I deleted my previous post because, even though it's all true- and even though it's going to come back into my mind, there is no point in always holding on to the ugly.

Write it out, then burn it.

There's no home to be found for the sensitive idealists.

Island universes.
Distant and remote- abandoned by the unknowable hand of God.
Spiral galaxies- vast and unsympathetic. Dying stars
Burning embers until the final, grand explosion.
Each star dies alone- imploding within itself
Then exploding into the deep nothing
The empty silence.
In the farthest reaches of the imagination
The shrapnel may never reach another sentient thing
Each particle hurtling- flames, rock, metal-
The components of something that was once great.
Something that was once a legend
Reduced to its elementary pieces
Reminded in no uncertain terms of
It’s own mortality.
The space it once occupied--
Grows dark, desolate, lonely.
Another blackness.
As above, so below.

whoa-oo--oh-oo-oh-oo-oh-oo-oh-oo-aa

Ignore the last post- I had a good amount to drink and my thoughts were super-concentrated right then- went on my rant.

Things are not bad-

Love is a battlefield, or something. Right?

Haha.

"And not all the prayers in the world could save us..."

So I told myself to stay far away from my blog whilst way wine-drunk. I also told myself to stay far away from my facebook as well- but that doesn't work out well. Anyway it's not like people read this. I don't mean to say that in a negative sounding way I only have one blog friend though who is very busy and doesn't need to worry about my ego-obsessed drunken ramblings but here goes. This is my blog and all.

So blogging is very indulgently voyeuristic- especially for me in my desperate chase for attention. I have this very bizarre universe. Seems bizarre to me, but maybe I'm just overthinking what's normal. In my dealings with the world- friends, family, random passers-by et cetera I have this mask- this almost reluctance though to deal with the universe. I can think of a billion brilliant, witty or even normal things to say behind a computer monitor or on a social networking site, but when I'm forced to deal with someone in person, that sort of shuts down- there is a physical and very real wall in my psyche- something I really have to struggle to defeat so that I can even speak to another human being. The reason I keep staying in the same line of work is because I know the speeches and behavior expected of me- especially in selling chocolate- I mean it's been like 8 years of my nine year work life. I just change the name of my employer but I give the exact same speech. The only thing I really feel I've ever received positive reinforcement on.

Now here is where I give the expected, mildly emo disclaimer that I am a whiny brat- though, maybe I'm not. Maybe I have some legitimate problems that I need to resolve and hopefully blogging can do that. I mean- I'm 25 years old and what do I have? I speak to my mom maybe once every six months if that much and it's always incredibly tense- my dad I see every second or third month and when I go there no one really seems to be interested except my youngest brother. My siblings don't really need me- which really is great- biological advantages and all and as far as friends go...I have three friends: two who are friends purely because we went to high school together (that may sound mean and they may argue that at first, but boiling it down that's truly all we have in common) and one other friend. That's it. I speak to one of those three maybe once every third day which means usually for three days I won't speak to another human being outside of myself- especially now that I work completely alone.

I have to say, mid exposition, that I've had somewhere around five glasses of wine- where normally one is enough to get buzzed and two is a good enough drunk. I guess we'll call it hurricane prep. So I apologize if this post is superfluous or obnoxious, but then for the three people who may stumble upon this, know that my life is constantly a search to improve. If now I'm adolescent and hyper emotional, the hope is that in time I will push through this veil.

Anyway, so back to the topic of me- as it always should be ;p- I get a massive amount of "me" time- time to really think about who I am and what I want from life. Now normally, this is a great thing- and right now it truly is the best thing, even if it doesn't feel like it. However for me, I feel like at 25 I should have something accomplished- some of this "finding myself" under my belt. Even if I'm not the shining academic I thought I would be- I expected to have something: some type of communication with my family, a friend or two who was able to invest something into my life, a job that I didn't mind going to long term, maybe a college degree or degree-in-progress-- at least not the same stupid dramas that plagued my mentality as a teenager. And that's part of the truly frustrating part- I still feel the same way the same discomfort with life that I did as a teenager- my logic tells me that it must be me somewhere- I don't believe superstitiously that life singled me out for terrible happenings. I feel like it's got to be something in my behavior or patterns of thought that keep bringing me back to what's making me crazy. I just can't figure out what that is.

