Inventory.
Everybody’s got to learn sometime, right?
I guess it has been 25 years, 7 months and 26 days for me to finally do just that.
I haven’t got it all sussed out just yet, but I’m developing a thought. An ideology on what it all means. This life this world why we have society why we are so alone and so crowded up against one another why we root for the underdog and demonize the Other.
It isn’t a two plus two equation, nothing really is ever that easy (not even 2 and 2, I mean look at quantum physics number theory, sorry digression is one of my few likable faults). Life isn’t theory despite humanity’s curse of language - which has somehow allowed us to conceptualize everything - emotions, objects, thought, even reality itself is just the conjecture, packaging and re-imaginations of different people, Aristotle, jesus, Newton Einstein hallmark greeting cards, george w bush, toby keith. Life also isn’t practice, and this seems to be where my mind wonders the most now. How can’t life be practiced, since it is just that the ongoing dance of organic and inorganic exchanging themselves for each other? When we carpe our diems, we are buying into yet another conceptualization of reality, living life to its fullest is such a difficult idea…life isn’t quantifiable, nor (and more sadly) can it be qualified. I hesitate to even discuss because it seems like this theories are just like that scientific theory about observation changing the outcome. By observing that life can’t be qualified, that there is no good and no bad life, that reality is just as obtuse and mysterious as that next life that so many people seem to live for…then how do we cope, how have we managed to create society and rules and laws and morality?
So my life has been teaching me this lesson, which is a poor way of saying that maybe I should have some hope that entropy rules the day.
Huh. I think I’m just philosophizing to avoid what I’ve set out to do. And that is take inventory…
This isn’t pretty. My mom and dad have been fighting since as long as I can remember. When I was 5 there was a shouting match argument in the house across the street from Tommy’s and I ended yup getting hit with something that one of my parent’s threw at the other. I have no recollections of my mom and dad expressing emotion towards one another that wasn’t somehow orchestrated for the benefit of others. I remember their shouting but not really any of the reasons why. My mom was raised poor and denied any semblance of a real education, she is catty and gossipy and highly emotional. My dad is emotionally hurt somehow. I can tell that there was something missing long ago and he made a conscious decision that the best way to replace whatever is missing with the approval of others. I have taken a cue from him and done the opposite. I have a massive gaping hole in my psyche that I’ve decided to fill by making as many people hate me as possible while simultaneously trying to pull them towards me (I’ve always been one to take stupidest route). Before I stray too far from bashing my mother, I should note that her plasticity with the outside world (which began on the other side of the front door and ended on the opposite side of the back door, as well as the odd bubble of cars and hotel rooms) was rooted in fear and acted out in the form of rage. Whenever my sister or I attempted to shatter the 4th wall with a stranger we were rebuffed usually with violence. I’m not talking chainsaws or Munchausen’s syndrome, just your run of the mill slaps, spankings and the like. Nothing I feel particularly scarred by, but I’ve still got time to pierce my penis and dress up in hobo’s skin. It isn’t just that anger fear and isolation were a part of my youth; it is that they were the only part of youth. I don’t remember sitting on my mom or dad’s lap. I just remember. .. ok, well do you remember when you were in school and the teacher would walk by and touch your back, or put a hand on your shoulder? I craved those moments. Those moments were few and far between, despite my mediocre intellect. My wit, however, did the trick. And failing that spraying bile all around me like that cute little lizard in Jurassic park often elicited some kind of attention - which as any fucked up individual will tell you is better than no attention at all. You see attention is currency in this life to me (despite my previous entirely contradictory babble which clearly has kept your attention for this long so fuck off, I’m sorry, I love you). Attention is an affirmation of your aliveness, and yet it is so much more, it is a validation of how you live your life or how screwed you’ve been in this life. Either way, much much better than no attention. As a matter of fact I believe even recluses (by the way, how does one pluralize recluse, I mean, should we even bother, they obviously don’t give a fuck)…well recluses even crave attention, but like skinny white girls from the north shore of Chicago they are just very finicky about the attention they crave and have therefore put themselves on layaway for the right spotlight to shine on them, even if it comes in the form of a beautifully deep eulogy that we all imagine we’ll receive (but if you really think about it, what are the odds that your best friend or whomever is going to give said eulogy is going to say something profound, I mean, you’ve probably known this person many years and can count the profound things they’ve said using just your genitalia).
