disdiscourse

[disdiscourse]

“This is what I do everyday. Science, structures, coffee, and endless amounts of hours in the library. I can tell you how many Newtons that ball was kicked with or the structure of ecstasy (the second one above) but I can’t tell you anything esle.

I can’t tell you:

→ how to fall in love → what it’s like to see someone and know it’s gonna last forever → how to live an unfleeting life

I hope one day to know what it means to be in love or to even be in infatuation. I hope one day I know how dopamine (the first one) or ecstacy makes you feel just by looking into your eyes. I hope one day comes real fucking soon.

(p.s. if this is you reading this and you know this is me somehow, just ask me out already!)

Here’s some cute date ideas to help you out

→ skinny dipping in Washington Square Park while drunk off our asses → breaking into the MET while high as fuck just laying → roadtrip to the Head and the Heart and Sticky Finger just you and me → anywhere with you and laughs, pretty much”

[disdiscourse]

“I’m turning 40 in a month. I always imagined, growing up, that I’d be something other than what I am at this age. I imagined a wife and kids, a house I owned, a career I love, and to have "found” it. Instead, I am alone, never married, I rent an apartment with a roommate, and have been working the same 9 to 5 job for 21 years. It is not for a lack of want that I haven’t achieved these benchmarks of life. I just never have felt settled in myself. I feel like I’m still the same child, fantasizing about my life… like it’s “out there” but not in me. I’ve come close in relationships a few times to marriage, but something always gnawed at me as if I’ve unsettled business to attend to, and that marriage would tie me down. Most of all my high school friends are married, with all the things I listed above. Some call me lucky. “Stay single.” But there are times that I lie in my bed alone and cry before I fall asleep. I feel as if I welter between wishing I could do it all over again and self-soothing. But I want… I want to tell my father I love him the night before he died. I want to have been pushed to attend college. I want to have married The One when I was with her. I want to have driven faster to the hospital… to have made it there before my mother died. Fuck man. I just want my mom and my dad to tell me it will be ok. That I’m ok. I don’t know that I am anymore.“

[disdiscourse]

my love has eyes like black holes, and a single star (when he smiles at me). 

“I’m dating a girl with sunflower eyes. The beautiful thing is that only I can see them.

She looks at me in a way no one else could ever see.

It’s a special feeling. I’m sure I look at her a certain way only SHE can see… I just don’t know what that is. Nor should I! I’m just happy I get to see her sunflower eyes.”

[disdiscourse]

“I met my wife in 1999. We worked together. It was, at least on my part, love at first sight. Within weeks we were hopelessly in love. She was brilliant, kind, funny and beautiful. She was also, unfortunately, already involved with someone else. After six months of pining and wondering, she told me good-bye for good. I was heart-broken. I knew I’d never get over her. And I didn’t. Two years went by and one day I saw an email in my inbox with her name on it. I froze. I couldn’t open it. It took me a day to find the courage to read it. And another week to respond. She was single and had moved to the other side of the country. So we wrote, and wrote, and wrote. A month into it, the phone rang in my apartment. I heard her voice. I couldn’t speak. Finally she said, “say something!” So I did. And so we began talking. Then she let me know that she was going to be in LA for a conference.. I drove down to meet her. We were supposed to meet at 6:00. By 7:00 I figured she had changed her mind. I saw her across the plaza at 7:30. Green dress, sandals, hair flying. She ran and jumped into my arms. Eight months later she had moved back. Tomorrow we celebrate 10 years of being married. That’s my only story.”

[disdiscourse]

forceddd

I’m supposed to be reframing negative thoughts: so instead of saying I’ve failed at the task set in front of me (a scheduled week), I’ll say that I’ve realized the joy and productivity that such a regime could produce for me. And wonder why it is so hard to accomplish it. I’m snowed in. And yet to go on even a walk. I feel unprepared and on edge. Full of negative thoughts that keep multiplying and, just, frankly, feeling more safe in bed than anywhere else. I don’t want to engage in much at all. But at the same time, January seems like it just started and I’ll be okay. But also Christmas was almost already two weeks ago, and there are just 50 more weeks until the new year and I want to/need to have made these changes that I’m scared of making. It feels a bit ridiculous to think of positive changes as “scary” but, I think I’m scared about being the same, again. POSITIVE FRAMING: I’m successfully spending my time in a way that makes me feel comfortable. 

Gross. 

[disdiscourse]

Writing For:ward

The overwhelming urge to go back to bed: coffee in hand, no sleepiness in my bones, though. Just the want to forget I’ve been tasked with a schedule, as creative and simple as it may be. I feel a sense of “rightness” and zen when I am doing what I am supposed to be doing, but the zen only comes when it’s internal, on my own terms. There is nothing but “running through the motions” when I do things, however correctly, for someone else. Just the knowledge and the power that I can do them, and have done them, unless I am getting paid.

