Todays Lesson Kids

I have allowed the opposite sex to take advantage of me. Once I began dating, I noticed some very important details which have evolved to substantial understanding. Men are only interested in one thing. They may be interested in it more than once with the same person(hence marriage), but their concerns revolve around their dicks and the level at which they are wet. My high school boyfriend pressured me relentlessly to fuck. I hardly knew myself let alone if I remotely enjoyed the kids company and yet he seemed to think that sex was what our relationship needed. Sigh, we weren't together long. So I began to see early on what men are about and yet the lesson took so much longer to resonate. If they can't get it from you willingly, the scruples fly out the window and they will either try and take it, or get it from some other unsuspecting chickie whose lesson has yet to hit home. Why as women, are we given these emotions? This need to place a deeper meaning on everything? We feel more, feel stronger, feel in such great detail and depth and yet we are meant to procreate with man and carry on nurturing relationships with creatures who feel nothing if it's not related to their cock and/or balls. Perhaps marriage, relationships, soul mates, are only constructs of the female world. Why though have we created these unattainable qualities and forced them onto men if they will never be able to reciprocate? Men do not feel deeply. Men do not put meaning on events or other people. Men are either hungry or horny...dear God, somebody get that man a ham sandwich! Maybe, just maybe...to sustain the population(we're their people, please stop), men are only necessary for the act of child making. After copulation and impregnation, the women move in to raise the offspring. Than we'd be free to throw meaning around like dicks in the wind. I always thought me mummers was mom and dad enough. Without my dad, maybe I cling to men and allow them to get their way from some child born need of acceptance or something as equally myopic. If I understand men the way I believe I do now, why do I still feel like there is someone who thinks as I do out there, with a penis. Someone who loves intellect and awareness and substance. I should get a dog. He'll respect and love me and demand I place meaning on every little detail of my life...once I get him neutered.

A Funny Thing Happened...

on the way home from work at 4am. I've been thinking about perception a lot lately. How we perceive the world in all its particulars is directly related to subjectivity. What I perceive as cold may not be deemed as such by another, say a crack whore at four am with her coat swung open and I with my scarf wrapped up to my eyeballs...it was minus eighteen after all. Now, objectively, it was a wee bit chilly. The crack whore had probably just left a vehicle and was filled with ooeey gooeey warmness(ugh, that turned my stomach a little), and decidedly high as, well, a crack whore. After I avoided her stumblings, I thought about how we witness the world. Why some things are felt in certain lights and some things in others. I believe I see with eyes that are aware. I explain the world away and hence sadness follows me like, well, warm and gooeey crack whores. She probably just wanted to rob me blind. Anyhow, observing the way in which I do, I notice that I question what makes me happy and why. There was a time I perceived the world as brimming with potential. Perhaps I get lost in the day to day and forget to chill. Perhaps what use to fill me with contentment no longer offers what it did. Should I branch out to new things, or continue to beat this dead crack horse? No one misses her. I also ponder on what other people think of me. Of how they discern things I say or do, or not. As a result of negative or positive occurring in my existence thus far, completely alters how I am affected by occurrences now. To an extent this is good. I've learned that if the oven is on and I place my hand upon it, it will invariably hurt. So I have perceived this as bad. However, being programmed in this manner cannot be turned off. You do not forget that the stove hurts, nor do you forget how people can affect you in very much the same way. I spend my life running from things I deem "bad" or hurtful and bee-lining towards those that contain the opposite. I think if I were to attain balance, I would be bored. Why is being comfortable so awful? I detest it so. Yet, I fear the challenge. Failure has so many horrid connotations but is it so? Is failing just another perception that we give meaning to? I think failure is the thing I fear most, but what makes it so scary? The greatest thinkers/artists/heroes failed all the time. That's how they learned. Perhaps I am not learning because I am not willing to risk whatever it is I'm doing to fall apart. I wish it were simple to flip your brain, turn your world upside down and begin anew. See the world in a new light and take it for the illusion it truly is. Laugh at myself daily, enjoy a moment for what it is, be grateful for everything all the time and smile unabashedly for no reason at all...although, what would people think?

