Somewhere inside of every person I've met is a screaming desire to be identified, as if no amount of behavior could ever truly identify a soul. We flock to personality tests like flies to carrion. To christian living books like clouds of minnows beneath the surface of the water. No matter our behavior, our lives, our goals, aspirations, or desires, we still crave someone else to tell us how to do it. Where is identity? It lies only in others. All of us crave to be intimately exposed, harshly realized, violently known. To have our skin torn away and our flesh peeled back to release what squirms desperately behind mortal visage. Tell me how to live. Tell me how to be. No matter what I choose, it is insufficient.
Define the masculine identity. I dare you.
23 May 2011
21 May 2011
A moment of divine success
I once heard that the concept of an event is a human construction; there are no events as we remember them, but everything is one giant, unbeginning, unending "event." Events occur when we attribute meaning to segments of that existence. Events, then, are outside of time. An event can never happen, but can only have already happened.
An event:
Once, when I was in sixth grade, I was at sixth grade camp. We as the collective sixth grade were given a task: each child, with the use of a single octagonal piece of foam, was to cross a field of snow without touching the snow itself. The task could only be completed as a unit, although the class immediately attempted to cross individually. I knew how to cross.
I thought, these girls I know, they are perfect students. My friends are smart. They know this and they are more prepared to show the class how. But nobody said anything. I thought, this is a simple puzzle. These girls know how to do it. Those girls later became the perfect grade, AP students at my high school. Valedictorians. Salutatorians. Whatever. nobody said anything.
I asked a camp leader, can I try something? He made the classes listen to me. I said, lets try this. We did. It worked. For that moment, I was smarter, more successful, more capable than the people that would be better than me for the rest of school. These girls are med students now. Graduated and working on their doctorates. I am trying to finish a BA in English. But I knew how to cross the snow in sixth grade.
An event:
Once, when I was in sixth grade, I was at sixth grade camp. We as the collective sixth grade were given a task: each child, with the use of a single octagonal piece of foam, was to cross a field of snow without touching the snow itself. The task could only be completed as a unit, although the class immediately attempted to cross individually. I knew how to cross.
I thought, these girls I know, they are perfect students. My friends are smart. They know this and they are more prepared to show the class how. But nobody said anything. I thought, this is a simple puzzle. These girls know how to do it. Those girls later became the perfect grade, AP students at my high school. Valedictorians. Salutatorians. Whatever. nobody said anything.
I asked a camp leader, can I try something? He made the classes listen to me. I said, lets try this. We did. It worked. For that moment, I was smarter, more successful, more capable than the people that would be better than me for the rest of school. These girls are med students now. Graduated and working on their doctorates. I am trying to finish a BA in English. But I knew how to cross the snow in sixth grade.
18 May 2011
17 May 2011
Some more things
I never, ever stopped loving her. I questioned whether loving her would hurt us more tomorrow than stopping our love today. That's not a fair question.
Stop thinking. Go to sleep.
Stop thinking. Go to sleep.
Tools
I have a lot of words, but I know that language loses value with numbers.
Heartbreak is terrifying because it's so dull, so indefinite, that there's no way to apply pressure. Things make no sense.
This is my Bricolage. When I woke up, I woke up with the knowledge that my tools today would be different than yesterdays, and that I must try to do my best with what I have. I tried. I really, really tried to do the right thing. I am afraid because I don't know whether I was right or not.
My Anguish of Existentialism is my fear that there is no right or wrong, but only what we make for ourselves. Does that mean my decision was a failure? To cite something so intangible that it could never be acquired as a reason for heartbreak? I don't know.
The worst part was watching her drive away knowing that it used to be my responsibility to care for those hurt emotions, and now it is my responsibility to have nothing to do with them. I flashed back to the doorstep in the village where I left chelsea crying. Press me from all sides like a pressure cooker. Refine me, I lost my words. My tool, abandoned for a new center.
Can I cry out to god and wonder if it is his plan? I don't believe in a plan. But I suppose that's my center, isn't it. So I can cry out and ask
God, was this the right decision? Was I anticipating misery? Or causing it?
More importantly, I can ask
God, can I borrow your comfort? I need some peace right about now, as I try to function.
And most importantly
God, can you do what I never could? Can you be a shoulder for her as she heals the wounds that I inflicted?
Shit happens, one day at a time.
Heartbreak is terrifying because it's so dull, so indefinite, that there's no way to apply pressure. Things make no sense.
