Course. It's all bullshit. We all know I'm insufferably emotional ;)

Well, yes... a year later, I finally update. I'm in college now.

I don't really know what to say anymore... things have changed for me, and I'm no longer the sour, angry, bitter person I used to be. It's like many of my worries have drained away, and I no longer feel the need to carry that hatred I used to bear so many things.

Don't get me wrong--I still rail and purse my lips at corporatism and the wool pulled over the common people's eyes... but I don't feel I'm that Prophet anymore I used to so ardently believe I was.
Now, I can't really see myself worthy of much more than the title of happy-go-lucky writer, artist and poet.

I attend art school now, in Savannah College of Art and Design. I don't have much more to say about life, other than it's quiet and comforting. I'm working hard to become a video game programmer, and getting commissions from people who like my art style (which is absolutely wondrous).

Things with my family are still rough, but considering they've allowed me to get this far, I think we're on much better standings than before. Still, it's discomforting--I don't feel quite ready to face up to them and tell them the way things are. I still humbly act the model son, putting on a face of cleanliness and education, assuring them I'm not into drugs, sex, alcohol or any of it.
The fact of the matter is that I'm NOT... but all the same, I have not been attending Mass, seeking spiritual counsel or avoiding homosexual contact. And I am, of course, still drawing furries--it's my major source of income now, and hopefully with the upcoming convention I can make a couple of bucks. Someone told me they know someone who makes several thousand dollars at conventions. Of course, I'm certainly not as good as her, and considering my prices are far cheaper... I'd certainly love to make a couple of hundred, but we'll see, we'll see.

Not much else in my life other than a profound sense of peace and tranquility. My only real turmoil is thinking of having to go back home during holidays. What I'd give to have a steady influx of money to be able to pay for it all... And not have to rely on my parents, so I could finally square up and tell them "Listen; I'm gay, I'm furry, and I think in ways you don't; I love you and don't want to break away from the family, but if you force me to, I will."

Yes, I'm aware I have not updated in months. Yes, I am aware I seem lazy and irresponsible; that's not it, though. I have been very deeply involved in answering my e-mail. "What?" you ask, "E-mail?" Yes, indeed--e-mail.

You see, when normal people write e-mail, it tends to look something like
OMG LOLZORS WE WENT ON TEH CANOO TRYP ASLO IT WAS RAWXORS CAN I HAVE SECKS WIT UR MOM?

When I write e-mail, I write BIBLES. And my three correspondents can testify: I manage to ramble on and on to any one subject they bring up. It results in ridiculously long letters, and days of hard work--typing, spellchecking, whatnot. For this reason, I've found to be occupied for the longest time, replying and replying to every email I've recieved in "ultimate letter sendoff 2000" style.

I'm sure my correspondents might be a bit surprised I actually email two other people other than them, but hey, I don't think they mind, either. The complication arises when their email becomes delayed since I'm trying to finish someone else's; and, considering I can only check mail in the mornings and during lunch (for a grand total of one hour per day), this becomes a very slow, tedious process. I can't check mail at home--I'm too paranoid. I feel my parents wouldn't approve of my contacting strangers from all over the U.S. and across the world (South Africa and New Zealand, even--I have friends all over the world).

But all in all, it's not too bad. I enjoy writing emails, because I know someone reads them. My entries are certainly also important to me (since I don't keep a journal anymore, and I have difficulty remembering intricate details of life), but I think I can pretty much shirk them every once in a while, especially for the sake of those who maintain a one-on-one conversation with me. It doesn't make me particulaly happy, though, to know that I'm agging way behind on this or that--so when I have a free moment, I take the advantage of an empty inbox to update my journal quickly and assuage everyone--I am not dead.

College seems a tentative thing, and I have to get my parents to agree to let me go by this week, else it's a no-go. Yes, it's a lot of stress, and I've almost exploded several times; but I've decided to take it in a stride and just do my best to convince them. I can't explode, or else my chances drop. I think if I'm denied the chance to go is when I can explode. And I plan to explode effeciently--I'm going to find help from my extened family, from friends... anyone who can help me, because I'm going, whether they like it or not. They might not think I'm ready, but I refuse to believe "ready" is actually a term. I'm going, and I'm going to have to BE ready. I may not be ready NOW, but by God (if he indeed exists), I will go, and that will be proof I'm ready. You dig?

Anyway, I'm gone. Bell rang minutes ago, and I'm late for my next-to-last day of high school Calculus. My God... I'm graduating.

If there is someone on your Friends List who makes your world a better place just because that person exists and who you would not have met (in real life or not) without the internet, then post this same sentence in your journal.

Yes, it's sickening. I know. But it's true. And they deserve it.
But let's talk about non-deserving chain mail now.

"My name is Juana Lopez, I am 5 years old and I am poor and I live in Africa and I have AIDS. My parents died and I have no money, and the doctors told me that I'm going to die. But for every person you forward this to, I will get 5 cents, and I will be able to pay for my AIDS operation. Thank you!"

Okay, these kinds of chain mails really bother me: one, because we all fucking know AIDS is incurable (usually they use cancer or some other disease which is supposed to inspire pity). Two, the names and countries NEVER match (I think some people actually believe you can live in Africa and be named Juana Lopez, just like Bush believes Africa is a country). Three, how could a five year old write this? Not that I believe a five-year old can't grasp the basic concept of grammar (especially when the email is that badly written), but for a five year old to sit down and begin forwarding emails in order to get money to pay for an operation... how can a five year old even get that an operation is needed?

Four, your emails are UNTRACEABLE. There is NO WAY for people to know if you have forwarded your mail or not. So when you get emails (or sometimes even INSTANT MESSAGES) that claim "You have to send this to every person on your list, or else MSN will delete your account!" you just know that motherfucker is bullshitting you, because there's no fucking way the MSN server will ever be able to figure out if you've sent it to everyone or not. Do you think MSN keeps tabs on you? Really? I mean, do you think you're that important?

Five, let's say it's a "sign here" forward. You're supposed to sign at the end of the mail and send it to your contacts, for a petition ("MSN is going to begin charging for Hotmail and MSN Messenger accounts! Sign this petition so we can stop them!"). Do you honestly think MSN is even going to notice an email being forwarded around? Who's going to send it to MSN at the end? Is it just going to circulate into infinity? What about the spread effect--if you send the same list to all your contacts, they will be signing their own individual copies of the list, and therefore, you'll have multiplied the different number of lists circulating by the number of contacts you have, and the petition numbers will have only increased by ONE. Your contacts, then, in turn, will send the petition to THEIR contacts (which, by the way, INLUDE YOU, so you'll be getting the fucking list BACK), creating a dozen new lists again. What the fuck? How is that a logical way to get a petition?

Six, let's talk about "Send this to me if you're a real friend" mails. Similar to the sentence I've posted, but that's less of a forward and more of a trend. THESE kinds of mails are fucking stupid, because some people think that not sending it back is some sort of insult, so if you forward them this kind of thing, they'll forward it BACK. Then what? Are you supposed to forward it back to them? There's a little part in the mail that says "If you don't send this back, I'll understand--just know I care about you"--is that supposed to be some implicit command to continue forwarding the message back and forth between yourselves for the rest of fucking eternity?! What the hell?! How in the world is that supposed to be logical?! You do realize these forwards usually waste about 100 kilobytes or MORE of your inbox space? And you're doing this in Hotmail--Hotmail, which has only two megabytes of space for saving your messages, images, forwards and CHAIN MAILS. As opposed to Gmail's 2.6 GIGABYTES. To which I have recieved ZERO chain mails--ZERO.

