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/ november is a month of ghosts

a grey knive lurking on the corner of the bathroom counter, incongruously balanced on the edge - just about to fall - the light of day leaked into the room like dish detergent being squeezed gently out of a bottle, and over in the corner, rats rustled in a paper bag. he walked into the room to the sound of the ceiling fan slowly misunderstood. his left sneaker squeaked slightly. paper in his pocket crumpled up and a blue crayon behind one ear. a muddy cigarette in one hand and no lighter. his eyes are silently stained-glass windows inside a church with no congregation, waiting for the hollow bellpulls - the doorbell of the Almighty. he takes out a sharpie and marks an x on the wall. moments later a fly buzzes fatly in and lands on the ��������������������������������������������spot, preening and humming to itself. below, at the baseboard, an ant trundles in. he looks at the mirror. he looks away. outside, a bird hits the window, and all things still, in hushed������������������������������������������mourning. an ignorant cricket looses a selfish mating call and
2003-05-31, 9:42 a.m.

in seriatim; quam quam stultior.

��������� �����with the advent of some new movie-viewing software, it's enabled me to download and watch varied and (in sequence, no less) daria and will&grace episodes. so, currently, i'm watching the final daria episode, "is it college yet?"

something feels irrevocably .. final about today, even though it's only another day in seriatim. i should be leaving, soon, to drive home for a few days. a little mental rehabilitation, or .. something. why is this deeply nostalgic mood such a pall over my day? i'm watching clouds build. it's supposed to be chilly and cold in connecticut tomorrow. but things will be green. and summer will have reign, regardless of - wait, is it even summer yet, or is it still technically spring? i guess i have all these ridiculous worries about going home. being harped on about money (because i don't have a job yet, and am praying furiously that next week i get a call), being .. analysed and noticed. i want to just go back and fade into a semi-routine. i don't know if i have the energy to put up a face to say "yeah, hi, college is nice, things are good." because, while they are, things are - relatively boring. what do you talk about?

"so, how's college?"

"uh. well, i passed. and i'm in a show."

"oh, great! what show?"

"well, it's a musical based on 'much ado about nothing.'"

"hmm, i don't think i've read that one."

".. it's .. yeah. good."

"so, i saw some of your old friends the other day..."

and we fade back into reminiscence about the past, high school, and how connecticut is. and that's not bad. but it's not necessarily good either.

i'm watching clouds build, and am stricken by some sense of ... needing independence. from myself. from the strictures and standards i put on myself. from ... i want things. i want everything. i am this jealous, greedy person who wants to learn photography, who wants to be out in the - wherever - with a camera, or a videocamera, staring at the clouds. the sun. painting. watching a girl with beautiful red (blond, brunette, i don't care which) hair paint. and turn around and laugh and smile at me. or a guy?

here's the thing. i know they say, don't put a label on yourself. don't say "i'm gay," don't say "i'm straight." don't say "i'm bi." say, "i am who i am." oh, great. now i'm popeye. where's my olive oyl. not that she was bad. but... something.

i've just called my mother. i'm not going home today. i think i need to start realizing i need to do things i want to do. i think, today, i will drive somewhere. i'm going to fill up the gas tank, and drive somewhere. up a road, maybe, or down a road. the word 'shackles' comes to mind. i'm going to buy a roll of film, and get my -camera-, and drive. or maybe i won't, you know? maybe my feelings will shift again before i decide to do anything, or maybe i'll take a shower and just decide to sit. isn't that what summer is for? isn't that what being twenty, nineteen, or eighteen is for? and no, goddamnit, i refuse to disclaim this entry with "warning: introspection and philosophy follow" because this is me, this is what i feel, and fuck you if you hate it or think it's corny, or even if you're reading it with some jaded or semi-amused eyebrow lift. or a polite chuckle, "oh there he goes again."

where am i? college. what am i doing? sitting in a dorm, currently with a lot of mess on the floor, staring out the window as the temperature rises slowly. watching a show i enjoy. next, i will watch some will&grace. which apparently is categorised as a "gay" show. you're "less than straight" if you enjoy will&grace. i find myself watching it and asking myself, "why do i like this show? hmm, maybe it's because i'm less than straight. maybe it's because i'm gay." i like the dialogue, i tell myself, that's why. but is that a smokescreen to hide the fact that i actually am gay?

i chronicle, in this journal, the rising of the sun, the setting of the sun, the temperature, the weather. the goings-on outside my window, what people do, what they don't do. i gripe about my friends not being spontaneous, and then i settle into a crafted routine so i don't have to take any risks, or do anything that might in fact mean i take a choice. insecurity is everyone's basic disease, AIDS, herpes, gonorrhea, cancer - yes, cancer. in my opinion, it's a cancer that is not going away, and will never have a cure. you fight it yourself. do you ever win? it depends what type of adult you turn out to be.

in an hour or so, this entry will have faded out of my general immediate consciousness, and will have probably been read (mostly) by some people. it's not very grabbing, or intellectual, i'm sorry. but this is a journal, so deal. i wish i felt this sort of freedom more often. i wish, like jason, my ex-roommate and one of my closest friends (despite neuroses and general insanity, on both of our parts, who is not like i often "make him out to be", a bad guy at all) says, "you just need to stop thinking so much." i wish i could chronicle in here every day the virtues and greatness of the friends i have. i wish i didn't have to be so insecure about myself that i couldn't stop thinking about myself all the time. so that i could just enjoy who i am, and who they are, and what life is, like anyone else.

the clouds are building slightly faster. i don't feel so "final" anymore. i do feel like taking a shower, and concluding this nonsense.

at least, for a little while.



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