Strangeworld

"When you jump off this stage, you will never fall. You will never touch the ground."

On Friday I saw The Casualties at the FU Church in Philadelphia. I got the tickets a few weeks back because it had been awhile since I got out of the house to do something fun, and I hadn't seen a show yet this year. I'm not hugely familiar with The Casualties (although I was with their opening bands) but this show had to be, by far, the best one I've been to.

The FU Church is a pretty popular venue in Philly despite the size. It can hold about 40 people safely, but 60 people if there's a show going on. In the venue area is a dimly lit little stage with this... I want to phrase this delicately because it cracks me up... this educational ABC's carpet. It's comedically childish and belongs in a kindergarten, but I assume it's there so the music equipment can keep a grip with all the movement on stage. Aside from punk shows, this venue also hosts bible reading, slam poetry, and other community events. But for Philadelphia's devoted underground music scene, it is indeed a divine place. Hence the affectionate nickname, "FU Church". I like it a lot.

So the other night I saw a few bands there. What I love about punk, and I've said it before, is that the crowd is always very inclusive and kind. I think probably a lot of people look at a mosh pit and see something ruthless and out of their element, and I can't blame them, but from my experience, everyone has each others backs in there. If a person falls they are immediately lifted back up and thrown back into the loop. Fallen phones and car keys are placed in a corner along with everyone's jackets and sweatshirts, which peel off as soon as the crowd starts getting fired up. And this crowd sure as hell was heated. Even in the first song, a small pit had already gathered, and by the time Stolen Wheelchairs came on nearly everyone was thrashing and screaming along. At this venue, there's a little area up by the front; a large amp stand that I like to hold onto or hide under to avoid injury all the way up there. The band is only a few feet away from there, and I can dance as much as I want without getting sucked into the middle. Usually I don't get worked up enough to take the risk and join a mosh pit since I'm small and desperately uncomfortable with physical touch. But I was ecstatic that night. Whatever it was, whatever was happening got the adrenaline pumping through me and eventually I found myself inching closer and closer to the front of the stage. Eventually, the lead singer of Stolen Wheelchairs jumped above me on the amp stand and flung himself off into the crowd, then got carried back. From that point onward, the strange array of both casual and fashionable punks were jumping into a dense mass of flailing people.

At around 10:00, The Casualties came on and encouraged everyone to basically do whatever they wanted. I, too high off hormones to really care at that point, smiled and danced with the lead singer of Stolen Wheelchairs, which could've made my night alone. What an honor. I contemplated whether or not I had the courage to go and jump off the stage and let all those disgusting, sweaty, unfamiliar hands touch my body but decided against it. Until, that is, a man in front of me turned around and put his hands on top of each other. I didn't know what he was gesturing at first, and then it clicked. He was offering to throw me up into the crowd. I didn't even hesitate at that point, and I shocked myself, but I put my dirty, beer and spit-covered boot up on there and was lifted above the sea of people, who then floated my body to the stage. Mister David Casualty was like, right there. Just screaming next to me. So I jumped back in, and was carried like the Queen of fucking Sheba for 15 seconds of the most concentrated and intense joy I have experienced, until my holy boots hit the ground once again. I really felt the love in that short time. I was lifted by so many people who couldn't give a fuck who I was or what bizarre position my body was being pushed into. It was otherworldly, like a scene of magic realism. Just immensely powerful for me.

Maybe this makes me sappy, but punk not only challenges me to be myself, it challenges me to overcome things I don't have the opportunity to without it. Dressing the way I want, asserting myself, joining the crowd, being confident, that kind of thing. I remember at my first show I felt completely out of place and stuck in my compulsively formal ways. There used to be a feeling of imposter syndrome. I think back to that versus where I was last Friday and I see that I've found something truly special and important to me. There is so much love in it for something that seems so hateful. I love the punk scene here in NJ and PA. Each time I get out of the house, the good times get even better.

After I was let down, I felt completely in shock. It must have been apparent on my face, because when I made my way back to my usual spot, a woman of about 35 or 40 looked over at me and smiled wholesomely. I guess she saw the whole occurrence from beginning to end and put it together that I don't do that often. From then on, my anxiety was gone. Alcohol, water, and other questionable fluids flew around the church, all over the floor and the comical ABC's rug, which I hope gets cleaned before Saturday Night Bible Study. My eardrums were so blown out that I couldn't even tell what song was playing, but I danced and shouted anyways. I was covered in sweat, just drenched. It was just intensity in its highest degree. I walked out not hearing a thing, but managed to thank the man who enabled me to crowd surf. He asked how old I was, and said that when he was 18 someone did the same thing for him. I sat down a bit outside and then managed to get myself home despite the hearing handicap. The feeling stayed with me until I walked in the door and came back to reality.

I love heavy, fast, loud music. Last year I would've shied away from it altogether. "Too overwhelming" or "too harsh". Now it's all I want to listen to and all I want to see. I really was in a place of spirituality that night.

Well today was stressful.

$243 down the drain at the vet today... it's not a huge deal but I'm not exactly happy about it. Gibraltar has some issues with fur loss and cat acne. I'm just glad I have peace of mind since it was stressing me out all week that I didn't know what's up with him. Fortunately it's nothing serious, well, except for my bank account. It's fine, it's over now. Stress, as present as it is in my life, is becoming easier to manage. I think.

Today is Valentine's Day. Honestly, I've always been one for the holiday despite never participating in it. I like the color scheme a lot and I'm not sure people get that but that's my whole fixation with it. Everything is pink, red, covered in hearts, and there's chocolate. Doesn't get better than that, although I guess I didn't like spending this one in the vet office. It's fine though, because I got to wear my favorite pair of Valentine's Day socks.

I haven't been feeling very lonely lately. I know, shocker. There's a few reasons why, but one notable change I've seen in myself is that I don't want to get close with anyone at school. It might be from stress, but for some reason I think it's a good thing to have less distractions and social obligations right now. I hate being coaxed into social situations I don't want to participate in and it can be hard for me to say. Recently I dealt with a very clingy classmate of mine and it was a huge fucking relief being able to refuse his attention and tell him to stop investing himself in my life. I guess I just feel like I can't deal with it. I'm invested in the people I want to be invested in, and I'm surprisingly happy with how things are.

So yeah. maybe that makes me lame. I prioritize a lifestyle that I've found to be conducive to my overall happiness and I will ride this wave as long as I can. It's probably not very exciting to most, but as someone who was convinced they would always be a failure in high school, nothing gets me more excited than having a propensity to work, learn, and succeed.

Although, on the topic of success, I will admit that I haven't been finding it in radio. You know, the industry I want to have a career in. It's a long story. I won't talk about it until I make up my mind about sticking with it. On one hand, I really, really want to be successful with broadcast media. Few things call to me the way this does. But on the other hand, I know I can't force that and I may have to stubbornly accept that DJing isn't my path. Whatever happens, I know I always have my writing to carry me. Recently I wrote a press release for one of my classes and my professor commended it, so it will be in the school paper this week. I have skills I am confident in, it's just a matter of settling in a position where I can support my lifestyle and just be happy.

Also, my birthday is coming up. I will be 19 on March 6th. I am not looking forward to this because it makes me feel old. One more year of being a stupid teenager left... and then I get to be even dumber in my 20's. Can't wait. I still feel like I'm 16.

I will fly into London, and then go from Heathrow Airport directly to Westbury. I'm staying from August 17th to the 30th, which will give ample time for me to drive Corey insane. We are going to go to Bristol and Frome and wherever the fuck, I don't really care, I'm excited out of my mind. For years I've dreamed up those "What if we met?" hypotheticals with people... it's shocking to think that I have the power to make something real. I'm both ecstatic and terrified- definitely nervous as much as I am pumped. I think back to times in my life where I would give anything to meet a person in real life. All of those hopes fizzled out as the years passed and we found ourselves growing apart, incapable of making anything come true. What I felt then when I was close with those people was in retrospect a bit misguided considering the types of people they often were, but it was just a relentless yearning. I was frustrated by the fact that I would probably never meet them, and I didn't. For a few people it is still sorrowful to think about what could've been and what never was. I dread to think of having that happen again, especially now that I have the freedom to make it work out.

It is likely unsurprising that the inability to interact with my closest friends in person growing up affected me negatively. I still find it difficult to make close friends in real life, and I can't say I get close to them the same way. The way I see it, the internet is a portal to escape the pool of people in my daily life and all the given commonalities they share just from living where they do. I like being around them, but it's hard to find people who are just vastly different to me in terms of lifestyle. I value the relationships that challenge my perception of the world and open me to new things. That holds a lot of weight to me. At the same time, I find it nearly impossible to meet people who are like me, in the areas where it matters, at least. Emotionally I feel that I can be a bit demanding of people. I guess that's how I'd put it. In the humongous schema of all my friends, there are very few who I feel just "get it". I can't really find the words for it, but those are people who I value so, so deeply. Patient, compassionate, engaging people. I've said it here before but I like when people bring out the best in me. It's amazing that connections like that can exist online, and that it's easier for me that way.

