Right, here we go…
∞The ∞ oh-ohhhh dreeeeamweaver! I believe you can get me through the ni-ight! My hands smell like josh tonight. That’s a strange thing. And pleasant. I’ve been dramatic lately. Ted suggested that I should be a character. He said he wants to spread the experience, make sure people get some of me. It’s a nice thought, but how? A character. I could do stand up...I think he thought more along the lines of a cartoon/comic type thing. I am afraid that if that were to happen, the character would end up being pseudo-tough and stylized as such. And it’s the stylization that I wouldn't agree with ('couldn't' might be the more appropriate word). I would need help with the development of this character as I can't see myself as others see me, only as I do. This would almost certainly color the creature wrong. I found a picture of cherry pie today. It colors the creature wrong. What the shit. Who says that anymore? The last time I remember hearing anything even similar was in an Eddie Murphy deal that was filmed in the 80's. So what happened? I guess there must be a reason for its disappearance. What the fuck rolls well. Fuck rolls better. Fuck rolls butter, butter fuck rolls, butter-fuck rolls. Sleep is upon me.
…
∞ ecstasis, staircase. More than simple circles, its spirals. Part and parcel of your hole. I have a feeling that the nausea will resemble many of my own thoughts and it makes me wonder if Sartre did in fact feel these things as intensely, or if he just picked up on the times that he felt more in this manner and elaborated, expanded, on the tougher ends. Like in Bukowski, these things seem to be autobiographical, but at least slightly exaggerated. And what is that anyway? Exaggeration. Who is to say that it is not exactly how it was for that person? If the memory is all that is left of the physical instant/moment, than it is the only truth. Swear me in, I believe what I remember and remember what I believe. But...then there are those things that you simply cannot convince yourself of. You have taken them to the point just before entirely believing them, but can't get past the last bump on the road to delusion. Good or bad. Some days I start to wonder if I am there and that is when I realize that I am exactly not. How can I be aware of such a discrepancy with belief in my right hand? I can't. Then I know that belief is really hiding under my left foot and only under a few toes. Two and a half, perhaps. Nausea. A fascinating thing. Unmistakable sensation to make one aware of some ill process without permits, a strange invasion, your hopes come true, fears realized, bad decisions. A feeling you get in the world from the world, in the world's context.
∞ tonight was wild. It was my grandfather's 70th birthday party. I won't go into details, but the fact that one of my aunts called one of my uncles a loser Nazi with no friends before storming out with her three children in tow should give you a very rough idea of part of it. All in all, I found it rather refreshing and interesting from a psychological standpoint. The cake was good. Today at the occ store, a kid came in and watched Clancy moving little bunny cookies around on a tray, making more room. He was so pleased with them...I think he looked at her and said 'wow', then after a moment, "I am five years old and my name is Daniel but I like Pokemon cards." conversation over. Simple, straight to the point, honest. Funny that it sounded like a personal ad you might find in the KIDS Post section of the paper. Daniel knows what he likes: bunny cookies and Pokemon cards. Also, the conjunctions are interchangeable. The more I think about that, the more I like the idea...such a free use of language. He gets his point across and leaves you with something to think about. Did he say 'but'? Did he mean that, or did he not know or care? He said it in rapid-fire succession. This makes me think more that he lacks a complete understanding of the meaning of those words and had something he needed to get across- very important- before he could go any further with the back and forth that had begun with he and my sister. Only children do this.
∞ bulleted list of things that are wrong here:
∆can't pick up the phone without asking if Tyson is on the internet ∆Tyson is always on the internet ∆Tyson no longer goes to school ∆my parents can't communicate ∆no money to get things done so they can make money ∆lack of discipline ∆lack of organization ∆lack of concern ∆Tyson barely reads and writes ∆he also thinks he owns the place
Ok...there is obviously a pattern here. It always comes back to- yes; I do seem to be having juvenile anger issues with my brother today. Actually, make that just about every time I come home to visit. Is it because he truly dislikes me, or that he has slightly less of his way when I am home that makes him act so shitty with me? My guess is the latter, and not just to make myself feel better. Tyson has no structure here and my parents aren't focusing on that problem long enough to even start thinking about it. I’d call it an obscure/ambiguous form of abuse. Ambiguity is something I usually think of in really good terms and often...because I think it has potential to go many directions. In this particular case, it will probably turn out ok in the long run. Until then, though, it just looks and feels terrible. What else?
