(no subject)
"plan c (lonely traveller)"
Although I understand in my heart of hearts just how silly the notion is, still I can't help but feel guilt releasing my thoughts and feelings into the ether without the benefit of repaying my friends out there that same sentiment. Any relationship is a two-way street, and nobody can stand on the side of that street with his thumb hanging out, trying to get a free ride, not for long.
I apologize for that, but as I sit here in the quiet warmth of the library on the corner of Delaware and Hertel Avenues in Buffalo, New York, it's hard - like anyone who has journaled as long as I have - to restrain that urge to sit at a keyboard and not do so, especially with my circumstances..such circumstances they are.
That said, although this update should come as a welcome event for some, to those who could care less, or even to those resentful of the unwarranted attention I get sometimes, forgive me. Despite the pyrotechnics and drama and occasional bursts of halfway decent writing, I'm flesh and blood. Like you.
And today, my blood runs cold.
So as far as the major events are concerned, there aren't any, and any circumstances going on are far more internal than anything else. On the surface in New York I go through the motions; I walk around a lot and take the bus, as many others here do. It's a blur of kosher delicatessens and family pizza shops and Pepboys and adult entertainment emporiums and too many other things to mention. People here note my accent and presume I'm from the South; I don't correct them..as opposed to here, I suppose I am.
When they ask me why I'm here, my answers vary. If it's someone just in passing, I'll say it's because of my "girlfriend" (1), which generally is the easiest way to navigate through those conversations. For others, I'll say things like I figured why not or Hey, it's Missouri..draw your own conclusions. Either way, the truth of the matter seems way too complex and too timeconsuming to tell anyone in normal, polite conversation. Nobody wants my life story. I feel more comfortable painting myself in the corner as an affable, pleasant eccentric-type. Unfortunately, what's under that surface couldn't be any further from the truth.
My life right now is very simplified, almost monastic. I go through long periods of silence, and have dedicated my free time mostly to, for once, read and learn to appreciate the canon of literature I one day would like the opportunity to join myself. I've been so wrapped up in the work of Jane Austen, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, James Joyce (2), and others that I forget to smoke cigarettes for hours at a time. Instead of pizza or pad thai, I'm more disposed to white rice. Rather than coffee drinks or pop, I choose water. Although I prefer NPR or the classical musical station to television right now, I have been watching and have learned a few things:
*That Andy Roddick boy has one hell of a serve.
*They need to just nuke Chechnya already, for God's sakes.
*If I find the people responsible for that fucking Old Navy ad that has the girl exclaiming, "History?! I love history..", I am going to bludgeon them to death.
*Zell Miller can blow me.
I sit on the balcony at night (and such great nights they are here) and watch the people walk down the street, or the kids play and interact. Before I go to sleep I light my Jesus candle and say my novena (3), and I've only been doing this now for three weeks so it's premature to say if this simple life will manifest itself into an internal calm eventually or not.
For these days I'm such a walking bundle of contradictions; in an instant my feelings sway from guilt to anger, from excitement to grief, and at the core are those out there I sincerely miss. And I really can't blame New York, if I were still in Missouri I'd still be missing the ones scattered in various locales throughout the country, or the ones who I miss in their past incarnates, before they changed, or the dead for their consul I could probably use these days, or the chances I've had but lost - that desire to go back in time so I could choose differently or say something else. I don't feel as though there's a happy place on Earth for me until I find a way to make these thoughts cease.
Common sense wants me to let it go, although sometimes it almost seems as though I need this longing I have in order to reaffirm a better life for myself. I'm afraid that if I shake my demons away and go on as if nothing ever happened, I'll only end up in another situation with somebody else who will only end up having the worst kind of power over me whether they're aware of it or not.
