come on over, ring my bell. never you mind the dog-faced boy.
Sometimes the amount of censorship I impose upon myself is almost communist Chinese in its repressiveness.
I don't know when I developed this exactly. In grade school I was a good and quiet boy seething with a cancerous anger, hemmed in by own my tentativeness. I was good and quiet because I didn't how to be anything else. When I hit high school, something entirely different happened. My facility with words turned to shock values as I devoured information about how to break the rules. Mind you, I didn't particularly break any of these rules myself, but now I knew they could exist.
Man, I ran with that. There were at one point something near-to-legends about my supposed wildness amongst members of my cadre. Part of this was because I hung with a tame crowd. God, I'd be the most straight-arrowed goody-two-shoes in a group of actual troublemakers, but you put me in a group of people who generally followed the rules, and suddenly I had an identity. I could be the rogue with a crassly articulate way of turning any situation into pure innuendo. I loved the reactions, did I ever. In reality, I wasn't particularly any more into breaking the rules at all. At most I enjoyed testing their elasticity.
There was a downside to all this. I got trapped. My opinion couldn't be taken seriously - after all, wasn't this the guy who sped down Oakland Avenue at 60 mph throwing pennies out the window of his car into his friend's open car window? I was the clown, the buffoon. I was Falstaff without the drinking problem. Most of all, I was uncomfortably weird to a number of people. They found it easy to dismiss me, and I was something of a self-made freak show.
So then I'm in college and I decide it's time to reign all that in. It's a chance to start anew. I didn't drink until my second year of college; people thought I was some sort of tea-totaler. In reality, I just had never drank anything but once before I arrived at SLU, and I was scared. Fuck if I know what of. The quiet one, the bear. Times I get to thinking that I'm at this point not much more than a punchline to a joke that isn't particularly funny. Feel like I've worn out my welcome, and maybe I have. Didn't mean to, don't know exactly how it happened, but I don't know there's much I can do to change it. And I don't know that I really care to. Once you're labeled a fuck-up, there's not a hell of a lot you can do to dispel that image - especially if you haven't had any major accomplishments to combat those negative images.
Partly I feel almost like I should have just let loose while I was at SLU. In the end, why should I have played the buttoned-up straight-man? Maybe I am a genuinely strange person. I don't say what I feel because when I do in some circles I'm looked at like I just slapped the Pope. Maybe it's time to stop caring about that sort of thing, deal with the scorn and stand with those who will accept my "grotesqueries", even enjoy them.
One thing I've censored myself on is how I feel about Kristin. Hell, I don't know that many people know that. You might not exactly from what I've written here, which ain't hardly shit, to put it both colloquially and crudely. I've hidden how I feel in this forum - and for what? Because I'm afraid that someone will snipe me for it? Stupidity. There's no need or desire for this to turn into an electronic, eternal ode or anything, but I mean I haven't felt comfortable even saying anything outside of the purely factual about what goes on between us. I think most of that censorship comes from myself. And if I write about her and you've got a problem, stop reading.
So in the interests of shrugging my shoulders and letting off the weight - I love you, Kristin. It's been an amazing (nearly) five months. You are the one whose hair I want to stroke, who lips I want to kiss, and I look forward to the future and all the things we'll do together.
Jeez. That wasn't so hard at all. I feel like I've let myself be sown into a suit that the tailor's incorrectly measured so everything's way too tight and I'm so constricted that I can't move, can't even breathe. These last few posts, since Rant I, have been about wiggling enough to the point where those seams will rip, and then burst. Sure, I'll be naked, but at least I'll be free, and inevitably when I'm forced to put clothes back on again I will only wear something loose and free-flowing, something that won't choke away my voice's ability to speak.
p.s. check out the new user pic. that's courtesy of miss kristin barnes. thank you, dear.
I don't know when I developed this exactly. In grade school I was a good and quiet boy seething with a cancerous anger, hemmed in by own my tentativeness. I was good and quiet because I didn't how to be anything else. When I hit high school, something entirely different happened. My facility with words turned to shock values as I devoured information about how to break the rules. Mind you, I didn't particularly break any of these rules myself, but now I knew they could exist.
Man, I ran with that. There were at one point something near-to-legends about my supposed wildness amongst members of my cadre. Part of this was because I hung with a tame crowd. God, I'd be the most straight-arrowed goody-two-shoes in a group of actual troublemakers, but you put me in a group of people who generally followed the rules, and suddenly I had an identity. I could be the rogue with a crassly articulate way of turning any situation into pure innuendo. I loved the reactions, did I ever. In reality, I wasn't particularly any more into breaking the rules at all. At most I enjoyed testing their elasticity.
There was a downside to all this. I got trapped. My opinion couldn't be taken seriously - after all, wasn't this the guy who sped down Oakland Avenue at 60 mph throwing pennies out the window of his car into his friend's open car window? I was the clown, the buffoon. I was Falstaff without the drinking problem. Most of all, I was uncomfortably weird to a number of people. They found it easy to dismiss me, and I was something of a self-made freak show.
So then I'm in college and I decide it's time to reign all that in. It's a chance to start anew. I didn't drink until my second year of college; people thought I was some sort of tea-totaler. In reality, I just had never drank anything but once before I arrived at SLU, and I was scared. Fuck if I know what of. The quiet one, the bear. Times I get to thinking that I'm at this point not much more than a punchline to a joke that isn't particularly funny. Feel like I've worn out my welcome, and maybe I have. Didn't mean to, don't know exactly how it happened, but I don't know there's much I can do to change it. And I don't know that I really care to. Once you're labeled a fuck-up, there's not a hell of a lot you can do to dispel that image - especially if you haven't had any major accomplishments to combat those negative images.
Partly I feel almost like I should have just let loose while I was at SLU. In the end, why should I have played the buttoned-up straight-man? Maybe I am a genuinely strange person. I don't say what I feel because when I do in some circles I'm looked at like I just slapped the Pope. Maybe it's time to stop caring about that sort of thing, deal with the scorn and stand with those who will accept my "grotesqueries", even enjoy them.
One thing I've censored myself on is how I feel about Kristin. Hell, I don't know that many people know that. You might not exactly from what I've written here, which ain't hardly shit, to put it both colloquially and crudely. I've hidden how I feel in this forum - and for what? Because I'm afraid that someone will snipe me for it? Stupidity. There's no need or desire for this to turn into an electronic, eternal ode or anything, but I mean I haven't felt comfortable even saying anything outside of the purely factual about what goes on between us. I think most of that censorship comes from myself. And if I write about her and you've got a problem, stop reading.
So in the interests of shrugging my shoulders and letting off the weight - I love you, Kristin. It's been an amazing (nearly) five months. You are the one whose hair I want to stroke, who lips I want to kiss, and I look forward to the future and all the things we'll do together.
Jeez. That wasn't so hard at all. I feel like I've let myself be sown into a suit that the tailor's incorrectly measured so everything's way too tight and I'm so constricted that I can't move, can't even breathe. These last few posts, since Rant I, have been about wiggling enough to the point where those seams will rip, and then burst. Sure, I'll be naked, but at least I'll be free, and inevitably when I'm forced to put clothes back on again I will only wear something loose and free-flowing, something that won't choke away my voice's ability to speak.
p.s. check out the new user pic. that's courtesy of miss kristin barnes. thank you, dear.