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(no subject) [May. 7th, 2017|11:28 am]
What to say.

As I get older my life seems to cauterize around the edges and the edges get closer. It's not a claustrophobic feeling of being stuck, it's more like the feeling you get when it rains, and you're some place safe, warm, familiar.

I remember those days sleeping with Melanie. In her mother's house. The tin pang sound of the rain dropping through the gutter, being utterly comfortable. Infused. Terribly satisfied. Over a span of probably two years, one wonders how all of that stuff was waiting inside of your being to be satisfied. How much of it was taught by what you saw and watched in the world around you, how much of it was determined by the close world around you, and how much of it was genetic-100's of thousands of years coming with ruts so deep you only have the option to move forward.

It's hard to describe exactly the feeling that that relationship gives me so far from it now. more than ten years and a lot has happened in between. Certainly peeks and valleys that are palpable and also, in the same way, familiar. I have an anxious feeling that I need to resolve them. If I cannot I feel that they will haunt me and resonate on my death bed.

I'm not that old, 36, but as I approach 40. You know....that's what's weird. My body has slowed down. My quickness has as well. My memory is not so fresh (but mainly I attribute that to having a smartphone in my hands, always able to be endlessly distractable) , but here I am, again, after a spate of running and lifting. I can still run at least an eight minute mile. I'm benching, probably more than I have for a long time, but still close to my max. If I continue I'll probably hit a personal record, and here I am at 36....makes me wonder what enough diet and exercise could have wrought earlier. Or maybe I've just adjusted, and this is my new normal, so any gain is the same way now as it was then. 20lbs gain here was the 40 lb gain earlier, but who can tell the difference? Living in it.

I guess my quickness is the biggest thing that I notice and forces itself into obvious. I don't feel the same "spring" in my step. My cuts are quick but the rebound doesn't propel me as fast.

I have become more aware of my alcoholism. I would like to say that I'm better at harnessing it and bringing it to bear, but I'm not sure if that's just my body becoming older and the effects becoming more immediate and forceful, or becoming elder-wise. If I'm honest it's because my body can't take the abuse and weather it so easily. It's become more of an issue to be dealt with than it was before.

My time seems contracting. I don't mean that in the ultimate sense, but I just feel like wasting time now is a big issue. ten, twenty minutes here or there seem wasted, where before they were needed rest. Rest is also an issue. I don't sleep well without alcohol or benadryl.

But, for the most part, I'm happy and stable. Sida is with me and though she is unhappy at work and is working through those issues, I still love her and nothing about that has changed much in the past 7 years since we've been together.

The set of circumstances that combined for us to meet, like each other, love each other, live with each other. I cannot recommend trying to figure out how you end up with someone that you love. I want to say it was "luck".

I no longer think of my alcoholism as something that will end my life. The struggle is still a struggle, but it's night life or death any more.

It does trouble me that I don't have many friends. That they don't randomly call me to check in. It's been that way my entire life. It troubles me that my personality may be the cause of this and is something I'm not likely to be able to change. I have to make the effort to call them and have them speak to me.

You come to realize that a lot of what you internalize as what you're worth is the report from people you're around. Humans are social creatures. You realize, perhaps, that a lot of people suffer, because they have only themselves.

I don't know. Met a guy yesterday that reminded me of my dad. Took the death of his friend's sister really seriously. thick carapace. drank 12 beers.

they got into a tirade about government intervention, about how all of our generation are pussies. then meanwhile lamented that they'd work until they'd die.

you know, honestly, a lot of people would be better off and happier if they'd take their pride out to the back of the shed and bury it. there's not a lot you can pin to a sense of self when you're alone and you die that way. we can preen ourselves in our mirrors, do it mentally, and for what? we all die the same. the world turns. green comes from the leaves. the breeze becomes louder.

I felt bad for the guy. there was something deep and resonant that he hadn't dealt with. it could be a combination. I offered him my number and he wouldn't take it. old-fashioned guy, maybe he thought, i dunno, he wanted to fuck. he just reminded me of my dad. I don't want to be that way 10 years from now.

that's fucked up. people need help and contact, and we're too busy with our lives to deal with it. You just don't have time to help them with it. the older I get the more thing revolve around time. when you're young you don't really experience time the same way, it is always an infinite quantity. that's why you're so shocked with your professor's time lines for you to turn something in. you live in a world that is endless, so why not do it tomorrow?

Time to take the dogs for a long walk. I don't really enjoy them the same way, but they love going out.
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(no subject) [Jan. 7th, 2017|02:53 am]
I kind of want to write so that there'll be a record that I can leave to someone who is bored in their spare time.

Work: not sure why I'm there or what my purpose is, might go either way. I'm not being paid enough and being asked for more than I'm being paid. I think a lot of people feel the same way.

Home: almost a curiosity. S still loves me. Others would have given up long ago. I guess M was prescient all along. I don't know what to say.

Personally: Not sure to talk about. I'm not happy about my addiction. I'm not sure that most people know that about the subject. Don't know if I've ever once encountered a metaphor for it meant to mean something to people who aren't in the same situation.

The one time I actually went to professionals I was told that I am an end stage alcoholic. I believe that. I'm too anxious and scared to not believe that. It's monstrously true.

It's amazing how it insinuates itself. You're telling yourself "just make it until the weekend...". And then. There's no other way to describe it--you suffer. Just as a person ignores hunger or thirst, your body becomes violent towards your being. You become, acutely aware that it is different, it demands. People around you, if you have normal people in your life, simply haven't been through it. Don't know what you need to help. and worse, they take their own standard and bear it against your own, so, as experienced as you are at this, you learn to cajole, do entice, to encompass what they expect of you. If you're lucky, you get by.

The odd thing is the normal. you're constantly in a conscious battle to make yourself seem normal. You learn to be deceptive. just like the addiction you insinuate yourself to what other people expect just as you expect yourself to be normal. That's the weird thing about us. There was a time when we were normal, just like you. And now we're not. And now, all we have is to meet with our own. We talk to you and perhaps maybe you understand, even if you can't relate, and give us room, but that's the best you can do. If we are honest with others we take a big risk of being judged. And judgment carries a cost.

I was in hawaii when my brother went to rehab. it's funny. I let him know about my difficulties. he started heroin. I tried to explain how difficult my normal was. I could go at lunch to the liquor store. Didn't do that? Two more chances for liquor on the way home. Beer? 3 different places I can get that. Can't get that? I can buy cooking wine. The intricate plans..."I can leave a half hour early for work, stop at the wine and spirits, then hit up the wawa for some gum, and mints. pack an extra brush and tooth paste with you in your bag. Take a bathroom break and swing by the car for two sips, just so your hands won't shake. I tried to explain this to him. How I knew. And he told me I didn't really. Humans are damned by their own isolation.

And, it's hard to explain how that's not an option to yourself. The tendrils of life outside yourself, your wife, your gf, your boss, pull at you and say "no".

I can't say I've ever had an especially long view of where I might go and what I might do.

All I can say is that I need something extra to do it. I need help.

That's the ironic part. You need a little extra energy to seek help. Your addiction will eat everything and demand more the next day. There aren't a lot of places to go when you're barely holding up. I have responsibilities. To work. To my adopted daughter. Treatment costs money. The last time I went I would have to clock out early out of work, and pay 60 dollars to be there, and three times a week. I don't even remember the name of the dude I spoke with. He didn't return my call. I spent 3 hours while shaking and quivering because of withdrawal trying to find SOMEONE. and the best i got was this. Some docs said they didn't deal with my specific problem. some said they weren't taking appointments for two months. are you fucking kidding me?

so here I am, back at the same place I was months ago. I can't even remember the mindset I was in back then. I don't want to try to access anything outside myself.

But, I must. Here I am saying that it is inevitable but I have been saying that "I must" for a full workday, who am I fucking kidding, since Tuesday, when I went back to work. And so tomorrow I will suffer. I will suffer myself, but I will suffer.

We suffer. That word has been resounding in my head for so long.

I know I largely speak to myself, but someday I might be able to give access to this account to someone I care about. Maybe my brother. I don't know.

we're only on this planet for a short time, and I think that we have to be honest about the pleasures we seek while we can have them. I don't know if I'm right or if I am misguided. I've managed to have an opinion on everything.

my mantra this week was to survive. I've done pretty well at that. Now I get to set suffering ahead.

and mark....it may surprise you to know. I am suffering, and we two know it better than anyone pretending. i just hope i live long enough to see you come around.
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(no subject) [Oct. 21st, 2016|11:57 pm]

That seems to be my only calling, to be the ellipses.

