(no subject)
Dan,
I'm here. I'm searching for places to visit tomorrow. I'm tired. This is a tiring place. But I love it. I was at the NYPL today, to see Livres d'Artistes, Artists and Poets in Dialogue, 1874-1999, some of my favorite bits of _expression. I wished you were there, to smear yourself over me. I thought then, I must run again, and tell him all, mail him all, because I know u would have loved it. In the photo section, there was one opening, a window, where I stood, another photograph, staring out at the visitors coming in. I wanted to freeze the moment of my passion for us, a weird mix of ratio and instinct. It's hard to let go, to 'thrill' in memory. I decided I will use the black book for everything I do-whether it is to store info I need, plan contemplate, or communicate with an imaginary counterpart. When the book is filled, I will mail it back to you, and you will use it as surface, to work on. It will be scribbles of my past by then, which you can ignore, react to, engage with, erase, cover, expand on, whatever. Just like my vagina. Does this make any sense?
I dont know if this will make sense a while from now, but even if it will have become meaningless, that would be part of how life will have gone.
Dan, I have to take care of something in Bulgaria and that is partly the reason why I decided, some weeks ago, to go now instead of in december. It is the same thing I wanted to talk to you about but I didnt. I had/have to place a clear marker between my past and future, there and here. I am not sure what I mean by this. I think a few weeks ago I wanted to erase Champaign by going home and connecting home to here via new york, as if champaign and the year preceding it never existed. But then I fell into you, I forgot everything but our rituals, and the immediate tasks on my daily schedules. So now it doesnt make sense to go anywhere.
As I mentioned, some things make me feel abnormal, weird, crazy. Some cultural things, and some people who carry them. I mean, people at home. When I was 18, I was at a peak of creativity, energetic, wild, happy, flowing. Then I met someone, who, over the course of a year, crushed my wings. I was miserable, full of self-hatred, pitty, uncertainty, and strangely, for someone who had never taken shit from anyone, I was humble and masochistic. This lasted for a few years, till I reached a point of utter self-destruction. I was uncontrollable, ugly, mad, disrespectful, and weak. In my own eyes, because I was trying to look through the eyes of others, who were too normal to understand who i was, who didnt realize that the normal is just one mode of being, but a dominant one. and that this mode of being was simply incompatible with who i am. i wasnt crazy - my surroundings were, well, maddening. so, anyway, i managed to pull myself together gradually and decided i should disappear, and one way to do it was to come here, as this is a place i associate with my highschool years. i returned to my highschool for a year, informally, and then came to champaign. it was an escape, and a good one, but i want to know who i have come to be, i wonder if i can go back and face the person and the culture i escaped from - educated urban technocrats, with stable income, who humiliated me when having unemployed parents, or for having fickle goals, and seemingly random opinions. i wonder if i can figue out what kept me trapped for years. was i trapped or enchanted, and why and how did i get the power to escape. i dont know. so, this is what i want to find out. do arts meet science in an equal partnership?
You - you make me doubt it. In a beautifully complex way (i use too many adjectives).