Saturday, October 30, 2004
Today I realized that change is like a bullwhip. When it is subtle, small changes that you make, the tip of the whip brushes against those around you, perhaps even tickling a little. As the changes become a little more intense it can sting them and some people like that and some don't. When you get down to big, core, or fundamental changes, the pivot of the whip nears the base and then when the tip strikes it burns, cuts, and stings deeply those around you. Better to hurt the others or to leave your soul in bondage or entombed?
Also, my traffic spiked up to around 80 last weekend, descended back to its average 10-20 unique hits per day, and then today, I can see 2 hits. The traffic graph is kind of sad. Where did all of the leprechauns go?
The weather this weekend has been wonderful. Today is a cool, breezy fall day with the leaves falling to the ground. Yesterday and last night, the earth was veiled in a cold fog. Driving the golf cart with Jeremy was difficult due to the lack of distance vision, however, there were many times I'd have to interrupt our conversation to explain how beautiful a scene I'd see was. It could be as simple as the colour changing trees set in the fog over the lake or as complex as looking over a small bridge and not being able to see what was on the other side. I was enraptured at some of the scenes.
My dad surprised me yesterday by being willing to hang out with me and spend time with me rather than hurry off busily as is his habit. He normally claims that he has no time to even come into the house to see something which we'd desparately waited all day for him to come so that he could see. Due to the lack of diversions in Peachtree City, we ended up simply going to the dollar theatre. At my encouragement, we watched I, Robot, which I had seen but very much enjoyed. My dad hadn't expected it to be a movie that makes you think; he'd expected the standard action fare. His way of describing it, however, piqued my thoughts. He said that he had expected it to be more testosterone driven whereas it seemed more estrogen influenced. Interesting description given my thoughts and actions as of late and my definite like of that film.
I received a little more feedback on my Rachel investigations. I showed my mother and father the purse and gave her the utilitarian, pragmatic explanation for my having it. She replied that it definitely looked like a purse but that there are more purse looking purses. I replied quite simply that yes, it is a purse. My father just acknowledged my explanation and carried on with life. I was talking to Jeremy and he says that Erik told him privately, after seeing my pictures, that it wouldn't surprise him at all if I turned out to be gay or had some intimate homosexual encounter due to my pervasive desire for experience. Kenneth, after being asked by his mom weeks ago if I was gay, told her that as far as he knows I'm not and he didn't have any reason to doubt that, but retracted the latter part recently. Others, if given the full knowledge of the extent of my progression, would express similar sentiments. It really just shows a big lack of understanding and knowledge of both me as a person and of the scene in which I'm participating.
Jeremy and I were talking last night and it seems that my group of friends does tend to be very close-minded and intolerant of deviation overall. There are some things I can do and simply receive disdain from them, others which would compromise friendships, all while maintaining the same essence of myself. Isn't it funny that people could forsake their life-long friends for external or behavioural changes when they are overall the same person and it is not harming anyone. Hell, even change is one of the only things we can guarantee in this fucked up world. Why are some changes acceptable, even encouraged, when others are taboo and able to cause such rifts?
Fuck it all, I am who I am, I will be who I will be, I will find beauty everywhere in the world, and anyone that wants to hop off the carpet ride may do so.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
One of my poor little green goblets took its own life today. It was tired of living a life of servitude to me, its white master. It was tired of seeing my freedom and knowing that it was wholely owned by me and not given the faux freedom that I enjoy. As I poured my tea into it today, it decided that the burden of work that I was giving it was too difficult and rather than bear the load and serve me any longer it chose to die. It decapitated itself as the top severed cleanly from the base and it's skull grew a large crack up the side from which it began bleeding my green tea all over the countertop and floor. I'm down to one goblet and a few smaller brown clay cups now. May goblet #1 rest in peace.
I was having an insightful set of conversations tonight with some friends and through them I came up with an interesting theory with a morbid conclusion.
We were discussing various ways that I am fucked up in the head and that half the shit I come up with can be unusual and entertaining. We were also trying to figure out my whole girl thing and my lack of success or true conscious desire for relationships.
I told my friends that if I went to a therapist to try to resolve my issues, that my worst fear of all would be to be told that I am completely normal and that all of my issues are creations of my own mind to escape that fate. I would feel half suicidal if I was given that verdict, that I was trapped in a life of mediocrity and being inherently the same as everyone else, and that it could not be escaped, that my entire life had been lived in vain.
I then was hit by a burst of morbid inspiration. I realized that if all of that were the case then the only way to fuck the system, to achieve that abnormality in my life through a creation of my own would be to orchestrate my own death. That would bring fruition to the long-sought desire for abnormality in the only unmistakably permanent and tangible manifestation.
For fuck's sake, let's hope there actually is something "wrong" with me!
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
I'm sitting outside while the universe puts on a dramatic production involving everyone as a player on its stage. The moon is playing Jesus, trying to get killed and ressurect itself. The earth is playing Pilate condeming the moon to death but wavering in the decision as the moon fades and brightens again and again. And I sit here screaming like a Jew to just kill the damn thing. All this wavering and indecision is annoying. Just make the damned thing disappear.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
In the cool, misty morning air, I watched a yellow jacket find a warm spot to rest. The exquisite creature landed and I observed it for perhaps as long as 5 minutes. I saw as it walked to find a comfortable position and as it groomed its clean and brightly coloured body. I saw as it lay its head down as if to rest and the antennae came together. It looked like a small infant curled into a sleeping position. After a time, the forces that be violently shook it from its place of rest and slumber and a violent temper emerged in the previously docile creature. It flew in sporatic patterns trying to discover the cause of its disruption, to find where the warmth had gone, and to punish whatever force had stolen it away. Desirous that the hellion not find me and expend its wrath on me, I departed the area. Thus ended the story of the yellow jacket that landed on my shoe.
I waver daily on trying to know just what I am. Some days I feel like I must be a girl. Other days I feel like just a feminine man. Other days I start to think that maybe I'm snapping out of this and that it is just a phase. Today was one of the days that felt very mixed.
The movie theatre is my traditional testing ground for new outfits and today was no exception. Today I went to the movie theatre in a dress. Unlike the times with the skirts or the time with the shirt and bra, the anxiety with the dress never did wear off. I think that is because it crosses a threshhold into clothing that I can't comfortably wear in guy mode. At least with the shirt I had worn a bra. I think with the dress I'd need at least that much as well. I could be comfortable in it if I dressed up fully but it doesn't work well in mixed mode.
I was talking to an online female friend of mine to ask her about clearing up an ingrown hair that I've developed on my leg. When I clarified that I shave, she first wondered if I was gay. After I assured her that I am not, she wondered if it was a new trend and said that she as a female would not like it if her man shaved his legs because it isn't very masculine. I don't care that it isn't. I am not seeking at all to be masculine and in some ways I wonder if I really ever have sought that truly for myself and not for social approval.
I think the mental difference between male and female is more of a continuum than a binary relationship. I don't think that anyone is really fully one or the other and some lean closer to centre or over the border of their physical sex. I guess what is really important is how you identify yourself and where you feel most comfortable.