I don't know what to say. Without seeming, how, I was.

Now I only think of this as some sort of gravestone. there needs to be a lot more entries here. the things I remember now aren't what I read later.

I used to think I was so profound. I probably think I'm still that way.

Despite myself I am working in a place that I am happy at. I love my gf. I have a decent life.

I can't complain. I'm not sure if I deserve where I am. I certainly could have ended up like dad.

but here I am. I'm living in my own house, typing this on an old computer in my basement. I pretend like this is all according to plan and it isn't. i could have easily been my dad. but I'm not...

maybe it's not so bad.

if i'm honest it really isn't.
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bright screen [Oct. 5th, 2014|02:00 am]
I'm still with the same woman.

Why she stil....stays with me.

Who the hell am I kidding (myself). If there's one thing i've learned from reading these posts I made through the years, it's that I've always internally regarded myself with a sense of infallibility that probably comes across in ALL my day to day interactions.

That's probably why I can't land a better job or why people have tended to dislike me. I'd like to say that this is something that I should change, but maybe I cannot.

But what I should change is apparent. My two relevant addictions should be cut off at the head. I just don't know how to start. I LIKE drinking. I LIKE chewing tobacco. And both go together. But of the two, I feel like one of them needs to go away, and in drastic fashion.

In reading back through these past writings, drinking has always been a prominent thread. I understand now how denial is such a salient part of addiction. I've been denying it since 2005.

I don't believe that I was full blown back in those very early days. I just didn't have the resources to support it. Perhaps my febrile mental state, my other problems, led to it being self-medication.

It's very hard to tell, and in a very prominent way that is a sad story to tell this long on, even though this is at a very early part of my life.

They say that alcoholics have a moment of clarity. I should have had one by now and I wonder if I haven't already had one and just forgot....

But it is beginning to effect work and drain into my functional alcoholism. It's funny the way things happen. I could not have a job right now that supported my compunction more than the one that I have now, and the one that I had before would have ended a week ago, as everyone I used to work with is effectively laid off.

I don't intend to entirely quit. I will drink occasionally, but tomorrow, whatever I have in the house is it. The chew comes after. I've managed to stay relatively healthy in other respects. I know that this is the dam that needs to burst.

I want to be a good surrogate father to our adopted daughter. I want to be in bed with my long term girlfriend SO at night. I want to be on point at work. I want this to be a reward, not a daily requirement for function.

My passivity in all of this is what concerns me. How can I move from a position of, "eh"? When now it's not eh.

I realize that Melanie knew this stuff in advance, probably saw it coming and it wasn't right for her. Regardless of how she went about it, it doesn't matter.

I need to do what has to be done. But can I make the break?

I understand sponsors now and AA. I just wish there was a way that I could get in that sort of relationship without having to keel to a system of belief that I don't find compatible.

Maybe that's the first step.
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letters to my brother [Nov. 18th, 2010|06:35 am]
The first week I had my driver's license I drove the car into the side of a stump hauler and caused about a thousand dollars of damage. in retrospect, I made a bad decision. in retrospect, i should never have been on the road. I rode country rodes with mom in the passenger seat. I can still remember not being sure how to jockey the gas and make it work. I felt the same way driving with you to glassboro this last summer, when I thought the light camera went off.

most of what I've discovered being home is nothing to do with you. some of it is. I spent a decent amount of effort getting you to the gym. I don't know where that energy came from no where. maybe i wanted to go to the gym and I just took you with me. I don't know. I doubt it. I hardly ever do the things I don't like to do, even when it's to my detriment.

I've seen you take it to new levels. and I never want to take credit for how far you took it.

you're popular now. people know you and believe it or not you do have friends, and possibly women interested in you, whether you believe it or not.

youth is a funny thing. you don't want to be told anything, it's like you have a fresh take and everything is different and some of it actually is.

but let me tell it like I see it. your parent's are going to drive you into a hole. they don't know it and maybe they're too old at this point to care, but I do. they give you what you want but they don't give you what you need. in a way your father treats you like the fragile thing you were four years ago. you treat yourself the same way in a lot of ways.

they don't push you or demand stuff of you that most parents would.

you think maybe that demands are a reprimand at this point.

you think it's ok to give ted the finger when he tells you to do the dishes and you think it's a win when you don't do them. you think it's ok to cuss your mother out when she gets you up for school. you take a day off from school and you think you're entitled to it. entitled.

do you know what entitlement is? it's when someone expects something they didn't earn. it's for rich people. and that's the worst kind of insult. it means that if i turned you out without your support network that you never knew existed, you would be helpless. for someone who prides himself on self-reliance it's ironic and a joke.

I think a lot of advice comes from people being mad at other people. because they had what they didnt'. that's not where I'm coming from.

you ask for 300 dollars to become a real trainer and that's not an entitlement, that's ambition. but when you say you're going to sell drugs on the side that is.

and let me be honest with you. when i was in high school I carted things out the back door at where I worked. at eckerd drugs, now rite aid, I used to take empty boxes full of stuff out the back door. vitamins. pens. notebooks. nothing they would keep track of but it was all mine. they didn't pay me and I took it. i justified it because they didn't pay me. I got away with it but for the grace of God. I knew where the cameras were and that they never looked at them until a crisis hit. 5 cameras! hah. we were open until 10pm, that's 15 hours on each camera. every day they took 60 hours of footage. yeah, sure they were looking all the time. sure they were. they didn't realize that the best way to ensure your employees aren't stealing is to show them gratitude for working. they weren't willing to pay the cost up front, so they paid it out back, whether they knew they were or not.

I was raised christian. I know that doesn't mean a lot but the morals show through. I felt real guilty about that stuff, and every bit of hardship I went through after, I thought it was because I was being punished for stealing. true or untrue. melanie. sometimes I think she was a manifestation of that. now I look back and think it's silly.

you look back on some of these thing and it's like 2-d working ond 3-d. you know something of this feeling, since you've been lifting on your own. when i told you to keep your back straight when doing a military press you would snap on me, ask for weight you really couldn't handle, you bucked the saddle, as it were.

i see you and I see a person that wants something real. but that's so ironic. what's real is earning it hard, and then having the knowledge to know that those that make it often don't have to. for someone who has suffered so much it seems like you want to play that old record over again, except you want to be the oppressor this time and do what they did to you. that's not a solution. it's a cop out. it's saying your overweight because mcdonald's just tastes so good.

there is one thing I learned from melanie. if it's the easy choice it's not often the best choice.

we exist because we want to tell you the things we did wrong and the things we did right. not everything is the execution of power in a downward slope. when people care about you they tell you things you might not want to hear, but they do it so that you can learn from the mistakes they made.

so when I tell you that you're entitled, i'm not saying it's your fault that you are.

i just don't know how to make you realize that you are. and that it's not good for you. that's their job. but they have been malfeasant.
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quitting tobacco [Nov. 16th, 2010|03:28 am]
you know, i dip. I have since 2004. I remember being at friend's house and picking up, rather, stealing a can of apple flavored dip back then.

Back then the can wasn't embossed, and there weren't warning signs all over it, with grotesque warnings. you might get cancer, you are dooming yourself. you will lose.

I even remember my first few times with it. waiting long enough for the feeling to kick in.

I have been using it since that date and pretty regularly.

After a certain point you can use it whenever. You can be sitting in an office and if you do it right no one is going to say anything about it because, heck, they just don't know.

I did it at work. I quit briefly for my girlfriend, and now I'm quitting for good. last week I bought my last can, and now i'm using cigarettes for the withdrawal.

so that is 2005. now it's 2010. ostensibly that's ten years with the stuff. it gets hard to ignore when i'm drinking.

one of the many pleasures that human life brings. probably one of the best. smokers probably feel the same way. except I'm not hanging out outside work on a cold day 50 ft from the building i'm working at. You don't even know I'm doing it. all but the most astute can figure that there's something in my mouth. I did it at labs, where if you walked in with a cup of coffee you'd feel weird. places you're not going to think about taking a sandwich to.

I can stop myself from going to the store and picking one up, even though I'm drinking and clearly want to.

i have been smoking to get the nicotine.

