Me: I feel broken.
Me: You always feel broken.

I remember there was one moment my brother, eager about music as he often is, was mentioning a line from a rap song he had heard recently that he really liked. Unsurprisingly, this sparked a comment from my mother about how much she hated rap. My father chimed in as well, noting that what he particularly couldn't stand was the arrogance and bragging. My mother notes that there's "just too much cursing".

In regards to the bragging, my brother gives the argument that's been given before: they strove so much to get where they are and came from so little; they've earned, to quote Kanye, the "right to be a little bit snobbish".

I ask whether Catcher In the Rye would be the same novel without Holden's candid expletives.

My father says he feels that's different.

 

I'd have to agree.

Granted, I think the notion has weight in the context of a well-put-together album such as Reasonable Doubt or the like. And I think there is something interesting and worth studying in seeing a genre – that is largely produced and put out by a group of people consistently kept economically deficient – should find a study of wealth to literally be a past-time. Kanye, in particular (or at least I'm most familiar with him), is rather good at illuminating the source of such consistent and, arguably, negative habits within rap.

However, – much as the sexism and misogyny in rap often tries to be explained away – I don't think all bravado can be so cleanly explained away. Some of it's irritating; and some of it really isn't healthy (within the culture of hip hop and for human beings in general, though I wouldn't say all of it is). And, in general, I don't think most of the bragging and trash talk can be explained with simply "You deserve to be able to do this".

 

I just don't care.

Granted, I grew up as a kid off of Detroit rap (largely because my introduction into rap was Eminem). So I have a particular affinity for rap battling. Add to that that Midwestern rap does have an appreciation punchlines and wordplay and that my second area of interest was East Coast rap, I have a large appreciation for clever wordplay and creative raps.

I really like trash talk, so long as the trash talker can back it up. Other than working on sentence structures in writing (in part because I'm more of a nerd than I know what to do with), there's a great rush from hearing someone talking about how great they are and then proving it. I dunno, I imagine it's the same rush most rap listeners (or, given the influence rap has had on pop music, any music listener of the 21^st century) have to listening to someone brag. I guess it's some vicariousness we've got going on. I dunno.

But, for an example that makes more sense, there's also this real rush to hearing a really clever punchline or witty bit, particular those that make you have to think about it for a moment so that you laugh more than you really should once you get it.

I like the juvenile wordplay of Da Ruckus:

I told you once, but you forget so here's a flashback
"You couldn't be shit, if you came out my asscrack"

Or Beastie Boys':

So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourself

Or Juice's pun:

I haven't even started my reign: I'm only drizzling

Or even corny ones from Jay-Z that I still enjoy just because I somehow managed to miss it the first time around:

Flyer that a piece of paper bearing my name

Or other ones which I just can't seem to think of at the moment because I'm blanking.

Sometimes, you just want to hear good, old-fashioned, clever trash talk.

The vibe is unsettling: as soon as the verse cuts,
I kill 'em with the medley and then ready the hearse up
Overflowin' on the levy and it's ready to burst up:
Those that wanna get me, wanna sweat me, get burned up
I make 'em feel like they flows is in the amazon,
On the land being stampeded, gettin' trampled on
They can't beat it: so damn heated, they can't respond
And I'm so damn weeded, I can't see 'em – so carry on…

Yerp, that'd be the stuff.

Well, @XxbutterflyknivesXx tapped me for this so here I go. The idea is 16 things about-yourself/you-like.

 

1. I'm still becoming a writer because I want to see God.

2. I use someone's name when trying to get to know people (and also because I'm terrible at remembering names and this helps). It grabs zir attention (a truly difficult thing to keep for people, it would seem) because you address zem directly, points that ze's notable to you because you've remembered zir name, and makes a sentence more personalized.

Or, at least, so goes my reasoning; I don't know if it actually works as well at it might logically seem to. People have a tendency to generally not gravitate to reserved, and often dry, Me at initial meetings (which can extend into further acquaintances).

Within the past few years, it's turned into my own quirk of a way to signify that someone has grabbed my attention or that I see and recognize zem and would like to get to know zem better. While I've never bothered to keep track of how often I've used people's names, I don't think I do this as much with those I know well or am close to (given they should already know that I want to know them as people, etc.). But for those I don't know as well, it's a sort of signifier (even if I'm the only one aware of it or what it means).