Hopefully once I've exposed myself a little more to the feminine aspect I will have enough information to make an informed decision instead of basing it on fanciful archetypes and idealistic images.
Monday, October 25, 2004
What is the difference between being and becoming?
Being is normally defined at some point in time while becoming is a process between two states of being over time. Does time really matter though? If the fourth dimension is time, then is it so fundamentally different than position? If I step over a few steps have I become something new?
Heraclitus would argue that since everything is in a constant state of change, nothing is ever the same in being between one moment and the next.
Yet somehow, somewhere there is a thread that ties things together. Few, if any, would argue that there is not some relation between the me of this moment and the me of yesterday even if the two are not exactly the same.
If there were suddenly some rift in time-space or if I had an accident that mentally changed me in an extreme way, or even changed my entire personality, most would still argue there is some relation between the new me and the old me.
If I were to be horribly mutilated physically or go through cosmetic or gender surgery, wouldn't there still be a connection? If I was to have my brain placed in a robotic body, wouldn't there still be a connection? If I lost all physical form and was placed in a new body, brain and all, wouldn't there be some connection?
What if I was both physically and mentally changed? Of what is the connection made?
Sunday, October 24, 2004
My brother just sat up from his state of slumber asking me semi-incoherently where the halo piece is. Sitting up and assuring me again, in mumbles, that he is awake, he looked over the bed and told me that he needs to find out where the halo piece has fallen to so that he could win a million dollars. I told him that what he told me was completely absurd and that there's no way he's awake. He laid back down and re-entered a quiet slumber without another word.
After copious drama, a familiar situation for this group, my friends and I went off to Six Flags to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of Jeremy.
Everyone seemed to be dressed up and so I simply couldn't go in normal street clothes and miss out on all of the fun so I donned my long black linen skirt to wear. Now that I've worn it to school twice, to the mall once, and to the movie theatre a number of times, I wasn't nervous to wear it in a public setting. I actually enjoyed the looks I'd get.
I noticed one growingly feminine aspect of my psyche today. Although I definitely can appreciate the value of a beautiful woman, I see it in a more artistic way than the animalistic lust that so many males are susceptible to and which in the past I have I'm sure been a victim of as well. As I followed my comrades around, I could only think that when women say that "men are pigs," the sentiment they are expressing is so true. At one point we split into two groups and the other group told me that we should definitely check out one show, following it up by "if you know what I mean" alluding to scantily clad skanky women and bounteous cleavage. Can you say ick? Then we were walking up a line to one of the rides but we were early on our time (using one of those queue reducing scanner machines) and some girls were walking behind us, obviously not early themselves. I let them pass and my companions let out numerous acclamations of the desirability of their bodies. I let the girls go to be nice because they were in more of a hurry than we were. The others just wanted to check out their asses. We did end up going to the show that the other group had recommended and while the others ogled the dancers' breasts, I admired that they were able to work hard enough to get such a nice waistline.
I got bored with the show, so while my companions admired the dancers in a less than virtuous way, I returned to the activity which I'd been employing myself in while we waited for the show to start. We'd seated ourselves next to a group with a stroller and the baby had begun to cry. Seeing how adorable the little girl was, I played with her and let her hold my fingers. She was more fun than the show. It was at this point alone that I was mistaken for a girl today. I overheard one of the women with the baby say to her friend that "[the baby] is trying to eat her" while the baby was trying to put my finger into her mouth.
The skirt presented a unique challenge for the rides that we chose to go on, which were limited to: Acrophobia and Superman. Luckily both secured well enough between the legs that my skirt did not fly up and expose me to the world. The skirt felt absolutely delightful on superman as it flapped through the wind, though at the end it was dangling from me as we lay horizontally. Not enough to show anything uncouth but enough to amuse. I did not at all regret wearing it though and in fact was glad I did. Even with beautiful, cool weather, having that lack of fabric that bifurcate garments have and allowing for better air flow it was far cooler and more comfortable.
On the way out I overheard some people behind me talking about me. I heard the words "black and brown" referring to my skirt and shoes respectively. Perhaps those colours do not match? I need new shoes anyway. I don't have any variety and my shoes don't go well with any of my outfits in drab or drag. A minute or two later, one big, sweaty, chubby guy from the group came up, threw his sweat-damp arm around my shoulder, and asked if I enjoyed Six Flags. He proceeded to ask me if I'd like to come back with him the following weekend and asked my name. The entire time it was obvious to him that I am male. I told him that I live in Athens and am just down for the weekend and he said that he could come pick me up. I don't think he even knows where Athens is. He then proceeded to tell me how he is half spanish, half mexican, half.... naming off a half dozen ethnicities. At this point I just shrugged him off and caught up with my group. I had only suffered him that long due to my incessant hunger for feedback and reactions on my mixed and drag dressing habits. I can't tell whether I was just hit on by a gay guy or whether he was just trying to verify for his group that I really was a guy in a skirt or why he approached me in such a friendly way. Ah well, at least it is something to blog!
I am a bullet speeding
into the heart of the city
carrying a poison
which will destroy
all parts that I touch
Then is born
in the aftermath of my destruction
a new and purer
but distorted reality
The end to which
all things must come
Friday, October 22, 2004
I stood reading a book and a bee kept buzzing around my face despite my continual efforts to get out of his space. Buzzing around the book proved to be his doom however. He approached me too closely and found his grave resting between two pages of the book as the pages enveloped him when I slammed the book closed on him.
A few pages in the book later, I read something striking. The author was talking about how she went through transition not to be some other girl but to be the real her. It made me stop to think: just what the fuck am I doing and why? I've mentioned wanting to be Kate Beckinsale but is that actually a desire to be her or just a schoolgirl longing to be pretty like her? Am I trying to be something that I am not or am I using the model of others to help me become who I think I am?
I don't know the answers to these questions. I'm not sure that there are answers. Even if I was trying to be someone else, I have either syncretized them into myself or opened up doors into myself that cannot be reversed. Many of the "feminine" practices I've picked up I do not desire to forsake because I simply like them better and do them even in my most masculine mode.
Maybe I'm just an effeminate man. Wouldn't that just be the pits?
I was standing in the bookstore today looking at decongestants for my cold. From behind me I heard a voice saying "Are you finding everything you need sir?" To that I replied "Yes, yes I am, thank you." That was a lie. There was something I was looking for that I did not find. For some reason, I really wished he'd said "ma'am." He only saw me from behind and my hair is getting longer, I have shaved legs, and I am carrying a purse. I don't know whether it was my clothes, my shoes, my posture, my build, or something else that made it so rampantly clear that I am male. I don't know how far with this I want to go but I will admit that sometimes it would be really nice to be mistaken for a woman, even if just from the back. More would be nice but I can't even get that much.