I have to sneak into my car and browse about outside to do that. feels so archaic. so dumb. without anyone else to do it with it feels stupid. you and the cold night, no one to call you out. right hand smells like it. my breath probably even more so.

well, that there is the quitter's lament. I wish i could go back, and there's no flash of insight into why or how i decided to quit. I just did. It's not going to work out for me in the end. And I don't want to die of neck cancer either.

but man. why can't they come up with a safer way of getting the small high.

this is me signing out. sida stopped texting me at 11pm. this is my day off.

if anyone were to die from this habit why not ryan? the bloated self-confident idiot that I lived with three years ago so entitled. done it longer. a worse human being.

you know the more life comes around to me, i realize that being ugly means a lot more than it should.
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sida [Dec. 20th, 2009|10:26 am]
so the relationship has moved fast. first week was the formal. second week i slept with her. now we're at a late term relationships and it hasnt' been long enough.

and really, honestly. the sex is great, but i am the woman in this relationship. when i come sometimes she comes, but ..... anyways. i was worried about pegging, i'm not worried any more, and she peg me. i trust her and she would probably enjoy the feeling

she's thinking of buying a house. last night she told me she didn't want to talk of it on texting. i don't know how to take it. last night it made me want to go 180 and be like, we should take a break. but in lieu of our dynamic, i don't want to be more of a woman than i have to be.

but buying a house. whatever. when i say i need a younger woman, i need to take it in context. what i mean is, that relatively speaking, i am a responsible upwardly moving 24 year old and though she is only 26 she is moving at a 30 year old pace. and this is what i mean by her being the man. this is going to conflict with my own masculinity and it will eventually come to a head no matter what i do. i'm barely going to graduate in this coming year. but i am exceptional where i am right now. i don't get credit for it monetarily, but i am and everyone knows it. but with relationships at this point. i have to live at home for at least another year. when someone says being able to save 500 a month...i salivate with envy. i barely save 100, and it's nothing to do with me and everything to do with my student loans.

so we had a bit of a break. she said she didn't want to talk about it, and because she has been so passive, i want to be violent about it. it means so much more than that to me.

maybe i should be glad that our first fight will be over this and that it's not even technically a fight yet. but for the first time i'm going to withdraw and not talk to her because of it.

the one defining point of the relationship right now is that she will be fine without me. i'd be ok at this point going back to what i was, but if i go any deeper i don't want this to slide. if i am emotionally dependent, she will kill me, like melanie did. i don't want to be killed again. i can't go through that again. i won't. i will be alone first. in another month if there's no commitment. then there's no chance.

i'm ok with that. this is how most things go from as far as i can tell. i'm balding, 28 and white. if i have to be alone i will be. i'll cut it off before it has a chance to strike me in the neck either way.

i didn't think that melanie had an effect on me but she did, i am scared of love and if it does happen I won't put myself out there to be killed the same way i did again and again and again.
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(no subject) [Nov. 27th, 2009|05:21 am]
jessica greenbaum, easily. easily, the the thing I've managed to fuck up the most. easily. the person i most want in my life that isn't here now that i've come 360.

mike. lost him to time, and circumstance, wish we were closer but we're not.

melanie. i wish i could still talk to her. she understood me in a way that I will probably never find again, challenged me in a way I can probably never reproduce. although she scarred me deeply made me a better person.

gained my brother and sister. gotten closer to them to the point where they both love me, where they may have never loved me before and if i had done nothing.

sida. i don't love her yet, but i easily could. and there is no infatuation to scare me. want to be a better person because of her. goads me to finish college more than the errant rantings of my mother and anyone else.

my father. i wish i could give him what he needs, wish he wasn't as old as he is, which is far too old for his actual age. glad that he gave birth to me. loving as a father. the seed of what i know in how to love, how to be sensitive. i owe him a great deal that he doesn't know and wish i could tell him. tried to tell him once but he needs a cradle not a son.

i pray to whatever god will listen. i've wished on fallen stars whenever i've seen them. let me love another, let it come within the prime of my life time. let me hold somebody dear.

i know, i place a lot of hope on a normal thing. but i hope all the same. hope i can be a better man and a better father then what came before me.

i openly accept that soon i will love her. and that it will be the same. and hope that it doesn't give the power to her to destroy me. and i hope that i will become some small force of good in this world, have the opportunity to change someone's life and help them along in it. i hope this because i think that is the main course of my being. to be sincere and not to hide. and hopefully, i can give up my compunction and realize another.

i have done well at where i am. the people there know me, i know my own strength and how far it will go. i only hope that i can see it through. sleep another day, and be all that i know i portend and not pretend.

i am getting old, and hope to slow the process for the children i might have, who i might hold, and sleep with. i miss. i always miss. taken in that i miss in that i wish that some people were here with me that cannot be.

i'm sorry for my removal, if i could go back i wouldn't hide so much. so much guilt and shame dreams i have about classes i didn't study for that have exams. dreaming of melanie and her rejecting me. i hope to throw that away and become a better person. our time here is so little. i only want to live long enough to love something. and that is it.
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(no subject) [Nov. 1st, 2009|07:41 am]
i'm sort of glad that it saved my entry from how many years back? and then put it up here, was complaining about commercials.

god, what has happened to me since then, what have I forgotten, and what was I going to write about?

not that what i had to write about made any sense to begin with, but god, that it had been so long and that it was still here. kind of a window into the old me.

maybe i met a new girlfriend. a little bit younger in age, but maybe....maybe. shouldn't get away from myself, but I would really be happy if I could love another. really be happy to get out and do that. seems stupid, i know, but i didn't even have a girlfriend once until 21. I keep thinking that my life is about mid peak. I keep feeling like if not now then it's not going to happen, and how much longer will it be bottles of wine on my short weekends? standing outside of me I hope this works out, and that I can get involved in the same way that made me love melanie so intensely. I really want to stop having dreams where she throws me off, makes me depressed. I work so hard, and I have so much to offer. and then again, I can only hope. just want to hold someone and watch a movie with them. just want to do something I love to do, and not worry about bills. just want to be myself and not have to be lonely, not have to dream about being lonely.

hope against hopes. someone to play with. i hope.
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worried about my writing [Jul. 15th, 2008|10:53 am]
it's hard to say but I find it harder to write without having to stop for a second and looking for the word I would have known two years ago without having to think twice. I find it harder to write with clarity. In my experience writing is like a muscle. Work with it and pretty soon you have instantaneous reactions that are graceful and surprising. I still amaze myself with the way I haven't really played at a competitive sport for about two years but can still catch things in mid-flight, how, when juggling a bottle, I nearly dropped it but somehow managed to hacky-sack it back to my hand. I haven't hacky-sacked since high school, and so why is it so difficult to write clear concise sentences with a certain accuracy?

In stark contrast to last year, at the very least there is an order in my life, though the nagging trends still proceed. I have a stable job. I have learned to reconcile my feelings of meritocratic inability as I've learned that it turns out that I have a pretty mean worker's ethic in me. I work at the National Testing Labs at the Red Cross in Philadelphia now, albeit, in a position that could belong to a feckless high school graduate.

Perhaps that's what i'll talk about now. Off the top of my head, though i've never counted, I work with 1 man, 1 male supervisor, and all the rest women. So I haven't counted before (trust me, I haven't, I'm not counting my experiences until I write them down, this much is a progressive scan). I've always ended up working it seems with a class and ethnicity collection that doesn't underscore my background very well. Now I mostly work with black women. Before I worked with mainly Latino women or South American women and men of one sort or another. I miss my friend Oscar Hernandez, who used to call me whitey before affectionately terming me the "great white"....shark, maybe hope or otherwise. I suppose part of my white guilt is in determining that not only am I not only my subconscious racial stereotypes, but also someone who is compassionate all around.

So I realize that to talk about all of them is way too broad of a topic. I'll talk about one of the younger white women I work with. Her name is Sharon. I was reading the 2007 anthology of science writing when she looked at the back cover. "14.95, I would never pay that much for a book--because I don't read". Much like the tangles I have with my brother, I can't conceive of why the person making a comment like this isn't aware of the reckless danger inherent in this kind of ignorant bliss. But to be honest, this is a turtle I like to kick on her back and watch squirm far too often. I often find myself questioning whether I am playing at her like a devil to a subject unknowing. When I told her this she was at a loss to understand what it meant. I once said this to my mother who I had political squabbles with regularly until she went on zoloft. To kick a turtle on their back is a phrase I use to explain someone who is easily duped by someone who knows more then them and who themselves assumes to much about what they know, and is easily turned on their back, at which point they usually a) in sharon's case fondle the notion in the dark with no chance of revealing the meaning of a turn of metaphor, or b) in my mother's case, when stymied turn immediately to her best approximation of physical brinkmanship without trying to attack me physically ((she has done this when drunk, and got me mad enough to respond)).

