My Journal, Part 2 (1998)

35: 12/25/98: On Christmas, a Reflection

I listen to my brother's voiced adolescent angst, and
I can see my own hypocrisy, as well as everyone's. The
circle of hypocrisy. Inescapable.
Truthfulness is itself oxymornonic.
Unfortunate.
Can't look there for constancies or even
things to believe in.
Can't find them there. Analytic, unreasonable.
Not so much unreasonable as I'm incredulous.
I am not very often, so I'd like it to mean something when
I actually am.
Main problem with us: taking ourselves too seriously.
Case in point: just think of anything.
Now that I reflect on thought, not on love, it's a little
less emotional, more thoughtful. As I bash thought.
But that's not what I mean to do, I just consider it.
Reiterate: look at me, I'm different (just like everyone else).
Pick your battles. Deviate where it's meaningful.

Anyway, that tirade is expired. Verbosity there is inane. Of course,
it's like that everywhere, just comes sooner there.
Of course it does.
Of course.

So there's most of my year, the transition from floating alone in the void
to drifting accompanied. And it makes me happy. Full circle, maybe that
doesn't make sense here. I lose my lyricism (or what maybe I thought was
lyrical) when I lose my pain, so that's my writing's excuse. The promise
of change. Constancy there. And again it's paradoxical. Solving
unsolvable problems, or at least trying.

They all said it was me. They were probably right, but she knew better.


34: 11/22/98: I Left Some

I left some of myself, maybe more than I thought I would,
there tonight.
I didn't mean to walk out, maybe just to lighten.
And I got enlightened.
I didn't know it would hurt me so much.
I didn't know I felt so much.
I just didn't know. And that's what I knew then.
And so that's what I said then.
Having had some time to think about it, I was wrong.
First impression was off, second overtakes it.
And she. Willing.
Me, out of naivete, or maybe I hadn't searched myself the right way
quite yet. Reflecting,
she's right.
I wasn't, and maybe I won't have to pay permanently.
But can she be accepting under the circumstances?
Maybe this will strengthen what there was.
I just didn't know what I know now.
It just took a few hours, that's all. With her,
that's probably
all
it should.

33: 11/16/98: Having Gone

Having gone about a month without any of this.
I guess I just didn't need the typical emotional
release.
It's all being bottled, or maybe the current died down.
I just hope I don't get too caught up in now.
It's killed me before, killing flux, and so I hope
it's ever-changing, or else it's not going to be interesting.
I mean, maybe for you it might have to remain the same.
But I'm not there yet; I'm still too immature to be
comfortable with stagnancy. Or maybe it's not that.
I don't know, but do I ever?
Matters of the life, you escape me.
Or so I've thought.


32: 9/30/98: Amidst

The pitfalls of opening yourself up to anyone
or everyone, but they're not
holes
I made. Or anything quite like that.
Conflict.
And then more conflict.
Unnecessary, the sides aren't sides, and
the words aren't real.
As usual, oh-so-unusual I sitting on the side.
Naivete disguised as mistrust,
Inexperience masked by cynicism: I've known these
things- they used to be my toys.
And they still are at my disposal, and while
I may not use them all the time any more,
I've known them intimately enough to use them
the way I need to.
Need.
Whatever that means. As usual, the ignorance reeks.
Or maybe that's just me I smell.
And she's there.
Cliche, I'm your best friend, and I've been.
Perfectly masterminded nothing, it's do-what-
you-can. And this is how I live.
At least, that's what I call it.
Amidst everything, I don't stand still,
none of this "here I stand" garbage, you
have to keep moving, rethinking,
re-evaluating it all. Take it all in.
Consider everything, as much as you can.
I've missed too much not to think like that.
And then I sit and rest far too long and as usual
forget.
My other demonic friend. I have many.
The smell of smoke, and the past beckons.
Security of that. But it was far less interesting
then, you must admit.
I try.
And I do.
Usually.