Aside from that, there are other real life limitations that make the internet more conducive to deep connections for me, hypochondria and social anxiety being the main ones. It's often a struggle for me to exist around people physically. Being touched can be unsettling and even anxiety-inducing, and I just ooze discomfort and awkwardness all the time around people my age. It may be irrational and frankly not very apparent but it is an obstacle, almost like a mental firewall. I am working on it in therapy and I hope to be rid of it one day, but for now the internet is a place where I can be free of all of those fears. My internet friends get to see an elusive side of me. It makes this opportunity that I've just guaranteed myself pretty unique. I don't think I will have the same physical limitations with Corey because I already know him, but I can't be 100% sure. I can usually think of a person and accurately gauge my physical comfort with them but I've never been able to "test" that with someone I've never actually been around. So we will see. If things are how I suspect, it would be good progress with pushing my boundaries. But then again, so will travelling alone to the UK. It's bound to be an interesting trip. I can't even express my emotions in writing.

The next six months, I surmise, will be quite long.

On Thursday I was let out of one my classes early. Left with three hours between my classes and very little to do besides write, I went up to the F-Wing and sat in an empty classroom by myself.

Stockton's facilities look new and chic, but when given the chance to examine them closely, it seems that isn't really the case. In the room I was in, a few of the college-style desks had their matte finished peeled off to reveal a layer of wood underneath, in which various inscriptions from students over the years were compiled. I looked over these desks carefully, and I guess there is a sort of intimacy to thinking deeply about thoughtless scribbles. In it you can find love confessions, deep-seated hatreds, stick figures in various states, and antiquated jokes dating all the way back to the ancient mid-2000's. I don't know what about defacing a desk feels so charmingly human, but it does.

After staring at desks for a long while, I took a seat near the high-rise windows and watched the people below. The sunlight comes through only on that last line of desks, and although I normally sit in a different row in that room I didn't want to budge. The blinds are always left up, and the metal chains hang down and sway slightly from the air of the very slightly rusted steel radiators. I flicked the bottom of a chain in front of me and watched a ripple of energy climb up and then return to the bottom with a writhing movement. If you play with the intensity just right, you can keep the oscillation going for a good while, a useless observation but an observation nonetheless. For the remainder of my time, I sat in the light and sang quietly to myself until the tranquility was broken by the boisterous arrival of my classmates. That period of about an hour seemed to go by in an instant.

Last semester a sort of bizarre thing happened where people began demanding I start an official "Bagel Club" at Stockton. It started because I would always get bagels after class on Thursdays, and when people started to realize that, they wanted in. By the end of the semester I was driving a loaded car to the bagel shop after Mass Comm and although we all joked about making it a club, push came to shove, and here I am with a petition in hand today with Stockton's Unofficial Bagel Club Committee. Now, these people aren't exactly people I see myself getting close with, but we do have a similar desire to see this club get officiated. With me as president, I was honestly unsure I'd want the weight on my shoulders but it isn't like I have anything better to do. So Stockton Bagel Club may become real, well, if we get enough signatures. I think it will be good for me if it means I get to work and talk with other people regularly.

The thing about Bagel Club is that the idea is very simple. All we need is a designated space and a $400 yearly budget to support our organization. We are trying to pose it to the student senate as a place for people to unwind and socialize with their peers over some damn good bagels, and hopefully with my meticulous wording we are able to get what we're looking for. Today, me and the vice president are occupying a table at the club fair on campus today to try and solicit supporters. With enough signatures on our club petition, the senate will be required to look at it. So we will see where it goes.

Today is also a big day, or at least I hope it will be because the school radio station (WLFR) is having its kickoff meeting. This will be my last chance this semester to join the station. Frankly, I am intimidated by the idea of being a DJ purely out of inexperience, but even if I work myself up about it I know I'll probably get used to being on air with the proper training. I'm looking forward to it, but I don't know what to expect.

I’ve had an immense interest in aviation and flying for as long as I can remember. It’s one of those things that I sit and think about constantly, multiple times a day at times. I don’t know what it is about flight and gliding that has such a grip on me, but it just does. This lifelong passion has luckily given me many fascinating experiences and observations while growing up, from catching butterflies to going up in an open cockpit plane. I feel that many of my happiest moments have been around birds and planes and things of that sort, and every time I reignite my will to learn about flight I find myself even more and more humbled by all that encompasses it, from evolution of species to evolution of human creation. It really is just a wonderful thing.

One thing I have done since I was young of is imagine what it would be like to have huge angel wings and be able to fly. It’s a very common dream for many people I think, because humans just find the idea of flight attractive. We can sit and contemplate what it would be like, where we would go, what we’d see. For me I think if I grew a pair of wings right now, I’d fly to Ocean City and Atlantic City. I like to imagine looking down at all of the lights and microscopic structures below, like looking out of a plane but it’s all right in front of me instead of outside of a tragically tiny window. It would be overwhelming to witness everything I know on the ground from above I think, particularly the ocean. I had an experience like that once at my hometown’s local airport, where I went up in a Cessna and flew over northern New Jersey. I could see all the way from Pequannock to New York City, which is hardly possible from the ground. From the sky, the Earth seems so small and peaceful. I feel that every time I get to fly anywhere. If I had wings I could escape everything that drags me down on and to Earth, and I would probably become addicted to it. It would go beyond completing my life. Maybe one day the feeling will be satisfied with a pilot’s license, which I hope to get later in life.

I am also really into birds and birdwatching, and keep a tabbed field guide of birds that I see. I like raptors best because of how their wings are especially maneuverable and efficient for hunting. The evolution of birds and other flying species is something I know a lot about and love to talk about with other interested people. Archaeopteryx, the transitional species between dinosaur and bird, is my favorite extinct animal ever since I learned about it in taxonomy class in high school. It’s incredible how nature can over-engineer an animal over the course of millions of years until it is able to fly, and with such grace and efficiency. It’s really just marvelous to me.

In late elementary school, my dad started talking to me about his time in the Air Force and I fell into the world of plane hobbyists. We used to go to airshows together all the time, fond memories that I still hold close. I consume a worrisome amount of information regularly about planes and their histories, specifically airliners. Traveling by air is generally my favorite part of any trip. To this day I still daydream about flying on a Boeing 747, in which case afterwards I would feel content and ready to die. It’s weird because my dad actually hates flying and would rather have his feet on the ground. He doesn’t exactly share my excitement. Still, I wish he could see how much I really know about planes now and how he helped inspire that within me. We have gone to such cool landmarks of aviation history together and seen some extraordinary aircraft. My favorite plane has for a long time been the PT-17 Stearman Kaydet, but I also like the De Havilland Comet, MiG-25, and the Lockheed C-5 (as well as their respective histories). Since I live near an international airport and the military base my dad served at, I get to see my fair share of planes here and often at low altitudes. If I hear a plane, I tend to look up and stare at it. Coincidentally, “plane” was my first word.

The closest I’ve been to feeling like I was flying was when I went hang gliding at 13 in the Outer Banks. The guide I went up with caught a draft and we stayed up there for over 15 minutes. I am terrified of falling, but when I looked down from 7,000 feet up I felt overcome with pure joy. The wind was through my hair, and the earth was all the way down there, and it was like I was physically and emotionally zoomed out from the rest of the world. I guess it’s like a mild version of what astronauts feel when they look back at Earth from space and start crying. Those 15 minutes felt like a wonderful eternity, and I know I have to do that again in my life. It was incredible.

I feel immensely lucky to have things I’m interested in like flight. It is such an enriching hobby to have. In my life, I want to learn as much about it as there is to know and more. My knowledge about things relating to this outweighs anything else I know, sometimes filling the gaps of actual practical knowledge I should probably have. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m just like, really, really into flight, and I’m sure I will be until I die.

Back in November I was at the Goodwill up in Egg Harbor looking for a DVD player. While I was there, I came across an old Aiwa stereo system with a 3 disc changer and the original stickers still on it. I love the look of old technology like that. The late 90's glossy plastics and interfaces really scratch an itch in me. I've wanted some sort of apparatus in my room for awhile. Now, I'm not experienced with stereo systems in the slightest, nor do I know anything about setting them up or fixing them. I figured while I was there, the thing was only $12.99 anyways, so why not take on a new project and see if it works? I got it on a whim, and when I got home I was quick to start testing it out.

