

  What Intelligence is to Me
  Laziness would probably be a good reason half the stuff I want to say on here never get here. What was it I was going to post? Oh, yes, Broomball, being out of shape, and poor hand-eye coordination are not a good mix. I didn't think I was that out of shape still. Sad thing I've probably been the most physically active in my life my first semester this year. Heh, I better get to bed tonight, I'm so sore...I'll worry about the pulled muscles later....

  The thing I thought of literally two minutes ago...ahh, yes. I was going over the aspect of intelligence. Another opinion formed as a bastard of my mother's influence. She would always harp on the aspect of good grades and how to pay attention in class, etc., while anyone who knows me could attest, the last thing I've ever considered important about a person was their performance in class.

  However, contrasting that, I have always harped upon the idea of intelligence. I expect to deal with intelligent people. Okay, that's not entirely true. I know plenty of people who aren't the smartest that I love dearly; it's when they start to voice opinions (which will be poor, given their own shortsight) and thus infringe upon others freedom and pursuit of happiness that I get irritated. My, that sounds really awful, but one of the few times I'll argue it's true, nonetheless.

  And, I cannot deny that the intelligence of someone weighs a heavier and heavier influence in how I view them. I respect the intelligent - I think we all ought to.

  What, then, dictates intelligence? It's not what you learn in school, for the most part. That'll make you knowledgeable, but you can still be the biggest dumbass ever and be on Honor Roll. We all know those individuals. No, you won't impress me by your GPA.

  However, to side put that argument, don't we increase our intelligence by what we learn in class, simply by virtue of differing opinions and new ways of thinking? True.... I probably was more life-altered by my government and World Masterpieces (take that class, damn it, if you get the chance!) classes than by many other things - though, I'll admit, it was as important a part by the teacher as it was by the material taught. By the way, on that note, if anyone is taking Economics this year and happens to see Mad Dog, tell him hi for me. And get me his opinion on who he wanted to win the election. No one's economic opinion do I trust more.

  Anyway, back on topic. Do I still have your attention? Despite the point of this whole entry, I can imagine it must be boring as fuck to read.

  So, I attended this Peer Health meeting today, which I had no clue what the meeting was, I'll admit. Our Queer Life Coordinator[...], justin, was leading the lesson. So I was expecting to see 1 or two people, at most. I walk into a fairly full room with Sex, Gender, and Sexual Orientation written on the board along with Transsexual, Gay, Bi, Pomo, Pan, Transgendered, etc. etc. written as sub-subjects underneath the big three categories.

  I swear I thought I had died and went to heaven (yes, they will be giving lessons on sexuality and gender expression in Heaven, to incredibly large crowds).

  In any case, I found the lesson interesting, though I knew, to a relative extent, most of what was talked about. I found it funny that I probably knew more about the Trans topics than I did about those Bi related (specifically the terms Omnisexual and Pomosexual, though (if you ask me) I think you're pushing it by going past Pan...but a topic for another day).

  So, why this random diversion? No, it's not simply because I found a random unrelated reason to talk about sexuality (or because it's even related to sexuality); it just happened that this was one of the events that lead to the over-arching premise of this post.

  I found the information for the meeting interesting, of course. But largely for the same reason that I enthusiastically scoured the internet when first learning about anything gay related - my own ignorance.

  And some of the stuff talked about were theory, things I had picked up in my theatre class first semester. And, being a class, and being theory, it wasn't the most interesting.

  And that's the principle difference between the ignorant and the intelligent (though there is one last component to intelligence I'll cover right after) - the intelligent are willing to learn. I don't give a crap if it's a struggle to learn or if you don't get it immediately. If you're willing to bother to try to understand and commit to memory the stuff you're going over, that makes you better than a Hell of a lot of other people.

  What I used to boil intelligence down to was your reasoning ability. Were you able to, simply, reason and use logic. After all, back then (and still greatly now), my biggest concern was figuring out stuff and right and wrong (yes, you guessed it, largely due to my mother and the faulty advice she's tried to give me over the years). But the fact I forgot to acknowledge was that to continue progressing and learning more, we do have to learn different aspects of life. So, how willing or eager are you to do so? Or, simply, how willing because you know its use?

  In the end, it still boils down to your ability to reason and use logic. I am of the firm belief that, armed with those two, you can do near to anything.

  And I've seen in plenty of people those aspects. Maybe that's the central reason I point out and notice the potential of people.

  In the end, it's all up to how much you want to put into it and how much you're willing to use those skills given to you - and applying the things you learn and using them as points of your reason in life. Really,  reason and logic aren't that difficult; in fact, we're pretty much born with it, as humans, and they strengthened the more we use them.

  But you've got to be willing to use them.

  The tacked on song is simply because I haven't been able to stop playing this, lately. It's an amazing song.

  We all bear the scars...
  Yes, we all feign a laugh
  We all sigh in the dark
  Get cut off before we start

  And as the first act begins...
  You realize, they're all waiting...
  For a flaw...for a flaw...
  For the end...

  There's a path stained with tears
  Could you talk to quiet my fears?
  Could you pull me aside?
  Just to acknowledge that I tried

  And as your last breath begins
  Contently take it in
  'Cause we all...get it in...the end

  [string solo]

  And as your last breath begins
  You find your demon's your best friend
  And we all...get it in...the end

  [marching band starts]

  And as your last breath begins
  You find your demon's your best friend
  And we all...get it in...the end!

  Everybody!
  
  [repeat]
  -Scott Matthew

   

   

   

   

  Truth
  Well, if you don't know, you will now - I'm a huge packrat. Even I will admit, to a staggering extent. There're reasons behind it, some of which really aren't that difficult to figure out. Nonetheless, main point: I keep just about everything.

  All too often, that also means what we say to each other (assuming such things were done on a savable medium). I'll often look back and reflect on what we've said, promised, hoped, thought, etc. and etc. and etc. But the question occurred to me - what if what he/she put isn't what they meant. You look back at an old conversation with an old friend and think, "Wait, they said that? They didn't keep it."

  How much of what we say to each other is just bullshit (forgive my language) and how much is actually genuine? The next person I'm talking to - can I even trust them? Or should I second guess and figure out the motive behind every word they say? What a dismal way to live.

   

   

   

   

  Parents - I had originally used this title in the past entry like this with a different post, but I feel this one does a better job than the original post for "Parents" did. Originally titled Oh Mommy Dearest

  Because I'm in a divulging mood today.

  In any case, many have asked over the years (as I blatantly and nonchalantly tell them), why do I hate my parents. For my father, the answer is a little bit complicated. For my mother, it's blindingly clear.

  Now there's a far choice of words that would make my grandmother keel over from a heart attack I'd love to lavish on for description of the woman. But that doesn't explain anything. Really, 18 grueling years of the Hell is hard to explain and I'm sure to miss something, but I suppose it's easiest to say that it starts with things that, maybe, alone would not be so bothersome. The individual may need to improve themselves but no need to commit undying hate. However, together, it's builds to inexcusable. And then those attributes that defy all compassion.

  It starts with the basic fact that she's selfish. Unbelievably. Because even for as much as she's willing to give (I could go back asking for money or something and she'd help every time, though I would argue that's just because that's what she's been taught she's supposed to do as a mother; to understand why I think that, you have to have lived with her, so I don't expect anyone to understand that), she does things for herself all the time. She doesn't get something she wants? She pouts in that she gives the silent treatment or just plain insults. And if the person tries to reason with her or talk to her, even if they plead, she'll ignore them for an extended period of time still because you have got to put her first, no matter what.

  Okay, so people fight (even if ridiculously), fine; she's getting my father back. But no - when she kicks dad out and my poor sister, obviously unsure of what the Hell is even going on, is bawling and begging, literally fucking pleading for mother to let him come back home or (here's the kicker) to at least look at or answer her, mommy refuses to. Because, you know (it's just so obvious, why in the name of God didn't I see it???), a 6-year-old is going to understand why daddy should even be kicked out of the house. But no, mommy loves her kid so much she won't even answer her so that she won't cry. It's annoying and just gets in her way; ignore it.

  Or my other favorite is how she'd punish us just because she was in a bad mood. She'd seriously walk up to one of us, ask us if we did, say, a chore just to yell at us. And if we did do what we were supposed to, she'd go to another child to try to nail them. And if you weren't doing anything? Give them something to do, just to ruin their day (because, as a kid, being given work (stupid shit, like a math book) is far worse then than it would be for one us; and she drinks that shit up).

  Or there's the two-faced aspect, where she'll meet someone and talk and laugh with them, then when leaving whisper to one of us, "That woman really needed a diet." And you know, were someone to say something about her behind her back and she were to find out about it, that person would receive some kind of talking down (ironically enough, probably using the moral of how you shouldn't gossip about a person, it's rude). Oh, she's wonderful socially. And as I watch her make an impression of this amazing individual to whomever she is talking to, my skin just crawls as I note how fake her laugh sounds or how she's just going along with whatever the individual says, which of course might've not mattered so much except for the fact she'll voice her true opinion once said person is gone. Man, Golden Rule is obviously her set of thinking, clearly. Because I've known her for years, I know what's fake and what's not. She's just so damn insincere. I'd rather take the socially awkward - least their fucking honest.

  Or, oh, this one's one of my favorites - she's a damn hypocrite - on a constant basis. Being of dark skin, she's quick to get offensive when some note of racism comes up, complaining how the white man keeps her down or some other bullshit that is a pure generalization (not to mention, unintelligent; she's unintelligent quite often; it's enough to drive you insane). But then, someone black approached her car to ask for directions and she cranks the window down barely because she's afraid she's gonna get mugged. Or when she finds out someone tries to find a way of staying on welfare and not get a job and she calls it "nigger mentality". Oh, oh, the insight and enlightenment is too much; her points of logic, they're so good that I can't even understand them; by the way, score one for black equality; I'm sure glad MLK and Malcolm X didn't give their lives for nothing. And then of course, she comments on how we shouldn't use the N word because it's a racial slur.

  And it just keeps coming and coming. Not to mention she's an obsessive liar. Probably where my need for straightforwardness and truth comes from. My dad doesn't even know what to believe anymore when she talks to him. To be honest, I'm going to take his word on this one, considering he's known her even longer than I ever have. And sometimes, her efforts are so bad you almost feel ashamed for just being related to her. Honestly, family? Usually for selfish reasons, too. And then she tries to give the whole you're-supposed-to-love-her-because-she's-your-mother speech.

  And then there's the one that I'm never going to forgive, because it's so wound up in self thinking that it astounds me someone could be that selfish. Our last dog was named Lady Rose. My mother's the type (you probably could have guessed it by now) who wants things perfect. You break something of hers? She's going after that ass of yours not because you deserve the punishment but just because she's mad. Everything has to be clean, etc. Life's not perfect. And neither are dogs. So during the course of having this dog, she develops this beautiful habit of beating Lady. Oh, and she tries to hide it. So as me and both my siblings open the garage door because we hear Lady ("howling to the moon happily", of course), my mom's quick to give us a smile and say nothing's going on. "What's with the stick?" "Oh, I was just playing fetch with her." Btw, lying to your children I think became the next best way to treat your kids, according to Dr. Phil; that's my mom, always looking out for us; that trust...just brings tears to my eyes.

