freewriting with direction, or 'mostly' freewriting
so in my continued pursuit of writing skill, i have decided to take direction with my flow of words, less like a river, more like an artist's brush painting the path of my own private river (airfield/idaho)
what follows is part one of of how i have come to date Marie. subtitle: On who i was a week ago sorry it's so long, i figured that's another good thing about breaking up all this tomfoolery.
Back story: I seem to be a relatively normal guy, though I figure we all have trace amounts of neurotic ideas and tendencies (neurotoxins?). I (being one of the aforementioned “we all”) thus have a few irrational fears or beliefs about myself, the world at large, and reality at larger/largest. For me, the majority of these neurotoxins reside in the romantic/relational region.
Pointed example: I have mirrored ideas about my interactions with everyone. On the one hand, I imagine that when I leave a room or situation, I am immediately forgotten about, like I was nothing more than the mailman or your waiter. I am not a topic of conversation, though on occasion I may be referenced like a movie or radio jingle
(“Did you see that new Jet Li movie?” “No, but I bet David did, he loves kung fu movies; though he probably didn’t see it cuz it would cost money.” “Hahaha, yeah that David, he’s a funny thrifty kung fu loving guy. So read any good books lately/how bout them Dodgers?...”)
On the other hand, I also believe/perceive that people acknowledge me in some form of celebrity, a small moon in the orbit of your own little world. Somewhere between a running gag amongst your group of friends, not so much laughed at as mutually understood and observed from a distance.
People from back home, in the Laker School District, know a guy named Dave Arsenel (sp?). For you outsiders, he’s a slightly mentally handicapped man, notsomuch that he’s unintelligent or unintelligible, but inasmuch as he lives in a world of repetition. Students know him because he was once the Laker Chicken, our own mascot. After retiring the costume, Dave was then invited to pep rallies to get the crowd riled up, because he loves Laker sports. I think he helped keep score or something for girls’ volleyball for a time, but now he’s more regulated to videotaping all the boys’ basketball games. Frankly I’ve never really heard much of him aside from his status as Laker High School’s Number One Fan. This is what I mean by a form of celebrity. Dave is known by the students and teachers, but likely not by many outside that social context. In my own mind, I imagine my own celebrity status is not at all as a sports fan, but somewhere closer to Rarely-Emotional Clever Entertaining Frugal Asexual Stubborn Crypto-Intellectual Outlier (RECEFASCIO for shorter pseudo-Italian, purposely arranged to make a clever anagram.) I spent a long time wanting to be who I was and not who anybody else wanted me to be, that I ended up as the Recefascio. The problem is, I had become a stereotyped role, a catchphrase (Cody: Oooooh, ice cream headache!) and felt tremendous pressure to not break character.
Outside pressure appeared in the form of ‘this is what people like about me, I’m different and eccentric, if I was normal then I’d be passed over as just another guy, only more so. If I suddenly revealed a desire to play football, fix cars, wear red, buy a fancy car, date a girl, or be moody, people would be shocked and gather that I must have been lying this whole time, that I wasn’t a Recefascio at all, that I had betrayed them. I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or rather a geek in biker leather; a lounge singer in a nun’s habit…er, monk’s robes. And thus I needed to keep being who I implied to everyone that I am/was. “Of course I don’t want to play football, I cannot catch to save my life and would only hurt the team.” “I’m sorry you gave me this red shirt, Mom, it’s cool but I probably won’t wear it because I don’t wear red.” [I did wear the shirt because it had ninja turtles on it and I like them enough to accept the rest of the shirt was red.]
I have not forgotten the topic, and the relevance of that all was A: Asexual. If Dave Arsenel suddenly began rooting for Bad Axe and attending their pep rallies, it’d be shocking -Bad Axe and Laker High are rivals. Tying my lack of emotion into the mix, and my esteemed apparent lack of connection to people, it’s easy to gather and sustain the presumption of my asexuality. “Trip? Nah, he doesn’t do romance. That takes heart, and he doesn’t use his heart for anything. He doesn’t trust feelings, they are fickle.” If I actually dated a girl, that’d ruin the character. Hobos don’t date. Guys who are cheap and own terrible kung fu movies don’t date. Who would date a hobo? Who would date a guy who lists Zombie Versus Ninja as one of his favorite movies? The proper answer, as deemed by our culture, i think, is supposed to be: no one.
Inner compulsion to maintain my Recefascio status is similar to the outside pressures; after all, as some State News crossword puzzle once quoted “we do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.” I desire do maintain integrity, though I won’t claim I’m terribly good at it. Perhaps this is where the problem lies. Integrity I have made into something else, something more akin to maintaining the form over the function. I’ve sold the engine of my car to pay for repairs to the paint job, or to rice it out with spinners and a spoiler. Sure looks nice in the driveway of my newly painted house (though if you come in to visit, you’ll have to sit on the floor. I sold the furniture to pay for the new paint job and a rosebush. No wait, I’d have lilacs over roses.)
