right now, i am trying to cycle through my activities with greater rapidity. there are so many goals, so many things that i want to do. at the same time, i think it is important for me to just do "experience" things, like going hiking or stuff like that. things where i am not so actively doing stuff. at least that seems to be a lack i notice. i am also always seeking to do stuff in the yard. weeds are such a hassle for me. is there any way to remove that problem entirely? i think i looked it up before, but each time i try, it doesn't seem to work. i am trying to swear off the addition of chemicals to my yard, just because i think that the run off inevitably heads to the sea, where it creates toxic algal blooms...
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i still think about sexuality. the problem of it. i am faithful to my wife, of course, but i think a vital aspect of my psychology revolves around the viability of, the possibility of, and the play of, relations. i mentioned before that there is a blind spot. yes, it continues. it is perhaps not so dramatic as when i was in high school. i can't believe it, but i would always conceive of, fantasize about, a scene in which i would die for someone. it seems as though my life was the only thing i could give up for someone else. i could not relate with anyone on a human level, i was so dehumanized (in many respects, i think i still am)... hmm... i just read a character in dickens's book "a tale of two cities" that reminded me (reminds me) of myself: sydney carlton. he despairs of ever being better than he is. and yet he loves ms. manette, and feels a need to confess his love, while abnegating the possibility of it. i think that really was (maybe is) me... to express one's wants. one's desires, particularly in the erotic realm, it simply was not possible for me. in order to express oneself in that fashion, one has to be so full of oneself, so blind to oneself, that one cannot help but be that. i on the other hand, was perpetually empty and hollow, perhaps because of a hole in my heart. and i was damnably self-aware. am damnably self-aware... that baleful eye (which i attribute to figures like my brother) always stopped things from happening. always stopped me from reaching out. like the eye of sauron. that's why, in a certain sense, i have always needed someone to "save me." i could never express myself. it had to be someone else who disclosed an interest in me first.
i also find it ironic that, were i to ever encounter such a situation, where someone expressed interest in me, there was always something problematic about it... like i didn't believe it, like i was only used to the resistance of the irresistible. not only that, but it felt dirty of me, to take advantage of things. i honestly think that desire only works in a kind of blindness. the way it works for me is when i concentrate on surfaces, on feelings, on actions... i have a desire to please. to create feelings in others. i honestly don't care about my own reactions. the whole point of the game is to bring others to their conclusions. if i do that, i'm happy.
is there something wrong with me?
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i like the song "face to face" by siouxsie and the banshees. the beginning, it sounds like a fabric that is translucent; it has waves passing through it, but beneath it there is something else shifting. and then everything moves by some secret wind. secrets, disclosures, obfuscation, deception. i didn't know that it was made for the batman ii movie. i thought it was commandeered by tim burton for that purpose. but when looking at the video, there are cut scenes from the film.
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i don't know why, but we always place hope in someone else. maybe it is in our psychology. i train in secret, i always train in secret for some secret moment, but it is for the angels to fulfill this promise. this promise which will never come true. it fascinates me, the way some people, some "actors" and "actresses," are able to fulfill themselves shamelessly. of course, maybe that's not really them, that's not really their hearts. but it might as well be. to bring oneself out to the surface over and over. to be out there, and to control the game without shame, without feeling dirty, without feeling empty. i don't know how to do that.
why am i always preparing for the future, not in an authentic way (like looking at the money), but always in a seemingly pointless way... will i ever write my books? who will ever have the eyes to see my pornographic drawings? who will care? it seems pointless. this life. you are becoming someone for no one to see, for no one to love.
i suppose that's why i have wrestled with this idea of art. like is there such a thing as art for it's own sake? i like a certain feeling, a certain aesthetic feeling, a way of being, a way of holding myself. the feel of cotton, of holed denim jeans and t shirts, clean. the feeling of something not perfect, but deliciously myself. an attitude that is unquestioned, that is sure of its tilted footsteps. there will always be a weapon to kill me, a perfection that i cannot comprehend, but in my moment, in my dances, in my steps, there is a simplicity. a found art. an art of the moment, of circumstance. not an art of perfection, of seeking symmetry, but an embodiment of the asymmetrical and ugly and imperfect... when i feel that way, i feel i could be. i feel like i could be a lover. or anything. but it is because i don't try to be something else.
so much of what i am is not that. i am a consignment to roles, to things i can speak of, and not speak of. of the wary eye over the shoulder, of the ear listening to my speech to make sure it is not misconstrued. being careful not to offend. be careful not to offend. mend mend mend. boxes within boxes. roles within roles. no one forgives the irresponsible person.
okay i think i've done it for tonight.
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