August 15th, 2001

lord, From this chair of mine...

Hard as enamel... he didn't wait for an invitation; whipped out his gun and used it well.

I could write. I really could. But could I sit down. Could I close everything off? Because when I write, I leave myself open to everything. I want it all to go into what I'm writing.

sometimes supersensitive, but who can get too much

But I need to stop. I need to not inhale to exhale. I cannot cycle-breathe. I don't have that kind of authorial musculature yet.

Something just happened to make me not want to keep writing and instead curl up and be sick as I shout music way too loud way too late at night.

Goodbye.
  • Current Music
    Beth Orton - Stolen Car
Roland, The Gunslinger

Uh-oh.

http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?itemid=8842503&nc=1


You have violated the rules of the game, my friend. Am I supposed to pretend I don't exist? I don't know. You've claimed that you want to remain friends, but your failure to relent has shown otherwise. How could you ask her to throw me out onto the street?

I do not hate the player. I hate the game. But you have violated even player code in attempting to steal another person's woman. It's not a matter of possession; I wouldn't for a second lay claim to Michelle if she told me she didn't want me. But to interfere in another couple's relationship? James Blondin, you are without honor.

I have withstood your constant affections towards my girlfriend; my LOVE— for several months in the vain hope that you would AT LEAST have the courtesy to let us have our chance and hold your affections until our love has run its course, if it ever does. But you have not, in a manner most unseemly and offensive to me, someone who clung blindly to the hope that you might still be a friend. I treasured your friendship, Jamie, even though we were never extremely close. But I have to let you know, you've gone too far. I am tiring of trying to be understanding. I am no high-water mark; indeed, I'm a bitter, jealous, angry little boy, but you will not even afford me the space and time I would afford you were our roles reversed. This borders on unforgiveable.

I'm done ranting.

I can't recall exactly what....

I do some cool things in my dreams. Included are piloting the Batwing (the new Batman Beyond one) or N@wing. It's interesting how I have an intuitive grasp of the controls, just like Galaxy Quest... all based on watching the TV show.

And then there was the rocket sled; bracing myself on a tiny cart in the arms of the woman I love, racing along on an open, flat trailer on the a NYC subway track at top speed. I lost a shoe.

Interpret away; it was hella fun.
  • Current Music
    Digimon
Starless

Naveed + This song = N@ not kill self

A copy of the Rush FAQ is floating around somewhere. I'm not in the mood to google it. This song was written in response to a student suicide at MIT. I have already posted it in songwerds, but I am annotating it in my own journal. If you cannot handle me dealing with suicide, please move on.


Proud swagger out of a school yard
Waiting for the world's applause
[always the clown, aren't I? Always have to be earning someone's respect regard. Well, I wasn't getting it at college. I assume neither was this kid.]
Rebel without a conscience
Martyr without a cause
Static on your frequency
[I always felt this as a child; this line struck a chord with me]
Electrical storm in your veins
Raging at unreachable glory
Straining at invisible chains
[All the time. The angst of adolescence.]

And now you're trembling on a rocky ledge
Staring down into a heartless sea
[Heartless sea. The world doesn't give a shit about me, does it? No matter how special my parents say I am. No matter how destined for greatness I'm believed to be.]
Can't face life on a razor's edge
Nothing's what you thought it would be
[Obviously not.]

All of us get lost in the darkness
Dreamers learn to steer by the stars
[I do that... but sometimes... I just can't. I can't see... I feel so blind why can't I SEE?]
All of us do time in the gutter
Dreamers turn to look at the cars

turn around and turn around and turn around

Turn around and walk the razor's edge
Don't turn your back and slam the door on me
[that line always caught me; I felt guilty for every slammed door ever. That's what suicide is, isn't it? A final slam of the door LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU. It forever cast the idea of suicide as childish in my mind; something I was above doing casually to prove a point.]

[I'm usually crying by now]

It's not as if this barricade
Blocks the only road
[Sure fucking FEELS LIKE IT.]
It's not as if you're all alone
In wanting to explode
[That line saved my life. Possibly other people's. Sometimes I felt so alone, so stifled, so neglected... I wanted to lash out. I wanted to matter. I wanted to spit in the heartless sea. I wanted to shout FUCK EVERYBODY from a hole torn in my skin with a knife. To write with blood on the surface of the earth indelibly forever. But no, let's not be childish again. Do you think you're alone, Nat? Don't you think the pressure gets to everyone?]
Someone set a bad example
Made surrender seem alright
The act of a noble warrior
[Ajax, at Troy, after losing Achilles armor to Odysseus. Possibly a trivial reference, but as I read the Homeric Epics in high school, that line caught me once again and brought the song back into my mind; kept it with me through college, preserving me.]
Who lost the will to fight

And now you're trembling on a rocky ledge
Staring down into a heartless sea
Don't put life on a razor's edge
Nothing's what you thought it would be

All of us get lost in the darkness
Dreamers learn to steer by the stars
All of us do time in the gutter
Dreamers turn to look at the cars

turn around and turn around and turn around

Turn around and walk the razor's edge
Don't turn your back and slam the door on me

[I am definitely crying by now.]

