that song is a weapon. that band is a dirty bomb.
they will never be just yours again.

Tags: future truths

Tags: future truths

Tags: future truths

Tags: future truths

I've been getting them all confused lately, I don't know why. Is it that my memory's going in my old age, or that there are enough of them now, all of a type, to be interchangeable? I'm getting older either way, and maybe that is the main cause. 

This morning I started to think about skateboarding for some reason, and remembered him telling me how he used to be into skating when he was a kid, so much so that he used to watch the videos and everything. But I didn't remember which him it was. Everything else was crystal clear - the hot dog joint where we had the initial conversation, the surprise I felt hearing that he'd been a skater - but I couldn't call up his face. They were all blending together, the carpenter, the sailor, the wide-eyed anarchist. It was like a game show: Two of these exes were junior skateboarders, but only one was tied to a specific memory. Guess which one, win a prize.

It's bizarre that this is happening. I date so few people, and focus so much on their individuality, that it is almost ironic. (Ironic, a word the carpenter and I discuss often and at length; that memory is pegged tight to a person, but for how long?). I have spent so much time believing they were singular individuals, each so different from the last and the next. I still do, even as their edges begin bleeding together.

I followed the memory back and back, and remembered a second conversation, at a sporting goods store as I was shopping for skates. I realized, because of the timing, that it had been the sailor I'd been thinking of, the most important one of all. I was surprised all over again at the thought of him, twelve years old and studying skate videos, looking to be the next Tony Hawk or whoever the star of the half pipe was in 1990.

The memory was new; the memory was confused; the memory was mixed in with other ones, unreliable. I have pegged so much to my cataloging of memories, determined not to let them fade. I've been successful, but did not know to guard against change.

Current Location: nyc

I've been considering shutting down this account lately; it's something that happens every so often whenever I have a blog of any kind. Every so often, every few months, whatever. I yearn for permanence and then obliterate all permanent things, like the silly girl I am. But then I read the posts from the always wonderful untoward and there is no way I am going to lose those words of ineffable and joyful wisdom.

"There is nothing like being in love, to make you feel strong," he says.

I say it is true, and it is also the problem these days. Where else can your strength come from, if not that? Nothing else even comes close. How do you get through the in-between times? You persevere. For how long? To what end?

There is nothing at all, so then...?

Current Location: massachusetts
Current Mood: restless
Current Music: cable tv, for a change

It has been two years of fighting and losing, fighting and losing. No wonder I am so afraid to try these days. I am tired of fighting and losing. I want to win sometime. It's due. And if that win involved accolades or kisses, even better.

I took this quiz off lydiabrunch. I remember taking it once before, long ago, when I used to think Idealist was a blessing. Now I wonder if it's a curse. New York Magazine would say yes. In both "Some Dark Thoughts on Happiness" and more recently "The Science of Burnout" articles, they bring up recent studies that say it's healthier to be a pessimist. "[I]t's the young idealists who go flying into a profession, plumped full of high hopes, and run full-speed into a wall." Or, more succinctly and better to ponder, "Happiness equals reality divided by expectations."

Idealists, as a temperament, are passionately concerned with personal growth and development. Idealists strive to discover who they are and how they can become their best possible self -- always this quest for self-knowledge and self-improvement drives their imagination. And they want to help others make the journey. Idealists are naturally drawn to working with people, and whether in education or counseling, in social services or personnel work, in journalism or the ministry, they are gifted at helping others find their way in life, often inspiring them to grow as individuals and to fulfill their potentials.

Idealists are sure that friendly cooperation is the best way for people to achieve their goals. Conflict and confrontation upset them because they seem to put up angry barriers between people. Idealists dream of creating harmonious, even caring personal relations, and they have a unique talent for helping people get along with each other and work together for the good of all. Such interpersonal harmony might be a romantic ideal, but then Idealists are incurable romantics who prefer to focus on what might be, rather than what is. The real, practical world is only a starting place for Idealists; they believe that life is filled with possibilities waiting to be realized, rich with meanings calling out to be understood. This idea of a mystical or spiritual dimension to life, the "not visible" or the "not yet" that can only be known through intuition or by a leap of faith, is far more important to Idealists than the world of material things.

Highly ethical in their actions, Idealists hold themselves to a strict standard of personal integrity. They must be true to themselves and to others, and they can be quite hard on themselves when they are dishonest, or when they are false or insincere. More often, however, Idealists are the very soul of kindness. Particularly in their personal relationships, Idealists are without question filled with love and good will. They believe in giving of themselves to help others; they cherish a few warm, sensitive friendships; they strive for a special rapport with their children; and in marriage they wish to find a "soulmate," someone with whom they can bond emotionally and spiritually, sharing their deepest feelings and their complex inner worlds.

Idealists are rare, making up between 20 and 25 percent of the population. But their ability to inspire people with their enthusiasm and their idealism has given them influence far beyond their numbers.

Current Location: bklyn, ny

I uploaded some old issues of scribble faster onto my etsy site, and one issue (#2) was immediately bought by a girl in Holland. Holland? What does a girl in the Netherlands (a Netherperson?) want with scribblings about music? To make matters odder, she wrote this in her little payment note: "would you please sign your zine for me? its a present for a friend who is going to be really really happy! :)" Stranger and stranger. Where did this girl hear of my zine? Does her friend have other issues? Is it just because it is about music and has a little mix tape on the cover that makes people want it and want it signed? I want to give everyone who ever likes my things little personality quizzes, to find out why. Why this, why me? Someone who will not be getting one of those quizzes is the reviewer for Punk Planet who wrote that the zine is "stereotypical melodramatic indie rock woes" and that it's "a bit too introspective for my tastes: there's an overabundant use of the word 'I' and a narrative frustratingly stuck in mundane events." I wonder if this person has ever read a blog. Or most zines ever.

I think I'm starting to get seasonal affective disorder. Not the usual sort with the depression and the despair from the early-setting sun, but the kind I get every year, where dissatisfaction creeps into my bones and there's the itch to hide away forever and start a million new things, cut off and alone. If you choose it, it cannot be forced on you. If you run away, no one can leave.

I want to be able to be patient forever, but I can't hold on much longer.

It is true. I procrastinated for 20 days, for sure, but I guess it's the last 8 that really mattered. Set a goal, buckle down, make it happen.

Hooray for NaNoWriMo! Now it's on to other things.

Current Mood: cheerful

I seem to be clearing my life out lately, getting rid of the negative and unrewarding, making room for something good, I hope. But I have also ended something that was positive and fun, because it was time to. I've posted the last of the tiny*stories, a month late as always, but they're up. I like the one about hugs the best. Tiny*Stories was intended to be a year-long project, and now that year is up. I hope that you have enjoyed all of the tiny stories; the made-up ones and the true ones and the ones that fell somewhere in between. In the next month or two I will be compiling all the tiny stories into a little zine format and will put it up for sale here and on scribblefaster.com. That way you can keep all your favorite stories right in your coat pocket, next to your heart.