[lunch break, exercise break, heck, rest of the day-break. More tomorrow, part one, section b]
if i hadn't used dave arsenel, i'd have referenced Charlie, the suit and headphones guy who wanders Bad Axe.
and in other news: i may have the hookup on a 'real' job, i sorta got lost running today, and i've learned a lot about relationships already. all these things make me happy.
what follows is part one of of how i have come to date Marie. subtitle: On who i was a week ago sorry it's so long, i figured that's another good thing about breaking up all this tomfoolery.
Back story: I seem to be a relatively normal guy, though I figure we all have trace amounts of neurotic ideas and tendencies (neurotoxins?). I (being one of the aforementioned “we all”) thus have a few irrational fears or beliefs about myself, the world at large, and reality at larger/largest. For me, the majority of these neurotoxins reside in the romantic/relational region.
Pointed example: I have mirrored ideas about my interactions with everyone. On the one hand, I imagine that when I leave a room or situation, I am immediately forgotten about, like I was nothing more than the mailman or your waiter. I am not a topic of conversation, though on occasion I may be referenced like a movie or radio jingle
(“Did you see that new Jet Li movie?” “No, but I bet David did, he loves kung fu movies; though he probably didn’t see it cuz it would cost money.” “Hahaha, yeah that David, he’s a funny thrifty kung fu loving guy. So read any good books lately/how bout them Dodgers?...”)
On the other hand, I also believe/perceive that people acknowledge me in some form of celebrity, a small moon in the orbit of your own little world. Somewhere between a running gag amongst your group of friends, not so much laughed at as mutually understood and observed from a distance.
People from back home, in the Laker School District, know a guy named Dave Arsenel (sp?). For you outsiders, he’s a slightly mentally handicapped man, notsomuch that he’s unintelligent or unintelligible, but inasmuch as he lives in a world of repetition. Students know him because he was once the Laker Chicken, our own mascot. After retiring the costume, Dave was then invited to pep rallies to get the crowd riled up, because he loves Laker sports. I think he helped keep score or something for girls’ volleyball for a time, but now he’s more regulated to videotaping all the boys’ basketball games. Frankly I’ve never really heard much of him aside from his status as Laker High School’s Number One Fan. This is what I mean by a form of celebrity. Dave is known by the students and teachers, but likely not by many outside that social context. In my own mind, I imagine my own celebrity status is not at all as a sports fan, but somewhere closer to Rarely-Emotional Clever Entertaining Frugal Asexual Stubborn Crypto-Intellectual Outlier (RECEFASCIO for shorter pseudo-Italian, purposely arranged to make a clever anagram.) I spent a long time wanting to be who I was and not who anybody else wanted me to be, that I ended up as the Recefascio. The problem is, I had become a stereotyped role, a catchphrase (Cody: Oooooh, ice cream headache!) and felt tremendous pressure to not break character.
Outside pressure appeared in the form of ‘this is what people like about me, I’m different and eccentric, if I was normal then I’d be passed over as just another guy, only more so. If I suddenly revealed a desire to play football, fix cars, wear red, buy a fancy car, date a girl, or be moody, people would be shocked and gather that I must have been lying this whole time, that I wasn’t a Recefascio at all, that I had betrayed them. I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or rather a geek in biker leather; a lounge singer in a nun’s habit…er, monk’s robes. And thus I needed to keep being who I implied to everyone that I am/was. “Of course I don’t want to play football, I cannot catch to save my life and would only hurt the team.” “I’m sorry you gave me this red shirt, Mom, it’s cool but I probably won’t wear it because I don’t wear red.” [I did wear the shirt because it had ninja turtles on it and I like them enough to accept the rest of the shirt was red.]
I have not forgotten the topic, and the relevance of that all was A: Asexual. If Dave Arsenel suddenly began rooting for Bad Axe and attending their pep rallies, it’d be shocking -Bad Axe and Laker High are rivals. Tying my lack of emotion into the mix, and my esteemed apparent lack of connection to people, it’s easy to gather and sustain the presumption of my asexuality. “Trip? Nah, he doesn’t do romance. That takes heart, and he doesn’t use his heart for anything. He doesn’t trust feelings, they are fickle.” If I actually dated a girl, that’d ruin the character. Hobos don’t date. Guys who are cheap and own terrible kung fu movies don’t date. Who would date a hobo? Who would date a guy who lists Zombie Versus Ninja as one of his favorite movies? The proper answer, as deemed by our culture, i think, is supposed to be: no one.
Inner compulsion to maintain my Recefascio status is similar to the outside pressures; after all, as some State News crossword puzzle once quoted “we do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.” I desire do maintain integrity, though I won’t claim I’m terribly good at it. Perhaps this is where the problem lies. Integrity I have made into something else, something more akin to maintaining the form over the function. I’ve sold the engine of my car to pay for repairs to the paint job, or to rice it out with spinners and a spoiler. Sure looks nice in the driveway of my newly painted house (though if you come in to visit, you’ll have to sit on the floor. I sold the furniture to pay for the new paint job and a rosebush. No wait, I’d have lilacs over roses.)
[lunch break, exercise break, heck, rest of the day-break. More tomorrow, part one, section b]
if i hadn't used dave arsenel, i'd have referenced Charlie, the suit and headphones guy who wanders Bad Axe.
and in other news: i may have the hookup on a 'real' job, i sorta got lost running today, and i've learned a lot about relationships already. all these things make me happy.