That damnèd, forsaken hallway that does not end. Today I entered the building just like every other day and traversed its passage. The off-white walls lined with doors and the blue door at the end leading to another hallway form a pattern that would seemingly never end. I've mentioned it before. Every time I walk that hallway I feel like it is a symbol, a living symbol, of some transition in life but it is never clear to what end. Today I looked up just as I went through the door and saw the sign that said "Exit". Of course normally it means fire exit, but that's not what it really means. It is just part of the symbol. It helps to make the passageway mean something. What does it mean? Is it different every day? Is it symbolic of life? Transition? Thought?
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Okay, it is quite obvious that I was emotional with my last two posts. I will not retract or diminish anything I said because all sentiments expressed were valid and my honest expression of how I felt at the time.
One interesting thing to see in all of these explorations, thoughts, and feelings that I've had is how much more aware I have become of everything from how others act and look at things to the builds of various people including myself. I suddenly become more conscious of how I am doing some things and how others, specifically girls differ, and once that awareness arises I can begin to form an opinion.
Today I felt much more comfortable in my current state and started to wonder if maybe this is just a phase and it is wearing off. Then I realized the deception in that idea. I still have the shaved legs and arms which I compulsively try to keep as shaven as possible. I still hate the stubble on my face and wish it was gone. I still like the softness of female garments. I still was carrying a purse. I was still trying to walk and sit like a girl. I was still looking at genetic girls with jealousy in my eye. I became aware of the masculine muscle mass and shoulders that I have and abhorred it. I realized that the masculine clothes I was wearing and the body I am wearing, while not athletic at all, still feels too beefy and not soft and tender like a girl's. I realized as I tried to sit and keep my legs together or cross my legs as I desired that the ever present bulge between my legs got in the way and was annoying.
Do I want to lop off my dick and turn into a woman? I don't know. That seems like an awfully big change and jump and something that could very likely be regretted years down the road. Besides, I don't feel like it is a curse or birth defect like a true transsexual would. I have had it all of these years and it is just a part of me. I don't know that I'd ever want it gone.
Then again, there are some things I am interested in doing. I am definitely interested in electrolysis on my neck. I don't know about my face since this could just be a passing phase. With the neck though it's a bitch to shave and I could grow a beard later without that hair anyway. I'm also interested in hormone therapy because I really would like the softer skin and the female fat distribution. It would also be fascinating to see the effects that estrogen has on the brain. There are a couple things that keep me wary about that however. The foremost is that hormone therapy can cause permanent sterility. I realize that I could store sperm and then if I came off of the hormones that normal penile function should return but I'd be infertile. At that point I could still perform normally and still father children with the stored sperm but it is still a disconcerting idea, probably because of that permanence that I'm so terrified of.
Nature and evolution really have built procreation into the centre of our existence, haven't they? Some permanent things I could deal with better than others. Some, like piercings that can damage body parts like teeth outrage the survival mechanism. Some, like sterilization procedures or hormones threaten the very ability to procreate. Others, such as the permanent development of some level of breasts due to hormones actually do not bother me at all. I think having a tiny scar from an ear piercing almost seems like a more frightening prospect than growing breasts would be.
These things have all been physical effects and worries and if it were these things alone I could easily just be a crossdresser. I don't think that is the limit of it though. I've made references to mental effects before. I like hanging out with girls. I like talking to girls. I don't feel like I need to try to be a guy and hit on them. I look around at guys and see in them some of the things that girls typically complain about. I can see how I've myself done these things. I want to be one of the girls.
Up until sometime last semester I'd never really thought too much about these issues. I think I know why. Up until about May 2001 I'd never really thought much about any issues. I'd just kind of floated along with life. Then my parents got divorced. What I had thought impossible happened. I started questioning everything in my life. It started with church since that was a large part of my life. I spent the next 3 years at BYU fighting and struggling with that issue and I've mostly made my peace with that issue as I've escaped BYU. I still have baggage but that's normal. Now that I am no longer in a repressive environment, I have my thinking facilities on, the burden of the church is mostly off of my back, and I've been exposed to gender issues in my psych of gender class last semester, I can start to deal with my other issues, foremost being the gender issue right now. I don't know if it has been an issue for my whole life that was simply buried by repression or whether something recently caused these issues. I'm leaning toward the former. There have been experiences in my past that lead me to believe that that is the case and that now that I am free it is able to emerge. Now I just need to learn the size of the beast and deal with it.
I will have to confront each of my demons one at a time and this is the newest one. It is hard but it will make me a more rounded person mentally if not physically! ;)
There's more. The movie was Collateral. Tom Cruise's character is a very existentialist hired assassin. In one scene he gives an existentialist lecture about the inherent meaninglessness of life on this little planet and the individual lives on it in the midst of a huge universe. He tells Jaime Foxx's character that he will never realize his dream because he doesn't go out and do it, he just fantasizes about it and one day he'll realize he's old and lost it. He said that life is short and then one day you are dead.
He's right in so many ways. I'm an atheist and I tend to be an existentialist as well. I believe that when I'm dead I'm gone. Life is short and we only live once. We make mistakes and they are part of our development of who we are. We have dreams and ideas but if we never realize them then we'll be old before we know it. We can afford to fuck up, can't we? Afterall, what will it matter when we're dead? Life is short. Why not go out on a limb sometimes?
I don't want to be forever stuck in the taxi cab stage of life. I want my metaphorical limo company. Now I need to figure out what my limo company is. Tonight is so full of confusion, emotions, and unknowns.
I think I need a therapist. They're too expensive. Fuck.
I don't even have estrogen flowing through my system but at least tonight I understand why girls sometimes just want to talk to people about their feelings. Not a manly thing to do you tell me. You tell me that I am feeling things that are inappropriate for who I am. You tell me that I shouldn't even be admitting deranged feelings like this. You don't have a clue who I am or why I feel these things. You tell me I'm fucked in the head. You are both you and me myself.
For the past 2 days I've been carrying a purse/handbag to school with me. I haven't been as nervous about it as with the skirts because if I am confronted about it I have a reasonable explanation which is true and is the cause of my choosing this part of the transition at this stage. My pockets have been accumulating more and more things that I carry daily. In the left is my phone and an ever stuffed wallet. In the right are my keys, my stiletto, my chapstick, my pen, and my zippo. With a bulk like that it wears on my thighs and things tend to fall from my pockets when I sit. Carrying them in a bag provides more room for the growing collection and is more comfortable. Guys and girls should both carry them for pragmatic purposes. I really like carrying it though. It feels right. I like how it makes me feel.
Rag on me all you want for this next bit but shove it up your ass if you do. Today for kicks and to see what it feels like, when I got out of the shower, rather than walk around without a shirt, I decided to throw on a small bra I'd gotten for practice and a sleeveless female shirt. Then I went about my daily activities with no plans to do anything further with it. Then my internet connection started acting up and so I decided on impulse to go to the movies. Barely thinking about it I went out to the car and drove to the theatre. When I got there and saw people standing outside it reemerged to the centre of my consciousness that I was still wearing the femme top so I sat in the car for a few minutes nervous. I knew I wanted to see the movie but I also knew that with this godawful beard stubble that I can't shave smooth and no makeup that I had no chance at passing especially since I hadn't intended to go out in that getup, but only to wear it around the apartment. Eventually I dragged myself up, bought the ticket, and went inside. Once the movie started and nobody was paying attention to me, I loosened up a bit about it. After a few minutes, I had feelings that as a guy I'm not supposed to. I liked how the soft material of the shirt felt. I felt up against my shoulder and could feel the strap below the fabric. That coveted strap that I'd stared at on girls in middle school just dying to feel... it was on my shoulder... and I loved how it felt.
