I submitted an old poem, revised, for today's creative writing assignment. I'm not posting it again - nobody said anything the first time around, why should they now?
I had a good talk with masui - about, well, stuff. Identity, body image, and the nature of love. And what it means to be "one of the guys." Also, if anybody knows what somebody who hates men is (like misogynist, but not misandronist), it would help a great deal.
I think we feel the same way about journals - we both suck at finding time for people, and this is usually our only way to communicate with other people most of the time. But, again, it's not like you care.
There's a stanza from Carl Dennis' poem, "Progressive Health," where he says that it is easier to lose a bachelor from a group of friends, because there is no significant other to mourn their loss. When I get a chance, I'll post some of it, because that's how I feel every day.
That's why I'm on my kick about being pissed at women, because I'm scared of being left alone, with nobody to remember me or mourn my passing. Why do I always think of these things right before I go to sleep? It doesn't matter - I know what most of you will say, those of you who will say anything at all. Because you say almost the same thing, every time. The rest of you will hang back, and pretend like I'm just being who I am, this is all just an act, or a phase, and your self-assurance will win you through the day. Some of you will gush inwards about how little you can do, and do nothing, because you believe that is something. Some of you will struggle to find the right words, and not find them, and refuse to settle for the just-as-good words. Some of you will see me as being pissed-off, and angry, and ignore this.
And I don't care. I don't care when people do this to me - these are just words, words, words. But how many times do you do this in a day? In how many ways? See, you're already thinking about what I'm thinking, and formulating a response. Stop it - this isn't me - this is your computer screen, doing what it's told. I don't try to start a conversation every day with people, and find silence for no good reason. You all have your reasons, and I want you to think about them right now. Wait all you want for your right moment, it may never come. Wait for your words, and when they materialize, you may not know where to send them. Look around this room - and think about how many of these people you see face-to-face, every day. Do you tell each other that you care? Or do you just accept, imitate, and make those motions that you make every day? If you see each other at all?
This isn't some separate world - it's a very real part of the very real world where you live, eat, and slouch towards death every day. This is not some fairy-tale land where we let our thoughts fly fast and loose for no good reason. Or maybe it is, and you're fine with that. Maybe you've shut out all the preaching already, and this word, semaphore, isn't even breaking through. We all have inertia to overcome. If that makes any sense at all. I am so tired - so very, very tired. Good night.