i don’t need yours because i have one of my own

I don’t know if this was covered yet (you think you can swallow it), but sometime ago, my friend Jessica wrote me this email in regards to my website. She liked the idea of doing an on-line journal, but had some trepidations about doing it. Namely, do I censor myself and how do those closest to me feel about what i write?

the question is a good one, and thankfully i thought i had all the answers. justin supports me in everything that I do, primarily with my writing so what i have to say, really doesn’t bother him. but do i censor myself?

yes, i do.

in a way, i was disgusted with that answer. and with how i felt about everything else, that made sense as to why i would feel disgusted. people often see me as being this raw sort of person and i feel that i am. but i started to notice that when i would write da’ chronicles, that i was blocking things that i would never admit or revel to the public at large.
for what reason, i can’t be too sure. but some include that many people that i would probably bitch about and complain about DO read my pages and suddenly i’m taking their feelings into consideration. they would probably ask me “why can’t you talk to me about this to my face?” and i wouldn’t have a very good answer other than “i dunno.” and as i write this, i realize that i have covered this before. *shrug* i’m old at 26. shoot me. 😉

anyway, there is a lot of stuff i think about, that i have never even thought about including in da’ chronicles. my relationship with justin, how i really feel about him. people that i work with, play with and socialize with. my relationship with my parents. stuff that would be considered really personal and stuff i probably wouldn’t feel too comfortable sharing.

but today a productive day. i finally got my cd’s in order and pulled out the crappy ones i have never listened to (a rob-ism: if you don’t use it for 6 months you don’t need it). sonya took some of them home. i’m either going to pitch them to a few mailing lists i’m on or else just take them to a place that purchases used cd’s. and while i was making notes of additions and subtractions from the collection, i started using an old journal that i had.

i have this thing for buying notebooks (whether softbound or hardcover) that are blank pages so that i can jot something down in it daily. daily ruminations about crap that bothered me, but i knew in my heart that i was censoring myself even then. not as badly as i was here on the web, but i still wouldn’t admit even privately to myself what i really felt. how fucked up is that when you actually carry two journals: one for public and one for private showing?

to me, it’s extremely fucked up. fucked up enough to have me analyze it. well just kidding, but i think part of who i am is found is this simple analogy. i have a public and private side to me, both which are equal to each other. sometimes it may be more dark and other times it may be more complex and other times it’s fluffy like cotton candy.

i liked the idea of keeping a private journal.

the reasoning has to do more with getting rid of my depression than anything else. oh be sure i’ll still be as scintillating as ever, but perhaps keeping two journals i can reach down and write about stuff that really matters (to me) and really bothers me.

the bright side is that i won’t sit here and debate on whether or not i will be mentioning the fact i bought new nail polish called cherrywood.
(but you already did that lisa…)
it’s called allegory! or something. so kindly stop walking across my freshly washed kitchen floor!

fiction baby

last night, while i was browsing the web, i had remembered reading about a place that specialized in on-line journaling. I feel somewhat compelled to go there, as I have had a voice on the web since 1995. However, my attempt, now three years later to get in the game of on-line journaling, is being overshadowed by slick design and not a lot of content by other competitors.

however, i have realized that there are many people who can write articulately, and have something interesting to say. my friend jane is one such person.

but anyway, i found a another place that specialized in on-line journaling, also allowing people to create on-line journals, with the sake of anonymity, and also not having to worry about design, concept, and other such things. they just write, for the sake of writing.

while browsing around, i found that they held a slam contest, which is now all the rage with the lit world. intrigued, i read more on how to participate, and found it was fairly simple. the creatrix of the website presents a image, and you write based on that image. 1000 words or less please.

compelled, inspired, whatever; i wrote. my story, which i had to chop out 1000 words. I have presented both the abridged and unabridgedversion. Do be warned however, the unabridged story is not complete, nor has it been formatted in html or spell checked. I like the unabridged version better, and I will probably continue writing the story tonight when I get home from work.

my entrance into the art of short story writing prompted me to update Tripping on Stars, my anthology of all the on-line versions of my work. I have created a new category, called appropriately enough, ‘short stories’, which will host all the fiction crap i write.

i haven’t written any short stories in years, mostly dealing with i didn’t have the patience. my big concern (and now, don’t laugh), has always been with names: I could never think of names of my characters. last night it was pretty simple coming up with names, as justin and i have created fictional characters for ourselves. He’s Panama Jack, and I’m Virginia Slim, Ms. Slim to you. Unfortunately, since Virginia Slim happens to also be a trade marked name, our little shticks that Justin and I do have to be done in person or on IRC.

