clothes like whiny boy

guys like whiny boy are really a lot like the clothes we put on every work day. i’m not really talking about the clothes we grab from our closet, either. funny to see you outside of work, wearing t-shirts and jogging shorts, with no fake, preppy smile on your face. are you the same person i talk to every day? who in the workplace gets really nutty when they aren’t in business casual attire, and on their best behavior? this one lady who is some type of executive admin at the iah–i picture her doing something kind of kinky or wild, maybe bdsm or raving, or swinging, or simply going clubbing for men in attire that would make everyone gasp in shock and awe.

i don’t know why. sarah reiss probably does normal yuppie stuff, like attend art galleries, mellow, kgsr-friendly adult alternative shows, and opening weekends of independent films that everyone must see. she probably shops at eclectic stores sometimes, tries new mexican food joints, sipping margaritas outdoors with her fiance and another couple, and occasionally takes her dog down to a dog park in the area. olive, during those months i was infatuated with her, was always saying that she did pretty much nothing with nobody other than work a second job handing out a sports drink at events, and going to every new movie that opened, then sitting around all alone with her cat. she showed up with some dude at the baseball game a few weeks ago–damn, but they always find dudes, don’t they? gwen lilly, another extended iah crush, loves sports like soccer, but was just starting things up with a dude when we finally began talking to each other on a regular basis. she and the dude probably go at it hot and heavy, or will for about another month until they get bored with that and take to getting fat over empanadas and coffee.

my boss truman has himself a nice-looking girlfriend, lots of money (i don’t think he really needs his job that badly), and plenty of friends. he’s british, so he naturally makes friends with lots of yuppies in austin, because austinites love european people who can bring a flavor of intellectuality to their discussions about the war and the environment and being nice and tolerant of everyone except those damn christians that no texas (or midwestern, or northeastern, or californian) brain can seem to cook up. truman spends a lot of time watching european soccer, playing a little soccer, and trying new austin pubs.

strange to say, but none of the people at my do-gooder workplace really strike me as folks that will be volunteering this weekend or any weekend, with the occasional obligatory exception where the workplace bleeds over into their free time. i won’t be volunteering, as i feel like putting on my workday clothes all week for others has drained me of everything i got, and even lifting my head to look a neighbor in the eye and say hi requires too much damn energy that i don’t have. plus, i’ve only the whiny boy outfit hanging in my closet. i might have a few preppy boy accessories, and maybe a couple of macho man things to wear, but inevitably, i find myself in most any social situation stripped down of those clothing items, and merely wearing whiny boy to hide a koheleth who would rather be at home hiding from the world.

i’ve tried, tony robbins, to awaken the giant within, and i keep waking up whiny boy and wearing him out for all the world to see. with fearful, darting eyes, always reacting to other people’s expressions and never taking any initiative to start the conversation or at least say hi, and fearing that the worst is being thought of me when really, nothing is probably being thought at all. who wants to step outside and greet the world, when he knows that only a whiny little bitchy boy will surface, scowling, putting people off, before he shrinks deep inside himself to access the world as remotely as possible while still being out in it?

beauty

these were our secret worlds we chose not to share with mates and confidants.
we lived out those lives you knew us by, and got knocked down and ripped apart daily,
so, these hidden lives were meant to be both sanctuary and unbound freedom
from the terror we otherwise unleashed upon each other in our worlds with faces.

there was beauty in getting scarred, in being mothers, teachers, servants, computer programmers and adolescents,
beauty like an ibex sprinting its death sprint before being rendered a calculating cat’s meal,
beauty like a building too full of character and wisdom to ever be lived in again,
beauty like big ideas disappearing in the night from waking up too quickly,
but, such beauty can be matched easily by mushrooms, moles and museum paintings pushed to storage.
such beauty can be matched by sea worms that feed near volcanic vents,
such beauty can be matched by a surprise good morning from a stranger,
such beauty can be found in hospitals, nursing homes, prisons, war zones where its value is known down to the exact penny.

because our secret worlds that nobody trumpeted in the press, that nobody found on our faces, that nobody discovered while we walked this earth,
were little lives of beauty sandwiched in between our big lives of beauty,
little seeds of life in dark areas closest to death,
planted, waiting, to be germinated, teased to light, shown to the world and shone upon.
we might have been the prey in this sad charade,
but we carried in us the cleanup crew, the mulch and fertilizer, to grow the trees that will stand upon our predators’ rotting heads.

sarah reiss

sarah reiss is very nice. just like olive was nice, and even gwen lilly, when she wasn’t busy not returning any emails i sent her, was nice to me. sarah reiss i hardly noticed, until two months into working at the iah, burt anton confessed he had a huge crush on her. sarah reiss is engaged to be married, and lives with her boyfriend, or so i hear. however, she is very nice.

