Wednesday is my bitch.
i will leave something beautiful.
Today I saw an article about an alarm clock and lamp hybrid that simulates the light of a sunrise. The biggest complaint by the author was with the radio cables.
wasn’t sure how to format this, I really don’t even like how it reads, I just want to post something since I haven’t had time to myself to really write independent of school.
“It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn’t care.”
Blair to Clay in Bret Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero.
In this scene, Blair asks Clay if he ever loved her,
he dodges by saying that he doesn’t care about anything,
because to care is to give a part of yourself,
and to give part of yourself means you risk losing that.
You can disappear.
Blair doesn’t reveal if she loved Clay.
He didn’t ask.
I used to be afraid of that method of disappearing.
But now I think it is the most beautiful form.
To give yourself wholeheartedly to something, to live in symbiosis with something, so that you not only disappear, but become something greater as a result of it, is a magnificent concept.
When I met you, I thought I had met an extension of myself that I wasn’t aware existed.
I drove you around, you bought me wine, we wore each others’ clothes, and explored the city once the stars were out.
I only spoke your name in its Hebrew pronunciation
My version of creating a pet-name.
The original form of your name poses the question “Who is like God?”
We seemed to have found the answer to that in one another.
You went to Catholic school, and I was raised kind of Jewish, but neither of us believed in a deity
because we were too busy believing in each other.
You made me realize that love is to be treated like a religion,
it must be something you believe in for it to work.
Most people speak exclusively of its harms, but I will speak only of its joys in this piece of text.
You turned an atheist into a fucking believer,
and now it’s primarily what I write about.
I didn’t have an example of successful love to reference when trying to believe,
until you gave me one.
Like a religious devout, I keep believing that the love I found will one day prosper.
Maybe with you when the time is right,
because maybe time does bring resolution.
I’ll stop apologizing and trying to make things right
I’ll stop worrying so goddamn much about how you feel about what dissolved.
I’ll let you come to me,
because trying to talk to you is making me disappear in the wrong ways.
It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn’t care.
consuming and creating are absolutely not mutually exclusive.
I am human because I am never satisfied with my output,
and because the world inside me is impossible to articulate in strings of zeros and ones.
I am human because my skin still turns red when I am in passion
I am human because I get mild symptoms of hypothermia
when the temperature is less than 75 degrees Fahrenheit,
and I have low blood pressure.
Computers don’t even have blood pressure.
I am constantly struggling to maintain my internal homeostasis— physically and emotionally.
When computers are unstable, they just need to be reset
by holding down a button.
I am human because I drink a lot of alcohol and take a lot of pain killers
precisely so I can forget about things that make me unbearably sad,
or so that when I do think about those things, I can lose the otherwise existing inhibitions
just so I can write about it.
The computer is a lightweight,
because when it has even a bit of alcohol, it passes out.
Something about not being compatible with liquid.
Computers forget by dragging something to an icon that resembles a trash can.
Don’t even get me started on hard drives.
I am human because I err and make mistakes all the fucking time,
but my print error message comes in the form of a slap in the face or extreme guilt.
I can’t resolve my mistakes by simply rewriting a code.
Imperfection is not rewritable.
we hold hands and run
like flowers in a cemetery on a windy night
or children in their dreams,
going outside of yourself is necessary to gaining external and holistic perspective.
"if she knows you’re paper, she’ll have to burn you."
"She broke up with me, and I forgot to get my rare Buddy Holly vinyl back from her. AND my argyle sweater!" he said.
And just like that, an arrow flew through my heart of steel. Not because I love him as a romantic interest, but because I fall in love only with things that inspire me.
"to experience illumination — to be “alive,” to be the present, to be the now— and to then experience darkness— to be “dormant,” to be the past, to be what was— is to experience change."