What immediately caught my eye was that the disc changer was skipping a lot, or rather it was just incapable of loading a disc. The cassette player worked just fine, but the volume dial (as smooth and high quality as it seemed) hardly worked. These were the only noticeable issues I found with it, and after doing some research it was clear that these were common problems in these vintage systems even in their heyday. The model I bought, the CX-NA31, was released in 1996 so I had a shred of justifiable doubt. After taking the thing apart and cleaning out the inside with isopropyl alcohol, it seemed as if this one was not stored properly or belonged to a smoker. There was a pretty thick layer of grime on the laser, and I was hoping that would solve the CD "flicking". It did temporarily, but as I've learned the CD players in these old Aiwa speakers tend to crap out rather quickly. It's a shame, because the other hardware in the system was in perfect working condition considering its age. These systems would definitely have a much higher value today if the CD players in them were better, especially since CDs are still a popular physical medium for music. I digress. With the CD player busted, I knew that the stereo probably wouldn't be a permanent addition to my room. Regardless, I got to work on the volume dial immediately. When I took it apart (painstakingly) there was some corrosion of the motherboard and lubricant from the dial was everywhere. It was at that point that I realized I may have wasted $13. I ordered a remote to adjust the volume in the meantime while I worked on the CD player, but I spent all day yesterday working on it and still couldn't get it in the working order I would need to use it regularly. Still, it was fun getting to tinker with an old piece of tech like that. I'm going back to Goodwill today to check out another stereo system I saw there that would work with the speakers I got.

I know it seems sort of weird but I'm walking in there with a screwdriver, a cotton swab, and a Candlebox CD. I need to make sure the laser disc works before I drop money on it. Hopefully they allow me to test it in there. That Goodwill has racks upon racks of technology, from vintage woodgrain speakers to metallic 2000s portable players all the way up to cheugy iPod accessories. It's all sort of thrown carelessly on the shelves in a huge tangle of cords. I've heard that many thrift shops overseas don't take in used technology so I'm glad we have it here. The prevailing problem with having this stuff in shops, in my opinion, is that there is no accessible way to test an item before you buy it. Most people I assume wouldn't want take a chance on something used or have to spend time and money getting it fixed. If there was an area for testing these items, or even just a power strip for fucks sake, I think people would be much more motivated to test and purchase a piece of used technology. With how quickly things go obsolete these days, even if the impact of my proposition is negligible, at least some older pieces could be put to good use again.

I will probably write an entry about the next stereo system I buy. I was honestly very impressed with the sound quality and software performance of the Aiwa. If I'm lucky, I'll find a system that I can use long term in my room. I'm so sick of my smart speakers.

My dad is a person who I truly love. It's honestly a shame I haven't talked about him more here. I've noticed since I've gone to college that he really makes an effort to spend time with me and I'm glad that it has been something we prioritize when I'm around. For all of my life, I can't really think of a time where things were tumultuous between us, although we've had our fair share of parent-child arguments. Even in those memories, the thing about my dad and I is that we know how to apologize and make it up to each other. We can go back to having a stable relationship in no time.

I'd describe my dad as a pretty classic conservative middle-aged man, which I guess is sort of ironic considering my... unconventional beliefs. A few years ago he told me that I should always fight for what I think is right even if he doesn't agree with it, so that's more than enough for me. He likes knives and guns and leatherworking and would probably do anything for this family even though he's pretty edgy about it. Everything he owns is in some way "tactical" and August and I like to joke about that with him. He takes himself seriously sometimes about it but we have him figured out to a T- all you have to do is say "boobs" to him and he'll start cracking up. Despite being traditionally ignorant, he has always supported his kids and our identities. However, unlike August, I have the advantage of sharing some interests with him, like music and knife collecting. Those things have made us much closer and we get along really well. He's generous, too, and he gives solid hugs. He's an admirable father and I have always looked up to him. When I was younger I wanted to be just like him, and at this age I still appreciate him deeply for everything he has done for me.

One of my most distinct memories with my father was when I was eight. We were on vacation in Ocean City, and we were driving home after crabbing in the afternoon. I was buckled up in the back of his 1998 Jeep Cherokee and "My Hero" by Foo Fighters was playing on the radio. He was singing it sort of quietly the way he does while driving, and from that point on, I always associated that song with him. It's one of those songs with a clear-cut memory attached to it that I hold close. My eight-year-old brain thought "Hey, my dad is sort of my hero. This song was basically written about him." I never revoked that title.

My dad is human, though. He has a few weaknesses, albeit they are nothing compared to his wife. My dad is not exactly confrontational unless he really has to be, and has gone down some weird constitutionalist pipeline which was so annoying during the Trump presidency. He can be hot-headed and say hurtful things he regrets, and sometimes he yells instead of actually arguing. It holds more weight coming from him so it's easier for him to make me upset. He also takes my mother's side in his ignorance and can even come off as strict, but that was never really a problem growing up and isn't a problem now since I'm in college. It's hard to approach him about emotional stuff or some of my interests, but I can't tell if that's me or him. Sometimes I just have no idea what to talk about and our car conversations are a bit contrived. I'd take that over the proleptic arguments that seem to happen when I talk to my mom. I guess the difference between him and Mom is that he has the rationality and conviction to identify when he's wrong instead of feeding into his ego or exercising a ridiculous level of control. It's hard to describe his downsides when we are ultimately an amicable duo, though. I like to be around him and he likes to be around me. He shows me affection and protects me. He is able to say and prove that he loves me.

On Thursday he asked if I wanted to go to the thrift store with him. On the way there I asked him what he needed and he said "nothing, just thought it would be something to do". We got lunch after and I was able to get his perspective on the ordeal with Mom. Even though I might not agree completely with where he stands on it, I can tell he's just doing what he thinks is best and his best isn't unagreeable enough for me to deem it unacceptable. In the end he assured me, holding back tears, that all he wants is for August and I to be happy, healthy, and safe.

And with that, I segue back to the state of this family. I've gotten everyone's point of view on it. That's some quality journalism right there, huh? August sent me a long text from the heart the other day, clarifying that they recognize Mom's behavior as abuse. They like to run from their problems though, and with the pressure they've had on them over the years I can't blame them. My mom asked me the other day if I knew if August was trying to cut them off, and the answer is pretty much yes. Yet, I didn't tell her and said it wasn't my place to confirm that if I knew. Dad says Mom is afraid of losing us and I can tell he is, too. I'm not losing Dad ever, but everything about my mom makes me want to run the way August did. Dad is worried. Mom is worried. August is stressed. Obviously I am, too. I know all of this, but I can't be the one to patch this family back together. Unless Mom sees a therapist I doubt anything will change at all. August said they want to bring that up with her, so we will see how it goes. Right now I am just thankful for what I have been able to establish with my father and sibling amidst all of this. Admittedly, I am afraid that if I distance myself from Mom, Dad will be a part of that. I would hate for us to drift apart or have awkwardness because of it. At the very least, August and I are pretty much on the same page. My connections with these people are important. I will do my best to preserve and strengthen them. I'm really not keen on losing my dad in all of this, but somehow I think that would be difficult. He's my hero, after all.

I adopted a cat. His name is Gibraltar, after the island in Ohio (not the British Overseas Territory). He's 8 months old and a bit of a handful, but I think I chose well. He's a good cat as far as I can tell. It's only been two days after all.




I still can't believe I was able to somehow pull this off. I'm even more excited to go back to college and have something to come home to besides the lizards and my psychotically clean room. I hope Gibs stirs up some chaos to keep me on my toes, but judging by the state of my curtains at the moment, I think he's doing a pretty good job.

The anxiety has been hard on me lately and I can't say I'm in the best shape. That's why I'm happy to say I'm seeing a therapist again, this time over video call, but I'm not complaining. I met her for the first time today and it as a positive experience. She specializes in the highly specific OCD behavior that I deal with, something I've never received the right care for so I'm really hopeful that it will work. While this may be my last option left, it is also the one that's most likely to work. This, in combination with Gibraltar, should help me stay balanced while at school.

As for Pequannock, well, a new layer of contention has just been thrown atop an already overwhelming pile. I'd honestly rather not talk about it because it's a waste at this point. Six more days until I'm home and happy again, and with another $750 in my pocket to last me while I get settled with my courses and find a job there. As for now, I guess I'm still in limbo. Frankly, the thing getting me through at the end of the day (as much as I hate for my happiness to be largely contingent on people) is the company of my friends. Especially Corey, who always manages to brighten my mood after a long day and end on a pleasant note. Connor and Amanda are great as well, although I talk to them less frequently. I'm really appreciative of what my friends do for me, even if they don't think much of it. I could go on for hours about it probably, but I don't think that's healthy.

