2003-05-18 10:34:58 (UTC)

years later

Dear Sharon and Michelle (the only other people who will be
reading this at least for now),

I didn't mean to return to this journal of two years ago,
but my-diary caught on to my e-mail address and sent me
back to this world of nocturnal loneliness, caffeine
seduction, vacant days of dreaming, and nights of reading
and Radiohead and failing to practice bass guitar. Wait a
minute! my current life is exactly how it was then. I
sounded so much more naive though. I'm only wiser now
because I'm aware of how little I know.
Here's what I do know- I'm going to a Jets to Brazil
concert with my brothers in Santa Cruz on June 13th.
Jonathon is having a graduation to get his masters that
day, so we'll all be in town. I've previously only been to
a couple local shows of young unknown
punk/ska/metal/alternative bands, so this will be an
entirely new experience.
I went on a fabulous adventure by myself to SF moma
yesterday. Today I had dinner with several semi-strangers
I'm related to. Lissa served jasmine green tea that evoked
feelings from reading Lord of the Rings in my 10th grade
geometry class and drinking that tea and falling into a
novel everyday at that hour instead of strangling my mind
in a maze of structure and law and equations. I looked into
the aged faces of my grandfather and aunt and rob
and lissa. I looked into the wine and tea cups and thai
food and candles. Everything was so vibrant. I realized
yesterday as I absorbed artwork at the museum what I really
am. I am my perceptions. And I no longer fucking care how I
am percieved. I could be an invisible entity with no
physical prensence, just observing, seeing, percieving the
world. I am by far the most important person to myself, but
I know that objectively everyone is equally important. That
is the difference between self-love and narcissism. This has
influenced me to decide not to take my external self too seriously
nor the way others respond to it. I don't want to drown in my
image, and that is just what happens to narcissist when he
leans in too far. My cat is staring at me out of a slit that is his
eye. It is 3:38AM. I'm going to make hot chocolate and climb through
the bathroom window so that I'm on the roof of the garage.
I discovered that hideaway a little while ago. Last night was the
full moon, and I fell asleep out there in a sleeping bag with an
eskimo's worth of big brother clothing on. I can see different faces
in the moon sometimes because the shadows change. As I peer up at
the moon, its expressions shift and seem to mouth words or sing.