happy birthday

do i look 26 now?

getting older

i'm going to be 26 in less than a week. i don't mind how old i'm actually going to be, what actually bothers me is that there are several aspects of my emotional development that have stagnated for as long as i can remember. i'm not going to get into the really screwed up ones, i'm just going to concentrate on what i consider to be one of the most difficult and defining aspects of my personal struggle with being.
for as long as i can remember, on any gift giving holiday (birthdays in particular), i have never been able to really say confidently what i would like for my birthday. that is to say, i have never really been able to say what my wish was for. i've never known what i wanted or desired.
this is not limited to the shallow question of "what do i want for my birthday." this question of what i want extends to essentially all aspects of my life. it can be a blessing at times, but more often than not, it leaves me confused and depressed. if i don't know what i want, does that mean i'm satisfied completely by what i already have? if so, why don't i just go hang myself?
maybe that's a little dramatic, but the point is that there's a part of me that is terrified...TERRIFIED, by my overwhelming complacency. i often feel as though i have nothing driving me further; no goals i need to accomplish to feel complete.
i don't want anything, i don't need anything. there's not even anything completely useless that i really wish i could have just for the sake of having it. i don't see the point, especially since i know i will soon grow bored with whatever i get, and it will sit in the pile of shit that i own that never gets used.
when is any of this going to start to make sense. i'm getting old now...i'm getting to the point where some of this should start to make sense.

"here lies somebody"

Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)
"He Tried"

the devil went down to bushwick

i had a dream last night that the devil was pursuing suzanne. it never really became clear to me why...all i knew is that i was her protector, her "guardian angel" as the devil called me. there was one point in the dream where the border between good an evil was defined merely by a revolving glass door, on one side the devil, the other me. i stood face to face with the devil as he employed several ruses to try and trick me into letting him pass, but when it came down to it, my sacred beloved remained safe. and why? well, the devil told me that he couldn't pass because i was pure.
i thought for a second that because of my purity all i needed to do was touch the devil, and this theory was soon tested as eventually his rage and strength destroyed the revolving glass door, and the wall to which it was attached. and now, there was no barrier, no clearly defined line of good and evil. it was just me, and he, literally standing toe-to-toe, fearless in the shadow of an other. i slashed at him and felt the skin gathering beneath my fingernails, but left no mark. i grabbed recklessly at his throat and while i squeezed he responded mockingly, "since i don't breath, this probably won't be an effective means of destroying me."
i don't know the details, i don't even know who won, all i can say, and this is based entirely on a feeling that i have rather than a decisive conclusion, is that we fought...for a long time. perhaps we fell out of a window, or maybe i got thrown up against a wall, but the indescribable feeling of free-fall or flight lingered for a short time after i woke.

here i am?

i don't even know what. this semester has been pretty good to me i guess, but i only appreciate it in the wake of what crap next semester holds for me. i didn't get into the two seminars i actually wanted to take, so i'm stuck signing up for classes i don't really care about. it reminds me too much of colgate, and all the compromising i had to do there when it came to class selection. i just wish everything wasn't filled with such bullshit. everything...always.
pleasure and pain, always a subtle interplay between the two. where does real pleasure spring from except from the crushing, immobilizing oppression of pain; from an appreciation of its absence. why do i want to say that pain can stand on its own, but pleasure is dependent on its counterpart? theoretically neither can stand alone, but the relation between the two is such that pain causes a desire for pleasure, where as one's experience of pleasure only creates the desire for its perpetuation...hedonism.
we painted our bathroom a couple nights ago, saturday night in fact, right before easter. "million dollar red" is the color, but it needs yet another coat, so right now it's more like "$500,000 orange/red," so the bathroom kinda looks like a bordello. don't get me wrong, its a rad color, and i love it, but the desired effect of creating a rebirth for out bathroom, and indirectly, for ourselves, fell short and left me wanting. hedonism.
i get depressed about classes, or papers, or presentations, or bathroom colors, and all i can think about is what would bring me pleasure, to draw me out of this stupid, frustrating depression, and nothing comes to mind that is within my grasp. stupid frustrating depression that as i'm experiencing it i can look at and say, "this is stupid, and there's plenty more to be depressed about if you really want to be, but you get hung up on this stupid shit." why is it that i feel like i want a swift kick in the ass, or to get into an all-out bar fight?
"what's so stupid about wanting to stand toe-to-toe with someone and say, 'i am?'" truer words of wisom have never been spoken...thank you, rocky balboa. how else can i say "i am?" that's the real question.