Anybody who says differently is selling something.
Some days I wish I was so universally loathed that nobody could deign to even think of me, much less talk to me. Some days, I don’t want anyone to want me, don’t need anyone to need me, wouldn’t love them to love me, or beg them to beg me.
Alternately, I’d prefer that my family and my girlfriend could find a safe place to settle with each other. And I think the first thing might be more possible, which scares me to death.
On the phone moments ago, my mother tells me that she doesn’t “believe” in girlfriends. This is the first time she’s used that particular word, and it fills me with such absolute madness that I feel ready to bust out in unceasing high-pitched laughter as I thrust my fists against the wall and feel the knuckles dissolve to wet bloody things hanging off my hands in tatters.
My mother believes in God, believes in the religion set forth by one of his prophets, believes in ideas and a higher power whose existence can never be proven, but she can’t believe in a concept that sits in front of her and loves her son. How do you fight that? You can barely fight belief in this world; nothing you will say can convince Fred Phelps or Rick Santorum that homosexuals are people worthy of respect and dignity and the common bond of our humanity. But how do you fight disbelief? How do you fight something that is the absence of something you can’t quantify even when it’s there?
The evolution of thought may have been more a curse than a blessing. I don’t think I really feel that.
I know that last night I sat outside in the cold night air wondering what would happen if I just fell apart, atom by atom, until I could be dust that forgot it ever was a man, that forgot what it was like to believe that it could have achieved happiness and stability and peace, a thing made of specks that wanted for nothing but to exist. But even dust gets a chance to settle.
I decided for myself that I would be a communicator, but I cannot make myself understood.
Current music: MP3 list, Soul Coughing, “Circles”
Creative Control 