Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
2:30 in the morning. I have nothing to do. I have nothing to say. I wish I could just cut myself open and bleed onto the paper. That would be easy.
Month after month after month goes by, but yet nothing lights the fire of my soul. I can't reach the heart of my discontent. I am tossing and turning in the dark just praying for a light switch so I can make sense of anything. Anything!
Purpose and meaning have little hold over me while I am trying to become a normal member of society again. I am looking for meaning, and I should be looking for a job. I mean, I am doing both, but I am starting to think they are the opposite of each other, thus, leading me in circles.
The moment is over,
the pain is real.
Things should hurt,
that was the deal.
Night goes on forever,
Day comes to a halt.
Lips tell me your story,
I know it's not your fault.
Find it to forgive me,
For I have taken your soul.
I can't understand circumstance,
Santa Clause & his coal.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
by Vance Goffman
I knew the day was going to be long when I couldn't even sit still reading my e-mail.
It wasn't even seven in the morning, and I was already shaking my legs as if I'd already sucked down two Red Bulls.
That's how I felt last night. Yeah, I was in bed for eleven hours, but all I remember is tossing and turning all night long. Every time I had to move the sheets so I could also move my body pillow. Even in sleep I am restless.
After my e-mail has been checked, I put on a pair of shorts and my running shoes. I need to get rid of this nervous energy somehow.
It's not until I am nearly home, after the 20 minute run, that I know it's not going to help. I didn't get rid of that feeling deep inside me. I still wanted to rip apart my body to release this energy.
I sit down at my computer and open a new document in TextEdit. I like writing in the most basic programs. Yeah, in the end it will end up in Word, but for now I like to think of the writing by itself, without attachment to the tools of the 21st Century world. Yeah, I'm writing on a computer, but I'm just using it right now as a glorified (and very advanced) typewriter. As a plus, there is no type writer sounds. Very peaceful.
One pictures a writer going to town on his laptop, maybe sitting in some semi-public space. Others see the writers alone in the apartments, their faces only illuminated by the glow of the computer screens.
Gone are the days we think of writings sitting in a well-lit room as they think by chewing on the end of their pen. Go back further and you can imagine the great writers dipping their quills in wells of ink.
Right now, as I write this, I am sitting in my room, which happens to be illuminated by the natural light pouring in from the two south-facing windows. The light can freely fill the room because I have been putting off buying and installing new curtains. While I find the light annoying at certain times of the day, for the most part I can't see giving up such wonderful light. I never used to like natural light, but as it has given new life to my bamboo plant Pete (Pete the Plant) I feel like more natural light has given me a boost.
I turned from the living room (& the TV) so I could write in natural light; in my room with the hope that getting something, anything, out of my head thru my fingers would zap the restlessness in my body. I write that sentence, and my legs stop. Crazy. Mind over matter?
Only seconds pass before my legs starts slowly moving around then seconds later my right leg is at it again, jumping up and down.
Only those without thought can't understand my problem. I have too much energy from sitting at home all day. I should walk more, get out more, and, most importantly, find something to do everyday so that I can actually apply this energy to something constructive and good.
Easier said than done. But now that it's out of my mind, something will happen. Now it's just time to wait and see. Shitty, I know.
As the clock nears one in the afternoon I start to think about life. Today has gone by in a mixture of slow pace and speedy moments. I watch House and it seems to go on forever. Then I see it's not even 1 yet. Time is a bitch who I think is now fucking with me.
I wish I could make my words sing. The lady in the strange land of HappyCandyMoca is the sexiest pilgram Lincoln ever saw in a Bowtie! Castle Greyskull! How about those apples.
I am torn between screenplays and novels. Both speak to my soul, but the movie needs other people. And while novels have editors and all that bullshit, it is mine. I don't speak through some actor. I write the words the reader will read. That is the power of the written word. There is only you and your reader.
I am feeling the words I write as I type them out. I am not looking at the screen, nor I am looking at the keyboard. And while I feel I have messed up a few letters there and there. I am finally listening to the voice that I want to make heard. I'm not going to like it but the most honest feelings I have are being pulled out of my by the idea that I am cant think before I write. I have taken that filter aways. And by doing so I have taken away the chance to edit. the feeling lights me from the inside. I am alive again because I am not writing for anything else, I am doing it all for me. I need to feel the power because I feel i like I am not being able to teype fast enough to get my feelings aout to the world. Tursing my findghers. Een when they may be wrong but it is what I need to do to better feel my world. I am shaking with power and somethings that power makes my fingers type faster than they can. Thus mistakes are made, but by closing my eyes I can undersand the art behind the words without having to worry that I have fukced something up because I am moving too fast. Help me figure otu how to keep up with my crazy mucking fafkne'a efnjc FI/JO GHLCN ASDDSOHVOFBEH 08RSDFIUHIO/B
Cam tries to explain why he is feeling so crazy.
"I just feel like my mind is trying to do things my body can't handle. And by doing such crazy things, I can't get my body to work with my mind. They are always at war. My mind wins, but my body can't do anything without my mind. But my body is the one always falling behind. I don't resent by body. It's what makes me, me. I just wish I could better deal with the energy that is trying to rip my heart and soul from my flesh and blood.
The art of the written word is dead. But the ideas and feelings it has communicated are not dead. So it is up to us to discover a way to share these feelings, thoughts, and events.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
And while I have hit a block on the story I am working on, I thought I could come here and just shoot the shit with myself. I don't have much in mind to talk about. Nothing in fact. I just need to tap these keys and form words. I just feel the need to empty my brain and my soul. I can't put words to the feelings. I try and tell stories to express these, but I can't. I can't put my finger on it. I just am missing something. I need to work my word choice. I need to work the language to sound great! Sorkin!!!
And I must shout out, in yet another social/Web media, that James Franco's new book Palo Alto is great so far (I haven't finished it yet). Is there nothing he can't do? Act, write, look like he does and so much more!? How?! Mad props because he seems very down to earth. Talented and humble. And sane. That's a gift man!
I love the book's short shorties because it is how I have been reading lately. Just reading 15-20 pages at a time, and this book is great for that. I get my mind to work out, but I don't over heat it. I must say my mind has been working overtime lately (for some unknown reason). But I did read Micheal Cunningham's new novel "By Nightfall" and I loved it. It was a great easy read. Which was great. Cunningham can be hard to get into and get through, but this newest book was very accesible yet no less brillenct. It was shinning for the simplicity of both the style and the truth of always longing for more and different and new. Love it.
With my passion for politics and policy it is not out of the realm of reasonable thought I would someday run for some office. I don't see myself running, maybe helping someone run, but not myself. But never say never. It's one of the few slogans I really follow. Never say Never!
But with this in mind, these journals, as well as others on the intertubes would be crazy to deal with. And everyone of my generation is going to have this problem. And if not us, the next is surly to deal with everyone knowing nearly everything about each other. It is the need to know what your neighbor is doing at the same time you want to reach out and tell your friends want is going on.
I am writing so my brain can chew over the bit of story I just read. Going back for more. I promise to get right back like I'm not even gone...
And I still here. But I'm going to finish the book later. Some now before I sleep, and then the rest tomorrow. Then I will spend the next few days rereading it. Taking it in. Then I will write about it. And maybe "By Nightfall" too at some point. Yes. That would be great.
Now, this is mostly just what i thought as I was typing. It's true. I haven't edited for grammar or mistakes. Enjoy I guess.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
It reminds me of the old story of the frog in boiling water:
If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will of course frantically try to clamber out. But if you place it gently in a pot of tepid water and turn the heat on low, it will float there quite placidly. As the water gradually heats up, the frog will sink into a tranquil stupor, exactly like one of us in a hot bath, and before long, with a smile on its face, it will unresistingly allow itself to be boiled to death.
- Version of the story from Daniel Quinn's The Story of B (from Wikipedia)
Whether or not it's true (I doubt it), it still points to the idea of something happening slowly over time isn't as obvious and/or noticeable. That's been my life, changing slowly, so that (it would seem) that sometime around Tuesday or Wednesday (Sept. 28 or 29) I saw myself as the new me. For better or worse. I have acted more boldly than I thought I could, yet I still feel the nearly instinctual pull deep inside me to run away when I feel I'm losing control.
That pull (a feeling mostly in the center of my chest, but also a buzzing throughout my body) has always been there. I remember it best as the feeling my freshman year of college. I didn't want to go to class (my art class, Principles of Design, I think) because my body was freaking out. It was almost as if a hand reached out from my chest and held me down. I couldn't make myself go to class. Anyone who knew me in high school would be a little shocked by this. I know I was.
But, I started taking pills for depression and seeing a shrink. The pills helped dull my buzzing anxiety, but talking didn't. And the pills made my mood swings odd and strange. Not better, but different. I just thought it was what I was suppose to feel. Then I started drinking. And doing other things. That freed me. Or at least it felt like it freed me. I didn't think too much, and now I could talk to people without totally freaking out.
But those things were just pushing down my feelings so I didn't have to deal with them. Not that I avoided the issues that fueled this anxiety, but I didn't learn to deal with it. I just made it go away.
I've been totally sober since October 1st. Well, that was my first full day. I'd quit a few days before that, deciding I needed to find the real me. It wasn't going to be easy, but I needed to do it. Then I found out some news, and I kinda gave it. So Oct. 1. That's when I really started to be totally sober. I just need deal with the crazy in my head.
I went to the doctor Friday as well. He put me on Paxil. It's gonna help with the social anxiety. Which I think should have been the target all along (not depression), but you try fighting with doctors.