Carrying over our on-line shticks to real life has been really interesting, since we are both lovers of J.D. Salinger and F. Scott Fitzgerald, we end up doing these shticks based on the characters that those authors have created, namely Franny & Zooey, and Zelda & Scott, respectively.

On IRC, Justin and I would go for long periods of time just making up scenes and characters, to the bewilderment and amusement of those on the channel. This creation of characters included Jackie the Pumpkin (also known as Justin’s first wife), Harold the farm boy (also Justin’s ex-lover) and many others. He and I would sit giggling for hours just playing along, and no one would get what the fuck we were talking about.

That was always okay. We basically didn’t give a shit or not, because we got it and that is all that was important.

Justin is also wonderful because he has a mind like a girl. He’s not effeminate, gay or hell, even bi, but he knows how a girl thinks, and he also has good taste. he’s the best girlfriend a girl could have, and the wonderful thing is, he has a cock. Justin and I have decreed that i finally became a lesbian, since i’m fucking my best girlfriend. how many other men do you know that can sit with a female and talk to her about men, pms, clothes, make-up and is either not gay or afraid?

not many i would assume.

many of my friends have been concerned with the age gap (7 years), and it bothered me as well for awhile. but i realized love really doesn’t know age, race, creed or religion, it just is.

i don’t think about his age anymore, excuse me, i should say obsess with it. i’ve come to terms with the fact i will always be older than him, but since i look so damn young for being 26, and he looks older than 19, it’ll work. Justin’s life, which would make a therapist rich, has wonderfully made him more wise then his years. the big difference, was especially when my brother, who is also 19 was living with me, and seeing my brother act like a boy of 19 and justin acted at least 10 years older was amazing. you can’t always assume because of one’s age that they are mentally that age. watching my brother and justin interact taught me that much.

i love justin, and i love him very much. it’s been especially hard with me because i can’t always accept a person as they are: i have a habit of changing them. but i can’t do that with justin. i don’t know if he’s the one, hell, i’ve thought damn near every boy i’ve dated was the one, and i don’t want to muddy my relationship with justin thinking that. i just want to love him in the here and now, and not worry about the future. it’s really nice, being with someone who knows all your secrets, who accepts you for you and gives you the freedom to do what you want. as stated, since justin is barely legal, and i’m prone to go drinking and dancing, he doesn’t give a rats ass that i do things without him. he’s said, and i quote “as long as you come home to me, i don’t care”. he doesn’t question me, like Danny, if i’m late getting home from work, or if i make other plans without him. he understands that, while living together, i don’t need to spend every waking hour with him. but i do anyway. justin gives the best hugs. being 6’8″ must have a lot to do with that.

as always, i’m looking at the clock and now i’m late for work. a part of me doesn’t care, it just feels good to be writing again, and branching off into other area’s that i haven’t explored before. Jeffwas wrong: love is unconditional.

it feels good in my mind, that i can say these four words and not cringe anymore:
i am a writer.

everything’s gone green

help me, somebody help me.
i wonder what i am…
it seems like I’ve been here before.
– everything’s gone green by new order

Tonight at work, I was reading an email that Wired sends out with updates of late breaking news stories. I was reading some such article that had caught my eye, when it had links to websites that were eerily like mine in context, but just overall better designed. One of them, the Fray was awarded for it’s excellent design, and from there I ended up at other sites that were more or less like it: ego-taking domains that really hosted nothing but twenty-something angst, in this damn digital age. The only difference between my site(s) (I know own THREE domains, so therefore I am better) and theirs were two things:

  • Better designed and pleasing to the eye.
  •  A more regular update of content.