31: 9/8/98: Back to School, Too

It's ironically three AM.
For the first time in many nights, I'm alone
but lonely? That's my demon; I avoid it as much
as I can.
The same thing happens again, and I spout pseudo-
intellectualism, as I have before and can't help but
continue.
The cycle of cyclic thought: I embody it, I am it.
I take comfort in the thought that isn't everyone else, too?
They're affected by it. Just like me. Who'd have ever thought
they'd be just like me? Not me.
Of course, you know what you're talking about, and I have
my own little take on it, another thing I can't help but have.
Relentless (drivel, is it?) emotional outpouring, the
would-be quintessence of my oh-so-idealistic soul.
We do have souls, don't we, mom? You told me we do.
Of course it took someone else to demonstrate it to me.
She means to me: all that is good with the world, the nice part,
(just like Arnold in Twins) filter out all that garbage.
She can't help but have (who can help?) the occasional lapses
into that deep dark zone out of which I recently crawled, though as
always, hers is custom tailored for her. I don't think I helped
dig it, I think I just shined a flashlight into it. For whatever
that's worth. Which is usually as good as it comes.
Time passes, and I reach for the old standby; bet on a winner
(my air conditioner is loud and obnoxious).
I recite adages like I wrote them.
Maybe I thought I did, many I may as well have.
I'm not -that- creative.
Obviously, the visual arts aren't my forte, in any sense of the word
(which?).
The bad times are long gone, it's the era of good feelings, isn't it?
Mental party time (it's excellent, I remember).
The interconnectedness of it all.
Weren't you thinking that when you were talking to me?
Weren't you thinking about how you could relate such-and-such to
so-and-so?
And didn't you do it?
What kept you?
The same thing that kept me, isn't it? It keeps us all.
Nah, we're not -that- interconnected.
Well, she and I, maybe, but the rest of you have to wait before we compare
our links to the collective unconscious. Are they links or notes?
I have to get up in a few hours, this helps me sleep.
Am I suddenly entrusted with the DJ-ship (!) of this radio station
(they're playing the very songs I want to hear) or is it all part of the
good ol' interconnectedness?
Maybe this is what everyone listening to the radio at 3:13am on a Tuesday
morning wants to listen to. (Is that solely consisting of me?)
I'll see her later today. Will she realize her importance?
Of course, the eternal struggle with her, this time an unspecific her.
Just a generalized depersonalized her.
Now to talk more about the specific her...


30: 8/17/98: Return to Would-be Eloquence

And now back in my "home,"
In the plush climate control,
I get some time
(or maybe, am forced to take some time)
alone.
Of course, we all know how I get when I'm
alone.
Considering that universal demon who manifests
himself (herself?) inside us: it's my past.
I guess it took me longer than usual to mature.
Embarassing, and I can't believe I did what I did.
What was I thinking?
I was only off by 2? 3? years.
That's all it took.
And I think I made up for it,
The amazing accelerated experiences of first
being away from "home."
And the developments of emotional attachement,
their severance, and now their renewal,
better than ever.
Did it help me not to see things then?
I can't imagine a "now" having done all 2 years
before I have.

I'm not that sick anymore, maybe I just have
boredom.
I'm too lazy to call my friends. Isn't that
representative
of something?
And I've never been so excited about a new car.
And I'm working the whole time to make up for
my terrific summer.
She's lonely, and I am, but it's only time and space,
not emotion.
Those years ago, I'd say I was beaten by physicality,
now, blindly following ideas of relativity of perception,
I oh-so-intelligently dismiss it and say I can wait.
Which I can, I have.
Of course, it didn't turn out so well that time, but well, this is, well,
different.
Much different.
Isn't it always?
Variety is the, the rule.
I'm emotionally flatlining, at zero, not on one side: it's the
loneliness that was conquered so well the past few months.
It's all about timing, and I lost my watch.

So I'll see her again in a little while, in the meantime,
I have to find ways of achieving all those wonderful things
I, I, I, I want to give to her.
There's my proof to myself that I am alive and well. At least, well.
For the most part, I'll believe it.
Funny about love.
But maybe I just won't admit it.


29: 6/25/98

Nothing for a while, no news
is good news.
I wasn't there once,
I was sleepy; mono does that
to you.
I just hope she isn't worried about me.
That's the problem. Role
reversal.
Forgive my lethargy, it's only temporary and
clinical.
I won't copy your abbreviation, only echo it.