3. I have attempted over a period of time to test out every type and amount of sleep in an attempt to reign it in. For reasons I have no understanding of, my body wants 12 hours of sleep or more; there is actual medical evidence of people having this condition with no known reason and no known cure. In college, going to sleep became an ordeal because you slay half of your day this way and completely obliterate the ability or morale to do work. When my depression would get particularly bad, I'd stay in bed for as long as 24 hours. While I think it was the depression that kept me from wanting to get out of bed, I think my body was perfectly fine with going back to sleep. It literally never tires of it.

I think the best sleep I ever get (with a feeling that the sleep was actually regenerative) is going to bed on complete and thorough exhaustion or when my body wakes up after a short interval of sleep (3, 4.5, or – at most – 6 hours) on its own because I've been forcing myself to wake up after short hours (ranging from between 15 to 30 minutes or the previous hours I gave). Of course, 12 hours of sleep results in me being tired again in 6 hours and the short bursts of sleep are not remotely retainable.

I kept myself strictly aiming for no more than 4.5 hours or sleep but getting between that and 8 hours for two or three months not too long ago. This eventually gave way to my body sleeping as much as it could again.

I'm just sick of being perpetually exhausted.

4. I love individuals, hate people, and idealize humanity.

5. I tend to attach a lot of symbolic value to things (one of the fallouts of being a writer?). For example, I, undeniably, adore Caroline. I've known her ever since Junior year of high school, she's wonderfully loyal, and an amazing friend who has always stuck by me, no matter what. But, in spite of those things (or maybe they are because of this), Caroline also came to me through Victoria. Well before she was my Freshman, she was Victoria's. And, as we already know, I think very highly of Victoria. She could've just as much as said anything in high school and I would've taken it into consideration. So, in a sense, Caroline comes with Victoria's seal of approval. I doubt Victoria put that much thought into it. She probably met Caroline and simply took to the girl. But Caroline will always have that sense of approval and connection in my eye. That sort of, "Well, anyone who's a friend of _______ is a friend of mine," rationalization we often use; I don't know anything about you – but you're from ______'s camp and that's enough for me. That sort of loyalty and trust that goes with such a sentiment.

Likewise, Lauren was one of the first people I ever met at Williams and was in my Freshmen orientation group. We got along, had a bit in common, and did some activities together. Nothing exceedingly great. I think we saw each other a total of 5 individual times after orientation over my four years at Williams. We weren't exactly best buds or anything (though she's a pretty cool person so I'll always be fond of her). Yet she was one of the first people I met and got along with in a new state at a new school miles from home and familiarity. She will always be someone I consider important to me because of this, regardless of how close we stay or become over the years.

For yet another example, we randomly made a pact we were going to get a pug at one point, Lizzie. As such, this will still occur.

6. I have a creeping suspicion that I have some form of anxiety. This actually is terrifying to me.

As I've said already in a million different places a million different times, life is performance for me a good 90% of the time. And it's so thoroughly tiring. Beyond having to use just about all my concentration to read social cues and follow them whenever I interact with people, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every fortnight of every month of every year is a continual and constant process of keeping control of my emotions and keeping myself stable. Not even happy, just maintaining stability and keeping myself from depression.

While it's a taxing process that circumvents what I can do during a particular moment (despite the insistence of tasks or activities I should do and micromanagement of others every other day), I still have control. Anxiety, quite simply, is not control. I imagine it's controllable; I know there are those who manage panic attacks and the like every day. But it's yet more work to tack on and I don't know I have the strength for it. Nor the time.

7. I imagine the above is the reason I cannot stand when others don't bother to play nice or even bother to show an attempt at being friendly when I consistently do so. I am holding back and keeping in check my emotions in spite of that difficulty when I would much like to have the freedom to yell or be blunt about my feelings (if this xanga is not evidence enough of) or simply react slack-jawed because it's effort to even display emotion or even talk sometimes and you can't even muster being friendly back at me?

8. I can be a massive pack-rat. It's partially because items carry not only memory but information about their time and place and partially because items can often be reused or used later.

For an example, I was pasting and cutting some files before realizing that I didn't want to move them quite yet. Stupidly, I hit cancel. Well, the transfer was in the middle of moving a video of a band induction ceremony (thus the only version being the one I had taken). Canceling is caused the video to be half moved, creating a new 4 minute copy of the 8 minute clip. Panicking and not being able to think of any way to restore the file or if I had (stupidly, I had not) made a copy of the file, I decided to look through the my backed up files from before I dual-booted my computer with Windows and Linux. I have about three backups from different years. Not only was a copy of the video in one of them but it's not the first time some file has been lost (not always my fault) and I had it stored in an old backup.