I'm just a little confused, that's all. Recently, a friend forwarded a mail to me: "Valentine's Day falls on Tuesday this year! What are YOU going to do about it?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean? "Send this mail to everyone in your list, or you'll get bad luck forever. However, if you send this to more than 20 people, something good will happen." I hate those mails that try to convince you "something good will happen." Then they have a bunch of testimonials afterwards:
"Yeah I tried it and it worked it was so cool lol"
"It was awesum it was the coolest lol"
"I like eggs lol"
Either people nowadays are more gullible than I or they have an insatiable sense of curiosity that's reminiscient of that to the guy who can't help but look to the side when showering in gym. Harmless, but fucking suicidal.

I noticed my friend's email had no forwards before he began it, and realized HE HAD WRITTEN THE GODDAMN THING.
I replied to his mail with a kind of piquant humor: "Nice try."

Brian Hawkings.

That’s not his real name, but it’s not really important; it’s close enough to the real thing that he world know it’s him I’m writing about. The important thing is that I knew a Brian Hawkings.

He was decidedly queer; of course, we were all queer back then, but that’s beside the point. What I mean is that there was something right odd about Brian. He was sweet enough—I give him that much—and I took to him right away, just as he took to me. It was a little club of sorts in which we would gather online: talk to people, meet people… end up sleeping with people, in a vague, uncharacteristic way. It probably wasn’t as the makers originally intended (or maybe it was), but the members never seemed to mind. Who would, considering the state of the twenty-first century queer? We live international lives, with nationalism speckled here and there and strained like borderline elastic. So we used the club for ulterior motives—it’s not like you can sue us.

He was thirty one. I was fifteen. I imagine that sort of relationship can be looked down upon in most cases, but being a minor was not my gravest concern back then—it was testing out my sexuality, trying to figure out if I was gay or not. I guess it’s a bit irresponsible on my part to lead anyone on at that stage, but lead I did.

I never would have guessed Brian had such a… well, unique side to him (and though I say it with a slight shudder, it’s not to say it was grossly disturbing—I might just be a tad weak when it comes to certain things, and I know I can handle situations a lot better now than back then). We explored each other’s fantasies through impudent, awkward text… our lewd tenacity reached a point of no return, and all fell like dying moths in the fire. He knew I was a child, and yet he did not mind. And I knew this was not good for me… but I did mind.

It was a quick, clean cut: blocked MSN address, deleting emails before reading them, a shuddering avoidance of the Internet (and my esteemed clubhouse) altogether. I ended up changing my email, and there was an instance in which he managed to get a hold of me for the few precious seconds before I blocked him again. “I just want to be friends,” he said pleadingly. Click. I let out a deep breath and stared at him message window with a sour taste in my mouth. Click. Messenger logged out.

I wasn’t aware of how much the scar would hurt until years afterward.

I received a phone call from a friend of mine a few months ago. “Hey,” he began right away, “do you remember Stripes?”

“Stripes?” I echoed, name vague in my memory. “Stripes who?”
“You know. From the forums. Stripes.”
“Stripes…” my eyes blinked recognition. “You mean, Brian?”
“Brian? I thought his name was… wait, I might have it here. I can’t remember.”
“I’m almost positive it was Brian. Brian Hawkings?”
“Wait, that does ring a bell… hmm… I think I might be confused. But yeah, Stripes. He might be Brian.”
“I’m sure. That’s Brian. What about him?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if you knew where he was. You two… well, you were tight, right?”
I smiled to myself. “Yeah. But I stopped seeing him years ago. Why are you looking for him?”
“I dunno… I just realized I hadn’t seen him in the longest time. He just… he kind of disappeared.”
“Oh?”
“Last I heard from him, he was moving in with a boyfriend somewhere.”
“A boyfriend ‘somewhere’? Like, that he met on the Internet?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“…And you haven’t heard from him since...?”
“Nope.”

Doubt and fear settled into my mind.

“You don’t think something might have happened, do you?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t talk like that.”
“I mean it. I mean, if something happened—“
“Stop it. Really.”
“I’m just being realistic,” I answered. I remained quiet for a few seconds, then spoke up again, fear tinting my voice slightly, murky, like the color of squid oil fogging water.
“You don’t think he could have died, do you?”
“No, of course not!”
“What did you know about this guy? The boyfriend?”
“Nothing. That’s why I’m looking around—seeing if anyone’s heard from him.”
“Will you call me up if you hear anything?”
“Sure. I will.”
“Thanks a lot, John.”
“Don’t freak out. He ought to be fine.”

But John never called again. I never heard from or of Brian Hawkings ever again.

I don’t necessarily feel it’s my fault, really. I didn’t bring about the events that led to his disappearance. But when you base your life on the Internet, like I’m afraid Brian did, you begin to lose the real human contact that worries about you and cares for you. You begin to lose the connections that keep you tied to the world around you—that keep you visible.

You begin to disappear.

I do blame myself for running, though. Any young fifteen-year-old might have run, but I have never let that supersonic fear of commitment go—I know now, as I look through my failed, tentative relationships, that I have always been the one to never take the extra step, or to be the first to take the step back. I’m a coward in every sense of the word. And this, sometimes, I am afraid may have been what brought about the end of Brian Hawkings. We who run always leave victims behind. I’m a runner—a runner to every extreme—a fool to ever last riddle.

For those of you who have suffered heartache on my part: Annie, John, James, Dave, and especially Brian Hawkings…
I’m sorry.

I only hope one day I’ll find out who I’m running to.

I was going to write about something or another, but, hey, let's write bad poetry!

Depression

I think depression is the standard state of mind, devoid of distractions.

That people are sad on the inside, really—
And I guess that's okay. It unites us.
Binds us like the particles in a carbon atom, in ways we don’t understand.
And I know I’m right, because I've had my mother smile and smile and then burst out crying on my shoulder.
I know people are sad.
It makes sense. Life is a sad thing.
Life is a quiet thing—
it squeaks faintly as it scurries across the kitchen floor in the haunt of two in the morning.
So it's good to feel good about being sad.
That's why I smile and joke all day. I can accept my depression. Maybe it's a kind of sarcastic facade, but at least I'm not a phony.

I have a very weird kind of optimism.
It's like duality.
I actually think it's optimistic to acknowledge that I will be sad—
Optimistic to acknowledge pessimism as the right frame of mind.
Because, in that, I have comfort that I know who and what I am.
And so, I can explain myself to others, and understand them better for it.

It's better that way.
As a poet, I need to feel sad,
and knowing that others feel the same makes me sad-happy—
Sort of…
It just makes sense, you know?
We feel sad, because we're alone.
And we can surround ourselves with people, but we're still alone—
Even if they're the closest friends ever.

The truth is, we'll always be alone--the walls of our humanity make us so;
So the best way to live is to be alone--together.
And that is poetic justice.

Yay! I'm writing some more! I may not be so boring after all.

Let's get down to business: I have one thing to talk about today, which sprung to my mind during a pointless conversation between a German friend of mine and me. Cops. Cops everywhere. They're multiplying? And why? Because gang crime is on the rise.

