Thursday, June 30, 2011

untitled.

I have been having this feeling recently. It feels like the end is near. I don’t mean this in a morbid way. I don’t mean that I am going to kill myself. I just feel like there isn’t much left for me to do around here. I have done a good deal in my life. Not nearly as much as other people. But I have done enough for me. What I have done is enough.
Perhaps the reason is because I feel so stagnate. Its easy to no longer be able to view the future when you cant move any further into it. Or perhaps its the music being played. Or the music I fear I will never make.
Perhaps it is because no matter where I turn, it seems that there are no new human beings worth anything. All the friends and love I will ever need--I have been feeling--were left in my hometown, and in Oneonta. Who knows.
Perhaps it is because it is slowly starting to sink in the my grandfather is dead. And that the rest of my life now--underneath all of the good times spent with family--will be this ugly feeling that their clocks are all ticking down, too. One by one, they will all go. And--one by one--I will have to bury them all.
As my father drove me from Albany to the hospital room where my grandfathers brain was randomly shooting electricity everywhere--because that is all it could do--he told me this: that after the first of his immediate family passed away, life wasn’t fun anymore. It was just a waiting room for inevitable deaths.
Life isn’t fun anymore.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

50 years


i apologize for my lapse in writing. i’m not apologizing to you, the putative reader, for you do not exist—nobody reads this junk, anyway. i do—however—apologize to myself, for the output of my writing is positively correlated with an elevated mood and sense of accomplishment. thus, over the past 3 months, i have often felt lousy and unaccomplished. i suppose—for now—that that feeling may end. at least for as long as it takes for me to finish this.
where to begin? life is as stagnate as ever. i have finished the abomination that which is my second year of graduate school. and to hell with it. i passed my second qualifying exam. and to hell with that. i am now in the lab permanently, learning and executing new techniques. and i suppose that that is ok.
still no friends. still no women. and i suppose that that is ok. i have grown increasingly lonely, as i’ve mentioned, since last fall. that has not changed. however, my few forays into social situations have left much to be desired. i suppose that i just can’t get into that as i did when i was a child. i still am a child. but i meant, a younger child.
i am currently home, which is to say, in frankfort. i certainly had some motivation to visit with people and hang out, but i’ve been a combination of both exhausted and sick. what a waste of time.
and of course the reason behind my whole weekend visit to this forsaken valley is for my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary this evening. sure. that sounds fun. heck, even my uncle from california is in town for the event. and this is nice. he came over and visited with my mother, my sister’s boyfriend, and me this morning. he brought his girlfriend. she was nice.
unfortunately, my father is insisting on bringing his mistress to this party—to commemorate this most glorious occasion. 50 years. that's a lifetime. or more. depending on who you’re considering—or where they’re from.
anyway: he is bringing his mistress. i call her that, because that what she is: he was fucking around with her before he got separated from my mother. the conflict in my own mind is this: i know that as far as my father was concerned, he was separated long before it was made official. he wanted out, but the family begged for him to stay. and so he did. this was a grave mistake. things might have been different now if he just left when he wanted to.
but he didn't. so now his girlfriend of 3 years is referred to as a mistress, and everybody in my family arbitrarily hates her; my father—until today—hasn’t been able to bring her around anywhere, and its putting a hell of a lot of pressure on my poor grandfather. i don’t feel any sympathy for my father. its just that a lot of this could have been avoided if he just left when he wanted to.
so why didn’t you, dad? you’re always so eager to do what you want to do when you want to do it. that's where i get it from.
anyway. this is bound to be a disaster. although it is my grandparents’ day and it is all about them, it will be a disaster. how can it not be? my mother and her brother are going to be there.
fortunately, there will be alcohol there, too.
and then i am going back to albany tonight. back to my shell.
tomorrow is orientation for the summer students. we will have lunch with our lab’s student. i cannot imagine any group of young people as cool as last years’ bunch, but i am hopeful that i will befriend them all as i did with last years’ group, and hopefully have a group of friends to hang out with this summer. that would be nice.
i am finished. i do not feel accomplished.
as always: this is crap.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