People keep telling me that it's an inane habit and yet I have so many instances in which I've found joy and use from my packrattiness.

9. I never fully understood the whole concept of not being friends with your exes or members of the opposite sex (maybe because my bisexuality sort of would mean a person would have to worry double time) due to your current SO feeling uneasy about it.

First off, (if you can't trust the person to that extent) you're probably going to have a bad time.

Secondly, most of my friends are female and a few of my exes are some of the closest friends I have. I've always believed a proper relationship, even if failed, should bring the people closer together and that has definitely happened for a few of them. Arguably, you could say that all of my few best friends are female. As such, I fully intend to stay friends with them and that will include future activities like going to see shows or getting lunch, etc. If I'm with someone, it is with full commitment so long as I am with zem. If you can't trust my word on that…well, deal?

10. While I've often jokingly noted that most Bruce Springsteen fans are twice my age, I've been lucky in that my favorite artist is still alive and producing work (even if I've been critical of that later work). I don't think many people get the luck of having their childhood artist, the one they grew up on and memorized and spent far too much time obsessing over, still alive and active. Hell, I've been to two Springsteen concerts. Nothing legendary but I still get the bragging rights to say that.

And, sure, Black Sabbath and Ozzy are technically still around. But, for every other artist I listen to, I've either stopped or had my expectations lowered or they're no longer active/living.

And I'm becoming keenly aware that that's not going to be forever. There isn't likely to be a moment where I trail a bunch of his shows or see one of those legendary live performances or even get to look forward to new material because he's either going to retire or, unfortunately, die.

But even beyond that, – in death – it's not like I'm going to be able to follow what he's doing in the news or read interviews, etc. An individual, even if from afar, who was a mainstay of my life since childhood will be gone.

11. 99% of my sense of humor can be pinned down to irony. I realized this when walking with my cousin one time; I was (and still somewhat am) so surprised I'm able to define it so cleanly.

12. Part of the frustration of none of my cousins nor siblings nor myself being taught Haitian Creole is that I'm fairly certain I'm going to adopt children, on my own, in the future. And when it'll come to passing on heritage…there won't be much to do that with. My mother once got angry at me that I didn't post something on Facebook after the earthquake in Haiti. While I want to learn more about Haiti, – at this point in time – is it really all that surprising that I didn't? I don't speak the language, hardly know any others Haitians outside of my mother's side of the family, and have no real clue about the culture other than a collection of maybe five stories from my mother that all date back to before she emigrated (thus, thirty or so years ago). The little bit that I do have is a few Haitian recipes that I've grown up on. This means I can pass on a taste for Haitian cuisine (which I most certainly plan to do) but that's about it.

I haven't tried learning a new language because I'm generally bad at learning them. Plus anything which doesn't captivate my attention is going to be a struggle due to my depression and I already have more than enough things I have to do that aren't interesting and, thus, become a struggle to do. Plus, given that the English language is my area of study, I find wordcraft to truly be an art form and a beautiful one at that. There's something very satisfying about a skillfully crafted sentence and, having been as anal about grammar as I have, I think it's an utter waste to use words carelessly or sloppily. While I would never deter anyone from learning another language (I actually tend to look at zem in a much higher light for accomplishing something I haven't been able to), I would feel terrible for foisting myself into another person's language only to use it poorly and sloppily and hold it back from forming itself into the more complex capabilities language has potential for and becoming a far tighter and elegant system just because of my own ineptitude.

And yet I really would love to learn German or Creole. And it would at least give a stronger sense of heritage to my children. Recently, a feelings been creeping up on me that I may just bite the bullet; we'll see.

13. Speaking of grammar…

Technically speaking, I am not a prescriptivist when it comes to grammar. I believe language can change and does change. Indeed – as a system formed organically (and often haphazardly) from a grassroots sort of process –, I often think language should because it often manifests itself in ways that are nonsensical and poor. Basically, I think our language's rules should have reasoning behind them – and those which do not pass a test of sense should be discarded – but I do, at the end of the day, believe our language should have rules. I most certainly do not think that the fluidity of language gives us free range to run will-ze-n'ill-ze through language rules or rejoice at contradictory diversity within its body of rules. And, when at an impasse, I do tend to give precedence towards older rules and trends: this includes just about any usage that has prevalence in the language as well as any that may be created in the future (because, after all – at the end of the day –, I can't control how you use language). Generally, this tends to make me feel quite at home amongst prescriptivists – for a time.

