Friday, November 7, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
- I will update this regularly. Every Wednesday and Sunday sound good to me. It'll be like my own private church, in a manner of thinking.
- There is no number two.
- I'm writing three pages a day minimum for my book. This will give me a good rough draft three months from now, which is exactly where I need to be with that right now, before the ideas fall out of my head from disuse.
- I won't drive my car unless absolutely necessary. This presents two positives: I'll get in shape AND I won't be contributing so much to pollution and the toxicification (did I just make that word up? cool) of the planet.
- Who cares about quitting smoking.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Skye Nonstein was a young guy who had never considered the idea of living out the path of his life alone. He felt very dependent upon the idea of the “perfect” mate, a family, a steady job—the great American dream, many people had told him. He imagined a house with two rows of plants, one vegetable, one floral, a white picket fence, blue painted siding, two cars, a van and a sleek show-offy car, a son, a daughter, a dog, a full kitchen, two bathrooms, three bedrooms, a den, a playroom, a dining room.
His last boyfriend was a total disaster. He couldn’t get his life straight. Rob had a beautiful, almost stone-cut face, solid body, fresh humor, a messy apartment, and a failing GPA at XSU. Not to mention the cocaine addiction. It seemed that this was catching on. Uppers. You’d see at parties that kids were taking lines more and more often. At first it was regarded with fear, then tolerance, and now avid acceptance and mainstream recognition. Skye didn’t understand the appeal of the whole thing, honestly. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that everyone was doing it, but then who started doing it? Probably somebody who had long since either quit or been arrested. Anyway, Rob was a junkie.
Wasn’t as odd as the situation with Brian. He had been totally enthralled with this guy since day one. They worked together while he was still in high school. Brian was this boy who he went to school with and he knew of, but never really talked to him. He was a little taller than Skye and had a taste for mischief. They worked side-by-side in a photo development booth in a department store, so they had a lot of close contact. Every once in a while they would bump into each other, or they would lock eyes and it would be almost—almost something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Actually, today it was obvious, that Brian was interested in him, albeit his…other interests. Brian would always point out things going on in the store to Skye: “Man, look at that girl’s ass!” “I really like dark-haired women, I’ve heard they kiss better.” Weird. Awkward too, if you thought about it. Everyone knew Skye was gay, he had been out for a year. Most people didn’t talk about it because of the bad situation surrounding it, but that’s a story for another time.
I can’t deal with that right now.
Come to think of it, it wasn’t that weird. In fact, Brian had been treating him as a legitimate peer instead of writing Skye off as “his gay friend,” like so many other people were quick to do. Seems like people do that entirely too often. He knew he was guilty of it—he had been friends with a girl named Rynada in the middle of high school, but as they got older, things had gotten weirder. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but Skye was treating her like “his black friend.” Whenever there was a rap artist he hadn’t heard of, he expected that she had. Whenever there was a discussion about racial issues, he would always ask her, “What do you think?” He thought he was doing so to give her equal say in what was going on, but he now realized he was asking her to speak on behalf of her race. It had gotten bad by the middle of eleventh grade without him noticing what had happened, until the day she confronted him on it. Looking down at the carpet of her bedroom one afternoon that they were hanging out, she asked him. Not able to look him in the face comfortably, she spoke.
Here it comes—I can’t bear to relive it again, but here it comes.
“Skye. I’m not your black friend; I’m just your friend. But I don’t even feel like that anymore. I feel like I’m being treated like an object that you picked up because it was interesting, or different, or intriguing, or made you feel better about yourself. Like a recycling bin makes you feel less guilty about throwing your trash away, even though it costs a lot of money to pay for it. It’s like I’m your pet, or something! It’s like you expect me to listen to your every beck and call while I just function as some sort of culture guidebook you can flip through, and get information on how to be a better White person! It’s not like that! The world is more complicated than that!” She started crying.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.
Skye knew that was what had made Brian a better person than he was. Skye wasn’t the same person he was in eleventh grade, but that didn’t dispel his guilt over the situation. It was something he would dwell on for the rest of his life regardless of whether it still affected him directly or not. What was weird about the situation with Brian was that it really hurt Skye to think of the idea that he would never be with this guy, and yet he was the first person he knew to respect him as an equal.
It hurt, Brian. It was selfish of me to be that way, but it hurt.
At one point, Brian started driving Skye to and from work because his car was getting fixed (his alignment was ruined from running into curbs in suburbia). They would meet in the parking lot after school, talk about whatever happened that day, and head to work. Finally, or so it had seemed to Skye, Brian asked him if he had any interests in anybody at school, if there was a date or anything going on. Skye flushed. He didn’t know what to say, though he had been imagining feeling very suave at this moment and telling Brian that he thought that he was a very attractive man. Then they would kiss, and run off into the sunset, et cetera et cetera.
Idealism is dead.
Red light. Brian looked over at him. They locked eyes in that same way. There was a long pause, where Skye had pursed his lips in frustration. He couldn’t speak his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Would this be another one of those things he brooded over for years to come? Brian asked the only question he could ask at that point. “No one?”
You, it was you, I wanted you, I wish I could go back then and tell you.
“No one.” They rode in silence, as the clock neared four, the time they were to arrive to work. There was a spark between them, but they were afraid of it. Nothing had happened between them, and nothing ever would.
(credit for the drawing of Skye Nonstein goes to my good friend Kaitlyn Watson! Here's some more of her work)
Friday, April 4, 2008
From Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh:
"What are you reading?" Harriet asked.
"What's THAT?" asked Harriet in a thoroughly obnoxious way.
"Listen to this," Ole Golly said and got that quote look on her face: "'Love all God's creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.'"
"What does that mean?" Harriet asked after she had been quiet a minute. "What do you think it means?"
"Well, maybe if you love everything, then...then--I guess you'll know everything...then..seems like...you love everything more. I don't know. Well, that's about it...." Ole Golly looked at Harriet in as gentle a way as she could considering the fact that her face looked like it was cut out of oak.
"I want to know everything, everything," screeched Harriet suddenly, lying back and bouncing up and down on the bed. "Everything in the world, everything, everything. I will be a spy and know everything."
"It won't do you a bit of good to know everything if you don't do anything with it. Now get up, Miss Harriet the Spy, you're going to sleep now."
So I’ve been talking with a lot of people about my moving. Most people in
Something my anthropology professor Dr. Richard had always told us was to open yourself up. You have to un-learn things in order to gain knowledge of brand new ways of life. I think people are very afraid of un-learning things. To every day get up, go to school, sit in the same buildings, work in the same spot, see the same people, dress the same way is stagnant, and it’s not doing anyone any good to be stagnant. Things are changing so fast and there’s no reason to sit still and be complacent.
Then again, I’ve always been an avid fan of people who are complacent. They are peaceful, and as long as they do not disturb the world around them, are what you could call peacemakers. Being a real revolutionary, I’ve sometimes thought, it to figure out a way humans can exist without bothering each other to the point of negativity, and just keep doing that. It seems that complacent people have done that.
I guess I’m just not one of them. I want to shake this world up, rip it into pieces, throw it all over the floor, and form a committee to place it back together with me.
And for those of you who don’t know that much about
There are about 138,000 people living in
With every day I get more excited about this move.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
When he got out, he realized he had run over a little girl. The smell of death was enough to make him retch, bend over, and begin to vomit.
(originally posted on tobias26.deviantart.com--I just wanted some content, so I threw it up over here [haha "threw it up"])
Friday, March 28, 2008
Expect updates every Friday, if not more often.