(no subject)
i am so bored of exhibitionism.
correction: i am not bored. it's not boredom that's causing this aversion toward the splashed detritus of the inner lives of others. it's not boredom that's making me so suddenly unwilling to subject strangers to my own. it's not boredom that's making me feel such antipathy toward the legions of amateur porn stars i cull through every day. it's disgust, and beneath this, sadness.
there are two driving forces behind the desire to share unreservedly, to show up naked and raw and bloodied. there is the desire to prove something, to use one's life as a fuck-you and to challenge people to just try and get near. and there is the desire to connect, to be understood, to matter.
these are not always separate.
i need to back up. i mentioned the disgust i feel. it's not disgust toward the individual. this would be unfair. i don't mean to displace responsibility, nor to excuse people from it, but it's laughable to sneer at those of us who seem so unable to self-censor, or who so compulsively expose. it would be like feeling superior to a child who's too distraught to reason. it's instead disgust at an environment, a world, that leads to this.
look at me.
do we feel so unloved that now we look for valuation in the aggregate eyes of strangers?
i'm not asking anything new. i wouldn't be asking at all except for the fact that i am so far from immune, either here, in this venue, or outside. last night was saturday; i was going to stay in. after all, i thought, i'm content taking care of myself. after all, i thought, i have no festering need to be seen. and then my ex called, and we talked, and, emptied, i got undressed. i left.
my head hurts.
i am so bored by exhibitionism.
correction: i am not bored. it's not boredom that's causing this aversion toward the splashed detritus of the inner lives of others. it's not boredom that's making me so suddenly unwilling to subject strangers to my own. it's not boredom that's making me feel such antipathy toward the legions of amateur porn stars i cull through every day. it's disgust, and beneath this, sadness.
there are two driving forces behind the desire to share unreservedly, to show up naked and raw and bloodied. there is the desire to prove something, to use one's life as a fuck-you and to challenge people to just try and get near. and there is the desire to connect, to be understood, to matter.
these are not always separate.
i need to back up. i mentioned the disgust i feel. it's not disgust toward the individual. this would be unfair. i don't mean to displace responsibility, nor to excuse people from it, but it's laughable to sneer at those of us who seem so unable to self-censor, or who so compulsively expose. it would be like feeling superior to a child who's too distraught to reason. it's instead disgust at an environment, a world, that leads to this.
look at me.
do we feel so unloved that now we look for valuation in the aggregate eyes of strangers?
i'm not asking anything new. i wouldn't be asking at all except for the fact that i am so far from immune, either here, in this venue, or outside. last night was saturday; i was going to stay in. after all, i thought, i'm content taking care of myself. after all, i thought, i have no festering need to be seen. and then my ex called, and we talked, and, emptied, i got undressed. i left.
my head hurts.
i am so bored by exhibitionism.