There are a few things that I mean to do and keep not doing: call Sarah Ferreter, call Alex, get my money, pay some bills, go back to NY (tomorrow), figure it out. The last one is pretty big, so I haven't really expected to finish it, but I’d like to make myself get a better start. One of the biggest reasons (aside from the list of things that are wrong here) that I am anxious to get back tomorrow is that I want to get the mail. I am hoping to have received some notification from someone. Fuck. I don't know what to do if I get into neither.
Getting along…
∞ thinking about a bunch of things right now, unsettling myself. $. I think I have that covered for now, so I will not dwell...just know that it is on my mind.
Next, EROS: it is impossible for him to get what he wants if, as soon as it is had, he no longer wants it. Meditate.
Taxes.... solved. Tomorrow meeting with Jon who has ever so graciously offered to do this free of charge.
School-->nervous when I came home to 2 notices that my transcripts were missing form my application. Yikes. I called and they said that they did in fact receive the transcripts and that there was nothing else missing from the application...but for some reason this gave me a bad feeling. Why? I suppose I feel that if I were going to be accepted, they would have done so by now. But perhaps this is just me being paranoid and full of confusion.
Thrilled with josh's gift to me: set of Proust's 'in search of lost time'. He was telling me about these books and how impressive they were and to me this means something very flattering and made me very happy. I started the intro last night, later than I should have, and am very anxious to jump in.
Now I must go use my credit card- incurring debt so as to no starve.
∞ I forgot to write the other day, when I was home, that I had dreamt that I was a raspberry. I was in a bowl with other raspberries and I was succulent and juicy...then I was being eaten, but by myself (as a person). I teased my dad and told him that I must be feeling neglected by him. This morning I saw a dog with flair- purple mardi gras beads. Kota needs something like that.
I am trying to decide when to sublet my apartment. People are looking already, it seems, and I could find someone right away if I needed to. Thing is, I would like to be able to come here in the summer sometimes, maybe.... but? I have no neeeeeed to be here, so I feel like I should sublet and save myself the money. That way I could also help my parents, etc.
~ I said something like: I think I always consume myself. I uttered it in written form. It became something more solid, some truth that I didn't know until I saw it. Like what I wrote about being right and how that works out. Or what I wrote about being unable to engage without being engaged. There seems to be this constant motion, evolutionary feeling, revolving emotion--> oh, is that my soul? I don't think it was there when I was a blastula. It is constant from one person to the next, but it is it there when you are a ball of cells, dividing? Is it there upon collision? Whose collision. I think I accidentally found where it becomes arguable. Shit. And like most everything, it has to be taken on a case-by-case basis. See, it never has to be passionate and can actually be so unfortunate. Lazy collisions, fast, danger, pain collisions. Sweet collisions, soft, tough, right collisions. Take your pick; they're all 50-50. At least the last two weeks. Sometimes 1 in 100. But who's counting when it counts? Its amazing how half-assed we can be when it comes to life and death near the extremes when all around the edges we take the most useless precautions and straight to our hearts. Funny what your psychology nests itself in. you know, sometimes, you sense an insecurity in someone who so steadily and solidly seems to reject the possibility- and really they are doing things they hope you're not. And you probably aren't. I know I’m not. But when you realize this, you want to. Break away. Because you got hurt by someone that is damaged and it’s spreading.
And I mostly lack focus. In many areas.
∞ or maybe not lack of focus. Maybe, too much focus on detail, concern for some grand great scheme, theme. When really, all the multitude of ideas and things are potential masterpieces in their own ways for many reasons. No schema. Just infinite realms and worlds.
∞ it’s not so bad being in a designated room. I thought I wanted to sleep in the living room and that I liked it better for a few reasons, but it might just have been that it was downstairs...where I already was. Am I so lazy?
I have made an important discovery: it’s not an itch- it’s a plea.
So we were talking just now: what did that mean to the person who wrote: the father, the son, the holy ghost. That trinity of nonsense. I said- oh, no, it’s something more; it may have meant something far more important, something far less tangible. It was a snake, consuming itself. It was infinity, a circle, etc. you, Tyson, carter. And someone didn't understand. It was blown way out of proportion, out of context. A mass thinks it gets it, feels something. Unwitting brainwash, accidental. Sorry. Now jesus is god and an egg is the chicken. But I suppose that is really how it has always been.