No hero in your tragedy
No daring in your escape
[Coward! This line; this stanza— it's levelled as an accusation. I'm no fucking coward, OKAY? I fucking deal with my problems. Each line dramatizes death and then strips that drama from suicide. I'm left disarmed.]
No salutes to your surrender
Nothing noble in your fate

Christ, what have you done?
[I can hear the blood spatter on the porcelain and tile of the bathroom at this point; the moment of discover was always in time in my mind. I never imagined the singer yelling this to a grave.]

All of us get lost in the darkness
Dreamers learn to steer by the stars
All of us do time in the gutter
Dreamers turn to look at the cars

turn around and turn around and turn around

Turn around and walk the razor's edge
Turn around and walk the razor's edge
Turn around and walk the razor's edge

Don't turn your back and slam the door on me
[it ends cold, like a body drained of life. Sudden and empty silence. And all I want to say is, "Okay, okay, okay I promise I won't do it I'm so sorry..."]
  • Current Music
    Rush - Razor's Edge
lord, From this chair of mine...

What if?

I caught the strains of the Who's "Bargain" and my mind twisted it into a personal parody.

I failed it in Barton;
the test was very baaaaad.


What in the hell? Barton is a converted aircraft hangar now used for ROTC at Cornell. My calc final freshman year was held there. And I dinnae so much fail it as bomb it so bad I nearly levelled the hangar.

What if I hadn't? "Where would I be...?" to quote the strains of Cake running through my mind right now. The question is, would I have BARELY passed, or done well? That's really a deeper question, with its roots in the onset of my depression.

I burned out on Calc in high school. I took the same class three years in a row after basically hitting the ceiling of what my high school offered as a sophomore. I didn't pay much attention the next two years, and pretty much forgot it all. Whoops! Come the Calc BC AP test, I couldn't remember how to integrate. It stayed like that in college. I could answer any question in physics, as long as I could dodge the calculus. It's not even like I didn't know the stuff; what was frustrating was how I'd forgotten it. And I knew I was still "smart"; I'd be dozing off in my nighttime physics section, hear a question, answer, and go back to dozing. I managed to "forge" class participation in this manner, and still had a B in physics at that point.

But why? I was already growing disillusioned with the sciences. I'd worked in enough labs to know that the cool science was out there, but that you would have to beg and scrounge and cut corners and do all sorts of things to do one little project for your whole life. I wanted to change things. Now. But had I not had slipping grades, would I have made the decision to switch? Probably not. But my grades did fail.

So I took up psych, and peer counseling. Goodie, I could make a change there and now. I was affecting people's lives; counseling, BOO-YAH. Again, why why why why? I did not want to be a therapist. And I was still disillusioned with research. Had my grades stayed, I probably would have been a lab tech grad student of so-so calibre doing boring research till I developed a morbid distaste for life. And as for psych? I would be a graduate by now, probably not in grad school; out in the world, alone, trying to scrape a living somewhere in North Jersey. Because I would have been directionless, so I would have just gone home.

But I'm not directionless now. There is a steady westward pull in my heart. If I'd been busy studying, I would never have made the acquaintance of the woman I love. Well, shit.

I'm not some kind of Voltaire character, holding that everything is for the best. I don't put stock in the external world like that. Maybe you'd guessed as much from my apathy about god. I think it's up to the individual to find what's good in a situation, and use it. So I'm something of an opportunist. Whatever. It pleases me to do so, and I'm my own lord and master to whatever degree I can assert the title.

My mood right now? King Crimson and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. Mostly "I Talk to the Wind" and "Epitaph" and I think I will listen to Tarkus for another two hours tonight. And you all are like "Huh?" Well, fuck you. I'm not being pretentious that much anymore. I'm sick of it. But this is good music for my mood.

"I talk to the wind...
My words are all carried away
I talk to the wind...
The wind does not hear
The wind can not hear..."


It's not the words, though. It is, but it's the music so much more. So much that the words dwindle and fade until they are just notes of the melody to accentuate the sadness, emptiness, and sense of loss.

I feel like re-reading the King in Yellow. This album (Crimson King, not Yellow King) goes well with it. Kings and colors. If you'll follow, Blue Oyster Cult goes well with Lovecraft, and Soundgarden's Superunknown goes well with King. Actually, I like Soundgarden AND BOC with Lovecraft, and KC and BOC with King in Yellow. I don't have King music yet. And I haven't dreamt of him in a while. Maybe that's because (scroll back) it appears I've been writing. Go me.

No, I don't have that fiction to write yet, but that story will come. Right now, I am writing my story.

"Yes, I fear tomorrow I'll be crying..."
  • Current Music
    King Crimson - Epitaph