the stoic (i cannot be)

i just read the handbook to epictetus during my work shift.
it is brilliant and humbling. i hardly doubt that i could be a stoic, a real stoic simply for the fact that i have this blog. a real stoic needs no outlet, needs no audience, needs nothing. he is "an invalid" and a perfectly content one at that.
i wish that i did have that self-sustainability and rather genuine indifference to the world and to my friends, lover, and family but i don't.
i care what they say, feel, do.
i wish i didn't feel the need to write on this thing (but i hardly doubt it finds it's way to too many eyes anyways) but still! even so, erase the need.

i don't think i can be one, sadly. i would love to be, do not get me wrong but i fear that i just don't add up. i let things that are beyond my control bother me or affect me. other people's emotions, actions, judgements, words.

there was a time i do admit, where i was royal and forthright in my head. it was when i dated men. i just realized this. when i dated men, i was independant, loyal to my solitude, and quite ok with being alone. i was devoted (don't get me wrong) but i was confident in myself and never doubted my actions. i felt strong. strange.

women get to me and i am much more developed when i am with them. i open up alot more to them. not to say that i was ingenuine in my male relationships (when i love, i love hard) but with women (esp. the one i am with now) there is no hiding. there can't be.

to be a stoic is much like to be a minimalist. i once dated a minimalist, or atleast he was in the throes of becoming one. he wore his shirts inside out. he ate small. he lived in a small apartment with a really uncomfortable mattress on the floor, no TV, only a few books, a cd player, nothing on the walls, a computer in the dining area, and a small closet of clothes, a few pair of shoes, and a tub of his ex-girlfriend's letters and photos. he was a minimalist. he quit his job. he read a lot. he listened to dance music more than anything. he took very long (and often times) aimless drives in his beat up Honda Accord. it was amazing to know him. he once took me on a drive in the country and we saw a camel. it was strange. it was beautiful.
we broke up.
(come to find out i am into women) and he is into the sea.
he joined the navy and is now in Japan or Thailand. (he moves around constantly)
we are now friends.

sometimes, i'll be lucky and get a call from a strange, long, and unfamiliar number
and get the voice
of someone so close to me.

in 3 gleams.

today i am irritated and annoyed with strangers. i don't care about your problems. i don't care about your lost reservations. i don't care about your mother/father/lover/brother/

or your failed suicide attempt.

i'm sorry if i sound like an asshole but i'm quite self-induced with wanting nothing more than to lie on a bed (any one at this point) and read anne sexton or that genet biography i recently purchased.

i hate the sound of screaming babies and the internet that allows you to look and reflect on the past or other's pasts for that matter.

god. i don't want to be human. i don't want my actions to be something "understood" yet looked poorly on.
it is common, yes, to fail at times in the ways of a lover. i am not proud of this, but i do not deny it. it is what it is. to fail as a friend. to fail to yourself.

today, and only today, is a day where i want to shut out most everyone and not think.

to hide inside a color and lie still frame.

to be nothing. to want nothing. to not even be aware of the word "desire".

reclusive, in 3 gleams, to the wall.
(to mirror that).

i'm glad i'm not a boy.

she would be pregnant by now.

anyways,

anne sexton breaks my heart. i found her writing this week and was enthralled, inspired, and in a trance. her writing is beautiful and tragic and quite appealing (just to tone it down a bit). I, being the nerd with alot of time on her hands during work hours) researched her and found out that she cheated on her husband many times and hurt her children. Now, i'm not a advocate or believer in cheating (i think it is cowardly) but I understand that people make mistakes, stupid mistakes. Doesnt make it right, but it happens. It's lame but it happens. But you don't fuck with kids.

Anne Sexton, you don't fuck with your own children, or any children for that matter!

I'm so dissapointed and mad right now, i am screaming to the clouds in the hopes that my voice breaks through to you.

i was looking for a literary hero ma.

you just can't be it now.

bad (and) beautiful

it's been a good week since i wrote anything. my mind is a mess and a whole lot of non stress/stress/ whatdoesitmatteritdoesntmeananythingitwontin2months kind of ways.

i've been sleeping in numbers lately and my wrists still hurt like a motherfucker.

ophelia is growing so big.she is bad. but she is beautiful.

jordyn is...so many fucking things to me.

anne sexton is ruling my life right now.

and suicide is a topic i'm going to research tonight.

dominque moceanu.

this past week has gone by rather quickly. i don't remember anything. and it's only wed. night but it feels like November. or the 13th. or 2 years ago. i'm emptying out thoughts on paper in class today and i hear nothing from the teach but static.

i need to ice my wrists.
i need to work on vocals.
i need to stop saying "i".

lame. we all write in the first person. i guess. guess.

here are 2 topics i researched tonight.

1. the 1994 rwanda genocides-nearly 1 million people were killed in 3 months. that is 10,000 a day, 400 an hour, and 7 a minute. 500,000 women were raped and either killed, tortured, or contacted HIV.

fuck you killers. fuck you.

i have been quite obsessed with this story for some years now and perhaps it is because i cannot grasp the human physical ability to commit such grave and cruel acts. and all of this simply because of a fucking racial "divide" myth.

i had to chill out so i researched this girl.


2. dominque moceanu- i used to have it bad for this girl. i'm talking mary j. blige "real love" kind of bad. i think this was when i could not deny my sexuality. i was 12 during the 1996 olympics. she was 14. she was the prettiest thing i had seen at the time. and she was humble.

(weak) wrists.

my wrists are fucked up more than before. hardly able to write or type without them flaring up.

great.

today i feel restless and passive. it's very conflicting. the last two days have been filled with fatigue, my body wanting her bed more than ever. i wake up and i am tired.

i took a 40 min. nap with my puppy today. i don't remember falling asleep. i was reading a novel on the Rwanda genocides and next thing i know, i am waking up to time fast forward.

thank god i have tomorrow off.
(band practice, picking up my check, paying my rent, getting coffee with jordyn. i hope she is feeling better).

day. off.

mornings (with) machu.

it's 8:41 am and machu and I have been misquoting Shakespeare since 7 am. currently, she is asking me how compatible i think she would be with Adena (the character and love of her life from the British sitcom ABFAB).

i fucking love machu.

we looked up Dominique Moceanu earlier. i used to be madly in love with her (when i was 14). she now has 2 children and a husband. wierd.

i don't feel grown up yet.

p.s. machu's hair is amazing this morning. she looks like a fly girl from the 80's.