Away We Go

You are an unsinkable boat
   on an endless sea
I am the sea

You hold everything that I have ever believed
I do not believe in anything anymore

You will float forever
I am that into which everything sinks

Nuit Blanche

Excellent.

Recent Sexy Dream Participants UPDATE

Erin
Julee
Ashlee
and now introducing...Leslie!

Congratulations Leslie!

UPDATE:
I feel bad that I forgot to mention Terra, but Terra has definitely participated as well.

Just Asking For It

I'm now openly asking someone to direct me to either pursue or NOT pursue Ms. Julee once again. Give me what you got.

Oh, faulty subconscious memory

Did I just have a sexy dream about Julee?

I'm cleaning out my garage

Parents bought me some plastic shelving, which is perfect. They are lightweight but heavy duty enough to hold hundreds upon hundreds of cd cases and old shirts and novelty underwear and whatever else is floating around my garage. It was important that they be lightweight so that they aren't a super bitch to move when our lease is up (my old shelving was super heavy chromed metal and it was awful to move).

I'm cleaning this garage up. It was already pretty bad, then Louis "cleaned" the house and basically just threw everything from the living room and main house randomly into the garage. So it was almost unbearably messy. Shit everywhere. I walked in and literally said, "Oh, my God. Shit everywhere. There's shit everywhere! Damnit! There's shit on the windows! Oh, my God! My house is full of shit! He shit everywhere! Look what he did! He shit all over the walls! There's shit everywhere!" Or something like that. I don't remember EXACTLY what I said. Whatever.

Anyways, so I'm cleaning that shit and finding crazy old stuff. Like pictures of me from back in the day. And of old friends. And other things. Old clothes. Magazines. Books. CDs. I miss some of my friends that I don't get to see much. I realize that there is a chance that I'll leave for Peace Corps while Leslie is off exploring the world in the way that she has chosen to do so. I found a picture of her from her prom when she wore a blue dress with black bow detail stuff and was very tan and Stevie sort of ruined the picture, but he didn't look all that bad honestly. I found pictures from Cancun of myself with my shirt off. I found pictures from Italy of me and Elizabeth and my hair looks like Anthony Kiedis' hair did a few years ago, although the picture predates that stage of his career. Prom pics with Julee and Co. Fun times. We looked good. That one picture that haunts me of me flexing in front of my dad's car after it was painted. To be back there. I hate not being able to stop looking backwards. Saying more than once that things will change is worse than never knowing that they need to in the first place.

