time to water the tree of thought with the blood of health and soul

I am a Republic. Every desire and need is a lobbying group. Every interest and thought is an issue on the table. Action is legislation. And my mind is both the Senate and the President.

So when I commit to action, I have to wonder, what special interest subversively benefits from that action? Do I wear attractive outfits to make myself look good, for the sake of looking good, self esteem? Or for the sake of desperation, in a sick, pathetic attempt to attract men? In fact, the commitment of a recent legislation, the Blog Continuation Act, was of horrible controversy to my mind, and my conscience. I want to write this blog for myself. This blog was the spawn of an insatiable desire to define myself (spawned by the feeling of helplessness in identifying myself; that I was not a person, a thought which consumes me quite often in nights past), but does it continue to follow that course? I fear that in writing this blog for myself, I may also be writing it for others, to impress others, and it does not sit well with my conscience that the lobbyists backing Victorian oil companies should support energy bills for their own nefarious purposes.

This piece of writing is a necessary sacrifice of my sleep, my eyes, my SAT prep test which I must take in some seven hours, to settle my mind. It is far too confused right now, and is rife with unrest. Filibustering, argument, and indecision will lead to a dangerous gridlock of activity if I do not write this out. My mind is confused, because it registers a pain in my heart which it cannot cure with chocolate and movies. A tad bit dark, emo, I understand, but it's nothing but the truth, and sometimes the truth is hard to look at. It is understood by all that Legislation must be passed for the People, for the Nation as a whole, and not for some dangerous Interest Group that stands only for itself, harming the general welfare of the Populace and World at Large.

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Look at the obscene capitalizations! It reminds me of the writing by that Pyrate fellow from Utopias class, when Dan read it, and Charlie, I desire those days to come again, but they won't.
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Do I act for myself? Or do I do it, to please others? By please, I do not mean make happy. By please, I mean to bring them closer to me by putting on a farce, which is horribly destructive to the self, and developing of an unhealthy, hollow relation. I want to act for myself. For the sheer sake of nothing but my own comfort and amusement. I don't want to say, "I'm doing it to get him, to get to her, so they'll notice me", so what happens when what I do could be arguably considered for both myself and some other purpose of less than noble intentions? How can I reaffirm that I remain unaffected by peer pressure, by whimsical desires, by that awful obsessive infatuation which so often deceives the hearts of all men and women?

Every day, I feel more like an actor. More fake, more shallow, empty, inhuman. I no longer have defining traits of my own, apart from the shallow farce I put on. Nothing about me is interesting, save for my obsession with men and sex and myself. It is unbefitting. It's sickening. I hate it. And I'm addicted. Every day, I say to myself, I have to stop doing it, and then I go and do it. Because it garners response. People notice when I shout PENIS, crude is lewd is funny. Nobody finds my art entertaining, all they can say is "wow, that's awesome" and discussion of it ends there.

Which is another reason, no doubt, for my shallowness--the incapability to hold a conversation. I simply cannot do it. I am so isolated from other people, that I can't talk about anything other than my act--sex, men, myself. It is sad. Utterly pathetic. I know, if I were reading these words by someone else, I'd be saying to myself "tut tut how emo, that selfish fool doesn't know what he's talking about" but I DO know what I'm talking about. I know myself better than anyone else dammit, so don't say I'm not pathetic when I say I am. The fuck do you know.

I'm sorry. I apologize. I don't mean it. But I won't delete it. This must be entirely thought to keyboard, fluid, no backspaces but to tidy up grammar, phrasing, and spelling. Thoughts remain intact in the transfer.

So. What the hell have I come to. My mind poses problems which it has no answer to. Sadly, though I may be a Republic, I have only one mind which to draw thoughts from, and there are no upstanding citizens that may stand up and propose solutions to my issues. No senator can write a proposition, outlining step by step the proper measures that must be taken to get the Republic out of the depression.

My thinking stops. It has reached a dead end, and dead is cold, dark, and foreboding. I have hit the iceberg in the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere, and I cannot find enough lifeboats to save myself. So, I can only call out mayday as a last resort, and fire up a signal flare of distress. Whatever ship is passing by out there, I need your help. Not just a telegram, saying "you're okay", "here's what to do". We need a ship to break off from its course, sail over to our, and save these passengers because they can't save themselves.

SOS

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Talk about a cold ending. Such was the Titanic.
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a rant of purpose and meaning deeper than you can see

I remember the first night I woke up from a horrible coma, and how wonderful it felt. That's a more poetic way of saying, "I remember the first night I kissed a boy, getting my first hickey, and various other fun things", though perhaps the more crude statement is more accurate. I see both as true. My last session at CTY may as well have been my first, and admittedly may as well have been the first time I was alive (a more depressing retrospective view on that would be the first time I got to fall into a dream and escape from life, and now I'm back awake). Now that I think of it, it's rather quite sad, my last session being my first true session, and now my mind is refusing to go back to Marlboro, to what must sadly be considered real life.

