secrets

A few weeks ago, someone told me that secrets were the source of power.
I've been mulling that, because while my response was that I don't keep secrets, and I tell everyone everything, or everything I know and therefore can tell, that was true but somehow inaccurate?
Anyway, today I realized that by telling people everything, I am saying I don't want to play power games. "Here, look, now you know. And so does everyone else" thus, no secrets. No power. And this bothers them, but they won't admit it. Which gives me power. Which is passive-aggressive. Except that I'm not doing it to get power- I just think if we didn't have to lie and hide things, we'd all be happier and more secure in our relationships. And like all of my other decent-human initiatives, I am trying to lead by example and succeeding only in making everyone else pissed off, and myself miserable. Fmylife.
On a less somber note, Friedman and I had a discussion of secrets today.
David: !

infernally delicious cupcakes!

sooooooo you may have to come in my car and bring your cupcakes

your delicious delicious cupcakes

and you may or may not have cupcakes upon arrival

me: I don't know if they're delicious. I have been virtuous and not eaten them, merely decorated. for hours

David: i don't understand

how do you not eat cupcakes?

also, what is this 'virtue' you speak of?

me: well, i mostly do it by eating something super filling before I start decorating. with a taste that wouldn't combine well with cupcake

David: wow

that is incredibly smart
me: and then when I think cupcake! Nom time! I remember, but there are exactly enough to make an even number of each design, and I'm full of eggs, and my mouth tastes like eggs...

I am a genius

David: lol

me: and remember that on Saturday, I'm planning to run around manhattan in a skin-tight outfit, and that I'm already sort of a giant fatty

David: this is why the things i cook never last more than 30-45 minutes

oh right

estrogen

that's your secret

that, and society's backhand to feminine self-esteem

i'm so less confused now

me: I really don't think that it is secret that 1) i have estrogen or 2) society is hell on the self-esteem of those who have estrogen

David: it's secret because it didn't occur to me before i asked.

shh.

me: ok maybe the secret is that you are a fatty with no self-control
David: 1) not a secret

to either of us

2) not a problem, either

me: because you lack estrogen?

David: well

yes

actually

me: or because your costume allows for pants?

David: also, gambit wears a not-narrowly-tailored full-length coat

oh, and pants

And then a segue into costumes, followed by an even more amusing conversation about how next year we should go as "twisted" product mascots - Tony the Tigger (like winnie the pooh) Toucan uncle sam Pillsbury "dough" boy (made of $$$), sit-stay puffed marshmellow man (dressed as a dog), Ulysses S Grant Jemima etc.

Are You Out There?

"Perhaps I am a miscreation
No one knows the truth, there is no future here
And you're the DJ speaks to my insomnia
And laughs at all I have to fear
Laughs at all I have to fear
You always play the madmen poets
Vinyl vision grungy bands
You never know who's still awake
You never know who understands and

Are you out there, can you hear this?
Jimmy Olsen, Johnny Memphis,
I was out here listening all the time
And though the static walls surround me
You were out there and you found me
I was out here listening all the time

Last night we drank in parking lots
And why do we drink? I guess we do it 'cause
And when I turned your station on
You sounded more familiar than that party was
You were more familiar than that party
It's the first time I stayed up all night
It's getting light, I hear the birds
I'm driving home on empty streets
I think I put my shirt on backwards

Are you out there, can you hear this
Jimmy Olsen, Johnny Memphis
I was out here listening all the time
And though the static walls surround me
You were out there and you found me
I was out here listening all the time

And what's the future, who will choose it?
Politics of love and music
Underdogs who turn the tables
Indie versus major labels
There's so much to see through
Like our parents do more drugs than we do
Oh...

Corporate parents, corporate towns
I know every TV set that has them lit
They preach that I should save the world
They pray that I won't do a better job of it
Pray that I won't do a better job
So tonight I turned your station on just so I'd be understood
Instead another voice said I was just too late
And just no good...

Calling Olsen, calling Memphis
I am calling, can you hear this?
I was out here listening all the time
And I will write this down
and then I will not be alone again, yeah
I was out here listening
Oh yeah, I was out here listening
Oh yeah, I am out here listening all the time"

-Dar Williams


No one is out there. I'm pretty damn sure. And yet, like the search for Aliens or God, we all keep believing, hoping, rationalizing that we can't be as alone as we feel. On a purely statistical level, it seems unlikely. But even if some one else is listening, as long as we still feel alone, does it matter?