Reevaluating the shit

It is part of every responsible person's duty to periodically reevaluate their feelings and decisions on various experiences. For myself, this includes past relationships, conversations, career plans, and personal creeds. Of course, the most obvious things for me to reconsider occasionally are Julee, med school, and straight edge.
The Julee thing is fairly open and shut. I think that I maybe should have stuck with Danette that night at prom, but then everything nowadays would be upside down. I don't know that I'd even be able to have this sort of reflection. I'd probably be a kinesiology student still, for instance. I don't know, it's impossible to say what could have been. I still occasionally miss Julee, but I am mostly glad that I'm away from her. I have developed a new taste for women, and a new appreciation as well. I see now that if I were to meet Julee NOW, I wouldn't be all that interested in her, really.
Medical school is too vague to talk about. I wonder if it is the right decision, but I don't think that I'm ready to commit to either side.
Straight edge demands reflection. Any reason that I have for STAYING straight edge will probably be different than any reason I had for BECOMING straight edge. I wonder if I'm not depriving myself of something, as opposed to protecting. I still generally view alcohol and drugs and casual sex as detrimental to spiritual fulfillment, but is it really so black and white? Small amounts of alcohol or weed can actually have beneficial effects on the body (and the soul, according to some), so why do we take such a hard line stance? Should not the stance be against getting drunk as opposed to drinking? Is it true that you can not have an honest opinion on a situation to which you are unexperienced? Because I've never been high, can I really say that I don't see any spiritual betterment in doing so? This is not the same thing as abortion.
Someone who has never known love cannot say that it isn't important to them, I don't think. Someone who has never had sex cannot say that sex is not important to them, unless they throw an asterisk on the end of that statement. And what about the word love? In an effort to retain the sacred aspect of SOMEthing, I used to hold back my affection. I was separated. Kisses considered too valuable. Sex considered distant. The word itself saved for unique situations. Maybe we'd be better people if we didn't overload that word, or put too great of expectations on it. Why can't we redefine love? People claim that using the word too often devalues it. This may be true, and in fact probably is. But that's why we have poetry, isn't it? We can prove the level of our love (love is a spectrum, after all) by our actions, more so than we'd ever be able to with words. Sometimes it may be better for us to tell someone we love them, even if we don't LOVE THEM. Why is there some weird quota involved here? It feels like we attribute the word to a feeling we had with someone at some point, and then we only use it again when we achieve the same feeling or something greater. If we do THAT, I fear that we might be OVERvaluing the word. Why not just love everyone, but be aware that perhaps we love some people more than others, and that the word may not always mean the same thing every time we use it? The danger lies in the interpretation of the word by the other person. If I tell someone that I love them, they may not understand exactly how I feel. Once again, poetry comes into our lives and demands that single words only superficially represent the way that we feel. Didn't Adam tell me that the Japanese don't say "I love you," but rather use a word that basically means "loving" or is a verb for a loving feeling experienced at that moment? This makes more sense to me. In this way, we are not locking ourselves into a designated height of expression, but rather just saying "At THIS moment, I feel something for you that it tremendously positive and enjoyable." However, I wouldn't dare say that to a girlfriend who just said she loves me, lest she cut my testicles off.
So what's the point? Love is transient and subjective. How we feel at any point is only how we feel at THAT point. If I'm laying next to someone and I feel my mouth forming the words, "I love you," maybe I'll just say it. Or maybe I'll preface it and protect my own future heart by saying. "At this moment, I feel love for you." It's hard to say.
Is the whole straightedge thing similar to veganism? I don't know. I feel like since I have already categorized the animal products industry as a negative thing, I cannot partake at all. In other words, I've decided that it is bad, so for me to support it would just be hypocritical in the most damaging way. It isn't even really possible to say, "veganism is too hard, I'm going to just have a little bit of cheese now and then," because I know that it ISN'T too hard. Or maybe it is, but I like to think that we ought to allow things into our lives that we know are hard, because it makes us better. If it really IS too hard, then you don't just throw it out the window. You strive and strive for it, and actually do the best that you can. You don't just SAY that you're trying your hardest. I mean, I think that I'd rather you didn't try at all than to lie to everyone and lower your standards. The point though is that I don't necessarily consider alcohol and weed to be the same as like meat and fur. The meat and fur are damaging and destructive in their production, and my consumption thereof only encourages that. My support further enhances the idea that man has been given unchecked domination over all of creation. That we can decide who dies and why. We're all just creatures. Weed and/or alcohol are only as bad as the people who consume them. Getting drunk is damaging, but is DRINKING that bad? Some of the most respected and peaceful peoples in the history of peoples enjoyed the occasional drink (or smoke). Who else might I be? And besides, people who are straight edge are usually just scared, honestly. Scared of various things, but scared nonetheless. Maybe of their past, or their family's past. Maybe of the future, or a lack thereof. It's hard to say.

Stranger Dazier

I am sitting at a window. A girl who looks like Chelsea is outside playing with her daughter and husband. The small orange trees outside the window move slightly because of the wind, and the flowers move even more. I'm hot. Espresso hits me like a flaming brick, and I just had two shots in a very quick drink. I catch a draft every so often from someone opening a door behind me, and I think that I'm feeling what the trees feel. I've decided that I like the sound of wind through pine trees. It is a nonviolent brushing noise that is like a very large man walking heavily. Intimidating for no reason at all. The steam wand makes a good attempt at impression, and I have to wonder about the serendipity of things. I look at friends often and think, "How can they still not know who I am?" It occurs to me that Leslie does, which is odd. We don't see each other, and I always feel like I'm sort of bothering her at least a little bit, or like she has so many fun friends and I'm always too serious. At the same time though, I really do tell her things. Not that all of my friends have betrayed me (most have not), but I really believe her when she says that she won't tell anyone. Maybe it's because we don't have any overlapping circles; rays pointed in different directions. She is moving to Tucson. I am sad about this for no reason. I don't see her now, even though we live within ten or fifteen miles of each other. I hope that she does well where she's going. Maybe I like that she does what I feel like I cannot do. She moves through her world with blinders on. She is just running straight forward towards nothing at all, not letting heavy people slow her down. She is living largely for her own purposes, which she isn't even sure of. She goes to California. I feel like I'm tied down. Like if I leave, people will die. I am in the crowd on which she is being carried, maybe. If I am rooted in the ground, blowing straight up with all of my breath, she is the person that I'm keeping aloft. The roots are what worry me. They aren't my body. They are the invasive tendrils of beautiful dying things. Little orange trees stand up against gentle winds, but they are in the pots that I put them in. I'm constantly nailing metal hoops around wooden pots. I need to make metal pots for more trees.