So now I sit here trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head tonight. I was talking to Ashley tonight and what she said when I asked her if she had any tips about my pictures kind of encompasses all of this:
Ashley: hahh no i really dont want any part in trying to make u look like a girl
Me: ah, why not?
Ashley: bc your a guy
Physically yes, I am a guy. Mentally, no, I'm not a girl. Not fully anyway; I don't think I'm a full transsexual. Sometimes I wish I was a girl and sometimes I feel feminine things that as a guy I'm not supposed to feel, but I do anyway. I just want to be me. What am I?
If I knew, I wouldn't be making this post.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
If y'all remember correctly, I posted once about how much I love dreams. I don't remember them nearly as often as I wish I did but sometimes I do. Today was one of those days. I had to transcribe it as quickly as possible to catch as many of the fading details as possible so forgive grammatical errors and inconsistencies.
Transcription:
For some reasons I show up at BYU and am looking through a coatrack for one with my name on it. Some official stops me and asks me if I'm Michael Golden. I wonder why he is asking but don't respond and just walk off. People keep a wary eye on me as if I'm the devil himself. I am then walking around in a grocery store in a world of complete sensory distortion. I walk to the desk looking for some sort of computer supply. The scared clerk says that I can have anything I want and I realize that they are conspiring and I yell at them and tell them that they are going to slip something in my pocket just to catch me in the act of something I didn't do. People deny it and walk off in one direction and then quickly appear from another completely impossible position to retort. I chase one woman and her children and they run through a food section and one of the children knocks over a container of blue and pink patty marshmallows. I stop to pick up the box as one of the marshmallows gets stepped on. The shape of the marshmallows is the most clear thing yet in the scene. The family continues to run saying that they must escape. Just before they enter a doorway I catch the mother and, referring to the marshmallows, I thank her for restoring a part of my humanity. I follow them out the door they've fled through and find myself on a giant staircase with a number of tiny people. These colonists had moved to the staircase at some point in their past and were welcoming of the new arrivals. Looking up at stairs above graffiti is visible which numbers of how their population has grown but recently plateaued. We all look off the staircase and see a lamp post surrounded by dewed grass. The first thing to approach the lamp post is a squirrel with bristly hair. In the light of the lamp it looks to be a metallic blue colour. The next thing that we see are two goats. One of them appears to be a baby but after it passes by we see that it is no smaller than the other one. The one we had thought to be the mother tries to climb up and eat something from our population but by retreating as far as we can on the stair it can't quite reach us. One of the group falls off but the goat doesn't notice and leaves. He finds the water on the grass and realizes that the reason that their population isn't growing is the lack of readily available water and thinks he has solved it with this discovery of dew. *wakeup*
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Of 8 women on the bus, only 3 were wearing earrings. It's funny to see how many assumptions are false by observation. I had always thought that most, if not all grown women wore earrings. I think that one problem that people have when trying to imitate or become something else is that they work based on stereotypes and assumptions rather than observing things that are truly the case and it harms their endeavour because they go over the top and still cannot fit in.
I was thinking more on the psychology of subjective memory and extending my thoughts a little bit. Our present desires can and often do affect our memory of past events as I said before. I'm now wondering what affects our desires and beliefs. Can constant exposure to a concept change our desires for it positively or negatively? If this is the case, then would constant exposure intentional or unintentional serve to change how we view ourselves and our lives? Our desires form a part of our identity as well and so issues that we are undecided or confused on may well be affected by the exposure as well. I suppose it must have an effect because people are socialized as children and as adults by that which surrounds them. Must we then be careful what we expose ourselves to because we risk changing our identity and desires from it?
Most religions would offer this very view and tell us to avoid "harmful" influences in order to remain pure and good and righteous. However, this is a narrow, biased view. Yes, we probably will change many things about ourselves by exposing ourselves to things, but change isn't always a bad thing. There is a problem with many of the personal maxims that are touted by so many people. For example, "don't try to be something that you are not" is often said to people that are experimenting or trying to be like someone. I'm guilty of using it myself against my brother often. That command is a method of control because the speaker assumes that he or she knows who you are and believes that what you are doing contradicts this narrow perception that he or she has. Is it really possible to understand the many facets of a person's identity to really be able to say who he/she is and whether or not he/she is being true to that identity? Using commands like this one serve to repress doubts and confusions about personal identity and to mold a person into some form that you desire. "To thine own self be true" is likewise touted as a maxim for authentic living, which is a concept that I am greatly in favour of. The problem with it, though, is that many of us really have no idea who we are well enough to be completely true to ourselves. People are so complex and ambivalent about their own feelings, desires, and wants. We as people seek so hard to fit into society and please other people that we mold ourselves into something regardless of what our true desires are. How do we know that these aren't our true desires? How do we know if they are? When we get involved in some change in our life, sanctioned or unsanctioned by others, our desires and thoughts on it will grow and pervade many aspects of our lives. Is this new aspect something that was there all along but unknown or is it something new? Is it even possible to know?
I guess I'm trying to find meaning and clarity in identity. I don't think we understand who we are or what influence people and the environment have on us. I don't think we realize that every choice we make puts us in situations that affect who we are. I don't think we realize how malleable identity is. And most importantly, I think most people attach too much stigma to the change in identity no matter what the reasons for the change are.
Maybe I'm unique and detached from the world and these observations apply only to me. Maybe they apply to most people out there. It doesn't matter really. I will live my life and hope others can live theirs without fear of change, shame, or intolerance as well.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Due to it being a nice warm day outside, I wore the long black linen skirt to school again today to the same class that I had worn it to the first time. This time I wasn't nervous like last time. I was able to walk through town and to class without feeling embarrassed like before. I think my wearing an even more feminine skirt this weekend around people I knew, and therefore whose opinions mattered more, that hadn't known about this diversion of mine made it easier for me to wear skirts around people I don't know.