Truth

When did I stop
Keeping secrets
And start
telling Lies

Don't be offended

I think they're true
Or I did when I spoke
At least I wanted them to be
Now I'm not so sure

What is truth anyway?

If history is only lies
agreed upon
Why can't we write the present?
Write it, and in so doing,
Right it.




Blaise Pascal:

We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart.

Brad Holland:

Postmodernists believe that truth is myth, and myth, truth. This equation has its roots in pop psychology. The same people also believe that emotions are a form of reality. There used to be another name for this state of mind. It used to be called psychosis.

Demosthenes:

Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true.

Galileo:

All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.

George Eliot:

Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult.

George Eliot:

[I]t is very hard to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings – much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth.

Michael Friedlander:

There are many more wrong answers than right ones, and they are easier to find.

Plato:

Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.

History is made by stupid people.

Apologies

I don't seem to make enough of them.
Gibbs says "never apologize, it's a sign of weakness".
But I'm not convinced. So, just a quick post to say I'm sorry.
Sorry that I never post. Sorrier that I never act on the impulse to call or write or let you know that I'm alive, and that I wonder how you are and I miss you. Sorry that I don't do the things you want me to do, that I can't be the person you want me to be. Sorry that I'm so selfish and whiny and that I keep making you put up with it. I only hope that the sarcastic commentary is occasionally funny enough to make up for it. And not just annoying, as I suspect it is.
And I want to say thank you for being my friend anyway.
The reason: I realized that I've been trying to make myself this woman, which means I have to make one of you this man. Which isn't very fair. And I've been doing a lousy job of it, so I keep making us these people instead. At least it's music I like, even if it does mean I keep ending up with fucked up relationships with my guy friends.
Or maybe you all think we're fine, and it's all in my head because I'm completely egomaniacal. Which is apparently not a word. But the only word I know that's similar is vainglorious. And obviously, I can't use that. Not only because that would mean I was saying the problem is that I'm Christopher-esque, which I am distinctly not, but because vainglorious doesn't convey the right level of self-absorption. Its more boastful and is about pride rather than general self obsession. And I'm pretty sure egomaniacal is a word, and that time it didn't underline it, so what the fuck? As Robin would say, dwonky.
In other news: since I've been home, I have accomplished very little. A couple hours "cleaning" mostly so I'd have space to take out my cold-weather clothes. I've been biting my nails, which I completely stopped in Canada. And last night and today, I've done a little art. Maybe I'll eventually have some to show. And I'll sort out my costume for Halloween. Votes on if I should be Psyloche or Rouge?
And see, again, in a post that was meant to just be an appology for being a shitty, self-absorbed friend, I've gone completely off into talking about myself. Seriously though, I need to learn to shut up about myself. Danielle thinks it would make me less offensive. Friedman says he doesn't get offended, and that I shouldn't worry about people who do. I dunno, I'm trying to be a decent human. I'm just failing spectacularly. But really, I do love you all and I miss you. Call me or email me or something, because I'm clearly never going to manage to contact you. But I'll keep trying.

Strange dreams and Sad songs
Float between my ears
Occasionally one escapes
And trickles into my heart
Flights of fancy and remembered lyrics
Are the only fuel I have left
Without them I am hollow
A zombie spreading the plagues
Of emptiness and indifference

It's not the end of the world, in fact it's not even the end of the summer

But thank god the TV is on,
'cause there's no way we could know
Anything that’s goin' down
Or how we're supposed to be feeling about it
I can't tell you how much I wish we could shut up and smile, yeah
-Bowling for Soup- Shut up and Smile