13.1 Miles of Vindication

Let's start with Saturday. The expo. We were going to drive together, but Julee stayed at her parents' house, which is in Phoenix, so we decided to just meet at the convention center. We were both late, though I was a little extra late. Whatever. We meet there. Hug. Honesty: she doesn't look as good as I was remembering, though she certainly didn't look bad. Her eyes are smaller, somehow. Memory magnifies, I suppose. We walked around the expo and got some free stuff, and then took off. Nothing big.

The plan for Sunday was that I'd call her and pick her up then drive us both to the pick up spot for the shuttles (you park at the finish, then take a shuttle to the start so that when you're done you can just walk to your car. This all required that we be parked and waiting for a shuttle before 7:30, since the last shuttle leaves at that time. I had some trouble sleeping the night before, and ended up getting up and taking a shower around 5:15 or so. I ate then and called her, apparently waking her up. I found out later that she was stupid and went out drinking the night before (didn't get drunk, but was out until like 3:30am, and was wearing heels), so she only got about an hour of sleep. The entire morning from when I picked her up until we actually passed mile one she complained about how tired she was ("to the point of nausea"), and how she sort of wished that she had slept through my phone call and stayed home. We stayed together until around mile 9.5, at which point I was having some issues (my right knee), so I told her to go ahead if she wanted to. She really wanted to break 3:00 hours (we were on pace for about 2:55 or so if we had been able to continue that same pace, though I would've held her back what with my knee).

She took off then, and I took to a steady quick walking pace. I kept this same pace until about mile 11, at which point I was planning on running again, however, my knee was only worse, so I decided to hold out for the last .6 miles or so. Also, my left ankle was starting to act up a bit. I found myself at mile 12, and I was starting to feel the beginning of cramps in both of my calves, and my right quad, so I hit a cup of Accelerade, and looked for a COACH who might have salt (the marathon hires people to walk around certain portions of the race shouting encouragement and possibly advice. Some of these people also carry salt with them for people who may be cramping, although certainly not all of them do this). I then ran out of water, and entered the bridge over Tempe Town Lake (Mill Ave Bridge), which told me that I was about .8 miles from the finish, with no water in sight. I spotted a COACH and asked them if they had any salt, which they did not. Worried, but not too much so, I decided to just go, since there was no help between where I was and the finish. So I picked it up to a quick pace and ran the bridge. On the way down the bridge however, my left calf and my right quad entered full spasming cramps, which was intense. At the bottom of the bridge, when we take a left on to Rio Salado, they were both largely completely seized, so I stopped for a moment and tried to stretch them out. This sort of helped, and I started walking again. After about 100 meters, I decided that I was going to run that last little .4 miles regardless, so I took back up, and didn't stop until I was through the line.

I was a little more exhilarated than I expected, honestly, as I weeded my way through the massive chaos that is the ending line family reunion area. I couldn't find my mom, so I just made my way back to my car. I met up with Julee, who DID finish under 3:00 (I think she was like 2:53). I finished 3:05, by the way. We walked back to get my car, only to realize that I had parked on the third floor of a parking garage. The stairs looked pretty hardcore, so we just walked to HER car (she had left it nearby the night before), and she was going to drive me up to mine. She did this, and then we promptly sat in a line for 20 minutes. I think that an ambulance was on the first floor, blocking anyone from leaving. I felt really bad about this though, because Julee was supposed to be at work at 2:00, and we didn't get out of that garage until 1:40. In any case, I decided to play at mass that night, because I wasn't dying, and I sort of need the money.

Here's the point, though: I'm over her. I realized that I still think she is cool and smart and all that, but that I'm not attracted to her anymore. Physically. Emotionally. Whatever. I look at her as a friend now. I can't guarantee that this is a permanent condition, since she will always be a very specific character in my love history, but for now, I have moved on. I think that is what I am most excited about after this weekend. I mean, I set a new distance watermark for myself, and I proved that I can do something that I was wondering if I was going to be able to do, but really, moving on from her is much larger. I'm happy about this.