Take Germany, for instance. According to my friend, his town is being overrun by Russians and Turkies... Turkians--Tu--Turks. Now, normally I don't have a grudge against anyone. I don't mind Russians. I don't mind Turkey. Let it join the freaking European Union. But it's Germany--what are so many immigrants doing in Germany? Technically, it's Europe; you can go freely anywhere you want. But these people aren't even part of the European Union yet--and they're settling in countries other than their own. I'm no prime example of staying on my goddamn side of the river, but please. I don't overrun American neighborhoods. And I contribute to society. These rowdy immigrants cause trouble.

I'm not generalizing. There are plenty of prime examples of good neighbors--just as plenty of Chicanos are prime examples of lazy, good for nothing Mexicans--but gangs are never your good neighbors. And gangs are polluting Germany. That's right, polluting--like a smog. Same thing is happening here in Mexico: gang pollution. People pollution. It's nuts.

It used to be safe to visit malls before. Now you've got these black-wannabe Mexican "cacos" walking around in gang colors. I swear. Batches of purple. Batches of light blue, and all the same bandanas. Double-you tee eff. The mall is out. You can't travel the highways anymore, because Salvatrucha murderers are driving around without any lights on, waiting for someone to flash them so they can take down the car in a kind of sick initiation ritual. Oh, and they kill their parents. I mean, I'm always pissed at my parents, but I'd never be proud of killing them. Heck, I wouldn't feel proud about killing one of those shellcritters on the beach. I did that once--accidentally smacked one into pieces with my little plastic shovel. Some accident. I felt like shit afterwards, and I practically cried myself to sleep--these guys "sleep" in jail cells, and they laugh themselves to exhaustion from telling gruesome tales of murder and gore. Yes. This is Mexico's dark side.

They've started waltzing around from mall to mall--walking of course, because, let's face it, they're gangs! They have no mode of transportation other than buses. The irritating thing is that the general route they take from mall to mall goes right past my neighborhood. I find myself pleasantly driving out from my street on an afternoon to find a row of nasty-looking switchblade freaks standing at the bus stop outside my house, showing off more boxer that should be legal and staring at passerby with the air of "Yeah, I own this town." Fuck that! They own nothing. This is MY town; and it's MY hood! I remember when we used to have drug dealers in the park--the hood banded together, and concerned parents got measures of security to get rid of them. They set up little lift-up barrier thing. They called the cops. They did everything possible. The drug dealers are gone. But from the looks of things, gangs are back in style, and unless we do something new, they're gonna start trying to mark our hood as their territory. Just the other day, we had this blind guy begging at our doorstops. How the fuck did a blind guy get in here? Don't we have security guards for that? The whole point of living in this hood is being filthy, stinkin' rich, and not having to pay attention to the outside world, including beggars; annoying, dumpy women selling rosaries; and Richard Simmons.

So here's my proposal: we start out own gang, right here in La Hacienda. We could call ourselves "The Hacendados", and we could carry guns and wear black--black, because I like black, and it's the only color I seem to be able to distinguish, no matter what the circumstance. Black is black, yo. We can start ourselves a little gang war, and kick those damn "mayates" off the goddamn Real San Agustin. Let them hang out at Valle Oriente, or Plaza Fiesta, but have them stay away from my fucking road. We'll do drive-bys and shit. See how pimping these guys look when they're running with their shorts caught halfway down their calves, trying to pull them up (that's what they get for wearing loose belts) as we set their damn asses on fire.

That, or I could just write stupid things in LiveJournal and wonder if anyone else has found the dramatic increase in police forces on the road really damn annoying.

I realized that I am a very boring person today.

It's not that I'm particularly dull, or uninsightful, or that I don't give a startlingly accurate opinion on something often. It's just that... well, I seldom give it. I seldom do anything at all that requires of handling an intellect superior to that of the average couch potato. And it bothers me. I'm not a couch potato. At the same time, I realize that, for the record, I'm not much of anything anyway--but I stress that I am not a couch potato. I loathe T.V. The most I've watched of T.V. at any one time was when I tried to watch the full first season of 24. I gave up halfway--after a while, it didn't seem worth it. I could pretty much figure out the ending, anyway. For those of you who never watched it, the wife dies. Yeah. I figured it out about at noon, you know? When she got raped. Volunteered to be raped. Yeah, that was some sort of eerie foreshadowing that only I seemed to get. The writers speak to me.

The reason I realized I was so boring is because I've noticed, over the past few weeks, that I have done absolutely nothing productive--at all. I've missed a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment, an eye doctor's appointment, and a shink's appointment. Despite my bickering about college, and wanting badly to leave, I have not finished my applications, and trust me, they are DUE. I have not done any holiday homework at all, despite having many pending projects. I have pretty much just sat at the computer screen or reading a book, doing relatively nothing. I've been reading online comics. How dreadfully productive.

It's like I've fallen into some kind of interminable slump. I honestly don't want to do anything. I can't even write very well anymore, from my lack of dedication; other writers are flourishing with the strength of a thousand epic short stories, with lines and lines of rhetoric and satire--and I spin yarns nobody wants to hear, and can't think of the next line to write without stretching, snoozing, wandering aimlessly about the house. I have a third act to write for Stairway to Heaven which I have not begun--and with good reason. I should be working on portfolios, and studying, and filming, and rendering animations. But what have I done to show for myself? Absoluetly nothing.

Actually, I've been writing music quite a bit. But that's not necessarily going to help me, unless I submit a music portfolio to one of my universities (which is a definite option, though I know all my music is just too mellow, uncoordinated and half-assed to impress anyone). Really, I can't say anything aside from Christmas shopping and gift-planning that I've done is seriously important.

I can't even bicker anymore. It's like the little things that I used to be so good at pinpointing and complaining about have disappeared. There's still a lot I hate in this world, sure; but I've lost the thrill of criticizing it. So what do you do in times like this?

I guess for old times' sake, I'll try my hand at bickering about something. Today, it's flirting.

Perhaps nobody's noticed, but over the years, women grow from annoying, 14-year-old stubs that backstab you at every turn for the sake of social standing into full-fledged (and full-chested, you sick pervs), startlingly independent and cunningly coy WOMEN. This happened with all my young little girl friends, who suddenly took an interest in boys with few inhibitions. It's a tad annoying--before, it was difficult to even tell a girl was interested in you. Now that they're WOMEN, it's hard to just get them to stop badgering you. They will flirt, and flirt hard. And it makes me ever the more nervous that they seem to be aiming a lot of their tactics on THIS sorry, homosexual excuse of a young man.

