Sunday, August 22, 2004

writing

that last post was uncalled for... my self-control took its leave for a moment; last night gave me the opportunity to really, really see and experience how desperatelly i want out of here... i sit here now in a place... studying, of course; the test is tomorrow... studying and taking time to think, for i cannot think too well without the written word accompanying it.. i wonder sometimes, if anyone i know is reading this blog; or if anyone at all is reading it-- it's the only existing record i have of what's going on with me... of what i'm really thinking... the names may be changed but all the stuff in between is truer than most of the things i can normally tell to anyone's face... i realize that i say many of the same things over and over and over... a part of me really wants and hopes that my friends, or anyone i would have really know what i'm thinking-- who i am, would come and read this-- every word--- see how wierd i really am--- what my world has been like... and of course there is another part of me that enjoys the silence... the privacy... or the ambiguity of not knowing whether i am being "watched" as i talk... to the air... but it is a poisonous pain to talk and say all the things i have to tell to nothing but the open air.. the hollow, empty air that listens not.. records not... retains not and is the same air--- the same not-there--- the next day as the last, and gives me nothing back... it is better to speak to the emptiness of blank paper; at least you have the validity of your own record; your own drama and problems... but then, the stacks of blank pages get stuck on the shelf, and the air swirls by and people's blank faces still stare at you, as if the things you told to paper last night never were told to anyone... which, it sadly turns out, they weren't... unpublished pages count as no one... nobody knows what they know, no matter how fully... how completelly... and then you feel sad and isolated and hollow again; as though the vacancy you see in the world, in the faces of others, of the understanding of what you really want to say, incites or reflects a mirroring hollowness, inside of your own self-- like it makes you question whether you really are there, inside; whether your perceptions, your life, your thoughts themselves are real... with the inability to communicate may come, in extreme circumstances i suppose, a curiosity, whether you are the illusion--- you, and everything else you fail to proove... i loose hope about others sometimes... it seems so dismal at times; this headache of continued non-communication, and continued non-existance... so here is another page; but one which has a window on the other side of it; a way to look in... even as i type presumably... and all of us are invisible here... all of us, always, may or may not exist at any time, here in the Book of Electric Pages... the mental universe itself... and i wonder, still, whether i am alone... whether my voice goes unlistened-to, or for how long it will thus go... and what would it be like, if i found that my acquaintances had become my audience? would that alter their findings-- reshape my truths again, as it seems to do outside of this place?... i get saddened easilly, by the general miscommunication between myself and others--- by my seeming inability to explain, to present myself to them... it's as if it simply turns out to be just too complicated for them to understand, or in code of some kind... perhaps i have just spent too long in my own head, where even i am still trying to sort out what's what... ---i got asked what my "dream job" would be again, the other day. it's always the same, when someone presents that question to me; always the same dramatization. always the same, exact words drawn out. and these days i have always the same answer: 'i don't know' anymore. they always repeat the question, like my answer isn't what they want to hear, or like they think that somehow, by restating it, they can elicit further information from me, or make me realize somehow, from the repitition, that i really do know. but the answer remains the same. i can't respond to that question anymore. i have lost the will, the gumption to participate in that line of questionning. the real answer is just too far off the wall, and i don't want to get into it with someone else, not anymore. i've tried, and i've been punished hard for trying. miscommunication; it's more toxic than it seems. it poisoned the stream of thought relating to my "career goals." i feel like i hear the same things repeated over, and over, and over, and over and over, with regards to "career choice" these days. things like: "i'm still figuring out what *I* want to do"-- always follows, when i try to explain how lost i am with regards to finding out what i want to do. somehow, there is always someone in the room who comes forth to say that. does it mean anything? does a statement have meaning anymore, when it's been repeated and rehearsed to the point, where it just seems that it's an automatic reaction to certain missing information? that statement sounds like nothing more than a way to silence one, at this point; a way to hush a person's malcontent; 'there there, it doesn't really matter; we all feel the same way-- ALL of us--' ... and so the communication is lost again. utterly erased, like it was never there. i just feel like the world has all these check-points of conversation in it, through which anything unconventional or unexpected cannot pass without severe repremanding, fines, imprisonment, and other prosecution until it is effectively erased from the field of