And for the other things going on in my life, I've actually been struck with a spell of workplace drama recently. The story is too long and too confusing to explain fully, but essentially I made an unintentionally mean-spirited joke after one of my coworkers lied about something to me. I don't know why she lied to me, I don't care to know, and all I want to do is apologize to the person I hurt because of it. To keep it somewhat short, I discovered that a group of coworkers have been purposely setting up one of our managers to harass and gaslight her. I was under a different impression until I heard someone I considered a friend talking about how he and a few others manipulate the situation against her. I only found out because we all decided to pull a prank on her and it snowballed out of control. It's honestly really sad and I feel horrible about it, but I'm also disappointed in my coworkers for believing the bullying is deserved. I decided yesterday to take responsibility and tell management what was going on behind the scenes and the manager I told, Dan, described my confession as "emotional and mature" so I think it was the right way to go. Still, this was not a side of my workplace that I wanted to see or be apart of. You live and you learn I guess.

This week might be stressful with all that's happening. It will all pass soon enough though. I've got my ducks in a row for this upcoming semester and I'm excited to be learning and living again. Now I have a cat, a therapist, a brand new THC cartridge, and a good hunk of cash. Honestly, everything's coming up Ricky. Let's finish out this week strong.

Sometimes I get consumed by this thought that everything I say and do is annoying. Just now I tried to say to myself “you know it isn’t like that” but it made it worse. I feel like I’m too weird and too awkward that it makes me boring. Even today I expressed to an older work friend of mine that I was worried I was uninteresting at parties and he said it “adds up”. I pretended to be fine with it but I can’t stop thinking about it. I am constantly reassured of the fact that I don’t fit in. I am burdensome if anything. Like, I hung out with some coworkers the other night and I felt so out of place and quiet. When I was sat there with them in the car they said things about other people that I felt were cruel. I don’t want to think people are always mean and judgmental like that. I don’t feel critical of others like that and I hope I never am because I know I am ostracized in a similar way. It makes me feel like I shouldn’t talk at all. Like everything I say is completely worthless unless it inflates someone else’s ego. It stresses me out beyond belief that I can do nothing more than flatter people to get them to like me. Beyond that, I bring nothing to the table unless the person in question shares one of my highly specific laser-focused interests. You know, like nuclear incidents and mermaids and structural collapses and other normal things. I feel like many people blow me off when I talk about my interests. Everything has become a performance. When others don’t react to things I say the way I anticipate it makes me confused and anxious. Sometimes I ramble and I don’t realize it. I feel like I am being patronized constantly because my social incapacities are at the forefront of people’s impression of me. It makes me want to shy away from everyone and hide. I can’t tell if I’m right to feel this way or just pathetically sensitive. It’s a very lonely feeling.

So I've been keeping a blog for almost an entire year now. I consider 2021 to be "The Year I Started Writing" and I have seen so much improvement in so many areas, both personally and with skills. When I started keeping a regular journal, I didn't know that I would be going into a writing-heavy major so it has definitely come to my aid.

My first entries here are pretty basic. Mostly descriptive writing and imagery; there's a lot of entries I don't really care for anymore. When I look back at the first anecdotes I wrote, there is a distinct lack of detail that I feel I've grown out of with time. Dreamwidth, for me, is all about putting my daily experiences and emotions into words and to do that accurately takes time, patience, and usually hours in front of my keyboard. I have clearly become more efficient at articulating my thoughts and ideas, even in regular everyday speech.

I also attribute my sharper memory to regular writing, which has made me much more acute to detail than I ever was in the past. Putting something on paper makes gives it a permanent place in my brain. Most, if not all of things I've written about here are stories I can bring up off the top of my head and explain in full detail. It's a stark change considering I used to be quite scatterbrained and forgetful. Fleshing out a memory in full has made me a stronger storyteller, which I think will serve to benefit me in my future career. But even just with my personality, I am able to think more critically and make more connections between ideas. It has made this year one of the most important in terms of my beliefs and ethics.

I originally chose Dreamwidth because it is the place where no one expects a person of my age to be. It's sleepy, private, and very manageable compared to many modern social media or blog platforms. I have much more control over who sees my writing, and it is easily customizable which was a huge plus when I was looking for a blog site. This being said, I have also developed a love for this platform because the vibe is so different from the other mediums I interact with in my daily life. Here I can sort of unwind and talk freely. I don't set boundaries for my writing here like I do for other platforms like Instagram. It is, in every aspect, an outlet where I don't have to fear the judgement of others and I think that is fundamental in my self expression.

I think the most significant thing I have learned from 2021 is that I really do have a passion for writing. It is something I love to do, and I think about it constantly. Regardless of whether I'm writing about some stellar experience I had or bitching about my life, I truly enjoy every moment I am able to sit in front of my computer and manifest whatever it is I'm feeling. It has become an irreplaceable part of my life.

I am looking forward to another year on Dreamwidth, hopefully with more writing in these early months than last year. The winter months tend to be my roughest, but writing has put into perspective just how temporary (yet valuable) these experiences are. I already have some entry ideas in mind for this month and I am excited to talk about them.

Today I finally got to talk to my sibling.

I mentioned a few entries back that I was planning to go to Philly with August, but the COVID spike ruined our plans. Fortunately, due to recent events, we have been on good terms this past week. It feels good to have natural conversations and to get to know them.

Today, August asked me if I wanted to go to the convenience store. I was all up in a project and said no at first, until I realized I would totally regret not spending time with them. You know I like a person if I halt my fixations just to hang out with them. I was wondering prior to coming home how I might bring up talking about Mom when the moment arose, but with everything that happened on Christmas, it was fairly easy. We talked about it, and it wasn't anything tear jerking but I am so relieved that I have someone to talk to about this.

August said that therapy helped them understand how much of their issues were caused by Mom. Therapy also partially helped me come to that conclusion. We talked about how she projects all of her insecurities on us, and how she is so obsessed with treating us like girls. We both have distinct memories about being preteens and having her tell us we needed to start shaving. Bizarre things. August says that Mom is still overbearing with them, even though they live 800 miles away for most of the year. Through text I always found it more manageable, but maybe that's because I am still in New Jersey. Seeing as August was obviously my mother's favorite child, I imagine her concern is overwhelming and annoying. Also, August is one of the few people who have seen the extent of my OCD just from living with me. I told them how that impacted my relationship with Mom, who has always had an obsession with the appearance of my hair and told me in middle school that I would look "ugly at prom and graduation and throughout college" (as if I had a choice). Obviously I am not the only one who dealt with self-esteem issues created by Mom. August says that coming home is difficult because they are subject to her constant guilt-tripping and sobbing sessions, something they label as "suburban white woman syndrome". We agreed that she has no emotional intelligence, and we both deal with the same guilt. A person we hate also pays for our amazing lives away from her.

It was an indescribable relief to get that all off my chest, and I think August probably feels similarly. I think this was a necessary and forward step in our relationship.

Anyways, I've been up to the usual stuff. Or, well, usual in terms of North Jersey. Work has been awesome because I missed everyone there so much. The people I work with are so sincere and tight-knit. I also had an eye-opening conversation with a customer yesterday who is Jamaican and told me that many of the cultural products made in America are bastardized and modified to prioritize white demographics. It was interesting hearing his experiences with it because his ethnicity has such a rich culinary aspect. I love when small talk snowballs into full on conversations like that. In this case, he had asked me if I'm able to figure a person out from the food they buy, and somehow we got into a long-winded discussion about whitewashing. What a cool guy. I always feel lucky when people like that somehow end up on my line.

I just called my dad and we are going to stop by my apartment tomorrow to check on my lizards and fish. Lazlow is sick right now and I've been worrying about it all week. I did my best to treat him before I left for break, but 10 days is a VERY long time to leave a fish that needs daily water changes and unfortunately this was the soonest I could go back to check on him. I'll feel really horrible if he dies, even though I am confident I've done all that I can. Poor Lazlow. I think about him every day. Bringing him home with me was too risky, but maybe I will try that now because he needs treatment and I need the peace of mind. If he has died, I will be absolutely heartbroken. At least in that case my dad will be there to console me.

I’ve been sort of busy recently. I got my job back so that’s kept me busy these last few days, as well as seeing some friends while I’m home. Things are so-so right now, even though it’s 3 days until Christmas.

I did however have an awesome experience last Friday, this time out of my own effort and volition, and it required some pulled strings and meticulous planning. I decided I wanted to see a death metal show in Brooklyn whether my parents would let me or not. Knowing right off the bat that they would refuse to let me go if I told them, I decided to not tell them at all. If they were to find out, I would be in more trouble than I can even fathom because I’ve never betrayed my parents so hard before. This was a huge risk for me, but luckily I am a prolific planner.