So the point of this post was two-fold. I wanted to document the start of the new me. The real me. Me.
Second, I wanted to write. I started this blog to do just that. I haven't really had anything I was willing to share with anyone until now. So, here it is. Me.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life...
Sunday, August 8, 2010
We, as humans, do a lot of things that form what we call our life, including many different types of relationships, but nothing shapes us like our close friends.
In our society the ability to be sociable, that is to make someone like you, is a more prized gift than anything else. No one gets a job, no matter how smart or talented, unless you can get someone to like you.
So much goes into our relationships with our friends, but we don’t think about it. I remember doing the trust exercise in high school where I had to fall backwards into a friend’s waiting arms. Friendship is putting trust in that person they will be there to catch you if you fall, so to speak.
Friendship is a delicate thing that may be strong or it may be weak; most of the time you don’t find out until it is put to the test. Like it or not, friendship is one part shared history, one part shared interests and a whole lot of faith.
It is Sunday afternoon, two days after the party. All I want to do it throw things against the wall. I want to hurt people. I want to hurt me.
I am just full of energy and have no fucking clue what to do with it. I do one thing, and it fucking blows up in my face. Fuck details!
I left the party early because I threw up and fel tlk e a fuckingaz. Fuckt!
I feel like I am running away but I'm not getting anywhere. I smoke pot, and i tdon't get anywhere. I drink and I don't get anywayere. I canf rdoaifhe
Any time I get close to actually having a moment of truth I fill with energy from no where and everywhere and then I blow up. I fill up with emotion and it just blows me up.
I no longer exsist.
I am no longer me. Who am I?
Please fucking tell me who I am.
Monday, July 26, 2010
What is the life of one man? What is the life of a man whom lost his job during the worst economic crisis in several generations?
Well, I can tell you it’s not really all that interesting.
I would think that after nine months I would have some great stories but I don’t. I don’t have anything but heartache, loneliness and creeping insanity to for the worst time in my life.
I say that with a sense of history. I’m only 26 years old, so of course this is the worse time of my life. I really haven’t had anything else happen.
I was smart, breezed through school, got into college. Took honors English and was running the school newspaper by my senior year. After college is when everything started to fall apart.
I guess I could blame myself. Without the structure of school I totally fell apart. But it’s not really that big of a deal. I got a job. Had it for six months. Lets not talk about it.
Then I got another job. I had that job for just over two years. I don’t want to talk about it.
It is one o’clock at night and I have nothing better to do than write my stupid life story onto my computer. I mean, at this point we are only 200 words in. You know I’m young and unemployed.
If you are smart you caught I don’t like conflict and I don’t like my life after college. What you wouldn’t have caught, because I didn’t say anything, is that I’m gay. It’s not really important, but I felt like I needed to tell you.
Like you care.
It’s not to say that my life since employment hasn’t been fun. I get to sleep too much. And I get to spend time with friends. But it’s always on their schedules which makes me feel like window dressing that just went with the rest of the living room.
No matter what my friends say, I always feel like an afterthought. At least one would hit me for putting that out there as the reason I don’t get the passion back. Yeah. I totally pull inside, but I don’t want friends who just go along, I want friends who will fight and pull me out of my shell.
And when I do, I love it, at least for a moment or two. I was hanging out with on of my best friend and we were debating life. I said that humans would fuck up any good plan. He said that there could be a plan humans couldn’t fuck up. I countered with that if so, that plan couldn’t be made by humans because we would fuck it up. He agreed.
It doesn’t sound exciting when I just write it down. I think I could even put hours and hours into getting the emotion of that moment to come out and it wouldn’t. Only Todd and I were there. That is our moment.
Like he said, it was like we were fencing. In the end we tied. But isn’t that the way it always ends in a great friendship? You both win.
Besides Todd I wonder about my other friends. I don’t really do friends that entirely well. After I hit by best friend the summer before my seventh grade year. She hit me first, but I guess you don’t hit girls. Did I say she hit me first?
Sorry, doesn’t matter. Well she had an asthma attack after I hit her. I still don’t know why. Why she had an asthma attack, not why I hit her. She hit me. And she hit me because I called her friend a bitch.
I’m not making this any better for myself am I? Well her friend was flirting with my mom’s boyfriend at the time, Brad. I never like Brad. Brad was Mom’s first serious boyfriend after the divorce. Brad didn’t stand a chance; I was never going to like him.
But Darcy did. And she was annoying me by making him feel special. He was sitting in my kitchen, talking to my friends and I wanted it to stop.
So I called Darcy a bitch. Then Ashley hit me. Then I hit Ashley. Then Ashley had an asthma attack and went home. Mom sent everyone else home too.
