Friday, July 15, 2005

No poker content, nothing to see here...



because, well no one is ever honest with wants me unless plied with alcohol, 4am pst, alone with no repercussions, pick your poison... and it always knocks the wind out of me, as if i should have expected it but didnt (because of course i only nurse my onesided obsessions on a single railroadtracked mind, and feel icewater shock when they become more than 2dimensions, 2sided, 2... i cant be anything but singular.)

i cant. i wish i could. i wish i could feel like a normal person, and not modern art-- lookersin interpret themselves on my canvases, leaving once Truth and Beauty is found. onto the next piece... and making me nothing more than a soundingboard, nothing more than a funhouse mirror, noting the vulgarity of "piece." and not me.

years of this makes me feel unreal, unloveable. (cue moz, "unloveable" track, pls. its my party and ill play as much morrissey and the smiths that i want, thanks.)

its... ::sigh::

and it is years. im only 27 but its been always, always this way. ive never been more than a novelty to anyone but myself, and lately i think ive even become one in my own eyes.

see, you grow up in a small town looking "different," the only version of asian within 20km, and highschoolers all want the asian chick notch on their belts. filipino boyfriends with a non-Pride dalliance (who thought singing the starspangledbanner in my presence was the ultimate insult demonstration of my hapa-ness), caucasian jocks and jerks with nothing but (japanese) schoolgirl porn on the brain, hentai anime nerds wanting nothing more than to be "real..."

secret: im not asian. my dad is japanese, but ive been raised by my mom since birth and shes a tallerthanpaul white woman with blue eyes and blonde hair-- i carry no culture, no ethnicity other than hers. asian people dont think im asian (enough... tho i carry grandpa's 442nd stories and grandma's b&w photos close to my heart), and non-asians think, yeah of course shes asian/not white. and im just me-- i dont even think on what i look like until i walk by mirrors or people so *politely* seem its their place to ask, "what are you..."

but see, these distinctions dont matter to teenagers and scuffles in borrowed beds when the parents arent home. and i guess i understood that after the sheets have been changed theyve meant less than nothing, as ive already been thanksseeyoulater-ed on my merry way by then, knowing it was only a ghostimage anyone ever wants of me. (not that these scenarios have been limited to highschool, either.)

and ofCOURSE not just limited to race/sex struggles, since i gave up avoiding whitemen when i got to college... dalliances in other ways, i obviously am. [yodaphile.] too many things to talk about... ive lived my (sexual) life as a novelty in so many ways... not really realizing that novelty is that for a reason-- not a wife, not a girlfriend you take home to mom, not anything but moments and short ones at that.

i dont want it anymore. i dont want it so much that i want to remain a bright singularity, instead of a dimmed, heartbroken one.

im always the broken one, always the one left behind, always always. its so not fucking fair sometimes. i still really believe i deserve the brightest star, the biggest lowest moons in the sky-- and i sit dayindayout nursing their existence in my mind, making up scenarios to lovefucklust someone bigger than me so, so well i dont matter...

its gotten easier to be alone and fantasize about living a normal life, a normal love with someone who can eclipse all of these tiny, hodgepodge things that make me desireable in a singular way but end up just fragmenting my identity... fantasies about not being a novelty, about being painfully normal and not my checkbox category census self. im really (fucking) fun for, a few months... but it always just ends up being boiled down to *just me* and, its not enough. not enough to stick around for joy, not enough to keep someone to me alone and mine alone.

and i get along fine sometimes, with my daydreams occupying 12.4% of my thoughts for the day, until ... until i get gobsmacked with the fact no one lives in my head but myself, until i remember that real love and real people are so much better than historical recreations of tragic, exponential lovescenes played out via goodvibes and a healthy back...

i just want things i cant have. so much it hurts, and reminds me of my place in the world. ive pretty much receded into living here in my non-hurt, no-human-interaction world... living out life on keyboards and realizing i express myself far better with the help of a computer than my painfullyshy vox.

that i am nothing more than words, and fail outside of them.

but yeah, "seriously."

me too.

crazyharder than youd imagine, since id take so much advantage of a sparks short life cos no one knows mobetter than me that it cant wont last outside the dirty day and nightdreams i already have about it. and id need a whole lifetimes volume, if not length, to fuel on and keep slowly combusting with the memory itd leave and id be left with.

fuck this. im going to go the the farmers market in oakland and gorge myself on kettle corn, walk around chinatown and know that whatever they think of me, i cant understand... nurse this daydream seed that i thought hadnt had the willpower to germ inside, hoping no one recognizes the scent of selfpity being keenly nurtured once again, or notices me trying so hard to (not) wonder what itd be like, you know, seriously.

GamesGrid, you know the drill.

10:00:25 AM  
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