It's during those periods of anger I think the one I'm angriest at is myself. For letting myself get so carried away, for being so inappropriately sensitive and selfish at times, for not speaking my peace even though my heart is screaming in my chest, for not holding on better to what I once had, for beliving all those empty, saccarine things I've been told, and ultimately for being the kind of person who's dedicated their life to something that I'm now not sure even exists. I'm proud of the risks I've taken along the way, but ashamed at the compromises I've made before, at the same time.
And I guess the best thing about New York is that nobody I know has the opportunity to see this process of thorough, merciless deconstruction (4). Those things that have no other alternative are among the most dreadful things to be a spectator to. It's one of the reasons why I've been in no hurry to keep all of you informed - the fact I gave my computer to my poor little shellshocked cousin before I left town notwithstanding (5) - I don't want to subject so many people to all my garbage, my bouts of anger and those moments of self-pity that nobody appreciates. My mind is cloudy; I feel as though sometimes it may always be from this point forward. I feel like I'm trying to fight my way out of a paper bag, and I'm losing.
I wasn't even planning on updating until I found myself sitting in Queen Victoria Park the other day in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, drinking coffee and looking at the different representations of Queen Elizabeth II on the backs of my loonies and toonies (6), and suddenly I remembered something from years ago. My friend, the good but too good for her own good missthonskon in passing in a dirty apartment building in Kansas City. I had just came back from the Southwest a day or two before and she looked at me and said wryily, "Hey there, Lonely Traveller."
And I remarked to myself as the rain on Canada started to slowly fall on me just how well that name fit then, and how well it still represents me now. I did a strange thing just then - I smiled, something I haven't done too much lately.
Everything at that point wasn't cloudy in my mind, in contrast to the gathering storm clouds above me, gunmetal gray. It all made sense at that moment. I really am a lonely traveller, and perhaps I always will be, and perhaps of grieving over it I ought to celebrate this. I'm a good-for-nothing Missour mule, and damn it all if I'm not sitting here in a whole other country getting rained on. It's just absurd, on a cosmic level so unlikely, I have no reason for any of this and it's just beautiful. Why try to understand it anymore? When it all comes down right to it, what's there to improve upon? This is my life now, let it happen.
I walked back to the United States with Hell's full fury coming down and soaking me to the bone, and I was kind of dreading going through customs alone. Not that I had anything to worry about, I've just never done it before. But how cool it is to do something I haven't yet done before! US Customs is like the Death Star, and they asked me a lot of questions I didn't like to answer, but I made it back through (obviously).
Walking back to my car, I thought of another issue I had earlier this year, and a friend's opinion, told to me in unabashed Missouriese, "Well, you can't hitch your rope to a star and blame it for shining."
It seemed a sound point to consider at the time, but on this day I walked a little more taller, and had I been informed of the same thing my answer would have been different.
"You're wrong. I'm the one that's the star. And I will shine again."
(1) To clarify - I do not have a girlfriend. I am not "laying pipe", as Koniecki asserts. Shit, I never even called that one woman here who found me on Friendster and wanted to go out with me, even though she does seem really cool. Why must I be like that? Why must I chase the cat?
(2) Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is probably the most worthless book I think I've ever read. Fifty pages of 19th century Irish politics. Fifty pages of a sermon about how all sinners are going to hell. The rest of the book is the main character twitching, bleeding internally, and wanting to find a hooker REAL BAD.
(3) "Oh sagrado corazon de Jesus que dijiste "pidon y recibran", te ruego que por las llamas ardientes de amor que encienden tu corazon escuches mi suplica. Concedeme la gracia que solicito y derrama sobre de mi tus bendiciones y con tu infinita misericordia, hazme digno de tu sagrado corazon - amen."
(4) My roommate is herself reclusive and studious, and we rarely intersect.
(5) After everything she went though, she needed to know that somebody out there thought she was worth it. I just hope I got rid of all those chat transcripts I saved.
(6) Canadian $1 and $2 coins, respectively. Who will they put on the back of their coins once the Queen is gone? I hope it's Michael J. Fox..I loved him in the Back to the Future movies and with his valiant battle against Parkinson's he is truly an inspiration to us all.