The frustrating part is being surrounded by people who mean the very best and who honestly communicate that part to me, but people who can't/don't want to/aren't responsible for telling me what I'm missing in my behavior. Hell, I had my first boyfriend at 25 and he trashed me after a week- two days after my birthday without ever giving me a real, honest answer why. It's not like I'm new to being gay or that this is an expected period of growth for me as a gay individual et cetera. I've been going on dates with other men since I was 20 and none of them were interested in a second date except for two- one guy this past winter who I found out would go for anyone in the world who let him and this other guy who I think I acted as his rebound of desperation. I just wish one of these people who rejected me would tell me why- would tell me why I don't fit their standards-

I'm too honest when I drink and definitely too expository in my writing when drunk, but I just would like to figure out what is holding me back- and I just can't see it. It's not that I mind being on my own, but eventually I really would just truly love to have that one person in the world who will bother to listen to me- even if it's an occasional inconsequential rant. I worry often about dying alone- the truth is we all would like to die alone. No one wants to have loved ones witness their very weakest moments of life- no, dying alone doesn't frighten me. It's the living alone that terrifies me. The thought that if I had a heart attack in my bed that no one would notice for very many days. Until somebody thought it was weird my store hadn't opened for days or something. And that scares me- I've been in this apartment for eight months- only maybe a total of eight times has another human being been inside. A lot of that happened in the beginning at once.

Sure I'm being a little whiny, but I just want to know- If I'm meant to live alone, with only my books to keep me company- is that just my destiny, or is there something I can do- something I'm not seeing- that can provide what I'm looking for?

Indulge my Insanity

This was an interior monologue I had while in the midst of a two hour lull in my store where not a single person walked in. It started off as a short story in my head, but then it developed into a little bit of a self-indulgent, psychological rant. However, I thought it was still interesting:

There are those that say being alone is wonderful and freeing and there are also those who say loneliness is terrifying, isolating, maybe even maddening. I choose to throw my dice in the center. Maybe it's not all so easily geographic-- after all, loneliness is a human emotion- they tend to exist somewhere outside of the xy axis- maybe along some imaginary grid- maybe some type of asymptote (while we're being mathematical): always drawing closer to a zero point but never reaching it- so goes our understanding of emotions- particularly loneliness.

I first realized that I was alone as a child- maybe when I was four. For my birthday I had gotten a small collection of Dr. Seuss books from someone- who it was from is lost in the fog of memory and anyway it doesn't really matter. What's important is that from the beginning all I longed to do was take my collection of books and hide away somewhere from the world. To protect my little treasures from prying eyes and inquisitive tongues who would undoubtedly, in some way, intentionally or not, destroy my fantasy world, my paradise where I imagined each book a different universe with different rules and different ways to live. When my siblings were out with friends and family I would lock myself in a room, maybe a closet, even many times- under a bed just to indulge in my secret pleasure.

I was never any good with other people. As I grew older I would learn, by imitation and reasoning, how to interact in a socially beneficial way but as a child and even now in my true core I don't understand other people. I find their mannerisms, etiquette and the plethora of mysterious social rules frightening. When surrounded by people is the only time I truly feel alone-without even the soul of literature to guide me through the universe. I can 'get' literary characters- they tend to follow themes, motifs, patterns. And often they have a sort of supernatural relation to symbolism-- reflected in their lives and experiences. Very rarely do real people exhibit this sort of symbolic, metaphoric way of life. I think quirky book people and writers know what I mean-- if they are being psychologically honest that is. We grow up immersing our selves in a constructed literary world- this reflects itself into our self-image- where in raw form we may be nothing inherently special or symbolic, we thus find ways to develop that mystical, literary relationship with the world.

I think this is the origin of the purple thought concept- purple thoughts are those mental constructions between reality in it's starkness and our subliminal, character-influenced psyche. Brief escapes into self-indulgent, quasi-schizophrenic characters we build to lessen the isolation-part of the loneliness. Ideological bloodletting. As if a heroin junkie was able to ration his doses of the drug to satisfy his system without spiraling into excess- so is literature, symbolism, words- the life theatre of being influenced by these constructions- as well-- I break into a sweat as I write these words- my heart pounding in tremulous anxiety- in words I get the release I've never found in friends, drugs, sex. The guilty, almost masturbatory pleasure of freeing the hand that holds the pen. I'm writing on printer paper in my store- sprawled over the chipped marble counter tops- occasionally glancing up to be sure no one sneaked in without me hearing- no one is ever there though. Alone with pen and paper is the only time I am who I really am. When I'm not struggling to act in a way that's rational or consistent with society. Only now does my mind flow as fluidly as I pray my tongue could socially.