Maybe back in the Golden Age of underground music, lying to one’s parents was much easier. Back then there was no phone tracking, no online transaction histories, no Metrocard or anything of the sort. Unfortunately, these were all limiting factors for me. Really the only huge hurdle was making sure I had the cash and means of getting about without my parents being able to see it digitally. So I took $40 out from the bank and prayed no one would ask questions. I told my parents that Amanda and I were going into the city to see the Rockefeller tree, a half truth since it was in my itinerary, but I assured them we would not be using the subways and would stay in Manhattan. And I did drag Amanda’s pop punk-loving ass along for the ride because I’ve been meaning to take her to a show just to see what would happen. She helped me cover my tracks, too, because Amanda’s a real one.

Anyways, I created a cover story so that I knew exactly what to say if my parents asked me about the day. Instead of going to the Lego store and crowded Bryant Park like loser tourists, Amanda and I took the L train to Brooklyn and had pizza margherita in a moody restaurant out in peaceful, foggy Brooklyn. Afterwards, we made our way to the tiny venue and experienced what I can only describe as the most ironic form of relaxation ever.

Gold Sounds is a rather quaint punk bar. Outside, a group of people in elaborate outfits were smoking and laughing amidst a melancholy and empty street. It was pretty tolerable for a rainy day in December outside, but behind the doors arose a vibrant and sweltering atmosphere of chain-clad patrons and blaring music. Two buff men sat at a table playing Connect 4 as others watched and cheered. A disco ball swirled above a line of people all waiting to get into the venue area, which could accommodate about 40 people. When we reached the front, a cheerful employee viewed our vaccine cards, took our money, and drew Ts on our hands so we could enter. In the box, sound techs played with a plethora of wires running from the sound booth to the shallow stage. Amanda and I sat on some haphazard chairs in the right corner of the room and waited.

I like the time before shows start, when you are just standing in the venue with a couple other people and the band is setting up. Amanda and I had conversations with a few people, including a washed up former punk double our age and a PA punk who I especially hit it off with. I have a tendency to meet interesting people, but I always seem to have the most in common with people at these types of shows. I personally think I identify with it the most. Amanda on the other hand had stars in her eyes talking to these people, and I really liked that. Some dudes we saw at the restaurant were there, so she was talking with them and they invited us out to drink. Obviously we couldn’t, but those gestures always make me unreasonably content.

And when the music started, we were immediately blown away. As usual, I succumbed to the noise easily and became totally present. Heavy, fast, loud music used to overwhelm me in a bad way but now I love being surrounded by it. It relieves all of the tension in my body. Headbanging with all those people, as well as one of my closest friends, was truly an unbeatable feeling. Frankly, once I was there herniating myself I felt a bit smug and proud that my mom didn’t know where I really was. I guess the teenage rebellion came a little late for me. Lying is not something I do easily, but even in a case like this I felt justified in my actions. Mostly because I was doing what I love with a person I cherish, and because I could prove to myself that I could exist outside of my parents’ parameters. Amanda and I had such a good time in Brooklyn, and I wouldn’t trade that night for anything.

After the show ended, we made our way back to Manhattan and took pictures at Rockefeller Plaza. The tree was gorgeous, and the night was so humid that looking up, the buildings all dissolved in the dispersed light. I’d never seen anything like it. In Port Authority, now at about 10:00, I played a public piano and we waited for the bus home. Amanda kept telling me how much fun she had, and I was so relieved that she enjoyed it that much. I might be the only person who knows she has that intense side to her, and I’m glad I was able to bring it out. The night was truly perfect. My cover story worked, so I can officially say it was a fuck ton of fun and undoubtedly worth it.

In other news, I worked today and yesterday. I’ll talk about work tomorrow probably since I have the day off. I’ve got a bunch of miscellaneous stories to tell.

I came home to Pequannock for Christmas break yesterday. I don't really know if I should count this place as home anymore because it really doesn't feel like it. When I'm at college, my parents miss me and our interactions through call/text are fine. When I'm home, their judgement weighs down on me and makes me feel like a caged animal.

The terror began when I got pulled over yesterday. I was petrified because first of all, I hate authority, and second of all, I knew a ticket would be another reason for me to get chastised at home. Sure enough, it was. Even though I skimped away with a $55 obstructed view charge, my mom was immediately up my ass about it when I walked in the door. Neither parent greeted me. My presence feels so burdensome. "Pay the ticket." "Start looking for jobs." "Take care of this or that." Or whatever. How about "Hello"?

It doesn't matter if I pull all A's my first semester. It doesn't matter if I prove myself to be independent. My mom's satisfaction with me is so impermanent and conditional. I could win the goddamn Nobel Peace Prize and she would probably just find something to berate me for instead of congratulating me. Now that I actually have things worth being proud of, I feel like they aren't recognized. And when I'm home, my independence seems to suddenly mean nothing to these people. It makes me feel restricted. Being in this house is suffocating. I understand now why August is never around.

My dad doesn't really seem to be helping the whole situation... sort of unintentionally. He can tell that I'm not thrilled to be here and tries to make things better but I'm just not in the mood. I want to hang out with him, I really do, but I know I'll end up going on a tangent because of how I feel right now. I have been so unbelievably stressed these past couple weeks and there is no way to put that into perspective. Turning down my dad when he wants to spend time with me, even if it's for a good reason, makes me feel rude and unappreciative. I know I'm too hard on myself but regardless, I'm going to make sure I correct that. Maybe I'll ask him to go fishing with me this week or something.

Awhile back, I deleted a few entries I had written about my mom. I'm going to put them back. They were written at points when I was not on good terms with her. It makes me sad to think the only way we can exist peacefully is through long-distance communication. Judging by how Thanksgiving went, I don't have the highest hopes for this month, but I will make the best of it.

Speaking of August, I don't remember if I ever mentioned them here. August is my older sibling. They are 21 and go to college for graphic design in Georgia. We didn't have a great relationship growing up, if you even count it as a relationship. I always assumed they hated me when we were younger but it turned out that much of their withdrawn and defensive behavior was due to mental illness. Nowadays, we both are in better places and recently we began talking again. They are in Toronto right now but will be home for a few days, and we are actually going to hang out. I've never hung out with August. We grew up in the same house but know virtually nothing about each other. I'm really excited to hopefully have a healthy relationship with them. In the past I thought that it would be difficult because they are closer with my mom, but I'm not sure that's the case anymore. When we talked the other day, it came across as if they are just as dissatisfied in this house as I am, and that's a pretty clear sign to me. I want to talk about the trauma my mom inflicted when I was younger and for years I've known that the only person who could possibly understand that is my sibling. Looking back, they had to have had similar experiences as a kid because I remember listening as my mom screamed her head off at them until they couldn't breathe.

So yeah, that's what's new. Great entry, I know. Fortunately, I just got a call from my old job and I'll be working 30 hours next week so I won't be in the house too often. I need the gas money.

Alone and left to contemplate,
had I a pair of wings,
I’d fly away and search the world
for the peace of wild things.

To live among the animals
and sense their lack of guile
existing in the here and now,
each moment spent worthwhile.

And free of life’s addictions,
material wealth and greed—
possessing very little,
according to the need.

But should I ever so depart
it’s uncertain I’d return,
for then I'd have a lifetime’s worth
of so much to unlearn.

“Colonization of the mind” refers to the ingrained preference towards whiteness and white culture in western society. This includes all aspects of white culture such as values, food, physical appearance, gender, gestures, and language to name a few. Ideas about what is normal and desirable are perpetuated mainly through the environment that a person lives in. Media is the main vehicle for continuing white supremacy because it is unavoidable and has been established for multiple generations. A person, in every aspect of their life, is raised with a sense of normality that revolves around whiteness because the people in their life are influenced by the same media and values. Media’s role in “colonization of the mind” is exposing massive amounts of people to similar advertising and themes. For instance, an entire industry exists for women’s shaving products that doesn’t exist in many other cultures. If a person is raised in the US, they are subject to believe that body hair on a woman is unattractive due to advertising for these products and the subsequent social adoption of that norm.

However, emphasis needs to be put on how values such as that one come to be. The origin of western beliefs about women’s body hair was created and established by Gillette to sell shaving products for women. This speaks to the type of power industry has over common societal beliefs. Media rhetoric is the key to influencing and affecting culture, and as it exists now in the US, it is controlled by industry and caters to a predominantly white country. Essentially, a "white value" can be created out of corporate greed alone.