While I haven't read through the whole blog yet and cannot necessarily give it a stamp of approval (it does, after all, have the phrase "Prescriptivism Must Die!" emblazoned on it), the blog Motivated Grammar gets its name from the same belief as mine. From zir site:

Grammar should not be articles of faith handed down to us from those on high who never split infinitives but always split hairs. Grammar should be rules that allow us to communicate more efficiently, clearly, and understandably. I’m not advocating the abolition of grammar,[explain to me why this comma exists] but rather its justification. I’m not quite sure what that will entail in the end, but I’m starting out by pointing out grammar rules that just don’t make sense, don’t work, or don’t have any justification. All I want is for our rules of grammar to be well-motivated.

Questionable comma aside, the above is beautiful (I tend to react more strongly to certain explanations when said explanation puts into words perfectly, for me, some feeling I was having difficulty expressing or even expressing clearly).

I should note that this doesn't apply to pronunciation, though the Midwestern accent is the most beautiful of English-speaking people (because I clearly have no bias; though I am also rather fond of the Irish accent and the Brooklyn accent, with Boston often piquing my interest). While I would probably prefer a standardization of pronunciation, that is literally impossible (plus there is some fun to that diversity). I was in argument with two friends of mine over whether Shakespeare would have to be standardized and I vehemently disagreed until we realized that I was under the impression we were solely talking about the text (silly English major). I'm inclined to believe that spelling (and possibly grammatical usage, though changes in that aren't likely to disrupt your Shakespeare too greatly) is likely to remain very standardized with the advent of the Internet Age and rising levels of education (and that's really all I'm concerned about maintaining). Of course, both were quick to point out (to my own persistent bafflement) that most high school students find they cannot understand the bard.

Also, in regards to the plural of octopus: the term comes from the Greek, ὀκτάπους (oktapous, "eight-footed"). If we follow the Greek to the plural form, we would get octopodes. The term octopi comes from the mistaken assumption that the term comes from the Latin (it does not).

I would probably accept the term octopuses, given that it follows standard English grammatical rules, but I'm not apt to like it.

Also, down with the singular They.

14. I really hate the term "bitch". As the above might give indication to, I'm not generally into abandoning any word. On the other hand, I generally despise reclamation of hate-terms.

You might argue that "bitch" isn't only used as a term of hate but I might disagree. I said to my brother once that there's never a non-gendered usage with it. It either frames women into that old stereotype of just bringing down all the fun everyone else is having by voicing their opinions or it connotes weakness and being dominated (particularly disturbing when you tie it back to the notion of the word meaning "female"), often sharing equal usage in this case to describe males.

I was technically wrong. When used as a noun, I think the term possibly escapes gendering (e.g. "Julie and the gang are up in this bitch!"). However, that, as far as I can see, is the only instance.

But even beyond that, I don't like the term because – like the term slut – it tends to carry a connotation with it that tends to overshadow its definition.

Okay, a woman who dates a guy just for his money and then movies on might not be a good person. Wouldn't it make sense to describe her as a bitch?

Arguably. But let me counter. Take the movie Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay: there's a scene where Kumar is reminiscing with his friend and love interest, Vanessa. He points out that she put used tampons in a Professor's purse (we're going to ignore the fact that they're literally tying the image of a period to why this woman deserved what she got; I can make my point without it). Even before Vanessa responds, I knew what the answer would be, in that sort of way you know something by routine.

Her response: Oh, come on. She was a bitch and you know it.

The problem with this (and, being connotation, I can't really prove it but you may anecdotally perceive this) is that the justification really isn't just that she was mean. I think it's important to note that it's Vanessa saying this. Bitch often is wielded as this sort of silencer. No girl wants to be a bitch and, if you are one, you sort of get whatever's coming to you. Unasked, you deserve it.

Vanessa's statement really reads as, "She was a bitch and, thus, she deserved it." And that's how the phrase is often put forward. She was a bitch. Umm, okay, on what criterion?

