I really have no idea what to write about. I am totally blank. Blank. Nothing. Well, actually, I'm going to admit right off the bat-that last article was faux-happy. It was, dammit! I'm not happy. I realized that yesterday while drinking coffee. All of my life-changing realizations happen to come to my mind when I'm drinking coffee, which just supports what I've been saying to the Earth's people all along: coffee is integral to human survival. But that's besides the point. I need my coffee. That is also besides the point. My point is... I'm not happy. This place is killing me (hey, quote: 'This wallpaper is killing me. One of us has to go.'-Oscar Wilde's last words). The little boy sitting in the only lit room in the back of the theater of my mind that controls the lights and sound has been gagged and beaten. ('The lights are all red, the poets are dead, and there are no norths.'-American Sonnet).
First off, this place is sterile. I spend my days aching for human contact (not that, you sick, perverted freaks, I know exactly what you're thinking, mwahaha). All my friends in Boston went from signing their letters 'Love, Brandypoo' to 'luv, brandy' to 'bye.' My friends here don't get attached because moving is just way too common. They're all like fucking war veterans. Best friends move away and they just don't care, its expected, sort of kind of. Then again, what's so great about attachment? Buddha hated attachment. Buddha said attachment was the root of all evil and hurt. Then again, Buddha also said to women 'Hey, if you follow my beliefs, you'll be born male in your next life,' so maybe I shouldn't go on what Buddha said. Damn transient truth! Damn it all!
This place is conservative. I hate it. I hate McCain and I hate Bush and all of their little anti-me policies. I expect Jack McCain to become my ultra-enemy in later life, he the politician, me the goddamn tree-hugger, and expect him to arrest me for doing nothing wrong. This is the last bastion of the Republican: the children of businessmen and soldiers. The word 'fag' isn't even treated with the same caliber as the word 'asshole,' its like a word you use when you don't want to swear too much but you still want to condemn somebody. All of it pisses me off. All of it. The school handbook doesn't even treat racism with the same caliber as having a fight, let alone mention homophobia. And I have to hide from my friends. I talk metaphorically about being gay using terms I made up with friends who are fine with it to talk in front of friends who aren't fine with it. It's pathetic. We use words like 'Apple Juice,' and 'Canadian Bacon.' I use them in front of people who daily try to convert me to Mormon-ism and campaign against the use of coffee (nooo! my beloved coffee! you can take my liberty but you're NOT TAKING AWAY MY COFFEE!!! NOOO!!!). It's awkward. I really don't know how I manage.
Then again, I've led a relatively blissful gay life. After I came out for the first time, my best friend's first words were 'Cool! Who do you like?' And this was in eigth grade. Then I come here. 'Biloxi Blues,' some play that touches on issues like racism and homophobia, was put on by the Thespian Society. At every single point where they use a racist slur, call somebody a fag, or do something else up like that, the audience erupted into laughter. ('shit i need to breathe'-Malkia Amala Cyril).
Actually, I don't know why I bother complaining anymore. I don't. I'm totally out of it right now, staring only into the sweaty blackness that is the outside city, the neon lights, the Boulevard Hotel sign, blushing. School is over soon. I have finals and I don't do anything more for the year. And I can't stand this. My mind keeps jumping the gun and thinking that this is the week after next. I've been subconsciously writing June 2 as my date on all my papers for the past week, I noticed that today. Keep in mind that it's May 11 right now. Aaaahhhh.
(meep meep) IS ANYBODY GOING TO THE BENNINGTON COLLEGE JULY PROGRAM?
And to all those people who I forgot to email back, I'm sorry. I don't have any time. I say sorry for too many things. Probably because I always feel like it's my fault. While I write this I'm continually turning around, looking for my parents to stand in the doorway of the upper right hand corner of the room, directly in back of the computer, just waiting for them to scream something, anything except 'Go to bed.' I live in a state of continual guilt. One thing is just the continuation of the dirty thing before it. I never start clean.