Brian Greene, The Fabric of the Cosmos
then you called me. you told me how you’re not in a place to invest yourself into relationship in a way that isn’t completely self-centered, and how your agoraphobia was at a peak, and how it terrified you that things were getting real between us. Maybe all of that translates to “I just don’t want to be with you so please fuck off”, or maybe it was sincere. I don’t know. You said you were sorry, but never mentioned anything about missing me or wanting to correct things to eventually be with me. So you probably just want me to fuck off. Maybe all the previous talk about having found something unique was just a collection of empty words.
I thought about telling you that maybe it’s not a good time for me either. I’ve considered the notion that maybe my own intentions were self-centered, as well, and my frustration with this whole situation is a consequence of me just not getting what I want. I often sequester myself and then want somebody to hold onto, and you were what I wanted to hold. I like the idea of two whole and independent entities working in symbiosis, but when each of those elements have habits of isolating themselves at inconvenient times, that harmony is more a fantasy than anything tangible.
I don’t know how or why you had the effect on me that you did. I typically push everybody away and never get attached. But something like a magnetic force was there and I fell for you. You sucked at making an effort to make plans, and you talked way too much about how much money you make, and you pre-cum like a bitch, but I adored you anyway. You were a chemically imbalanced mess and so was I.
My mother laughed at your Buddy Holly glasses, but I always thought they were the best. ‘Picture frames for your eyes’ is what I called them. The last time I was at your house, I remember laying in your bed, and reading you an article about tetrachromates—people who have four colour cones, instead of the usual three found in most humans, so they see extra colours that most can’t imagine. You were convinced that I must be one of those because our disagreements on colour labels would always end in the assertion that my world is just more colourful than yours. And despite what your drivers’ license claims, your eyes are green.
Whatever those colours were, they lined our trajectory until they divided us. There was something comforting in being so close to somebody that’s so similar, but it eventually makes for a disaster. It’s just like me to fall off the map with somebody as soon as things start getting real, I shouldn’t be surprised you did the same.
With the age of 20 nearing, I am both satisfied and unsatisfied with where I am. I’m doing great on paper, but mentally I’m a large tree with tangled branches. From what I’m comfortable assuming, I think you must be, too. Once we find ourselves individually, I hope we find each other again.
a new phone number seems to have prescribed a new demeanor. Or maybe you were just lying to me the whole time.
"Why did we stop talking?" I sometimes ask myself. Not ‘talking’ as in, "We were together for three years and now I don’t know what’s happened," but more of, "We were talking for about a month and we were a little more than friends, we spent time together and shared how we felt about each other." Much less serious than the first thing, but it was still a unique category of friendship that most would consider warranted some communication before deciding to completely avoid me. Some thoughts peruse on why we stopped:
-we were both busy at inconvenient times, and you stopped making an effort to see me toward the end of our one-month charade because maybe I just wasn’t that interesting, and you were only interesting and nothing else.
-we are both narcissistic, inexperienced young adults who feel out of place all the time and often get anxiety or depression swings so that neither of us really like being around people.
-you are a brilliant hybrid of a 5 year old boy and a douchebag.
-you know a lot about pop-culture and i don’t, and that makes me insecure, but that’s okay because you’re not half as well-read as I am.
-because I’m doing really well for my age, but I have bigger goals and have no idea how to get there right now, but I will, because I always do. You don’t really have goals but you’re doing pretty great, anyway (at least in the financial sense; see next bullet).
-you talk about how much money you make all the fucking time, but never paid. I don’t really care about the not paying, but I care even less about hearing how much money you make.
-I think that harmony between two elements is beautiful; I was ready to let somebody into my life who made me happy, and i thought you were too, but you eventually indicated otherwise.
-or, fuck, i don’t know, maybe you were lying about how much you liked me and you just got tired of me. I got tired of you, too. it was only a little over a month that I knew you, so to worry about it would be juvenile, but i guess i’ll never know since you didn’t have the maturity or balls to talk to me about it.
ok glad i typed that out. now I can move on with my life. so glad I’m one of those people that can just write things out and then forget about them. I have so much other shit going on right now that I can’t have this even in the back of my mind. onward!