Ok so I’m an attention starved kid without much of a clue as to what anything at all means. What kind of preparation is this for the world? None, but that is cool because there is no preparation necessary, the world is a no-fuss no-muss recipe. Add life, let bake, remove life. Repeat. The problem was, I’ve been getting this misinformation all these instructions and I’m just piecing it together based on these instructions. But there are no pictures. And without pictures you can’t see the finished product. And my life everyday has been me- filtering and triaging all these different instructions , quick tips, faq’s and so on…but I don’t know what the fuck I’m making. I never really even decided join this game, but that is just fine with me…I’m in so I’ll play, and there are no rules so why do I insist on following them? Well. There must be a reason, so here are my guess’s as to why I keep at it: I think that I see other people who get it, which isn’t really true cuz these fuckers are almost exclusively fictional. Also, rules, instruction tips cheats…I’m sort of lost right now. I’m going to end for a bit.
Ok, beth. My biggest regret in life is beth. Not meeting her or killing her or something exciting. No, my regret is blowing it. I blew our relationship. I did it deliberately, I starved it of emotion and communication and perversely observed. Beth was boring, a more pretentious label couldn’t come from anyone other than me (I guess, who fucking knows really?). She wasn’t really boring: an excellent student, a beautiful woman, funny, sweet, and in every possible way the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. The end of our relationship was painful to me because I knew, like a liar who accidentally speaks the truth, that I would never ever have intimacy again. I should rephrase that, I never really let beth in at all, I teased myself into thinking I let her in with my superficial confessions and my “listening” (has to be in quotes, since as an early twenties young man i was incapable of listening). But one this is true and one moment was real: our first kiss was electric. It was as if divinity shone on me for a brief instant and reassured me that I was allowed to be loved and to love and that was fucking cool. My greatest fear, that this essay would include the line “I was allowed to be loved and to love” has now just occurred. That really frees me up to say some stupid shit without falling any lower on your “this dude is full of shit meter.” So quickly “and that saved my life;” “which goes to show that beauty really is on the inside;” “life is what you make of it, and I made pudding.” Anyway, that kiss was the free first bump of coke, I have been hooked on the idea of complete intimacy ever since, but I just don’t know what that actually entails. And worse what I might have to give up to achieve it. And right there I should tell you I mean my sense of humor, the only thing I’ve ever felt truly great at, but which is also acerbic cruel and rude like a 7th grade girls only fat camp. I seem to have run out of shit to think and say again. I’m going to make some phone calls, wow. This really has helped.
I guess it has been 25 years, 7 months and 26 days for me to finally do just that.
I haven’t got it all sussed out just yet, but I’m developing a thought. An ideology on what it all means. This life this world why we have society why we are so alone and so crowded up against one another why we root for the underdog and demonize the Other.
It isn’t a two plus two equation, nothing really is ever that easy (not even 2 and 2, I mean look at quantum physics number theory, sorry digression is one of my few likable faults). Life isn’t theory despite humanity’s curse of language - which has somehow allowed us to conceptualize everything - emotions, objects, thought, even reality itself is just the conjecture, packaging and re-imaginations of different people, Aristotle, jesus, Newton Einstein hallmark greeting cards, george w bush, toby keith. Life also isn’t practice, and this seems to be where my mind wonders the most now. How can’t life be practiced, since it is just that the ongoing dance of organic and inorganic exchanging themselves for each other? When we carpe our diems, we are buying into yet another conceptualization of reality, living life to its fullest is such a difficult idea…life isn’t quantifiable, nor (and more sadly) can it be qualified. I hesitate to even discuss because it seems like this theories are just like that scientific theory about observation changing the outcome. By observing that life can’t be qualified, that there is no good and no bad life, that reality is just as obtuse and mysterious as that next life that so many people seem to live for…then how do we cope, how have we managed to create society and rules and laws and morality?
So my life has been teaching me this lesson, which is a poor way of saying that maybe I should have some hope that entropy rules the day.
