I think I spent too long in my life searching for “my people.”
The romance of feeling as though I had slept for a long time and woken up very recently after centuries away never gets old. As I browse around the internet in my spare time, I feel lost, as I don’t connect well with the hundreds of articles and vapor-personalities clustered everywhere. The radiant phosphorescent lichen that coats certain things online is beautiful, but I don’t feel part of that or an effective, regular contributor. Dripping, syrupy, secretly poisonous flowers are interesting and attractive, but that’s not me either. And there is so much content void, so much dark matter, too. I think of myself as a shadow moving between all of this, not noticed, as the rest of the jungle universe gradually eats itself or reproduces, like a social media version of Brian Aldiss’s Hothouse. Totally gross, totally absorbing. I don’t feel the capability to take part in any vegetable or succulent community.
I would like to make more meaningful friendships now that I am in the autumn of my thirties. I did not do a good job cultivating these things and it seems more important than ever to try not to be so alone, to try to pull myself out of comfort zones, and find healthier places to dwell, if possible. It was hard for me — all my life I have been very alone. I’d like to abandon the aimlessness I see (and even feel inside, when I let my idle thoughts take over), and distance myself from hopeless, smug fatalism, as romantic and comforting and soporific as it is. I know what I have to do, I know what I can do, I just need to decide how best to propagate.
posted 1 October 2014
Times when you simply: wake up.
The unexpected moment when you realize that only you can support yourself in the ways you need, and the independence, hard won over many months and years, is immediately obvious, as though you’ve always felt that way. Comfort with being alone is something I have struggled with for years, but it gets better with each passing week. The struggle should have been the indication. This is not something one can work at; it just happens with time. You just settle in.
I don’t know what to do with so many experiences I have had over the last three months. If I were more famous, I would consider putting them in some sort of memoir, but, really, who would be interested in this aside from me? Such a hard thing to consider in these days of everyone capturing everything in some public format for future consideration. I’m still not comfortable with these experiences being so exposed. But what if I forget? I’m not sure of the solution.
Still: I remember a night where I saw a glittering ring far up in the sky, and it drifted overhead at a lazy rate of speed. This unidentified object was one of the loveliest things, a diaphanous hoop that rippled and shimmered, golden in the deep moonlight of 2 AM. I watched it until it disappeared in the distance. I wish I could have seen it with someone else, I wish I could have shared that moment with someone else. But it was just me and it still happened and it’s mine.
posted 2 August 2014
Sometimes it’s like every step I take is with my eyes closed, just feeling around with arms outstretched.
So I ended up in DC, which is somehow not surprising. I knew I was not done with this city. I don’t think life is written or predetermined, but this felt inevitable, inescapable. So I began my kind of Robinson Crusoe existence here, though I’m sure without the religious apotheosis of the Buñuel film, which I loved dearly. I liked that eden represented there, in the strange washed out colors of degraded film from the 1950s. In many ways, this city feels like a good one to start in; so much to do, familiar things, and also the manageable distances in a town of only a few square miles. I’m not sure if I fit in here, but I’m not sure if I fit in anywhere.
I have found good places in the few weeks I have been here: a few nice bars and restaurants, and some truly world class bookstores. The mass transportation is terrific and I like my new job. I read an entire book in about three days. This is a first in years and years. I have finished only three books since 2011. I’m hoping this warming trend continues.
I have considered retiring Asphalt Eden so many times, but I couldn’t do it. I picked it so long ago, and it continues to be appropriate; it continues to be more and more appropriate as time passes.
posted 2 June 2014
After a while, I don’t think the images mean anything.
Strange arrangements of columns have followed me around in life, from The Prisoner and Johnny Got His Gun, to some strange park my parents used to take me to that had a strange arcade of columns — I’m not sure those really existed. I’ve dreamed of columns repeatedly, and they continue to recur throughout my life, and I don’t know what they mean. It’s easy to see symbols everywhere, if you’re looking for them.
I felt a deep calm and sense of belonging in Seattle, like I was among my people, and then: columns. Comical, because in the early 90s, it seemed the very opposite of a place I would have wanted to be; back then I was sure I’d live in London or New York. It’s good to know I’ve been around enough to know when a place feels like home, though I’ve still never been to England.
posted 17 February 2014
Good heavens I am so easy to understand.
The Twitter feed is a funny thing; I guess the cliche is that it is an alt-lit fortune cookie generator, and I have contributed to this in some certain way during my time there. I’m not sure what else to do but put those things in there — little thoughts that have no other place or venue. I am not good at using it to find out information or network with interested people in the way that LiveJournal worked in its estimable heyday. I miss the latter and how it laid our psychologies bare, but I do not believe we can ever go back to that time (it is beyond my capability), and I think internet “progress” has made that type of community impossible. Maybe in some far future when we have forgotten how to curate our own personas online.
Other than this site, I have no other venues online. It suits me, it seems to help preserve what little mystery about myself remains online. I think about coming back to these places in twenty or thirty years and trying to figure out what I meant when I wrote certain things. Or maybe I will know, maybe the words will take me back instantly to all the tiny frictions and minute revelations from this era.
posted 31 January 2014