no, i'm not crazy.
PRAYER
I can't think until it's late, which it is. Lucky readers. I am procrastinating on my gender paper outline bc it is painful. I read my chicken scratch: "intersectionality -> Iowa/self-hate- Olivia Wang & Judge Chen, Frank Wu? Interracial dating?? Hurt & healing, bell hooks; prevalence; sexualization, media, wars." I stop thinking.
But Lateness + Stimulants = Relaxation (oddly enough). This peace. This thought. My healing. Thoughts emerge naturally and they flow to the hum of my laptop fan + onto the screen. I drink tea and eat canned soup. I think about people, the ones who fade in and out of my life and the ones who linger, the One who I love and I wonder why and where the destination lies. I heard once that Love and Fear are the two basic emotions from which all others spawn, and I would have to agree. There is no hate, only fear. My anger comes from fear, my indecision and self-doubt. My love is an amazing thing.
VERDICT: GUILTY
Speeding down the 880 I call home to alert Infant #2 about the financial situation. She asks if I want to talk to Infant #1. I snap, no. She laughs, "Why, are you mad at him?" I snap again. "No, I just don't have time." I am defensive about my rejection. Infant #2 seems to delight in it. I am sad and guilty. I wonder if #1 heard. I think of my law school mentee, a Korean-Am male older than me, and our convos about the Asian dad. The aloofness and the regret. I think of my own father, the love surrounded by a tall fence of fear. He never had time before. I can make time. But my family is like my pearl. An intial grain of sand (high school), and I have covered it up in order to protect myself.
THE DEVIL'S ARMS
I had a dream last night about the Devil. In the dream there were six of us; I was number 4. We carried stones - like Logan's Run maybe - and we were to kill someone else in order to save ourselves. The killing took place in numerical order. I was alerted that #3 had done the deed, and it was my turn. I hitch a ride from a Mexican couple and I contemplate killing them but feel too bad. I am scared because I don't know how much time I have left. Time is running out. I must remember that. I have seconds left I think. I tell them to take me down Bascom towards "San Jo's Most Erotic Dancers - Totally Nude Dancing." I figure if I was going to kill someone, maybe the people I'd find there are more deserving than the rest of the people I see on the street. I could kill anyone and fulfill my "duty."
As we round Bascom & San Carlos, I see the same sight Sondra and I saw when she dropped me off Friday night. We had seen a group of guys on the corner, rolled down our windows and yelled "Fucking sluts" and "Dirty whores" at them, peeling out and laughing hysterically, bitterly. (It had been a long night with our mentees.)
But too late. I am walking down a bright hallway. I catch a glimpse of the devil on my left. He was a white baby, a horrid face grimacing like the Quizno's baby on the Superbowl commercial. His arms were so long they sat limply on the floor, nearly three times the length of the infant's body and boneless. He smiled at me as I went by. Then he is behind me, the stone is burning into my flesh, and I realize that dying is quick, and then there's nothing but gray brightness. I don't know if I wake up or what...
I can't think until it's late, which it is. Lucky readers. I am procrastinating on my gender paper outline bc it is painful. I read my chicken scratch: "intersectionality -> Iowa/self-hate- Olivia Wang & Judge Chen, Frank Wu? Interracial dating?? Hurt & healing, bell hooks; prevalence; sexualization, media, wars." I stop thinking.
But Lateness + Stimulants = Relaxation (oddly enough). This peace. This thought. My healing. Thoughts emerge naturally and they flow to the hum of my laptop fan + onto the screen. I drink tea and eat canned soup. I think about people, the ones who fade in and out of my life and the ones who linger, the One who I love and I wonder why and where the destination lies. I heard once that Love and Fear are the two basic emotions from which all others spawn, and I would have to agree. There is no hate, only fear. My anger comes from fear, my indecision and self-doubt. My love is an amazing thing.
VERDICT: GUILTY
Speeding down the 880 I call home to alert Infant #2 about the financial situation. She asks if I want to talk to Infant #1. I snap, no. She laughs, "Why, are you mad at him?" I snap again. "No, I just don't have time." I am defensive about my rejection. Infant #2 seems to delight in it. I am sad and guilty. I wonder if #1 heard. I think of my law school mentee, a Korean-Am male older than me, and our convos about the Asian dad. The aloofness and the regret. I think of my own father, the love surrounded by a tall fence of fear. He never had time before. I can make time. But my family is like my pearl. An intial grain of sand (high school), and I have covered it up in order to protect myself.
THE DEVIL'S ARMS
I had a dream last night about the Devil. In the dream there were six of us; I was number 4. We carried stones - like Logan's Run maybe - and we were to kill someone else in order to save ourselves. The killing took place in numerical order. I was alerted that #3 had done the deed, and it was my turn. I hitch a ride from a Mexican couple and I contemplate killing them but feel too bad. I am scared because I don't know how much time I have left. Time is running out. I must remember that. I have seconds left I think. I tell them to take me down Bascom towards "San Jo's Most Erotic Dancers - Totally Nude Dancing." I figure if I was going to kill someone, maybe the people I'd find there are more deserving than the rest of the people I see on the street. I could kill anyone and fulfill my "duty."
As we round Bascom & San Carlos, I see the same sight Sondra and I saw when she dropped me off Friday night. We had seen a group of guys on the corner, rolled down our windows and yelled "Fucking sluts" and "Dirty whores" at them, peeling out and laughing hysterically, bitterly. (It had been a long night with our mentees.)
But too late. I am walking down a bright hallway. I catch a glimpse of the devil on my left. He was a white baby, a horrid face grimacing like the Quizno's baby on the Superbowl commercial. His arms were so long they sat limply on the floor, nearly three times the length of the infant's body and boneless. He smiled at me as I went by. Then he is behind me, the stone is burning into my flesh, and I realize that dying is quick, and then there's nothing but gray brightness. I don't know if I wake up or what...