But back to Sharon. I want to be a teacher some day. As with my brother and sharon, people young enough to change, I struggle with an internal notion that somehow my knowledge makes me better, faster, more adept. Or rather, I struggle with the appropriate action to teach them without threatening them. My brother has felt threatened before. He already thinks that most of my diatribes are simply to prove how much smarter I am then him--to hurt him metaphysically.

So I approach the meager bookshelf I have and find lots of advanced feminist philosophy, lots of advanced philosophy, and a spattering of books to be found on any number of booklists throughout school summer reading lists throughout the country. This is mostly due to the fact that my awakening, when I first acknowledged the power of metaphor and alliteration, was directed towards ....well, summer reading books. In any barnes and noble there are two tables of books that you can be sure are classics, are well-read, are important.

Part of that for me is troublesome. My college education honed my reading. I was chaperoned to great novels, zeitgeists. I never had that in high school. I didn't have the tools for reading deeper. I worked that out on my own alone at night as a gas attendant in New Jersey. Off the top of my head, I want to give her a short book that is powerful in meaning. Have her read it, and try to guide her without proving it an impossible task to take on her own.

Later this morning I was at a clinic to get my third Hep B vaccination. In the waiting room there were three papers. One a local goings-on paper. The philadelphia inquirer was the second on the rack. And the third was the daily news, a rag if there ever was one. In every issue shocking stories of death by gunfire, myopic city politics, and 8th grade reading level political comments. At work, all of my co-workers buy one paper during the night shift when the press from the day before suffices. Of the ten-some chairs in the waiting room, all were filled by tatooed men, in suiting attire. They were all working class. One smelled of alcohol, certainly there for the breathalizer. Of the ten three were bored enough to be reading something. I had picked up the Inquirer and read about the recent economic crisis with a mortgage company that backs something like 50% of the loans in this country being in trouble, the state of affairs in Afghanistan, war crimes being brought against the leader of Sudan for the Darfur crisis (I think, I know the gyst, not the specifics) and something about the famous Obama cartoon, that anyone informed will know is a parody of all the hysterical rantings about whether he's a muslim, lots of racial undertow.

3/10 were reading the daily news. The rest were reading nothing at all besides the forms they were filling out. I couldn't help but be reminded of the people I work with, who sometimes refer to me as being know-it-all. I no doubt hold that if I weren't culturally proficient from my time away from home and my experiences that they would hate me the way my freshman dorm hated me for thinking they were weak for being on academic probation in their first year (try academic probation in your third year for discovering great sex and the singularity that is obsession without foresight or backstop). But that's the weird thing. Despite my balding appearance, my glasses, knowing that I have basically what amounts to a degree and a job that fits a high school graduate, my constant interruption with random factoids from a space that seems to them irrelevant, they all love me. I've partied with kim at Loo and Choo's, where even I was taken aback by a bit of uncomfortable disjunction. And I am constantly amazed at what seems to be a learned verisimilitude, being able to hand with almost any group and gain their trust.

so for me I'm wondering why I can hang with almost anybody with all the sparse and disparate pieces of knowledge I have, but I can't figure out how to get across to someone of my own race and class how important knowledge is, and how very important literature, reading, the whole 9, are related to that. How my own brother doesn't fall into my good graces and take a note from what i've learned and what i've failed at. Maybe it's something right there under my nose, but I haven't been able to grasp it. And although someday I hope to be an inspirational teacher, hope to someday grow the backbone to tell someone what I think and have them hate me for it and need it at the same time, I feel that I need to get through to these people first before I can even entertain the idea of doing it with a handful of people. At best i've worked with two at a time, and if they didn't get me, their rejection was complete. I've tutored for free outside of the institution for the pure joy of helping someone understand something foreign to them, but have no idea how it might work en masse, even if I have to realize that some of the things I'm saying, will never be gotten.
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(no subject) [Jan. 28th, 2008|01:29 pm]
Really. I do not understand.

I don't understand how someone can argue about the inherently evil, or moral depravity of a country or people, when your own history is explicitly intertwined with or causative of that country's or people's problems. Vietnam... if you want to argue that the people and the violence that went on there after the war were evil, then you have to consider whether or not some if not all of that violence occurred in the negative space left over when the U.S. left the country.

Ugh. And it drives me insane. If you ever call someone racist for saying something racist, it's as if you've offered up the most illogical thing they've ever heard of. It doesn't matter what they are insinuating based on race. For instance, "did you know that 70% of children born out of wedlock are black?". What is that supposed to mean? I mean, what is it supposed to mean explicitly? You never make it clear. Does that make them morally depraved? Are they the reason that the United States isn't reaching its potential? Perhaps its the cause of the subprime mortgage crisis? Taken to its logical end the statement is a nightmare shitstorm of implications, accusations, and winking hate-speech. It is always the people who have never intimately known anyone besides themselves that make the most jarring statements about the worth or unworth of other people they have never met or will never meet. Leap from one small particular to immaculate webs of concrete conclusions? All the time. They do it like they're spending monopoly money, only what they buy with it actually means something.
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(no subject) [Oct. 10th, 2007|07:16 pm]
I'm searching for leather jackets, although I know the one that's fine and I'm just going to get that again because I lost the other one when I left it at someone's house at a party two years ago.

But here's the thing. If it's a website that sells leather jackets, I feel like they picked all the male pornstars they could find, made sure they didn't wear a shirt, and then used them as models for their leather jackets. Instead of feeling like I'm buying something stylish I feel like I'm searching for a pair of assless chaps. Either that or I feel like I'm parting a tide of WWII nostalgia gear.
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(no subject) [Sep. 30th, 2007|05:28 am]
if you fucking tell me i can't log in because i've temporarily exceeded the password try limit, i'm going to rip off your face. I can't type accurately all the time, deal with it and sometimes i've been drinking when i go to check my email, deal with it.
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Hazlenut [Sep. 27th, 2007|09:50 pm]
so, this morning I had the day off. The computer database was down so I bought a bottle of vodka and saw an old episode of Cowboy Bebop on Cartoon Network. It reminds me of the heady days of the summer of heartbreak, where I would occupy the night like a spinster occupies loneliness.

I bleed debt, I sleep debt, I wake-up debt, and slowly and all-consumingly, debt is what I am. And it would seem, my body is debt. Fatuous and sedentary, even after weeks of forced runs. 2.2 mile excursions by way of subtle moonlight, forcing myself to run when my body says no. I fail with the passive grunts of self-impelled forced labor, my ass and bones aching in ways I would revel in when I was in better shape. Later on in the night I masturbate Anne Sexton style. At night, alone, I marry the bed.

My mother woke me early this morning because she found blood on the floor and along the baseboards of the house. When I removed the heavy hutch from the wall, I was surprised to find a little rabbit. It's in my room now. I kept it in a box for most of the day. The cats managed to cut it deeply along the neck, and tore the skin covering it's hind leg. I dressed the wounds as best I could for a small, fledgling animal. This evening it is finally coming alive again, reacting adequately to my intrusions, it claws at me as best it can when I reach in with a piece of sterile gauze covered with bacitracin. Like most small animals wounded by cats, I expected it to die of bacterial infection, or to die cornered by a self-imposed heart attack. Heart attack as a phrase seems so misplaced, when it actuality is more like an engine seizing under pressures rendered from pumping so very fast that it can no longer effectively dispense blood to itself or the rest of the body, like a fatal stumble in a musical routine, where the rhythm is lost.

Late at night I remember riding a bike with one of my friends who lived at the trailer park. A rabbit skid across the road on the quick, stopped abruptly, and although it appeared largely unhurt, shuddered to a halt and died in front of us. I was probably only about 8 or 9 or something ridiculously young when it happened. There was something obvious about the desperation that led to its death. What it was scared of I do not know, but nothing was chasing it out across the road, and it died, it would seem, largely because of a fear of something that didn't exist.

I find myself wanting to read "Watership Down" and wanting to believe it symbolic of something. Humans used to watch stars, created gods, saw earth as some greater plan. I used to watch for shooting stars in the same way, wanting and needing some nebulous power to wink.
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(no subject) [May. 5th, 2007|01:32 am]
so, four weeks unemployed...

i got my license renewed and got them to refund 200 dollars that i had spent. I also got another job through another scientific head hunting agency. all while being as degenerate as I am.

I begged for my old job back as soon as I knew they wanted to fire me, getting a call early on my day off telling me that they did not want to see me back.