Not that I don't get the same from queer parties, as well. It seems that over the internet, I've finally begun to notice how much people take to my peppy little manner. It surprises me--I always thought that people tended to categorize me as some sort of hazardous emo. Darkly depressed in light of everything--yeah, that's me. But it's shocking to think that most of the time I can be grotesquely optimistic. (A fun fact for grotesque: I believe--believe--it's derived from the name of an Alice or Emily Grote. She was so obese, anyone referring to something particularly ugly would say, "Why, it's Grote-esque." Hence, grotesque. Kudos to Ms. Grote.) The fact that I'm something of a ball of energy to many people is a rather frightening prospect. I may complain quite a bit, but there's something altogether charming about it--I think. If not that, I'm not sure why I get so much attention--and all the wrong kinds. Though I certainly enjoy my share of sweet-talk, I had thought to at least keep it to the area of my recently acquired boyfriend (as if I could even consider him my boyfriend, seeing as I have little claim over him and am likely to lose him with my depressingly sparse manner). It's been hard to do so with so many random men cooing me from the safety of their keyboards. I don't exactly mind, but that and women also pressing me suggestively becomes a little distracting. I don't want to make myself responsible for having to call women constantly because they seem to want to "court" me in their odd little manner. I am not interested. I don't want to feign interest. And the fact that adults seem to find it imperative to egg you on is infuriating. "It's very hard for a girl to seek a boy out," my mother says. "If you reject her, it's all the more painful." And it's not painful when women reject men? Hey, we have shifty self-esteems, too! And it's not like I'm gonna say, "Oh, I'm sorry--I'm already seeing someone." They will ask who. I don't want to have to explain I'm seeing a boy. It complicates things. I wish their general reaction would be something like, "Oh, you're gay? Oh, jeez. I'm sorry. I had no idea." But no! It's bad. It's like, "You're GAY? Oh. My. God. Lizzie! Check this out! Oh. My. God! I mean, don't you know it's a sin? Oh my God, Lizzie! Listen to this!" Pretty soon, it's widespread knowledge that Mr. Ortiz is queer and proud. While I may be queer and proud, I certainly am not queer and sucidal. Which is what I'd be begging for if I told any woman I was seeing a man.

Men are completely different. In fact, they have a lot more fun with the concept--especially if they like you. Last night, I was The Gimp. The Official Gimp. It was funny--"Get back in the box!"--and despite the fact that it got stale after a while--"Get back in the sling!"--it was a pleasant reminder that no matter how weird my life gets, I'll always have friends who will take me as seriously as humanly possible and lighten my load with mild humor. It's hard for the pessimist/optimist duality in my head to handle the heat sometimes, so as long as my friends can poke fun at my conflict, I can take the whole insanity with a cup of sugar and be done with it.

So, I'm gay. Great. Why complain? My friends don't. And despite my insiduous remarks in their ears, they can laugh off any uncomfortable feeling. I love that. It's fun to be coy in jest.

Women can't do that. I rest my case.

I understand how you can feel attached to the people behind the screen. I do the same. But since I'm into urbanism, I tend to get depressed and morose over it, and I come up with poetry like this:


Across the Screen

Here in the dark,
In the solitude of my existence…
In the caprice of a thousand words
trying to bully their way into my vision,
Of the urge to sign in a fake name and a password
and unlock absolutely nothing,
My hand reaches out in silence
to press vainly at cold glass
that I can never get across;
Colors and letters flash before my eyes:
Words I know cannot possibly be true;
People so beautiful their colors must be false
greet me here and there, and make me feel
like there really is a life in this machine,
A life conserved,
A life transmitted by billions of electrons
through a wire
and jumpstarting my heart;
But there is no such reality;
In truth, the cold, emotionless text can offer no comfort,
No pity,
Only overused emoticons;
I sob, trying to remember
the sweet stranger is only my mind
playing make-believe.


Yeah, so you get my drift. Though trust people online easily, I deep inside have a fear that it's all so unreal it could vanish in an instant. Online contact is ephemereal, ghostly... it feels almost as if the electrons between you carry some ominous message from another world. It's so dark on the computer. I don't suppose you remember the days of DOS? Well, that black screen haunts my mind on every stay to the computer. Though I can never tear away, it's frightening--very frightening. Sometimes I feel like I can only just hold on before I float away, through the screen and never back again. Sometimes, I feel like I'm trapped on the other side, and I claw at the keys in order to push myself through, away from here; but at the same time, it's such an intangible dream, that I feel I'm about to wake, and realize my efforts are always fruitless. So I let myself wonder... if I die, would anyone ever know? All the people online I seem to know... they would never hear from me again, without warning. Would they assume my parents shut me off again? Would they assume I simply gave up? What would happen? I think I know a dead person. He vanished without a trace, years ago. I worry about him. I'd pray for his soul, if I wasn't so sure God never listens to me anyway. The internet is a cold breeding ground for the dead. Where do our souls go, if not to heaven or hell? White noise. Where are we, really? Where is reality? Sometimes, I dream.

I'm glad you have people you can trust, but I wish we weren't these obscure little lights on your screen. To realize that I am no more to you than a disembodied voice in your head and flashing lights on glass makes me feel so insignificant and dead. Some people think the computer is a place filled with color. I think the computer is a place filled with darkness and bones. Heads on sticks. That's why I covet it, call it my den. I can think of no better place to house my dark heart. For those who understand Heart of Darkness, I'm far more than a Mr. Kurtz. I am the reason there was a Mr. Kurtz.

The internet is a dark place. I love the darkness. But I hate the dark.

What happened last summer is a long and arduous tale, and fuck I lost everything I wrote. So I'll have to write it over again.

It started the night before my birthday (yes, before my birthday) when my parents caught ("caught") me chatting online with strangers. It's always been a whole war with the queerness, and so it got pretty nasty. Basically it ended on the note that I should change my way of thinking, and that by reading philosophy I would learn a more universal way of life. I, being human, interpreted it as "I should research philosophy and find facts to prove them wrong," but of course I knew that was not what they meant. Humans tend to hear only what they want to hear.

The search for truth was cut short a week later, when my father suddenly began looking over my shoulder on the computer and asking me what I was doing. These people have no sense of privacy at all: he made me open up every window on my computer, reading everything in every window. Then he exploded. It was not a pretty sight; my father is very frightening when angry. I have been afraid of him since I was a child. But that day I was just tired; tired of wasting my time with him, tired of fighting. He raged--raged quite a lot--and hit me. I was shocked. He had never hit me before. My glasses skittered across the floor, and I stood there, staring at him. he hit me several times, though I calmly asked him to stop. I was doing the Ghandi: complete calm at the sight of ferocity. I can honestly say I took it much better than he.

He ended up ripping my laptop from its cables (to my dismay) I cried out for him to be careful, but he stalked off and threw it on the couch. I'm afraid the external hard drive might have also suffered some damage when it clattered to the floor. It was very painful. So then he came back for me.

He yelled at me to get out of his house, and I did so with enthusiasm. I tried to get my glasses from the corner, but he yelled that everything in the house was his, HIS. So I just left, with the clothes on my back, and the cellphone in my pocket. It was what saved me.

Before I left, I told my father I loved him. But the way he looked at me, I realized that I could never love him again. It's not that I hate him as a person, but I hate him as what he's become: the monster, the father I can never love again. I hate him now, with all my being. And I hate the fact that I hate him.

I had a friend pick me up. It's a relief to know I have friends I can trust and lean on. They were the only thing that got me through those next few days living out of my house. I had to deal with stress, anger, ferocity. I cried. I laughed it off. The day after I was run out I went back when my father wasn't home to get some of my things. I was not surprised to see my computer and my hard drive gone. I have not seen them since. One of my uncles insisted I stay with him, and I did so with appreciation.

Then, one night, my parents showed up. I didn't want to talk to them. I wasn't ready. But they insisted we talk, and so they confronted me, and I lost another battle. I couldn't take their criticisms; I couldn't answer back. I'm like that perfect, obedient son. I fucking hate myself.