So in a word- I would say I'm alone. I find it freeing, wonderfully; I find it also terrifying, isolating, abandoning. I find it sad and pure, innocently tragic- my loneliness. But I also find it passionately inspiring, maddeningly addictive- and every second saturated with "me" and my sensory universe--

After some calls, I decided to go to the other side of the world.

I have decided to take the plunge- I've said many times how I'd love to go back to school and I've finally realized if I want to do something, I have to do it. Sure that sounds like a naive comment- of course it's up to me. That's what all the popular cliches say. But hearing something in theory and realizing it in practice requires a tremendous jump over an infathomable ravine.

To paraphrase Plath- intellectual pursuit is that panther that stalks me down. And yes, one day I will have my death of him.

I want to have an impact on my world- part of the struggle these last few years is deciding on a proper course of action. Of course, that's my fail-safe. I can always rely on being tempestuous with my whims- for me, it's safer in the wings of a hurricane. Commitment is a terrifying process for me. Anchors seem to me like chains. If I always change my end goal, I never have to worry about process I'm going through. Of course, that's an adolescent way to view things. However, I'm getting no younger. And intellectual faculties fade with disuse. Like a stagnant pond collecting mosquito eggs, so goes my brain.

So here I am- attempting to do something- the way I always do best: last minute, patchwork sort of hail Mary's. I really want to help troubled kids. I think healing the world is my calling. While I'd never say I had the most terrible life imaginable, I've been through enough that's left me strong enough to pass down something of what I learned. And that's what I'd like to do. Nobody was able to help me in my dark times, so I'd like to be there for others- to bear that torch in the darkness.

I write this down for me. I find it easier to post it on this website and for me to be able to reference all of my journal entries easily- not relying on any type of pretend organizational system I could create. The plus side of being online is that should anyone wander here and if they were so motivated to offer criticism on my thought processes they would be able to. Of course I write this almost very stream of consciousness. I do no editing, but for grammatical and spelling errors.

I've just finished off the bottle of Limoncello I had (recently I've been drinking more then I usually do- coming off an essential five month period of no liquor- because of my new forays into the social world. Liquor is an excellent coping mechanism to being asked to depart your bubble.)

That all being said, I'm in a good place. I'm excited for the future-

That boy is a monster.

Kind of bored at home- thinking/pondering/waxing self indulgently. Entertaining all sorts of pseudo-philosophy.

To point out to any potential stragglers- this blog isn't in existence to share what I think are brilliant ideas or to ruminate on my imaginary exciting life- but as some of you know I am obsessed- in all aspects of the word- with the process of self knowledge. And I'm a forcibly open creature about my thought process. So this blog is a diary of sorts to record my thoughts and come back to them later. I'm always open to an outside perspective-

So essentially I'm just in the process of having my quarter life crisis. I turn 25 in less than two weeks- just rethinking through all of my life decisions. Of course I have the psychological awareness to know that's essentially a fruitless and unnecessary endeavour. But being the wailing, emotional-junkie INFP that I am I need to self-reflect.

I graduated high school seven years ago- I was definitely one of those kids who knew academics but had a narrow view of the rest of the world (and I still probably do.) Now I look back and have moments of anger about losing my college scholarship and about the tempest that was me in my early twenties. I guess that's what they call finding oneself.

I always imagined the process would be beautiful- difficult but novel-worthy. Invoking images of the desert, sun setting, Rusted Root playing on a car radio. A truly touching story of a boy becoming a man. I was so focused on that image I neglected to see the clouds gathering in my own sky. The rain and lightning in the distance. The quiet rumbling of thunder. I'll be the first to admit that I have a flair for the dramatic and an almost-obsession with the beautiful and tragic but where I came from left no guidelines- no manual for living. I still fight all of my battles on my own but now I can see with greater self-awareness where I am going.

All neurotic pondering aside, I like being stormy.

It's so loud inside my head.

So- almost a year since my last post. This was supposed to be my great personal blog project. I guess when I was working the two jobs I let it go- and I let my life be run by my survival animal. But here we go again, let's express our inner thoughts.