Many people will look at the example I provided and argue that it is too trivial to be proof of white supremacy. That's because the general public's ideas about white dominance are controlled by people who are influenced by or control the same media that establishes it. White dominance exists covertly in American society through trained incapacities and desensitization, where an individual can observe what might be a clear example of white supremacy but not think much about it or beyond what they already know. Recently, this behavior can be seen through the general indifference or shallow understanding that most Americans have about police brutality towards people of color. Even an issue of this scale can continue to exist and become more severe through the ingrained ideals of American people. Many Americans feel intimidated when offered the idea that white dominance may exist primarily through subtleties and not just in clear points of contention like they are used to. It is uncomfortable to fathom that a person's entire sense of normality is founded on systemic oppression and a well-established cycle of media influence. Moreover, the way terms like "white supremacy" and "oppression" are treated in American media make them seem much more radical and intense than how they are actually observed.

Being able to understand and remain critical of all forms of media and advertising is the only way to identify and resist white dominance, among other things. However, I would go as far as saying that being a victim of white dominance is the only way to truly understand it. In order to think differently about society and media, a person must first become disillusioned with it. If a person has something that marginalizes them, they are predisposed to critical beliefs about white supremacy in America, even if they don't identify it as such. In the end it is important to recognize that white supremacy in America exists under free market capitalism, and everything that exists under that system works together to establish all that is "America" or "American". Disenchantment is the only way to think critically and accurately about capitalism, which in some cases requires an individual to go against everything they are raised with and estrange themself from it emotionally. A vast majority of people don't have either of two things: an empirical reason to think critically or the ability to think critically right out of the gate. And that's why we are ten generations deep in American capitalism with no projectable chance of that changing anywhere in the near future.

Disclaimer: I'm just a stupid kid according to older adults so keep that in mind. These observations I have made just now are clearly nothing more than a product of hormones and rage and have no intellectual value at all. I'll grow out of it, yeah, just like Mom keeps telling me. So take it with a grain of salt, guys. (Joking.)

I always say I’m sick, or that I feel sick when I’m probably not. Feigning illness is a compulsion I experience because I am a hypochondriac, and since I’m aware of it I tend not to listen to my body when it becomes truly sick, but I know without a doubt that I am right now.

I don’t know what it is but I’m not jumping to conclusions. Unfortunately the feeling of being actually sick is so uncomfortable and anxiety inducing for me that I feel completely restless. Being physically ill leaves me helpless and out of control. I’d maybe be more comfortable if I had a person looking after me, or maybe my cat to keep me company, but I think it’s important for me to tough this out alone. I need to learn how to get through stuff like this without other people because they can’t be there for me all the time. Yeah, it sucks, but even if I feel like shit this can at least be an opportunity.

Hypochondria is another drip in the bucket when it comes to my severe and progressive OCD, which has been a repeating theme here because God does it affect me. It makes somewhat normal occurrences like this very painful and difficult. I am so overwhelmed by the thought of my plans being messed up by this that I feel distressed, on top of the physical discomfort. It is finals week and I have a lot of work to do but I can’t even get up to take aspirin. I’m completely stressed out.

Recently I feel all I talk about on here is pain. Frankly I’ve been struggling and I know I need professional help again. I can endure sickness for a couple days, but I can’t manage my conditions alone anymore. I need someone real to talk to and I need guidance. Because at moments like this I realize how easy it is for me to lose my grip and fail to manage all these responsibilities. I feel like I have no one to talk to about OCD because I struggle with my mental health so frequently that it gets redundant and frustrating for others. I just haven’t been very happy recently. As much as I sit with my feelings I can’t help but resent them. My drug use as of recently has been absurd because of this. I need to go back to therapy and I’m so scared to tell my parents.

I guess writing helps me take my mind off it a little. The reason I write about this negative stuff all the time is because it is like looking in a mirror. In my reflection now I see an anxious and lonely person. As long as I can recognize those vulnerabilities I can work on them. It’s my most useful tool even though it probably makes this blog sort of depressing.

I wish I could write more to keep myself distracted but I can’t write forever. I really don’t want to burden my friends with this but I want to talk about it so bad. It takes all my strength to remind myself that I’m not dying. OCD has such a grip on me. It’s suffocating. Whatever, I’ll get through it.

I shaved my head today. This is the second time I've done this for reasons I can't explain. I will preface that it's not something I wanted to do, but it had to be done.

I am not very confident in how I look. I'm genuinely ashamed of that because I know that the universe is too big and life is too short for me to be worrying about it. But I also don't think it's wrong for me to want to feel good about myself, so it's sort of conflicting.

I still have a long way to go with being confident of myself physically. I have faith in myself emotionally and intellectually, I know I'm worth something. That outweighs anything, but I feel limited by how I feel about my body. Really the only one who can change that is me, and although I don't feel particularly good about my appearance after shaving my head, it feels so good to touch my own hair and not feel horrible about it. Maybe that's a start for me, to feel empowered by that. Many people know that I don't like having my hair touched by others. Not many know that I don't even like having it touched by me.

I really want to talk about this somewhere. I've been working myself up to talk about it. I don't think I've met anyone in a similar situation, honestly, it's so bizarre. Most people take something like hair on their head for granted. I think if anyone who can relate to me reads this, they know exactly what I'm dealing with despite the vagueness. They know that shame, and that lack of confidence. It's isolating. To be able to hurt your own body in this way and to endure the societal consequences is hands down the most difficult thing I have ever dealt with in my life, mostly because it has been 11 years and I have not made any progress. In spite of years of therapy, medications, scolding, everything, nothing has been able to fix it. My whole life I felt I could never be pretty. I was told growing up that I would never be pretty. I don't feel pretty, I can pretend it. But I also know that feeling pretty isn't everything. When I do something like this for myself (shaving my head) I feel strong, and it took me years to realize that that's more important in the end.

I'm proud of myself for today even though it was really difficult to convince myself to go through with it. I know this entry is probably confusing from an outside perspective, but this is also a step forward. Even if I can't shake this whole thing, I can at least put myself in a position where I don't have to feel so much shame.

Maybe.

We'll see.

When the air becomes this cold and unforgiving, I feign the motions of swimming in Dream Lake and long for the water like I would a person. When I close my eyes, I can see myself hastily approaching the edge of the water like always, stirring up little clouds of sand and sediment. I want to walk the perimeter with that awkward gait of mine, or better yet dive in and swim to the bottom and sit. Light shines through the surface like something out of a hazy memory I might’ve had in my childhood. I wish I had someone to share it all with, to drag there by the wrist and make understand. One day I want to be two people floating on our backs until the sun goes down, and shivering in the dark after making poor use of our time the way I always do. In November the thought seems frozen in place. But it is unrelenting. Coats and blankets don’t contour my body the way water does, and sitting on the shore in bundles only serves to taunt me. A thick sheet of ice would surely defeat me, and snow on top might put me in my grave. I would gladly let the next six month swiftly fall behind me just to be in the water again, and I would give infinitely more than that to have a person to share it with.

I’m starting to experience symptoms of seasonal depression despite my best efforts.

My family is riddled with mental illness. It has been something I’ve dealt with from a young age. I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t an anxious person despite having a good upbringing, which I know seems bad but I don’t really think too much about it, honestly. I only really remind myself of it when I experience periods of anxiety or depression.

Recently I can’t shake the feeling that I am unworthy of attention from others. I think I fell out of shape socially when I went to college, which has obviously been very lonely for me. I was excited to go back north for Thanksgiving to see my friends and family, but I think it is starting to stress me out. My friends and I miss each other, but I feel guilty being around them, like I don’t deserve their company. I especially feel this way about my parents who have done so much for me that I feel I can never repay them. On one hand there is this compulsive need to sustain and reciprocate twofold the kindness of my friends, and on the other is the insecurity I have about not being able to reciprocate all that my parents have given me. In both cases, I feel deeply guilty about being cared for by others and anxious because I know how I feel isn’t normal.

These thought patterns are a familiar sign to me. I know how seasonal depression works and I’m just dreading all the moments ahead where I think irrationally or become upset. It’s sort of tiring. At times like this I wish I was still seeing my therapist, who is paid to listen to me so it doesn’t feel like I am too imposing. That has become a fear of mine again. I feel pretty guilty about things that I do frequently, like talking. Or accidentally side stepping people at the grocery store. Maybe just existing in general.

I really don’t like writing about stuff like this. It feels sort of self-absorbed and needy even if this blog only has three readers. I don’t want advice really. I want to be left alone. Even though I will be seeing people all week, the hollowing feeling that follows the fun almost makes it not worth it. It gets me down so bad. I really hope I will return to college thinking this week was worth it.