They took me home, and it's been depression since then. I've been doing my best to get OUT. I've been looking at every university I deem accessible, every program, every scholarship. I'm barely ever in my house anymore. It's just stress and stress and anger. I'm seeing a shrink again; my parents demanded it. She agrees with me: my point of view simply does not coincide with that of my parents.

I just want to go to sleep.

LJ Interests meme results

1. 3vi1:
   Duh. I am Teh 3vi1 0n3. I love evil, and evilness. I'm the physical embodiment of sin. I hang out with Satan, and we go golfing with Jesus on Sundays. We never win, because Jesus is like all powerful, but Satan has a pimpmobile, and we never let Jesus come along when we go out for ice cream. How pimpin is that?
2. artwork:
   I'm not surprised this came up! Of course I like artwork :D I love artwork! I download it every chance I get. And it's never clean :P
3. cheese:
   CHEEEEEEESE (my favorite foods usually contain cheese)
4. composing:
   I write too much music for my own good. Makes my parents worry.
5. darkness:
   I love darkness. It's where 3vi1 comes from. My favorite time of the day (duh) is night. Though sometimes I'm afraid of the darkness.
6. drawing:
   I love to draw. I always do it in class. I don't really have anything else to do, anyway. Pay attention? Hah!
7. fencing:
   I like swords. A lot. I draw them a lot, and I love games with swords in them. Maybe it's because they have a phallic sense. I think it's just cause they're big and weildy.
8. gaming:
   I LOVE GAMING. I play games most every day, and I'm always into what games are coming out and what's cool about each and every one.
9. graphics:
   One of my favorite bits about games has to be the eye candy :D If the graphics are awesome, the game is proportionally awesome. Take Half-Life 2, for instance. It's beautiful. Therefore, it is beautifully awesome. I want to study computer graphics in college.
10. music:
    Music tames the beast. My head is filled with them. Nuff said.

Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.

Yes, it's true, I disappeared for a long time. Sorry about that; a lot came up over the summer. I got kicked out of my house, I lived with friends for a few days, I came back... I'm pissed at my parents, and I have no internet at home. I'm not allowed to game on the computer, and I'm not allowed to do most anything. I'm seeing a shrink again.

So basically my life sucks at the moment. I'm expecting it to get better, but I don't like waiting, and no matter what I've done, things only get worse, so I'm not going to do anything anymore. I wrote a response paper about the Internet which pretty much describes how I've been feeling for a while, so I decided I'd share it with all of you.

It seems that the world has completely “revolutionized” since the early eighties. I remember when the Internet emerged out of the haze of home computing, and suddenly people were miraculously able to speak to each other across phantasmagoric distances in mere seconds. I remember the website boom, and when people became multimillionaires in mere hours thanks to domain name sales. Things have died down quite a bit since 1995, but the world that’s appeared after the storm is a new and unfamiliar landscape. Our planet is now practically—not completely, but not far from—built around the Internet. Most all services are available online, from bidding to shopping, from transactions to groceries, from reading to writing. You can check where your package is while it’s being shipped. You can buy CDs online and never have to pick them up from the store: rather, you can burn them right from your computer. Perhaps most amazingly of all, people all over are now instantly connected to each other: someone can send you a message which pops on your screen almost instantaneously, up generating a small sound effect, and which allows you to answer back in a matter of seconds. This is a huge leap from letter-writing, a practice/service that has begun to fall behind on its previous standards. And therein lies the controversy.
If people are capable of contacting each other instantaneously, then certain dangers could arouse. People can meet each other very easily, but finding out anything about each other is very difficult, except for what they choose to reveal, and even then they could be lying. That’s the argument so far, and I admit it’s a valid argument. Someone could indeed deceive someone over the Internet and lead him/her to a most dire fate. They could lie about how they’re like, what they look like, what gender they are, what they do; but at the same time, the Internet is not “a dangerous place.” I’ve been on the Internet since I was maybe eleven or twelve years old. That’s seven years of my life so far I’ve used the Internet, and you don’t see me going out to meet strangers I met over the Internet, because I am not an idiot. It seems that every concerned parent out there is convinced the Internet will turn their child to Satan or to drugs or something or another. Maybe your kid is a moron, and therefore should not be using the Internet, because he or she is likely to get swept into something or another. This does not mean every child in the world is a moron. Your kid is not necessarily going to get raped because he’s too stupid to figure out the person he’s talking to online is becoming rather frighteningly nice. He doesn’t have to be a genius to have common sense.
The creation of programs, which limit children’s access to certain content, has been around since television. They’re steadily getting cleverer with their programming as children grow more tech-savvy. Now these Internet Security programs have direct access to your computer’s running processes. It becomes impossible to shut them down without the right Administration. They turn on automatically when your computer boots, and cannot be force-closed. There is no way to hack them. There is no way to change established passwords without Administrator consent. Every webpage visited is dated and scanned for content that MAY be deemed inappropriate. They are violating the right of privacy. Children are going to grow up afraid of the Internet, and paranoid, since their parents are on their case every waking moment of the day.
It’s just wrong for the Internet to turn into some kind of taboo zone. It shouldn’t be the “under the bridge” zone for criminals, hackers, and only the most technologically knowledgeable. It should be a zone for access to everyone, with no barriers or discriminations. There’s a huge difference between “protection” and “limitation”. It’s something you can see in human nature all the time, especially in parent-child relationships. The fact that so much of the world is in agreement that the Internet is a “bad place” is a bad sign. It’s time people began to look over their past actions and realize that they’re being very hypocritical: they say too much of a good thing is a bad thing, so, in that context, isn’t overprotection also a bad thing?

In other news, World of Warcraft is awesome, and I really want to buy it. Sadly, I can't game on my computer. That means no Counter-Strike, either. So that means I've been out of practice for months, and I probably suck big-time now. I'm furious.

I'm a moron. I did another of these tests. Viola:

This is an email I sent someone who was rather angry over people not reading their stories completely because they were too busy looking for the bits that had sex in them in order to get a hard-on. I can't say I know how to counteract this, but I at least tried to offer some sense of pacificism.

There's actually a lot of places where they say homosexuality is wrong in the Holy Bible. But at the same time, it says a lot of other things are wrong which we still do. That's why I gave up on the Bible, and simply stuck to the New Testament. The Old Prophets were pretty loony. And whoever decided upon the rules in the Vatican is a bit of an egomaniac, because he seemed to believe he had a right to choose what parts of the Bible we should listen to. Note they never quote Leviticus in Mass. That's because he was a mentalcase. But they DO quote the Sodom and Gomorrhea story, and they accentuate that the sin of these two cities was homosexuality... while in the actual text, it just says "these cities are full of sin". In my opinion, the sin they were to commit upon the angels was not sodomy, but rape, which is a completely different matter.

I've discussed this with a lot of people in my hometown, and it saddens me to see that despite the evidence, their constant, unwavering contradiction is "But it's wrong! It's wrong! The Church says it's wrong!" I am honestly in disgust with the Church. In my ideal society, people would decide things for themselves, not because someone tells them to. And yet, people cling so harshly to the values, virtues and rules the Christians have placed before them. Probably because they need something to believe. But if they can't believe in themselves as indivuduals, believe in their ability to DISTINGUISH right from wrong as opposed to depending on someone to tell them... how do they expect to believe in anything else?

