A Man Said to the Universe, "Sir, I exist!" "However," replied the Universe, "The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation" -Stephan Crane

Monday, May 31, 2004

Says Tom

i had my bike broken yesterday
and a bit of my heart but only a little bit
and i think it will be better
with time

and situations confuse me but i shall come through
and if not i'll be
bitter like the rain but rain is beautiful sometimes as well
even if it is not as sweet as you'd like it.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Backwards-walking people

This is not a metaphor and I swear it’s true.

In high school I was friends with a whole bunch of kids whose one way of killing time was to smoke up. They were all older than I was, had been friends for a long time before I met up with them, and consequently had a shared history. I was an excuse to pull out all these old incidents and replay them in graphic (and I suspect) exaggerated detail, which is why when they told me about the backwards walking people I thought they were having me on. So here’s what they told me:

Late at night, around two or three am, around town you see these people in trench coats.
There’s two of them, and you see them walking along the streets, but something seems a bit wrong.
And it’s not just the trench coat in summer!
Yeah, and so when they get closer you can see that they’re wearing those dust mask things on their faces.
And they’re walking BACKWARDS.

Mmm. Sure guys.

No, really. Scottie went and talked to them once. They said they do it for the exercise.

I didn’t believe this at all until last summer when I happened to be home for a few weeks. After a night out with the ladies I was driving home by myself, stopped at a street light and low and behold, the backwards-walking people in all their creepy, crazy, glory.

Saturday, May 29, 2004

Bar talk

When getting hit on people usually ask what you do,

I study genetics.

This revelation generally elicits some comment about how distasteful science/math were in high school, and believe me, I don't disagree. The second comment (at least from men) is usually something like: Am I going to go bald? I heard its genetic.

For all those fearful of incipient baldness: yes, it's genetic. If your father is bald it doesn't matter, but if you're a guy and your mother is losing her hair then you're screwed. If you're a girl it's more complicated, so I won't bore you.

Another interesting genetic fact: males are going to go extinct, and we'll have to evolve another way to reproduce. True!

My personal philosophy (as written by others)

As said Jack Kerouac:
...they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...

And F. Scott Fitzgerald:
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.
'Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,' he told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.'
He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understand that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me...Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally as birth.

And Franz Kafka:
You don't need to leave your room.
Remain sitting at your table and listen.
Don't even listen, simply wait.
Don't even wait.
Be quite still and solitary.
The world will freely offer itself to you.
To be unmasked, it has no choice.
It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

Friday, May 28, 2004

My Life as a Lesbian

"Mum, Dad, I'm gay"


Who wants to have that conversation? Nobody. It is not liberating. Your parents don't want to know about your sex life whether you be gay, straight, bi or kinky. You don't want your parents to know about your sex life either. This conversation is not nearly as bad as the one you have with random people who think that you aren't gay.

Them: So, do you have a boyfriend?
You: No...
Them: Do you have any crushes?
You: Well, yes.
Them: Oh cool. Who? Do I know them?
You: Maybe, her name is ___.
Them: Ha ha.
You: Mmm. I was serious.
Them: But you can't be gay! You're too pretty!!

Well. Thank you and hadn't you better get back to the cave you live in?

Pomegrante Love

The ancient Greeks had a myth for just about everything. They had one for the pomegranate, something about how the seasons started. The woman who made the world beautiful had a daughter, and she loved her daughter so much that she was happy to do her job. One day her daughter got kidnapped by the lord of the underworld, who loved her too, from a distance. Down in the underworld this guy offered the girl a feast, but she missed her mother and the world too much to eat, but the guy was feeling a bit guilty and so he tried to get her to eat. Meanwhile the girl’s mother is up above trying to get help to go save her daughter, and in the head god comes down to the underworld with her to help. Down in the underworld though, the girl has been offered twelve pomegranate seeds, and she takes six of them. There was a rule back then, you could get out of the underworld so long as you hadn’t eaten anything, but because she was tricked the god decreed that she had to spend six months of every year down there, and twelve months on earth. When she was on earth her mother was so happy that the world was beautiful, but when she was in the underworld her mother missed her too much to do her job and so it was winter. That’s how the seasons came about.

Even though the girl was tricked, and she missed her mother, and the world, she came to love the lord, she felt sorry for him first and then pity turned to love. Kinda a strange love story, but there you have it.

I have to say, for me, the fruit is not so much a love story as a bitter reminder.

I used to like them, I used to eat them all the time. In fact, every book I own has stained purple pages from the juice, and I still have reddish finger tips from eating them so much. They go pretty well in a salad. The reason I don’t like them too much anymore is this girl called Sarah. We ate one together once, it was the first time for her, second for me.

You know how sometimes a person comes to mean everything for you? Maybe not literally, but theirs is the name you mutter to yourself in your sleep, and they’re the one you think of when you’re happiest. Anyway, without degenerating into a sentimental mess, I will say that she had me captivated, mesmerized and smiling for no reason a hundred times a day.

At first, I was the tough one. I was distant, not invested really, and just kind of cruising. She was the one who made me breakfast and left me notes and worried that she cared more. I don’t know now whether she did, but at the time I thought that she did. I felt a bit guilty. And then I went away for a few months.

When I got back and I saw her again I knew that she was it, she was the most beautiful and amazing person I had ever seen in my life and I just had to be near her. And when I was I felt better and stronger and smarter and as though nothing could go wrong. I don’t know if she has this effect on everyone, but she does for me. Still.

Unfortunately, she was having second thoughts now. Can I tell you how much I was kicking myself for reluctance before? Probably not, but hopefully you can imagine it. I still tried to see her as often as I could, without scaring her away. It doesn’t do to seem desperate, does it?

Well, maybe my strategy is what screwed it up, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. She has a boyfriend now, I hear his name is Robbie and though a little dull he is reasonably attractive and very good to her. I am happy that she’s happy, but sad it isn’t me. I am sadder that she doesn’t know how I feel, and probably never did. Communication is clearly not my forte.

She sent me a message the other day, she said that she bought a pomegranate and thought of me. The tear that sent through me was painful. I am not sure now whether I am just a friend or just a sign post on the wayside. Either way, I’m not want I want to be, but given my communication weakness I won’t say anything. Nobody wants to get rejected. And how am I to know that he is not the right one for her, and that if she left him she wouldn't regret it forever. There is no way I want leftover-love, pity-love, or mistaken-love.