Why should today be special. It’s just Monday, it didn’t rain or anything.
I listened to our song. It HURTS. I love you and I miss you.
I don’t want to be one of those people who compares all future relationships with this one.
Why the fuck did you think I would want to know about your new boyfriend?
He won’t love you. Not like I have. He doesn’t dream about you. Not like I do.
Why did I have to type your name into facebook and see my favorite picture of you?
i’ve been thinking about my ex. Who shouldn’t be my ex. He should be my right now. But things happen. He loves someone else. How pompous to think that the second you’re over it is the second I’m over it too. So, now that you’ve got some random bitchy little fag at your side you can just show up and you and I can be close friends with nothing else.
Why did all this appear today?
A dim unpleasantness shined on by the kindness of an actual Christian. Yes, they exist. Not the blabbering, angry, greedy and hateful bunch you see on the 700 and at my family’s holiday dinners. But the real ones, those people who’s kindness and love for their brother and sister homo-sapiens is a true testament to human potential.
I have high hopes that the two foreign countries I held in my hand on the bus this morning may one day light that candle in each other.
In the course of inhuman events we find the smallest gestures do nothing that the gesture entails. Kindnesses are like oases in Sahara days. And they tell us this: I’m on your side, I root for you, we are allies.
I wrote a letter, it’s here. I need to find pleasant things to include in the envelope as the letter itself is a bit heavy. Not heavy like weight, heavy like Marty McFly says HEAVY.
There are two people here that I would have known anyway if my life hadn’t changed. I mean, I know ‘em now, but I would have known them anyway.
Would I still have come to Columbus is my path had directed me toward Dacula High? Would I still want to be an artist? Would I have known all the same love and childish enterprise Flowery Branch gave me?
Would the group of athletes have yelled “We don’t want queers at our school!”? Would I have had that beer bottle thrown at me from a moving truck?
Would it have been worse?
Bless (v.t) 1. To make or pronounce holy; to consecrate
Halloween is a-comin’. Light a candle for the vampires and witches and autumns lost.
Love is a-foot.
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries | Tags: art, homosexuality, love, octopi, octopus, peace, photos
When I paint I stop wondering who I am or who I think I need to be.
And Nicholas, if you still read this blog, I saw someone at wal-mart today while I was buying the board this is painted on who looked like you. I hope you’re well and happy.
-joshua
i’m gettin’ better
i’m turning into old me but older
my heart is healing,like like a dam being rebuilt.
It means being sadder and also stronger
I’m back to desiring to pour love into someone rather than to obtain immediate gratifying feelings.
I’m not perfect.
Today i rode in a car past some houses i had never seen before and they made me want to cry.They were a couple decades old with big trees in the yard and boughs over their roofs and they reminded me of those half remembered feelings and expectations that always rang straight from my heart and manifested in my mind and com comfortable rooms and cheerful friends.
There was one house that had a lamp on by a window in the basement and my heart almost burst. It was like being sixteen and in love with [NAME UNAVALIBLE] again. Like the world i inhabit and the chapters of events and the flow of time and feelings that comprise my life were visible and had meaning and weight on me again and I could feel love inside me like a star just a-burning to shine out and illuminate the hearts and faces of the dearest people to me.
Like, if i opened my mouth and you were standing too close you’d get your eye brows singed off.
i just want to hold someone really tightly
and smile really big like a fool
and go walking barefoot in the dewy rainy grass
i just want to breath in all the air
but, the wanting to hold someone right now its about giving love than trying to put a stopper on loneliness
I feel pure like leaves of grass growing up in the yard in the wind under the rain with all the coolness of the atmosphere sliding down my body, but I must acknowledge the atrocious jealousy and pain that comes with it all.
The unfairness and bitter resentment at the universe for giving me such beautiful world and then no one to share them with. Hell, id gladly trade a rib for a companion.
I’m a gust of wind.
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries | Tags: art, canvas, flickr, glue, homosexuality. peace, hope, liberty, love, new art, paint, photos, poetry, yarn
The moon is a great apostle of liberty. Like the Marquis de LaFayette.
“No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again” -R.S.
This painting has personal meaning. I’m getting to the point where I see loneliness, and the languishing about such, as kind f immature. If I were to open my mouth up and complain about being lonely in life right now it would be as if I were walking along the great wall of China and complaining that my feet hurt from all the old stones.
Life, daily life especially, is an absolute bouquet of the most delicious sensations available to sentient life. I’m convinced of this: laughter is better than fucking, because it costs nothing.
This red moon is solumn joy raising over a familiar and not unhospitable landscape. The house is made of yarn, it is a construction that can be deconstructed and moved.
I find the activity of cutting and gluing various types of yarn to various types of objects weirdly soothing. I will pursue this form of leisure.
Also, hot pink and metallic silver paint markers please me^_^
That is all.
Will soft look upon a glowing square.
My face.
I do similar, an electric mist passes and glows.
I alone perceive radiance.
The boy is in the syrupy dark.
A flower growing midway through the sidewalk.
Green tipped with yellow.
Made of stronger stuff than stars.
His Hands were My Hands (in the glowing square.)
But My designs are not His desighns.
Fall into me! My soul is vast.
And I am still an ocean of contradictions.
My life, My stability,
Surf high on waves of contradiction.
I’m tired of metaphor.
I think I’ll just lay down.
and Will myself to dream the same dream again.