"Moving on moving on from town to town
Movin' on I can't seem to stop now
Movin' on I never seem to slow down"

Movin' On by Bad Company

Her Legs Grow

This next weekend is the Half Marathon. That's 13.1 miles through Phoenix and a little bit of Tempe. This post isn't really about running, though. It's about Julee.

I spoke to her on the phone this morning about how we're going to work this weekend out. The expo is on Saturday, and that is where you go to get all final registration stuff and race number and all that. There are also vendor booths and free stuff and whatnot. It's a lot of fun, actually. I went with her last year when she ran the full marathon, and we said that we'll go together this year since parking is a bitch and we're both doing it anyways. So that's Saturday. I think that on Sunday we'll probably drive to the race together, too.

Speaking to her on the phone is weird, still. I mean, it's hard for me to deny that I still have feelings for her. She is perhaps THE most intelligent girl that I've ever known (sorry Ash and others), which is tremendously appealing to me. I recently had a conversation with Ambuler about how it's hard for me to find girls that I can really talk to (I can listen to anyone, but it's hard to find someone who can actually listen back). Now, those of you who have been around for a year or more may remember that I became disconcerted by the fact that I didn't talk to Julee. Paul died, and I didn't call my girlfriend. I called someone else. I felt like I couldn't speak to her about stuff like that. Now that we're just friends though, I am able to talk to her about more things, so it's like the one MAJOR issue in the relationship has been worked out. That makes it difficult for me for what I would think are obvious reasons.

It is sort of evident to me that she has the same problems with guys that I have with girls. She cannot find guys who are smart enough to talk to her and listen to her. She knows though that I am that guy. That's why she wants us to remain friends, I think. So that she has more than just girls in her life, because she doesn't even really like girls, I don't think.

Is it arrogant to assume that she still harbors secret feelings for me? If she holds valuable the same things that she used to, then there is no way that she doesn't. Or is that the flaw of the ex? To always assume that they are still wanted? Hmmm.

So anyways, here're the main points:

1) Julee and I are essentially spending the whole weekend together
2) We will be in more or less vulnerable/embarrassing situations that generally render one overly emotional
3) I obviously still have feelings for her
4) Am I afraid of the word "love"?
5) I am worried that she'll ask me to get back with her or something after the race
6) Aren't these the same things that I wondered about when we met for coffee months ago?
7) I wonder if I'm somehow thinking with the wrong part of my body (head vs heart, you perverts)?


I guess I don't really know what the hell is going on. Oh, and just to add to her litany of confusing actions, Duffy rolled her eyes in frustration when she walked in on me talking to Ambuler about hanging out with Julee this weekend.

I think that I'd like to hook up with one or two girls at least before getting seriously considering getting back with Juju. I mean, if I didn't, then this whole time off would have been a stupid pointless lie. Someone stop me.

I think that honestly if I manage to get back into shape, I will want her less. Does that make sense? I am also making the possibly erroneous assumption that after I lost some weight I'll be better able to meet other girls, so that must be related somehow. I don't know, like I said, someone stop me.

"Your Legs Grow" by Nada Surf

If you were here
baby we'd increase the dose
there was no fear
in my room when we got close
call me anytime you've got a ghost

you're the only person in the world
i feel that way about
and if you move off to the side
i'll get swept back out
where it's cold but not that deep
cuz your legs grow
cold but not that deep
cuz your legs grow

there's a light that rises up
from the bottom of the lake
and its beam has hit me hard
now i'm wide awake
where it's cold but not that deep
cuz your legs grow
cold but not that deep
cuz your legs grow

if you were here
baby we'd increase the dose
there was no fear
in my room when we got close
call me anytime you've got a ghost

Consumerism; Sentimentality

How do we come to attach such strong emotions to mere objects? How is it exactly that we invest memories in THINGS? It seems like maybe our brains are not contained by the skulls that surround them. Rather, they extend into the environment all around us, and they deposit information into whatever is near. It would follow then that the things that are nearest us most often would hold the largest and richest wealths of our experiences.

My truck is officially dead. It needs about $2000 worth of work, which I cannot afford. It's also not really worth $2000 as a vehicle anyways. That's what's called being totaled. Despite my best attempts to not become attached to the things that I own and buy, I have a major attachment to the truck. I keep trying to justify this by remembering all the specific moments in it: learning to drive stick, driving to the darkest spot on the interstate with Julee, finding various trailheads, it getting stolen four times and always finding its way back to me, et cetera. But these seem like veils. This truck is a connection to something for me. My past, maybe? It occurred to me recently that for the first time in my life, I can remember 10 years ago. That scared me. Then the phrase "He didn't make it, not everyone makes it through" came into my head (that phrase comes into my mind all the time). Then I realized that it is likely that there will come a time in my life that I will have lost all of the things that remind me of my childhood or adolescence. That is a sad thought. All of the physical reminders of an important part of my life gone? Where do they all go? Do we just not notice as they leave us, since they generally leave us one at a time?

