why day friday

why do undergraduate white males (assuming that they're straight as well) think they're cool because they are reading 1) ayn rand 2) kerouac 3) burroughs 4) ginsberg ? seriously, this gives you license to be smug?

why do these same white males think that they can pick up women by reading gay/bisexual authors?

why did summer take so long to get here and then turn around and leave?

why is glenn beck given any kind of platform? seriously, he's an idiot

why do i constantly feel the need to run?

why does it always feel like i am under water when i do run?

why can't keith olbermann run the universe?

why do i see so many people with tattoos now? (not that there's anything wrong with it)

adventures in dating

the "writing" of the self as rhetorical image

i have an online journal on a social networking site called okcupid
it's an ok site...especially since it is free. i like to write in the journal there because ideas and topics come to me quickly when i read people's profiles and how they choose to present themselves to their online audience...so this is what i wrote today:

i haven't written in this thing for awhile...i think the reason revolves around the role that writing plays in my life. i am researching and writing for a living and sometimes it's just nice to just read. so i have been reading when i'm on this site. of course what i have been reading are the various profiles. it's interesting to see what people write (and consequently don't address) when they are constructing an online persona. some are really nice...well written...expressive...obviously offering up to the reader the very best of what or who they think they are. of course many are really, really sad. so look oriented, so age oriented, so much is focused on the body but a completely unoriginal and yet static abstraction of what they expect, so specific, so much like themselves or what they are striving to be. i think that the beauty principal (especially within the gay male community) is grotesque and yet pervasive and insidious. what happens, i think, are a couple of things. 1) there is the "idea" of what we want that will never live up to the second point...the materiality of this "idea." how do you fall in love with an impossibility. for instance here's and example of what i mean:



"Preferably within +/- 5 years of me but not a deal breaker
'Ripped' muscular which means not only does he work out and doesn’t smoke, but clear progress has been made. [insert my note: what does this mean, exactly?]
Honest
Intelligent
Patient
Giving
Sports minded, or sports open minded
Somewhat humble but definitely not arrogant, or narcissistic
Goal oriented
Sense of humor
Emotionally secure enough so as to not need a party every night or someone to entertain them and knows the difference between uncomfortable and comfortable silence
Clean – neat as well as free of bugs and diseases.
Likes music – all kinds but a bias toward alternative rock is ideal. (If classical music is the one and only station because of the snob effect, and ditto for jazz then that fish should swim out to sea.)
Likes all kinds of art (painting, sculpture, photography, theatre, books, architecture, etc.)
Thinks old car are “kewl” and even some new ones but not just because they’re new
Spiritual but not necessarily with an established religion
Not obsessed with money or social status.
Maybe has chest hair and a tattoo or two (or even a couple more)
Knows what LTR stands for.
Can write an inquiry email more than one line long that describes themselves and how they fit the list." [seriously? i don't even think that jesus christ (or whatever messiah you happen to believe in) could live up to all of these expectations]


clearly, as stipulated by the final sentence...this has nothing to do with any one person "applying" for this man's affection but rather this is how this person sees himself. narcissism at its finest. so specific and so "obsessive" and yet to be obsessed is something that this person doesn't want (except, perhaps in the attention that they pay to their body?). and i would like to know his definition of LTR. what does that mean. i study language...i am a rhetorician...so definitions and expectations within language systems intrigue me. does his definition encompass someone in a wheelchair? probably not...is this a search for love or for an ideal? who knows...but it is sad and pathetic and one of the main reasons why i feel no solidarity with the gay community.

on the verge of a daydream

i'm on the verge of daydream...between starting something and procrastinating about it. i find myself doing this a lot lately...i write here because for some reason writing in this journal doesn't count for me...it is probably not even read by anyone except me anyway...but does that make it any less real? language and reality are so entangled that we become shocked at the concept of sexuality, gender, race, etc. being social constructions and not naturally occurring phenomena. but as i was getting ready to work my mind shifted to how i actually gather information when i am researching. in this age of technological advancement...computers and the act or acts of composing being framed in a type of word processing that tells you when you missspelll a wrod by little red squiggly lines...i am still a hand writer. i usually write my notes and my research out by hand before i start actually composing...for some reason the quotes that i pick and the connections that i am trying to make between concepts or, even, the premises that i am either trying to further or deconstruct don't count because they haven't been placed in a more formal discourse...no one will read these words except me and for some reason i find comfort with this. i can be exposed without judgment like taking a photo without being posed or airbrushed or photo-shopped, etc. my words are beyond the scrutiny of others and my paranoia surrounding my self-perception as a writer and thinker is abated. i think that in a previous life i was one of those monks that copied manuscript in a gothic monastery...for reasons far beyond any understanding of myself...i find this comforting. setting language to page, filling negative space by candlelight and the smell of incense. i guess that's a daydream for another day.