Soon after Ashley turned all my friends against me. All of them except Mike; he wasn’t there that day. He was grounded for something or another. I should say that all the friends Ashley did turn against me were girls. I guess they had to take her side. I think I said I’m sorry to her. I know I thought about it night after night. For years.
I would go on to hold a lot of anger towards Ashley for years to come. For turning people against me. At least through high school. By then she was going by Ashleigh and I was trying to turn people against her. It was cold, petty, and fittingly childish.
I don’t know where she is now. I wish her the best. She was the first girl I fell in love with. So yeah, that’s fucked up.
I didn’t really start having friends until college, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I told you I was gay and that it wasn’t important. It’s unimportant to who I am like it’s unimportant if someone is left-handed. Their different but that doesn’t necessarily make them interesting.
I told some friend I had, also named Mike, in like 7th grade that I was gay. Get that. He was like "Well as long as you don't hit on me I don't care." And he was cute! This was middle school.
I would think about writing about being gay in my personal journal we had to keep for 6th and 8th grade English (same teacher). Good thing I didn't. Several girls read it. To flirt and to toy with me.
(random: I had to take 8th grade English because I didn't read/write well enough based on some test. yeah, look at me now.)
But yes, it was not till 10th grade that I told someone else. I told Aimee Hankins. She was to be my first (and only) girlfriend. Given my attraction to women (even to this day, but yeah, still gay) I was lost. I called myself bi for a period in time. So yeah, we dated during the summer before 11th grade.
That is also when I told my mom I was bi. I then started seeing a therapist. Of my own free will, mind you, I wanted help to work all this out. But yeah, he was no help at all. Bastard.
Aimee and I broke up because I wanted to. I don’t remember the reasons, but it doesn’t matter.
But yeah, so the next...oh, 2 years I would deal with being gay all by myself. Well, I still had Aimee for a bit before she ran off with her mom's car (don't. even. ask!) and her friend Amanda for a year. But yeah, in that time I have several online affairs, Leo, some crackpot from Michigan, and a guy from Louisiana I was "in love" with for sometime. Is it bad that I can't remember his name? Darryl. Yes, that is it.
Then there was Anthony; I first e-mailed him on March 2, 2002. He would prove to be the one that I would go to see and be my first 'gay' experience. If you don't count the phone sex with Leo!
But yes, Anthony and I met in the summer before school. June 21st, 2002 I do believe. I drove up to see him one day. His parents were out of town on vacation and he had the house to himself.
We met at a Perkins. So funny. Then I just followed my heart (or another organ) and I followed him back to his house. I made him lock the door, and when he came back to the couch I kissed him. At that point I knew, yes I was gay.
We made out. A lot. This is when I found out I love the feel of making out with a guy with a little bit of stubble. So gay.
We watched a movie, then we went to his bedroom. Well that was interesting.
A few months later I got my heart broken when he told me he slept with another guy. He’d actually done it before I even first met him. I got the e-mail and I sobbed. And I don't cry easily, or at least I didn’t back then. My first heartache. It was not really bad, but it hurt.
But yes. Then there was college, where I dealt with being gay the most. But you don’t care about this anymore. Like I said, it’s not interesting.
College was more interesting for me making friends again. Most of the friends I made that first semester turned to shit, in one way or another. I know the first two girls in my class. Then I remember the two guys I rode with on the bus trip back to the campus after some event. One guy’s name was Steve, and I had a hard time remembering it. His friend I had no problem remembering; his name was also Anthony. I would live with those two my junior year. If only I would have known.
School didn’t get fun until the school paper and I really became one. But that is also just after my sophomore year. I had a horrible sophomore year. Lets not talk about it.
The summer before my junior year at Grand View College I moved into the apartments. I wasn’t moving home. I was moving in with Steve and Anthony. I was getting ready to be on the school paper. The News Editor. And that summer I started drinking. I had never even really drunk anything until moving into that apartment. I would meet Dan, Anna, Todd, Marty, and a million other people in that apartment and that is where they met me. I think my college life is summed up in that four-unit apartment on the first floor.
If that apartment summed up my social life, the newspaper office was the other pole in my life. I was on the college newspaper since freshman year. I was on my high school paper too. It seems I have a thing for writing.
But no matter how much the newspaper shaped me, it’s time with my friends I remember. So many friends and so many memories.
I don’t remember friendship being this hard. When did it get hard?
Now Dan is getting ready to move to Reno with Anna so he can go to school for his PhD. I only wish I was kidding. I’m happy for him but I am going to miss my friend. But I already miss my friend. I just don’t know how to be great at being social.
I sit here unemployed and I am only wondering when Todd is going to leave. The only reason I am staying is because I have nowhere to go.
But that’s not going to stop my friends. Change is hard. But I just don’t know if I’m ready to fully jump into the next part of my life.
Change is hard. Change is hard but it's the easiest thing in the world.