  Or my other favorite is waking up to hear this wailing coming from downstairs. And I remember thinking to myself, "What's going on outside?" as I try to get back to sleep. Then I realize someone's yelling in a muttered way, "Piece of shit," every once in a while. And I realize it's coming from the basement, where Lady's cage is, and she's ceaselessly being beaten. And it's not like, "Okay, she's quiet now, we're done." It's even after the whimpering has died down because the beatings have stopped, she goes right back at it; you know, to get the most that she can out of the therapeutic process of beating a living thing.

  To be honest, you want to be cruel to yourself? Fine. Do whatever. Personal freedom. Do as you wish. But the second you hurt another person, unwillingly do something to them, because you give a rat's ass more about yourself, you're shit. Because if other people don't function into that brain of yours, you know, they just can't seem to fit, you're nothing to me. There's no excuse for hurting a person if you knew better, except the obligation of some sort of sorry. Anything less and you are crap.

  Your best, the very best you can act and behave, are expected, not because it's noble or you need to be role model, but because when you fuck up, others get hurt. And there's no excuse for that. No one's perfect, but if you aren't trying your best - what the Hell were you doing? What else did you have else to do than be your very best to another person? You - you couldn't try? Wow. So, um, what do you say to him/her that you've hurt? Fuck doing anything for yourself, do it for them.

  In all retrospect, what I got wasn't entirely bad. I could still milk benefits from my mom, I wasn't sexually molested, I wasn't abandoned, I wasn't beaten (technically...), I wasn't starved, nor was I under any bad housing conditions, etc. etc.

  But this isn't about comparing and saying who had it worse and who didn't. There's a list of things that you should not do as a parent and she crossed plenty. She failed as a parent. It doesn't matter if she got a 59%, she still failed. Because a Fail is being incapable of raising children and that's what she was. Lying, an example of violence, not proper support for the children, isolation, and trauma are not on the parent list - no matter what way you look at it. As a parent, you have a life put into your hands and you have an obligation - an obligation, damn it! - to take care of that life. Forget me, what about my sister or my brother? What did she teach them, how has she mishandled them so that they may have anger issues, an inability to communicate to others, perhaps an inability to open up to close ones. It goes so beyond the physical stuff. The mental crap lasts forever.

  She's dirt and I hate her with a pulse-racing disgust and contempt. It's not a light or wish washy subject - and others beyond her have to deal with the consequences.

  In any case, I didn't write this for comments of sympathy or whatnot (not trying to yell at you all for doing so - do so if you please, I just don't want it to seem that way). It's life. We all go through it. You can't change what happens, only address what is to happen next. So I'm going to try to salvage sanity and intelligence in my siblings for as best as I can and salvage a decent human being in myself best I can. I just know some of you were wondering, so here it is.

   

   

   

   

  Thoughts On My Mother
  Mother's Day today. Due to the constant pestering of my mother, I remembered to call her today. It was mercifully short. For the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll cut the point of this entry.

  I was slightly given focus today when I realized the exact role of a parent. Parents never got good marks in my book. This is largely because past experiences which overwhelmingly surprise me. While my own parents give me the feeling of wanting to throw up, it does still surprise me that so many others I knew had parents of similar, pitiful fashions. I mean, that so many line up similarly makes me want to be baffled. For the sake of avoiding names, I won't delve into further examples of people I will harm if I ever meet them again.What has also surprised me is how much these sons and daughters still cling to these parents, but I've always been a straightforward person - wrong is wrong. Granted, I've always been quick to forgive, and the only reason my parents are a decent exception is because they've pushed the limit until it's bloodily ruptured. I forget that not everyone feels their parents have done the same (thus, the rule of forgiveness isn't eradicated for them).

  Parents are...I dunno, just "things". They are there, and, thus, we react to them. They may be the antagonists but that they hold any more significance is lost on me. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't felt some sort of emotional response to them (other than disdain). I chide myself for it because that they don't deserve the sentimentalities is just scratching the surface. But sure - not a feeling I voice often (more so because it's just not one felt often) yet I've certainly mentioned once on here wanting some form of connection with them. There's plenty I admire of them or think good qualities. And then...there's the other side.

  So, for the majority of things, I sit pretty much apathetic to the entire thing. I don't understand deep connections with them. I don't get what it's like to have someone to look up to, a role model, or someone constantly there to comfort you (at least in the role of a parent. My cousins and siblings are fine substitutes (in my opinion), and my extended family (friends) are wonderful as well). Not to say I'm better off without, of course. In fact, it's an experience I'd wish to no one. There's much to gain from it, but it's like saying, "Thank God for war," just so we know what peace is. It's neither necessary nor more beneficial.
  
  
  (to think pictures were impossible back when I had dial-up)

  I don't get those. And that's not an exaggeration (though I admit it's comical in how much it seems so even to me). Particularly that first one. I don't know what's so abstract of having so close a relationship with someone in that role, but the idea baffles me. Almost like it's against the way things naturally work. I love you? It's a phrase said just to keep her happy, so the peace is maintained and she doesn't guilt herself to death knowing otherwise (she thinks my refusal to want to talk to her often or utter the words are just me being my normal aloof and distant self). Raised me? I had to raise myself. I'd be a racist and animal abuser if you raised me. I'd be a bigot, a hypocrite, a liar (and so in denial I'd justify it every turn), and beyond selfish. Car rides were a struggle to stay as enveloped in my own head and distant from my dad as possible as he just never understood or got it. I guess that really is it - they were events, things to react to - not relationships or connections.

  So Happy Mothers Day? It's a made up holiday for me. I don't get it. Literally, I have no feelings towards it. Normally, I wouldn't've even written this entry for it. But thoughts ought to be transcribed. So, if you have a parent and you cherish, love, and appreciate them - let them know. I don't know what that's like - but you do.

   

  **That was far more revealing an entry than I had anticipated. I hadn't meant for that. If anything, I just wanted to transcribe the idea than say anything emotionally disturbing. So, I'm very sorry about that. 'Twas unintended.

   

   

   

   

  Survival Techniques of the Suicidal
  I can't remember if I've ever remarked it here. I probably have, way back when in the past. Certainly somewhere, if not Xanga. Like many things in life, it connects to other ideas (mainly that idea of being alive versus living). When things got near to unbearable but you were too frightened to take your own life, you simply gave up. Living was a goal - stay breathing, stay functioning (even if barely). It was attainable. Just stop caring. I used to think that included not caring about things that might bring consequences (namely, in this scenario, grades). You just had to get through.

  The issue is, to get through, you have to be able to just go through life. It isn't so simple now. Just getting by would result in poor grades which would definitely impact me later on. And, if I've made it this far, no way in Hell I'm gonna just back out now. That means caring at a later point in life. That means not having a load of shit to deal with when you "wake back up".

  I honestly never thought I'd end up missing it. Sophomore year constitutes some of the most emotionally trying memories of my life (largely pioneered by a raging depression). And it was then that such a technique was so necessary. But I can't float through life and just give up caring at this point. All or nothing, in a sense. Better get dinner; time's running and homework's calling.

   

   

   

   

  Depression
  If you didn't know, you know will know I have clinical depression. While never diagnosed by a doctor, you can only become down so many times before you question whether your failed attempts at trying may be failing for a reason. Chemically based, by my judgement.

  Now, everyone has their opinions of it. Not everyone has the same type. The thing that has always scared me was knowing someone out there has it worse than me. I hope they, at least, have the sense to see a doctor about it.

  Now, understand, I've kinda assumed I always was, to some extent, influenced by this. Even if it wasn't there at a young age, I drew a pleasure at the sad things in life, melancholy. This is crucial. Probably largely due to the depression, I have a deep love for the perverse and (to be utterly generic) depressing.

  This being said, I can't say I've always loved depression wholeheartedly. It's had it's terrifying moments. Thus far (though I believe I've moved past this entirely by now) I've had 4 major "dips", starting at Freshman year and ending either during Junior year or the end of Sophomore year (what I've confusedly - and before I had a full understanding of what I was going through - referred to as Depressions).

  My first Depression was mostly just a new experience. Lots of crying, lethargic, not wanting to do anything. I don't remember it as being that bad, for whatever reason. Bad, sure, and bordering on not functional. Yet a bit of crying and laziness isn't all that bad a thing to endure, particularly for a short period of time.

  They kinda just got worse as they went along until the climax, my fourth one. I almost forgot just how bad that one was. Picture this: den of the house, doors are closed, parents are doing whatever and sure son is working on homework, son is in the corner - homework is on the desk - and trying to sob uncontrollably but only able to break into short bursts of tears before falling into the habit of regaining control. You don't even want to know what that's mentally like. Cliché? Sure, but it was true. I mean, the mental ability just goes to Hell and you're so badly exuding the feeling of misery that you can't even manage thinking of how to do simple tasks. In retrospect, this screams "bad, nonfunctional situation" but what's one to do when they don't know better (or can't really tell a financially struggling family that has no empathy bone in their body)? And it's definitely one of the few times I was scared for my life because I actually didn't know if I would actually commit suicide or not (as apposed to just constantly thinking about and wanting death, though knowing you'd never do it).

  All that being said - I have to confess, I love aspects of depression.
  
  The morbidity it provides is riveting. I mean, there's just something fucking beautiful about searing sarcasm, the dark, the twisted (which can lend to the idea of insanity - Dark Knight, anyone (there's a reason I love Batman)?), and, most of all, something movingly emotional in the breaking or hurt of a person. We're most stunning when we're fragile - which, of course, is ironic. Because we like confidence, certainly. Yet there's something moving in our open rareness. Seen The Wrestler? His very being is moving in his emotion. There's something stunning by so big a figure and clearly hardened one that just cries. I admit, this was the largest reason I went to see the movie (plus my boyfriend at the time was paying...).
  
  While I have a deep love for nature, I can't forget the city. I love infrastructure, though the combination of the two is utter heaven. And yet, just the city alone is enticing. The steel, the bareness, almost, of it. The dark, the cramped place, the feeling of being closed in.
  
  (okay, not technically city, but the idea of manmade structures)
  
  And yet, that picture brings us exactly to the point. It's not all I'm looking at.
  
  Particularly for a picture such as this one, I can't help but get excited - but in the sense of this is the beginning of a novel. This is the setting - now what?
  
  So, the logical ending is happy, right? If this isn't the desire, but only the start - the end must be happy. And, in the question of life, I don't think anyone doesn't want a happy ending. But...I don't want to let go of the sad. In the right doses and the right parts - I like the sad.

  My planned out book deals entirely with depression, actually. Its very layout mirrors the mind set of the (at least myself) depressed. It's something that permeates your entire being, really. It becomes an identity for you, to an extent.