for some strange reason, since i started working at the iah, i’ll discover through a series of unrelated requests made to me from her and her department, that i find myself running into and working with the same lady repeatedly for about a week or two, and then i’ll go a month or more with barely saying hello to her.

naturally, if she is young and attractive, as most women at the iah are, i develop a crush on her, no matter how hard i try not to. i almost let that old part of me, the one that believed in fate and destiny and crap like that, well up inside me to wonder if maybe all these encounters at the coffee pots and copy machines and meeting rooms are just a little bit more than chance. of course, if i am working repeatedly with an older lady like denise dorfinkle it never crosses my mind that God might be at work bringing us together. funny how that works.

sarah reiss i hardly noticed back then, even when burt anton told me he thought she was the “bees knees,” because i was still thinking something special was happening between olive (who sits across from sarah) and i.

suddenly, these past three weeks or so, sarah reiss has popped up a lot in stuff i’m involved with, and she seems to get more attractive every time i see her. the ever-hopeful, pathetic side of me would like to think that things are going south with her live-in lover fiance, and she’s making herself attractive because she’s starting to think about shopping around again. the ever-pessimistic, pathetic (due to the bottomless low self esteem) side of me thinks that she’s approaching her marriage date, and women do complete 180s in their relations with me once married.

it’s like they are free to flirt (or at least be much nicer) with some poor sap like me now, knowing that they have entered some type of lifetime contract with a guy and are wearing bands that in theory are bonds they don’t have to worry about breaking. as if while single, they run the risk of being ensnared by some poor schmuck like me, but once married, they can now safely interact with me with some of those walls down because (in theory) the marriage has placed different, sturdier walls there that cannot be torn down.

just a theory, of course. like a lot of times when i am analyzing my relations with people, i discover i am reading way too much into situations and words and deeds that carry no meaning whatsoever with anyone but me.

all that said, it does bear mentioning that sarah reiss is very nice and fun to talk to. she’s Jewish, and reminds me not so much in personality but just in looks, of gershom abrams, the supernegative fellow who shares a birthday with roy, and who put some kind of weird mind trick on me the first night i smoked pot with him. that’s neither here nor there.

sarah reiss has an energy and light in her eyes that most people do not. it probably helps that her eyes are blue and her skin is olive. but, when she smiles and converses with you, there is a purity that emanates from her that comes at you unfiltered, unlike how most of us inadvertantly or intentionally throw out hints of mistrust, ulterior motives, fear, etc. it isn’t a childlike purity, either, but one that must be practiced to get it right as an adult working and living in an adult world– yet it is so unaffected. she is probably just really happy with the world these days as her wedding approaches, and i happened to get caught in some of the crossfire of that bliss.

guys like burt anton

burt anton is one of those guys, much like the dude who replaced me after olivia kicked me out of our house, who can roll out of bed, still half drunk, carelessly drag a stick of deodorant across his midriff, throw on some outfit he’s worn three times already, and stumble into the workplace reeking of cigarette smoke and chubbed out from not having worked out for six months, shave twice a month–and still have women be instantly attracted to him. he can sound kind of gay, or say things mildly chauvinistic, or sit sulking, saying nothing at all, and women still are instantly attracted to his “personality”, feeling so much chemistry. he can sleep half the day, put in three hours of half-hearted work, aspire to be an actor, movie star, rockstar, etc. while only being halfway successful at it, and women still are instantly attracted to him, want him to do them, make babies with them, make love to them, etc.

i am one of those guys who can rise at 5 am, have a banana, cup of coffee, glass of gatorade, glass of juice, glass of water, run five miles, shower twice a day, floss and use antiseptic mouth rinse, eat two helpings of vegetables a day, shave every day, smile, work nine hours a day, make friendly conversation, pay compliments, take interest in the things a lady is doing, wear clean, preppy clothes all the time, lend a helping hand to those in need, get seven hours of sleep, save my money, be responsible in taking care of my house, pet, body, car, visit my father at least three times a month, sit up straight, hold a steady, full-time professional job for ten years–and women are scared away by my “personality”, find no chemistry with me, act suspicious when they absolutely must converse with me, offer plenty of excuses for why they are busy any given weekend if they bother to return my calls and emails at all, act like a pig rooting in its own shit is a more appealing prospect for physical contact, etc.

back online at home

i am a little bit ashamed to admit how unnatural it felt to go over a week without an internet service in my home. the return of it caused me to immediately indulge in porn, which isn’t just what makes me feel so ashamed. it’s the fact that i have become this person i never wanted to be–relying on the internet and computers in general just to feel like i am alive, that i am a fully functioning being on this earth.

there was hardly anything i was missing, really, and certainly few people missing me. i managed to squeeze in a couple of sessions at whole foods, once out at my dad’s, and of course, i had access to my personal email at work the whole time. and, every time i got online, i went out to this site hoping that…what? i don’t know. i mean, writing this way certainly isn’t being done for recognition, validation, but at the same time, there is that hope that someone out there will stumble upon me.