But, unless I'm mistaken, it just feels like it's carrying more meaning that it ever bothers to say. It's not just meant as a justification – like I said, it's meant as a silencer. She was a bitch; end of conversation, case solved. And it operates much as the terms queer and faggot and fairy used to: terms no man wanted to dare be called – and so universally agreed upon in their detestation as adjectives that they just operate as silencers. My mother once got into a fight with a guy pulling out of his driveway (I think; I was young and can't remember that well). After bickering back in forth, she said just one word: faggot. That was the moment he stopped bothering to argue (though there was a brief wash of surprise over his face) and just went to write down her licence plate. And I don't mean to display that as my mother beating up on and bullying this man; he wasn't very nice and may've started the shouting match. But the point remains: whatever the actual definition of the term, it has a stronger one as a silencer meant to end discussion. "Just don't call me that." And, in that way, it makes the caller lazy (and I generally make a strong case for the defense of expletives). Rather than calling zem a noun whose definition is often vague in comparison to the sentence it's used in, we should actually describe the faults of the person and make a proper argument.

Seriously, I really don't like that term.

15. I (over-?)analyze anything and everything constantly. Even if I forget to mention that I, eventually, came to agree with an argument you made, I'm likely to think over what you said well after the discussion is through. I'm earnestly interested in reaching a conclusion that makes sense and is justifiable and, if you're capable of helping me reach that point, I very much would like your input. If I disagree or stick in opposition to a point, it's because I earnestly believe it (or am not willing to accept the other argument quite yet), not out of any malice or ill-will.

As such, dismissing my point of view or not bothering to argue a point is one of the most insulting ordeals (yes, I know, I'm forming a list of them) you can put me through. I'll generally heckle after a point or a semantic because I'm earnestly interested in coming to an understanding of it. I'll never let go of being dismissed or being told I'm wrong (when I fully believe or aren't fully convinced that I'm not) because you're saying my reasoning is faulty. Rather than working with me towards understanding, you've pushed me aside (deeming me unsuitable of understanding) or've circumvented the argument process and, rather than pointing out why my reasoning is wrong, decided to deprive me of understanding. This is unacceptable and, above all, cruel. If you don't have much interest in the topic, simply mention so (I was also going to say if you didn't have the patience to explain it but that's stupid of me; impatience is unacceptable when it comes to other's needs).

I don't think it's unreasonable to want to have an point of view explained and I cannot fathom how others can not perceive blinding insult at dismissal of a query.

16. In spite of dating what some feel is a high amount of people (I really don't feel that it is), I am very rarely, truly pulled towards any one person, though I'm usually willing to try a relationship out if asked. I generally have high opinions of many and fall into crushes easily (I generally consider a crush any light infatuation that generally doesn't last very long because it isn't based on a large base). And, occasionally, there are those people who I start to seriously contemplate whether I should. But, in general, these aren't the things which cause me to consider, quite seriously, the risk of going for someone; there are some times when I'm simply blown away by a person, the type of infatuation where you want to devour the totality of your time with that person and immerse your senses in discovering further who they are because they are so stimulating of a personality. The difference between the last two of the three is that, in the former, I may consider the risk worth it: I may or may not ask zem out. In the latter, I know it's worth the risk because I am so thoroughly drawn to this person that every bit of me feels it.

Obviously, that last one is not a common occurrence. And it's one that tends to be predicated on having a past with the person and knowing them fairly well (given that, most generally, it's personality and opinions/ideals that make me attracted to a person). I suppose this is a phenomenon which could have only occurred later in life as I got an idea of the type of person I'm attracted to. Still, very rarely does anyone truly come along that thoroughly blows me away (though I may partially blame that on how little we truly get to know any one person that we meet over the spans of our lifetime), though they (often surprisingly) do occur.

 

 

 

Alright, time to tag some people for this: @IgorLollipop, @under_the_carpet, @mkmm87, @LyricalVent (we've been trying to re-figure-out/reclaim who we are for so long, maybe trying to write out just a fraction of it will help) 

I hate when people say they find the female body to be more delicate, graceful, or elegant than the male body. This is usually then associated with a thin waist line and curves that would necessitate a ridiculously flat stomach.

This dichotomy borders on absurdity because one of the body types I adore is a chubby gut. I like the muffin top; chubby girls are adorable. And part of why I like that body type is precisely because it isn't delicate or, necessarily, graceful. But it is one that welcomingly envelops you and is downright perfect for cuddling and snuggling.

