(no subject)
I've been off the written radar.
Every now and then I simply can't get into writing. I think too much about my thoughts.
Instead I've been tapping in directly to my stream of consciousness, asking myself questions, then answering them, into a microphone and recording program. It's been pretty nice.
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I got back home from Japan and something has been nagging me ever since.
The plan I'd came up with was destroyed. I've been living since then with a feeling of no direction.
No plan, no sense of where I'm going. And all the desire in the world to go somewhere.
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A guy on Skype comes out of the closet. He's so afraid of how the world will judge him.
I try to reassure him there's nothing disgusting about him.
I try to put into perspective how being gay is something some people discriminate against, so is being black something people discriminate against. That some online language exchange people see my picture on Skype, and very soon stop speaking to me at all.
He says he felt a little weird seeing that picture, too.
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Only online can a nigger really hide his nigger-ness.
So yesterday, in all my online language exchange profiles, I put in the first sentence that I'm a black male.
I came out of the color closet.
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I used to think that I shouldn't have to, and that it shouldn't be important, and that it shouldn't be something I have to admit to. And I'm not.
But it's not something that I'm ashamed of or embarrassed of or nervous about you knowing. So I'm just going to let you know.
Being black has absolutely been a part of me becoming the me that I am. And so I'm proud of this part of me that has helped me become this way, for all of its ups and all of its downs. This simple layer of brown-colored skin has made me stronger than I might otherwise have been. For through all of the assumptions and fetishes and the demands and the impositions, I have chosen who I am.
I cannot control what you see, but I can control what is really there.
And so if you see the skin and see it's only skin, then maybe we can be friends.
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By the way, I saw Milk the other day. It was great. (I gave it two snaps and a circle.)
James Franco is dreamy. And fucking fearless. (So are all the other straight actors who went around passionately kissing other men.)
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The girl I mentioned before has flaked, has waffled, has prepared a complete breakfast banquet, but has not been focused enough on coming to see me to come see me.
If I'm honest, I only wanted some booty. (It's been quite a while, not that I notice much.) Which is probably why I'm not chasing her in the first place.
She's a nice girl, but she doesn't put the butter on my toast.
But if I'm honest, the girls that do bring the butter (and the jam) are not exactly what I'm looking for right now. Even though I'm always looking for them, I'm looking for something else. I think I'm looking for the stuff I've been ignoring.
The girls I like most have a habit of leaving me. Before I start getting serious again, I want to know why. I'm already pretty sure I understand why, but I don't want this to be something that forces me to be alone for the rest of my life, before I decide I want to or not.
I'm not cut out for chasing girls or entertaining girls or running game, and I despise the fact that they think I'm obligated to. I think I want a girl that can stand on her own and get lost in her own world and her own work, who wants to be with me because she wants to be with me, and not because of how well I'm doing as her daycare.
I want an equal and I'm not sure what that is.
Which means I really don't know what I want yet.
I want to be focused on what I'm doing and I want someone who is focused on what she's doing. And when we're focused on each other, for every drop to be honest and natural and free of all 'shoulds.'
I think instead of a girlfriend or a wife, I want an equal and a partner.
There are no dating websites for what I want.
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I sit again. It'd been weeks. After I stop, I am struck, by the quiet. Not the quiet that you hear, but the quiet that you experience. You can find it everywhere, everywhere.
I sit again a few days later. Nothing special happens. I sit, I meditate, I stop. I feel tired. I do some reading, listen to some music; I take a nap. I feel rested. I feel rested like I haven't slept in two weeks.
The persistent sensation of something being very very wrong, and my being very very in a sort of pain are resting too. They'll come back: maybe next week, maybe tomorrow, maybe an hour.
I am empty of my whole entire life. The clock starts from zeroes. My thoughts start from, I am awake, and not, I should be doing something.
Even my stomach, which had been too full early, sickly so, feels so empty it could echo. My body is light. It's running as smoothly as a well-kept car.
I know this won't last. I keep chasing states like this, free from the thousand pains of life. I know writing about it and trying to decipher what magic I'd unknowingly cast won't yield any particular formulas.
But I am aware of my being alive. It's the first time in a long time. And I'm ok just drinking every drop from this one marvelous cup.
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When it gets quiet enough, you can even hear the sound of life.
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And maybe
instead of drinking from the cup
I'm filling the cup.