just a thought: a monday morning free-write

i am sitting here this morning watching the world wake up. i have always been a morning person...i think i inherited that from my father...who was born and reared on a farm. the mornings are when i "think" my best. my mind seems really alert, especially after a good night's rest. but it is also troubling as well...i have so much that i have to get done and it all seems so impossible for me, at the moment. i try to take things one step at a time but my mind likes to move ahead...creating future narratives of what my life may lead to. it's kind of scary. i go on the job market this september and i really don't have any high hopes for myself...it's not about getting a job...i can get a job doing almost anything...it's about finding and doing what i love. i love my research and i love working with these really cool ideas...writing is a little bit more torturous because it requires me to put these abstract ideas in a written, concrete form that always loses shape when taken out of the mind and placed into material existence...it is also open to scrutiny and dismissal. i think that i can handle the latter but i am having trouble with the former. ugh. but the best i can do is to try and work every single day...to take a very deep breath before plunging myself underwater to move ever so slowly against the currents of life.

further adventures in dissertating

i try to feel excited about writing this diss because it symbolizes for me some kind of light at the end of a very, very, very, very long and dark tunnel. this diss is kind of like a boyfriend or sig. other that you love and hate at the same time...an intersection of total paradox where love and fear exist in the same moment. it takes a while to get used to that feeling. but it never stops though....as if after i'm done and i get a job there's tenure to worry about...there's publishing to worry about...there's the possible locations that you might be moving to that may or may not be better than where you are in the present. i have this urge to just drive to chicago and take my chances...i mean seriously we basically are born and then we die...i need to keep it interesting between those two points.

every intention

today is hot, i need to work, so the logical outcome is to write a blog post and procrastinate. i did get an ipod to help me stop the annoying and, of course, intrusive habit of eavesdropping on peoples' conversations while at the coffee shop. it seriously was a sad tactic of procrastinating...i would listen to anything...from how "judy's" work day went to "mark's" melancholy revolving around his lack of a dating life and how he will probably never, ever find anyoneblahblahblahblah...ahh sweet youth...(i must say that i am glad i have nipped (or has steve jobs done it) this bad habit in the bud...i was sinking low with no bottom in sight

some days i think that i have this dissertation under control and then all of a sudden it is too big for me to wrap my head around...again...it makes me want to cry but i don't have the energy. telling my parents and friends that i will be graduating in may 2011 has put the pressure on and at first it was a positive stress but now it is just eating me up...especially when my mom is saving to make the trip...oh well, back to dracula...meh

why day friday

ok i'm starting it back up:

why does johnny depp not age? seriously..it's kind of creepy

why does the old dude at the coffee shop not see the uncomfortable facial expressions of the women that he is hitting on? and fyi dude tuck in your shirt or don't but please for the love of god stop with the half tucked look

why do i feel panicked all of the time?

why do i look better on paper? i mean, really, a guy will ask me out on a date and then i never hear from him again

why can't i just feel comfortable with myself, books, poetry, and writing to keep me company?

why is enough really never enough?

why are my thumbs twitching as if there is something wicked coming?

growing older

i think that i am getting older...i have been thinking a lot about relationships and the high probability that i will be single for the rest of my life. that used to scare me a lot...i mean, really scare me like a smiths or morrissey lyric---or something. but for no particular reason that i can think of, i woke up this morning thinking about my future...not next week "future" but 20-30 years from now (assuming that i make it that far) and i "feel" like i am going to be just fine. i've never really had this feeling without the typical undercurrent of panic. maybe it's maturity or perhaps something else...something deeply rooted like serenity or hopeless resignation...throwing my hands up in the air and sighing an "oh well." i'm not sure exactly "what" this is and i'm not sure if i want to figure it out. i think that i will just keep on the road that i am on right now...leaving myself open for any thing (good or bad) to happen...any horrible or wonderful thing. maybe i am understanding how the world works---or not. i just hope that if there is an afterlife it will be written by francesca lia block. i could spend eternity in fairy wings, eyeliner, ebony-purple hair, shiny lip gloss, and glitter...yeah, that would be pretty sweet.

should i?

to blog or not to blog...now that is a question...

i mean...it's kind of like talking/writing to myself or talking/writing into the void only this void is on the internetz

maybe i should finish writing my dissertation on this blog...that would kind of cool

or not.

sunday memory

this morning i remembered how my grandmother used to recite the alphabet backwards

i remembered how amazed i was as a kindergartner at the sheer awesomeness of it all

i miss her tremendously

facebook

well i have now entered the ranks of 18 year old college students everywhere by getting a facebook page...

here are some things that i didn't foresee:

1) accepting students as friends...i won't ever accept current students but what about former ones...especially if those former ones can also become current in any given semester

2) totally getting friend requests from people i went to high school with...dude there is a reason why we have not stayed in touch why would having a facebook page be any different?