On the bus today, I was thinking about the modification of memory. In psychology you learn how fallible and malleable memory really is both in facts and meaning. Both facts and meaning can be distorted or wholly changed by the way a question is asked or by the current events and desires in a person's life. Specifically I was thinking of one hypothetical situation that this could very well manifest itself clearly in my life. It is not currently my intention to do so, but I was thinking about what would happen if I attended counseling with a gender therapist for hormones or whatever reason and how I would remember or relate to them situations in my past about gender. For example, one time when I was a child I was caught outside in the backyard in one of my sister's dresses. How would I interpret that? Or the times in high school before I had to shave my face but when I was growing my hair out and was mistaken for a girl a number of times in real life. Did I think it was shameful or embarrassing? Did I think so consciously but subconsciously enjoy it? I honestly can't remember accurately and depending on how the question was phrased in a counseling session I may remember it differently.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
And so it begins. The first of my non-mormon friends has gotten married. Felicitations to my completely amazing friends Greg and Miranda. I guess you all want the play by play, so here it goes:
Friday:
I wasn't able to get out until later in the day and had decided to follow mapquest directions with the ammendments given me by Greg. I ended up missing some turn somewhere and ended up in Statham, Georgia. I went into a gas station and bought a map and decided to plot my own course. Sometimes that is the best thing to do even in menial things like road directions but not as often as in the course of life itself. So I found my way back to Athens, departing to my new course only about 5 minutes from where I had originally started and having lost an hour in my trip to Statham.
Found my way there only getting lost about 3 more times. Stopped in at one grocery store to use their restroom and get directions. As I walked down one aisle wearing my newest skirt and asked where the bathroom was he just looked at me with a blank, confused look on his face and told me monotonously where the bathroom was. I walked off with a great big grin on my face.
When I arrived at the hotel and walked in, everyone there was surprised at my skirt as well. I was a bit shocked when I walked in to see Nick and Jason though. I knew that they were going to be at the wedding but I didn't expect them to be in the room. I haven't seen a lot of them since high school and they had no idea about the skirt thing before so I don't know how they interpreted. I hear Nick got offended by the sex toys basket that Katie gave to Greg and Miranda as a wedding present.
We had a beer and as I walked to the car I was told by one of the girls that my hips shake more when I walk than hers do. I blamed it on the skirt. Observations the next day made it clear it wasn't the skirt's fault.
Saturday:
I was awoken by Miranda trying to get everyone up to get ready for the wedding. Greg's hand was too close to comfort to my ass but he was still asleep so I'll assume it was unintentional. (I had shared a bed with him.)
The wedding ceremony itself was beautiful. It was really nice to see all the people that came to this little country church in the middle of nowhere in southern georgia to support them. Both looked nice and the ceremony was conducted well. I thought that the unity candle made an especially nice touch. One thought that stuck to my mind was how much nicer this wedding was than a mormon one would have been. This was a christian wedding so it involved prayers and constant talk of god but you still got the feeling that it was a day for Greg and Miranda whereas a mormon wedding would have felt more like it was for the church. I looked around at the variety of people there and just imagined the heartache that would have ensued if attendance at the wedding had been limited by mormon worthiness standards. This was a day of love and celebration torn apart by no such bullshit.
Greg and Miranda parted the church after the reception and left to go do their thing while the rest of us drove up to Macon to hang out at Katie's apartment until Greg and Miranda finished their post-wedding fuckfest. They eventually joined us and we went out to dinner. We stopped by a liquor store to buy alcohol for a wild drinking party that was to occur that night. It never quite happened. Miranda has been wanting to dress me up for a while and I was quite the willing participant so my girls decided to primp me up. It was actually more of an experimental session so that we could see what would be necessary before we do it for real and to try to figure out my colours. I think we confused Greg a little bit and Jason and his Emily seemed to have no strong reaction other than thinking we were a bit weird. I had a blast though and a great guy named Darryl that had been invited over seemed to enjoy watching their work of art on me. We neglected some things like clearing up my beard shadow because they weren't necessary for our experimental purposes and we learned a bit about what I need for next time so depending on what point of view you take, we either didn't do very well or else we had a great night of fun and education. I choose the latter.
We had more girls than guys (no matter which you counted me as!) and not enough mattresses so we had to share. Katie and I shared and stayed up til around 6am talking. For those looking for an erotic story, you'll be disappointed. Greg and Miranda even asked us the next morning jokingly if we'd done anything. We responded that we'd done nothing but stay up late with girl talk!
Sunday:
I drove home from Macon and realized that the stretch of driving between Forsyth and Athens is absolutely beautiful scenery. Stretches of it go through wooded areas and others through fielded areas and hilly areas. There were even cows at some points. All of the towns along the way had beautiful names though such as Madison and Monticello. My favourite name for a town though was one called Shady Dale. I realized that Peachtree City really is an exception in Georgia as I have lived in Athens and drove through all of these other town that have a far more southern feel to them than Peachtree City does. I love the atmosphere of the true south.
Friday, October 15, 2004
My bus didn't come today but it was okay. A supervisor vehicle pulled up to the stop about 8 minutes after my bus was supposed to come and ask me if I was waiting for route 12, the mall bus. I said no, I'm waiting for route 20, the mall bus. He said, of course, that's what I meant.
So I got on. He didn't make me swipe my card. The vehicle is much nicer than a bus. Softer seats. Quieter sounds. He was catching up on the route since the real bus was running late. We had myself and one other passenger on board. He took her to city hall and then I got a direct ride to my apartment complex without us having to stop at any other stops. When we got to the normal bus stop, the bus I would have been on was just pulling away but my driver went further into the complex so I saved time over what the regular bus would have given me.
Need to quit stalling. Need to buy things. Need to drive mega hours to Irwinville.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Curses on immutable realities!
This morning as I sat to take my french test, I looked at the first line on the paper and it said "Name:". I wanted so badly to write Rachel Sullivan but realized the fallacy in doing so.
The greek philosopher Heraclitus says that we never step in the same river twice because everything is in a constant state of change. That is true. Properties, position, and even form are constantly changing. Life does not stay the same from one moment to the next. Within our own personalities we can change a very great deal. I heard it said once that a person's entire personality can change in as little as 6 months. Isn't it a damn shame that we can't change everything so quickly? And that some things cannot be changed at all?
One thing did give me some faith in life yet. As I was walking through campus to the bus stop and looking out the window as the bus traversed campus, I came to one realization. BYU was a good school and was very efficient at what it did. It taught a lot of material, got students involved, produced lots of babies, and lots of strong mormons. It was too efficient though, almost in a cold way. It is well wired technologically having card access on all vending machines, projectors and computers in nearly every classroom, and having modern facilities. Though the students come out with a good education and experience ready for the business world, it is almost assembly line. If all you want is the standard grow up, go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, and live in a little house with a white post fence, it's perfect for you. When we only live once, does anyone really want to have such a bland life?
As I thought about and looked at UGA campus and Athens today, I realized that it has a warmth about it that Provo and BYU didn't. It has personality. The town and campus inspire awe rather than business. What UGA lacks in the calculated efficiency of BYU it makes up for in atmosphere. BYU simply lacked the aura, atmosphere, and the pure vivacity that I find here.
