Waterloo
I've never seen Napoleon Dynamite, and my what perfect way to end such a roundly fucked-up day. I don't usually feel this naked (I'm talking existentially - my clothes are usually off anyway), and my otherwise compartmentalized life has torn open the shutters and threw open the sash. It comes at a time of reckoning for what seems like a bunch of people in various orbits, of which I'm only a sattelite...of love.
[--begin livejournalesque angst--]
Basically, there's a bunch of very private, personal stuff that I'd shared in confidence with a friend, who last night in a fit of anger, spilled it to some other close friends, and then to a couple more. Now I'm gettting instant messages from friends that range from concern to a request that I play a loan back sooner than later. Nice. I have a rough time letting myself trust peopke in relationships past a certain point of intimacy. I've been recoiling from anything approaching an intimate relationship since my last long term ex shacked up with a previous long term ex. I've spent a bunch of time putting up a firewall around a part of me that I'm embarassed to say is as bruised as it is, and frankly this kind of shit is why.
Nothing quite disappoints an idealistic young gay boy like the realization that 99.9% of men are needy, egomaniacal, competitive, and vicious and that given the opportunity and similar desires, friends can hurt in epic, murder ballad ways. And then you come out consort with years full of lost boys and tacticians, and just like in the mafia, the fucked-uppedness inside the bubble becomes normalized. And one day the mirror reavels the matador...the matador is you.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, please don't ask. At least don't ask me.
[-- end livejournalesque angst--]
On that note, some meme levity:
This is blog entry #501. Sweet.
[--begin livejournalesque angst--]
Basically, there's a bunch of very private, personal stuff that I'd shared in confidence with a friend, who last night in a fit of anger, spilled it to some other close friends, and then to a couple more. Now I'm gettting instant messages from friends that range from concern to a request that I play a loan back sooner than later. Nice. I have a rough time letting myself trust peopke in relationships past a certain point of intimacy. I've been recoiling from anything approaching an intimate relationship since my last long term ex shacked up with a previous long term ex. I've spent a bunch of time putting up a firewall around a part of me that I'm embarassed to say is as bruised as it is, and frankly this kind of shit is why.
Nothing quite disappoints an idealistic young gay boy like the realization that 99.9% of men are needy, egomaniacal, competitive, and vicious and that given the opportunity and similar desires, friends can hurt in epic, murder ballad ways. And then you come out consort with years full of lost boys and tacticians, and just like in the mafia, the fucked-uppedness inside the bubble becomes normalized. And one day the mirror reavels the matador...the matador is you.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, please don't ask. At least don't ask me.
[-- end livejournalesque angst--]
On that note, some meme levity:
Your French Name is: |
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Your Japanese Name Is... |
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Your Irish Name Is... |
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This is blog entry #501. Sweet.
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