Title: Bridging the gap
Music du jour: AbFab Moments
vanyel: how old are you now? Sarge: 25 vanyel: happy birthday, motherfucker Sarge: thanks assmunch
Feel the love.
Life continues unabated. I've found a couple of new journals of interest, which I've linked up for your perusal. Well, they're really not new... in fact, a couple of them have been around for years. But I haven't read them before, so I'm all over them.
My new favorite is the Jon-Jon Diaries. I want to drool in this guy's shadow, that's how cool his writing is. If I could write one tenth as well as Jon-Jon, I could die happy. Truly. His writing makes me... shit, it makes me want to grab the words off the screen and cram them in my mouth, gnawing the flesh off his sentences, juices dribbling down my chin. God, I'm so jealous.
I mean, look at this:
All the while, the sun burned down slow as a candle, giving me one hundred different skies against which to memorize his face.. . .
I don't know a goddamn thing about flowers, but I know that the smell of lilacs makes me want to hurl myself naked into a whole bush of them and pollinate, pollinate, pollinate . . .
. . .
I got back to Milwaukee, looked at the sidewalk, looked up at the sky. The city and I had nothing to say to each other.
. . .
I worried subconsciously about Joe all day. When he called me tonight, I immediately knew why. That boy's soul sounds tired.
We often do psychological cartwheels and back-flips for one another, acknowledging that we can't be each other's "everything". It's our stock explanation whenever one of us can't give the other what he needs. We're really grown-up and reasonable and transcendent about the whole thing.
But I don't care. I want to be his daddy and his big brother and his best friend. I want to stick a spigot in my side like the tapper on a maple tree; and whenever he's low and dragging and wore-out, he can just twist the faucet and drink as deeply as he needs to.
I know I'm not his everything. It's not even my job. But the important thing is that I want to be his everything. Realism and pragmatism can chew my socks - I am a believer that sometimes, the thought does count.
AUUUGGGHHH!!
Moving On:
Anyway, now I've filled up half the page with other peoples' writing...
I'm having some an extreme case of introspection lately. I live inside my own head most of the time anyway, but this is a bit different. Reading Jon-Jon's honest, clean diaries is making me want to bust the door off a few secrets in my own life. When you keep an on-line journal, it's an exercise in walking a tightrope. The tightrope is the line between your private and public life. I am, generally speaking, an open book. My home, my money, my life are all given freely to my friends to share with me. I have a very communal type of personality. Hence, I don't mind people reading about the things going on in my life -- for the most part. There are certain things you, my readers, will probably never know about me, because I simply don't choose to share. I need to keep some things to myself.
But being a journaller means you have to do a certain amount of personal inventory on a daily basis. Daily. You have to choose to pull yourself open, spill out all the guts and blood and bone that make you who you are, and throw it out for everyone to criticize, or do as they will. One of the reasons I keep a journal is to keep me honest. (The other reason is because I'm a shameless narcissist. I admit it. I'm not proud.)
I've been working on something that will probably mean nothing to most of you, and will only be of mild interest to some of you. Others, who may or may not read this site, will be pissed off at me. But, well, it's time for honesty and clarity. Basically I'm putting together my coming-out story. I'm tired of being in the closet on my own Web site. You'll understand later.
Sorry, not too funny today. I'll do better next time, promise.
-- marcie.