With the departure of my truck (Birdie), I anticipate perhaps the arrival of a new vehicle. I'm excited about the possible change, but I feel like I'm turning my back on an old friend. The truck is fixable, after all. I just can't afford it. It's going to the scrapyard most likely. It's going to end up a thousand different pieces in a thousand different cars. That's a thousand pieces of me spread around the world in the most cruel and random of ways. Should I worry that I'm losing memories?

“I put a new engine in my car, but forgot to take the old one out. Now my car goes 500 miles per hour. The harmonica sounds amazing.”
-Stephen Wright

“The will is never free -- it is always attached to an object, a purpose. It is simply the engine in the car -- it can't steer.”
-Joyce Cary

“Without struggle, no progress and no result. Every breaking of habit produces a change in the machine.”
-George Gurdjieff

“I think that it's possible to study human intelligence, to know what it's made up of, to break it down into modules in a sense, and then -- little by little -- to build those modules into machines.”
-Justine Cassell

Strange Strange Time

Sometimes I like to fantasize about not eating. At all. For long periods of time, like political statement long. Just let myself whither away. Muscle. Fat. Skin. Hair. Nails. Teeth. Let it all beg for salvation. But just let it all die. I don't think that I'D die this way, rather, I think I see it as a rebirth. A way to shed all the muscle that reminds me how strong I USED to be, and the skin that reminds me how clear it USED to be, and the fat that reminds me just how fat I AM. A way to put a pile of plates in the ground and cover it in dirt. A way to grow daisies with memories, instead of dreams. Are pain and results directly proportional? They just might be. I'm sure that all things worthwhile are painful, but I'm not yet positive that the most worthwhile are also the most painful. Is there any way else that I could be? I don't think so. So for the ultimate birth, I guess I'd be needing the ultimate death.

"Give me love
Give me love
Give me peace on earth
Give me light
Give me life
Keep me free from birth
Give me hope
Help me cope, with this heavy load
Trying to, touch and reach you with,
heart and soul
O(h)m my Lord...
Please take hold of my hand, that
I might understand you
Won't you please
Oh won't you"

Give Me Love by George Harrison

I sometimes wish that I could flit in and out of people's lives unquestioned. That I was able to be there for a moment, make an impact, and then float away secretly lonely. This seems impossible though, as the more that I make myself emotionally available, the more people realize how few people are willing to do this. This realization is followed usually by an immense request. That's okay, that's why I'm here. But how great would it be to be KNOWN for being absent all the time except when you need it most? Would people demand less, but expect more? I'd love that, I think.

"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all . . .
Still my guitar gently weeps."

While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison

I rarely get overwhelmed, but sometimes I feel like giving up. It seems so silly to me that nothing bad happens to ME, but instead to all of the people in my life. Is this an indication that the universe really does revolve around me? I had a decent upbringing, never really wanting much more than I got. I wasn't abused or lied to. I didn't make any major mistakes, and I wasn't the victim of someone else's. I haven't wasted love, and I realize how big that is. So why don't I have cancer? Why aren't I addicted? Why haven't I lost the love of my life? What's the deal? Is this all build up until the major event that will truly destroy me? When it gets to be too much, I like to think that I have a strategy, but it mostly involves trying not to cry, even if I'm sitting alone.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby"