–
(written by me. April 29th, 2008)
Filed under: Blogging | Tags: art, Blogging, diaries, diary, homosexuality, journaling, Leaves of Grass, love, painting, photos, romance, symbolism, triptych
Oh man. I really gotta try to keep up dudes…
So, school year’s runnin’ down and I’m BUSY BUSY BUSY. But with good things! Promise!
I’m currently flirting with a particular college here in Georgia. It likes me, I like it and hey, I know this particular university lives a little far away but I’m willing to travel if you know what I mean…
And what I mean is that I’m am literally willing to travel. To this college.
It’s hard really. To keep a blog and a journal. Because I have a journal. A real journal, with paper and ink and a book mark built into it.
Good advice I think... on the cover there.
Built in bookmark FTW
Sometimes blogging feel so ephemeral. Like, by writing something down in a book it really is saved forever. A real autobiography. I mean, over the course of my years I’ve filled up a good many journals.
from December 25, 2002 to April 23, 2009
My first journal entry ever was written in what I considered very fancy Middle Earth talk (which in my twelve year old mind meant using the words “recount” and “uncanny” a lot) about how awesome Metroid Fusion is.
My recent one was a very vague mentioning about my car wreck and my desire to do a triptych featuring kissing and lines from Romeo & Juliet. How not as exciting.
But, reading through my old journals from sixteen to seventeen to eighteen I realizee I was a very romantic boy, very disinterested in sex and very lonely. I saw the whole of gay society as being dominated by meaningless sex and superficial materialistic values. Which, it pretty much is, but now I know that there are a few others out there like me. Men who want what throbs in the ribs rather than what throbs in the pants, who want forehead kisses more than blow jobs. Men who don’t see the world and as a giant bus station who’s job it is to transport pleasure to them.
Still, there are few. But I’m proud to have self control and mastery over my desires. I value serenity and hard work over immediate, flimsy pleasure and empty materialism. I think I’m far more Buddist than I’ll ever be willing to admit.
That’s probably something that needs to get recorded into my real journal.
It’s funny. I sort of have this idea that in the future people will find my journals and try to put together who I was. Or maybe I’ll go through them and use them to write a memoir. Augustan Burroughs style.
Oh well, in Art News (which I know is pretty much all you people actually care about reading about) I’m working on a series of paintings/mixed media projects interpreting Leaves of Grass through mythical symbols or something like that. You’ve already seen one of these paintings. However not in its completed state.
More to come.
-Joshua
P.S. Hi everyone who’s come over from Letnaturebe! Rather surprised you’ve migrated (of course not really migrated, I couldn’t stop reading LNB if I wanted to!) but I’m glad you’re here! 🙂
I need dirt. Just some dirt you know? So that it’s real.
Some good heavy stuff, to get underneath my fingernails.
Relationships that end mutually between two people who are pretty much absolutely perfect for each other but can’t be together due to outside influences hurt in a new way.
They hurt more because you both love each other and not one of you “deserves” to be broken up with.
They hurt less because you both love each other and not one of you “deserves” to be broken up with.
I’m foregoing virtual connections with people. I need real things. I need to grow my tomatoes on the back porch. And to paint messy paintings. And to apply for Columbus State University.
I need to journal. I’ve been pretty good about it actually. Tonight I wrote enough to rival even the most distraught of jilted 12 year old girls. Seriously, as far as sheer length, gay men probably have the most journaling potential of any demographic.
My doggy is hurt. She favors and is tender with her front right paw. There are no visible signs of injury nor are there any bones broke. So, vet tomorrow.
This summer is important. It’s going to be wonder. More legendary even than Summer ’07. I freakin’ mean it too.
I’m going to paint and draw and garden and hang out and drink (a little) and camp and generally be awesome.
And let my heart rest.
It’s been about a year since I came out (I told my mom on April Fool’s Day… honestly I didn’t even think about it at the time.)
I need a solid six monthes to work on myself before I go tryin’ to start some relationshit.
Wow. Firefox’s built in spell checker did not count “relationshit” as a misspelling. I guess you learn something new everyday.
Whatever.
Here, have some kittens:
I painted somehing stupid. It’s pointless and dumb and really just a peice of stupid. Honestly it’s not bad exactly it’s just not worth anything (including time, effort or giving a care).
I decided to stumble around to find some art (I use the “drawings” catagory, it’s great.) and then I decided to post a blog with TEN links or images of what I found.
Well, part way through it I started to realize I wass too shut up. I need to explore this town, this house maybe, find the art in the objects and the light and the peoples faces and the buildings and roads and the words and thoughts. And I will.
Here’s ten things:
GO LOOK AT MORE OF THIS ARTISTS WORK: http://beatriz.carbonmade.com/projects/19796
http://www.lukechueh.com/paintings/disintegration.html
(this guy wont allow right clicking. good call)
It’s a TUTORIAL: http://www.unprofessional.net/screen/index.html
I need to feel. To experiance. Normal stuff. Town stuff. Friends stuff.
And draw it.
I need to go to a fine art museam. And soak it all in.
Filed under: Blogging, Mysteries | Tags: art, haiku, insomnia, love, lymericks, poetry
Every pop song says
And in words true as the Bard’s
You got me goin’.
My soul shall concede
To hold together atoms;
A shape that you love.
Although I have learned from the best,
Even now I am put to the test.
For in love there’s no sleep,
And your tender words keep
Me from getting much needed night’s rest.
With words I was always so slick,
And my verbiage indelibly thick.
Now my sentences muddle,
I’m completely befuddled,
When attempting to converse with Nik.
I admit it was was not at all smart,
Rationality little part.
But when I heard his voice,
I had zero choice,
Save to blindly surrender my heart.
ATTERCOP 