This is my Bricolage. When I woke up, I woke up with the knowledge that my tools today would be different than yesterdays, and that I must try to do my best with what I have. I tried. I really, really tried to do the right thing. I am afraid because I don't know whether I was right or not.
My Anguish of Existentialism is my fear that there is no right or wrong, but only what we make for ourselves. Does that mean my decision was a failure? To cite something so intangible that it could never be acquired as a reason for heartbreak? I don't know.
The worst part was watching her drive away knowing that it used to be my responsibility to care for those hurt emotions, and now it is my responsibility to have nothing to do with them. I flashed back to the doorstep in the village where I left chelsea crying. Press me from all sides like a pressure cooker. Refine me, I lost my words. My tool, abandoned for a new center.
Can I cry out to god and wonder if it is his plan? I don't believe in a plan. But I suppose that's my center, isn't it. So I can cry out and ask
God, was this the right decision? Was I anticipating misery? Or causing it?
More importantly, I can ask
God, can I borrow your comfort? I need some peace right about now, as I try to function.
And most importantly
God, can you do what I never could? Can you be a shoulder for her as she heals the wounds that I inflicted?
Shit happens, one day at a time.
14 May 2011
The more I fuck up everything I have, the more I believe Jacques Derrida. Not necessary that whole there is no ultimate center bit, but definitely Bricolage. We do what we can with the tools we have, knowing that tomorrow, the tools may be completely different. Such is the state of human existence. If it wasn't for this, I might have stopped trying to live a long time ago. I suppose therein lies the appeal of ultimate grace. Forgiveness for fucking everything up, over and over again, endlessly. A constant cycle of failure. Atheists say there is no failure because there was no success. Sartre says how can we fail to live up to our purpose if we create our own purpose. Funny how I can still fuck up good things.
Maybe there is a bit of christian left in me yet. Oh well. Bricolage. Shit happens. One day at a time.
Maybe there is a bit of christian left in me yet. Oh well. Bricolage. Shit happens. One day at a time.
10 May 2011
9:34 pm, 10 May 2011 - begin log
Subject: self
Topic: stress
There are two types of stress: functional stress and debilitating stress. Lets examine some key points of both.
Functional Stress:
- Causes sleepiness
- Causes exhaustion
- Result of responsibility/overwhelming feelings
- Often dealt with through avoidance
- Often can be productive
- Stress shows little in physical well-being
- Can be exhilarating in specific situations
Debilitating Stress:
- Lack of sleep
- Severe exhaustion
- Stress is carried in stomach; loss of appetite
- Never promotes productivity
- Cause through emotional dissonance
- Undermines communicative strengths
- Promotes depression
- Often related to romance
- Often spirals
- Fast beating heart/hyperventilation
Diagnosis: Debilitating Stress. All it takes is a walk across the room and my heart races and my stomach hurts. Circles, man. Circles.
I was told a hypocritical thing recently that was very important. Funny how double minded I can be. I can easily believe something for someone else when I don't believe it for myself.
You're safe when you sleep. God is watching.
"Come all you weary, who move through the earth; spurned at fine restaurants and kicked out of church"
"I know you're coming in the night like a thief, but I've had some time, O Lord, to hone my lying technique. I know you think that I'm someone you can trust, but I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up"
Subject: self
Topic: stress
There are two types of stress: functional stress and debilitating stress. Lets examine some key points of both.
Functional Stress:
- Causes sleepiness
- Causes exhaustion
- Result of responsibility/overwhelming feelings
- Often dealt with through avoidance
- Often can be productive
- Stress shows little in physical well-being
- Can be exhilarating in specific situations
Debilitating Stress:
- Lack of sleep
- Severe exhaustion
- Stress is carried in stomach; loss of appetite
- Never promotes productivity
- Cause through emotional dissonance
- Undermines communicative strengths
- Promotes depression
- Often related to romance
- Often spirals
- Fast beating heart/hyperventilation
Diagnosis: Debilitating Stress. All it takes is a walk across the room and my heart races and my stomach hurts. Circles, man. Circles.
I was told a hypocritical thing recently that was very important. Funny how double minded I can be. I can easily believe something for someone else when I don't believe it for myself.
You're safe when you sleep. God is watching.
"Come all you weary, who move through the earth; spurned at fine restaurants and kicked out of church"
"I know you're coming in the night like a thief, but I've had some time, O Lord, to hone my lying technique. I know you think that I'm someone you can trust, but I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up"
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