and I’ve discovered that I really like to touch myself. I don’t mean touching myself like sexual, masturbating every moment I can get type of touching. I mean, I’m always feeling the skin on my stomach, stroking my arms, smoothing my eyebrow, etc. Even when people are talking to me. Because I like the way things feel. And it’s comforting. I love the way my warm skin and the subtle contours of my landscape feel against the tips of my fingers. Because when I do this, I love that I’m me and that I’m in my body, and this body is beautiful and captivating to me, and I could spend lifetimes exploring it. In those moments, I have such a deep feeling of contentment that this state of being is the only thing that matters. I realize I just want to be with someone because, I want someone who gives me his permission to touch him and to appreciate him, to understand his body and to be soothed by the feeling of his warm skin and his subtle countours against the tips of my fingers. Someone I can envelope in this state of contentment and appreciate the way I appreciate myself when I’m alone. What I want most is someone to love, who will let me safely love him. I’m not looking for someone who will love me adoringly in a way in which he will never truly get to know me well enough or understand me enough to honestly appreciate me. Because it takes away from having to earn it, the place where you understand and appreciate that you are beautiful and worth exploring and where, in essence, you learn how to truly love other people.

April 2nd, 2004 | Comments Off on

Brian and I went to Wahoo’s for dinner tonight and as we were served our onion rings, a fight broke out. So these two guys are headlocked and rolling over tables, smashing into seated customers and slamming into the glass window, so hard that we seriously thought one of the guys was going to get thrown through it. And then a chair goes flying through the room, crashing into this thrashing mound of bodies. Behind us, people sourrounded the area; some gasped in disbelief but were riveted; others were fixed in stances of stern disapproval. One guy at the table closest to the brawl got up and said, quickly, “Uh…let’s leave.” He and his dining partner grabbed their coats and awkwardly exited. Other people blatantly ran out of the store, frightened. Meanwhile, Brian and I sat there, watching curiously just feet from the action, like, “Are they fighting? Oh yeah…those guys are fighting. Hey onion rings.” Like it was dinner fucking theater.

What is wrong with us? Just sitting there like amused audience members. And meanwhile, all I can think about is, I wonder how each and every individual person in the room is experiencing this collective moment, and how awesome it would be to experience each of these different perspectives.

I wish I could live a million lives at the same time, see the same things and the same life from a million different eyes, and then be able to remember all that I have seen and have felt, all of this, before I die.

April 2nd, 2004 | Comments Off on