I got new shoes. They're green suede (despite the fact that I'm against using suede or leather products. There are no guys shoes in this entire country that are not made with animal products, and, hey, yknow, if you're gonna rob a bank, rob a big one) and they've got giant shoelaces. But I refuse to wear them until I leave for vacation. Scared that I'll soil them with here. I need new things. I want my past back. I need my past back. I'm scared that I'll visit my friends in Boston and they'll be like 'What the fuck is this? Where's our Mike?' And it's gonna be painful, and I'll never be able to visit them or see them again, just because it would be awkward. Everything in my life is awkward. Society is awkward. I just need to break these chains ('Will our heroes shimmy out of their chains in time before the ticking of the clock becomes the splattering of their heroic heads?'-Melissa) get a break, break loose, gimme a break, break something, brake.
I don't refer to people as 'mine' anymore. Before it was 'my Brandy,' and 'my Jesse,' and 'my Brad,' and such but now it's isolated. 'Christina' and 'Sam' and 'Christa' and 'Kristin' and 'Joe' and 'Jon' and 'Kaili' and 'Teresa' and 'Anjie' are all isolated incidents. I used to hug people I knew in the halls every morning and every 2:30 PM, before and after parties, before and after movies, and any time in between when it was needed. I hug no one now. I trust no one now. I'm not even walking on soft ground, this is fucking water. ('Soft ground, politics, inside, dealing tricks.'-Naked Raygun) Actually, I hugged someone last week. It was a half-assed hug, not a real hug, like one of those hugs that happen when the wind seems to blow and you can feel your chest getting cold.
And here's me puttering around my brain in my goddamn wings trying to sound like whatever. I'm not. I'm writing down whatever comes to my head, I really am. I refuse to erase anything on this page, or any other page.
I can't see remembering any of these people in the future. They'll be dents in the carapace of my mind. Gone except for a few physical reminders: height, mosquito bites, gaunt-ness. 'I teeter between tired and really really tired.'-Ani DiFranco, Swan Dive.
I want my old friends
I want my old face
I want my old mind
Fuck this time and place
-Ani DiFranco, Out of Habit
The other day I almost said 'That's so gay.' I thought about it for awhile, in the Botanical Gardens, throwing bread at turtles. Everyday I become more like them, them, the enemy, the dark side. I never chose to be gay. I have no qualms about it, it's just that everybody hates gay people for some reason or another. So far I haven't heard one good reason about it.
The only one that came close was 'It's against my religion,' which is stupid, because even though Leviticus 18:22 (ha! I know my Bible, god dammit!) says 'And you shall not sleep with a man as with a woman, for it is an abomination,' it also says 'And you shall not shave your facial hair.' In the same chapter. The vast majority of Christians I have ever met have no facial hair. What the hell is going on here, anyway? I don't think it's at all concerning who's gay and who's not, it's a simple issue of American fascism. People want scapegoats, people want reasons, and people want enemies. Most Americans are characteristically sheep (remember the Milgram Experiment?).
And the Bible isn't some fucking salad bar either; you don't pick and choose what you want. You follow it or you don't follow it. So maybe that last sentence just offended every gay Christian out there; okay, well, that's fine with me. 'God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, the murderers of all murderers, comfort ourselves? What was once the holiest of all the world has been bloodied under our knives.?-Nietzsche.
I find it endlessly amusing that seniors, in their yearbook quotes, would write 'God bless!' and then underneath it write a quote from Nietzsche. Yknow, the other day, I noticed one thing: we have alot of cute guys at this school. I mean people always say it to me, and I guess I just sorta passed it up. But yesterday, while looking through the yearbook, it was like-wow. 'The Realization,' but it was slightly unnerving to know how long you can possibly go without noticing anything around you. Actually, maybe not. Ugh, I have to consider the fact ('consider the lilies...' Fahrenheit 451) that all my friends (alot of them, anyways) are leaving and there's nothing I can do to stop them short of chaining them to a building, which would probably not work anyway due to the invention of chainsaws. Ugh. I don't wanna deal with this right now.
'It was always a bizarre spectacle, but no one ever, ever, ridiculed the Teapot Kid.'