  But this identity slowly kills you everyday, makes you a pessimist, and (often) makes you quite suicidal. I've always been fond of saying, if not for the whole suicidal part and never being able to ever get rid of it, I'd make sure everyone goes through depression once because it opens your eyes to so much and creates an appreciation you won't find in many other places. Needless to say - this isn't healthy.
  
  So Emo, but it makes the truth of it all that more alarming. And I think that's the balance we're always trying to find - how do I enjoy living with what I have?

  My argument would be finding things which make you happy. Maybe it's just my depression leveling out to being controllable but I just see it as needing something to equal out the depression. Of course, that brings the question that if you had something for that long, would you just get bored of it and want to move on. I always used to (still do, from time to time) wonder if I could actually be happy with anything - and not get tired of it, wear it out, and just stay satisfied.

  Well, guess I have to. What other option? Well, there is one, but I closed the idea long ago. It seems we see the world. ...or, because I think 60% of people have it, that's why we see the world. But even still, for all its construction and all else, I'm enraptured.
  

   

   

   

   

  How People Perceive Depression/Suicide
  Is any one else irritated by how they display love in the media? Probably. Do I really need to elaborate? Damn, there goes my rant.

  So, in English, we're reading an incredibly depressing book that focuses a lot on death and, I believe, depression. So, the beginning parts, the girl mentions her interest in death from a young age. Throughout what we've read so far, everyone else seems to find it playful and poking fun - funny. I totally didn't see that. There is some dark humor, but I read it more as sarcasm. It didn't seem playful; it seemed resigned and observatory.

  In one portion, she sees the number 1-800-SUICIDE flash across the T. V. screen and, for whatever reason, calls it.

  "Do you feel like killing yourself? the man on the other end of the receiver asks. You tell him, I feel like I'm already dead. When he makes no response you add, I am in death's position. He finally says, Don't believe what you are thinking and feeling. Then he asks, Where do you live?"

  They read that portion and think she's exploring death, then gets stuck in a situation by calling the number so doesn't know how to respond. This is funny. I see a society that has no clue how to deal with the depressed. There is humor to this piece, but it is dark - the irony. Is it just me? Am I reading it wrong?

  The entry is not meant to depress but marvel at how my interpretation of this book can be so far from what they see. I read this and the voice is tired, too tired for even misery. Not because of some self-reflection or anything like that but because that is the only logical viewpoint I can see this narrator possessing, considering what she's going through.

  "As I watch my mother's mouth move, I ask myself: Am I often troubled by constipation? Have I ever vomited love or coughed up blame? Is anything wrong with my mind?"

  Next to the paragraph in the book something wrote confusing. Is it really that much so?

   

   

   

   

  The Reduction of People
  You know, I'm waiting for that moment when I've stopped asking questions - well, no, not stop asking questions. If I ever could stop learning, philosophizing, I'd go insane. I'm waiting for that moment where my life is set, where I can say I'm completely happy, and where that's not going to change on me. It can still change. That's why I'm bothered.

  Got a story for you. Nothing too amusing or entirely uplifting (well, it's uplifting to me, but you're all likely to disagree with it). Forgive me for revisiting the topic. And, I'll let you know, it may be partially graphic at points. Nothing too bad, I hope. This is about as confessing as I'll ever get on here, so count yourselves lucky.

  Also, these events happened after I had broken up with Allison and before I started going out with Emma. Heh, last thing I need is for it to seem I'm looking at other people while dating poor Emma.

  So, nonetheless, I was at a club, after school one day with a friend of mine. She's a great friend and I love spending time with her. But it's crucial to note - I probably would never go out with this girl. I still can't exactly nail it but I really don't like her in that fashion. However, she was quite the opposite. She really wanted to go out with me at some point, going so far as to get really mad at me (only time in our friendship, to my recollection) when I ended up going out with an ex of mine again rather than her.

  The significance of that all? I can't ever see us in a relationship, etc. And that is important.

  So, we're sitting there and, I don't remember what she was wearing or had her hair like exactly, but (my hormones regretfully report) she did look really cute that day. Obviously, I note this subconsciously, as I would any attractive person, but I don't make much of it. Your hormones will never stop working, lest you actively take a role in that procedure, so it is important how we handle the situation. Up to that point, I handled the situation as normal.

  It's here that things take a little turn.

  I'm sitting there, everyone's busy doing what they're supposed to be doing, she's sitting next to me, and I'm staring absentmindedly around. Now, the key here is absentmindedly because, otherwise, I would have given myself a mental slap. As it was, I didn't. And as we're sitting there, my eyes happen to notice her chest.

  And, well, to be frank, she's got a nice one. It's not something that's readily noticeable unless you're particularly looking, though I regularly don't, so I can't say either way I suppose (forgive me if I sound like I'm absolutely perfect at this, etc. because I'm not trying to sound thus. However, as you all know, this is something I take seriously, so to imagine I don't let myself slip less than my expectations (on a regular basis) - well, if you'd take me word on that).

  Nonetheless, she's got a nice rack. Kinda bulges from the fabric of the shirt's she's wearing, ever so slightly. Or at the time, at least. Anyone feeling self-conscious yet?

  And, well, she's not bad looking, at all, really, so my absentminded mind is wandering.

  Suddenly, those breasts are out of the fabric. They're being squeezed. Used for other purposes. Every curve is shown. Other actions pursue. I don't think I need to get more specific.

  And I'm shocked. Not so much by the fact I just had a sexual fantasy. But the fact I unwittingly just had one about a close friend of mine, who I know fairly well. And one of the first things I know about her is that some of what was going on inside my head, she would never be doing.

  If she ever knew what I had thought, she'd've been embarrassed, maybe feel vulnerable, and most certainly feel kinda dirty. In no way would she want to know about any of that and she probably wouldn't even know how to respond.

  It wasn't her, most principally. She'd become - a fantasy. Who she was was completely erased. And I can't really describe to you how I felt in that split second when I realized exactly what I was doing. But I just felt dirty. Repulsed. And part of it may have been the friend in me acting out, angry I had placed my friend in such a position (sorry for the pun). Defensive of my friend against myself.

  I could tell you how who she was was erased (though I already partially did), how she was just sex then, how she had interests, goals, experiences, etc. that made her an individual human and so on, but you've heard it all before from me.

  But how about the description. I can at least imagine someone out there, even if no one reading this is getting self-conscious. I could have described the whole fantasy (or perhaps made it up. I don't remember by now and I wasn't exactly intent on keeping the memory). But I didn't, nor would anyone have wanted me to. Because it's not "acceptable". Why? It would have made some uncomfortable. Why? It's what attraction, no matter which way you cut it, ends up as. Sex. We coat it up ("made love"), tone it down (such as not describing the whole thing out in detail...), and ignore where it made lead, but it ends there and is that all the same.

   

   

   

   

  Being Mindful of What We Say and Who We Speak About
  Because I can't keep quiet in the face of stupidity...heh, no matter who listens....

  First, why is it we continually seem to look towards Beauty Pageant contestants for leaders? Ignoring my own professed beliefs...I think the past couple have been compelling reasons not to bother!

  That could go into many other beautiful arguments and theories but for another day.

  The other thing that pisses me off - two idiots (I do not use this lightly) on Revelife decided to make the claim that Christians were a "hated" group. News flash - just because someone doesn't agree with you, doesn't make you a hated group.

  Ever been to a white supremacy website (check out Jew Watch if you're direly interested)? Their entire argument is that they believe in the freedom of others - but God forbid those minority groups work in the system and happen to come out on top of the majority. "The majority people in each nation deserve better." Essentially - you can live, so long as I get representation and what I say is considered right - only me.

  Hmm, so that's what makes a hate group. It couldn't possibly be that people find the ideas utter ludicrous.

  Forgive, this might totally be out of place for me here, but I'm bisexual and half Haitian. I honestly don't know how I got the idea in my head, but somehow I thought I had a better idea of hate and discrimination.

  Let's look at the hate crime statistics recorded by the FBI for 2007.

  52.2 percent were motivated by a racial bias
  16.4 percent resulted from religious bias
  16.2 percent resulted from sexual-orientational bias

  Well, seems the religious beat us. Of course, it's not exactly mandatory for local law enforcement agencies to record hate crime information (http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/Articles/000,004.htm). You don't possibly think that some states could give a damn less about what queers get killed, do you? Without hate crime punishments within a good deal of states still? No, not at all possible.

  Well, now, let's break this down, shall we? According to the FBI, of those committed in anti-religious bias,

  68.4 percent were anti-Jewish
  9.5 percent were anti-other religion
  9.0 percent were anti-Islamic
  4.4 percent were anti-Catholic
  4.3 percent were anti-multiple religions, group
  4.0 percent were anti-Protestant
  0.4 percent were anti-Atheism/Agnosticism/etc

  Hmm...so, combining the Catholics and Protestants...that's 8.4% anti-Christian hate crimes. (you know, versus the 68.4% anti-Jewish ones).

  Know, breaking down the sexual-orientation in a similar fashion,

  59.2 percent were classified as anti-male homosexual bias
  24.8 percent were reported as anti-homosexual bias
  12.6 percent were prompted by an anti-female homosexual bias
  1.8 percent were the result of an anti-heterosexual bias
  1.6 percent were classified as anti-bisexual bias

  So, even will our less than accurate numbers (for those who have gone unreported who were gay, etc.), considering there was a .2 percent difference between the religious and sexual-orientation people victim to hate crimes, there was about 89.8% more people victim of a hate crime with anti-sexuality bias than those victim of hate crimes with a anti-Christian bias.

  Wait, wait - Christians are a hate group?

  Heh, forgive me if I'm a little confused - who has the right to marry at the moment? Better yet - who has legal benefits given by the State that I don't have?? Want to talk about housing situations? How they're fucked as a result of anti-racial discrimination that we're still feeling the affects for? Or how about that if my name were Jamal, I would have 50% less of a chance of being hired (http://books.google.com/books?id=9I7ExPk-920C&pg=PA226&lpg=PA226&dq=Black+names+job+employment&source=bl&ots=r6Wsam1HvT&sig=eNcRkSPD3dnOAAA6kAP2jhQuvgE&hl=en&ei=L2T3SfeAD6WsNaOLoLYP&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=8#PPA226,M1) than if I submitted an application with my actual name?

  Hate group? Are you kidding me? I'm floored! No, I'm insulted. I'm flabbergasted. In this country, you have the audacity to complain that just because your ideas are opposed, you feel you're hated? Perhaps you should recheck your ideas.

  I believe in free speech; I believe in it because only in open dialogue can we further in progress. This is the perpetuation of idiocy.