Am I really such a delicate thing? I imagine I am. I have no idea how i leap from holdfast to holdfast being as inconsistent as i am.
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(no subject) [Apr. 20th, 2007|08:14 am]
dear jamie,

when we found you in a parking lot you were like every other pet in our home, salvaged.

i am pressed to tell you things that even here i am unwilling to divulge. I am forced to strip away any barrier I can conceive, in this time of end, that would impede me.

jamie. i love you. everyone in this family has loved you. and at times when we rejected your fawning, when we asked for you to recede, we were all not acknowledging what pets often do. an undying love without question taht we look for so often in peices of our lives. you'd lay on my lap, press deep into me on the couch and groan in quiet comfort.

I hope you do so now, because you should know that i loved you. and that i cry for you now, because i have lost so much comfort and deserved so little the comfort you gave. I know that to love is different between each thing loving you and that each has a specific place, but if i chose to have comfort for my own life, you would share sparce company.

jamie. i am not naive enough to believe in some idea of a soul, but even if so, the idea lives on in me, and I am greatful for what you gave me, even if it that was only your head in my lap, no matter how long i've been from home. and so you are always home to me.
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(no subject) [Apr. 8th, 2007|02:05 am]
capitalism triumphs again?


yes, there is in fact a herniaproducts.com. hrmmm, these all look like an approximation of some odd assortment of male corsetry.
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(no subject) [Apr. 8th, 2007|01:49 am]
skittish cat

You look like you are considering a mine field
The whole endeavor is taken out of proportion
maybe some primal fear wallows
danger is a straight-jacket
every possibility smacks of life and death

such are the limitations, parenthesis,
paralysis, abbreviation
of flight or fight

but those unparallels
are far too much to assume
too far from the ignorance
of some humans I know

some ignorance
could only be assigned to the turnings
of a conscious mind.

if I wanted to eat you
I'd do it right now.

not raw.
not if even you know
how to knock on a door.
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(no subject) [Apr. 8th, 2007|01:05 am]
so i figured it out. somewhere in the middle of the headquarters of the NJDMV there is a primordial engine of destruction which has been called, by some, the ark of the covenant. Modern day scientists call it OUTLANDISH CONSEQUENCES TRANSMUTATION DEVICE. When used in consonance with the DEUS EX MACHINA, buried deep within the foundations of the NJ DMV it FUSES and once a year locks it's icey mechanical logistical sights on one hapless individual, this device, summarily is called the SCOPE-LIKE AMPLIFIER OF SLIGHTLY BAD CITIZEN KARMA.

all right i'm done.
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(no subject) [Apr. 7th, 2007|02:31 am]
I have no way to get to work tomorrow, and no way to figure it out at 2:30 am. I revel in my own prostration. I liked it better when I was living in a basement. I want to go back to that.
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(no subject) [Apr. 6th, 2007|08:52 am]

Way back last year my car was due for inspection. I knew it, but I was in the middle of school and a bunch of other things, so staying in line for a few hours wasn't exactly a first option, but still, my responsibility. I'll cop to that. Additionally, I'll even cop to the fact that I should have changed my address before I got my new apartment. I'll even cop to the fact that living with an ex-professor while I looked for an apartment was no excuse for me not to have an operable address that agreed with the one on my driver's license. Additionally, I will agree that not paying my parking tickets was my fault. I won't even make any kind of concession for myself for the fact that I got the tickets because I parked in front of my own apartment a mere 30-15 minutes before I could legally park in front of my apartment because I got home early from work and decided to cook dinner before I went out tutoring.

so, in January of this year, I got a notice from the dmv telling me that they would suspend my license if I didn't answer to a summons last year for a ticket I got for not inspecting my vehicle. I was told it was a warning and didn't think that it contended that I had done anything wrong. I got my car inspected the very day I got it, and went about fixing the problem. So, in January, when things were going completely wrong, when I got the notice from the dmv, I immediately, physically, went to the Princeton Municipal Township to fix this problem, and paid 140 dollars to deal with the problem.

so, you can imagine my shock when i get a notice on 4/5/2007 saying that my license has been suspended indefinitely. you will also then be shocked that my license has been suspended since 3/10/07 and that I've been driving my car illegally until 4/6/07. You will also be shocked that the NJ dmv did not tell me of this suspension until 3/25/07, upon which the mail that told me I was suspended was sent to my home address.

Right now I'm supposed to be housesitting in South Jersey, and since I have come to figure out that my license has been suspended (the second time in this year alone) I cannot drive home to my unlocked South Jersey parent's residence, because to do so would be to willfully break the law and take uncertain, but dreadful risks.

what's wrong with this picture? 1) I paid and got rid of the reason for the impending license suspension, 2) they notified me by mail of this a week after the papers were prepared and 2)the suspension ocurred 15 days prior to the actual suspension?

Am I insane or something? What is so wrong with the fucking system that they cannot inform me of an impending suspension. In my hands I hold the receipt for the 140 dollars I paid to make sure this didn't happen.

In the last two months I have paid online twice to restore my license. I pay something called the NJ surcharge. I was enrolled in the program earlier this year because of my driving while suspended offense in september of 2006. In total I have paid more then a 1000 dollars in fines for not paying my parking tickets and not being in a position to know that that fact had led to a suspension of license. I have paid 1000 dollars because my situation and my whereabouts were unknown by the dmv up until the time that I changed the address on my driving license. Live and learn I guess. But since I drove while suspended I get lumped in with the same sorts of people who drive because their license was suspended due to driving while intoxicated and other provocations that would lead one to believe that they raise the insurance rates in new jersey. The kind of people that the law assaults because they are a danger implicit to lawful drivers and citizens of new jersey. Someone might get killed or hurt by a driver that's historically reckless. So I can see why they pay a NJ surcharge. I see no connection between me and those people, but even that, I will cop to. These are consequences to my irresponsibility, and in my attempt at maturity, I am culpable and will pay for those offenses, if only barely willingly.

so, in the last two months I have paid to unsuspend my license online while trying to pay the monthly fee that NJ surcharge asks for. It is only 42 dollars a month, or 250 dollars total a year, for three years. I paid once to get my license restored because I was so poor that I did not have 42 dollars. I paid twice because the online billing statement said that my license had been suspended, and had assumed it was because I paid the fine on the date it was due (sorry, just got a new job, money and bills pile up).

but wait, you suspend my license on the 10th, you've already assumed I know, but then you send me notice on the 25th, which on get on april 5th? isn't this completely retarded? I have been driving illegally for about a month and I've only recieved word of it just now? and the timing couldn't be worse.

I now have to figure out a way to get to and from work on saturday, call out on work on friday, and that doesn't even fix the problem. it's a state holiday for good friday today, so I can't even start repairing the damage caused until monday. Last night I left my south jersey residence unlocked, and with cats and dogs inside that need food and a place to shit and piss.

Is it just me or I responsible for the consequences? It's completely and utterly overbloated. Every time I look at it I just have two base mistakes to cop to, all context aside. I didn't pay my parking tickets, and I didn't pay or appear in court for not having my car inspected. Because of that I have recieved a driving while suspended ticket, a fine that will accrue 750 dollars over three years, a fine that cost 250 dollars, parking tickets that cost 300 dollars. I've lost one job oppurtunity. Paid 100 dollars twice (200 summarily for sake of listing it here) to get my license restored once for the original offense, then again for being too poor to pay a 42 dollar monthly fee, 140 dollars for not getting my car inspected and then forgetting or not acknowledging that it was a ticket and not a warning.

this does not total the following intangible complications: having to be driven to work and find ways to get to new brunswick for a total of two weeks, which includes 27 miles walked to work, and 2 hours a day for 9 days for my friends to take out of their weeks to drive me to work. Leaving my house in South Jersey in disarray and letting my now saintly parents down. Missing three total days of work. Losing my freedom to be self-sufficient and gainfully employed, not being able to get one job because of the driving while suspended/suspension. 100 dollars paid to restore my license when my license, by defintion, could not be restored.