Although I understand in my heart of hearts just how silly the notion is, still I can't help but feel guilt releasing my thoughts and feelings into the ether without the benefit of repaying my friends out there that same sentiment. Any relationship is a two-way street, and nobody can stand on the side of that street with his thumb hanging out, trying to get a free ride, not for long.
I apologize for that, but as I sit here in the quiet warmth of the library on the corner of Delaware and Hertel Avenues in Buffalo, New York, it's hard - like anyone who has journaled as long as I have - to restrain that urge to sit at a keyboard and not do so, especially with my circumstances..such circumstances they are.
That said, although this update should come as a welcome event for some, to those who could care less, or even to those resentful of the unwarranted attention I get sometimes, forgive me. Despite the pyrotechnics and drama and occasional bursts of halfway decent writing, I'm flesh and blood. Like you.
And today, my blood runs cold.
So as far as the major events are concerned, there aren't any, and any circumstances going on are far more internal than anything else. On the surface in New York I go through the motions; I walk around a lot and take the bus, as many others here do. It's a blur of kosher delicatessens and family pizza shops and Pepboys and adult entertainment emporiums and too many other things to mention. People here note my accent and presume I'm from the South; I don't correct them..as opposed to here, I suppose I am.
When they ask me why I'm here, my answers vary. If it's someone just in passing, I'll say it's because of my "girlfriend" (1), which generally is the easiest way to navigate through those conversations. For others, I'll say things like I figured why not or Hey, it's Missouri..draw your own conclusions. Either way, the truth of the matter seems way too complex and too timeconsuming to tell anyone in normal, polite conversation. Nobody wants my life story. I feel more comfortable painting myself in the corner as an affable, pleasant eccentric-type. Unfortunately, what's under that surface couldn't be any further from the truth.
My life right now is very simplified, almost monastic. I go through long periods of silence, and have dedicated my free time mostly to, for once, read and learn to appreciate the canon of literature I one day would like the opportunity to join myself. I've been so wrapped up in the work of Jane Austen, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, James Joyce (2), and others that I forget to smoke cigarettes for hours at a time. Instead of pizza or pad thai, I'm more disposed to white rice. Rather than coffee drinks or pop, I choose water. Although I prefer NPR or the classical musical station to television right now, I have been watching and have learned a few things:
*That Andy Roddick boy has one hell of a serve.
*They need to just nuke Chechnya already, for God's sakes.
*If I find the people responsible for that fucking Old Navy ad that has the girl exclaiming, "History?! I love history..", I am going to bludgeon them to death.
*Zell Miller can blow me.
I sit on the balcony at night (and such great nights they are here) and watch the people walk down the street, or the kids play and interact. Before I go to sleep I light my Jesus candle and say my novena (3), and I've only been doing this now for three weeks so it's premature to say if this simple life will manifest itself into an internal calm eventually or not.
For these days I'm such a walking bundle of contradictions; in an instant my feelings sway from guilt to anger, from excitement to grief, and at the core are those out there I sincerely miss. And I really can't blame New York, if I were still in Missouri I'd still be missing the ones scattered in various locales throughout the country, or the ones who I miss in their past incarnates, before they changed, or the dead for their consul I could probably use these days, or the chances I've had but lost - that desire to go back in time so I could choose differently or say something else. I don't feel as though there's a happy place on Earth for me until I find a way to make these thoughts cease.
Common sense wants me to let it go, although sometimes it almost seems as though I need this longing I have in order to reaffirm a better life for myself. I'm afraid that if I shake my demons away and go on as if nothing ever happened, I'll only end up in another situation with somebody else who will only end up having the worst kind of power over me whether they're aware of it or not.
It's during those periods of anger I think the one I'm angriest at is myself. For letting myself get so carried away, for being so inappropriately sensitive and selfish at times, for not speaking my peace even though my heart is screaming in my chest, for not holding on better to what I once had, for beliving all those empty, saccarine things I've been told, and ultimately for being the kind of person who's dedicated their life to something that I'm now not sure even exists. I'm proud of the risks I've taken along the way, but ashamed at the compromises I've made before, at the same time.