   

   

   

   

   

  In other news, gay Iraqis are dying by torture: http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/2009/04/26/10950#comments
  In Uganda, people still push for jail-time for life for being found to be gay: http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/2009/04/24/10921#comments
  Antisemitism is on the rise again in Europe: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/883342.html
  I'm still able to find pictures like this online:
   (http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://patdollard.com/wp-content/uploads/nigger-make-up.jpg&imgrefurl=http://patdollard.com/2008/07/theyll-call-me-a-nigger-mccain-and-hussein-have-begun-nastiest-presidential-battle-in-decades/&usg=__0olbGA313rc2GpCXQ49eW0QRcU0=&h=290&w=400&sz=29&hl=en&start=2&um=1&tbnid=tcQhMM3UuJfgtM:&tbnh=90&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dnigger%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1)
  Many still don't understand sexism when faced with it.
  And for way too "comfortable" an amount of people, I'm still a nigger - and I'm still a faggot

  What's that other negative word people call me for being Christian? Oh, right - there is none
  

   

   

   

   

  Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You
  I remember one entry I said that the most satisfying endeavor we can partake in is helping others: there is nothing more noble or rewarding. And I was thinking to my "vacation" during the summer, when we were at some state, I saw a woman trying to get a stroller up these stairs with some difficulty. Well, I was pretty much being ignored by mom and dad and we were doing basically nothing (I think mom was window sighting) so I went over, asked if the woman needed any help, and helped her get her stroller up. And if that was all I did that day, that was enough.

  Now, of course, there are those who question the use of such acts. What's one act that only helps one person?

  A rather intelligent and aware individual asked not too long ago, once we've realized what is, what do we do about it?

  And that's exactly it - and, I would say, this is the answer. What does that act do? It makes that woman's day a tad bit better. Maybe it makes her think there is some good in all the crap in this world. Because every act, every change we make, makes some difference. If you want any change, to paraphrase Gandhi, you have to be that change. And that means not talking behind someone's back, even if they won't ever know, because the principle is more important. It means not picking on someone for being different just to make ourselves feel better because there's really no reason to pick in the first place. It means treating everyone as we would wish to be treated, and more, all the time. Not exactly an easy task, granted, but one we ought to strive for. Because otherwise, everything stays the same and no one has a reason to be any better than before. Change lies within each and every one of us. In that respect, yes, it is that simple.

  Because when you don't do that, people get hurt. And I'm tired of seeing that.

   

   

   

   

  Relationships
  What’s been on my mind lately? Relationships (I’m tempted to say “oddly enough”, but that wouldn’t be all that realistic a statement). I think I had noted that if there was anything that ever had obtained a position of analysis in what I write, that’s about the only prominent thing that follows the usual stories of woe, suffering, and suicide, etc. It even received a song of its own (Conversation In Song). Let’s see, I’ve written 4 full verses, the entire dealing with jess (good and bad), and many other general references in the midst of my usual work.

  Speaking from a detached viewpoint, it’s a great topic to write about. Honestly, we don’t get more “human”. Also, there’s a length of depth you can dig into with them. Not entirely sure there is a connection, but I would certainly make the argument Conversation In Song is one of the best things I’ve ever written.

  Granted, we see it all the time. Plenty of absolutely crap about it on the radio (that somehow the masses manage to continually thirst for…) and we all cringe at the cliché and poorly constructed love poems.
  But garbage aside, there is a natural reason why we do flock to the topic continually and are enamored by it.

  To those (and we know they are out there) who mock the usual couple, there’re ignoring or simply claiming ignorance when it comes to the topic. Principally, what makes it so lasting and enticing (when it works…), is the connection it forms and develops – a direct connection with a person that is, quite, yours in entirety. But going beyond even that, if you have the proper appreciation of the human personality and state of being, it’s directly just that connection. It’s really knowing someone and looking at that person and thinking (and the fact I’m actually using this word ought to be noted), “They’re beautiful.”

  There is nothing more capable of being intricate, delicate and strong in the same swooping instant, admirable, and capable of breathtaking and outstanding good than the human personality – and I will fight to the end defending that argument. Capable of so much evil – yet the only thing capable of conscience (which in turn makes any bit of good it does all the more relevant). I could give you the entire explanation on why the human being and life is one of the most precious things you will ever encounter, but I’ll spare you. That’s not the focus of this entry.

  Drawing back to the point I was making, when you really meet someone who just astounds you, that – quite realistically – is worth living for. And, really, that’s why this applies to relationships in general and not just those that work. Because, as we all know too well, they don’t always work. Plainly, it’s a person that when you look back and ask, “Would I do that again? Go through every fear along the way, the pain that may have transpired during and after?” and you say, with utter certainty, “Yes.” They’ve made an irreplaceable impact on your life and the emotions are there that say they don’t want this person removed.

  There’s only two relationships (and this is from the viewpoint of the relationship, not exactly the person), really, I can say that there’s no way I’d want to ever remove from my memory or life, which is even more sad because there were those who really had feelings for me, though as to why, I can’t possibly guess (and no, that’s not pessimism or critical self-view talking).

  So, under that mindset, we should fearlessly venture out and try, right? The gain clearly outweighs anything else coming our way. The experience is worth it all. Well, I could say that depression was worth the pain, etc. as well in the end (and trust me, it has its merits), but I only see that happening if I finally reach a point of being content in my life. That’s possible, but hasn’t happened yet. Tomorrow doesn’t seem well either.

  I think the most fearful part of the idea of a relationship is the idea – it’s not just me anymore. And, as children that were raised learning to preserve ourselves at any cost and make sure you evaded death (frightening to think how realistic a chance that is, really), that’s really unsettling. Not saying it always works that way; for the most part, that aspect doesn’t bother me to the point of getting to me, though with my relationship history it should. But I think for many, that’s frightening.

  It means, you can do everything you ought to and it still might not work. It means, I’ve got to trust this person. I’ve got to give them the ability to completely waste my ass out and trust they don’t.

  Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don’t risk everything, you risk even more.
  -Erica Jong

  Not saying that all relationships mean love, but, it does mean, you’ve got to give that trust. As I always find myself saying, we’re so used to Me. When you enter a relationship, Me essentially disappears, at least pertaining to the other person. It’s for the most part, Us, occasionally You. If both people follow this, humorously enough, Me is taken care of for both people by the other person.

  Like I said, my own history doesn’t spell out, “Trust people!” First gf lied to break up with me, second lied to me and told everyone something I trusted her with, fifth cheated on me and treated me like crap on purpose to try to get me to break up with her, etc. etc. They were fun times. Yet, whether we like it or not, that’s exactly what a relationship is. It’s no longer just you. It’s a variable added to your life you have very little control over. And if you try to control it, it can make life get very ugly.

  As Andrew once said (yes, that’s Jennings I’m speaking of), and it really just nailed the idea exactly, you kind of just go, “Here’s my heart; do as you wish.” And they whip out the 9-inch scissors and make it into a pincushion.

  I’ve only been truly loved someone once (and I make no mistake in my wording there), though the actual relationship was amazingly short and all Hell ensued for a year’s length afterward.

  Yet, if you do manage to handle the severe interdependence and both actually work to cement it (and that it’s not just a bad match and the personalities work together, obviously) – well, it’s beyond describing in words.

   

   

   

   

  My Parents' Relationship and Relationships/Love In General
        Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
        "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
  -Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

  I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

  We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

  We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

  Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idyllic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

  And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)?

  But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

  Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

   

   

   

   

  Quiz/Survey/Thing I Did On Relationships
  Well, it's been roughly 5 months that I've been single now. My younger self would never believe it possible, but I don't think I've done that since before Freshman year. Actually, I think the most time would probably be 3 months, generally (quite often), 2. And I didn't even start the interest for more than half the girls I've dated. I'll never understand why anyone would meet me and suddenly take interest in me. Yet that's happened...and yes, they generally end out bad (though who am I kidding, nearly all of my relationships end out bad).

  So, to remember this depressing dry spell (honestly, when I try not to date, someone comes along; when I could care less, no one sticks out (or stays in contact with me long enough!)) - I'm gonna do a survey. I have never realized how hard these are to find without stealing from a friend. For once, a search engine failed me.

  Quick note before, though - Dr. Rick Carter does have an emoticon - D. See the mustache?? This is officially the only one I will ever use.

  ::FIRST, A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF::
  Name - PBJ

  Gender - gender's perfomative, but socially accepted as male

  Age - 18

  Birthday - Nov. 22nd

  Sign - no clue

  Sexual orientation - bisexual

  Height - 5'6"

  Weight - 156, last I checked. probably has went up since then

  Body Type - Umm?

  Ethnic Background - Haitian, German, French, Spanish, Scottish, English, Polish
  Languages you speak - English, bit of spanish (though I can read it far better than I can write or speak it). My own languages are still taking some time to learn

  Religious persuasion - what is that even? Um, Catholic, if I'm guessing right the question

  Relationship Status - single, hence why I'm filling you out

  If single, are you looking? Or do you not care? What's the dealio? - it's complicated

  ::OPPOSITE SEX PHYSICAL PREFERENCES:: - you ask orientation, then limit this to the opp. sex??
  Hair color - no preference

  Hair Style - actually wouldn't care. just about anything has looked fine (then again, I'm not exactly picky). though pigtails have always reminded me of porn; and I've just shattered the hearts of many little children. sorry

  Eye Color - doesn't matter. red eyes are cool, though. of course, that also means you have to be albino, but it's a perk, if you ask me

  Skin Tone - don't care

  Ethnic Background - could care less

  Height - doesn't really matter; I've dated girls taller than me, though it seems the shorter one's are always the ones to pursue (with the exception of curly)

  Weight - just how shallow do you think I am?

  Body Type - beauty is a false face

  Fashion Style - generally plain. I'm dreadfully boring, I know, but I think the most attractive outfit is a hoodie and jeans. while I've never dated anyone who needed to constantly wear dresses or anything, wild out there styles are fine as well. it's a good reflection of the personality

  Subculture (if you had to choose) - goth, hands down. gothic chicks rule

  Do any of these preferences usually apply? not really. they're all very surface level. and not every girl out there is gothic, so that ruins that

  ::WHAT YOU LOOK FOR PHYSICALLY IN THE OPPOSITE SEX::
  Favorite body part to touch? - at the point of a relationship before marriage, hand or back (when holding the individual). I don't have wondering hands, the other does generally (*cough*Emma*cough*)

  Favorite body part to look at? - BOOBS. definitely. in fact, if I'm talking to you and you're a girl, I'm probably not even paying attention; just staring at the twins (that was sarcasm, if you couldn't catch it)

  Any physical characteristics you find most attractive? - I have this odd thing with hands. and a smile can be a killer. But the hand thing is still superficial and a smile lies a little more on personality.

  Any physical characteristics you find unattractive? - not really. people are wonderful, all in all

  Are there any accents you like? Dislike? - no, I wouldn't say so, though I'd most prefer a Chicago accent. I like ours the best, I found, when once comparing

  Do you like it when they wear nail polish? - no

  Do you like it when they wear make up of any kind? - definitely not. people look best naturally; make up does nothing, if you ask me

  How do you like them to carry themselves? - however they damn well please

  Any mannerism you find attractive or unattractive? - none that I can think of at the moment

  ::NON-PHYSICAL PREFERENCES:: - finally!
  Personality traits you find attractive - gotta have a sense of humor. outgoing can be good, sometimes, but so can being shy and quiet. I confess I'm first pulled to shy people. is intelligence a personality trait? it does influence how someone is a lot. that's deathly important. gotta be smart (as I massacre this with awful grammar). attentive. I like attention - I admit.

