I would love nothing more than start writing the reviews that are running around my head, but I need to get something out first, cleanse it out of my thoughts, so to speak... But first, a summary:

So, Mike has been out of town last week for a conference for work (which reminds me, I need to call him...) and thus, I had no one to drag out to whatever local band or indie film was playing... So, I decided I needed some way to amuse myself, and me and this Josiah guy had been trying several times (unsuccessfully) to meet up and, I dunno. No luck for him coming to me (he seemed a bit flaky), so I high-tailed it out to Rancho, where he apparently lives not five minutes from my old neighborhood in Rosemont (which I pretty much live down the street from--which makes for a strange revelation; that is, that I always lived not so far from Sac State...).

See, this is getting rambly already... It's been too long, so my sentence structure is shot. Now. For some periods.

This is actually a hilarious story, involving a chain-smoking Bulgarian and how I may or may not have pimped out my sisters. Unfortunately or not, it also involves crystal (and not my sister Crystal, but a glass pipe possibly full of crystal meth...). Luckily, it was not I, but this Josiah fellow who was smoking it. I refused it as politely but adamantly as I could, along with the bottle of 151 his Bulgarian friend got him. He drank the whole bottle and, as one might rightly assume, things started going downhill...

Again, as a summarizer, I suck. Basically, whenever his Bulgarian friend stepped out, we proceded for somewhat awkward make-outs. I've never really done this, and I guess it showed. But in my defense, he was trying to eat my face out, and it freaked me out. Maybe I was a bit too aware of his saliva and not wanting to swap it. Or maybe his droopy pothead eyes freaked me out. Or the thought, my God's sake, I came out all the way to Rancho to do what with this guy...?

Let's not even get into the Juggalo aspect or the other gang-related stories he likes to tell (yes,

kitashla

Your result for The Deep and Meaningful Winnie-The-Pooh Character Test...

Rabbit

Take The Deep and Meaningful Winnie-The-Pooh Character Test at HelloQuizzy

I havne't been updating about the shit that has been going down--must get better at this...

Tuesday morning I had my French final. It went alright--could've gone better, could've gone worse. No matter what, I'm getting at least a B, hopefully an A- if the final didn't go as poorly as my cynical side always imagines.

Tuesday night I went to see the round of final performances by the Scene & Monologue class in the studio theater. They did a series of Shakespeare soliloquies (incorporating constant movement and voice), and then scenes from modern plays. Archie--the Indian girl with the chocolate skin who dates my former roomate, Brendan (the Irish one)--did a scene with another girl from "Parallel Lives" which was absolutely hilarious, done in Valley-girl style. The last scene was from a play called "Rabbit Hole" and was pretty good. Both made me want to go out and find the plays (wasn't "Parallel Lives" made into a movie? It sounds familiar...)

Unfortunately, about halfway through the performance, my left lense popped out and clattered under the bleachers. I had to crawl under there afterwards, and once I had located it, climbed up through the second row, emerging like some kind of worm. It was pretty hilarious--but not before I could retrieve it. I found out that one lense still aids the other eye, but it's not particularly comfortable. I need, in addition to a proper pair of shoes, to get some new glasses. Hopefully both can be purple.

Afterwards, I went to Johnson House, as the Creative Writing class was having a similar final-themed reading. The editor of an anthology, "A Stranger Among Us" was there, and the teacher, Sharon May (who was replacing Barnstone this year--he was on sabbatical), read her story that was in there, about a Cambodian ex-patriate who works as a translator with the Australian Immigration Authority on the Thai border. Afterwards, they talked about both sides of trying to get published, which was very interesting for me, obviously, as I plan to have a career on at least one of those sides (writer and/or editor).

And last night I went to the final round of performances for the Performing Non-Fiction class. This is the class where each person chooses a (semi-)historical figure to research and write a one-person, fifteen minute play about it. (This was the first time they offered it, so hopefully I can take it my junior year and do Edna St. Vincent Millay, and get to wear a flapper dress and a red bob, and throw letters about, giggling high-pitchedly). It was all rather meta, as they were moving around the few props making up the set right in front of us, with barely dimmed lights, but they were all pretty good, and some of them were *really* good. Here's a break-down:

I mostly came for Chris's one anyway (but I really liked Tim's too). Maybe I should've stayed to congratulate Tim, but I couldn't stop staring at Chris (he changed out of his paint-covered clothes right there, not helping matters), but I had to run out...

I want to overcome this loneliness, and I think I just need to hang out with friend more... So, this summer, I have many fun things planned, and just generally try and be productive. Try and not give this thing--this thirst for melodrama which is always boiling under the surface, waiting to explode like this--too many chances to manifest... Nobody likes a drama queen!

I think it's may be that I want attention--but in a sense, I don't want people to focus on me at these times. Or I do. I'm not looking for pity--or do I want to shock? I think I just want to totally break down so I can just let out all this anger and sorrow that's been festering inside of me for so long... Oh, how emo!

Well, I'm gonna go now and hope that I haven't scared y'all too greatly. Next post will no doubt be concerned with the practicalities of finals and going back home. Cheers.