28: 6/4/98

Now that I have something wonderful,
characteristically
I begin to ruin it.
I don't want to, as it is so
great, so
fulfilling, so
fantastic, such a
fairy tale.
Monstrous I doing it again.
Now it's all about her, as am I.
What can she do, say, feel?
I waste my effort on frivolous
actions, words, emotions,
because I am paralyzed, mute, cold,
to what I really have.
Senses deceive me for a split second of
indiscretion.
I don't feel like that all the time,
I'm not like that (so I truly hope).
My attempted lyrical, metaphorical letter to her
to ease my pain, to try to make up for my
poor: timing, taste, you know the rest.
Inklings of self-pity, I can't allow them either.
She has given me everything,
I want more.
She has done everything for me,
I ask more.
I can't ask that of her, she's not some
commodity or security,
(though she may be in other senses)
cliche: she's priceless,
but she is.
The way she [anything she does] I love.
And no, I can't change that little bit for
her.
I try.
Trying isn't good enough, at least not this time.
This time of importance I can't just try.
Yoda to Luke when Luke says the same thing.
cliche: he's right.
Can she have me back?
Not the same way, probably, for I've spoiled that.
I can't ask that.
But I'll be happy any way I can have her back,
I really would.
Not that she's lost, and not that the way
she told me I lost her is the point,
but the way that's beyond how I lost her,
the feelings behind it.
All this to say I'm sorry.


27: 6/2/98

Settled for this bit of the summer, I am
No longer alone.
I make her nervous and doubting,
But no doubt I can reassure her.
I needed that reassurance, and she
Gave it to me.
Cliche, but it's really great.
Seething optimism again, is that
Really how I am?
My old facade merely that?
Must be, (wouldn't that be nice)
And they keep on going.
It's so great to
Have something again, to
Have someone again.
The specifics make it even
nicer.


26: 5/30/98

So now I'm back in Baltimore, but alone.
Every time the apartment complex's door opens,
My heart jumps.
A car pulled up and a figure got out, walked toward
the complex. Too bad it wasn't her.
Loneliness is inversely proportional to proximity.
I'll see her soon; I have to.
It's one thirty, and I'm lonely.


25: 5/22/98

From Los Angeles, a week on the road through the US.
Three thousand miles give you time to think.
I'm right.
Problems of the past gone.
Now what do I have to worry about? I'm sure I can find something.
Or maybe I really don't have to.
The Grand Canyon really is,
but don't get me started on Oklahoma City.

24: 5/10/98

It's been two weeks and some since I last needed my creative
Outlet.
What do I do now that all that I've asked for I have?
The last few lines that Gene Wilder says in Willy Wonka... come to mind.
The sweet melody of optimism replaces the old drone of my past.
The fact that my computer doesn't work doesn't bother me.
I have other things on my mind.
The reconstruction of my self had ended; it's complement begins.
Sometimes she sings so loud.
Without having to mean to.
She lets me sing so loud, which is what I wanted.
For the first time in a long time
I'm genuinely, thoroughly
excited.
That's more towards what I think the meaning of life should be,
anyway.


23: 4/22/98

It's too bad she had to go home
I really wanted her to stay, but
maybe it's better this way for her.
Is it time I had some time alone?
(I usually feel fine).

The simple, beautiful two words:
don't leave.
Maybe last time
I left one time too many,
next (this?) time I won't.
It's time.

An update on the old she and I
remember how I miss it all.
I suppose the last few days
have reminded me, too.
A warm body is nice, but my,
how the warm heart and mind
amplify.

And me, the beacon for the indecisive:
I've made my decisions and await
yours, slow in coming, but I understand.
I always understand.

Yeah, sure there's always a light on, just sometimes
it's too far in the distance to see. My night
vision is not very good.
Please hand me that flashlight (I prefer it to
a candle).

and thanks, sleeper on clean sheets.
But it's your fault they're clean.

I miss her already, but
I don't want to be
manipulative.
We'll figure it out:
how can we not?
the wants and shoulds have lost relevance,
it's all the same.
Maybe.

I hope.
Better: I want.


22: 4/19/98

The entries come rapid-fire,
as has my life.

Now that the other string is cut,
I'll wait until she's ready,
and hopefully, it'll be with
me.
I'm so happy that someone wants
me
to be there. I will.