  Personality traits you find unattractive - lying, rude, back-stabber, hypocritical, ignorant, stubborn, high matenance, uncompromising, ignores, avoids, self-righteous, pretentious, uncaring, vain, self-centered

  How important are morals to you? - quite, though that can boil down to care about others. you hurt someone (and don't care), forget me giving you the time of day

  Do political views affect how you see them? - not really, considering more than half the girls I've dated were conservative (I'm a liberal bisexual - why were they interested again? Okay, technically Lindsay didn't know beforehand...). your views, in general, will affect me, but unless you're a psycho variety from either the liberal (you know, advocate for repeal of age consent laws or some shit like that) or conservative (think you're a prophet, want to make gays second class citizens, want to conserve old laws like separate but equal, shit like that) side, we ought to be fine. Honestly, an intelligent and well-leveled conservative will disagree with me most on economic issues - and if we can't talk civilly about that, we may need to worry about our relationship moreso than our politics. Politics is mostly dumb culture war and that's all people know of it - there's really no actual reason to fight

  Do you like it or dislike it when they curse frequently? - cursing reminds me that you can still think and don't allow society's views affect your judgement in life. while I will need you to realize saying, "Fuck," around a five-year-old is unacceptable, words are words and should be treated as such

  Do they have to share your religious views to be compatible with you? - not at all, though every single one so far has, oddly enough (or relatively enough, at least). Though I might find some qualm if you're a Calvinist. just maybe

  [This -or- That]
  Good girl/boy -or- Bad girl/boy? - can I pick moderate?

  Rocker -or- Hip Hopper? - I'd love someone who's into hip hop, just because I find so little, but I love rock with a passion as well, so that's fine. however, if they're into rock, they better be cool with metal. the only metal I can excuse would be death metal (just because you can't understand a word of it anyway and it's way to sporadic)

  Dog person -or- Cat person? - either is cool. I love both

  Liberal -or- Conservative? - preferably liberal, but economically conservative is fine as well. libertarians rock

  Disciplined -or- Free spirited? - mix of both. there's a time for everything

  Safe -or- Dangerous? - I value my life (heh, well, usually...)

  Completely laid back and calm -or- Hyper and flamboyant? - oy. I do have a history of hyper ex's. though I suppose I'd need both. I operate in extremes, which means either insanely out there (and taking nothing I say seriously) to quite serious, sober, and melancholy. eh, 'tis me

  Virgin -or- Experienced? - I really wouldn't care how many they've had sex with in the past, but they'd have to understand I plan on staying a virgin until marriage. however, if they are quite experienced, getting tested may be required

  Rational -or- Emotional? - rational, please

  Very shy -or- Very outgoing? - answered above

  Introverted -or- Extroverted? - introverted in that they ought to be reflective. people are the most complex of things - know yourself. extroverted in that I hate being shut out. keep in connection with me, let me in. I don't want to feel like I'm up against this wall peering through a hole

  A creature of habit -or- Unpredictable? - probably habit. it would depend, I suppose.

  A hopless romantic -or- A horndog? - what the Hell's a horndog? romantic, please. otherwise it'll be weird when I'm ridiculous with the gifts and whatnot... D

  Simple and boring -or- Complicated yet intriguing? - isn't that phrased a bit biasedly? complicated. I need someone complex

  Innocent and naive -or- Wise and knowledgable? - they ought to be knowledgable in what they know. Know lots and tons. Knowledge has never hurt anyone - only the lack of it has. however, they should probably be innocent and naïve in what they've done in their life

  Hot -or- Cute? - cute. based more on personality

  Ugly and totally compatible -or- Gorgeous and completely obnoxious? - Can I get an Ugly for a Success Relationship?

  Proper and polite -or- Rough around the edges? - depends. Fighting Sorina over the cheesecake and stuffing our faces was total fun and definitely a turn on on her part, even though it was totally not etiquette. however, you've gotta be polite to people and give them curtesy.

  Intense and passionate -or- Sweet and reserved? - um, geez, gotta be passionate somewhere, I guess. the intense though is a little frightening, while the sweet definitely catches the eye. Sweet and passionate?

  Outspoken and highly opinionated -or- Happy-go-lucky pacifist? - I guess the first one

  Smooth and sexy -or- Adorable and awkward? - adorable and awkward. awkward girls are so cute, plus they make you feel more comfortable about being yourself around them. and it's different because usually people say be normal, you'll fit in, etc. So it's like defying the status quo by being yourself

  ::YOUR VIEWS ON DATING/RELATIONSHIPS::
  What is dating by your defintion? - a mutual agreement of entering a relationship higher than friendship by two (or I guess more, for those "breaking boundaries" types) people

  What is a relationship by your defintion? - I dunno. a statement that defines a connection between two people. acquaintances, friends, family, partners, even fuck buddies - all relationships

  Can you date more than one person at a time? - others may choose to. me, I'm monogamous and will expect from the gf/bf the same as well

  Can you have a relationship with more than one person at a time? - according to my definition, we all are

  What constitutes cheating? - while I don't approve of looking at (or checking out) other people during a relationship, I suppose I still wouldn't consider it cheating. however, flirting, making out, starting another relationship at the same time - all no

  Is cheating ever justifiable? - not really. I probably won't hate you forever, so long as you apologize. but it might be harder to trust you

  Would you get back with someone who cheated on you? - depends. see above

  Would you expect to be taken back if you cheated on someone? - not at all

  Kissing on the first date: Acceptable? - considering I kissed both Allison and Emma before the first date, I'd say so. not to mention, I kissed Chelsea before we even started dating

  How about sex on the first date? - if you want to go home and masterbate to the wonderful memories I've given you that night, go right ahead. But abstinence for me (I think that's the first funny thing I've said this whole thing. what a shame)

  One night stands? - HA (and no, that doesn't stand for Acid)

  Sex outside of marriage in general: Acceptable or Not? - again, don't care about your past. but during the relationship, nope

  Would you sleep with a gf/bf? - you haven't gotten this one yet, have you?

  Would you sleep with just a friend? - no. that'd make things so awkward, because, as much as sex is utterly unrelated to love, people still put attachment to it (we have society to blame for that)

  Would you kiss just a friend? - it wouldn't mean anything if I did, but no. I have not had problems with other friends kissing me, though (however, if you do it on the lips, I'm gonna have to wonder if you're coming on to me)

  Would you do anything sexual at all with just a friend? - wasn't this asked before? well, if you consider making out sexual, then I guess yes, but that probably means I like them and want to go out with them (you'd think that'd be obvious)

  What are your sexual boundaries? - nothing past first base

  What do you consider a perfect first date? - I dunno. the date has to be there. but otherwise, we could do just about anything, I'd be fine. movie, walk. I still have yet to do that cook something together idea, so that'd probably be the next date I do with someone

  What could your crush/bf/gf do to make you jealous? - heh, not much, probably. I actually get jealous really easily, but usually over small ridiculous things. and I know they're ridiculous. but yeah, just me

  Guys: Would you always call her first? - eh. heh, any of my ex's can attest I don't make the first move often, unless I know by some means I can and things won't get weird or you won't mind it. but I generally suck at keeping up conversations, unless in person (and even then sometimes...), so better be ready to talk a lot. with Lindsay and jess, I'd just listen to them talk to themselves; I'm not at all hard to please, clearly. okay, maybe a bit

  Girls: Would you get upset if he rarely/never called? - This and the last question are so sexist

  What could a gf/bf do to make you feel insecure about your relationship? - avoid me, be unresponsive to stuff I do (like, I make a joke and you look like you weren't even paying attention; I do hope I'm not that boring). but I panic over little things too (granted, largely because my 1st to 5th gfs thought it wise, for whatever reason, to dance around anything rather than be straightforward with it. missed a date? break up's on the way)

  Would you let your bf/gf be as free as they wanted to be? - what does that mean?

  What would you do if you became/got your gf pregnant? - wouldn't ever happen

  Relationships are 50/50: True or False? - absolutely

  Once a cheater always a cheater: True or False? - naw

  How do you know you like someone? - I dunno, you just know. generally you can't stop thinking about them, a lot. and you kinda jump when you hear their name (or think you do) or see them or their screen name comes up (sounds corny, but, hey, we really do live in the online age)

  How do you know you LOVE someone? - geez...you just know, really. I mean, I only have one example, and I dunno. I just knew with her. with jess - I dunno. just knew

  What is romantic love by your definition? - um...I dunno. romance. I dunno

  Do you like people easily? - like? if crush qualifies, yes. if like as in long period of time, I'd say no, I guess. moderate there

  Do you fall in love easily? - HA. I'm much too picky

  How do you know your feelings are no longer there? - there's just nothing. you don't feel like seeing them, don't get excited anymore. it's a depressing point. stop making me think of it

  What's the hardest part about a break up? - the other person's reactions. granted, the two times I've had to do it (heh, yes, I suck that much at dating), they were both kinda ridiculous and the situations they were in just made me feel like an ass

  Do you stop liking/fall out of love easily? - liking, as in crushes, yes. long term liking, not so much. depends on the person, really

  Is there a difference between liking and crushing on someone? - yes. crush is kinda, "They might be interesting. I like the personality so far". Liking can consist of crushing but also you know them better and want to go out with them more strongly (or are just flat out interested in them)

  How do you differenciate between liking and crushing? - see above

  ::CURRENTLY::
  Like someone? - it's complicated

  Crushing on someone? - not at the moment. there were some brief ones at the beginning of the year

  In love with someone? - not anymore. heh, feels so long ago

  Dating around? - psh, I wish

  Looking for someone? - it's fucking complicated

  How relevant dating/relationships are to your life right now: ehh

   

   

   

   

  An Explanation of the Day of Silence
  Every year, since 1998, we have come together nationally on a day in April to huddle in silence. On this day, we do not speak to our contemporaries, we do not acknowledge our own joy, and we strip away our most common (and, at times, most powerful) means of communication.

  Some – even those who are sympathetic to our cause – have been unable to understand why we have chosen to silence ourselves. So we shall tell you:

  We are silent because when we speak up, we’re told we want everything.

  We are silent because just by being silent, you have started to read this.

  We are silent in the same way our ancestors before us did not hit back.

  We are silent because – though it seems so difficult for others to understand – gays are silenced; they cannot identify with their own orientation for fear of being mocked, they cannot acknowledge their own relationships for fear of being killed, and they cannot hide and be silent and still retain their rights.

  We are silent to echo the silence, because you cannot ignore when so many people have ceased to use their voice.

  We are silent because we feel it goes beyond ourselves.

  We are silent because we hope that by our silence, we start to represent that silence.

  I am the silence in representation of every gay and Trans person not recorded by the FBI for the hate crime they suffered (http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/Articles/000,004.htm).

  I am the silence of ignorance that people should grow up thinking of Tila Tequila when thinking of gay people and not Jane Addams or Langston Hughes.