Fucked in the Upstairs

I cried over my peanut butter toast this morning. The toast was fine, slightly dry...and I guess it was no longer morning at one-thirty...I digress....

I am purposeless. Sans purpose. Without el purpo...I don't know Spanish but I'm sure that's accurate. Carrying on a conversation the other day, I realized that I have no ambition. I strive to be creative. To be kind to others. To learn and better myself in any and every capacity. However, I am not driven to anything specific. I don't save lives. I hardly think humanity would miss my recurrent ramblings and humor. I wonder, often, what I am designed for. With billions of others existing just as I, I question if any of us really have a function. Some large and brilliant scheme that affects us all at some time or another. Do we all have reason? Are our intentions really so meaningful to any one other than ourselves? Perhaps if I had some larger goal happiness would rain from the sky and I would never cry over peanut butter again. When I was little, I had such fantasies. I dreamt of being famous. Not rich, but loved and known by all. I would aim to do what I was most passionate about in all the lands and the world would appreciate my undying aspirations. Now that the world in all of its infinite practicality has curbed my imaginative concepts, I am lost. I always pitied those who knew not of what they wanted to be. Those who seemed so aimless and unproductive. I was ahead of them all. I had desires that seemed too tangible not to come to fruition. One can achieve goals that require very little from other people. When your entire dream resounds around one and only one object...that being one of affection from other humans, the bottom begins to drop out. Foundationless and disillusioned, where do I go from here? I exist day to day now. My future is bleak...how could it not be? I have no vision. I spend most days thinking only of the future and now there are so many slots vacant I can't seem to put the pieces together. I love a great many things but none of which would make me a living. Am I doomed to roam the earth living day to day, taking no pride in my occupation? Making casholla my aim and watching tv to glimpse a moment of requited dreams? What should I be when I grow up is not a question you should be asking for an entire lifetime until one day you attempt to open your eyes, 'cept you can't cuz your dead. Yeah, dead. Will I long for fulfillment forever? Maybe that's why I search for completion from the opposite sex because my life is void of stimulation. It frightens me to think that I may grow old and resent my entire time here. Regret is a terrifying mistress...and most only like the top half...you know, the half with the boobs. Boobs are sweet...

I Am Who I Was

I am currently immersed in an exceptionally heavy show....heavy with a capital "challenge even to walk" kind of a show. This production is feeding me in many glorious and inexplicable ways...however, I am learning of my foreignness. I am an outcast. Would not be the first time nor the last for that matter, but for some reason it's hitting me quite abruptly in my feeling place...you know, like my heart and junk. We rehearse in a large garage. It is cold, rapidly fills with our sometimes not so sweet stench of sweat, occasional blood and frustrated tears but houses some of the greatest creative moments I have ever been witness to...and we've only just begun. Alas, something huge is missing. Nobody likes me. The two females have worked on a show previously together and the two males have done practically every show with one another since the companies inception several years prior. I am new. I would think that people would like that. Like I exist as a commodity rather than an obstacle. During our brief and only break within this four hour marathon of physical and mental exertion, the men gathered to speak of shows I've never viewed(and I am super hip by the way) and the women converged to speak of people I've never met. I am the kid on the playground who no one wants to play with. Like the foreigner who speaks not a word of english or the kid who picks his nose rather non-stealth like and wipes it on the girl in front of him. Wait, at one point the director did stop by to ask if I had placed lemon in my water. Ah yes, the pity convo. Like when the teacher catches wind of the obvious error and forces the others to invite her into their shenanigans....
begrudgingly of course. It makes me think, is there nothing of value in me to get to know? If I saw me, would I make the effort? I ask them questions. I am curious about who these people are. I wasn't a lonely kid growing up nor was I sensationally popular. There was always someone lower on the totem pole that I could snag and befriend. So am I now at the bottom? That little piece of wood with moss covering the goods? Invisibility would be super...if I could use it to steal or check in on hot dudes...not so much fun when those options are unattainable. I have stuff to offer...good stuff. If they can't recognize awesomeness incarnate, well maybe I don't want to know them. Yes I do, who am I kidding.