And I guess the best thing about New York is that nobody I know has the opportunity to see this process of thorough, merciless deconstruction (4). Those things that have no other alternative are among the most dreadful things to be a spectator to. It's one of the reasons why I've been in no hurry to keep all of you informed - the fact I gave my computer to my poor little shellshocked cousin before I left town notwithstanding (5) - I don't want to subject so many people to all my garbage, my bouts of anger and those moments of self-pity that nobody appreciates. My mind is cloudy; I feel as though sometimes it may always be from this point forward. I feel like I'm trying to fight my way out of a paper bag, and I'm losing.
I wasn't even planning on updating until I found myself sitting in Queen Victoria Park the other day in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, drinking coffee and looking at the different representations of Queen Elizabeth II on the backs of my loonies and toonies (6), and suddenly I remembered something from years ago. My friend, the good but too good for her own good missthonskon in passing in a dirty apartment building in Kansas City. I had just came back from the Southwest a day or two before and she looked at me and said wryily, "Hey there, Lonely Traveller."
And I remarked to myself as the rain on Canada started to slowly fall on me just how well that name fit then, and how well it still represents me now. I did a strange thing just then - I smiled, something I haven't done too much lately.
Everything at that point wasn't cloudy in my mind, in contrast to the gathering storm clouds above me, gunmetal gray. It all made sense at that moment. I really am a lonely traveller, and perhaps I always will be, and perhaps of grieving over it I ought to celebrate this. I'm a good-for-nothing Missour mule, and damn it all if I'm not sitting here in a whole other country getting rained on. It's just absurd, on a cosmic level so unlikely, I have no reason for any of this and it's just beautiful. Why try to understand it anymore? When it all comes down right to it, what's there to improve upon? This is my life now, let it happen.
I walked back to the United States with Hell's full fury coming down and soaking me to the bone, and I was kind of dreading going through customs alone. Not that I had anything to worry about, I've just never done it before. But how cool it is to do something I haven't yet done before! US Customs is like the Death Star, and they asked me a lot of questions I didn't like to answer, but I made it back through (obviously).
Walking back to my car, I thought of another issue I had earlier this year, and a friend's opinion, told to me in unabashed Missouriese, "Well, you can't hitch your rope to a star and blame it for shining."
It seemed a sound point to consider at the time, but on this day I walked a little more taller, and had I been informed of the same thing my answer would have been different.
"You're wrong. I'm the one that's the star. And I will shine again."
(1) To clarify - I do not have a girlfriend. I am not "laying pipe", as Koniecki asserts. Shit, I never even called that one woman here who found me on Friendster and wanted to go out with me, even though she does seem really cool. Why must I be like that? Why must I chase the cat?
(2) Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is probably the most worthless book I think I've ever read. Fifty pages of 19th century Irish politics. Fifty pages of a sermon about how all sinners are going to hell. The rest of the book is the main character twitching, bleeding internally, and wanting to find a hooker REAL BAD.
(3) "Oh sagrado corazon de Jesus que dijiste "pidon y recibran", te ruego que por las llamas ardientes de amor que encienden tu corazon escuches mi suplica. Concedeme la gracia que solicito y derrama sobre de mi tus bendiciones y con tu infinita misericordia, hazme digno de tu sagrado corazon - amen."
(4) My roommate is herself reclusive and studious, and we rarely intersect.
(5) After everything she went though, she needed to know that somebody out there thought she was worth it. I just hope I got rid of all those chat transcripts I saved.
(6) Canadian $1 and $2 coins, respectively. Who will they put on the back of their coins once the Queen is gone? I hope it's Michael J. Fox..I loved him in the Back to the Future movies and with his valiant battle against Parkinson's he is truly an inspiration to us all.