ihavebeenfloated

I’ve done this once before, but I’m going to do it again. A selection of things written by me from years past.

Six Years Ago – Sept. 4th, 2000

Interesting Conversational Tidbits Said By Stuy: “I’m sure once you get out of the clothes your inhibitions will slither away … (note: slither. like snakes. like the devil. mm. apples. eve… mm… eve… i could see you as eve… how about me as adam? oh, shit, where’s my brain.)”

Three Years Ago – Sept. 4th, 2003

There’s this fat chick who sits in front of me in my communications class. I want to grab her by the neck and shake her around while screaming at her. She says some of the most hilariously pointless, worthless, comments that you could wring out of someone’s head. We were talking almost exclusively today about stereotypes and here’s a sample of a few of the things she said:

“They’re all like that, though!” [In reference to a stereotype, after discussing that stereotypes are never completely right. What group it was, I don’t remember].

“I know a lot of people, me being one of them, who wouldn’t want to eat at [the Olive Garden] if I didn’t think that all the people cooking the food were Italian. That’s why I don’t have a problem with the Olive Garden commercials featuring only Italians, because I wouldn’t eat there if Italians weren’t cooking the food.”

“Denzel Washington is always portrayed very well in his films I think!” [When asked to describe some of the roles black people typically play in the media].

It’s just… like… she’s a living stereotype. She’s fat, loud, unintelligent, very opinionated despite the fact that she knows nothing of the real world, severely white (despite being Hispanic which she proudly mentions!) and couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around some of the topics we’re talking about.

One of the things she did that utterly horrified me is that she brought up how is it possible to demonstrate an entire race of people when there are so many differences. This is not a problem, since it was sorta the purpose of this session to explain WHY stereotypes exist, but it was the way she said it.

Instead of saying, after I explained why stereotypes exist (hurray for class participation), “Oh, so stereotypes exist because it is beyond our ability to possibly know everything about everyone in the world, so we generalize them into groups so we can talk about something we know nothing about but still get acceptable responses from everyone…”

She said, “I just don’t understand how it’s possible for you to understand the differences of every person in a group of people! It just doesn’t make sense to me! I’m fat and my brain hurts, please get me out of this class, my brain is obviously made of blubber and does not contain the amount of neurons necessary for thinking outside of the big fat rock I live under!”

Bah, I told Cynthia that my objective this semester is to challenge her thinking and make her life a living hell in this class by making her think outside her bun box… And if she can’t manage to stop being retarded I will punch her in the face until she’s pretty.

There.

Two Years Ago – Sept. 1st, 2004 (close enough)

I’ve meant to say on numerous occasions that I don’t think pills can make you happy, or make you feel normal. The clear way, to me, to feel normal is to simply convince yourself that you’re normal. But, you say, then you have other people still telling you you’re not normal. Well, I say to that, just convince yourself all those people are fucked up and wrong. Then, you’re normal, and you feel fine. Isn’t that easy? You don’t have to pop a pill or three every morning to convince yourself you’re normal, you just have to believe that you are. That’s all there is to it. Self-acceptance is the best form of therapy.

One Year Ago – Sept. 6th, 2005

if i never leave
it’s like i’m never there

if i always stay
it’s like i’ll always care

if i always leave
it’s like you don’t matter

if i never stay
it’s like i’m always here

if i’m never there
you’ll never miss me

if i always care
you’ll never want me

if you don’t matter
you’ll never care for me

if i’m always here
you’ll never leave me

but none of it really makes any sense
and i suppose that’s how it all works
always bound up in confusion and doubt
like awkward silences with my mind racing
the thoughts i’ll always want to say
but never will due to fear
and i suppose that’s how it all works

yet,
i can’t help but feel that eventually
the working will all be for naught
i’m starting to realize
that the work is the part that matters
finishing the job is the end of it all
and when it’s over, what’s left?

so my task is to love the work
even if i hate the job
because when the work is done
there is nothing left to do
this might be stating the obvious
but i’m still learning
and it’s still hurting
but that’s the work

---

I feel like breaking things open.

No, I’ll be honest.

I feel like smashing your face open.

No, not even that.

I want to tear the flesh off your face.

No, maybe not even that.

I want to devour you. I want to swallow your soul so that I can never be rid of you. I want you to be around forever, reminding me of all of my failures, poking me in the side and punching the shit out of me, that way I can never forget this feeling. It’s not being alive, but it’s not being dead, it’s somewhere in between. Not perihelion, not aphelion. Good Lord, I’m swimming in purgatory.

I’m in stasis, dreaming my life away.

And that’s alright.

I just wish I knew what you were thinking.

We make great shows of being miserable. We expose our pain to the world, that way we think that we’re feeling. Maybe I’m wrong about you, but I think I’m right about myself. It’s impossible to express happiness without feeling glib, and even if we were to try, all the words would come out wrong and it would sound fake… if not to others who know it, but to ourselves, so self-centered are we, and that is all that matters.

So this is our pain. The only problem is that the outside world knows nothing of the real turmoil. It can’t see into our minds and see the temporary happiness that exists, just the permanence of indecision.

---

I feel restless when I’m there, but I miss you when I’m gone.

And that’s all I got from September. I thought there was stuff from 2002 somewhere but apparently not. I’ve got Movable Type archives somewhere, maybe. There’s also some other stuff that might be September-ish from 2003 but I don’t know where it is.