Golden Slumbers by The Beatles

I really like when sitcoms have dramatic episodes. For instance, I love the episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when Will's dad shows up and gets back into Will's heart, only to break it again at the end. In all honesty, and at the risk of sounding like a geek, this was the episode that proved Will Smith's acting ability. At the end, he breaks down, and everytime I watch it, I still secretly cry. The only thing that has changed since the first time that I saw it is that if I'm alone I'm not ashamed to cry. The series finale of Roseanne is also excellent. In the last season or so, the show gets really weird. They win the lottery, Roseanne/Jackie's mom comes out as a lesbian, Dan has a heart attack, Jackie starts dating the Prince of Moldavia, Dan cheats on Roseanne, Darlene and David's baby is delivered premature and is supposed to die but lives. So anyways, it sounded really like the show had jumped the shark, but the last episode reveals that the season was a creation of the character of Roseanne, who took up writing as a coping strategy after Dan's heart attack, which he actually died from. The rest of the season is basically her way of running away or fantasizing, which is why so much great stuff happened. What really happened is: Jackie is a lesbian, her mother is not, Dan died from his heart attack, Darlene's baby (with Mark, not David) was delivered premature and somehow survived, Becky had gotten together with David, and Roseanne had begun writing. Anyways, in the series finale, when she exposes all of this, she comes to the point of telling about Dan dying and she almost starts crying, and I almost do as well. There was also an earlier episode I think where Dan's dad dies or something, and Dan cries, and it's pretty hard for me to watch as well. Now that I think about it, there was another episode of Fresh Prince that makes me cry, but I can't remember what it was. There was an episode of Scrubs that did as well, but I can't quite remember it well enough at this point to talk about it. Maybe I'll make a post of the things that have made me cry in my life. I can probably remember just about all of them. Here's a teaser: Fresh Prince, Roseanne, Julee, Paul, Magnolia, Armageddon, About Schmidt, Castaway, and some other stuff as well.

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my opened ears inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying Love which shines around me like a
million suns, It calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva"

Across the Universe by The Beatles

Reverie and Revulsion

Becca says that I'm smitten. I might be. I must be, in fact. Is it because this is the light on the horizon of a never-ending sea? Or is it because it is the lighthouse itself? I wonder if Duffy is the direction or the destination sometimes. She seems smit-worthy, I think. Groovy. She's an individual who apologizes without sincerity for who she is only because she doesn't want to fight about it. I think that's maybe more noble than acting like what you have to say deserves to be heard all the time. She's an escapist, finding herself immersed in fake places and consequently unaware of the very real places that inspired the fictions. Is she another Julee? Someone uninitiated and young letting me take them to the room in the hospital where they were born? I'm not a doctor, but I think I know the way. I don't want to do this forever. Have I been delivered?

“Reverie is when ideas float in our mind without reflection or regard of the understanding.”
-John Locke

"To lose one's self in reverie, one must be either very happy, or very unhappy. Reverie is the child of extremes.”
-Antoine Rivarol

Julee's Birthday

It's Julee's 21st birthday. She invited me to dinner with her and her OPA girls, but I told her I didn't want to go. I got her the Nick Drake boxset and a Busdriver cd. We're still friends, and neither of those things has sentimental connection, so eat me.





"There's a new sensation
Sweeping all the nation
And they're calling it
Bare ballin it, bare ballin it"

Bare Ballin' by John Mayer

My type's phenotype

Bottom up:

Feet: Just SLIGHTLY larger than average, though not overly bone-filled or lean or sharp.

Calves: Larger than average, though not like fatty at all. I like a little muscle here.

Knees: No sagging.

Quads: Muscular shape, but no separation due to leanness.

Hamstrings: Muscle. Hook. It. Up. One of my favorite places. A nice curve. Mmm, tasty.

Butt: Thick due to muscular foundation, not fat. Cellulite not welcome here.

Waist: Smaller the better.

Stomach: I like to know that there is a six pack hiding under there, but I don't necessarily want to see it all the time. Just the side lines, and the oblique definition (another one of my favorite areas).

Boobs: Traditionally I pursue girls who are flat in the name of athleticism. I am not much of a breast man type (I prefer legs), but my ideal chick is otherwise athletic and lean with C cups. I don't like them too big. Although, Duffy might be edging up on some Ds. Side boob is one of the hottest things ever.

Arms: Um, what the fuck ever, so long as they aren't all flabby or trackmarked.



Here is a graphical representation of what I just described (my perfect female's body):



okay, so since it's apparently not obvious, this specimen is Jessica Biel

Julee II

I realized how little I entered about Julee. I think that this is because it's still a little too soon. I don't like reminiscing too much. It is slightly painful, at least. Instead of giving me an opportunity to put pieces together, it seems to push them farther apart. That's a lame expression, but it works. When I think about her, my brain does the same thing that it does when I think about The Lucky Eight: it induces massive sexual fluid release. Seminal fluid comes pouring out of every pore and covers those delicious chocolate-filled egg shell pirouettes like the delicious melted peanut butter/caramel and toffee bits that make me want to kill myself and holy shit that fuck hell was so good. So anyways, thinking about Julee is like December 2001, when we all WANTED to make terrorists/buildings/airplanes jokes, but felt like maybe it was still a little too soon for polite company to become aware of our truly pathetic selves. Real talk.

