twelve
"you're not a whore, you're a libertine" is scrawled in your handwriting on my back. protecting me. (from what?) rather than continuously playing catch up, i think i'll start right from where i am. that's a good opening line, isn't it? you're not a whore, you're a libertine. maybe that's the first line of my movie. maybe it's just the first line of a chapter in my book. i've been reading no one belongs here more than you and it's heartbreakingly beautiful and more importantly, true. i am something that needs nothing. i've been in situations recently where people have been very specifically affirming, which i love because it is something i try to do with/for others. it's good to know what people see as your strengths (not just because it gives you insight into your weaknesses.) anyway, it makes me feel like i am something that needs nothing, and that people actually notice this giving. in light of recent events, i think there has been some error in separating what parts of me i should give in this easy, natural way. it became too easy and so i just did it, and i suppose it is lovely to be this type of person, but i lost the ability to make choices about it because i made a few big decisions about what kind of person i am and let that attitude dictate everything else. i need to start deciding things on a case by case basis.
so, yeah, the past couple days have been one of extreme concern and soul searching, and i got stoned on friday night and spilled my secrets easily to akiva and ki because, after i had you inscribe this clear memory of who i am back into me, suddenly it felt like it could be a good story again and that i should never have anything to be ashamed of, ever. i think in the sober sunday sunlight reality is a little more between the extremes, but one can only be sick of oneself for so long before things are forgiven. as past experiences indicate, i don't really let myself be haunted by my past.
{break}
i'm not sure what it means when hearing one word from you, that is about absolutely nothing, makes me so happy i could cry, and almost do. it means love, yes, i know this, it is that simple, really. but i maintain that i am still trying to figure out some new and narrow definition, one that frees me from having to be this tragic character.
obviously, i believe that these two narrative trajectories in my life are affecting each other, or rather that i might not have felt so violently sick of of the situation if somewhere deep inside this warped mind, i wasn't allowing myself to belong to someone else. these are the delusions of teenagers but i guess if you want you can be a teenager for your whole fucking life.
i can't decide which is my greatest quest these days- fixing this terrible hole i dug for myself, alone, or finding a way to heal you and i into something we can be without one of us straight up lying to the other one, or trying to make truly great art, or trying to make myself into truly great art, or just trying to graduate without regretting a single moment of my final quarter.
i saw the informers which no one should see if they haven't read the book, it's the wrong kind of shallow and self-indulgent, and for the handful of moments that really sting, are really beautiful shots, it all comes too late to be fully compelling and for something that could still hit me so deep in my gut, especially the way i've been considering LA and my imminent move lately, it fell super flat.
i came home last night and watched the shape of things which just overflows with those moments, and what a study in acting, my god. it's full of these long long shots where the actors are just doing their thing and jesus christ. what an acting piece. the editing choices make sense- it's one of those very-obviously-adapted-from-a-play things. but god, what a play. it made me feel more like myself after watching it.
i got a lot of sleep last night (even with the fucking huge party raging in my house) but i haven't woken well rested all weekend. i have so much writing i need to do, for myself and for school, so maybe that will happen in between laundry and before akiva's show at the red tonight.
even before rereading this, i can tell that i am mildly irritated with my usual trademark rambling style. god, i'm so *over* myself these days.
so, yeah, the past couple days have been one of extreme concern and soul searching, and i got stoned on friday night and spilled my secrets easily to akiva and ki because, after i had you inscribe this clear memory of who i am back into me, suddenly it felt like it could be a good story again and that i should never have anything to be ashamed of, ever. i think in the sober sunday sunlight reality is a little more between the extremes, but one can only be sick of oneself for so long before things are forgiven. as past experiences indicate, i don't really let myself be haunted by my past.
{break}
i'm not sure what it means when hearing one word from you, that is about absolutely nothing, makes me so happy i could cry, and almost do. it means love, yes, i know this, it is that simple, really. but i maintain that i am still trying to figure out some new and narrow definition, one that frees me from having to be this tragic character.
obviously, i believe that these two narrative trajectories in my life are affecting each other, or rather that i might not have felt so violently sick of of the situation if somewhere deep inside this warped mind, i wasn't allowing myself to belong to someone else. these are the delusions of teenagers but i guess if you want you can be a teenager for your whole fucking life.
i can't decide which is my greatest quest these days- fixing this terrible hole i dug for myself, alone, or finding a way to heal you and i into something we can be without one of us straight up lying to the other one, or trying to make truly great art, or trying to make myself into truly great art, or just trying to graduate without regretting a single moment of my final quarter.
i saw the informers which no one should see if they haven't read the book, it's the wrong kind of shallow and self-indulgent, and for the handful of moments that really sting, are really beautiful shots, it all comes too late to be fully compelling and for something that could still hit me so deep in my gut, especially the way i've been considering LA and my imminent move lately, it fell super flat.
i came home last night and watched the shape of things which just overflows with those moments, and what a study in acting, my god. it's full of these long long shots where the actors are just doing their thing and jesus christ. what an acting piece. the editing choices make sense- it's one of those very-obviously-adapted-from-a-play things. but god, what a play. it made me feel more like myself after watching it.
i got a lot of sleep last night (even with the fucking huge party raging in my house) but i haven't woken well rested all weekend. i have so much writing i need to do, for myself and for school, so maybe that will happen in between laundry and before akiva's show at the red tonight.
even before rereading this, i can tell that i am mildly irritated with my usual trademark rambling style. god, i'm so *over* myself these days.