Sep. 8th, 2008


Sep. 8th, 2008 01:03 am
jpeter: (Default)

Originally uploaded by speedypete312
This weekend was supa-chillax'd, still trying to process and embrace the downtime (i had actually been in the mood to prrrrrrty.) Missed lolita's b-day hijinks entirely along with greg's hurricane house of debauchery, kinda bummed about that but hey, you can't be two places at once. Showed Annie around our rain-soaked city, saw the fantastic Katrina documentary Trouble the Water, had a great time chilling in the east village with Kelly Beth Martin and Manali after Kelly's fash'n show, saw an awesome exhibit at PS1 called That Was Then...This is Now (the multimedia piece on Sarah Winchester's ghosts was deeply moving; especially struck by the transformation of primitive, vaguely biomorphic abstract forms into discernible figures. also deeply unsettled by the interpretations of the american flag and the many structural problems veiled by u.s. nationalism) and introduced Hiram to the succulence that is Sripaphai

got home to Margaret studying and tore her away from theory to watch Project Runway. nice downtime but ARRRG i still feel the itch to jam out with my clam out! i suppose there is always next weekend. and the weekend after. and the weekend after.

it's amazing how fun life can be when you realize that THIS IS IT. there is nothing out there to hold your breath for, no phantom shadow of someone you were supposed to be or failed to become, no need to meet expectations other than the ones you set for yourself. it's just peculiar to me that this eternal present is more life happening than anticipating its endlessly deferred arrival, which is what i spent much of my life doing. i mean, can the seat of pleasure really be precisely where you are standing? can desire and your spatiotemporal moment really coincide? R U for serious?

in other news, i happened to pick up a copy of The Anatomy of National Fantasy, which i'd never rly read. it's great! highly recommended. i fucking hate early American lit/philo but Lauren's way of reading is so compelling i can overlook how boring her archive otherwise could be.
jpeter: (can you still feel the butterflies)
growing up, my parents told me day in and day out that i would never amount to anything, that i shouldn't have been born, that should have died in the womb. my mother was a sadistic schizophrenic cunt who took pleasure in dragging me through our house by my ankles, locking me in closets and cellars. my father was a gentle, solitary man who lacked the moral wherewithal to consider his children human. their violence was compounded by a more pervasive cultural isolation typical for immigrants on the move, vying for a bid at the American Dream: a house in the suburbs, fulfillment, independence.

for many years i questioned the value of every breath i took (this was before i became semi-political.) it was hard for me to let myself succeed at anything, because i knew nothing i ever did could absolve me of the crime of simply existing. every hint of even the most minor success confronted me with a veiled abyss of failure.

but in 2002, after my friend aaron smashed his cellphone, downed a bottle of valium and checked out early, something inside me snapped. i suddenly realized i did not want to end things that way. so i did what anyone else in my predicament might do; i moved to the nearest city, sobered up, applied to grad school (harhar.)

3 years later after running away again, and breaking away from my family for the last time, i returned to the first real claim to life that i'd ever made. i submitted my long overdue M.A. thesis in June 2008. i received my diploma in the mail today, and not without a painful amalgam of grief and elation.

this is the kind of ending i'd had in mind; the kind that open up to new beginnings.

september 8th, 2008. mom, dad: i am ready to finally bury you.


jpeter: (Default)

March 2016

202122 232425 26

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 23rd, 2017 07:31 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios