i am a spiritual warrior
i almost cried today watching the end of Hook. It totally took my by surprise, especially because i really dislike the movie. i will chalk it up to me being me. i would normally say that 'i feel weird of late' but i have realized that when i am always 'weird' then it ain't so weird for me. so i feel pretty much the same. which is not bad, and could be worse. it can always be worse and it could always be better. i miss my mom, i haven't seen her in forever and i might or might not get to see her next weekend. and my brother concerns me. only because he has become the kind of person i would like to be friends with. and i suppose what concerns me is that i will never have a chance to become his friend. that and i wonder why he suddenly became this cool person when i left our home. or maybe when my father did. but i always felt like the glue in my house. and i think that was fostered by how bad my house was when i first left. but now that i am really gone for them things are great. it just makes me a little sad to think that i might have been all that was wrong with life all those years. but as i have come to accept it is my function in life. to make some happy and to make some sad. often both. sometimes neither. i just feel floaty. i feel full of fried chicken and increasingly fat. i feel like i will never get to do something as different as going to china. i know that i am in a rut, but i can't figure out where the groves are and where the rest of the road is. i just finished a book and as such i feel rather anticlimactic. it's always such a sad thing when i have to return to my own life. i need to do something, but nothing i try is right. i am just waiting for april. i tell myself that every night. something will happen in april. and then maybe it will be right. at least for a while. i know i've said this before, but it was a long time ago- and no one reads this anyway- so i can repeat myself as much as i'd like, but i really feel like an existential movie. it seems that in just living and walking and breathing these weird things happen. when i walk the streets of the city by myself these things just happen, i just meet these people. but only when i am alone. and i hate being alone. but i hate being with people all the time. so when i am all by my self i have these things that happen. and i feel like i can't anyone or they won't be real. what have i ever done by myself? my life doesn't feel right alone, even when i am in a room by myself for hours and hours i don't feel alone. i always have a book or a game or even a piece of paper. and then i am not alone. but when it is really just me alone with me i pace and i fret and i desperate cling to the hope that someone will want me. even though these times are few and far between, they have taught me something. learned helplessness for one. i just realized that my life has been a great game of conditioning and i am shaped by a long chain of negative reinforcement. i dunno. i have given up a lot of who and what i am to be where i am today. and, like anyone else, i question where i am now, asking if the price might have been too high. no one seems to care though. least of all me. i will say this. at least i am honest. and honest to myself. that is the only kind of honestly that matter. it makes this real versus some weird fantasy. i lie like everyone else, but i can be honest to myself about it. i may look narcassistic or vain, but i can at least say i know my feelings and embrace them. i don't have my room to run from myself. there are things i don't like, but i know that they are there. and one day i might be ready and i might change them. but i have seen so many people who won't even look at themselves a little. they might stare at a mirror for hours or just talk and talk and talk. but right now they couldn't tell you one thing about themselves. and then there are those who have taken a peek but are so scared or ashamed of what they see that they turn a blind eye to how they are and create something that is plainly killing them. as one might hear from any wizened person, you don't have to be perfect, you just have to be yourself. i think that that is too lofty a goal for us unwizen folk (which contains the 'dark l' sound, aka the coolest thing to hear in a linguistics class). i would say something more realistic like you don't have to be good, you just have to know who you are. i wonder why i write this. i mean, do i need to write this for myself? do i need to write this for someone to learn something from? will they read it? will they care? or do i just want to feel like i am doing something? is my goal to spread some nonsensical wisdom to the world at large? i dunno. i think, well i know, that i like to hear myself as much as the next person. i think i just like honesty. as much as it hurts, as much as we ignore it. and i suppose that sitting here feeling things pour out of my fingertips from a empty head is as close to my truth as i can get. it's funny how my head is always so blank when i sit down to write what i do. there is never anything here to begin with. i sit and i type and each word flows from the next and i never really know where they come from or where they are going. the things that i run over again and again are so obvious to me. i can still tell you what i have thought about and what i have just given. call me cs lewis. except that i have that man and his writing. i feel the need to go to church. i could go tomorrow i suppose. and then i have the urge to go to new birth. don't ask me why. i want to go to some stone church and attend mass and feel the goosebumps that come so easily as i feel love flow from the god speaking through the man into me. or just feel god. apparently that makes me a psycho christain. it seems that i have been without love for so long. and i will get in trouble for saying that, but when i have i spoken of late without getting in trouble. and i hesistate and consciously refuse to say regret, because when i say something that gets me in trouble it is the truth, it is how i feel. and i won't regret that. i may be disappointed in how things ended. but i refuse to lie anymore than i want to. i won;t regret my own truth, or yours. but i will regret spending even more of my life playing by the rules that keep people happy. i will follow the rules that keep us a society, but i will be honest, not placating. and every song i have ever know rushes forward to claim supremacy. it seems to me to be man's lot in life to appease other people to make his life as easy as possible. ha, i sound like socrates, dying for my truth. so high above the mortals, i live by a higher, truer standard. the sad part is that it could be as true as anything else. i could be right, just as i am very likely to be wrong. maybe that is why i won't go to a psychopharmacologist. or a therapist. all i would be told is that my childhood was a mess or i have constructed it that way in my head and as such i have to work on my intrapersonal skills. i never get what i want, unless it's something i don't need or will come to regret. there, that ought to knock me back down from my godly pedistal and put me back in with the masses of mere mortals. thigns feel weird to me now. and not weird as in weird like i was saying later. i know what to expect and what not, but things feel weird from that. i think i feel like muad'dib without spice. i feel like a lost little boy in a torn shirt cry out for aid that won't come. i feel hollow. not that that is new. just once i want to be gotten. just once i don't want to have to explain. just once i want something i need. and it has happened before, but i know it always ends with a good girl.