rosebud


thursday, march 24, 2011, 10:45 pm

            last night, i spuriously made a rather large list. spurious in that i did not plan on doing it last night. however, i had been thinking of doing it for some time.
            the list is comprised of groups of things that, when thinking of one thing in the group, it reminds me of all the other things in the group. and so on.
            i have referred to these groups in the past as ‘mental boxes’. i think that this is an appropriate expression.
            i was aware of at least a few of my mental boxes, but i did not think that i would end up identifying to many. it was enlightening.
            of the many things i learned about myself from constructing this list was that i seem to always be looking for my childhood somewhere. which is to say, many contemporary things in my life that could possibly find their way into or generate a brand new mental box, also bring along many things from my childhood as well.
             i do not find this alarming and instead i find it to be entirely natural—a very human thing to do. as i age, i cannot help but feel like my childhood memories—old, rarely every thought of, collecting mental cobwebs—are fading from known experiences into transient dreams. and this is sad. although it is not a surprise.
            even last summer seems only like a dream to me. which is to say: my past experiences—solidified and known—are quickly eroding from memory and into dreams—transient, wispy, and of an uncertain source and nature. and this is sad.
            i think i keep trying to find my childhood everywhere because—like most human beings who had a mostly pleasant childhood—i am finding that being an adult is too damned hard and too damned competitive and too damned painful all of the fucking time. i think i keep trying to find my childhood everywhere because—like most human beings who had a mostly pleasant childhood—it was the last time in my life that i can barely remember where i had no responsibilities whatsoever. and everything and everyone seemed to get along fine. and nothing hurt. and—so it seemed—most of the human beings who surrounded me at a predictable frequency seemed to be living solely for me. i was the unselfish center of their little universe. and everything was grand.
            and now everything about life beyond those years lives in the looming shadow cast by a pleasant past. there is barely anything to look forward to that has any long-term merit. no real human success. no love. no friendship. just money. slave. a job. slave. an education. slave. bills. slave. taxes. slave.
            i can get more out of my life than this, for sure. but it saddens me to think that stripped down to the bone—this is what life has become about. not love or music or art or dancing. none of the simple things anymore.
            none of the simple joys of being a child. clad in nothing but diapers. running around the den. no more. none of the home life in which an infant (that which i still am, of course) can—if it is lucky enough—find itself to be raised in: grandfather, father, television and chicken noodle soup. no more.
            this is not coming out right. i have been typing this mostly while sleeping. i will give it another go soon.
            still, i think it is ok.
concluding statement: there has got to be more to life after childhood than this. but i find that adults are just big babies anyway. and so, in that case, why in the fuck are we taking everything so seriously?
the real babies aren’t.
ga ga goo goo.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

last night on earth


it had been a fitting last night on earth, nearly two years ago. but prior to then—since the end—and thereafter, never the outcome i can now only dream of.
            oh well. it was still all—and always will have been—worth it.
            worth it.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

stahtcrahnch


tuesday, march 8, 2011, 9:32 pm

            today i had an exam in my statistics class. it was easy. so i probably did awfully.
i left the exam just moments after another student—who i had never spoken a word to or heard speak anything—had left.
as i came up behind him, i said something along the lines of this: “it was either one of those exams that was so easy that it was a joke, or so easy that you must have fucked it up.”
i don’t remember precisely what his response was, and it’s not important. what is important is from the moment he opened his mouth, i knew i loved him.
it’s not a homosexual thing. quite the contrary, i am as straight as they come. however, at this point in my life, i am probably what kurt vonnegut referred to as a neuter: someone who is neither straight nor gay, and has no interest whatsoever in physical or intimate contact. i am open to that changing. though i have no opportunities. thus, intimate contact, after years of sparse opportunities—to me, in my apathy, loneliness, and entirely fucked up view of everything else that nobody else seems to give a second thought to—still translates into a $3.00 load of laundry and taking out the garbage. get it?
i digress.
i did not love this person because i am gay, for i am not. i loved this person because when he spoke to me, it sounded as though he had been waiting his entire life for someone he did not know to just start a conversation with him—regardless of the conversation’s premise. i might be wrong as to whether that’s how he felt. but that’s what it seemed like. and in my pity, i felt love.
i think i also felt it because i could tell in his voice that this may be a human being who had never wronged anybody, and who maybe had been fortunate enough to never have been wronged. he seemed pure and innocent—not because out of the perpetuation of ignorance he chose to be—but simply because life never offered him a taste of the dark side.
he reminded me almost of what we were all born into—before our hippocampuses started working and we remembered all the lousy things, which always seemed to be preferentially remembered over the wonderful things.
it was refreshing. it didn’t give me hope, but it gave me a smile. and it was nice.
i sound like a complete fucking nut right now. and i do not care. in fact, i hope that anybody reading this has the same chance that i had.
it was nice to see a human being that didn’t have shit all over him for once.