I had thought that I’d lost my interest for writing because life had turned fun and exciting and I have little to complain about. I had lost a potent muse: discontent. While that is indeed a factor there is another factor yet, and that’s that I’ve begun experiencing life in ways that are harder to verbalize. Only in my old introverted world was it simple enough to philosophize upon. I was blind to its complexities.

Again it’s like a dance. When you’re preoccupied with the steps you feel eloquent–steps are easy to describe, demonstrate, diagram. But the DANCE….the process…the intoxication the connection the rush the trance the serenity the exhilaration of sweeping a girl into your rhythm…how do you capture that with words? I no longer believe that’s possible. You can only approximate with grossly inadequate circumlocutions such as this.

I’ve lost faith in the power of words, because new angles that are beyond it are drawing the focus of my energies.

3 main aspects of living: domestic, social, professional.

Typical suburban life spatially segregates all 3, making it a chore to transition between them. IMO this plays all kinds of subtle head tricks with people; their everyday lives basically split into 3’s, no overlap, no continuity. Put on one persona for work, another for the bars, yet another for home. Existential confusion brews.

met a girl at the mall last week. she was with family; sister and aunt. they were Californians. spoke of moving to new places, exploring the city. i talked about how impractical my move was. she said “the brave don’t live long, but the cowards never live.” she was rather timid. a dreamer. moved by the lofty wisdom of the books she’s read. vulnerable. hoping for fate to come sweep her up if she only believed in the right things.

“Naturally she had not realized it until now. How could she have? The goals we pursue are always veiled. A girl who longs for marriage longs for something she knows nothing about. The boy who hankers after fame has no idea what fame is. The thing that gives our every move its meaning is always totally unknown to us.”
- Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Yes I know now to be wary of ideas that I’m tempted to bring into my world view, because so often they are enticing not for their profundity, but for the lightness I feel as they drape veils of wisdom over my flaws. So while I do find these lines beautiful and true, I know that I’m drawn to them at this particular juncture in part because I have no plans come June. Goals may be foolish, but they are still good to have.

“…She would have liked to tell them that behind Communism, Fascism, behind all occupations and invasions lurks a more basic, pervasive evil and that the image of that evil was a parade of people marching by with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison. But she knew she would never be able to make them understand. Embarrassed, she changed the subject.”

- The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

sometimes, the people who love you, and especially if you love them back, get in your way.

a kid shouts dissent. instigates. rebukes the world and its pedantic meekness. with deliberate and increasing recklessness. in part in beckoning for worthy teachers. capable of showing where he’s gone astray.

to change others, yes. but in hopes of being changed.

though if the only worthy teacher is experience. then isn’t recklessness the way?

W: what ever happened to all the good men? where did they all go?

L: well, all the good men that once were, they started listening to what women were saying they wanted in men, and in short time those good men were no longer good men but sycophants.

So. It used to be this type of self-loathing that would brew in my head as recently as October. Well I’ve found the name of that nameless fear, and it was so simple and trivial that I went and forgot it already. I won’t be needing to write this kinda stuff anymore.

October 5th, 2007

you say that i’m eloquent and have a great sense of humor. you say that my presence arouses the curiosity of those around me. and you say that i’m all right.

but i’m not. i carry scars that only i know. they run deep into my conscience. sometimes i halter and sometimes i shy away. sometimes i let opportunities slip by. i’m afraid, that i don’t live up to that image of a grown child who knows no fear that i sometimes manage to project.

when i’m on a roll i’m on a roll. yet i’m conscious of it. conscious of the contrast it creates against my other, less than confident moods. and i go with it, as much in nervous attempt to maintain this reminder of who i used to be–who i’m supposed to be–as to just be who i am. i’ll make you smile. i’ll show you fresh angles to approach old topics. dispel the nauseating nonsense of human behavior with a few truths fundamental to all psyches. through a few light words over music while we dance the lindy. and only i know that this mood is precarious. that only yesterday i had played the silent, disinterested party amidst new company because of some stupid, nameless fear. and that my confidence bears scars that i need to be on guard against. scars bore deep into me long ago.

they say that hardship makes you stronger. but it can also cripple you. it makes you stronger only if you’ve triumphed.

they say to never blame the past for things of the present. but that’s only because it’s nonconstructive, not because the past is really ideal in ways you can not yet see.

not poverty. not illness. my struggle was formless, not nearly as majestic, and all the more degrading because it could not be justified as a struggle, either to others or to myself. it has given me a knack for seeing order where there appears to be none; in the realms of mind and emotions. yet sometimes i say to myself, rather matter of factly, that i wouldn’t mind trading a bit of wisdom for a bit of simple minded confidence.

just think of the millions of dollars worth of hats lost to the wind.