On One Hand

June 30, 2005

Virginia Woolf

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:53 pm

Virginia Woolf and I have a thing. For a while now I’ve known that she and I are soulmates; what keeps us apart is that our incarnations tend to occur at different times. She was alive at the turn of the 20th century, whereas I’m here at the turn of the 21st and Virginia Woolf is long dead. I am left to read her writings in her absence, digesting secret love letters from her that only I in the whole world can understand, and if I become a great writer then someday in her next life Virginia Woolf will read the things that I’ve had published.

This was the idea I toyed with a year ago, scribbling it into my notebook as a playful thought I could elaborate in prose. I’m realizing now that Virginia and I might not be as compatible as I thought – I don’t even like quite a few of the things the troubled author composed, and though I can find a great deal of meaning in some of her works, the chances that she is my soulmate based on words are slim when there are other writers whose thoughts I love so much more of. The real reason I loved Virginia Woolf, I finally understand, is that I was intrigued by the story of her life and her demise. My passion was only an infatuation of a superficial image, like a high school crush. I was intrigued by mental illnesses, and Virginia Woolf is now known to have been manic-depressive. Woolf was bisexual, which I find edgy and cool. She took her own life in one of the most creative and intriguing ways possible, by weighing her coat with rocks and walking into a river. I’m a sucker for a melodramatic suicide story.

Tonight I watched The Hours for the first time in two years. I saw Virginia Woolf a little differently, especially now that I’ve read much more of her writing and understand the stories the movie is based on. After falling madly in love with someone who is, in fact, both bisexual and manic-depressive, and occasionally pronounced suicidal during down-times, I realize that such qualities are hard to deal with and are maybe not to be romanticized. (My bad.) Suicide is generally irrational, always a tragedy, and in practice sort of selfish. I know it most of the time but occasionally forget during my own mini-depressions that pop up during hard times. That is really what The Hours is all about: the selfishness of suicide, and the way people put it off out of love for someone. All of the various manifestations of Mrs. Dalloway were keeping themselves alive for someone else, as is explicitly stated by characters to the extent that the mystery is utterly purged of ambiguity: “Well, that’s what people do,” the confounded lesbian played by Meryl Streep frantically gasps to her AIDS-afflicted friend, “They stay alive for each other!” The line is true, and it drew my mind inevitably to the time I did the same thing, when I thought of suicide but remembered my uncle who died in 1997 and my cousin who died in 1998 and the fact that my family had lost two boys, far too young to die, in avoidable accidents. Watching my aunt turn away from her son’s open coffin a year after leaving her brother’s was enough. I don’t need her to go through that again or to put my own mother through a similar experience. I’m quite happy to be alive so consider my sudden restraint to be a blessing.

I’m leaving this last thought underdeveloped because I’m tired, but I saw the look on Leonard Woolf’s face when he disclosed his fear that his wife could knock herself off at any time, and identified with the concept. I realized that my desire to “cure” someone’s emotional disturbance by loving him intensely is only going to satisfy me if I can “cure” him completely. I seek out people who are in pain because I want to make them feel better, but the risk that my abilities might not suffice is something to consider – if the suicide of my loved one results, failure is obvious and agonizing. Maybe I’ll settle for someone slightly less disturbed than what I’m used to.

Kinsey

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:37 pm
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My favorite scene in Kinsey is when the talking old-lady heads drift in superimposed over the map of the United States. The scene emphasizes universality and multiculturalism, and each face reminds you of someone you might know from anywhere – it’s your ninth-grade music teacher Mr. Donovan or the woman saw in the the grocery store buying flour. There’s nothing more moving than disembodied faces from all different races, ages, cultures, and walks of life saying “and then I reached for his hot cock and fingered my pussy ’til he came all over my tits.” No wonder Kinsey got a Golden Globe nomination for Best Picture.

June 29, 2005

Muse

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:57 pm
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I’m beginning to think that my writing is better when I keep it casual. Odd what a digression a poetry class can cause, though I met a lot of great people in there so it was worth it.

For the first time in months I am on good terms with Matt, after an hour-long phone conversation that had us both on the brink of tears for a while. He’s complaining that he fucks up the best things in his life and can’t get it right, and I’m resisting agreeing with him. I understand now that being bisexual is harder than I thought, with so much confusion as to what is needed or desired. Add to that a manic-depressive illness and borderline tendencies and the whole world is vague and undecipherable. I’ve mused that being bisexual is an ideal, the best of both worlds with unlimited options, and have said that I wish I had that. The problem is that love collapses the whole world to one person who is going to fall on one side or another, while your mind continues to waver or alternate against your will. I’m sure most hetero-flexible people work it out sooner or later, reaching an age or maturity where they don’t let their confusion hurt their loved ones (there are, after all, more bisexuals than non), but Matt isn’t there yet, plus he has much else to deal with having bipolar and all. Perhaps he could have done better but from my angle it makes no difference what his motives were. All I know from my mangled perspective is that the driver who hit me with that white Volvo didn’t mean to.