  I am the silence in representation that gay people had before Stonewall, before that first rock was thrown, before we said, “WE EXIST.”

  I am the silence some have when they realize that they will not be equal during their lifetime.

  I am the silence of that fourteen-year-old gay girl’s reaction when her first encounter with her sexuality has to be watching her male siblings watching porn.

  I am the silence of Matt Shepard’s parents as they waited by his bedside, just hoping he’d live.

  I am the silence of every person who was too much of a coward to come out when they could have and were in a position of power.

  I am the silence of those who did not come out because they knew the result.

  I am the silence of those friends that I know are gay or bi, yet some of their closest friends (and most of everyone else) doesn’t know.

  I am the silence of the memory of Bayard Rustin, that the major populace shall not know that it was he who organized the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963, and the silence of words that Dr. King, Jr. used to speak out against Rustin’s orientation.

  I am the silence of the sibling who is too afraid to tell her brother or sister they are bi.

  I am the silence of hesitation felt before denying his identity in casual conversation.

  I am the silent mourning of Elke Kennedy when her son’s murderer got less time than a criminal of animal abuse.

  I am the confused silence followed by being told we do not exist, of being told you’re a fad.

  I am the silent fear of the child who is told each day they will be disowned if they’re gay.

  I am the silent wince for every time the word, “Faggot,” is said casually.

  I am the silence of the men and women crowded into the illegal gay bar run by the mafia, who hoped they wouldn’t get caught, because a gathering of gay people was illegal.

  I am the crushed silence of the orphan who was finally adopted, but taken away because gay people aren’t allowed to adopt.

  I am the silence of 50 years until governments acknowledged that homosexuals were among the groups persecuted by Nazi Germany – and the silent horror of those released from the camps only to be reimprisoned, because, under German law, it was still illegal to be homosexual.

  I am the silence in representation of every gay and Trans conservative individual whose only political party happens to have in its platform making them second-class citizens.

  I am the silence of disbelief by the transsexual who is told they cannot exist by those who aren’t Trans, that those people dare to fathom and judge what it means to be born in the wrong body.

  I am the silent disbelief of many California couples watching the marriage they waited for so long get taken away, that after 40, 50, 60 years of being together, they still cannot consummate their love.

  I am the shattered silence during the Black Cat raid, because the police, the law could not tolerate gay couples doing what every other couple has the right to do on New Year’s Eve – share one kiss, for only 3 to 5 seconds.

  I am silent because, despite the opposition’s belief, this isn’t about old men looking for younger boys, this isn’t about having as much sex with as many partners as you can get, or doing drugs, or even men or just gays.

  I am silent because the Asexual is never even mentioned, because somehow being capable of being attracted to both sexes somehow makes you greedy, because women are allowed acceptance only once they are objectified and made lesbian objects, and because Transgender-ism isn’t understood by most on the most fundamental of levels.

  I am silent because if one minority can be restricted and stripped of its rights by the majority, you better believe it can happen to another one.

  In the most simple of senses as I can render this – I am silent because there is a child, that we all know or we knew, at the simple age of 14, right now, who is gay or bi or Trans, who is looking for something like a Gay-Straight Alliance because they don’t understand who they are and their only understanding comes from the media and what their classmates say. Who isn’t an old man, who isn’t a drug abuser, who wasn’t sexually molested as a child, and who was raised in a Christian household. And, as they grow up, they will have each of these excuses try to explain away who they are. And they didn’t go looking for that GSA because they were indoctrinated or taught to – they sought it out on their own. Despite the words of disapproval from their parents being the only knowledge they have of what it means to be gay, they sought it out on their own.

  So I’m silent because how can I not be?

  How can I not want to cease all speech and just wonder – how?

  I am silent because I’m just too stunned at the amount of violent deaths that I have to read about (RIP Lateisha Green, November 18th, 2008), that many of those names go unreported, that it’s so hard to think that maybe hearing faggot or dyke by a fellow classmate might actually be harmful for the self-esteem, that part of the incredible, life-destructing pressure is the stress from worrying if your parents find out or simply not being able to state who you are.

  So I have a favor to ask – it’s not one I expect all of you to be able to do yet, for it’s not entirely easy: come out.

  Come out for those who refuse to believe that anyone can be a different orientation.

  Come out because it holds so much power, because it’s so much harder to hate something that someone close to you is.

  Come out for yourself – come out so you don’t have to squeeze yourself into the dark of a closet corner ever again.

  Come out so that in a world so content on saying you don’t exist, you just remember who you are, so you’re able to say, “I feel like me today.”

  Come out because I can tell you myself you’ll live.

  Actually, it doesn’t matter what orientation you are – just state it.

  Because we don’t live alone in this world. And in just three words, you’ve proven that, you’ve done enough, you’ve made an impact so that you may never have to speak again.

  Everyone in the crowd felt that we were never going to go back. It was like the last straw. It was time to reclaim something that had always been taken from us…. All kinds of people, all different reasons, but mostly it was total outrage, anger, sorrow, everything combined, and everything just kind of ran its course. …And we felt that we had freedom at last, or freedom to at least show that we demanded freedom. We weren't going to be walking meekly in the night and letting them shove us around—it's like standing your ground for the first time and in a really strong way, and that's what caught the police by surprise. There was something in the air, freedom a long time overdue, and we're going to fight for it. It took different forms, but the bottom line was, we weren't going to go away. And we didn't.
  -Michael Fader, on the night of Stonewall

  

  I had been in enough riots to know the fun was over…. The cops were totally humiliated. This never, ever happened. They were angrier than I guess they had ever been, because everybody else had rioted…but the fairies were not supposed to riot…no group had ever forced cops to retreat before, so the anger was just enormous.

   

   

   

   

  My Reflections On Prop. 8
  And just when I think I can forget and put behind my back Prop. 8.

  Anyone remember when I posted the Supreme Court of California's decision on gay marriage? I made a huge deal out of it. Why? Second state to allow gay marriage (and now the dumbasses allowed Conn. to steal it from them), it was decided upon by conservative judges, and it played within the system. It was the system working as it should. The judicial branch decided that something was unconstitutional due to the fact that our government is based upon equal treatment of all. That's where it should have ended. This is why we're a Republic, not a Democracy. This is why these stupid initiatives (and I mean all, not just those dealing with gay marriage or adoption) ought to not be. But, at the moment, our government does have these initiatives and the decision was revoked.

  We lost.

  And I remember just feeling connected as a community. Just about everyone I talked to who was gay, bi, etc. remarked on it. I think someone said they just felt like they were stabbed. And there were more than enough allies, I noted, that were just as angered. We all - maybe because we're in a time when we can actually be out of the closet more, maybe because I'm more involved now, because I'm paying closer attention to gay events - seemed to mourn that day, in some way. We either said it wasn't over (maybe we just couldn't believe that it would be) or we just felt remorse.

  And I remembered thinking, how do we come back from this? Well, I can't judge how much it's being made known, but perhaps you've heard there are protests spurting up. Like mad. I said when Cali. got gay marriage, it was history. Now we're in the middle of something reminiscent of the civil rights movements. But I worry. I worry because people have already begun to say, "They're never be satisfied. They have no regard for anything else and they won't be happy 'til they get what they want." We're whining, it seems. And our image is suffering.

  And then I'm reminded that, this isn't fair. When MLK, Jr. fought, it wasn't with what others were saying. He was questioning laws which were considered acceptable by the courts. He was saying they were wrong.

  And part of me wants us to yell. Give gay people these protests, at least, damn it - they lost the ability to formally consummate their love. Give them this, at least. And we aren't holding back. You can feel the anger, the frustration, and the refusal to say no that we all felt that night as those polls came it. It's mostly Morman churches that are being targeted, because the Morman church as an institution encouraged its members and poured tons of money in. So the signs read, "I didn't vote on your marriage", "You have three wives - can I have at least one husband?", "Your church is not my state", and "I'm a second class citizen". And it's not just Cali. It's Utah and New York and Mass. We are not pleased.

  And as some pointed out - where were these crowds for the amendment? When we needed to oppose Prop. 8, where were these people? And I've always wondered that, because gay people have a history of being complacent. They sit back and enjoy the little they carve out until it hits them upon the head that it's not enough - that they're settling for little, for less than equal. And the rest of us who actually want those rights a reality sit and wonder why. We get frustrated. And to be honest, I don't think the civil rights movement for us is over - it's just been dormant for a long while. But where are our leaders? Either dead or too old. We need new ones, and it seems fast, if I judge the times.

  But then someone put it so clearly and I finally got why this is. It needs to be changed, mind you (or we need good enough leaders to propel us forward), but I finally got why it was.

  Gay people generally aren't the placard-waving, bomb-throwing, chaps-wearing, communion-wafer-stomping radicals we're made out to be by the Bills O'Reilly and Donohue. Most gays and lesbians are content to be left to alone; many gays and lesbians go out of their way to ignore political threats and political activism and political activists. Only when gays and lesbians are attacked—only after the fact—do gays and lesbians take to the streets. Remember: the Stonewall Riots were are a response to a particularly brutal and cruelly-timed (we'd just buried Judy!) police raid on a gay bar in New York City; ACT-UP and Queer Nation were a response not to the AIDS virus, but to a murderous indifference on the parts of the political and medical establishment that amounted to an attack.

  Most gay people grow up desperately trying to pass, to blend in; most of us flee to cities where we can live our lives in relative peace and security. We don't go looking for fights. And most gay people walk around without realizing that they've internalized the dynamics of high school hells some of us barely survived: it's better to pass, to stay out of sight, to avoid making waves, lest you attract negative attention, lest you get bashed.

  But once you get bashed, once someone else throws the first punch, then you fight back—what other choice do you have?
  -Dan Savage of SLAG
  (http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2008/11/12/and_here_s_what_s_wrong_with_g)

   

   

   

   

  Race Relations In America - looking back, I'm not sure I've worded this entirely as to be wholly content, but the general idea of it (I think) still holds as accurate

  I once stated on here that race relations in America were heading towards a train crash that most seemed to be conveniently oblivious to (with no further explanation of what I meant, of course). Well, maybe a train crash was a bit dramatic, but that they are confused and screwed up, I would certainly be willing to argue.

   

  The first thought you would probably have is that I’m talking about racism (and, if that is the case – in our American minds, white on black racism). However, I am not. Where to start?

   

  Simplistically, I am of darker skin. On a more complex level, I would be labeled half black and half white. Truly, I am multiracial. My mother was born and raised in Haiti. Her grandmother was from the lighter side of the country, her French heritage clear upon her. My grandfather was from the darker side, a mix of Haitian and Spaniard. My father is European, for the most part – his lines run from England to Poland to Scotland to Germany.

   

  But if you were to talk to anyone, they would generally call me black. I am reminded of the time in elementary school that my mother made a fuss over what race the school marked me down as; the secretary wanted to simply check African-American and be done with it; my mother insisted that’s not what I was.