I've said it before but I am still at a loss: why do we insist on shoving bodies into small little boxes and, in turn, contorting them into shapes that they neither have to possess nor makes any sense of improvement on them?

I cannot count (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration) the times I've seen an image of a guy that I mistook for a girl and immediately thought, "She's cute."

This idea that bodies can be so cleanly divided into given categories such as male and female rather than there being merely trends that aren't always obeyed is criminal not only because it denies a very real existence for some but because it is monumentally boring.

There is a wealth of diversity within the physical frame of the human body.

And that can mean flat stomachs and thin waists and that can mean prominent thighs and that can mean thinness with no curves or shape and that can mean a chubby face and that can mean plainness and that can mean a myriad of many other wonderful features that could all be appreciated for a variety of reasons.

While I would like to think I have a very large range that I appreciate, I'm certain I have my particulars. And there are others out there who appreciate aspects of the body which are different from me or maybe even similar aspects for entirely different reasons.

 

And that is okay and that is beautiful and that should be celebrated (if we must celebrate the human body at all; I can't help it: I'm still largely in that camp. But, if I can't convince you to such stoicism…).

Bodies are different. Bodies are varied. Bodies are complex.

And we should be encouraging that complexity rather than trying to make it derivative. Your body, down to every feature and as a total sum of their parts, is uniquely yours: no one else in the entire universe can make a claim to the same body – and that's really fucking cool.

Recognizing similarities between my parents and me always tickles me (because irony, for whatever reason, always gets me), largely due to our "complicated" history.

The similarity between me and my mother (other than I'm starting to notice really creepily similar – I need a different word than similar now – habits we have in dealing with anxiety) is that we were both exceedingly harmed in life. This has resulted in us both being distrustful of others (notably, for reasons I still don't fully understand, the same can be said of my sister).

As I've mentioned in past entries, this has lead to results such as not trusting her own siblings fully or even her husband for the first years of her marriage.

And then it dawned on me that I could pinpoint the exact difference in our similarity.

 

My mother was hurt and she resolved to ensure that she would never be hurt again like that, no matter what. I was hurt and I resolved to ensure that no one else would ever be hurt like I had been, no matter what.

Father: Thanks, Jonathan.  Like I said before, I read the stories and poems.  They're not bad, but I do think you could do better.  You should write more and write longer stories.  I genuinely think you're a good writer.

 

Confusing length with good writing is a folly that I'm not sure I even know how to properly respond to. I would like to know upon what qualification he bases his arraignment. To think I've always wondered where I retained my ironic sense of humor.

Sorry, do I sound miffed? We'll put aside that each of the pieces I exposed revealed concepts which I've struggled with, particularly in trying to make sense of them (the pieces were "The Only Thing We Have", "The Darkling Plain", "The Phonecall", "Fabrication to a Love Ode", and "A Memory"). Really, in all honesty, that's not the point.

It's that he's, somehow, designated judgement without the least bit of reasoning. Perhaps I'd be more understanding if I were less certain about the pieces (so perhaps my peeve is, once again, the complete lack of assumption of possible, even remote, fault in such an assured statement).

Sure, the pieces, to a degree, could be perceived as mere exercises in writing (and thus not trying to achieve something exceedingly beyond the pale at the sacrifice of the obsession with a particular technique or concept); I've always seemed to have a taste for the technical. I've also preferred doing a job that leaves no room for fault, even if that means it's short and doesn't achieve fame-level work. "A Memory" is not significant for being the next "Paradise Lost". It's significance lies in what it's able to accomplish and communicate in a mere three sentences; it may not be Hamlet material but it is well done.

I mean, there were five fucking pieces in that document. That's five pieces to dissect and tear apart and pillage for meaning. And how do you summate five pieces of writing? "They're not bad[…]."

Forgive me; perhaps I'm undercutting his sentences. The full sentence is, "They're not bad, but I do think you could do better." This is followed by the advice that I should write more and longer stories. Seeing that the following sentence moves focus from the writings I provided to future writings, I can only assume that his take on the pieces was that, "Sure, they're writings in the proper sense; but, really, give me something which I don't have to give, at best, one sentence of attention to."

 

On that note, here's an old piece I've done some revision to. You can find the original here. I've cut out good chunks of it just to trim the fat. Notably, it changes the focus of the piece a bit; certainly makes it more of a meditation on depression, though it also fleshes out the technique I was trying for the piece (even if not for as long of an amount of text).

