Day 3 - Problems and Perspective

J.P. put it in perspective for me. This year is my attempt at trying to stop making everything mean something and trying to make something mean nothing. Trying to relax. Go with the flow. That type of thing. Not, "Boobies boobies boobies!!!" It's a general problem most guys have these days. Every one wants a music video hoe, a hoodrat. The illusion of love that is in truth a simple physical lust. And lust can't carry a relationship. Lust will carry the night while love will carry the day.

That's all.

Day 1

At midnight, I began an excursion. I will not date a woman until May 25th, 2008. I will not think of them in that manner, I will shut off myself from them in that way.

Madness. That's what it's supposed to be. But, really, it's an exploration into my interactions with women, others' interactions with each other, and the downright perversion of my thoughts as well as everyone elses. I really want to appreciate women, and I've been so hell bent on finding a girlfriend that I've never been able to step back and just appreciate them. Well, I'm stepping back and being just a friend for a year. Seriously? This shouldn't be that hard, I haven't been on a date in over a year anyway. The only difference will be that I won't have to worry about whether or not she's going to call me back.

Swear to God I'm going to do this. It's something my Youth Pastor in High School recommended to me, to take a year and be removed from dating, but I was so in love with a girl at the time, I couldn't say yes. Well, now I'm over that one and on and so I will do this at the right state of my life when everyone else seems to be zoned in on making it with a hoodrat for a night and a morning.

As timed, and if I'm lucky, this would take me into the end of my first Semester at Humboldt, if I get accepted for the Spring term. This could get interesting, and I'll keep this as a constant, letting you know of my observations and my struggles (because I know there's going to be many).

Will I have arrived in time to share?

For every tenth thing I tell you, there will be nine I withhold or refute with vigor. If there is a sea worth swimming, I would swim to get away from here. If there were a life worth living, I would hold on to it. Worth living. Telling your story to the children. Contemplating murderous antiquities and the likes seen only now on quilted patterned pillows and soft down comforters. See me alone with you holding you being you. Wanting you. I cannot see worth a damn but I know it's you. I know by the stillness in your eyes. I am alone but I have another plan. Something and nowhere all at once. Atmosphere not conducive. I electricity and I have nothing to conduct against. No conductor for the band. Against all your will to sleep and to be still. I know you from before when we were once. Away and fallible once contrived and votive alone at the chapel perpetuating our sheep and our nature. Conniving bitch seething with the fury of those nine things I hold off. I cannot stay because I know you not. You know this and you still cry out across the chasm where I cannot see and hear or taste and smell your beautiful skin...

But, one day--in time?--we will be together and that great chasm will be but a mere divide as natural as your ten toes and fingers. Thumbs. Rings passed in matrimony. Great divide to drive away as natural as the sun may set.

One Taste

Here are some excerpts from the book I'm working on (they're trademarked. Don't plagiarize.):

"We are lost, you the reader, and I, the writer. We have come this far into the world of men of the “Yo no ‘sé’” prefix, diluted and soluble in water. Seamen who cannot swim when their heads are lost like chickens and their own nerves breaking down without a head to keep them sane. Bread stealing birds from your feet. Feet growing for hands and vice versa. Alone and not knowing it. Stooping behind a house to tell a yarn to the neighborhood boys you’d like to fuck. Boys and boys and their own private vices. Their own private versas. Veritas. Veritably. Lost in Sinai, Mount of Moriah killing our own chosen son of Ishmael ma non troppo. I will admit as the record scratches and skips back to “zero” and not “one,” knowing nothing again, that I am one with the Father in all the blasphemous senses.

"Tell me your goddam name, dear child. Highway. Riding downward south along our truisms, aren’t we? Veritas. Saying what we want when we’re drunk and telling the truth that there’s really nothing there to most people. Play with my cunt! That’s drunk-talk. Journey of the first-degree burns.

"I know what it is. I really do. It’s beneath these words and these pages. Beneath. It’s your legs, it’s your feet, it’s your hands, my daughter. It’s your thighs (milky white or caramel or dark as sin), your thoughts (milky white or caramel or dark as sin), your knowledge (milky white or caramel or dark as sin). I know it’s you reading this to guide unto me. You I will not kill but they I would to get to you. You are my Keats Grecian Urn. My pillar to stand all the ages against and rest under the ashes of Pompeii falling down on the ground, on its hands and knees to praise Allah towards the east. I will praise Allah all the days of my life for Isaac was God’s chosen son to carry all the nations! La’Illallah Il’Allahu! Veritas! Praise Reality for He is All!"

...

"Planted in the ground, white yet azure and tall against the sunflowers unending like a pedestal for my queen or a monolith for my love. Up above and out and around the holding stands, awaiting its subject. She is coming and she is there, just beyond the horizon, and I know when she is to arrive or whether she is within this field, coming towards the pedestal. Nothing is known. Love is like religion, in some aspects. You know which ones.

" Quaquaqua.

" I wish I could have told SK all these things when he was drunk off his rocker and crazy as the night.

" Later, SK would say to me, in regards to another girl, “You know me: I don’t know my emotions unless I’m shitfaced.”

" “Or drunk off your ass,” I replied, thinking of SK with shit all over his face taking artistic nudes to be put up at the LACMA one day.

" After this brief conversation, we left for Pasadena, a great coming up home away."