To Think...

to think this post would be made while i was sober... well too late now. i'm relatively drunk, so deal. i had a flash about intimate knowledge... its one thing to let yourself be fully known and understood by someone... its another to be all right with this knowledge; to be alright enough to let that perceptive person say what they will, and make you happy through their knowledge of you... as of yet, only my mother has that privilege. and maybe speeches and yam. more disturbing is max, who knows me far too well, and yet makes me profoundly uncomfortable in his knowledge... he is a painful knife of honesty, opening me to the world, but mostly myself. if ever i've placed too much trust in someone, it was with him. and yet the trust is not misplaced... it simply results in a tempest of introspection i'd rather not deal with. my housemate suggested i take breaks from him. and i do. but i always come back, as to an addiction...

i am a quiet and secretive person. and if i seem to be other, it is only because of my own illusions about what should be kept private and secret. i enjoy people who trade in secret whims and hidden desires. that is the meat and soul of a person. but there are things i would not tell others. things that i fear make me look foolish, and vulnerable. such as the fact that i am vulnerable. the fact that i want to thrilled by a kiss from someone who knows my darkest secrets, and fully accepts them as part of someone they love. that i want to be chaste until i give myself to one who truly wants me. that i want a best friend who also desires me in a way that eclipses my physical body. such are the secret wishes of a virgo. the desires for romance which dare not make themselves known...

clive barker is an addictive read. he has such skill and finesse as an author, one cannot help but be sucked in. i have changed my mind, and the title of my autobiography or biography (until now, "the story of a very lovely boy and his adorable band of ethnically representative miscreants") may well be "horror stories and comic books". i'm addicted to both. i cannot help myself. the psychological imperative to accept that which is beyond one's own mind, and the love for pictures and words as the communication of information, will be my downfall. or my salvation. i haven't figured out which yet.

architecture... oh god how i desire to evince a kinder, gentler architecture... i used to fantasize about skyscrapers, a phallic, egotistical fascination. now i realize i have little taste for such parading. i want to create structures in harmony with their surrounding neighbors and floral beds. i want to create structures that facilitate connection and interaction. office parks that disappear into their surrounding trees and neighbors. havens amidst the cold, egomaniacal structures that dominate our world today. and tall buildings that have to be should cut breathtaking, intriguing silhouettes on the sky, graceful and lovely, rather than a competition against trees and parks, natural beauty that cannot be surpassed... god, i'm such a fucking HIPPIE!!! save me from myself...

i want a cigarette so badly, and when i was sober, i didn't allow myself to pick up any... and now, that attempt at righteousness and deprivation just seems foolish... i want, a, fucking, CIGARETTE!!!

i might go get some... god save me...