It's like I just got thrown into the ninth ring for stealing a candy bar. I am unable to quantify it or even comprehend the deep lines institutions are cutting through my life right now, for wrongs that do not meet anyone's standard of what is due for the offenses I have been said to commit. Dare I say it, people who have done 1000 times more to risk and harm the public good have paid less.
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(no subject) [Mar. 23rd, 2007|06:59 pm]
there is a poltergeist in my intestinal tract. i call him owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
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out of my cave [Mar. 9th, 2007|08:00 pm]
so, I prayed early on that I would survive it. IT. I have, and just barely. In a virtual epiphany of a few weeks, I went from high to low and the back and forth. I quit my job about two months ago. They promoted one of the people who had been working on the floor to supervisor. For about three months they fed us bullshit and I got tired of eating it. On a day where two of the workers just got up and quit, and when we had lost another to a dui charge and jail time, I was shouldered with every job they did. I broke down the pallets, I fished out the heavier furniture, stacked the furniture, took out the trash, took out the cardboard, did the other furniture line. They continued to ask for more. When the supervisor took issue with how much work I completed, trying to claim that I did not work hard, it no longer mattered that I had been a solid employee for four months, or that I had for a few weeks, worked with bruised ribs by winding packing tape around my chest until I could carry the furniture again. So I quit unannounced, but not without a back up plan. In one of those strange strange coincidences of fate, I was offered a business card while talking about my job at a liquor store.

And so that was my way out and I thought it would be good but not great. The job involved driving a van and installing sattelite dishes. 14 and hour, mandatory overtime, not having to have a boss literally watch you work, benefits of every kind. Passed the drug test, passed the criminal background check. However, I had been caught driving while suspsended and they could not hire me due to corporate policy. It didn't matter that the reason for my suspension and the incidents surrounding it made it happen, it didn't matter that I had had my license suspended because I forgot to pay four parking tickets.

I drank all the alcohol in the house.

when the hangover wore off I eventually got staffed through a temp agency and barely wanting to try anymore I was placed first at a hospital. Ironically, this is the hospital that I ended up in twice last year (passed out from drinking on the street once, and another time because someone opened a door into my face, stitches both times). I spoke with the director of the pathology lab there and that's when it broke. Even without a degree I could secure some type of lab work. It would pay more and stimulate me. I was depressed when they didn't offer to hire me there, but then the staffing agency sent me to another job a pharmaceutical research lab. Again, through talking to people I ended up talking about being hired there as a QC specialist. They filled that position internally. I drank again but now had my resume fixed and my spirits raised. So I fired out emails to a shitload of positions I was unqualified for, including a scientific staffing agency.

This monday I got a call from them, and I was interviewing for a position in the span of two days.
15 dollars and hour, odd hours, temp to perm, at a small lab in a milk factory checking periodic samples for bacterial content, antibiotic content, easy cell culture stuff I can do with little training.

and so that's it.

I think my liver's broke. I still have a hernia that can be annoying from time to time. barely have enough money to buy gas for work next week, and I owe two months of rent and bills to my roomate, but otherwise, it seems like I will have survived one of the more trying periods in my life. I should be getting a second job with target to stock at night 3 days out of the week, but I figured I would write out some goals because hope is once again pumping thoughts into my head:

1. save enough money to go back to college and finish degree
2. make up for back rent
3. get car inspected and change the oil
4. get another leather coat to replace the one I lost
5. find and buy another pair of red sauconies like the ones I lost when I got too drunk at the bar and slept with a girl I absolutely hate
6. get my laptop fixed

longterm goals

1. build up my resume
2. go either to japan or peacecorps and get a position teaching or go to nyc teaching fellowship
3. get a new gf
4. get a grounding in philosophy that can put me in a position to get a masters in either gender or masculinity studies, and then pursue a grad career in research
5. let my liver grow back

getting a gf is something I haven't considered in many years. I didn't think I respected myself enough to even try. mainly, a strange sense of calm is all that's new. I no longer feel like the precipice is creeping toward my toes, and for once in a long time, I feel like I can honestly say, that I have learned from my mistakes and that alcohol is something other than an anaesthetic
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a reply [Oct. 23rd, 2006|11:57 pm]
i Justin,

Haven't talked to you in forever, so I just wanted to say hi and see
what's been going on in your life. Grad school? Job?

I'm in between both. Passed my M.A. exams last week and now I'm
starting the big job search.

Hope you're doing well.


Where to start? Words really are failing me now, lighting up like fireflies being sucked into a jet engine. I'm not doing well. That is not to say that I have a box of tissues next to my computer, and that I have my bills hidden inside a strong box that I've long ago thrown into a river. I've not done well. I've refused to concentrate, to excel. These things, I am wont to blame on you, but that wouldn't be accurate. I have thrown away, long ago, my insistence upon your specific responsibility except for my specific responsibility for my own acts, for the ways I didn't cope. For too long I have evaded my self-responsibility. Baby steps. And the list is too long.

I spoke to many. Dug deep in dumpsters for numbers to call someone who knows where to find a person that I felt a personal connection with, and whom, in addition, I thought could somehow serve as a mentor of some sort. They told me some things, I guess, from their hearts. A professor told me that the hardest thing he ever had to overcome was having AIDS. Another told me to run every day, even if it was just a walk, and to go to sleep to the tune of a normal clock. Another told me that even in depths so great, hope can only refuse if I refuse it. Another kept me as an in-patient in her basement, for 3 months on end, through sereptitious drinking (perhaps I am fooled that such things are my own secret, or perhaps just paranoid that no one acknowledges it, but my lies are good, meticulous).

I have had to lie. To friends and family. Solid, intense lies, of hewn stone, so implacable and so immovable that only their architect could dislodge them. Some of these lies, I cannot figure myself around anymore. Maybe that will take time. For now I am caught under them, and have only allowed a few close people to pry at the edges to bear a tiny bit of the burden.

I have remained intense. I boil. I retract. I sleep. I move up the slope which is escalating the wrong way for someone with hopes so high.

I know what I want. You're not dead to me, but I never could figure a way to keep you in my life, to release the conscience restraint from my voice and still be able to tell you everything without leaving myself exposed to my own sense of failure, which, set apart from myself, threatens to deepen wounds or pull apart sutures of its own relentless accord.

I didn't manage again last year. Wasn't out. Still not out. In a lot of ways (the codified ways, the plateaus that allow time for breath and rest). I certainly feel brilliant. Have glimpsed the subteranean. Have exercised the task of keeping up with subterfuge that only few know about, and few want to acknowledge, and which, still others, live to satiate.

I live now with a friend I met through my ex-roomate from college part I. I got to know him better through and online game, that, combined with alcohol and disinterest, has been the ultimate seclusion from reality at times. I will probably make rent even this month. Can buy food when I need it. Have an excellent bed (thank your mom again for ten dollars worth of bed that I will not grow tired of in ten years, though i may be tired on it).

But, I guess there is still hope, and if there wasn't, and if I thought myself bereft I may have given up in earnest. I don't think I ever really have. Some people go to the party thinking they're having a good time, some go even though they know it's to pretend they're having a good time. I imagine I paint a picture that is rather bleak. And every night I sleep with my feet to "Christina's World", knowing it more and more intimately with every passing weekend and 12am reverie as I look on before rest.

I would frankly, like to respond. Start up some kind of conversation, some sort of context. Some place for us to start whatever communication we could salvage. I have to laugh to myself. I am now. What I could send you would be another set of lies. And though it would take some crafting I could maybe make you think that things were good, that you would be interested in talking with me, that I'd be ready to hear about your life, your success.

The fact is, how could I ever really speak with you knowing full well that I have nothing to show for my difficulties but an animosity toward you, and an all too common mix of knowing what lies beneath the surface of the awoken world, but having to live down in the trenches with the sleepers. Though it sounds profoundly racist, and probably is, I work with a bunch of hispanic immigrants, some of who aren't even that familiar with english, at a job which requires none of my thinking. A job that begs me not to think lest it stir me not to succeed at it for lack of my ability to stay quiet when confronted with criticism.

My name is Justin. I've been with some women after you but none who really stimulated me or could match my ridiculous personality, which i'm willing to admit, is an acquired taste. In that regard I have not recovered, admittedly due mostly to my inability to cope. Mainly because I cannot eat dog food and pretend it's filet mignon (and by this I don't allude to the women I've been with, I refer to what sustains me). I've just barely been able to get back some of my self-confidence. Found an apartment with a guy I resent because of how cushy his job is, but who is pretty well matched to my own personality. I live alone, we live together. Aside from the dishes I create daily, we may, in fact, never butt heads.

I'm 25 years old, but my maturity is more like a 23 year olds. Coping with difficulty takes me too long to get over it fast enough to recoil and rebound. I'm still intellectual, still think deeply about the things that one will never convince another are important, but know that if only he could be in a position to ponder them and work diligently at them, that he could make some sort of mark for himself in a world full of passing.