I love making fun of all that zodiac bullshit about “making strides in your career” and “finding interpersonal success”. Earlier in my teens, I sort of arrogantly juxtaposed myself to mainstream pseudoscience and learned a lot about it, despite having a harsh approach. Truthfully, the zodiac interests me in the same way that I despise it because it’s easy to make fun of. I often wonder why people get so caught up in their horoscopes when it is obviously just a made up superstition, but I have no right to scoff at those people, do I? Every human sits and waits and wishes for the affirmations that the zodiac always promises. Money, love, success, whatever. And in that sense, horoscopes are smart for taking advantage of that universal human desire. I might look down on people who are vulnerable or unwitting enough to believe in that stuff, but I understand why it works. The same way I understand why witchcraft works, The Watchtower Society, Christianity, Heaven’s Gate, and even Nazism.

Now, I’m not saying that any of these things are on the same scale as one another (obviously believing in zodiacs is not the same as Nazism), but they all have something in common. I’m hardly the first to talk about it. All of these groups and communities are similar in that they spread their ideology by means of satisfying basic human desires. Vulnerable people fall for these things because they don’t have the intuition, at least at that moment, to see past this repeating strategy.

Zodiac signs affirm a person’s behavior and provide stability and direction to a person’s life. Witchcraft, in a similar way, relies on affirmation and ritual to garner these things. These practices are benign enough to not impede a person’s normal life for the most part, but they still apply meaning and comfort in a false way.

More intensely, Christianity, or any religion for that matter, provides all of the above in addition to community. And that is a key component of how these belief systems function. Nowadays, indoctrination of the youth is largely how these religions perpetuate, but they are still able to effectively recruit outsiders. People who can’t tell any better, who have questions they can’t answer, or who feel they have nothing left. Regardless of a person’s situation, their faith will always provide that feeling of belonging, which is by far the most important social quality for most humans if you ask me. Religion makes that easy, and in all cases abuses that desire by weaving a person’s perspective on life into a narrow string even if they tell you otherwise. I would go as far as saying that the practices of modern religions are cult-like or at least close to it. In America I’ve grown up seeing how Christianity and Catholicism breed hatred for all types of people and practices, and that has always been outlandish to me. Christians in particular feel a sense of unity from judging things they were raised not to understand, and that is the most human thing I’ve ever heard. At it’s core, modern American faith is a capitalist construct to a degree that I am not nearly informed enough to explain. But I know that it is money-hungry and keen on pushing a very specific agenda. God forbid, literally, that I see a naked woman on television or get an abortion or identify the way I do. The American deviation from original biblical texts is also laughable. We pray to a white Jesus and say that God hates gay people as if he said it right there in the book. Millions upon millions of dollars pour into the pockets of religious leaders and organizations every year to pay off yachts, tropical vacations, and huge cookie cutter mansions in the midwest. If not that, then something more nefarious. Those people know exactly what they are doing and I have no doubt about that.

When you zoom out, it’s easy to see the commonalities of all faiths in their modern context. They are businesses that have the incentive of exercising control over large portions of their respective societies. The reason they work is because they satisfy people’s need to feel a part of something and establish a sense of normality. Followers have all the support they could ever ask for, guidelines for life, and when they die they know exactly where they will be going. Religion is the answer to every question, the thing that two people have in common, and the structure for a “happy” life. And if you ask me, it’s an excuse for someone to feel like a good person because they can’t figure that one out for themselves. As long as it is lucrative, religion will continue to create these homogeneous, sterile people. I think this system is easily observed in my country. Corey told me that a notable part of America in the eyes of other countries is its rampant Christianity, which at first confused me. It had never occurred to me that faith functioned differently elsewhere, but it does.

In any iteration, I believe that organized religion is fucking disgusting.

And even something like that seems benign when you look at textbook cults like Jehovah’s Witnesses or Heaven’s Gate. JW is the easiest cult to pick apart in terms of analyzing means of control over it’s members. The Watchtower Society is smart with how it isolates itself and has a thorough understanding of how media works. Every year it releases mounds of media specifically catered to the religion. I’m talking weird stuff, like doomsday scenarios and children cartoons about telling people to stop being gay. There really isn’t much reason for members to watch content that isn’t made by or approved by The Watchtower Society, which further permeates the organization’s beliefs into the minds of its members. The authorities of the cult also keep a strict set of rules for followers. JWs can’t have solid careers and are encouraged to be working class with families. They are also encouraged or forced to spend as much time at the Kingdom Hall or with the religion as possible. They can’t have birthdays, hobbies, or any sense of individuality. There’s also some strange ones like a ban on tight pants because they are associated with gay men. But pants aside, what breaks my heart about JWs is that they are taught to believe that their faith should be the at forefront of their lives, and that nothing good exists outside of it. For people who are raised into the cult, that is largely true. The fear of being disfellowshipped is so strong with members that they live in a constant state of perfection. If they deviate even once, they can lose everything they have ever known, and that jump is too great and too intimidating for people to leave even if they have suspicions. You seriously can’t blame them. If a person leaves the cult, they lose their family, their friends, and their sense of belonging. Combine that with the fact that The Watchtower Society sucks money out of its members and you are faced with a fully functioning business, one that is self sustaining and profits off of its blatant exploitation of oblivious people who are actually encouraged to remain impoverished for the sake of Jehovah.

As for Nazism, it’s actually not as complicated as people think because it has some congruency with less despicable things of the same nature. Nazism is a sense of belonging that is built out of immense brainwashing and hatred. I’m talking people who have seriously hit rock bottom and have nothing left to live for. There is a Nazi problem in prisons, where inmates become so hungry for safety and family that they don’t care what beliefs they must adopt. It isn’t the initial recruitment that makes a Nazi. It’s living with constant exposure to Nazism that ultimately creates one, especially if Nazis are the ones providing that feeling of belonging. In recent decades that threat has moved online, and encountering literal Nazis on the internet is not exactly an uncommon phenomenon. Young people especially are subject to grooming, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know people who were victims of this in the past. Nazism thrives online because it targets confused children and people who have nothing else to live for. People who were definitely failed in one way or another. In real life, it festers in every city even if it is a small presence. Unlike religion or Jehovah’s Witnesses, it’s actually hated in the eyes of most people, but that doesn’t mean its strategies aren’t similar. Just like everything else, it exploits that need to fit in somewhere, even if somewhere is anywhere.

In many ways I am angry that people must live in these states. I could extend this “desire to belong” thing to all aspects of modern societies and everything we are exposed to on a regular basis. Everything from conspiracy theorists to sports fans to American patriots. I could talk for ages about how weird it is that we wear clothing or use silverware, along with all the other universal standards of normalcy but it would be a waste of time. The bottomline is that everyone looks for a sense of belonging. Most people look for the things they want to hear whether they recognize it or not, and most people wants to feel loved. It really isn’t a bad thing until it manifests in the form of paranormal beliefs and hate groups. And I do think there are people, very few people, who can live without it. I’m certainly not one of them and nobody I know is, but there are always outliers.

As for me feeling like I belong, well I’ll find that place one day. Or maybe I won’t, and I’ll remain a butterfly the way I have for so long. That’s fine by me because I am fascinated by everything and have a lot of hobbies, but I already know that what I’m looking for isn’t there. Belonging, for me, is something I can’t really describe but I see it in other people and I think that feeling will come when I have either a partner or a child. Someone I can devote everything to and be loved deeply in return, and know that everything I work for will have been worth it for that person. Besides that I think the closest I can get is involved with music, radio, and my local scenes. But hey, that’s just me. I know some people my age who get the same feeling from going to cosplay conventions and that’s cool, too. It’s such a specific and personal thing, and I hate to see it twisted in the ways I described.

However, I have no faith that any of the systems in place will change anytime soon. Sorry. I'm not much of a wishful thinker.

I told myself I'd step away from writing to gather myself, but God knows that would never work. I like to write. It's all I want to do sometimes even if I can't.

Anyways,

"Sometimes a way of seeing is a way of not seeing."

I've been stuck in my little loop. I'm still lonely, and I'm learning to be okay with that. The last few weeks I had all sorts of junk planned, and I've been learning so much about myself that it actually makes me uncomfortable. It feels like I've figured myself out and narrowed my point of view. I hate that. The last thing I want to figure out is myself. Anyone who reads this blog knows how I feel about identity, although I guess that's only me now since I became paranoid and made all my entries private. But that's beside the point. I'm shallow now. One way of thinking, one way of seeing. There's so much I don't get to see because of that.

And there's so much I haven't written about, too. Things that were once new to me are now redundant to write about, but I still want to talk about them. And that's the point of this entry, so I'll make haste.