I got the upper hand today for the first time since the beginning, telling Matt I can’t get back with him. I said he needs a while to figure out who he is, that I’ve been hurt too bad to put myself at risk again. He seemed sad, but I think he understood. After work I sent him a text, saying “I want you to know, that at this moment I don’t regret a thing I ever shared with you.” In this place I’m neither lovestruck nor bitter and angry, and my mind is very clear. I forgave him; I had to. I love that guy so much. So fucking much.

June 28, 2005

The Accident

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:50 am
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and after chaos comes the scene where I die. Passers-by stop to look, short moments of their busy lives paid in tribute to this stranger’s end of moments. The officer straddles the pavement fumbling for the receiver, wonders aloud to his colleague if they’ll have the street open in time for the afternoon rush. Reflected in the first-floor window of a high-rise is the white volvo with a dented hood, the shaken driver grinding his white knuckles between themselves as he hunches on the curb. He tries to recall his first thoughts when the body flashed in front of him, when next thing his windshield was shattered in his lap. From my sprawl on the street I catch his eyes glazed blankly toward the asphalt, his neck bruised here and there but his head and chest unscathed. I want to tell him I forgive him. The sky rolls back into the pavement as I relax my breathing. I ignore the blare of sirens rising down the street. Rapid streaks of white pull in to prick my eyes and I let them go.

June 24, 2005

Marijuana Breath

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:59 pm
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I miss you, marijuana breath.
Every moment I loved loving you I have paid back in ache
and still you linger in me like the acrid smoke that curls off your tongue.

Best of luck with everything, with your new fling and you never calling me back but wanting to still be friends anyway and all that. I wish you good luck with me not freaking out and doing something that might make you feel guilty.

Threshold of Toxicity

June 23, 2005

Hump

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 8:18 pm
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I feel so fucking hyper right now. I have been getting this way on and off for the last 3 days; very motivated. Not much sleep, meeting a bunch of people. Pacing around frantically and calling up a lot of people I haven’t talked to in a long time, saying hi to people I’m normally shy around. I should take advantage of the rush and try to do something creative, because I get so many more ideas when I’m this way. But I really want to just go out and party. I need to. I want to get drunk, I want to make friends, I want to make out with a stranger, I want to hook up, I want to do drugs, I want to go insane. I feel like I’m so hot right now, like people actually want me, and I need to take advantage of it before this wave of confidence goes away.

June 22, 2005

Birth

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 6:12 pm
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From a conscious perspective, which is the only perspective I can have because a consciousness is what I am, the Universe only exists in the perception of a witness. This is how I must view the world in the context of human relationships, which can’t be measured or observed materially or empirically. When I meet a person, he or she is the witness that makes me real, and in that instant I am born in his or her mind. The me that he or she knows is different from the me that others know, and even different from the me I know myself. It’s a completely unique manifestation of reality.

If I am born when I begin a relationship with a person, I die when I am forgotten. If a person dislikes me or doesn’t respect me, my existence in that scenario is less than zero, and it would be better if it wasn’t there. That’s why it’s hard for me to deal with a broken relationship, being disliked by someone I once loved or being scorned by that person. For months I put so much love, time, and energy into one guy, and gave parts of myself that I can never give again to someone else. If I come to be disliked, I have more than died.

If a person misjudges me and I know that he or she is wrong, the fact that I know the truth about myself is irrelevant because the information that the person doesn’t have doesn’t exist in that particular manifestation of me, which in many cases comes to be very important. In a sense it is of great comfort to believe in a Supreme Being or Universal Consciousness, that knows me completely and fully and my existence in that Consciousness cannot die because it is Omnicient, and it cannot misjudge. I suppose that the denial of worth by that Being would be what hell is, the most complete rejection possible. This means that being hated by any finite person is a miniature hell, and that being hated by a loved one is a more important miniature hell, especially when I have come to identify myself more and more with the me that was manifested in the eyes of another.

That’s really what we’re in love with, in the end, anyway. Not with the other person but the manifestation of ourselves within the consciousness of the other and the manifestation of the other within our own consciousness, as well as the juxtaposition of the two of us together in the minds of third parties.

June 20, 2005

Protected: Day In Reverse

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Finally

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 10:39 am

I am now working for Quiznos, starting Thursday. I make 6.50 an hour. That’s 75 cents less than the first job I ever had. That means I can buy an 8th every 8 hours I work.

I need a way to make some extra money on the side; I wish writing got me some money but I’m not that good yet. I can keep submitting, but since my hit rate is currently zero I can’t use past luck to project into the future to estimate how I’ll do. Everyone knows I want to be published, and now I’m setting a date to make it a goal: the end of the summer. Before I go back to school I want to have my name on something, somewhere. Even if I don’t make any money, I need it for my resume.

In the meantime, I need some freakin $$$.

June 18, 2005

Protected: 8 Years

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