∞ the computer is moving so slow tonight. Not unbearably, but amazingly. I suppose it is one of those things that simply happens at times and you must put up with. It has me thinking about ways to be more kind to it. Or not. Maybe just slow down a bit myself. But I keep hating the moments when I am on a train of thought and it begins to develop, then poof, distraction loses it for me and I try for some minutes to fog myself over enough for the thought to come back. Its funny- it has worked. Like I step back from my processing for a bit, but keep a vigil on what is slowly ebbing. As soon as its clam foot oozes over the neuropathway, I snap it up and immediately go to work- like a spider wrapping its freshly snagged prey. Needless to say, I don’t remember any of those hard-won thoughts now, but I want it to be known that I am working at managing these things better. I am learning.
∞ there were a few things...the night I was angry...that I wanted to remember. One was about writing down the dream that I had of popcorn and josh and everything. The others are lost on me now. I hate that. Oh one was about prison- the Lorton prison and driving by it and what I would do to it.
I find myself thinking that as much as I wish people were just people, I have a hard time being a person myself. Too much cramming (thoughts, looks, opinions, you know too well, Rilke) and not enough ease. Ease, slip, caress, slide.
Ah, Rumi, it is time:
Last night you left me and slept
your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn
and turn. I say,
"You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves."
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.
∞ I want my book. without it, I might feel like a liar. because with it, I reassure myself that I am. sometimes when I think that liars scare me, I realize that being scared is synonymous with being exposed. Not over or under, just out.
look at your heart and tongue
one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs
my beloved grows
right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be
That’s the thing, though, right out of your own heart. That might only be ok if you grow out of theirs. Who are you making up? Who is making up you? So maybe it doesn't matter who you are...because I will be making you up anyway. And you me. So how do I stop caring who I am? Stop looking in the mirror, do whatever else you want. More importantly...how do I stop caring who you've made me up to be?
∞ It’s a new night and hot. I am fairly certain that my NYU letter will be one of rejection. This doesn’t bother me very much. Its what I truly expected. Not that it wouldn’t feel great to get in, just that it doesn’t feel that bad not to. Even so, I feel more inspired than most nights. Perhaps this is due to the new friends I’ve been passively making (aside from one that I more actively forced a pepper upon). Perhaps it is the warm weather and numerous days full of potential that lay themselves at my feet as soon as I turn my mind’s eye toward them. Does that count? I’m making it all up in the end anyway, aren’t I?
Tonight I am juicy and delectable. Feeling volatile in the best of ways. Alert and ready for a change in the wind, a thunderstorm, an eclipse.
He set the world aflame,
And laid me on the same;
A hundred tongues of fire
Lapped round my pyre.
And when the blazing tide
Engulfed me, and I sighed,
Upon my mouth in haste
his hand he placed.
Rumi speaks of god, I speak of something even less tangible.
∞ it is uncanny and beautiful when you meet someone that shares the love of your favorite books. You know the frustration that comes with the knowledge that almost everyone you tell about these things that you love will take it no further? You want so badly to express your passion about these things, but you are never able to and the hope that was so high eventually gives way to the doubt that held its sharp tongue in the back row for so long. Oh, but when it goes the other way and this passion is common to you both, it feels like a soft, light blanket, rich in color and smell, lifting you up and holding you down in the most tender forced play you’ve felt in so long. The muscles in your cheeks will hurt and your focus will be shattered like the glass in the kitchen that fell when you ran through the dark and tripped on your dog while trying to hold on to that focus.
∞ isn’t it strange that if you should tell someone that you love them and miss them, they think they owe you something and it feels to them like a burden? I think that is a sad statement; a sad reflection of society’s preconceptions. Nothing need be reciprocated and to what extent? Who is to say the kind of love or longing that is present? You may think very highly of yourself in all respects, but this doesn’t mean there is truth in it. Stay.
∞ Dear sweet something. To quote Mr. Buckley “Oh, that was so real”.
Even in this world of lies, I’m still hopeful, very sexy. Very sexy. Very sexy. These poets, artists, all of them- the writers and singers and linguists- all of them. Very sexy, the poets.
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