I will probably not make it out of this hole completely for years to come. It's 12:27 and I have to be up by 7, and though I do not do this out of spite or exasperation (one of which you most certainly must have felt as you saw me struggling with the knowledge that the woman I had weeks before kissed so passionately, had just looked clear through me and nailed me to a wall with only her eyes) so I have to end this and go to bed now. I don't blame you for anything because I can't, and what good would it do. Things could be a whole lot better, but I'm not giving up here, and have no idea what I will write back to you, knowing that I inevitably will. Friends will tell me I need to write you back with "go away bitch". But like I said before, if no one could convince me that dogfood is filet mignon before, they sure as hell won't do it now.

at the end of it all, i just haven't accomplished enough to respect myself enough to engage with you on the same level. You are an adult, and I guess now that i survive on my own steam, that I am one too. But really, I'm not sure how I could relate to you knowing, that doing so, and doing so with every capacity, every brilliant turn of speech and every accomplished conceitful agility, that still, you would see straight



I yearn to tell you, I guess. But I know, ironically, that that would scare you away forever. And that's what I haven't got passed. Even if only a thread hangs, it is a twine of titanium I hold. And though pressure hoses have tried. I still stick fast against the walls. If you know me, you know persistence. And I know that it is my greatest fear, that it is that which I will lose as a quality in the people upon which I depend. If any of those did not reciprocate. No walls, no rocks, no rubble, not crater to make my home then.
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tract (william carlos williams poem) [Oct. 19th, 2006|12:40 am]
Working a job like mine gives you an almost preternatural awareness of the passage of time. Drinking my first beer in two months, I know that I must get up at 7am to go to a job where I will count the minutes with an affordable precision--every ten minutes. Maybe an intermittent glance at the phone to make sure that I am five minutes from the mandatory break times. I'll wash my hands and walk to my car for 5 minutes of NPR (the clock in my car has been set five minutes ahead for too long for it to fool me, disbelief is no longer in suspense, too much reiteration of realtiy)....and that's a lot of alliteration, or assonance. I'll use the word "assonance" because it is less specific then alliteration. Sort of the difference btw sonnet and free verse. One may be more vulnerable to being unstructured and pedestrian--sonnets take craft, and at times I fancy dropping a complex word in where it fails anywhere else in my own mind.

So. There are currently four fruit flies (approximately) hovering in front of me, btw the screen and a few empty beer bottles (first beers in 2 months that I have consumed). They hover like a skyline view of a city during a news event, only the helicopters are in my face and one just landed in my eyebrow.

My brother hit my mother tonight. Of course, this was after he threw a glass against the wall (my brother is 13). As my mother cried out "motherfucker", the tension building, the nagging lapping over the walls, the hasty sandbags and hand carved dirt piles of insufficient self control, my stepfather hit her and knocked her out. I recieved news of this just now, 30 minutes ago, whilst I am fighting for a better life in spite of myself. Myself: some ignominius creature starved and downing beers to forget.

Confessions: I hit my mother last year after a fast and furious (meaning predictable) argument over politics and eventually her own need to surpass or wrangle her son to some lesser position (for one who has drawn herself up by her own bootstraps, this is superflous, if only she knew!). Knowing full well the hasty flood she can let loose upon even walls built so high, even if done with little skill or focus, still it is a shock. Not catatonic, no. Sniffly head, cough, no fever, so you can rest medicine...No. Three beers. 7am. Work. An insipient hernia. I wish for a better job that engages with some sort of intelligence, combined with some sort of parental (even if only in a symbolic way) acknowledgement).

These are the same problems that I've espoused for years. I told Ted that Mark (brother) has anger issues. Told mom that she has issues with her own self worth. Told her she needs to talk to someone besides me (I'M TOO CLOSE FOR PSYCHOANALYSIS, SLIPSHOD AT BEST).

this is not an I tol you sooooo moment. this is a nadir. that hangs at the bottom of an upside down parabola, that acts like a basket for filling and not, as i had suppposed it would, as the crown of a wave that would retract.
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(no subject) [Oct. 15th, 2006|01:00 am]
was wanting to write lately. so the job hasn't destroyed me. it vexes me at times, but it certainly has not destroyed me the way that it would.

on monday i had a conversation with ryan (new housemate) about my situation. Later that night I had a dream in which, though the details fail me now, it was clear that some sort of devil was tormenting me. The discussion left me anxious and bothered, because it was a rehash of things I already know. At times I think I run a little bit ahead of myself, not realizing that I fill in and am aware of my own logic faster then I can convey it, redacted, to other people. "I can get medicare but even if I get my hernia fixed then I can't hold my job, and then I'm out even more money". Days move in circles and the weekends seep through like so much water. Not that it bothers me, but it does collapse time, and in the mirror I can tell that I am getting older in some way or another. Somehow you've got to quell the movement of desparation, like a steady, indefatigable movement of a great weight towards a precipice. Questions that arose in the past seem more present now, but the reality of their removal from the possible and the "in reach" are much sharper now. This real world you get to know as you dove-tail in with it. There is an immediacy and a removal from being outside of the world and then being forced into it.

I lose my touch with words.

Been too far from them for too long to know how to put them in sequence. And I grow impatient with the splinters that won't come out and refuse to drown beneath a callus.

I remember reading months ago that you need trauma to grow. I remember, even recently, that it was poignant enough for me to insert into my attempt at reassurance to Jenn and to Ricky on their recent difficulties regarding the break in their relationship. It is clear from years of "talking about it", that deeper knowledge of something is just that "deeper knowledge". It may be more accurate, or more precise, or both. Unlike other forms of knowledge, though, I am not entirely certain that it is actionable like knowledge of physical things. Cause and effect disipates as if useless when put into work as a form of analysis of the condition of yourself, an evolving thing, as if you are in control. Perhaps this is what is at the core of change. The implacability of a knowledge that grows ever more intricate, ever more fragile, ever more crystalline. So dependent upon interlocking past events that it fails to hold in any other way, though the practice itself is some kind of extension of the need to change. And it is maybe this that causes my great discomfort. Spirtually, what I wanted was a past that was different, but as far as past events go, they are unshakable except upon fancy and remembrance. The pain that exists is that there is no slight amount of disillusion that will allow one to suspend your own grasp of reality long enough to let you move past it in the first place. So much like the cycling of sleep and dream, it is the catch-22 without the ever-presence of a pressing institutional-social apparatus. And really all that was there was the present to begin with--moves in circles and then becomes itself again. A self actualizing process in which nothing new is born, and in which productive processes are subducted and lost. It is an incomplete trace, a effect without full knowledge or recollection of its its cause, with no ability to evolve precisely because evolution, change, growth all require the freedom to be perturbed from redundancy, not reiterated because of the motion of its own process. In other words: What I have is now, which I put into active remembrances of the past, which then are subducted and in doing so, become a part of the inevitable structure, however fragile, of what I know to be true. And on all of those vhs recordings of now, photoshopped without the necessary amount of skill to balance and totter between what is factual reality and what is disillusion or the successful suppresion of the knowledge of that factual reality, I will find, in deep seated feats of mindfully complicit engineering, the same conclusions reiterated with additional knowledge of the causes that brought about those effects. And back again at now, without having disturbed the sediment, but only helping it become more solid, more insistent.

I have not really spent the time, like I am now, to write to myself and pull apart, analyze, what happens of its own accord. Not knowing what is possible to change in the past which I make now, I am caught in the circles I see in the world, and which i draw daily in the mindless expanse of ritual. castration must work in this way. It must be some sort of self-nullification between one unconscious self operating within the bounds of cause and effect, and one outside of it that can imagine beyond it. Put to work on itself it repeats. But how to work on the trauma of your own identity, if the very act produces nothing by the definition of the process itself--wanting to invoke change in reminiscence, but emboldening what cannot be changed because of it.

A return to the Mother, without ever truly getting there.
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light [Sep. 14th, 2006|11:23 pm]

so I came home from work today sore from lifting boxes. late on wednesday night i decided to see if there were any student work listings on the rutgers site and I came across an entry level lab tech position at a place called chromocell, so I fixed my resume and sent it to them immediately.

So i got back from work at about six and just assumed i hadn't recieved a response because i'm sort of self-loathing right now and would rather ignore rejection, but I checked my email later tonight and they responded! but then, boo, they sent me a response telling me that they would like to hear from me on a teleconference before 4pm. Incidentally this is way before i get back from the warehouse, where I have slowly been regaining my self-confidence since they moved me to the heavy lifting dpt (I get to work alone and basically, brood and lift heavy things, hernia notwithstanding). So I hit a definite low. I sent an email back about how i couldn't respond before that time because I had a previous engagement.