possible speech. it has made me tired of talking, or of trying to talk; trying to say things that i get beaten down for saying every time. i can't hold a conversation about my "career goals" with anyone; there's no one here who gets it; but not only that--- when they fail to get it, I'M the one who gets the hour-long lecture, the accusing looks, the permanent label as a naive little incompetent fool... i've been thrust into involuntary privacy, un-asked for confidentiality, and over a subject i never thought would be hard to understand-- it was never this hard before... i never had these troubles; it seems like it was always obvious... while i was in college, in school... people recognized my skills-- people even considered me special; a talent; an inspiration... people had faith in me, people looked at me, saw the things i would do, and would only just glow; just glow knowing, and there wasn't any question of what i would "do." But now i'm a stranger, and i have no way to proove myself. and no matter what efforts i put in or how hard i try, to demonstrate, or to illustrate, these things; people still demand to know what i'm going to do with that. they have a loss of hope that is impenetrable; and worse, contagious... i feel absolutelly desperate and worthless, like i've spent the last of my talent and now there's none left now that it's really needed... like i somehow unwittingly spent every grain of talent in stupid classroom assignments that are in boxes now. scattered in a thousand directions but all facing towards the past... the people from the past, the people who knew me before i graduated; i swear that when they look at me it's a different look that's on their faces, from the way people look at me now... like there's an understanding, like they see ME here--- the new people, it seems; just look at me and see a blank wall. a rock on the ground waiting to do something. they want to see me do a backflip or something, or tell them that that's who i am: the one that does backflips, in order for them to see anything at all, when they look my way. they need a way to categorize me, and they will let me have no peace until they find it. they are made disconcerted, or full of annoyance towards me, when they see something that won't fit into one of the boxes they've got in their heads... and fully intend to place me in one by the end of the conversation, by the time they're done with me, if i won't do the work for them... my relationships with many, many people have been thus strated since i've lived in Limetown... and that, really, is a hellish relationship to have with someone... it's not really a human relationship at all... i've finally reached the point where i just don't have any answer to give anyone, at all, when they ask me what i "do." all my answers have been pulled from me, one way or another. i have this test i'm going to take, and maybe pass and i'll have a license to wave in their face when they ask me that damned question, or maybe i'll fail, and cry all over SouthPlia, and be a Nothing again when i proceed to the desert, not knowing what it is i'm celebrating... but the ones that make being Nothing the most unbearable are the family, of course... i can't bear to continue being Nothing in front of them... it's just too hard, and they are so scrutinizing, so accusing... and they are in many ways not like me at all. It has gotten to the point where even they, even THEY who supposedly were seeing me perform all these miracles since my inception into them, are asking if i never thought about what i was going to "do." I don't really have any memory in particular of them asking me what i wanted to "be" when i grew up-- i just remember lots of arguments over whether i would go to law school... basically my future was all planned out through my entrance into college-- and not much imagining was done about my life after that. i didn't even THINK about existance beyond that point, at any point previous; so heavy was the emphasis on getting in... and then dad with his: and after that you're going to go to law school, and always i would say 'no i'm not.' and that would be all that would be said. i remember once a teacher asked me what i wanted to be when i grew up, and i said my dad will probably make me be a lawyer, even though i don't want to be one, and she exclaimed oh, no! you be whatever you want! don't listen to anybody else! and that was the end of that conversation. and now here i am: a non-lawyer, and not much else. and now here when i stand amongst my family, a crowd of tall lawyers-- an insurance person is better than Nothing... dad still hasn't given up hope that i'll be a lawyer... in fact, i think he's banking on it... there hasn't been anyone who i've been able to succesfully describe this dynamic to, either. on the one hand there's people who tell me 'well, would he pay for law school?' and 'well, lawyers make alot of money.' and on the other hand there's, 'you're nothing like a lawyer, you're totally an artist.' and of course, 'well if it's not what YOU want to do then you shouldn't do it.' and the conversations always stop there... no one has much to say; they always think they've heard my problem before, or that it's the exact same problem they have, or that they've seen enough TV that now they have complete knowledge and understanding of exactly what proceedures i should take and how exactly i should consider this circumstance... all i know is it's starting to look like the real answer to the question: "what do you want to be when you grow up?" is actually "NOTHING like YOU."

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