Did I do this right? Did we?
I think so.

I feel so much better now.


21: 4/18/98

It's even good with no
strings
attached. It's easier this way now.
I understand, I really do this time.
A question I can answer and be sure.
I don't understand the bigger picture,
but I'm not complaining.

It's all in search of a new she, and look,
there she is: resolution.

The sun is shining brightly, there's a cool breeze, and I'm happy.
A week ago, I was a year behind. This week, I caught up.

she did it


20: 4/17/98

So we were right all along, it was she.

Too bad we had to taint it, or did we?
A string of good and a touch of bad leaves me more confused than before.

Why not me?


19: 4/12/98

Que cera cera.
I'm so annoyed.
Whatever is so right.
Just tell me how to find the right kind of person; maybe I don't need a
relationship
right now, but at least let me play.


18: 4/11/98

Tonight I ran down memory lane.
Cataloging my life for the past few years brought with it a characteristic
showing of
emotion.
Ticket stubs from movies, sometimes two for the same, and museums; I've
done a lot of
stuff.
Of course, I already knew I did a lot of
stuff.
I thought I'd like to come home again; I want to be back at my real home.

My parents again.

This place reminds me of the old -me-. I don't like the old me, back in
Baltimore, the new me. Only a few more hours.

And, there is hope, and there's even reason for hope.

Matthew Sweet, you're right, but are the piles of circumstantial evidence
enough?

And, someone else wanted to make me happy. That in itself does.
It's too easy.
So much for negativity.


17: 4/9/98

So it's a little better,
Does she know what I know?
Or do I continue my overanalysis?
Is another she right, is her guess better than mine?
And why do I love crypticism so?
I feel like I should be living a life prescribed by
fortunes in fortune cookies.
The mystery of other people
and the question of emotion.
Helpless and helpful, I sit.
Oh, so idiosyncratic I.
But is that really what I mean?
When you have to beat them off with a stick, then you'll know you're
doing something right.
Or is that not what defines it?
No, no, it's not. When you don't have to beat them off with a stick, it's
then.
So the old she found somebody else, and the old she regains her emotional
dependence, which the old she denies in the way characteristic of the old
she. At least the actions of the old she are now independent of the new
me.
the possibilities of a new she are exciting;
the probabilities of a lack thereof, depressing.
Enya from the next room over, and I, playing the cliche, dream.
Have all my decisions been bad ones? Can I actually trace it all
back to a few key errors? Or is it not that simple, a compound
of mistakes?
Shambles one minute, unbounded hope the next. I don't want a dampened
emotional cycle, do I? The inherent artificiality scares me.
Dependence is something I save for people, not things.
If only it were that simple. I value my hesitance to move that
recently-displaced dependence to some recently-discovered chemicals.

My parents.

The old she, a new she, the supporting cast: dramatis personae is right.

melancholia strikes again, back to the neutrality of averaging a week of
emotion. Thank you, and you, and you. I have neglected.

Good-bye, confused but happy, twisted but unwinding, quick but getting
quicker, soft and getting softer, old she. Enjoyed your stay.

Now for a greeting...?


16: 3/28/98

I'm calmed down, and maybe I'm thinking a little bit more rationally.
It's nice out again, and this time it's helping.
I'm on the upswing of the periodic emotion.
Why do I care so much about judging?
They're right, maybe my overanalysis handicaps me. But I know no other
way.
Is that a valid excuse?


15: 3/24/98

Having a good week in the sun didn't help me with loneliness.
I want to figure things out yet again; I'm eternally figuring things
out.
I want another "she"
Have I closed all the doors?


14. Questionable Circumstances 3/12/98

I wonder what things mean.
Do I overemphasize the small?
Is it all in vain?
Ah, well, resolution will come.


13. Back to Normal 3/7/98

With my inhibitions lowered,
I have no one with whom I can
use my new-found openness.
Too bad, though, as I long to be elevated
to a status shared by many a code-named
wonder.
The phone rang; it's not for me, it's never for me.
I question repulsiveness in its most literal meaning.
I can't help falling into the depths of before
when I look at things.
The taste of "not quite" lingers on my tongue.
Instincts gain more credibility.
Why did you (singular and plural) leave me?
Deserted, I sit
and wonder about
what really might be wrong with
me.
Diagnosis: hell if I know.
I try, usually really hard. There's something
intangible
that's missing. I feel
incomplete
without the magical quality.