3) i have become preoccupied (to the point of a minor obsession) with checking my page at least 500xs a day

4) the potential for epic lulz by looking at student profiles who do not put their pages on private

_the stand_

these are the images that go through my mind as i read this text

insert catchy title here

insert interesting and/or provocative text here

a hiatus?

i don't know....yeats said it best "things fall apart"

i guess we will see if i can start gluing these things back together again

but how many times can something be repaired before

it is rendered a lost cause?

ah, 2009, if anything...you are not failing me in your

absurd objective to disappointment

the violence of rhetorical silence

i believe that rhetorical silence can be violent. i think that i want to start doing research on the act of dismissiveness and of NOT talking...of actively ignoring. i have noticed how on many levels of my life i have been violently ignored by others as i myself have violently ignored. the act of actively ignoring is a way to claim power over one's body while also attempting to stabilize the ecology of one's established place.

and yet in actively ignoring a person some people make a point of NOT ignoring you. of asserting their selves upon you when you are clearly attempting to ignore them. this act of assertion is most definitely violent as well...a war that wages between speaking as intrusion and silence as defense and counter attack. in this latter example this rhetorical silence is reactionary...attempting to claim power over words levied against my "self" and at the same time quietly rebutting a rhetorical attack (unsurprisingly [in this instance] generated from 'straight' while male subjectivity).

because my silence is, in my mind, justifiable for solidifying and simultaneously protecting the borders of my self, others' reactionary silence and dismissiveness against me is most certainly and violently and absurdly reactionary. i saw one such person the other day. i turned my back, caught a reflection of this person in the window of the door i was staring at. the silence was thick and yet sharp and i could not help but feel the hatred radiating from their own narcissistic subject position. it's paradoxical. in a way, i don't care but yet in other ways i do. i care enough to write about it in the very least.

an open letter to florida

dear florida,

you are the land of my birth where palm trees, beaches, strip malls, humidity, and tourists make up your many landscapes. people automatically love you it seems. the very mention of your name, no matter where i am, brings out the daydreamer in anyone that asks me where i am from. indeed, my sanity is often questioned by my decision to have left you. but these daydreamers don't understand. they think that you are warm and loving with a very laid back personality and a voice made out of the sound of waves and seagulls. these people honestly think that to live with you is to inhabit a state of perpetual relaxation and where mickey mouse and cinderella stroll hand-in-hand down well manicured and extremely clean sidewalks and every night there is a parade.

i know better.

we have had a very volatile relationship over the past forty years. me hating you for your conservative, unfair, and oppressive stances against people who are anything but "normative" and you not caring for anyone but the rich and religious while stealthily breaking your own moral codes in the many rest stops that dot your landscape along I75 or I275. unwisely, you elected jeb who nearly ruined you and now you have charley sneaking around the ruins of any type of dignity you might have had had you really thought about what pain and damage you have caused. you allowed katherine harris and her ilk to steal an election thus opening the door to the eight years of hell this nation has endured. i even saw you prohibiting voters at the polls like the fascist you know you want to be. yes florida, you have made some bad decisions in the past; and even at this moment, you are still making them. i suppose you always will. but i was surprised last night florida. when i hesitantly checked the polls i noticed that a voice of reason was announcing itself in the results that i was looking at. when the final tally was in and i saw that your color was blue i must say that i was proud. are you learning something florida? or was this a moment of temporary insanity on your part...a bad choice made while drunk that you will regret the next morning? either way, it doesn't matter. i am glad you are blue and at least in this historic moment you're not the biggest asshole on the block. for that: i thank you.

does this mean that all is forgiven? does this mean that a new leaf has been turned over? certainly not. i am not coming back to you florida...i still do not trust you and i never will. but i am proud of this one moment. for once i am not cursing your name and regretting our association with each other...i am sure it will go back to "normal" in a day or two but at least in these five minutes i can smile and say that "yes, i do know you."

cq

the language of fall

fall has its own language

much like memory

its colors are vibrant and yet muted

creating words and sentences that are so

fragile that the slightest breeze disturbs

their grammar

mixing and rematching words into new phrases

that are gentle and webbed

fragile yet eternal

beautifully stark and enormously full

turning so quickly to dust and creating in this charcoal coloured death

a recitative

becoming what will soon be a barren vastness

to be inscribed upon by the voice of winter in

a well metered aria filled with sharp phrases and powdered notes

that complete the frame by which fall is known and knows itself to be:

essentially the nonessential phrase lodged between two commas in the

mouth of

eternity

things that i miss...

1) my father

2) living in chicago

3) j.

4) j's nightly phone calls

5) traveling to st. louis

6) holding hands

7) the "largeness" of the world

8) possibility

9) coherency

10) a grammar of love

why day friday

why is it all or nothing?

why does coffee taste better in the morning?

why are endings always the hardest to get through?

why is _details_ magazine considered a hetero text?

why can't i specialize in one area?

why does the fall season always seem so short?

dear monday

love,
me