I remember clearly over the past week... the topic seems to have re-emerged time and time again, in which I argue "Clearly it's genetic" and girls and even some guys, who I'd expect to be a little more liberal minded, argue "It's Wrong, It's Wrong," like some Eleventh Holy Commandment. Homosexuality Is Wrong. Bah. What do they know of the Holy Commandments? Do they not gossip, cheat, treat others unfairly? Do they not criticize, miss Mass and spend unwisely? I don't know many people who follow those rules. And I'm certain a huge percentage of my town would respong "Homosexuality is sin" like some tape recorder. They're not USED to it... they don't see gays as NORMAL, because everyone's afraid to be one. It's inbred into our system here in San P, like some kind of vaccination, to fear gays. I remember my first contact with a homosexual--I was terrified. Me, the liberal. Shocked, fearful. Shunning. How bad can it get?

There are no Eleventh Commandments. Gays are people, people who find themselves attracted to those of the same gender under circumstances they can't control. Honestly, who can tell them they're wrong when they can't do anything about it? They lose hope... they fall. It's guaranteeing them a one-way-ticket to Hell. And nobody wants to go to Hell. Hell is Hell--there's no easy way out. Screw you with your Eleventh Commandment. That's just... wrong. Note the irony.

Love God above all things, and love thy neighbor as yourself. It's not hard. Jesus is the person I will listen to. He knew what he was talking about.

This is something I found while I was backing up my computer... it's a real conversation with some idiot. I'm Alex, and he's Guy. I just think it's funny how absolutely stupid he could be. It's a little long, but you'll agree with me that nobody can possibly be this moronic and get anywhere in life.

Guy> YEa!!! BEHEMOTH!!!!
Alex> What are yo talking about? I totally hate that boss.
Guy> i love it!!
Guy> BTW crystal chronicals is crappy
Guy> lol
Alex> What are you talking about?
Alex> It's like my favorite multiplayer ever
Guy> haha!!
Alex> what?
Guy> are you an idiot??
Guy> lol
Guy> crystal chronicles only has a 1 out of 10
Guy> haha!!
Alex> where
Guy> you should get FF11 instead lol
Alex> *irritated* What backyard gaming site do you go for your reviews
Guy> i dont go on a site
Alex> so where did you get a flaming review of 1/10
Guy> thebast review show in the world
Alex> Which is CALLED
Guy> haha1!
Guy> EP
Alex> EP is not a name
Guy> yea it is lol
Alex> what does it STAND FOR
Guy> ElectricPLayground
Alex> Ahhh
Alex> What channel does it air on
Guy> 30
Alex> What channel is that
Alex> Nickelodeon, TechTV, be specific
Guy> nevermind....we probaly arent even in the same country...
Alex> ...
Alex> Look, if it's MTV I don't give a shit, MTV knows less about videogames than my grandmother
Guy> MTV?
Alex> Look, FFCC got an average score of 8.1 when averaged by all gaming magazines
and getting a perfect 10 is impossible in many cases
Guy> haah you wish!!
Alex> ...
Alex> No, I KNOW.
Alex> Unlike you.
Alex> Apparently.
Guy> haha!!
Guy> i know a lot of the games that have gotten over 8 and crysatl chronicles isnt oe of them
Alex> You know games that have gotten over 8 on your pathetic little gaming show.
Guy> no i mean all aroiund the world
Guy> and its not pathetic
Guy> and besides
Guy> SM can kick crystal Chronicles' ass
Alex> What's SM?
Guy> super metroid....
Guy> it can kick almos any ggame's ass
Alex> Super Metroid isn't even an RPG
Guy> haha
Alex> and no, it doesn't kick Half-Life 2's ass
Guy> CC is more like a baby game
Alex> You are really starting to tick me off.
Guy> half life is worse than mario paint
Alex>...You can't even compare Half-Life to Mario Paint.
Guy> lol
Guy> if im starting to tick you off its not my fauslt
Alex> Actually it is
Guy> you wish...
Guy> your the on that likes that stupid game
Alex> Because talking like you know things and being smug and sure of yourself is an easy way to tick people off
Guy> ask anyone i know they hate it too
Guy> i am right though
Alex> Actually you're not.
Alex> Again
Guy> haha are you sure im wrong??
Alex> Uhhh let me think about it
Alex> Hmmm....
Alex> HMMMMM
Alex> Yes.
Guy> haha!!
Guy> ffcc can lose to the fisrt game ever made
Alex> ...
Alex> Do you know how stupid you sound?
Guy> you know how stupid you are for playing that game??
Guy> haha
Alex> Not very.
Guy> youre not stupid
Alex> But I am pretty stupid for arguing with a little kid like you.
Guy> but you are looking like your stupid for playing it
Guy> haha
Guy> little kid??
Alex> You know what, I'm going to give you a piece of advice.
Guy> haha!!
Guy> im not little kid
Guy> how old are oyu
Guy> ?
Guy> like 18
Guy> ?
Guy> haha
Alex> Oh, of course. I must have mistook you for bastard who thinks FFCC got a 1 out of 10 and Half-Life is a bad game. He was a little kid.
I'm 17.
Guy> they both are bad lol
Alex> Lol? You're LAUGHING?
Guy> and plus you are a baby then
Alex> You're a real prick
Guy> if your 17 then you shouldnt be playing it
Alex> What makes you think you're a gamer?
Alex> Actually since I'm 17 I can watch f***ing Pokemon if I want and everyone can just f***ing suck my #%&@.
Guy> cause its for ages 7-10
Alex> Gee, that must be why it was rated Teen
Guy> haha!!
Alex> Stupid me.
Alex> I'm being sarcastic if you haven't noticed.
Alex> Which you haven't.
Guy> yea i have
Guy> i know what sarcasim is,,,
Alex> Sarcasm
Guy> you dont know what babay game is though
Alex> You're right. I have absolutely no idea what a "babay" game is. Care to explain?
Guy> baby...
Guy> man you ara a baby..
Guy> you have to point ouit ever spelling error
Guy> and yes i know i spelt out wrong...
Alex> Not really. But I like to point out mistakes of others to help them, especially when THEY'RE WRONG.
Guy> hah
Alex> Sue me, I'm a hardass.
Guy> haha
Guy> you think oyur a hardass?
Guy> your a baby!!
Alex> At least I'm not a kid who can't think up good insults.
Alex> Oh wait, that was you.
Alex> I'm sorry. *not*.
Guy> and plus that game is the easiest game ive ever tried
Alex> Games don't have to be hard to be fun.
Guy> man if the behemoth kills you then you are a sucker
Alex> I could play Half-Life on easy mode and beat it.
Guy> haha
Guy> on easy
Alex> Yes.
Guy> i play hardcore mode and beat it
Alex> And it would still be Half-Life.
Alex> And Half-Life is a good game.
Guy> you know why??
Guy> you know why its still half-life on easy?
Guy> cause you suck at it
Alex> ...
Alex> That wasn't my point
Guy> so you do suck at it
Guy> ahah
Alex> Not really.
Guy> then why didnt oyu sayno
Alex> Are you listening to what I'm trying to say?
Guy> instead of thats not the point
Alex> Because I didn't fucking understand that there was a question being asked.
Alex> In fact, there wasn't a question being asked.
Alex> So why should I say no?
Guy> it wasnt a question being asked bdumbass
Alex> I repeat, so why should I have said no?
Guy> cause i said you sucked at half-life and you said thats not my point which meant you agreed with me
Alex> Actually, it means I ignored your insult.
Guy> it means your an idiot
Alex> It means nothing of the sort. I'm trying to explain why easy games can be fun and you say I suck at Half-Life.
Alex> What does that have to do with anything?
Guy> because you probably still get your ass kicked on easy mode
Alex> How would you POSSIBLY know how good or bad I am at ANY game?
Guy> cause you HAVE to play on wasy mode to kill something
Guy> easy*
Alex> No... not really.
Alex> Are you going to say something else stupid, or is that it?
Guy> lol
Guy> cya later
Alex> ...
Guy> im going to destroy my friend's FFCC cause he told me to
Guy> he hates it too
Alex> I'm going to go wish you didn't suck, for your sake.
Guy> ??
Guy> i dont suck...
Guy> like someone i know
Alex> ...
Guy> unlike*
Guy> lol
Alex> If that's not the lamest comeback ever, I'll marry George Bush
Guy> lets forget this appened ok?
Guy> lol
Alex> Please just kill me so I can die

This is a very angry letter to my father. He'll probably never read it, but you all will.