I'm still on the fence about it, given that it really doesn't reach for much; it's certainly not nearly as busy as "Fabrication to a Love Ode". But it is an interesting technique and not one immediately noticeable; plus I think it captures what living with depression is like quite well. Oh well, here's my short piece of writing that's not even worth the time for a likewise-length dissection.

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     "Wha– sorry. Could you say it again? I jus-I wasn't listening. …. I see. Well…heh, well, who's to say? I mean – I suppose I just don't understand denial.
     It just becomes…suffocating, sometimes. It’s like I'm continually under this expectation to match every single internal and external action with the right response. Because when you respond incorrectly, that sends the wrong message. Which I'd hate to do. Because it's not unreasonable! Remember a birthday, remember Mother's Day, look happy to see someone when you say hello, go see the play your friend has been working on for God knows how long, check in on them when they're sick keep in mind when they had an interview attend their speech talk during the conversation respond make eye contactnodarcheyebrowsblinkbreathe
     "I spent the entire last weekend in my room. Heh – yeah…the entire thing. I just…didn't see the point in leaving. It took too much effort to get out the bed. And I was tired. So I tried to make sense of my computer screen for 36 hours. And it was…nice, because I didn't have to put any effort into anythin- no, I – I got lonely. I jus-
     I just needed to breathe.

The Father which is not the Son which is not the Spirit which is not the Father is our God with the Son and the Spirit; the Lord is one.

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There is something which gets stirred within me at the professing of that Sacred Mystery, every time.

It is the same feeling I have when standing before the amazing architecture of the Library of Congress or reading Shakespeare or simply taking in a beautiful day or taking in a particularly ingenious intellectual argument.

I've always maintained, to some degree (and this is growing as time goes on), that there is very little difference between all these things; this, I would imagine, can be used to bolster an argument for absolute morality.

This has also led to the confusion some have had to how I've viewed being religious and being a secularist as being seamless.

But I don't want to discuss any of those things, things which have either been discussed in detail before here or would require detailed discussion that would escape the point I do want to address.

 

Rather, read the portion listed below. It'll help me make my point, in my usual round-about way of doing things (also, it contains potentially offensive concepts if you're of more restrained mind about thinking about God).

An excerpt:

Growing up outside the church, I'd drawn my ideas about the Catholic god from Fellini movies as being something like Anita Ekberg driving a red Ferrari. It had never occurred to me to ask the question "Is God fuckable?" because I never doubted the answer. It's one of the reasons I wanted to be Catholic.

When I first started going to Mass, in my thirties, I'd been studying Saint Augustine and was soaked in his language of intense longing for God. I wasn't surprised at all that in one of the first homilies I heard, the priest said he wanted Jesus to be his lover. I didn't realize this was an extraordinary thing for a priest to say. The mystics are always saying stuff like that. Sitting in the pews for a few years, I figured out that when it comes to sex, parish priests more usually offer a mix of awkward shame and romanticism right out of junior high. Mostly, though, it's just not mentioned.

Catholic religious imagery is intense, but after a while, it can become as unremarkable as a pair of slippers. You almost have to be an outsider, a newcomer, or in some sort of crisis to notice it. 

Took me a while to slip into the slippers. Once when I was supposed to lector (read out loud) at daily Mass, I glanced at the reading beforehand and saw it was something about Jerusalem offering her abundant breasts to suck and fondling you on her lap (from Isaiah 66, I think). 
The priest who was due to say Mass that day was a man I wasn't altogether at ease with, and I didn't really want to read this facing him across a small room. 
I said to the guy who set up the daily Masses that I didn't feel comfortable reading this passage. 
He looked at me, absolutely shocked. "But it's scripture," he said. 

I knew he would read it if I insisted, but I thought, OK, fine, lepers or lambs, it's all the same, people don't even hear it. So I read it and the priest stared into space and I stared into space and I could have been reading the Lord's laundry list.

The passion, the body, can get pretty drowsy and domesticated in church, like urgent desire does if you give it warm milk and don't poke it with a stick. Still, it's there if you want it, or if you need it, and if I asked most Catholics I know if God is fuckable, I think I know what they'd say. 
They'd say something like, The world is a sacrament. Take and eat.

Now, the idea of God being "fuckable" is something completely new to me. The author's assurance at how most Catholics would respond to such a question sort of makes me wonder what world they live in and where would one find it.