   

  Yet in America, it doesn’t matter whether you’re really from Nigeria rather than born and bred here. No, it won’t always even matter if you happen to be Japanese instead. You’re not white – racism will follow you. In that sense, I am black. People will see me as that and I shall be treated accordingly. I have no qualms with this. I understand it and take it. My skin is dark.

   

  Even still, I have never understood most demonstrations and protests in justification of being black. I have studied and followed the history in America, yes – I know well slavery, done projects on it; one of my favorite time periods is the black civil rights movement; one of my favorite speeches is I Have a Dream. I’ve been subject to racism (though I doubt no one hasn’t been or isn’t well aware of it). Even before I faced it, a favorite movie in my household is Roots. I knew of racism since I was born.

   

  There was a problem, though. I’m middle class. The majority I’ve always known is white because that was what my classmates were for the most part. In fact, as I got older, the less racism I faced and the more my skin became an irrelevancy. I know better, so I’ve often wondered in awe how you could view someone who was different as the same as you so easily – my greatest acceptance (when it came to my skin) was from the majority. Other races for me were the many types of Asian. And while I have a deep love for rap, I’m a complete metal head, while my all time favorite artist happens to be Bruce Springsteen (taken from my dad, I admit). It was a white rapper who interested me in genre first, and Big Pun made me realize that my own windings among rhyme and alliteration were hardly anything in comparison. I consider myself a video game nerd. Some of my closest friends were the techies working backstage at the concerts (I have since become one since applying for a job in college, I am happy to report). My list of girlfriends has been Caucasian (if only for the reason I had little other choice, given my raising). And I have a fierce love for the gothic subculture; I remember listening to a spoken word poet listing the ways the majority stays complacent, shutting out the problems of the world; she lists the indignity of Columbine being placed on rap and video games; and then she cries, “Go back to your ‘goth’,” and I wanted to shout objection; did you forget they targeted us after Columbine just as much as the previous two?

   

  So am I any less black? Will I be viewed and judged differently? In the days leading up to the primaries for the Democratic Party, some of the “black leaders” said that Obama didn’t share with other blacks in America that history of slavery and was, therefore, different from them.

   

  One of my “brothers” happens to be a Jew. Of my “sisters”, one happens to be blue-eyed and the other a mixed Hispanic.

   

  I don’t know (nor understand) a “black” culture. I don’t understand what the green, black, and red colors of an African continent does for an American like myself, nor would I suppose it make much sense, if I considered my own heritage.

   

  So you’re probably thinking – are you criticizing black people? Is this some type of perverse racism and you feel the need to separate yourself from black people? Are you really this bored?

   

  America is characterized as a people of no color. In my mind, that has always meant that we were a people despite our differences. As I viewed the statue of Thomas Jefferson in Washington, I stood in the shadow of a man who shaped our nation – of which I was just as much a part of. This man may have not been Haitian, but he was certainly me. With every word of the Declaration of Independence, he was crafting my beliefs and my future.

   

  I may not have ancestors who suffered the pains of slavery in America, yet I view with pride the abolitionists who spoke out against it and the slaves who wove their own culture into the American fabric.

   

  I am a child of Western thought. The Greeks laid out the idea of a free government and the Romans crafted a form of what would be our own, someday. To those minds I owe and I make no mistake of it.

   

  I did not find alienation in the women’s civil rights movement and I use the words of Jane Addams and Sojourner Truth often enough.

   

  I wasn’t hosed down during the 60s, but it is one of my favorite times to study. It was those people who paved the way to the acceptance I receive today. It was a moment when we said, “We might have inherited many problems, but at no point can we not overcome them.”

   

  When I think of America, the words, “Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand/A mighty woman with a torch…/‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she/With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,/The wretched refuse of your teeming shore./Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,/I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’” grace upon my lips, heaving with the spirit that must have infected the many who came to our land.

   

  The Grapes of Wrath, for me, didn’t describe a strange people or a landscape I didn’t know. I read with dislike the internment of Americans with Japanese ancestry. I rejoiced at the discovery of Stonewall. I sat with solemn acknowledgement at what the two Marches on Washington (1963 and 1979) meant for us as a nation.

   

  In short, every facet of American history defined me. We never got it right everytime – indeed, our grievances are many. But I take pride in what we have done. And I don’t understand why any person would isolate themselves to one position based on their heritage. Perhaps I’ve been too swayed by the words of King, but unification is the only route in my mind. I characterize myself as an American first and foremost.

   

  There is no “black” culture but only what of our culture was taken from people of color. I will identify myself as a German (among other things), I eat everyday now with chopsticks (something I always wanted to do since a kid), and I proclaim loudly, “In the future days which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression…. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way…. The third is freedom from want…. The fourth is freedom from fear…”, “It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion…— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth”, and “Yesterday the greatest question was decided which ever was debated in America; and a greater perhaps never was, nor will be, decided among men. A resolution was passed without one dissenting colony, ‘that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.’”

   

  And, perhaps, most importantly, I believe deeply in that Latin saying – e pluribus unum.

   

  So what am I, America? Should I cling to an identity – whether that be black or Haitian or German or male – and define myself by it, letting no others share it?

   

  What am I, America? Should I find connection in only those like myself? Should I see my history only from those eyes?

   

  What am I, America?

   

  I thought I was American.

   

   

   

   

  A Moment to Remember
  Hmm, I can't remember why anymore, but I had thought of when we had listed off our favorite or ideal type of weather during Peer Helpers. I remember my response: barely drizzling, gray sky, barely windy, and chilly. What surprised me was the immediate voices that pegged it as being sad. Well, I suppose to an extent it was. Though that really shouldn't surprise those that know me.

  To me, that moment - when all of that weather was as I just described it - if there ever was a moment I'd ever want to show someone, it'd be that. Granted, unless they were me, the beauty and spellbinding effect might be lost on them. But who am I to know. Maybe it was the fact no one was there that made it stand out so much. I think I like seclusion more than I want to believe.

  It was a Friday, because it was while it was my brother and sister's turn for piano lessons. I had decided to take my usual walk outside (I love the Evanston area with a passion. Fitting, I suppose, considering I was born in Evanston Hospital). It was slightly raining (barely drizzling), so perhaps walking was not the best idea. But I never seem to take much heed to the weather anyway. So there I was, no jacket, a sweatshirt if luck was with me that day, walking outside at a strolling leisure. I headed to the park, as I usually did.

  I love parks. Maybe due to nostalgia or simply the idea of innocence and purity (which certainly could be nostalgia as well), I always have loved parks. Just sitting there, observing other people there (again that fear of a love for isolation. But that's a rant, ponder, and musing for another day). And I think just looking back at my past and how it's changed, I suppose a longing for what was, and a thought of what I might have done instead. Or thinking of things I've like to do now but never will due to the inability with what I have at the present or due to fear, etc.

  As you already see, melancholy. Not too much - just enough to give yourself a slight dull throbbing. Enough to feel, but not enough to hurt. Not enough to render yourself disjointed, afraid, numb and pained at the same time, and alone. Not enough to make you lose control and strip all dignity from you, though no one would ever see. Not enough for rock-bottom depression. Slightly to the left of neutral: the body's preferred emotional position. But not the mind's. Again, for another day's musing.

  And so I sat on the swings, looking around. Barely anyone at the park, though what mother or father would take their kid to the park on a day like that? So I sat there, watching people walk past on the sidewalk. The park has two sides where the sidewalk comes close and two sides of a kind of yard of grass touching it. One of them isn't big and has the sign for the park in it. But the other is huge and sprawling. Not that much. Not for a city park. But enough for nature to make its presence. My favorite combination - city and nature.

  And as I gazed up at the sky, it was a darkish grey. And you seemed to be able to see the storm behind it. You could hear the thunder, soft, but no lightning. And you were just observing the people walking past, all content and going happily along about their lives. And the rain softly drizzled on, not fighting you but lightly making its presence known. And it seemed that behind that calm, cool grey the entire problems of the world rested. But they weren't there yet. The calm before the storm.

   

  My God, is there anything so incredibly pure?

   

   

   

   

  Thoughts and Ideas Through Lyrics
  
  While not normally the type to post icons, this one had my attention for a while. I'm almost certain the creator had the intent when creating it, but I doubt whatever girl I nabbed this from had any clue. The intent is, literally word for word, those are Bruce Springsteen lyrics - from Candy's Room, to be exact.

  No, there really isn't any point to this entry other than to post Bruce. Two of my all-time favorite songs, the second one especially. First one is Candy's Room. Read, if you wish.

  [soft whispering]
  In Candy's room...there are pictures of her heroes on the wall
  But to get to Candy's room...you gotta walk...the darkness...of Candy's hall
  Strangers from the city...call my baby's number...and they bring her toys
  When I come knocking...she smiles pretty 'cause she knows I wanna be
  Candy's boy...

  [regular volume]
  There's a sadness...hidden in that pretty face
  A sadness all of her own
  From which...no...man...can keep Candy safe

  We - kiss

  My heart rushes through my brain
  And my blood rushes in my veins
  ...Fire rushes towards the sky...
  We go driving...driving deep into the night
  I go driving deep into the light...in Candy's eyes

  She says, "Baby, if you wanna be wild,
  You got a lot to learn
  Close your eyes, let them melt,
  Let them fire,
  Let...them...burn..."
  'Cause in the darkness
  There'll be hidden worlds that shine
  And when I hold Candy close...she makes those hidden worlds mine...
  
  She has fancy clothes and diamond rings
  She has men who'll give her anything she wants, but they don't see...
  That what (what) she (she) wants (wants) is (is)
  Me
  Oh, and I want her so
  I'll never let her go
  No, no, no...
  She knows that I'd
  Give
  All that I got to give
  All that I want while I live
  To make Candy mine

  Tonight...
  -Bruce Springsteen

  You do the drying
  I'll do the dishes
  Who'll do the crying
  When all them wishes don't come true?

  You do the washing
  I'll do the folding
  Whose heart is breaking
  When whose arms are holding someone new
  Sittin' on a peaceful lake side?
  Didn't hear the roar of the waterfall come in
  When it's all a storybook story
  When it's all so easy and nice

  Here comes trouble in paradise

  You did the dusting
  I did the sweeping
  You did the driving
  Oh, and I did the sleeping a little too long
  On a picnic 'neath the sky so blue
  We didn't see the rain and heartache coming through
  When it's all an old black and white movie
  And you're sure you've seen the ending twice

  Here comes trouble in paradise

  You said everything was fine
  I'm sorry, baby, I didn't see the signs
  Oh, so beautifully you read your lines  (In a play where the hero has no vice
  And love comes without a price

  So does trouble in paradise

  Don't matter who did the dusting
  Or who did the sweeping
  Who did the trusting
  Or who did the cheating when its all gone
  Laying in a field on a summer's day
  Waitin' for those gray skies to clear away
  Knowing all love's glory and beauty
  Can vanish before you think twice

  Leaving trouble in paradise

  Now, we share the laughing
  We share the joking
  Oh, we do the sleeping
  Hmm, with one eye open...
  -Bruce Springsteen

  The other one I'd like to post would've been is Frankie, but there's no way that lyrics can do that song any justice. It's rather simple, really, but it's just amazing to me. Sort of just soft and intentful. Heh, best explanation I can get you at the moment.