To be paid, and also to loose oneself in the task, is the dream. Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, could apply. I’m antsy even now, completely comfortable in my time and my space expressing my thoughts, but I want to return to bed. 

A bed in which my spine hurts. And I’ve already neglected the hours of the day set aside for my physical well being. Rather, I guess I do rebel, in sorts. I’ve always considered myself one to follow the teacher’s instructions--but I’ve never succeeded on the teacher’s terms. I’ve broken rules and never turned in assignments and worked the system to get out of class.

I’ve nary made my own rules, though. I can see how to tweak the system for the system’s benefit, in my opinion. But I do not get involved. I am not one for joining in the social change. I guess that could be selfish. And I’m certainly not gaining any wealth, notoriety, social interaction, or internal pleasure: On the fringes, I am at home. 

I need to move. In any direction// my feet forward; my head to the future; my heart back into my own chest; my shoulders to heal, and then to fly.

But it’s still calling me, the bed at my back. The urge to call this hour’s writing gig a failure and tell myself and my therapist I’ll be better tomorrow. In the next hour, I’ll do the “right” thing. Or can I tell myself, always, that I am doing the right thing.

I’m good at that: the justification. I didn’t eat on time because I wasn’t hungry! I ate when I should be writing because I became hungry! I slept because my brain wanted me to, and, well. Isn’t that everyone’s case?

Maybe not if you’re medicated, and you took your meds later than normal. I’d do a lot of justification to avoid the fuzzy feelings that cloud my brain all day. To stop thinking of suicide: to physically feel my wrists as things that could be slashed. I don’t want to. I’d say I feel happier than a lot of other times. But, then, again, BiPolar. 

I’ve never addressed the “cycles” of my brain before. Only numbed them with tv and video. Commitments made to dumb sitcom and petty dramas that absorbed my brain just enough to ignore that my brain was a cyclone. With every commercial cliff-hanger, my brain spiraled into their dimension, instead of tasking itself with making progress in my own mind and physical reality. I’ve never been able to sit with myself long enough to have answers for the idealistic questions, such as, “What do you want to do with your life?”

So I sit and I stream (oh, who’d I be if Netflix were never born? If Hulu and digital media players didn’t coincide with the summer I went to college? I’ve never gotten stuck in a youtube vortex: No interest in cats in sweaters or mentos/coke experiments. But give me a scripted series, good or bad, and I’m hooked. I may love, I may  judge, but I like the ensemble. I like to see choices made. Wonder how many takes it took. If the actors believe in their characters. 

I guess I long to be behind the scenes, but I’m on the wrong coast. And always striving (but rarely working) for the ideal body I’d want to present upon my introduction to cameras and eventual fame. But Lena Dunam’s on the cover of Glamour, thigh untouched. I saw Tiny Furniture when it first debuted. And I always thought I’d follow in her footsteps, in some ways. Exact her “bravery” for myself. And pressing “send” on a blog, with the intention of also finding a community, is my first step, I guess.

Here’s to using the internet to put my voice into the void, rather than letting it all stream in.   

[disdiscourse]

“I turned thirty-five recently. Everything is one big question for me right now. My dog died in January. I quit my job. I chopped off my hair. I got in a huge fight with my boyfriend last night and now I don’t know what’s going to happen. I feel like I’m about to fall apart. I’ve never been the type of girl who thought too much about kids, or dreamed about her wedding day, or thought about her wedding dress. But I’m thirty-five now. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s ever going to happen. And when is it going to happen? And who is it going to happen with? I’ve been a bartender since the age of eighteen. I got used to it. It was safe. I couldn’t mess up. There’s only one way to make a Manhattan. And the whole reason I quit my job was to pull the rug out from under myself. I wanted to use my cosmetology degree and pursue a career in hair styling. But I’ve interviewed with several salons now, and nothing has come of it. I’m really losing my self-confidence. I feel like everything is crashing down around me. I think I spent seventeen years stuck as a bartender because I was so afraid of feeling like this.”

[disdiscourse]

“I don’t enjoy observing people as much as I used to. Everyone acts like they’re on stage. People used to come to The Village sheepishly. Nobody was sure if they belonged. We didn’t know if we were artists. These days everyone walks around like they’re contributing something. There’s no angst anymore. There’s too much certainty. And that’s a shame. Because all the best art comes from people who feel like they don’t belong. Art is a way of proving your existence. When I was a young man, a person that I respected told me that I was an artist. It was one of the worst things that could have happened to me. I stopped walking into museums or galleries with a sense of awe. I walked in feeling like an ‘artist.’ My arms would be crossed. If I liked a piece, it was ‘good.’ If I didn’t like a piece, it was ‘bad.’ I didn’t feel vulnerable anymore. I lost my humility. And that’s when growth stops.”

[disdiscourse]

"What’s your biggest dream for your child?" "We’ll let him dream for himself."

