I'm overdue for one. What to write about? Well, there's:
Where is Chad? He hasn't posted anything in a while. I miss him; his journal entries were my favorites along with Mogul's.
I finally found a download of Presque Rien with subtitles, but it unfortunately sucks so far (about half way into it). I can't relate to it. First, they're in paradise France, where nobody makes assumptions of people's sexual orientation and guess that when two guys are together, they're boyfriends. Then, they meet very awkwardly. (Something along the lines of "I've been watching you." "I know; I've been watching you, too." "I want to kiss you." "Go ahead." *they start making out*) Finally, they act like they love each other, but every time they're together, they're just fighting. This is a major disappointment. I'm still going to finish it, though.
I went to the National Art Gallery in DC yesterday with my dad. That was fun; new exhibitions. FUCK YEAH!!! I saw a Jackson Pollock painting and thought: if you could see a Merzbow song, that's exactly what it would look like. There were also some interesting modern art works that I didn't understand at all, some Picasso sketches that I loved, and some boring Baroque drawings. We skipped the Rennaisance bronzes because I got tired of seeing things and we were pretty hungry. Anyway, the NAG also has the only Leonardo Da Vinci painting in the continent and (my personal favorite) The Baptism of Christ. (Leonardo was also gay, BTW.)
I have an idea for a novel: an agendered (Russian) anarchist who believes that it's God. It tries to liberate people in a city state, despite being an introvert:*
Zogine sat on his small hill. He looked down in all directions, first to his left, then his right, before him, and behind. He was aware of the shape of the rock. He fully acknowledged how much space it occupied–how much of the world it was. He understood that it was imitating the massive mountains of which it merely saw silhouettes on the horizon and that it would never achieve their size and magnificence.
All this, he knew, but couldn’t accept, not knowing why the hill wasn’t a mountain. Why was it created just close enough to one to know what it would never be? Why didn’t the creator put it in a flatland, where there would be nothing else to attract the reverence of the surrounding environment, which seemed to exist only for the purpose of supplementing that which was higher?
It seemed impossible to Zogine, the existence of a landmark that seemed infinitely large, urging its small, natural servants to imitate them–a feat that they will never be able to do.
Relevant to writing, I also made a poem about my situation with Brad (called "The Magician"):
Once there was a man, who had traveled every trail,
Pleasing one with magic that could not be countervailed.
His shows were filled with fun and life that seemed to never sear.
But every night he stayed awake, torturously ailed,
Wishing one wish that after years would persevere:
The thing he truly wanted, but couldn’t make appear.
Last night, I dreamt that I was seeing Brad sleeping and smiling, dreaming about me. Weird, right? Well, I'm not supersticious, so I'll assume it meant nothing.
Wow. I didn't know I had so much to write about.
*"There are thus two elements in the tendency in question: the wish not to
be seen, and the wish to be distant or inaccessible; some-times the accent is on the one, sometimes on the other." Essays on Applied Psycho-Analysis by Ernest Jones, M.D. (1923)