In a sense, this pissed me off. I had copied my files from home and brought them to work to *actually* work on (which, it seems I never have time to do, so I don’t know why I keep torturing myself). I immediately opened up ye olde EditPad and went to work hacking something together. But the more I worked on my site, the more angrier I got, and so I left it in lieu of deproving domains and fixing machines.

It got me thinking about a lot about my ‘writing’, though this is not necessarily a new thing.

See, I have been told since I was a child what an exceptional talent I had for weaving the written word. In college, one of my English profs went so far as to say that I could actually make a living off of satirical writing. While it pleased me (and ye olde ego) at the same time, I’ve always taken my ability to string sentences together for granted. For instance, when I was in school, and I had an article to write for the paper or a paper to write for a class, I would always wait till the last minute before I would pound out my masterpiece. And I would always get A’s.

A few months back, I was asked to write an article for an on-line magazine, and I actually got paid for it (400 smackers!). Justin says that I am now an “official” writer since I’ve actually been published. Sometimes I think he is more distraught over my lack of actually putting pen to paper than I am, but, I know since I was a wee tot that I’ve always wanted to be a writer. You know, sitting in some dingy bar in Paris with my drink while scribbling out my latest and greatest. Somewhere between that dream and now, reality happened.

I think about that a lot.

When I have time to browse the web, and I find things to read, I immediately chastise myself for not having written it, thought of it, or doing it myself. Justin asks me: “What is stopping you?”, and I say to him (and to console myself) “Nothing.” But in reality, I have always felt inferior to others when it comes to what I have to say, because I get cynical enough to say “Well, there are no original ideas and no original thoughts.” Mayhap, in a sense that is true, but dammit! I have a ‘voice’ and I know how to articulate myself, and I don’t know why I keep feeling like time (like sands in an hour glass, so are the days of our lives) is escaping me. Justin says that is how he feels about our relationship: he has to hurry up and love me, or else I will be gone.

Michael always tells me how silly I’m being when I start beating myself up. Words wound deep. For instance, when Jeff and I first met over a year and a half ago, it was my ‘writings’ that brought us together, and it was my writings he took the liberty to pummel when we broke up. blah.

In the movie Dream for an Insomniac, the lead character, Frankie; says something how boring the ordinary is and we should only reach for and live for the extraordinary. And I felt a kinship with her and her spirit. And that is how people see me: this free spirit who really doesn’t give a rats ass about what people think about her, but is super sensitive to criticism against her.

I’ve always hated the word ‘writer’. I think about some schmuck who is sitting at home with her fuzzy slippers and pounding out love stories for some cheesy romance novel. I think about the very stereotypical beret wearing, coffee drinking, all black absorbing poets who roam the world looking to get published. I think about people who actually are bad writers and just call themselves that because it is ‘cool’ or ‘neat’. I seemingly have issues with this. 😉

A few years ago (maybe less, maybe more), I was part of an email listserv that was dedicated to the Beat Generation. Since, at 23 I was one of the youngest people on the list, I would sit back and listen to those who had been friends, lovers with the likes of Ginsberg, Keuroac, Ferenghetti, and that ilk. One man, Leon Tabory, found my writings off of a link I had set up on my .sig file, and wrote me the best letters digizines ever saw. He said my “gift” was comparable to his buddies Keuroac and Ferenghetti and that this gift shouldn’t be wasted. I felt a sense of honor, and perhaps praise getting that from him. I felt, like I would achieve status at some point, though it has yet to happen.

When I was young, I used to say “Okay, this summer you are going to write (quote)The Great American Novel(unquote)” and it would .. never .. happen. I would think “Okay, you are going to get up at 8am and pound out something, no matter what for an hour” and it would .. never .. happen. I chastise myself for what I should of done, instead of what I could be doing! That perhaps pisses me off, for I have all these wonderful ideas in my head, things I want to discuss, things I want to do, and I just don’t!

My therapist says that my depression (I mean, is THAT not irony? Isn’t everyone depressed or borderline psychotic these days?) is the reason why I keep pulling this stunt: never finishing things I should be doing. Like college. Or falling in love. Or finishing my book(s). Or actually making something of myself. I think about all these things.

I think about them a lot.
Mayhap too much.