Always, when you are in a position of excellence, a position of happiness, a position where nothing can bring you down... something does. Yes, Murphy's Laws, I know--but this is even more fucked up than Murphy. This is the Powers that Be (namely, God) sneering down at you as they kick you off your chair. This is like the ultimate bullying of space and existance. Just one hint of happiness, and you'll have your life assuredly screwed up and over for you. It drives my nerves into a distinct flare--I can barely stand it. And yet, I am forced to continue.

The story breaks down like this: I finally begin to express myself, to find things that make me happy, to meet people that truly represent the aspects of humanity I appreciate. I wear a smile--an unbroken, permanent smile. Here's a secret: never smile. If God sees you with it, he'll take out his Holy Rod of Punishment and jam it straight up your ass. He's got no sense of charity at all. My story continues: life got sucky again. I'd understand it taking a while to build myself back up from the ruins of a barren childhood, I do. I understand being pushed down time and time again by a father who seems to demand I become some sort of world savior rather than a happy individual. I understand all that. But what I don't understand is how the fuck you're supposed to stay alive after the 50th time your father ruins your life by demanding you stop using the computer, you join a lot of pointless groups, you take the time to mold yourself, whatever the fuck that means. and you become a better, more servicial person. Better, more servicial person? I'm ALREADY a better, more servicial person--than you!! What the hell do you fucking want from me? I'm already, in my opinion, a wonderful human being. I care about others, I take care of those in need... do you want me to run for godforsaken president? It's this kind of obstinate view that completely bars my way into being a happy person! And here's the arguments my father uses.

"I only see you wasting time."

"You're not a leader."

"You don't have a vision for the future."

Well dad, of course I'm wasting time. The same way you waste time in front of the television. And don't start with this bullshit that the television you watch is educational--you think I don't get BBC mails every day with updates on world news? You think I have no clue what's up with the world? I'm a goddamned teenager, for Christ's sake! What's your hurry? I have all the time in the world: I'm not dying tomorrow! And if I am, good riddance! I'm sick of your fucking floundering over how I use my time! Note: key word, my! I know I'm your son, but it's not like I don't have a future! It's not like I'm not working towards anything! In fact, if anything, you've sprouted me towards one infinite goal: getting away from you. I've been doing college research--I'm planning to get a scholarship to anywhere, as long as it's far, far away from this fucked up town. Mom says she's afraid of the family breaking apart? Guess what? IT'S ALREADY FUCKING BROKEN!

I'm not a leader? No, not yet. I've never been much of a leader--I'm too timid from being beat up as a child to take any kind of advanced position. Of course, you refuse to believe that. But I do slowly rise to the occasion--I do want to shape the world, but you seem to think I should do so on your terms. Dad, it's about time you realized that you and I value different things. You value family, I value love and individuality. They are not the same thing as family. Because, as we've seen before, you seem to think that my ability to love another man something disgusting and unacceptable. Therefore, I try to become an individual: to demonstrate to the world I have my own ideals. I will not be seen as a part of your family if it means I cannot represent what I believe in. Guess what, Dad? I haven't taken Communion since Easter 2004. That's how "Catholic" I am. Any time soon I'm thinking of leaving the religion for good. Because I simply have lost faith in it. I've lost faith in you, and I haven't had it for a very long time.

I don't have a vision for the future? Excuse me, I do. I'm going to program. I told you yesterday... and I don't care what you think of it. You'll support me, but you don't approve? Jesus, it's MY FUCKING VISION! Why does my vision have to be something you approve of?? WHERE IS THE FUCKING LOGIC?! Goddamnit, Dad! I'm not your fucking clone! I'm your son! I'm someone born of you, not like you! You have to learn to respect MY POINT OF VIEW! And if you think to force yours upon mine... well, let's just say it will not be a happy day when I leave the house. Think on it, Dad--yesterday, I was wondering, "When would be the opportune moment to just stand up and leave here forever? When will I have had enough?" It was the worst family meeting we've ever had--because, more than anything, it just made the gap between us so much wider. I finally know what you really think, Dad, and I don't like it. I will not tolerate being BRED. I am not some kind of clay putty you can turn into anything you want! I'm a human being, with my own ideas and thoughts and experiences! And you forget that! I told you before, Dad! And I'm almost crying now, because I'm desperate--you just seem to keep doing what I beg of you not to! Please, give me my space... give me my ideals! You will not force yours upon me--I'll die before that happens! Don't you get it? You're killing me, bit by bit!

I just want to say, Dad, that I can't stand the idea of leaving home and never coming back, because I love you all, and I couldn't bear to make Mom cry. But I'll do it--because I can't live like this. I can't live under pressure, I can't live conforming. I must be allowed my mind! It's all I've got! And you say that my family is all I've got, but you're wrong! I don't have you at all! Mom was right--we're falling apart because you want the impossible! You want to mold me like some kind of taffy, when I'm already like cold steel! I won't take more hammers, dad--please stop, and let me breathe my air.

I might show this letter to you later on, because I want you to know how I feel; but I doubt it. Sometimes I think you don't deserve to know. Sometimes, I'm afraid of you. Right now, I just want to be quiet and fume. It feels good to be angry. Because, that way, I can really think about what you've done to me. I can really think about it, and decide if it's worth it to just leave. Brave the world alone, because I clearly don't have your support. I'm bisexual, poetic and liberal, Dad. Please understand. I'm not you--I'm not going to think like you, and your opinions do not directly influence mine. You say my thought processes are screwed up; I say your conclusions are inadequate. I know I seem to be completely out of wak to you, but that's because we don't think the same, goddamnit. Hasn't that occurred to you? That there's more than one way of thinking? And you're so sure you're right--why do I have to trust you? Why do I have to do the same things you do? "Because I'm your father." Because you're a dictator. You're not my father anymore; but you're too blind to see it. I lost my father when he said he'd kick me out of the house if I decided on being gay. Right then, I knew he couldn't possibly love me for me. He loved me for his son, and not as a person. You still do, Dad. Learn to accept me; learn to trust my insticts. I feel my way through the world much more than see it--after all, I have like 5/20 vision or something. I know what I'm doing; I trust myself. You don't trust me--you say it's your job as a parent. But it's not your job to strangle the life out of me. Which is what you're doing, and you don't get it.