(New Delhi, India)

[disdiscourse]

“I was driving out into the Mexican desert with a shaman, and we were on our way to a peyote ceremony. We’d just eaten the peyote, and the shaman turned on the radio, and started playing The Talking Heads. He was this little indigenous dude, just banging on the steering wheel and singing along to The Talking Heads at the top of his lungs. I thought we were supposed to be contemplating life, so I said: ‘Are you sure the radio should be on right now? Is that how the ceremony is supposed to work?’ And he said: ‘This is exactly how it’s supposed to work.’ So I just shut up and rolled with it.”

[disdiscourse]

These children are members of Iraq’s Yazidi minority, who are one of many minorities deemed expendable by ISIS militants. In the last few days, ISIS has moved into their villages and taken their homes. Tens of thousands of the villagers fled into a nearby range of mountains. Realizing this, ISIS circled the mountains with guns, blocked all the roads, and waited for them to die of thirst in the 120 degree heat. These children belonged to some of the families lucky enough to escape. While their parents were panicking about their relatives trapped in the mountains, these kids found a quiet place to play. I found them banging on some cans. I asked them what they were doing. “We’re building a car,” they said.  "Isn’t that cute," I thought. "They’re imagining the cans are cars." When I came back 5 minutes later, they had punctured holes in all four cans. Using two metal wires as axles, they turned the cans into wheels, and attached them to the plastic crate lying nearby. They’d built a car. (Dohuk, Iraq)

[disdiscourse]

"The fighting got very bad. When I left Syria to come here, I only had $50. I was almost out of money when I got here. I met a man on the street, who took me home, and gave me food and a place to stay. But I felt so ashamed to be in his home, that I spent 11 hours a day looking for jobs, and only came back to sleep. I finally found a job at a hotel. They worked me 12 hours a day, for 7 days a week. They gave me $400 a month. Now I found a new hotel now that is much better. I work 12 hours per day for $600 a month, and I get one day off. In all my free hours, I work at a school as an English teacher. I work 18 hours per day, every day. And I have not spent any of it. I have not bought even a single T-shirt. I’ve saved 13,000 Euro, which is how much I need to buy fake papers. There is a man I know who can get me to Europe for 13,000. I’m leaving next week. I’m going once more to Syria to say goodbye to my family, then I’m going to leave all this behind. I’m going to try to forget it all. And I’m going to finish my education." (Erbil, Iraq)

[disdiscourse]

"I clean the streets. I used to work as a lifeguard at a fancy hotel on the Dead Sea, but I lost my job. I brought some of the mud from the beach to my cousin because it is good for your skin. My manager said: ‘Hey! We can sell that! You’re stealing!’" (Amman, Jordan)

[disdiscourse]

"One day I drove into the city to buy goods for my shop. I repaired antennas and satellite dishes, so I needed some replacement parts. But on the road there was a checkpoint for the Syrian government, and two soldiers came up to my car. They began to argue with each other. ‘Let’s take him,’ said one of them.  'Let him go,' said the other. And they went back and forth, and back and forth. But finally the first man won the argument, and they took me out of my car, put a blindfold on me, and took me to jail. When I got to the jail, they began beating me with a cord. They asked me if I supported the rebels. I kept saying 'No,' but they kept beating me. They took off all my clothes. They said: 'We are going to whip you 35 times, and if you say 'ouch,' we will start from the beginning. They whipped me and kicked me and broke 3 of my ribs.  They said: ‘Tell us how many soldiers you’ve killed.’  I said: ‘None.’ They said: ‘Tell us how many soldiers!” I said: ‘None. I haven’t killed anyone.’ But they kept beating me and they ripped off my toenails and I screamed: ‘Eleven! Eleven! I killed eleven soldiers!’ So they put me into prison. But I never killed any soldiers. I never fought anyone. I’m a good person. I have a very sweet heart. You believe me when I tell you this, don’t you?” (Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan)

[disdiscourse]

"I get way too sensitive when I get attached to someone. I can detect the slightest change in the tone of their voice, and suddenly I’m spending all day trying to figure out what I did wrong." (Amman, Jordan)

[disdiscourse]

"I was about to leave for work the other day, so I stopped in her room to wake her up. And the first thing she said was: ‘Dad, I need a surprise.’  I said: ‘You need a what?’ She said: ‘I need a surprise.’  So I ran to the store and got her a doll, brought it to her, and went to work.”

(Nairobi, Kenya)

[disdiscourse]

"I spent four years studying to get a degree in law, and I’ve spent almost as long trying to find a job. Here, unless you’re the family of someone in government, nobody will hire you. I sold my last cow, and now my money is almost completely gone. I’m getting evicted so I’ll have no choice but to go back to the village with my grandparents. At least we have farms there. After all this time in school, I’ve almost forgotten how to dig.”  (Kampala, Uganda)