Huh. I think I’m just philosophizing to avoid what I’ve set out to do. And that is take inventory…
This isn’t pretty. My mom and dad have been fighting since as long as I can remember. When I was 5 there was a shouting match argument in the house across the street from Tommy’s and I ended yup getting hit with something that one of my parent’s threw at the other. I have no recollections of my mom and dad expressing emotion towards one another that wasn’t somehow orchestrated for the benefit of others. I remember their shouting but not really any of the reasons why. My mom was raised poor and denied any semblance of a real education, she is catty and gossipy and highly emotional. My dad is emotionally hurt somehow. I can tell that there was something missing long ago and he made a conscious decision that the best way to replace whatever is missing with the approval of others. I have taken a cue from him and done the opposite. I have a massive gaping hole in my psyche that I’ve decided to fill by making as many people hate me as possible while simultaneously trying to pull them towards me (I’ve always been one to take stupidest route). Before I stray too far from bashing my mother, I should note that her plasticity with the outside world (which began on the other side of the front door and ended on the opposite side of the back door, as well as the odd bubble of cars and hotel rooms) was rooted in fear and acted out in the form of rage. Whenever my sister or I attempted to shatter the 4th wall with a stranger we were rebuffed usually with violence. I’m not talking chainsaws or Munchausen’s syndrome, just your run of the mill slaps, spankings and the like. Nothing I feel particularly scarred by, but I’ve still got time to pierce my penis and dress up in hobo’s skin. It isn’t just that anger fear and isolation were a part of my youth; it is that they were the only part of youth. I don’t remember sitting on my mom or dad’s lap. I just remember. .. ok, well do you remember when you were in school and the teacher would walk by and touch your back, or put a hand on your shoulder? I craved those moments. Those moments were few and far between, despite my mediocre intellect. My wit, however, did the trick. And failing that spraying bile all around me like that cute little lizard in Jurassic park often elicited some kind of attention - which as any fucked up individual will tell you is better than no attention at all. You see attention is currency in this life to me (despite my previous entirely contradictory babble which clearly has kept your attention for this long so fuck off, I’m sorry, I love you). Attention is an affirmation of your aliveness, and yet it is so much more, it is a validation of how you live your life or how screwed you’ve been in this life. Either way, much much better than no attention. As a matter of fact I believe even recluses (by the way, how does one pluralize recluse, I mean, should we even bother, they obviously don’t give a fuck)…well recluses even crave attention, but like skinny white girls from the north shore of Chicago they are just very finicky about the attention they crave and have therefore put themselves on layaway for the right spotlight to shine on them, even if it comes in the form of a beautifully deep eulogy that we all imagine we’ll receive (but if you really think about it, what are the odds that your best friend or whomever is going to give said eulogy is going to say something profound, I mean, you’ve probably known this person many years and can count the profound things they’ve said using just your genitalia).
Ok so I’m an attention starved kid without much of a clue as to what anything at all means. What kind of preparation is this for the world? None, but that is cool because there is no preparation necessary, the world is a no-fuss no-muss recipe. Add life, let bake, remove life. Repeat. The problem was, I’ve been getting this misinformation all these instructions and I’m just piecing it together based on these instructions. But there are no pictures. And without pictures you can’t see the finished product. And my life everyday has been me- filtering and triaging all these different instructions , quick tips, faq’s and so on…but I don’t know what the fuck I’m making. I never really even decided join this game, but that is just fine with me…I’m in so I’ll play, and there are no rules so why do I insist on following them? Well. There must be a reason, so here are my guess’s as to why I keep at it: I think that I see other people who get it, which isn’t really true cuz these fuckers are almost exclusively fictional. Also, rules, instruction tips cheats…I’m sort of lost right now. I’m going to end for a bit.
Ok, beth. My biggest regret in life is beth. Not meeting her or killing her or something exciting. No, my regret is blowing it. I blew our relationship. I did it deliberately, I starved it of emotion and communication and perversely observed. Beth was boring, a more pretentious label couldn’t come from anyone other than me (I guess, who fucking knows really?). She wasn’t really boring: an excellent student, a beautiful woman, funny, sweet, and in every possible way the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. The end of our relationship was painful to me because I knew, like a liar who accidentally speaks the truth, that I would never ever have intimacy again. I should rephrase that, I never really let beth in at all, I teased myself into thinking I let her in with my superficial confessions and my “listening” (has to be in quotes, since as an early twenties young man i was incapable of listening). But one this is true and one moment was real: our first kiss was electric. It was as if divinity shone on me for a brief instant and reassured me that I was allowed to be loved and to love and that was fucking cool. My greatest fear, that this essay would include the line “I was allowed to be loved and to love” has now just occurred. That really frees me up to say some stupid shit without falling any lower on your “this dude is full of shit meter.” So quickly “and that saved my life;” “which goes to show that beauty really is on the inside;” “life is what you make of it, and I made pudding.” Anyway, that kiss was the free first bump of coke, I have been hooked on the idea of complete intimacy ever since, but I just don’t know what that actually entails. And worse what I might have to give up to achieve it. And right there I should tell you I mean my sense of humor, the only thing I’ve ever felt truly great at, but which is also acerbic cruel and rude like a 7th grade girls only fat camp. I seem to have run out of shit to think and say again. I’m going to make some phone calls, wow. This really has helped.