I still miss Utah's beautiful natural scenery and mountains but I made the right choice. The wonder that I still feel here is like a dream. The most beautiful part of it though is that it isn't a dream; it is my life.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
I woke up this morning at 4:30AM to the sound of screaming. Wondering if it was a byproduct of my own pathetic existence I listened for the source but decided it was outside of my own head because not only am I not a girl, but I don't scream like one and that was definitely female screaming. Even in my half-sleeping state I extrapolated it into a dream and fantasy. I imagined that the girl out there somewhere was in real danger of rape or murder from someone and perhaps she was. It felt like a movie. I envisioned fantasies of grabbing my blowgun and launching a dart deep into the flesh of the assaulter and then heroically rescuing the damsel in distress. Then I realized that the prick of my simple non-poison dart stuck into the flesh of a perhaps drunken beast would only incite rage and my ass would fare worse than hers. Then the thought struck me that even if I did heroically save her, it wouldn't be a rescued beautiful maiden, but more likely some drunken girl who would be an emotional wreck and I'd have this intoxicated creature in need of support that I simply wouldn't be able to provide. I don't know if it was just a drunken couple or if she really was in danger or what happened to her. I was struck by a brief stroke of sanity and just listened and the sounds stopped after a few minutes. Maybe she was dead. Maybe he calmed her down. I don't know but my involvement ended there and I drifted back to sleep.
On the way home from my first class this morning, still tired from waking up in the early hours, I saw a beautiful scene in the middle of the road. I saw a group of fellows standing in a circle. All were wearing construction uniforms with bright orange helmets. I imagined that they were a fantastic squadron of soldiers. In the midst of the circle was a man on his knees who looked like he was crawling into a hole in the earth that they'd just drilled. My mind raced with the mythical imageries it could conjure from this scene. The man could even have been merging with the whole of the earth by crawling like a worm into it. It was magnificent. I wish we could all crawl like worms into the earth in so many ways.
I was reading Kerouac (On the Road) earlier today and one phrase caught my eye. It says "He said we were a band of Arabs coming to blow up New York." I was realizing that throughout the entire history of the country and probably even the world there has always been a great diversity in people and the basic fears, worries, and needs have not changed. We think of history in decades and periods which we categorize and define so different from each other. I was recently trying to decide whether we've completed an era of the 90's or whether we are still culturally in it and I realized that it doesn't matter. Some issues change, some social dynamics change, music and media change, but the basics of humanity stay the same. The range was the same in the 1940's of Kerouac's book, the puritanical, traditional 50's, the hippie 60's, the disco 70's, the bad hair and clothing 80's, and the sprouting of grunge rock and the information revolution of the 90's and continues even now in the information age of the 00's. All these distinctions and stereotypes we have about people and time are really very superficial if you think about it but still fascinating to think about. I think part of it is a romanticization of culture. It makes it seem more interesting and beautiful than dealing with the common shit and toil of life that is ever present.
I was talking to Kenneth earlier and I realized a partial culmination of ideas of how I wish the world could be. The internet gives us more freedom to be ourselves without regards to physical characteristics and preconceived notions of ourselves by ourself and others. I told Kenneth that I think it would be wonderful if the entire physical world was made of paint. A person would merely be an essence housed in a paint shell. You could change any physical aspects of yourself by going to an art studio and being airbrushed and repainted in whatever form you desired. I could be a girl for a day or for my life or fix flaws in my current look if I desired. All at once physical judgements and gender barriers could be nearly erased. You could love anyone for who they are essentially without regards to gender or physical attraction. The feelings could be more real because they would be more directed at the person behind the mask. To satisfy physical desires, the couple could go to the studio and get whatever form they desired of themselves and the other.
One interesting implication of that would be though that if everything was paint then really, and perhaps it is already the case and we just don't realize it, you would not physically be a separate entity from the rest of the world, but only part of a tapestry of physical reality, inseparable from it, only morphing in form. A smear or stretching in the border of you and the substance around you would be no different essentially than one or the other on its own. Reminds me of salvia.
On a wholely different topic, I am beginning to understand the psychological tear that girls have from the media as they try to look like media icons. I wish I could look like Kate Beckinsale.
Monday, October 11, 2004
As much as I've extolled the virtues of not knowing anyone (the freedom of expression, the lack of limiting judgement, the games you can plan in your mind when people are only movie characters to you), sometimes it woul be nice to have more. In french class, we had to do a group exercise and one of the questions asked a characteristic of your boyfriend/girlfriend and one girl broke the monotony of the exercise and asked myself and the other guy if we had girlfriends. When he replied the affirmative she asked the girl's name. She also asked me if I lived in Reed Hall, noting that she'd seen me there last night. I told her that I'd gone to see a movie that a club was hosting there. When I replied the negative she asked why not. After class, the other guy from the group asked where I was going and about the movie. These simple types of questions that probably seem insignificant or normal to the rest of you really struck me because my isolation makes them a rare and special gem.
During class and on my way home, I had a line from the Nightwish song I wish I had an angel stuck in my head. It said "I wish I had an angel for one moment of love." The movie Latter Days that I saw last night with Lambda Alliance had as one of its themes the lack of coincidence. One of the characters said "I don't believe in coincidence. These days, I believe in miracles." I don't know if there was any significance to that line being stuck in my head, whether it was a subconscious cry for help or just a catchy tune. Sometimes when I see movies like the one last night and Serendipity I think how beautiful it would be if life really did have some sort of meaning in action and there was some sort of loose fate. Then again, that would lead to determinism, but I won't go there.
I realized today that I always try to have and be more than I can and that I try to have both sides of things when it can't be done. I am never satisfied with the limits placed on us by the human condition. I was talking to Greg yesterday about what "look" we are shooting for. I didn't really know what to say at the time other than some vague references. I think I know now. I want to be a flowing (in hair, vestments, etc.) beautiful androgynous druid-like god/goddess. Can you see why I can't have it?
While thinking about that, I realized that although it is obvious that we put on masks and façades for other people, we do it to ourselves as well, perhaps even more than to others. As much as most of us try to live authentic lives, I think desire and emotion make it almost impossible, at least for me. To think of myself as simply human, having a brain, heart, and stomach that thinks, feels, and had physical needs is absolutely depressing. When I see other people gossiping or holding smalltalk or getting upset at things or getting excited at something I always tend to view it as some sort of weakness. I think I'm wrong.
As I was walking through campus and downtown today, I saw plenty of kind looking old men handing out the gideon bible. I realized that I'd seen the same at the baccalaureate in high school but this time it was different. I've always associated the feel of Athens to the feel of Europe and that is one thing I absolutely adore about this town. I've always felt a strong pull and drive to go to Europe and live there. Europe though nominally strongly catholic or protestant depending on the country is in actuality mostly atheistic. That isn't part of my drive I don't think but it does play into my thoughts today. Athens, though part of the bible belt and full of plenty of christians and church buildings, feeling like Europe to me, has an air of liberal atheism to it and so seeing these men handing out bibles made me feel like I was in the midst of some mini-revival of the 1800's.
I think I'm suffering from a bad case of existential angst today.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
I decided tonight that since all of my plans to have my brother and sister come up to visit me fell throug, that I would have a night on the town. First, I decided to go to a movie but couldn't decide between Spiderman 2 and The Village. I asked a number of people and most recommended Spiderman since they hadn't seen The Village. So, I picked The Village since it had more mystery to it since nobody knew anything about it.