So, ellizen, you were totally right about my naivite (mentally insert accetnts yer own damn selves):

In that I don't notice these supposed negative things in people until they're pointed out to me. Like with Media Council--Megan's totally pissed at them, though being in that basement always gives me a headache and I just wanna get out; she says they're tugging us around, while I see it as the factors they express, but it is typical bureaucracy, as far as running us around. This budget stuff is killing us. Hey, what doesn't drive us under, will only give us more indie cred?

It's just... some people (and I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, necessarily) are so attuned to when people are tryin' to treat them wrong. Their way of handling it, psychologically, is agressive: they get angry, rebellious.

And y'all know my way, my entire life, of dealing with getting treated badly is for my mind to block out that realization, to protect myself: I may be frustrated, but my mind focuses on compromise, on getting out and away as much as possible, pretty much, as opposed to letting the negativity affect me too deeply.

This may or may not be healthy or not; I'm not entirely sure. Opinions? 

So, in Philosophy today, almost everything Switzer was summarizing about Kant's moral theory got me thinking about the altercation with Zach on Friday night... I wondered if he was feeling that, or if he does not feel any moral conundrum. In which case, Cat is right, and he *is* a fucktard.

Of particular relevance is what Kant says about the "dignity" of a person, as coming from our "good will", and that in deciding if something is moral, you ask if it is compromising the dignity of another--i.e. their worthiness to be happy.

Why I got so mad about it? I thought I was long past the point where someone could take my dignity from me--but it happens again and again and I'll have to change my approach towards protecting that, or otherwise not showing or letting others see that they *can*. Which is why my reaction was bad; just givin' ammunition.

I mean, it's not like he outright insulted me. Just letting me know that I'm succeeding in my aim: "When people first meet you, they think you're a girl." The part that bothers me is the one that came before: "There's so many ways/things I could make fun of you for." Pardon me? What got me angry was even the thought that this lame-ass motherfucker could *ever* think he was better than me.

Just a random musing. I'm less angry about it now, but I just wanted to look at why I got angry and how I could change my approach to this problem. Because my tone when I lashed back at him was exactly that I've used when flailing against my father. And we all know *that* never worked. So why do I feel so threatened?

Ah. Yes. Teh gay thing. The fact that these third floor punks apparently don't know what to make of me.

Of course, as Cat says, maybe they're just jealous, because I do "manage to hang out with so many girls". *shrug* It's open to interpretation. 

I feel it necessary to add:

This horrible feeling I have in my stomach of shame?

It's humility.

I guess the teenage years I needed to think I was the shit to rise above the people who were mistreating me; now I guess the twenties will be about learning some *actual HONEST TO GOD* humility.

It hurts, oh Virgin Mary, you didn't tell me it hurt so bad! XD

*not taking self too seriously* 

To answer your question

jeremytblack

THEN we'll see if we get approved by the Office of Student Activities and L'Institution en general. That *should* happen though, and there's definitely a wide audience for this, as a lot of people I'm talked to are interested. It's just a matter of calibrating people's crazy schedules... in other words, them remembering when the meeting is! XP

***

All that said, all y'all that have followed me since 2005 (and there's a few of you left, *eyes 

copperwise

Though I must admit, it was exciting to get to bring up the phrase "feminism is the radical notion that women are people" in conversation with real-life people. Not that I don't love you guys, but I wanna see what RL feminism is like, at least as it exists here. That's why I was so disappointed when I came here in September and I couldn't find them! That's why I'm starting the club.

That, and my floormates are scared of me apparently. *I'm* the resident gay, as it were. Fact is, I'm not even sure I'm gay, and *they're* the ones playing Shower Inspector and drawing huge, veiny masterpieces over everything. :P

The testosterone! I'm drowing in it! Oh noes! *waves arms dramatically*

So, it seems as if my life is coming full circle.

Remember when I transcribed Garth Nix's first novel "Sabriel"? Well, I started something similar with the first book of my favorite series (also by him) The Keys to the Kingdom: Mister Monday. I started it around the same time, three years ago. I think about a year ago I had typed up to, like, chapter five and a good fifty pages.

Jesus. Last night I pulled it out on my computer and transcribed, like, fifty more pages at least.

I feel cleansed. Inspiration to write something wasn't coming, so I think running Nix through my mind calmed me. It's prolly a collosal waste of time, but it's always good to prove again to myself how fast and unerringly I can type when I feel like it. XP

I dunno, it got me thinking about how my life is entering a new and overall happier stage. Something I've been working for and even dreaming about since I was twelve motherfucking years old. Is this it? as the Strokes sang. Yeah, I guess it is.

***

Anywho, I'm watching teh shirtless guys on the lower quad play Ultimate Frisbee which is hilarious.

Damn, the other day I did something I'm always careful not to do. I was brushing my teeth, and I could see through the shower door behind me in the mirror, where this guy was taking a shower. I suppose the idea that locker-rooms are totally gay-havens has some merit, but there's also a level of pure curiosity there. I wish my sides were as flat.

