dominicvineoftheowls (dominicvine) wrote,


I try and describe my feelings. . . thoughts. . . experience. . .

I make comparisons:
when I loved in Portland in 1999
I remember it as being my happiest
most balanced

I was stoned every day
worked at a bath house: had sex about three times a day (rarely anal; never bottomed)
went to a nude beach or hot spring almost every weekend
never wrote
only listened to music at work
mostly hung with kids
slept on blankets in a sleeping bag (no bed)
often in the back yard
woke every morning at about 5:30
most often walked to work (two miles)
- had a schedule (and a job)

is it fair to say "happiest"?
I may have just been very high
or mushy
surfing on oxytocin

I do remember constant anxiety about diseases (that bath house was filthy; gay=AIDS/death still in my mind then)

but by "happiest"
I mean
I remember being filled with passion and excitement and hope and desires
yet I also had a zen about everything
a calm perspective

or I'm just full of nostalgic bullshit

it was green and moist and limited
able to be comprehended
and relaxed into

Most of my friends were near my age
we'd hang in coffee houses. tea houses. book stores. parks. graveyards.

I. . .

I keep talking about being depressed now

K doesn't experience me like that
and calls it all bullshit
as if I'm attracted to an idea of myself like that

and I wonder if that is what is inside, underneath
or just garbage in my head

I'm a mind person
could I just follow my own actions and feel I had an entirely different identity than I think I have?

I talk about having a closed heart
not being good at loving

J says "don't believe everything that you think"
"it becomes a problem when you take all those thoughts as serious and real and make a big deal out of them"

T says I am very caring, very loving, very joyful and alive to watch

maybe a park of me is a great dark daemon that likes to tell me I'm dead all the time
keeps singing me that song
while the little kid of me keeps dancing and playing

. . . I've been telling myself this story for over a year
since going to be with Dying L
about how I don't really love anyone
not really. . . not entirely. . .
just some fantasy idea of them. . . not the real them. . .
then I filled myself with guilt and shame about it
and have been drowning under that garbage since then

the whole situation made me hate The Church again (any of them, really. I'm still fine with Jesus as a story. . . but any time I hear anyone talk about any of the Christian shit I feel like screaming and smashing shit)

wow, how difficult to love someone when you hate their religion
wow, how easy to hate when it involves religions
the stories that make up the world
the stories we might be allergic to
the stories that make us wrong, bad, evil
how destructive
where's my zen perspective now?

. . . probably lost in one of the piles around my apartment

yeah, and I continue to move the stacks around



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