I don't want to live on like this, Dad. Please, just let me do what I feel is right. I don't care what the world thinks, I don't care what Mom or you think, I don't care what anyone thinks. I care what I think. And if I'm crazy, and I really am screwed up, fine. Shoot me. Kill me. But don't let me live on like this. Don't crush me. Don't make me lose hope. Don't make me lose my mind. I've lived in here for eighteen years. It's the only comfort I have left, after you take everything else away. And I know I have some sense of the right thing, at least: I know I feel right. I know I'm there for other when they need it, and I feel right. I know my dreams seem silly, but to me, they're glorious. You don't even know how much work what I think of doing will take. You don't know practically anything about programming; how could you judge my dreams if you have no concept of how incredibly difficult and worthwhile they are to achieve? You don't know--you assume. You assume so much... and I'm helpless before it. I can only hope to think you can stop and look at me and realize I'm not hopeless; that I'm not like you, either, and that I have my own path to take. My own path. All roads lead to Rome, Dad. Let me walk along this one. The only way to go wrong is if I walk the other way.

And you know I won't do that.

It all begins

Like falling through the leaves

The fire cries

The sunset begs and pleads

The air grows thin

The flowers gently raise

The music stops

How empty are the days

I could not think of a better way to sum up the following years than I did in this letter. I hope the person I wrote it to doesn't mind :3 It's universal advice, and I think anyone would benefit from it. It's about being gay.

Dear [name],

You're as right as anyone can be. There's no point in denying something obvious. Even if it's not obvious, you still can't deny the fact that there's something there. The thing is, sometimes, it's nothing. So you should never dive headfirst into a feeling--sometimes, they're just shallow mirages, and we crush our skull into reality. At the same time, don't ignore it! It's there--it could be the very oasis you've been searching for, and if you leave it behind, you'll be walking through the desert for all eternity, dry.

I did not heed my own advice. I listened to others, which I advise you not to do. Which is a paradox, I know, but pay attention. I'm speaking from experience. Letting others give you pats on the back and urge you to do what you feel is right will eventually push you in that direction, no matter how afraid you are. People are malleable, like hot iron, and can be shaped into anything the world tries to make it. The only way to make sure you are yourself is taking a step back, thinking hard, looking at your life, and trying to decide what's the right path. Nobody else can tell you, and nobody else can give you the right answer.

You say you want to know what it's like--well, rather than give you feelings, I'll give you facts: the nasty facts, the facts you should be aware of before you take any risks. I'm underage by a few months (wait, it's weeks now), and I realized men turned me on at about 15. It was a terrifying experience, and I know how you feel. I live in Mexico, a huge Catholic community, and I live in the single largest superficial capital of the country with about 92% of the population being desperately homophobic and about 10% of the population living liberal lives and looking for love as opposed to financial security and traditional family values. I've been raised so conservatively that even my liberal spirit has managed to absorb a lot of the traditional values of my society--I follow their rules by instinct, the rules of Encounter and Social Innuendo and Jargon, and I berate myself for it. I hate it when I do that, but i can't help it. There's some good values, too--I know I'll never be capable of cheating on anyone, ever. Which is funny, because it seems like half or more of the city is cheating blatantly. And they're the conservatives.

My parents did not take my being gay well. in fact, they took it so badly, I had to pretend I had gotten over it. I psychologically had to barrage myself, mentally injure myself into finding women attractive for their sakes. I've had a crummy last three years, in which I've been mentally unstable and paranoic, teetering on the edges of suicide and wondering when the whole trauma would end.

Then, this year came, and it seemed everything turned upright. I met a gay guy in school, after thinking for many long years that I represented 100% of the gay community in town. We didn't get together, but I learned a lot from him (he was younger and apparently he's had sex, many many times, in contrast to my zero). I learned it's all right to have fun, and promiscuity isn't such a bad thing. I guess for some people it is, but I was taking it rather to the heart, and then I realized the problem was I was desperately afraid of it. I learned it was best to be yourself--that (and Leo Magna put this beautifully, so I have to quote him) "A lie is a lie, and the truth is always better." So I stopped taking the medications the shrink had me on (yes, my parents thought I was so screwed up I needed a shrink), I started drawing pr0n again, I wouldn't hold back when I was drawing or writing ("writting") something rather queer. I'm breaking free of society, step by step. Most of my friends know I'm gay now, and I'm lucky they're so cool about it. I have the greatest friends in the world--they're all straight but they don't care. I'm applying for a scholarship to Stanford, Berkley--anywhere in California. I can do that: I have the grades. I have the intelligence, thank God. God really helped me through this, ironically. Any priest would tell me I'm going straight to hell. They have. It really hurts, after you've trusted them for so long.

I'm not saying it's nice and easy. I'm not completely, openly gay--I'm still a closet queer. A month ago or so I found out for some reason to my complete confusion I found women attractive on odd intervals, meaning I'm bi. There's guys ("friends" they call themselves) who occasionally use this information against me, and threaten to tell the school I'm gay if I don't do what they say. I tell them coolly to let them try; they're all words, and nobody listens to them anyway.

There's not many pluses to being gay, either. You can't get married, you can't have kids (but in part that's great, because I'd be terrified of screwing them up like I did myself), it's hard to find guys (unless you're in California) and the world usually turns against you, like that gay Anglican Bishop they got rid of. People tend to dislike gays, because they're afraid of them. What they never understand is that, in the beginning, we were afraid of ourselves. But that's just because we didn't understand. And then, after a while, it was clear.

It took me a long time to really come out to myself... I did the same thing you did, going around, asking. I'm not too proud of myself--I could have decided it for myself. Maybe it was all the asking, all the assents, that made me gay. But I remember distincly, that, like some moron, I was looking for people to tell me I was right. You have to look for people who tell you you're wrong, too. So, until ends meet, consider the possibility that you're not gay. But never stop considering that you are.

On a final note, I know I was very afraid of finding certain things attractive. But then I began to see the real tenderness behind it. I was turned down by three women. Every man I met online seemed to like talking to me. Women and men are always fighting. Guys hate to fight, so we tend to avoid it. Women cheat on their husbands--a lot, and vice versa. Do you ever hear about men cheating on men? Not usually... thing is, it's hard to find a good man. You tend to hold on, and hard. Sure, couples get bored of each other easier. They can't have kids to keep them busy, and after a while there's not much left to talk about. But it's like in American Beauty: think back to the time you spent with him, and tell me if it wasn't worth it. Was all that time I spent chasing after that girl who never thought of me seriously worth it? And now she's gone after my best friend the night she leaves me--she leaves HIM, and then goes after ANOTHER of my good good friends... he doesn't pay attention to her much, and she BITCHES at him. What about me? She didn't pay much attention to my attempts to woo her back. She stopped TALKING to me. And I know not all women are like that; only some, but still, it's upsetting. I get the feeling women become colder and colder with each passing age... or maybe I just can't work with them. Why? Because I'm queer. Catch my drift? Sometimes, things are dead giveaways.

I leave you with these few lines I wrote as my finger bled from a large papercut last night:

Breathing deeply,
You feel like you're somebody else;
Bleeding sweetly,
Replace "what you are" with "yourself";
Fading fleetly,
Forgetting to cry as you die
'Cause your eye has been dry
For so long;
As you look out through dry eyes,
Dry eyes,
Remember the moon.

Breathing deeply