That said, I started doing some exercising each day, but I've fallen out of it the last several days. I made up this calendar on my door; I need to follow it! I'm also not taking enough showers--which, isn't necessarily falling off the wagon for me, but I'm staying at my baseline, which compared to most people, is kind of embarassing. I need to shower every day.

Basically, I need to take better care of myself, in general. It's hard sometimes. I only have so much cash left, and I don't know when I'll be able to cash my checks when I get them. Still need an ID. But I guess that's the part of finally becoming self-sufficient and learning to take care of these things. So if I want money, I'm sure I'll do it eventually. ;P (But of course, there's the other problem I won't mention; oh well, I always land on my feet...)

***

The point is: this weekend is alright, a little better than most. I guess when I get back to my room I'll do some crunches. XP

I'm sorry
Two words I always think
After you've gone
When I realize I was acting all wrong

So selfish
Two words that could describe
Oh actions of mine
When patience is in short supply

We don't need to say goodbye
We don't need to fight and cry
Oh we, we could hold each other tight tonight

We're so helpless
We're slaves to our impulses
We're afraid of our emotions
And no one knows where the shore is
We're divided by the ocean
And the only thing I know is
That the answer isn't for us
No the answer isn't for us

I'm sorry
Two words I always think
Oh after you've gone
When I realize I was acting all wrong

We don't need to say goodbye
We don't need to fight and cry
We, we could hold each other tight tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight...

Last night, I was riffling through "The Literary Experience" (anthology for English) and I read this poem called "The Courtesy of the Blind" by Wislawa Szymborska. The poem is about a poet who gives a reading to an audience of blind people, and feels discomforted by his excessive use of color and images. This morning, I wrote, essentially, my response and way of dealing with this problem.

*
*
*

Poem for the Blind

What do we know of colors?
They are only light refracting
through the windows of eyes.
My windows are foggy, and
perhaps your blinds are drawn
so tightly no light may enter.

What use are these words that,
after all, have no meaning to
those that cannot see them?
What does it mean to call
something green or brown,
or this a shade of magenta?

There is no use, but I will try,
I will try to place your hand
upon this and say, “Feel, do
you feel how round it is, how
the edges never seem to end?
Do you feel this richness?”

*
*
*

I definitely improve in jumps, my style and focus changing. I hope this continues my progress from the last poem in finally mixing the abstract and the concrete in a way that, while showing my way of viewing the world, also bares my soul, like much good poetry. (The question then becomes, will all my old poems and "Images" be thrown out and dismissed as juvenile, or will I simply now write it over from a different perspective? -- Of course, I may view these poems, eventually, as immature as I view those now, when I've made my next jump. I've never written such good rough drafts before, though...)

Before I get to the weekend, let me just provide you this link to an 

unwoman

My recent excitement notwithstanding, I *am* aware of several things, in relation to this so-called "novel" I am writing.

Firstly, this isn't the first time I've tried to do this. One or two of you may remember the infamous "The Cage", about child prostitutes? Yeah, I eventually found it too extreme to be believable, though the main character from that actually resurfaces as a major part of the plot in "A Memory of Roses".

Of course, some elements in this new novel are extreme too, but I think they might be more believable. Sharon's childhood, at least, is mostly based on my mother's (alcoholic/abusive mother, hitch-hiking to Idaho, etc.). Of course, the trick is really to make it all work.

Secondly, from that, this story has consumed my thoughts a bit more than "The Cage" ever did. At least, in a more constructive way. I'm not saying that I think this is gonna be some brilliant masterpiece (though I admit, I like that fantasy), or that I may even finish it. And even if I do, it is prolly unlikely it will become my first published book.

That is, I am aware that writers have to go through those bad, early works first. The point, as I've said, is just to *write*. And obviously, this story and these characters are not gonna leave me alone. I feel more productive actually getting a little bit of them onto the page.

And thirdly, I have thus far progressed far further on this project than any other. Counting all the starts I've made on it, I'd say this should definitely count as a Major Work in Progress, at least as far as a piece of juvenilia.

Just, reading about 

matociquala

cmpriest

Oh, my loyal minions, that my last three post were--how shall we say?--a bit alarming. Even if I am near-ready to tackle these sort of self-reflections, I should have long since realized that crazed ramblings on LJ are not the medium through which to express them, and especially not when I'm in a low mood.

And I *have* been in a low mood lately. Sheesh. Kinda don't wanna talk about it, because, well, it's all my fault really. Dont' want you thinking less of me. Perhaps when some of this has blown over, I'll get retrospective and you can berate me then. For now, just know, I'm not gonna kill myself yet! ^_^

Nothing annoys me more than people telling me what I am, as if they know better than me, as if they can decide, not only what I am, but how I should view myself. This is mainly because this is exactly how my self-esteem (or should I say, lack of it) was formed throughout my childhood and early adolescence.

Everyone who has ever know me, it seems, assumes I am gay--or, if they get to know me better, hear me say that I am simply trying to act like a girl. In truth, I'm still unsure of who I am, or even what my sexuality is, but few things have come closer to defining how I feel than this essay by

docbrite