Afterwards, I came home to get primped up. Grabbed a shower, shaved all the areas I normally shave plus some, through on some pantyhose, my waist cincher, a black shirt, and my mid-length acetate skirt. Fixed my nails back up since the previous polish (clear) was starting to chip off and then got moving.
Showed up at the party and after only a minute or two of standing alone, a nice girl named Kat/Cat introduced herself to me and offered me a drink. Unfortunately I had to be able to drive home so I declined. Later she showed me to the food and the sink with water which I gladly helped myself to.
There were some funny dynamics going on due to the fact that it was mostly a gay party and most of the people were drunk. For one, most of the people there didn't even notice I was wearing a skirt. Rather, I was identified as "the straight guy." At one point I heard two people arguing about whether it was more fun to shop for a guy or for a girl. One guy said it was more fun to shop for a girl because they get more variety and then proceeded to name off all the different clothes a guy can't wear including a skirt. Ironic that I was a guy in a skirt standing feet away from him and he didn't notice. Seeing guys make out with guys and girls with girls just really didn't seem that awkward. I think I'll actually go to some of the lambda meetings and get some gay friends even though I'm straight myself. They seem to be more openminded about things since they have gone through so much persecution themselves.
Friday, October 08, 2004
My blog went through a wonderful period of about 10 minutes without the damned annoying blogger bar at the top of it. I had concocted a simple javascript bit to get rid of it as soon as the page loaded. Then I realized that there may be problems with that and checked the Blogger/Blogspot Terms of Service and found this:
10. ADVERTISEMENTS AND PROMOTIONS Pyra runs advertisements and promotions on BlogSpot Sites. By creating your BlogSpot Site, you agree that Pyra has the right to run such advertisements and promotions. You also agree that you will not attempt to block or otherwise interfere with advertisements displayed on your BlogSpot site via JavaScript or any other means. Doing so is grounds for immediate termination of service.
Damn. Oh well, I took the code back out and the blogger bar is back. Such is the state of free blogging. I'll quit my bitching and go back to the closest thing to reality that I know.
Am I ever glad at some moments to have even a spare scrap of paper with me. Sometimes I have thoughts that enter my head that may or may not be of worth but transcribing them allows me to not forget them and to explore them to fuller depths than I could cope with in this weary, stressed state I so often find myself in. Here is one such bit I wrote down sitting at the bus stop a little while ago:
As much as people revel in the sunshine and pretty girls bare their skin for it to see, I like the clouds.
Today is a breezy, overcast day. In the sun, shadows cast are definite figures, temporary paintings on the ground. On a day like today, they are an atmosphere, even a canvas on which the rest is painted.
I sit here waiting for a bus. On one side of me is a flat, rectangular building with rows of identical windows with an air conditioner unit hanging out of each. In the centre of the building, one window differs. It has a headstone and a small railing with just enough balcony floor for the air conditioning unit to sit on but not enough to hold a man.
On the other side of the road is a beautiful, columned building with coloured murals painted on its façade behind the columns and stone draperies hanging above the door. In another world it could be an opera house or a patrician's villa.
This scene is an intersection of worlds. One is a world of art and colour composed of these two markedly different but kin edifices, classic streetlights, the softly swaying vegetation, and old trees casting the shadow canvas. Trouncing over this artwork, trying vainly to merge, is the world of modern cars, shiny yellow street signs, and other bright, active colours. Lacking those, I could be sitting at almost any place or time in the world or perhaps outside of it.
It takes little imagination to mentally vanquish the modern fixtures and imagine yourself in 1950's segregated america or vaudeville germany or roman gaul. With the shadow, the colours are beautiful hues but you can almost imagine yourself walking through a greyscale movie or through a forest painting by a romantic painter of the 1800's.
The other day my mother told me that she thinks that the man she is currently dating is a genius. She also told me that she thinks that I am a repressed genius. It is interesting that she would say something like that seemingly randomly given that she does not acknowledge the repression I felt from the church.
Freedom from repression is a very different feeling. It is like a kaleidoscope of experience, rivalled only by the experiences of a child new to the world. Before, they told me to be like Jesus. Jesus tells me to be like a child. I left Jesus, but unwittingly took his advice anyway.
As I road home on the bus, I immersed myself in the world of On the Road peering up only occasionally to figure out where I was. Every glance was a shift between two universes. I would look around and see growingly familiar buildings but in different positions and orientations than I had expected them due to my loss of sense of direction while immersed in the book. Every reemergence required an adjustment. Those incongruities of perception are terribly fun, if not enlightening.
As I walked toward my building the only thoughts that my mind allowed to pass were a continue repetition of the lines "We are living in Amerika, Amerika ist wunderbar" from the satirical Rammstein song "Amerika". Those lines repeated in my head and escaped my vocal chords in random bursts of air as I walked oblivious to the world around me.
Entering my building made me feel as if I were in a surreal matrix world. All I could see was a straight hallway with doors on either side and a fire door at the end with a small window near the top through which you can see more hallway but due to the angle you cannot tell that the hallway ever ends. The flourescent lighting on the white paste walls and cleaned berber carpet always evokes emotions of another world like the one portrayed in the eerie lighting and colour schemes of One Hour Photo.
Standing in front of my doorway I began to sort through my keys to open the door and then out of nowhere came the brief bleep of a fire alarm. I stood there motionless for a second trying to contemplate the origin of the sound and then my keys slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. I stared at them for a minute or two trying to figure out the significance of their falling and trying to decide when or even if I should pick them back up again. For a moment, only my keys and I existed in a white world where though I did not see it I could imagine that if I looked up all I would see is white everywhere and my keys on the floor below me. I could have stood there forever content to only exist in a state of rapture at the sight of keys existing on the floor below me.
Needless to say, I did, for some reason, pick the keys up and escape my cold, white world of isolation and enter my apartment. Due to the weather, the interior of my apartment is cold too. Because my computers were turned off, it was also completely silent. Sensory deprivation is amazing. I wish I could go to a tank wherein I could have it any time I want. It frees the mind from all of the sensory data constantly interfering with pure thought and pure existence.
Now I sit, entranced once again by the riffs and harmonies of Rammstein's "Amerika" writing, seeking to explain in some way, the wonders of natural delusion.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Two experiences that were strange to me today:
- While sitting in french class I was tired and proceeded to yawn a great deal. At one of the yawns I looked to my left and saw a small bubble floating in the air. I looked about to see if someone had some way to produce this small bubble but saw none. I don't know if somehow I produced a bubble capable of floating during my yawn or perhaps I managed to deprive my brain of oxygen just long enough to cause a minor hallucination. Or maybe I'm just going completely insane. No matter, it was interesting because it was unusual
- Just moments ago, as I approached the elevator to take me to the third floor where this computer lab is located, I saw a group of students standing, waiting patiently for the elevator to arrive to transport them. A usual scene but it appeared to my mind completely absurd because the button was not illuminated. Such a simple scene became a microcosm of so many things as these students patiently waited on something that would never happen. I merely walked up, depressed the button, and a few minutes later, the elevator arrived. All of us boarded, and life resumed. These statuesque waiting students suddenly animated and began to converse as though nothing had happened, as if this pause in time had not ever occurred to them. It was fascinating.
And I cannot help but post something I observed yesterday as well.
- If you cast a dim light from a few feet away to the side toward a sink and then turn the faucet onto a fairly high rate of flow and then put a few inches under it a cup with a curved floor, the bubbles it makes as it fills and then the different bubbles that it makes as it overflows, as well as the light effects caused by them are absolutely beautiful.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Tonight, I watched the movie Hellboy. I watched it mostly in a visual sense, however, and not in the traditional manner. I hadn't realized that the copy I obtained was not in english, but in french. I debated what to do about the problem and eventually decided to simply watch the movie anyway. Seriously, so many of these modern action movies, especially those based on comic books, use so many clichés in their storyline that how much would I really miss out on by not understanding 99% of what they were saying? The answer is, of course, having watched it in french once but never in english, I have no fucking clue what I missed out on. I caught words here and there but not much to understand the plot. I caught when the girl said C'est la premiere fois dans ma vie que je n'ai pas peur ("It is the first time in my life that I'm not afraid") or something similar to that. It's been a couple hours since the conclusion of the film so don't expect me to remember exactly how she said it.
I'm going to go to sleep now. It's late and I'm sleep deprived lately. I hope I dream tonight. Dreams are such wonderful fantasy worlds. The best is when in the morning you only partially wake up and, while you still have little to no control over the content of your dreams, you can still be actively watching and observing them with full memory at least for a few moments after you actually wake up. The days that you can sleep in and have an extended period of time like this are the best because you are able to spend so much time in bed that you spend more time in this better fantasy world than usual. It would be nice to spend a full day just sitting in dreaming contemplation instead of coming to the real world.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
I'm looking for the prophet
that will end all days
the end of time
the flowering of colour
the eternal city
the bright brilliance
hid in the dark recesses
of the mind
How ironic that the light
is in the dark
Don't be afraid of the dark
Sex. I was thinking about it today and realized in a different sense than the obvious that every person walking around is a product of at least one sexual union. That is a lot of sex being had in the world. A veritable energy force swirling around all of life.
An analysis of sex is fascinating. It is a completely natural act practiced by most forms of life in some form or other. Nearly every person will participate in it at least once in her life. Yet society places a great stigma on it. That much is obvious and the social justifications and liberation grounds have been trod over many times.
I care more about the psychological aspect. In a physical sense, there are known physiological changes when a person loses her virginity. In a physical sense, there are alleged pleasures. What about the mental? I don't know about others but I still have a great fear of the actual thought of having sex, this fear having been instilled by years of indoctrination. Yet I can see a pornographic image or film, hear a friend's tale of losing virginity or having sex, or even see two people having sex right behind me and it does not evoke the same emotions. Is it a fear of the unknown? A fear of loss of pride in a status held so long? A fear of shame? Or just a subconscious clinging to old society views that must be discarded for full mental liberation?
It's a fucked up world we live in. I've always said though that we need a prodigious amount of brainfuck to acquire the characteristics that I feel are important. The continued derangement of the senses and introduction of new information into the brain is important to help keep a person from developing limiting conceptions about reality. In the past I've often had to seek and create the sources of derangement to ensure their continual flow but, since leaving BYU, the world has increasingly been providing them itself. Many are related to the new environment and level of reality. Others would have happened anyway but their impression on me may be magnified due to the lack of filter that was had at BYU.
I've always been attracted to the surreal and to the destruction of current mental conceptions which have cemented themselves in my mind. Expectations broken, conceptions of people found inaccurate, and exceptions to what were believed to be logical laws. One such event was this morning. I can't talk about it and it really doesn't matter what it is. The concept is what matters. Being tired while it happened was one of the greatest benefits. As I sat contemplating on the bus and walking back to the apartment thinking back on this morning it had a dreamlike state. Dreams are amazing. When real life begins to feel like a dream and the line between reality and fantasy is even slightly blurred it is a wonderful feeling.
Today will include a series of posts again. It's not that I'm post-happy. It's that it provides a better separation of ideas than including everything in one post. Apologies to users of RSS aggregators that this may confuse.
Note that while sexual references will be had in some of the posts, the posts are not about sex or sexual desire. Where used it is only a transport to convey a psychological theme.
Monday, October 04, 2004
I hadn't realized it, but I'm still in for a bit of learning on the culture here compared to Utah and really even compared to Peachtree City, which is about as real world as I had previously known.
We had to read several poems for english class, 2 of which are thinly veiled pleas by men to gain sexual relationships with women. At BYU these poems would either not have been read or the sexual element would be nearly entirely dismissed. One of them, "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love," I remember having read in high school, however, I do not ever remember sexual references from that discussion either. Today's discussion in English class centered almost entirely on the seductive attempts of the authors.
The class continued into a discussion about whether Marlowe ("The Passionate Shepherd to his Love") or Marvell ("To his Coy Mistress") had the better approach for getting the sex that he wanted. To my horror, everyone said that Marlowe's flattering, romantic, but unrealistic approach was lying and is a bad way to go about it. I guess romantic courting like I would prefer is a dying thing. They all preferred Marvell's up front, honest entreatings for sex and said that it would work better in the bars around Athens. Even the women in the class said they would prefer a man express his interest in that direct way.
Two of the guys in the class got into a discussion about how they should do an experiment and try each method in a bar and report on their success. That discussion drowned out as the teacher tried to shift back to a more academic analysis.
I was amazed at the frankness that the class could have discussing sex, and their own desires, preferences, and willingness to participate in it. It is a good thing I think that they can have that discussion but I admit, I'm a little shocked.
Friday, October 01, 2004
On the bus on the way home from school today, the bus was stopped while the stoplight was green. It was then that we passengers noticed that the car in front of us was not moving. Obvious that it had broken down the bus driver realized that his bus wasn't going anywhere until this car moved, so he called upon volunteers to help push the car out of the way to a safe location for them. One man and I stepped up to the plate and made it easy to move the car. Walking back across the intersection on foot and climbing back into the bus was one of the most rewarding feelings I've had lately. Not because I felt good for doing a good act. It really had nothing to do with the good deed I'd just helped in. It had everything to do with the fact that I was privileged to be in an unusual situation and be able to enter the bus in a place where most people could not do so. The fact that everyone on the sidewalks could see it only fueled the feeling despite the fact that they probably didn't give a damn.
I also noticed today several small children giving me strange looks as if they were scared of me. These situations were probably coincidence because there are plenty of frightened children which I could scare despite not looking too unusual. It got me thinking though. Huxley says that the brain is a reducing organ which reduces full perception to the basics needed for survival. For our understanding, we further reduce it into encapsulated concepts of language. I have to wonder if children who are young and inexperienced and have not developed language skills yet perceive more than we do or in different ways.