rambling towards…?

there’s so much to be said. when i sit down to concretize it, place it here in a semi-public forum, the words drift apart. further further, rapidly. it doesn’t help that my computer is slow and can’t keep up with my typing.

where to begin? perhaps, why i have decided to return here to my blog. my last post was a lazy notation about james baldwin. a quote of his and an image. i think i was thinking a lot about him that night. but i was lazy and produced nothing more than a note. i am trying to avoid that now. though it is appealing. an ‘i was here.’ but i will try to leave more than just that trace.

i’ve been finally writing again. and finally digging through writings from the past two years. finding where i had been. it is a bit unnerving that i cannot really remember having been that person that wrote those things in that way. i feel a bit nostalgic for myself as i was there. writing about the visual work i was making, a heightened attention to myself in relation to others, the world, a flow of language. i realize that if anyone is reading this, it is probably rather vague. but those were private writings. and often written in the form of a letter to someone. so private they shall stay.

but this relates to the other reason that i am returning here. i would like to try out a different public voice. i would like to write about things i normally hide or couch in other terms. i would like to take notes from what i like about reading the blogs of other people: i like it when they talk about sex or talk dirty  or admit weaknesses or write about the problem of writing/creating work/living. i feel i ‘naturally’ edit all of this out. and i always have. unknowingly. i mean, not entirely, but largely. i come from a secretive family, what can i say. and it has taken me much longer to come to certain things than perhaps many others. who knows. i can’t know for sure where all this comes from. i merely have my speculations and the evidence that different blogs provide.

all vagueness aside. g is moving here in approximately six weeks. also, and i think it is related, i think i am fighting with the high doses of optimism that i have been riding recently. i often have to choose optimistic cheerfulness and calm or a sorrowful gloom. i see that this either/or is false but i still cannot help it. this is partially the result of my family living multiple double lives that i was not aware of until i grew up. i know that i had a vague awareness of some of it. but the facade that stood for my family had a long life and vividness to it. beyond that, it was desirable over what was held at bay. a strong defense mechanism.

i recall two moments that reveal the knowledge i may not have wanted to reveal to myself. the first is more benign. i was in 7th grade social studies. we were doing something about belief and prejudice. we were given a handout with a list of people and professions on it. police officer, artist, doctor, etc. we had to write if we were prejudice against them or not or indifferent. i don’t fully recall the wording. one of the types listed was communist. i remember writing yes then no then yes then no. erasing, scratching it out, re-writing. looking around to see what others were writing. i knew i was supposed to think communists were bad. i knew i was supposed to think they were okay. i don’t remember what i settled on. all i know now is that my parents were fairly hushed about their involvement with the communist party.

i also remember thinking at different points in my life that my family was too normal, had nothing wrong with it, was too picturesque. that i didn’t have any of the interesting or unusual or tragic stories that some others had. boy, if only! or i could say, if only i had realized the falsehood in this earlier on. so slow to come to the surface, everything that was intentionally held beneath the water. as if that would drown it, kill it. it nearly swallowed us whole.

can i articulate this? i was talking to a friend in crisis. trying to harness optimism. not to show that things will go towards good. but rather to share that regardless of what happens, i try to hold some sort of love as a center. ugh. and it feels so silly to articulate. but it has been important for me to feel this. that yes, there is the unconditional love we hope to feel from others, someone, anyone who cares. but that is not guaranteed and resides in the hands of another. what can actually be a center is the unconditional love i feel and will give no matter what. oh such a goddamn glowing beam of fucking goodness. i sicken myself sometimes with my own wholesomeness.

later that night, i was trying to get somewhere with my thoughts. to creating to writing to thinking towards some way of using the ridiculous amounts of unused creative energy i’ve been feeling. unused it turns sour. impotent destructive self-eating energy that wears me away. it felt so stiff, contrived. until i went into my room and found a handful of poems in my inbox from g. suddenly a sorrow descended. my golden rays of fucking sunshine darkened. and i felt i could dig again. into the dark. into what is scary. questions began to form. words came together. a feeling that comes accompanied by images. i don’t remember which baldwin… i think it is just above my head. hall is walking in central park in the snow? thinking about jesus? about not being holy? oh maybe it is from go tell it on the mountain! i can’t really place it. but i see it. and it is the image that accompanies this feeling. that is dark but stark, vivid. full of sorrow and anger and charred on the edges. like walking along in a feeling you shouldn’t be having. in thoughts that should be barred from you. but you are exploring them anyway. and maybe that is just it. like the lament in that old timey appalachian song that i love to sing when no one is around. ‘i ain’t no saint, no i never shall be. til the sweet apple grows from the sour apple tree.’ perhaps the feeling is being alone to the thoughts not of being good or being bad. being like jesus or like your dad hoped you’d be. but just being. to just be. to just be. to not be striving towards, maybe bending back a little. but just admitting to who we are, imperfectly. to who we can’t be. despite all our strongest desires. or anyone else’s. no, i never shall be. but let’s get on with it all anyway.

in my writing then, i found these words:

i worry you’ll never know
and all that will stand in the way

addendum

i worry you’ll never know (all that i have found, the longer i have looked. my love.)
and all that will stand in the way (fear, habits carried in pockets since childhood)

the vulnerability i long for.

i’m wondering what goes into your (my) decisions to create boundaries or erect walls or to not erect them. how various intimacies can be explored especially those that go beyond cultural expectations and norms of how people relate. how do you go there? or why don’t i? or…?

i guess to go back to g. moving here. then the thought about being too optimistic. i feel like i’m being fairly level-headed. not overly optimistic but not anxious either. but then i wonder if i’m not properly preparing myself. i don’t think i am very good at properly assessing things. asking questions to get myself to think it through. but on the other hand, i think i am thinking about it and preparing more than i would have in the past. i’m just wondering if optimism is a mask.

given that i feel less deluded than i have in the past about what i am getting myself involved in, what i am involved in… that feels pretty level. real. not hyper-critical, not unrealistically positive. just. what it is.

i think it is practicing feeling huge amounts of love and sorrow at the same time. one doesn’t cancel the other. i was just raised to feel that way.

wow. i don’t know if this is coherent. but here it is.

~ by wehavetobehavetobeerrant on July 24, 2009.