"How good it feels to be alive
And strive for your desire
Just cause you can't see your cage
Doesn't mean that you are free"

-Overcome (The Recapitulation) by RX Bandits

A Loving Universe Is Not Enough

Acknowledgment of a loving universe is not always enough. Especially when that acknowledgment is a hidden denial of the necessity for human experience. I am a physically dependent person with an addictive family history. I am addicted to physical connection, if not emotional ones as well. However, at the moment, I am concerned with the scarcity of contact in my world. I have a feeling that I probably worry some friends (female) with the frequency and duration of physical contact that I seek from them. I hug hello. I hug goodbye. In between, I sneak little bits of skin; just enough to satiate me, and keep me alive. I hope that they don't always perceive this as a come on, as it only very rarely is. I am Superman, and the sun is touch. I feel that the bags under my eyes swell and droop and reveal my facial bones. The sadness is obvious in my brow, and I think my hands begin to shake. This must be apparent to others. I have come to believe that I would lay in a bed with just about any person, provided they were warm and assured.

Erin

Where to begin?

First love of life, most likely. Advent of love, in fact. 2nd grade introduction to wonder and appreciation. I remember new emotions, like jealousy and desire. I hated Andy because I thought he had her. Turns out he didn't, though I still think that he could have. I turned to art for the first time ever. I drew the thing that I couldn't imagine and that I would have hated to have known (Andy and Erin having sex, though they both had penises, and one of them was floating above the other. It didn't really make sense, but it was the thought that mattered; and it got me in trouble, just like a grown up artist). It occurs to me that this really WAS the first time I had done this thing, and that it is something that I now do often. I find catharsis in facing fear or hatred or ugly evil, even if I have to create it first. That is, I might have to draw or paint or write this thing that I'm afraid of before I really realize that I'm actually afraid of it. So Erin may have introduced me to art as well. She has been my apparent host here. The person who announces my arrival. I didn't know that until just now, which is another example of her influence.

In 2nd grade I went to Las Vegas with my family. I think that I've told this story before. We were on a people mover or a conveyor belt or just walking next to a long picture window that opened up onto a man made lake with a volcano in it. This must have been at the Mirage where they have a volcano show with fire on the water. At some point I was able apparently to throw a coin in. The coin contained all of my love, and everything that I knew of prayer. I sincerely begged the volcano god to put me and Erin in the same class every year from then all the way through college, and then I secretly (even more secretly than this silent wish already) wished that we'd get married.

I still love her, and I'm sure that I'd do anything she asked me to do. She has experienced shit, and her life is so empty, that it almost makes me angry. Paul died, and killed a large portion of her. The bags under her eyes are my monument to him, and they will seemingly never let me forget him or his impact on her. If I were to want her to love me, I am not sure that I'd ever be convinced that I had 100% of her. She belongs to him still, and I do not know how to help her let go; I'm not sure if she's ready to yet.

It was always understood (by her and I) that she and Paul would end up together after he cleaned up.

Erin became the watermark for beauty, and my standard. She had a lean physique, like a drawing in my mind. She had jutting hips and long sinews of limbs that complimented her features and her hair, which appeared to be of a greenish tint. I know now that it was not green, but I seem to always see the hair of girls that I like as colors that it is not. That is extremely difficult to explain, but basically when I think of Erin, I picture her from eighth grade in front of a classroom that never existed, and her hair is light brown, but my brain looks at it and says "Green." I mean, it knows that it is light brown, but my brain SAYS "green." It's weird. Same thing happens when I picture Julee, only sometimes it's green and sometimes it's auburn.

On to 3rd grade, I don't remember Erin here, because Ms. Loyola was so hot that my memory was wiped clean. Okay, now 4th grade. Erin got me in trouble once, and I got detention. During recess she sat with me on the bench, which actually got her in trouble. I don't even think we spoke during that time we shared on the wooden bench. Okay, now on to 5th grade.

In 5th grade, I was sort of born. I decided that, for reals, I liked girls, and that was okay. At some point, I dated Laura. Maybe more about that later, I'm not sure yet. Also though, this is when Erin became the most sought after girl in our class. Every guy sort of simultaneously decided that Erin had it, and that we all wanted it. That sounds gross, but that's how it was; we didn't even know what it was, frankly. We just all sort of realized that she was hot and cool, and that we'd be hotter and cooler for being closer to her.