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When I Think About You I Touch Myself: Discovering My Gayness
Dedicated to Gibi, who wanted to know, and whom I love

This is the story of how I discovered I was gay, because it's one of those things you discover with time! Gibi asked 'bout...quite some time ago. I've neglected this post for some time, and as such am recommencing with quite a different mindset. Oh well.

So, onto gayness. I didn't really have any SEXual thoughts until 7th grade, which was when my hormones kicked in. Oddly enough, from 7th grade onto the late summer headed into early 8th grade, funky hormonal imbalances caused girls to be desirable to me. Of course, I blame the hormones, and hold onto the conviction that I've always been a gay boy. Since I was little, eight or nine, I'd go onto Yahoo.com and search up "hot boys" in images...this was about nine or eight years ago I'm sure, since it was during Bush's presidency and the news was all about the USA PATRIOT Act and I was afraid of the government finding out I'd been looking up hot boys. It was at that early age I first searched up sexually attractive men for no apparent reason, and tried to hide my internet history. Interesting memories.

Sometime after 8th grade started though, my attraction toward girls definitely started to wane. And it was, I distinctly remember, in February of 8th grade that I was absolutely certain of my gayness-- the resolute proof being a crush on the guy I sat next to in English class. He was--and still is--incredibly sexy. So a simple time line I suppose would be: ever since 7th grade, I've had hormones. Ever since 8th grade, I've wanted to suck cock. Ever since 10th grade, I've been able to say I have! And now I'm starting to crave men again...sadly, my bed is quite devoid of male company right now. My sole company is a laptop, and clothes, and the 40th Anniversary Edition of TIME 1969, the year of Woodstock and Stonewall.

That pretty much raps up my discovering gayness. Let's summarize.
Age 8 - 12, searching "hot boys" and other attractive male features on Yahoo
Age 12 - 13, reading manga specifically with attractive men, even though I liked girls
Age 13 - FIRST KISS...with a girl, yuck
Age 13 - 14, FIRST GAY CRUSH
Age 16 - FIRST GAY KISS, and, um, fun
Age 16 and on - desiring hot men to be inside me. Yum.

Actually that's a very bad representation. But oh well. It'll have to do. SO...if you're a hot boy...when I think about you, I'll touch myself.

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Here in the dead of night, I reflect upon all my shortcomings, all the misfortunes, and pool them up in a dark well of misery which I confide solely to myself, this blog now, and those unfortunate enough to be caught by me online at this dark hour. It's only at night, when the lights are all out and I'm surrounded by blankets I can obsess over all my insecurities I hide in daytime...I'm very afraid. But, I must sleep for now.

WORK IN PROGRESS.

Written in the hours between 1 and 3 AM on August 18th, 2009, the day I had a conference call with Liz and various others, spoke to Dennis about interesting topics on gTalk, and after the day I watched District 9 in New York City (that being the day August 17th), the rest of the hours of the days being relatively dull interspersed with brief periods of interesting thought and conversation.

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A Short Introduction, Unnecessary for the Reading of this Text:

First off, I was going to make the title something else, based off of Gibi's inspiration, but I decided not to, and now this Prologue is titled SKANK, a word popularized by Mike during CTY LAN 09.2 , and I also want to thank Charlie for his support. I love you. Moving on...

SKANK, whore, slut, and other things such as those were all fairly common things to call me back during CTY, and SKANK is now my little brain's test run for hopefully more senseless writing on myself. Although it doesn't seem to focus on a specific serious aspect of me, it will, so I hope. And if it doesn't, at least your attention got caught by the title. This shall serve as a living prologue blog for a larger series I hope to create, but whose creation is dubious.

This short introduction is being written before I've thought of what to write, just so you know. I'm just putting this here for my own devices, whatever you think those may be. Having written thus far, I feel as if I am speaking too formally. Also, I'm under the assumption you know what CTY is, though I may need to change that as I write. Oh well.

Cutting to the point now. This is about me. I'm writing about myself, my thoughts, my actions, my memories, however weak, unstable, futile, or fleeting they may be. My mindset here is in the weeks following my final session of CTY, and only a couple of weeks before the start of a dreaded new school year in a dreaded town. It may affect my state of mind. Regardless...enjoy.

Furthermore, On Interludes:

I would like to say in advanced that my rant, despite being already entirely impromptu and wholly unorganized, shall be penetrated and inseminated whenever other people feel like it (not you) by Interludes, short random stories or anecdotes or ideological rants inspired by people I talk to in the production of SKANK, on various subjects. Interludes will be separated by five asterisks and line breaks. Enjoy those too.

INNOVATIVE IDEA UPDATE -- As a plot fails to come out of the Prologue, it may fall upon necessity that Interludes be made the actual heart of SKANK, though the board of directors is still deliberating on the idea. Be aware of drastic changes, Victor out.