I'm like, ok, i'll check my bulk mail just in case. They SENT ME ANOTHER EMAIL STATING THAT THEY WOULD like to hear from me tomorrow at 2pm! This is great! At my current job I earn about 350 a week doing grueling labor in a place that, even though I am getting over myself, forces me beyond humility in to the realm of "you suck and fucked up your life and here you are, working with people who are on probation, though frankly this is my own self-enforced probation and maybe i deserve to be lower so that I can appreciate that I can still fix this even if it requires exertion).

I am really psyched, because all this is is a low level lab tech position, but it will look great on my resume, look great for the dean, anddddd, it will allow me to work at the lab and tutoring for rutgers writing at the same time, which frees me from menial labor and puts me back into a position where I can use my mind, and frankly, uses me in a way that doesn't make me feel like the hopeless scum of the earth. I really hope this comes through, because if i graduate and am working for Chromocell, and they know me personally post-self-induced apocalypse, then maybe they will be personally familiar with me and then I could get an actual job with them and start burning off my debt and all of the feelings of abject failure that have been haunting me as I try to go to sleep, and cause me to think about melanie and all the things that I've done wrong or screwed up.

I really hope this works out. Please God let this work out.

also, I emailed yong gwong in korea for the hell of it yesterday and he immediately responded! although he called me justine for some reason. he got into medical school in korea and tutors english to koreans! he also said he was in america last month but had my old phone number, not the new one >< shit. Yong scores up there with the three most important people I have ever called my true best friends: Yong, Jessica, and Rahul. so, it's good to hear that he's doing well and hopefully i can keep up emailing him and work off my self-doubt. Of my best friends I think he is the most caring, and the most empathetic to my situations. we used to wax poetic and smoke together, and I think he really appreciates me because I hung out with him so much while he was in america, and to my knowledge, didn't have any other close friends to hang out with. I remember this one time we rocked out together at the bar to "living on a prayer", and we used to have a lot of fun together drinking and talking about shit. we used to get so smashed. he'd drink 12 becks and i'd still be trying to finish my six pack.

Please let this work out. I really want to be able to enjoy my good memories instead of being forced to look at the cancer.
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(no subject) [Sep. 12th, 2006|11:18 pm]
let me survive this.
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in the moon [Sep. 9th, 2006|05:07 am]
I have always been kind, selfless.
Not because I have suffered, but in order to suffer.
Whatever ways the world unfolds,
I have only penetrated myself for the sake of associating myself
with that kindness--a kind of self acknowledgment that grows perilously out of balance,
expanding out,
higher and higher,
like the tower of babel.

My best friends, respond differently.

They aren't enablers.

Friend is a strong word I guess, something
it has taken me a long time to notice.
Friends challenge you not to fall so low.
It is from them that I hide.

For it is not they that judge me,

but they that make me finally look at myself for what I am.
They save me from the ultimate delusional oblivion.

That I still exist and can speak frankly about my difficulties,
and to know that they are difficulties I caused myself,
would barely survive the cacophany of my own determined self-delusion without them.

I wish they really knew,
just how deep their roots have sunk into me.
And that what I really owe them,
what I owe myself.

It is only then through much suffering that I know what a friend is.
Not a holdfast,
not a mirror,
not an adoring crowd,
but the raw thing that is me and them at the same time.

I hide from you now, the truth.

An awful Saturn, eating himself inside out. I would a give you a flashlight with which you would.
Judge me now for who I am and what I should be.

Friends are a demand.
that stiffly states that I cannot hide from the sunrise, simply by putting a blanket over the curtains, and simply.

Wanting to sleep.

and though all of you are far away
it is you who i should think of
when I think, that four times
weren't enough

and, you,
whom i despise
were, never,
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(no subject) [Jun. 17th, 2006|11:57 am]
i've been listening to this song for a few days and i thought, once i had looked up the lyrics, (i almost never listen to a song based soley on lyrics, usually on sound) that I liked them enough to post them.

hiss the villain

It's so early in our lives
For such a waste of time
Such a waste of breath
We can shake our fists in vain
Scream and lose our voice
It's our choice

This is forever
This ring will never leave this hand alone
I promise you

This is forever
This ring will never leave this hand again
I promise you

Hopefully life goes on
We'll meet up in the end
Worn out

We can sit and watch the world
Spinning on its point
Smile on it

These situations come and go
I'll do my best
We'll settle down and focus now
I'll do my best
I keep forgetting why we fought
We'll make amends somehow
Sitting next to you
You know the honor would be mine
To share your arguments
For all of time
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(no subject) [Jun. 1st, 2006|05:59 am]
so in that last piece of marvelous articulation, I was obviously writing about my dad.

I'll forgoe any rigorous explanation as per my dad. that's the stuff of therapy sessions i suppose. what talking about him had anything to do with my deeper vulnerabilities is something I'll easily understand, but never know of the importance.

my father I remember through a number of lenses. he is about in his late fifties now. I'm incredibly bad with dates, so he might be early sixties i simply can't accurately say for sure. the first memories i have of my father are from the divorce. I remember, distinctly in black and white, the fight and the break up and how he left and the great feeling that something had been terribly wrong. Mostly I don't remember my father as being especially strange. That is something that came with age and the context that provides.

first, the dirty attic: my father has always done drugs. In my lifetime I knew him as always awake and always angry. He never hit me any time I can think of. But he was always angry at something always ready to totter over the edge. Mostly it was with driving.

He honestly spoiled me, and I hate him for the habits he seated deep within me. I've never done speed as he did or maybe does, but here I am awake at six am, fairly certain that I will sleep in most of the day tomorrow trying so hard to consciously put aside the fact that there is something worldly wrong with being up this late, or this early in the morning not having slept. As a child I would awake at night and he was still there. Certain times he would go out and leave me while I slept. It was only that I am older that I knew it was to get his fix or whatever he did. He managed to keep us apart, but I suppose the delinquincy never escaped me, that part was sewn hard into the sinews of what I thought was comfortable.

My father was comfortable. He was the giver of candy, of soda, of sweet sugary cereal, of late night tv. And asleep at night, i'm sure he was infatuated with the idea of me. Though everything else could go wrong there was nothing wrong with me, and that he had come back and had me on weekends meant that he had always won the fight. No matter how pervasive his injury the product of the affront slept in his home at night. even if the world thought he was completely illegitmate he'd win me in the end, and I suppose that's where he grew such a strong attachment.

When I was old enough and started to part with him he didn't take it very well. I began to realize certain things--the smell of marijuana. I began to wake late at night and sleep as late as he did. I would wonder why some of the pocket change on his desk that I would often use to buy candy smelt so strange, why he managed to have quarters with scorch marks in the middle that smelled them, why as I grew older certain times of the weekend needed to be so secret.

But the rest: he had a wonderful love for me. The kind of love that only lack of sobreity unveils, I suppose. He was generous and kind with how much he would give of himself. Nothing was delimited though at times his resources grew empty.

Why I write about him or care at all I do not know. I stopped loving him the way I loved him as a child a long time ago. It took a long time to realize that he coveted me, a long time to shed my own guilt towards a lingering shadow that followed me: responsibility. Responsiblity for his well being. In a way, I knew that I had become his home, his dwelling, his piggy bank entrusted with his own security. And as a young boy those things seemed unnatural.

And so I guess when I say I love my father, and that he doesn't know it. I suppose then that I am reaching deep within myself to that part of him that embellished himself deep within me and found a home. I forever miss him because we cannot coexist. I cannot love my father and love myself at the same time. We cannot share the same space and not enter into our own peculiar self-indulgent demise.

I have always struggled against the urge to comfort myself as my father would have, simply for need of comfort. It easily has so much to do with why I miss Melanie and why I had no way of protecting myself from so many other savy self-investors. It explains why I give you all of me without any asking, it explains this as well. To eject him is some sort of weird involution, a turning inverse, and the world I inherited because of that will always haunt me. And I do not know when reaching to be something I'm not is enough, knowing full well that in the end, the disastrous result is that I am fully dependent on the good will of others and that I expect it, as I expect myself to give me comfort, to be pliant and yielding. But strangely I relent to the hissing and growling at the footsteps tread on my insides, for fear that the imposition of boundaries will always in my own isolation. To struggle against that is what the world requires and in the end I am a man, or masculine at least. If it is blood that I draw, it must be my own first.
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(no subject) [May. 29th, 2006|01:55 am]
how do you tell, your best firned that you don't love him
that he has been at the root at every failure in time
to watch. if i could run so far away. do you know? know know that i love him?

but he doesn't love me. he doesn't care///
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