At some point, I wrote a note to Erin. It was neon green on one side, and white on the other. On the white side, I drew a skull that I largely lifted from a shirt I saw at Miller's Outpost, and I wrote "ERIN" in crappy Olde English lettering. I wrote something like, "Will you go out with me?" and then, "Yes/No Why/Why not?" and THEN "PS I really like you alot" (and the whole PS part was circled). I'm mostly excited that I asked "Why?" as in, "Yes? You WILL go out me? WHY?! What the hell's wrong with you?" Oh, and I wrote my name on the bottom, too. So yeah, I was a pretty smooth operator. I gave this note to Daniel to give to Erin (side note: Daniel was Erin's first kiss), which he did. Erin claims NOW that she wrote a note back that said "Yes," but I certainly didn't receive it. Her postulation is that Daniel didn't give me the note because of his jealousy (Daniel also liked Erin). I don't know, though, that's pretty convenient. So in the end, we never went out. Her loss. No, that's not true. My loss.

In sixth grade, I was completely smitten and in love with her. I called her all the time; enough even to be banned from calling by her mother. She dated Adam, one of my two best friends at the time, which actually really made me angry, but I didn't let anyone know. This was the height of my frustration.

In seventh and eighth grade I became more friendly with Elizabeth, and less with Erin. Those two did not like each other very much. I still secretly loved Erin, and wrote notes to her and stuff, but I was not as close to her as I used to be. Had she asked, I'm sure that I would have dropped everyone else for her.

High school was black days. We spoke rarely. She went to the all girl school across town. We grew apart. We came back together senior year, when we both worked at the rectory at St. Francis Xavier. We didn't like completely "rekindle," because she was with George, and I was with Julee, and we didn't always work together, but we became friends again.

We've sort of stayed friendly since then, and have recently (the past year or so, especially since Julee and I broke up) become very close. Inextricably close; perhaps symbiotically, at least on my end. My well-being these days involves her, even though we don't talk EVERY day anymore. I still love her as much as I did in 2nd grade, and in the same confusing way. I am perpetually secretly in love with her, though I am willing to hide that away for her benefit. It may be better for her that I am only her friend. I am okay with that, if that is what is truly best for her. I have only her best interest in mind.

to be continued...

Bedrock

Is it better to have a relationship based on mutual reflection and examination of each other's pasts, or on hopeful anticipation of your combined futures? Or is it better to focus on the precise present; to have no recollection nor foresight?

Commitment

Can you really commit to more than one thing? As I was thinking more about previous weights and shapes lifted and carried, it occurred to me that it's about not much more than commitment. When I was at my strongest, it was because I was totally committed to being strong. When I was at my leanest, it was because I was totally committed to beinglean. Now that I am doing better in school than I ever have before, it is because I am foremost concerned with my school performance, above other things. Is this how it has to be? Can I only be successful in one thing at a time? Or is this only a consequence of a strained schedule? If that is true, it is not comforting, as I have another 5-10 years of fairly intensive schooling and such.

There are many things that i'd like to be associated with; a successful student, a long distance runner, an effective powerlifter, a size 32 waist, for example. I don't like the idea of any of these things defining me, though. I do not want to be A long distance runner any more than I want to be A successful student. I want them both. I want to be defined by the tremendous breadth of my talents, and the degree to which I have mastered them, but it seems increasingly hard. To be a successful student, I need to devote a large portion of my time to studying and homework, which cuts back on available time for running and working out. To be a successful powerlifter or bodybuilder, I need to spend a large portion of my time cooking and eating and resting. To be whatever else, I need time to do whatever. It comes down to time, I guess. Time management? I don't know. I don't think that I want to live on a schedule again. It worked well for me at the time, but I also had a steady girlfriend, so I didn't need to really have any time for generic socializing. I sort of just scheduled her in when we both had a block open. This worked, but only because we both were sort of strained for time, and it was the only time that we were both available anyways.

Do I live on a grid? Do I want to? It's harder now, since my work schedule changes a bit every week, and it is going to change drastically into this Holiday season. So do I use that excuse to spend the rest of this semester retaining time and focus on school, and start a new focus during December? Who knows? I think that I'm going to open Excel now.

"There are only two options regarding commitment. You're either in or out. There's no such thing as a life in-between."
-Pat Riley