My versatility is a fatal flaw.
I can't commit to a style, only a person.
I grasp for the fleeting moment,
only to feel it slip away like an greasy rope.
Grease from my hands, but also:
it was already there.


12. Optimism 3/5/98

And now, I want.
Surprisingly enthusiastic,
I want to walk the streets of New York at night, then be
whisked away by a limo, wherever I want to go.
I want to live life.
I want to ride through Los Angeles, during a warm summer night,
in a flashy convertible.
I want to live life.
I want to eat that perfect picnic on the sunny day on
the National Mall, or maybe a beach, or it doesn't matter where
as long as it's sunny.
I want to maintain this mood.
I want to live life.
I want to do everything, everywhere, all at once, fast, fast, fast.
Stuff, stuff, stuff.
Simplistic? Not for me.
It's here, mine for the taking,
What the fuck have I been doing all this time?
I want to go to London & Paris, finally,
and break free of this burden of shelter.
Oh, yes, I need a lover who won't drive me crazy [etc].
But for now, I'll compromise.
I want to drape my feet over, say, Angel Falls, or
wherever, whatever.
How long can I hold this surge of feeling?
Emotion, please don't be fleeting.
I would scream the words to the soundtrack of my life right now.
Yes, it's beginning to take shape again.
Can I really convince myself of all this?
Damn, I hope so.


11. Back to the Melodrama 3/2/98

No longer does the rain amuse me.
I'm tired of the dreary dampness.
It's a no show, and I go so slow.
The transformation...(if only it
were of my reputation). It's not
so easy to change;
rearrange my life, you say.
There's no way, at least, well, maybe, I guess.
It's not so easy to change.
you are so welcome for pointing out the Obvious.
I'm quick to defend my defenselessness.
And I'm envious of your relentlessness.
trite, I say, i am, and I am.
I worry that my emotions are cliche.
It's all about the cliche, isn't it though?
ah, why won't she talk to me, who(m)ever she is?
at least, I hope she's out there.
maybe she just doesn't realize it yet.
maybe I just don't.
but I have eroded into giddy optimism.
make it stop before I get & stay happy.
no, don't.
maybe the sun will return.

I hope the sun returns.
I'm getting sick of the rain.
As much as I like to get wet and stomp through the puddles,
I've lost my fancy.
(doo-do-doo-do here comes the sun, I say...it's alright)
(ditto that sentiment)
sniffle, sniffle. am I holding back the torrent of emotion?
or do I just have a cold and my eyes are irritated?
I don't think I want to know.
Nah, there are so many good things out there.
or so I've heard--so they tell me.
& that's all I ask for this time, someone new.
how pathetic.
ouch.
and the circle of pessimistic self-degredation continues.
I think it was a figure 8 for a while.
and I know it was completely different for a while.
please let it return there.
(think happy thoughts)
and I don't want to become the prozac posterboy.
maybe I'll haveta.
or maybe I'll get motivated enough to change things myself.
ack, there's that creeping optimistic tone.
is this a call for help? you'd better fucking believe it.
but it just might be directed toward myself most of all.
don't I love me? I can't remember. I have, at some point or
other.
all it takes / took is / was a little self confidence
it's hard when your confidence stems from outside;
do I have to manufacture it all myself?
that's annoying.
but the sun will shine someday soon.
(there will be joy in Mudville--reverse the ironic (but not for -that- reason) story?)
I yawn and need sleep.
i'll make up a life for a while.
but I like my real one enough.
it's annyoing sometimes.
especially when you like people so much...
yet have really set yourself up not to.
the frustration,
too little motivation,
and so here I am.


10. Rebirth of Cynicism? 2/28/98

Again:
Faith lost.
Needs replacement.
Change the damn channel.
I think the batteries in the remote control are dead
and I'm too lazy to get up and do it
myself.
And the cliche goes on, but fortunately, the metaphor won't.
Oh, and somebody please tell me what I did wrong.
Or at least point me in the right direction.