   

   

   

   

  Things Which Define My Interest Or Caught My Eye
  1
  As I was heading to a class today, I happened to pass another church on campus that I don't normally frequent. I happened to notice that there was a sign that said "Open for Prayer" on the door. This meant the church was unlocked. This meant I could enter. Churches rarely do this anymore. After 5 seconds of deliberation, I gave in and entered. There's something about churches in general that are so...luring and comforting. I can't rightly say it. Ha, I'm such a Christian...

   

   

   

   

  2
  ACT TWO

  19. Herculine Barbin

  DIONYSOS appears to DEREK and stays throughout the scene.

  DEREK is exercising with weights.
  
  DEREK.         (to audience). He thought he wasn't a man without
                     a job.

                     HERCULINE BARBIN enters. She is played by a
                     woman but dressed in the clothes of a Frenchman
                     of the nineteenth century.

                     While she talks she gives DEREK objects from her
                     past which she takes from a small suitcase.

  HERCULINE.   Couldn't I have stayed with her? No one was
                     stopping us, I was the one who - and afterwards
                     it would even have been legal, she still loved me
                     then, I must have lost my mind for a while. Blame
                     her mother, (Gives a book.) refusing to notice,
                     have some apricot tart children, my daughter's
                     dearest friend, a daughter to me, goodbye dear
                     daughter, goodbye. Why didn't I keep a hold of
                     those hands? Blame yourself, kill yourself.

                     Abel Barbin, suicide, they'll find the body of a
                     man in the morning, no one will doubt it. Was
                     I really Herculine Barbin, playing by the sea,
                     starting school at the convent, nobody doubted
                     I was a girl. Hermaphrodite, the doctors were
                     fascinated, how to define this body, does it
                     fascinate you, it doesn't fascinate me, let it die.

                     Where are the girls I loved? They go on not
                     appearing every minute, sometimes it eases, often
                     what I am saying often it eases completely, oh it's
                     not like it was I can have a good - an eyelid, the
                     fall of a skirt, a startling tenderness at the next
                     table, and gone again, all my loves and Sara, Sara
                     and the air, you don't notice your breath till
                     something stops it.

                     I had schools, I had nuns, I had girls I loved even
                     only a little, no, wholly each time but more and -
                     Lea, so old, seventeen, I was twelve, leaning on
                     me in the garden, I took her a pretty crucifix at
                     night, (Gives a rose.) Mother Superior made me
                     cry. Was I really a lady's maid, undressing
                     Clothilde, combing her hair, it was my job, she
                     got married, no one worried about my body, my
                     periods would come in time.

                     Hair on my face and arms, cut it with scissors,
                     worse; I kissed Thecla on the mouth. Clever with
                     books, clumsy at sewing, lightning struck, leapt
                     out of bed naked into the nun's arms, feelings of
                     shame I didn't understand. Sinking in sand (Gives
                     scissors and a comb.) up to our knees, laughing,
                     three in a bed, they took off their skirts and tucked
                     up their petticoats, the water splashed high, I was
                     the only one who stayed on the beach.

                     Where it led, to Sara, I wouldn't let her get dressed
                     without me, stroked her hair, kissed her neck, she
                     put my hand aside and gazed in amazement.
                     Mysterious pains, (Gives crucifix.) she took me
                     into her bed to comfort me, god, Sara was mine,
                     romantic words, Sara is mine, nobody knew, this
                     lasted a long time, the children watched, her hair
                     fell down. In the middle of class she would smile
                     at me.

                     The pains, the doctor, I screamed, he could hardly
                     speak, but still he didn't stop us, her mother didn't,
                     nobody would admit, I did it myself in the
                     vacation, did I have to? The bishop, very kind, his
                     own doctor, yes I should be declared a man, (Gives
                     the lace shawl.) the documents. Sara's grief, have
                     some tart dear daughter, couldn't I have asked to
                     marry her, goodbye dear daughter, how to hold my
                     body as a man.

                     Soon less jeering, job in the railroad, long time
                     with no job, sit in the cafés and see who loves
                     who, at least I'm not a man like the men I see.
                     (Gives the petticoat.) Maybe waiter's assistant on
                     ship to America, what to do, everyone thought it
                     must be something good to take me so far away.

                     Into the unknown, like now, breathing in fumes,
                     soon dead, how to get back, all the girls' bodies,
                     Sara's body, my girl's body, all lost, couldn't you
                     have stayed?

                     DEREK holds all the objects and has dressed
                     himself in the shawl and petticoat. He sits in the
                     chair and becomes HERCULINE,

                     She stands beside him and takes the objects from
                     him and packs them into her suitcase.

  DEREK.         Couldn't I have stayed with her? No one was
                     stopping us, I was the one who - and afterwards
                     it would even have been legal, she still loved me
                     then, I must have lost my mind for a while. Blame
                     her mother, refusing to notice, have some apricot
                     tart children, my daughter's dearest friend, a
                     daughter to me, goodbye dear daughter, goodbye.
                     Why didn't I keep a hold of those hands? Blame
                     yourself, kill yourself.

                     Abel Barbin, suicide, they'll find the body of a
                     man in the morning, no one will doubt it. Was
                     I really Herculine Barbin, playing by the sea,
                     starting school at the convent, nobody doubted
                     I was a girl. Hermaphrodite, the doctors were
                     fascinated, how to define this body, does it
                     fascinate you, it doesn't fascinate me, let it die.

  HERCULINE.   What's the matter? Be happy. You know I love
                     you.

  DEREK.         Where are the girls I loved? They go on not
                     appearing every minute, sometimes it eases, often
                     what I am saying often it eases completely, oh it's
                     not like it was I can have a good - an eyelid, the
                     fall of a

  HERCULINE.   Lea, I love you.

  DEREK.         skirt, a startling tenderness at the next table, and
                     gone again, (Takes away the rose.) all my loves
                     and Sara, Sara and the air, you don't notice your
                     breath till something stops it.

                     I had schools, I had nuns, I had girls I loved even
                     only a little, no, wholly each time but more and -
                     Lea, so old, seventeen, I was twelve, leaning on
                     me in the garden, I took her a pretty crucifix at
                     night, Mother Superior made me cry. Was I really
                     a lady's maid, undressing Clothilde, combing her
                     hair, it was my job, she got married, no one
                     worried about my body, my periods would come
                     in time.

  HERCULINE.   May you be happy later, poor child.

  DEREK.         Hair on my face and arms, cut it with scissors,
                     worse; (Takes the book.)

  HERCULINE.   I'm sorry to hurt you, once more, nearly over.

  DEREK.         I kissed Thecla on the mouth. Clever with books,
                     clumsy at sewing, lightning struck, leapt out of
                     bed naked into the nun's arms, feelings of shame
                     I didn't understand. Sinking in sand up to our
                     knees, (Takes the scissors and comb.)

  HERCULINE.   Modesty, morality and the respect you owe a
                     religious house.

  DEREK.         laughing, three in a bed, they took off their skirts
                     and tucked up their petticoats, the water splashed
                     high, I was the only one who stayed on the beach.
                     Where it led, to Sara,

  HERCULINE.   Herculine! come in the water.

  DEREK.         I wouldn't let her get dressed without me, stroked
                     her hair, kissed her neck, she put my hand aside
                     and gazed in amazement. Mysterious pains, she
                     took me into her bed to comfort me, god, Sara was
                     mine, romantic words, Sara is mine, (Takes the
                     crucifix.) nobody knew, this lasted a long time, the
                     children watched, her hair fell down. In the middle
                     of class she would smile at me.

  HERCULINE.   I've made you an apricot tart.

  DEREK.         The pains, the doctor, I screamed, he could hardly
                     speak, but still he didn't stop us, her mother didn't,
                     nobody would admit, I did it myself in the
                     vacation, did I have to? The bishop, very kind, his
                     own doctor, yes I should be declared a man,the
                     documents. Sara's grief, have some tart dear
                     daughter, couldn't I have asked to marry her,
                     goodbye dear daughter, (Takes the lace shawl.)

  HERCULINE.   Goodbye, dear daughter.

  DEREK.         how to hold my body as a man.

                     Soon less jeering, job in the railroad, long time
                     with no job, sit in the cafés and see who loves
                     who, at least I'm not a man like the men I see.
                     Maybe waiter's assistant on ship to America, what
                     to do, everyone thought it must be something good
                     to take me so far away.

                     Into the unknown, like now, breathing in fumes,
                     soon dead, how to get back, all the girls' bodies,
                     (Takes the petticoat.) Sara's body, my girl's body,
                     all lost,

                     HERCULINE starts to go.

  DEREK.         couldn't you have stayed?

                     HERCULINE turns back and kisses him on the
                     neck.

  
  When I saw this, I couldn't help but to save it. I had planned on posting it, but you beat me to it, Lizzie.

  It's so...fitting, in what it accomplishes. The feelings it hits nail Catcher In the Rye perfectly.

  Because, the thing was, we should never have wanted to be like Holden.

  We were Holden.

  The book has no answers. Have you ever read one of Salinger's short stories? There's no happy ending.

  It's us - all the angst from being emotionally unstable, in a world we want so badly to be perfect yet can never seem to be that way, yearning for a reality that is not our own. And no one having a shitting clue about those thoughts that go through our head.

  We sit there wishing for that emotional break down, we want them dearly. Because, that's all we've really got to feeling alive. Everything just feels real at that point. And maybe's its those few moments when we just know what we're feeling and what we want (whether a full-blown breakdown or just a daily emotion) - that's all we need.

  I don't think anyone wants to stay at that place (nor do I necessarily think that's where we're condemned). But we never wanted to be Holden. He just spoke for us so eloquently.

   

   

   

   

  3
  I have said what I meant and I meant what I said. I have not done as well as I should like to have done, but I have done my best, frankly and forthrightly; no man can do more, and you are entitled to no less.
  -Adlai E. Stevenson

   

   

   

   

  4
  "Evolution by natural selection, the central concept of the life's worth of Charles Darwin, is a theory. It's a theory about the origin of adaptation, complexity, and diversity among Earth's living creatures. If you are skeptical by nature, unfamiliar with the terminology of science, and unaware of the overwhelming evidence, you might even be tempted to say that it's ‘just’ a theory. The notion that Earth orbits around the sun rather than vice versa, offered by Copernicus in 1543, is a theory. Continental drift is a theory. The existence, structure, and dynamics of atoms? Atomic theory. Even electricity is a theoretical construct, involving electrons, which are tiny units of charged mass that no one has ever seen. Each of these theories is an explanation that has been confirmed to such a degree, by observation and experiment, that knowledgeable experts accept it as fact. That’s what scientists mean when they talk about a theory: not a dreamy and unreliable speculation, but an explanatory statement that fits evidence.”

  -David Quammen, page two of National Geographic, title: "Was Darwin Wrong?"

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