Yet the questions of sex and, in particular, the religious rituals toward the end do strike a cord.

While I have yet to find the strains of liberal thought I am so certain are within Catholicism (somewhere…), the openness about sex in the context of religious imagery certainly rings true within my knowledge. I once had someone try to tell me that notions of homosexuality in older texts were simply people misreading descriptions of encounters with God because such encounters can take on a seemingly sexual nature (which only serves to reinforce the sacredness of sex and its sacramental component). It's one of the many ways Catholicism seems to gray what is normally taken as strictly black-and-white concepts in religion (though never going nearly as far as some would like and always having an explanation that maintains the traditional viewpoint). It's hard to explain unless you have familiarity with such things (or, seemingly, familiarity with Catholic thought, which is funny to me given my own late blooming that I keep coming back to on this xanga).

But there's something more.

It's that last portion (which is really so beautiful, if understood in its context, that I can barely take it): "They'd say something like, The world is a sacrament. Take and eat."

Someone once told me they couldn't see themselves part of any religious branch which didn't have some notion of the sacraments. I couldn't have understood it then but I have come to. And, for those unfamiliar with the concept of the sacraments, I could give you a description but I don't think it would suffice.

Thus, for now, I shall simply address the sacrament which the passage is clearly alluding to: the Sacrament of the Altar, Holy Communion, the Eucharist (arguably, the focal point about which all of Catholicism circles; without, there is no Catholicism, no Church, no Faith).

For some, this is a concept entirely bereft of familiarity (which, for me, makes it all the more singular and significant).

To make allusion to the Eucharist (the literal embodiment of God offered to us as sustenance, both spiritual and physical) is not simply to say enjoy experience or "take the most out of life". It is to literally make this engagement a holy and spiritual act given to us, again in a spiritual context, by God.

 

I have continually said that I like that Catholicism takes every experience into consideration in worship: we cross ourselves to engage our touch as we simultaneously speak aloud our belief in the triune God, we use all the visual glory that candles might give a service and incense to reach our scent, etc.

This concept can go into all sorts of fascinating conversations about the state of human nature and its relation to the spiritual, etc. but I don't want to address those here. Rather, in that context, the sacraments take on a more defining conceptualization.

They become a sort of testament of sorts, helping to define the religion. In the ways of symbolism so defining for Catholicism, defining the religion around the Eucharist (for everything that it is from having to physically enact it out to the fact that is the act of eating to the spiritual concept behind its action) sets, tenfold, fundamental concepts about the religion at its very foundation.

Perhaps this is the best (for now) way to describe why we become so impassioned by our sacraments.

And it explains why the recitation of that Sacred Mystery at the top can be such a high to partake in. Were I more of a Protestant, I suppose it'd be the same for reciting John 3:16. Or the love of life without the Spiritual for the Secular Humanist. Or that the Summation of Life is to give Life meaning for the Existentialist.

And the reason the end of that above passage is so great is that it ties these other aspects of life into these defining concepts of the Faith as seamlessly as these definers illuminate the Faith (though the current hierarchy would protest to the fundamentalism I seem to see sex as having, even outside of matrimony).

 

Anyway (in spite of the difficulty to understand some of the above unless you understand what certain concepts mean and feel like), all of this was to articulate this emotion and the potential reasoning behind it.

And to say that, while I always have this religious-like experience with other religions or religious places (only part of why I was involved in interfaith activities), there is only one other religion (or religion-related to encompass when dealing with intellectualism, thus including my secularism) I have ever had a similar reaction to when encountering the whole of the religion and that is Judaism.

And I'm not really sure what to do with it.

I'll have to figure out, someday, why I'm always surprised anytime anyone genuinely reacts as if they miss me.

A friend of mine once (in what seemed, to me, out of the blue) E-mailed the listserve of (I think) the marching band, noting that it had come to her attention that there were members of the group which had never had the experience, despite growing up in the 90s, of hearing "No Scrubs" by TLC; this had to be corrected, she noted.

Seeing as I had only heard, and remembered, the song tangentially from hearing it on the radio once or twice back in my childhood (plus I'm sure my cousins may've helped to some degree), this may be something rather prevalent. And my xanga would be remiss if it did not partially exist as a place where one of the greatest decades of human existence could live.

As far as I'm concerned, the 90s never ended.