First of all, I went to a real punk gig in Philly a couple weeks ago. I was unbelievably excited about it, too. It was the type of small show where you have to ask the organizers where the address is, and you can imagine my excitement when I found out this thing was going to be held at a place called "Walmart Beach". Walmart fucking Beach. It's exactly what you think it is, too. Walmart Beach is an abandoned pier behind a Walmart that looks out over the Delaware river. Beautiful view. Hilariously on brand for a punk show. And my god was the show amazing. It was only 30 or so people including me and Vic (who I dragged along for the ride). I'm still new to going to shows and this was a really important event for me. Magical, even. The bands were amazing, the night was perfect, and I didn't feel uncomfortable at all. In fact, although I had deemed it wishful thinking, strangers actually talked to me there. I made three friends and it didn't feel contrived like I thought it would. They were really my type of people, and I want to meet more people like that. Unfortunately, they were from Philadelphia so it's not like I'll be seeing them regularly or something, but I'll never forget how they made me feel that night. Those people absolutely made my night. Especially that one guy, Jagger, who had a flip phone with an app that generates dad jokes. We stood around for 20 minutes laughing about it, all of us inebriated in one way or another. They all hugged me when I left. It was great. I'm forever grateful for Walmart Beach and that awesome night.

I made some plans for Halloween for myself since I knew I'd be alone. I was honestly okay with that. It's been a few years since I've had a memorable Halloween, so I made a day out of it on the 30th. First, the Cape May Zoo had a Halloween event so I went in costume (I was a Malachite butterfly) and walked around the zoo for a couple hours. Animals make me so happy. And little kids who shout "Butterfly!" when they see me also make me happy. I saw some animals I was really looking forward to seeing, like the scarlet ibises and red pandas. Being alone, I could just stare for as long as I wanted at any given exhibit, too, so that was cool. I don't even know how long I spent in the aviary. Overall it was a pretty wholesome event...

...too wholesome for Halloween. Which is why I also got a ticket for The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Atlantic City, something I know to be a Halloween classic but wanted to experience blindly. Now, generally I don't like these types of things. Stage productions were never my jam, and even overdone Broadway shows were never that interesting to me. But when I tell you I had the time of my life at this picture show, I mean it. For starters, a bunch of the audience members were dressed up as characters from the movie and some of them were almost naked which confused me. But I knew from the moment the cast came on stage and encouraged everyone to get drunk that I was in for something strange. I knew that this movie had a weird cult following, but I didn't anticipate something like this. At certain points in the movie, people shout obscenities at the characters, which I didn't know about. I also didn't know about the part where everyone throws stuff at the stage and makes a huge mess of the theater. My favorite part was when there was a joke about cards in the movie and suddenly a billion playing cards went flying everywhere. It was wonderful to me, and totally exceeded the expectations I had for some tame Halloween performance. No, this was raunchy and ironic and totally up my alley. The actors were fantastic, and hearing them talk about the movie was cool, too. I walked out of the theater so ecstatic that I called my mom to tell her about it. Maybe I'll make this a tradition.

I also took a card from the floor home with me. It's hanging on my wall now.

As for actual Halloween night, Corey and I were on call for 10 hours tripping out. That was fun, I forget most of it though. A great bonding experience nevertheless. I felt really close to him after that and I'm really grateful to have him as a friend. I didn't really realize this before but despite being painfully different in many ways, we are actually very similar people. Tripping together was cool even though I had another bad comedown and freaked out the morning after. I'm getting rid of my tabs, it's just for the better.

Overall, I'd say things are going pretty well. My social life is about as good as it can be at the moment, and I'm generally happy. I've gotten used to being happy doing things alone and creating good experiences for myself without friends by my side. Actually, things are little too stable for my liking. Maybe I'll have a nice, refreshing crisis soon to rid me of this complacency. But that's not something I can force. I might as well enjoy myself in the meantime. October has been an awesome month.

I've come to understand recently that sometimes there's more to gain from doing and not thinking than from thinking and not doing. Yesterday I had this impulsion to go to the beach, so I drove to Ocean City in the early evening. It was warm last night and I drove with my windows open for one of the last times, with one arm on the wheel and the other out the window as they should be. It's late October so the city was practically empty. Across the bridge, the first pastel shades of evening began to layer themselves across the whole isle. Parking was easy for once; I quickly found a spot only two blocks away from the beach and the excitement in me was so strong at that point that I locked my car and immediately sprinted to the boardwalk.

I've never seen a beautiful place so empty. It was just me and this huge, open boardwalk, stretching for miles parallel to the beach. In summer at this time of day, it would normally be ridiculously crowded. In fact, you'd probably never see it this empty at all in the warm months. But on this temperate day in late October it was glazed in a type of serenity I have only ever seen in my dreams. I walked quickly out of anticipation, eventually working myself into a jog, and then a sprint, past all the closed tourist shops and attractions. Once I ran out of breath, I walked and observed the air around me which, for some reason, in this perfectly whimsical way, was filled with dozens of Monarch butterflies. Really? Seriously? I mean, come on. It was so perfect it felt like a joke. The ocean, butterflies, an invigorating sense of aloneness, and myself. All engulfed in the pink light of a sunset. The ideal conditions for a specimen like me. Surreal.

Eventually, the ocean beckoned me in its usual way. I don't know why I tried to tell myself I wouldn't go on the beach. It's always "you'll get sand in your shoes" and "someone will steal your keys at the beach entrance". Who cares. The only thing I regret is wearing my high tops because I couldn't get them off fast enough. When I finally did, I chucked them impassively by the fence and bolted straight to the water. The ocean was cold I guess, whatever. I didn't care at that point. I ran back and forth in the water, splashing around and laughing for awhile until I was almost completely soaked and covered in sand. Eventually I ran out of breath again and made my way back to the boardwalk to enjoy the rest of the sunset. The huge, full moon rose in East, and I watched from a bench. I only left when it became too cold to stay, and even by the time I was home I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

I always struggle to write about stuff like this. It's beyond normal happiness to me. That single hour yesterday felt like the happiest of my life, but I say that every time. It's more than that- it's too profound, too enormous to put into words. How often do I get to feel that good? I feel like all of my most memorable experiences somehow come back to being in water. Open expanses, crashing waves, quiet places and seabirds I know all the names of. It's a part of me. It has to be, the way it makes me feel. And to think I gain so much joy from a place I've known my entire life, I have so much excitement about going elsewhere. I mean, this is New Jersey of all places. If New Jersey can be this gorgeous, imagine what other places are like.

It’s in the perilous boughs of the tree
out of blue sky the wind
sings loudest surrounding me.

And solitude, a wild solitude
’s reveald, fearfully, high I’d climb
into the shaking uncertainties,

part out of longing, part daring my self,
part to see that
widening of the world, part

to find my own, my secret
hiding sense and place, where from afar
all voices and scenes come back

—the barking of a dog, autumnal burnings,
far calls, close calls— the boy I was
calls out to me
here the man where I am “Look!

I’ve been where you

most fear to be.”

I am very sleep deprived.

Today I went to Hoboken and visited Amanda. Nothing about this was very notable. I met some of her friends and I noticed for the first time since college began that I am definitely not like these other college kids. I stand out in a crowd, not because of how I look but because of how I act. At times it can be a very isolating feeling. Amanda is doing well with her new friend group though, and they are good people. I'm happy for her. I just wish I could say the same about myself.

After I got done catching up, around 10:00, I felt melancholy. I walked to an area on her campus that overlooked the Hudson and took a seat on a bench. It's a difficult view to get. The entire New York skyline sat before me in it's usual lively way, with distant wails of sirens and wind off the river. On the other side the world was breathing. I pictured the girls in stilettos walking out of clubs, the men in the pubs watching the game, the millionaires in their penthouses looking over the city in a similar, lonely way. I know it all happens away from here, far from me, yet so close. And that’s the observation that really got me thinking. I've played the hand I've been dealt pretty damn well, but I want more from this life and I want more now. As in, my desire to experience new things has become so potent that I can’t snuff it anymore. I wish the world would just swallow me up and spit me out in 10 or so years, like send me on some wicked journey that challenges everything about myself or something. Drop me into that city and see what happens. It really would be perfect to just disconnect from this identity and suddenly assume another for awhile. I want to be something new, something intangible. I want to experience a higher love, and for this I am greedy. I have everything I ever wanted in college at my fingertips; wonderful friends, near perfect grades, any substance I could ever ask for a phone call away, and still I feel something is missing. Something that everyone seems to possess except me. But there are some things I just can’t have, and whatever that thing is, it is one of them.

Across the river, the city weeps with temptation. I want nothing more than to be a part of it.