Actually, it is the end of the summer. The end of that period where life is in limbo, just waiting for a decision and it'll all work out if I just give it time. The heat hasn't broken, in fact the rain only recently stopped. School is starting, but I am not invited- I was so desperate to be done with it, but now, I have nothing to fill my days. My mom is going to come home for good soon, and then, the (until now) intermittent nagging to get a job or go to classes or Something, to figure out my life, will become constant. The more I think about reality, the more I want to curl up and never ever do anything.
I feel isolated. Not lonely, because I see people and go out, and I'm happy not to do so all the time, and because when my mother is home, I feel more alone. Just- I love my friends here, but the relationships are different. They aren't touchy-feely. At Vassar, my sarcasm and loudness work because it has contrast. People like Dierdre and Danielle who are happy and bouncy, people like Katie and Devin who are quiet or sweet or immature. Here, there are two choices, loud and sarcastic or quiet and acerbic. The others got scared off or overpowered, or indocrinated or something. Some of them come back and visit, but the group is shrinking, shriveling as it ages into a sour fruit. Leave us long enough, we'll ferment into vinegar. We love each other, but like my family, my friends show it by playfully (for the most part, although less so in my family) torturing eachother. There is no snuggling. No sharing of intimate fears, hopes or thoughts. I mean, I do, master of the overshare that I am, but no one else does. In some cases I know exactly why. I mean, if Friedman started to tell me about his deepest thoughts I would probably try to take his temperature (and certainly ask if he was feeling alright/ make a joke about not wanting to know his innermost thoughts because tenatcle porn gives me nightmares or something). And, I probably have more deep, honest talks with him than with everyone else combined. Maybe they share important stuff with eachother, and the problem is me. I joined this band of misfits much later than almost everyone else, I talk about myself too much, I'm certainly not likely to be a prime target for sharing of secrets. After all, I tell everyone so much, I must not be able to hide anything. Not true. I keep my actual secrets very well. And other people's even better. My standards for what qualifies as a secret are just very high.
I don't know what I want from them. I don't know what I want from myself. I don't know what I want from life. I do know that I need a hug and I am tired of sleeping alone and not having anything to DO. I don't function well when I have no one to take care of/ no crisis to solve.

I haven't gotten out of my PJs all day. I've done the usual: looked all over craigslist for a job, looked up pieces for a halloween costume (we're doing Xmen, I'll probably be Rouge. Maybe Psylocke, if I decided I want to be very naked. Why are the individual xmen- especially the women- so lame?). I'm trying to be a productive human - for me that means:

philosophical thoughts: How can you explain why you care to someone who doesn't? Is caring a good thing? Elias is trying very hard not to care about others, and not to act on any caring he feels, in order to be able to take care of himself. He thinks that's fine as long as you allow people to leave and make it clear that that is your plan. He points out that I'm much better at that than he is. Yes, I am very good at making it clear that I am a selfish bitch. But then I go and try to take care of others and get upset that no one spends nearly as much (sometimes it feels like no one spends any) time or energy on trying to help me/worrying about my needs. Certainly that plan isn't working out very well for me. And I don't know why I keep doing it. Or how to stop if I decide I want to. But I think not caring about how you affect others makes you a sociopath. So I'm skeptical at best about his plan. I dunno. Going to see him in Toronto may be a terrible plan. We had what I expected/intended to be a fight about it, but as always, he was calm and logical, and so I have a lot of trouble being pissed off because he's so calm and just wants me to explain better so he can understand. Unfortunately, much of it is emotional, so just as I cannot explain why I care so much about other people, I cannot explain why him not caring upsets me. It's just how I feel. When I get tired of philosophy,

I watch bad TV and try to paint:
Today, watercolors. a gunfight, and then flowers. And a tree. With leaves, much less skeletal and depressing than I usually make. Someone who found my art would really think I was fucked up. Bloody wounds, immediately followed by pansies and snowdrops.

And more lyrics, this time, a departure from the Weakerthans. Gary Jules's "Pills"
I've taken all my pills
But I'm still not sleepy
Tried to trick myself into thinking
That I'm not awake
That it's only a dream
Put that cigarette out
Don't ask me no questions
Salome dancing on my wall
And the shadows on the floor
Look so warm from here
I've seen it all before
Just one little lie
But the difference is this
It meant the world to me
Don't ask me no questions
"Take the wheel" she said "as I wander"
We could leave this town
I've got all I need: spirit, hope and joy
But no one knows me
I think I lost my pills
Guess I'll take my chances
I'm looking at the telephone
But nothing happens
I am well aware
That the morning is near
Put the radio down
Don't ask me no questions

More honest than I should be

adrift
in a sea of Tears without Reason
I can't make any art
and my poetry attempts are cliched and Awful
I need a cigarette
and a New life.