Things have, as always, changed. I've since moved on my own- into a little closet in South Philly. Crackhead neighbors, Chocolate store antics and a social life remodel. I haven't written anything in over a year. I haven't felt very strongly about anything. Maybe that was sort of the result of an emotional overload that was building for a very long time. But I broke through some type of evolutionary mental boundary in my mind.

Anyway, I dislike transitions. I'm not so much a fan of these sort of blogs- reintroducing the reader (namely, myself) to the present; bridging the expanse from the past. I, as many are aware, am a creature of extremes. I exist in the far reaches of the continuum of existence. I am dead or alive. Never dying. I can be liminal, I can be vague and amorphus, but dull hypnotic sanity is not my game. I'd much rather wax self-indulgently in a barely visible blog in the intersphere of the web. I'd much more enjoy being the weird kid exulting his differences alone on a blog then just hoping for someone to pick it up. Whatever that means. I might link this to my facebook page- not really one for all the intellectual frotteurism exposing one's blog on the internet entails, but all the same- we all want to be noticed.

Let this blog be something that in some minor way- is a reflection of me.

Reposting some old stuff from an old blog i'm deleting.

Remember me in many years
When youth has turned to dust
For my memories at the end of time
Will carry little trust

Should everyone I know forget
About my simple rhymes
I know that heaven sings in chorus
Of legends in my lines

Set my pyre, let it go
Against the ocean’s winds
Know that I will wait forever
To see you all again

For who will share a little hope
With I who am afraid
That life in life will turn to be
A memory to fade


And another old one.


Here we are
like some crash of thunder
caught between the wind and rain
lost within this universe
I find myself again.

Stars do fall
when tempted so
by beauty on the land
and written through some place, I know
to touch the softest hand

And she who was a flash of white
I who was some sea
have travelled through the same old path
until we cease to be.

Oh, away with you, crazy winter. Welcome home, sun.

I'm so glad to be out of the everlasting gloom of life between November and March. That's always been a rough time of the year for me. I think doctor's call it Seasonal Affect Disorder, but every year since I was little that's been my dark matter days. The calendar draws all of the negativity in the world into my mind. But now, we're in spring. And my personality is turning back to it's summertime self. No more serious neuroses or personality conflicts (until next winter? Hopefully not.)

Winter's always been rough- all of the "family" holidays occur in that time. Which I think is a big part of my insanity. Holidays were never easy for us. Always having to choose which parent to be with on each day- knowing the one left out would be upset (whether they showed it or not.) Not something any kid should have to do.

But I'm growing up. And finding that many of the things that made me so angry as a kid and teenager are escaping my daily thoughts. I still remember some of that stuff and it still makes me sad sometimes, but I'm nowhere near as angry and volatile as I once was. I just want to have healthy relationships with the people of my past (particularly my close family members) and I want to move beyond the darkness.

My identity has changed immensely in the last few years as well. I've gone from being that awful and awkward id-driven teenager to what I hope will culminate in achieving my visions of who I am on the inside. Sure, I still write self-indulgent, emo-kid poetry. But that has gotten better too. I will one day write a book on being an awkward, crazy gay kid with a turbulent life. I'll one day write all the secrets and all of the meanings of my emo poetry.

I was looking in a mirror today and I really saw how much self-image dominates our psyche. The other day I was looking through old photos with my little brother and he said that the one picture looked nothing like me now. Of course, this was one of possibly seven pictures taken in my teens. When I see myself in my mind's eye, I still see that person. And I'm not anymore. And to be struck with that hammer of self-awareness is an awe-inspiring feeling. When I was younger I used to just pray and pray that I would change. Of course, I never for a second stopped thinking about being someone different. And I never accepted, on the inside, who I was at the time. But I've managed to shape my life into being what I wanted it to be. Without any self-delusions. I think.

Anyway, one day I'll write a book about it. About my true life. And about how things really happened and why things were the way they were. But that will be for later. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying how beautiful my life is right now. I have a super tranquil job at a bookstore. I read throughout the day. The only stress this job creates is my fear of being in trouble for just standing around all day looking at books and magazines. Everyone at my job loves me, I think. But we all know I'm wonderfully charming. I think I'm working on re-building some relationships that were really affecting me. The weather is beautiful today.

Now we enter into the productive part of my year. Away over-indulging emotional beast of wintertime.