i drank six beers last night, and watched the first part of kill bill. i felt like complete dog’s ass today, and really wasn’t sure why i did it. i’m more than a little tired now, finally home, satiated, full of gatorade and ibuprofen. i’m not going to plan anything one way or the other this weekend, but you have no idea how good it feels to have that pipeline to the outside world back, where my thoughts will at least in theory be out there for anyone to see–so, i may very well spend the weekend indulging myself in that other kind of masturbation that is this website.

fighting whiny boy

Fighting whiny boy makes my jaw hurt, because whiny boy is being fought for control of the tongue. Whiny boy, at his core, lives down in the solar plexus, and wants to be mothered by the world instead of grow up and be a man and love the world like a man, fucking the world when need be. I never learned who brought whiny boy into the world—was it my parents or me? I spent way too much time trying to determine this. While time passed, my chances of being a successful man grew slimmer. Whiny boy didn’t care if I ever caught up to him and exterminated him at the root. And, I should have known better—so what if I had discovered it was my parents who brought whiny boy into the world, or not? Either way, you know that only one person was going to be responsible for getting rid of whiny boy.

I figured these days, why not starve off whiny boy—he feeds on being given a voice, and while he may not be so easy to kill at the root, I certainly have control over whether whiny boy gets to talk. So, whiny boy doesn’t even get to talk in my head, my heart—and certainly not when I write. Occasionally he blows past me and I mutter some whinyboyism under my breath, but I’ve been pretty good about keeping whiny boy shut up today. Like in the apt offices, where I had to renew my lease among other things, and of course, they were hardly prepared for me even though I’d called ahead of time. Whiny boy, being allowed to speak, would have been filtered through my manfilters, and he would have spat out angry, demanding things at the ladies in the office. Knowing full well that I can’t talk to people in whiny boy’s voice, I’ve learned this odd art of converting whinyboyisms into angrymanisms, which are really just as unattractive, and nobody really buys.

Realizing this, I actually had no idea that whiny boy dominated my voice so much throughout the day. What’s more, he actually gets control over my face muscles even when his words are never voiced aloud. So, I’ve been careful and observant, and it almost feels like my jaw muscles are craving cigarettes right after quitting.

dreams and etc.

had a couple of dreams last night that i felt were worth recording. such dreams rarely happen anymore, which is okay, because i have grown weary of trying to interpret dreams or rely on them for meaning which never presents itself clearly.

the first dream consisted of a lady at my work, michelle, who is pregnant. she is one of the first ladies i had a crush on, being a chick and in it and having gorgeous blue eyes all made her very appealing. she never wears a wedding ring, so it took me awhile to learn that she was married. in the dream michelle was seeking my assistance with something, and sitting very close to me on a bed or sofa. she seemed ready to cross some line of mere office eye-to-eye flirtation, and do something more, but was unwilling or unable to. when i awoke, it took me several minutes to purge myself of a fantasy welling up in me where her husband deserts her and i help her raise her babies.

this dream was no doubt brought on by a book a bought at book people last saturday. i’d seen this book the last time i went there while at ahmis, reliving old memories of going to book people during my ahmis lunch hour to get away from the place, or stopping there while olivia finished her work. anyway, this book was one of those new agey books that book people used to have tons of falling off the shelves up in a section with incense whose smell permeated the store. on saturday, it took me awhile to find this book i’d almost bought the time before, because they’ve culled their shelves even more, as if that were possible. this book is full of stories of preconception appearances from yet unborn children who are wanting to be born. i thought it would provide me with an interesting perspective on a part of the life-death experience that i almost truly believe in. the book is not really filling my gaps in the understanding of world culture’s beliefs about life and death so much as it’s filling me with a desire to have a kid of my own. if i were a woman, i would probably go get myself knocked up after reading this book.

the second dream included my mom, my little brother roy, and me. we were suddenly playing a makeshift game of baseball inside a building like a church or maybe a carport, where the foundation posts (were made of the same wood you might see in a church) were going to be used as the bases, and we’d each be our own pitcher and hitter, tossing the ball up in the air and getting three chances to hit while the other two fielded the ball. i was kind of making up the rules as i went along, but my mom and roy were being good sports about it. for instance, roy grabbed my bunt and threw it at me, even though i decided that it was going to be illegal to do that. it became apparent to me as i was waking up from the dream that it would be in everyone’s interests not to field the ball and try to tag the other person out, so that he or she could get a chance to hit the ball quicker. then, completely awake, i realized this wouldn’t make much sense either, as all three of us could conceivably end up on bases with nobody to knock us home.

seeing as how i was playing the game with two of the people i miss the most, who have gone on to heaven, i realize there must be some type of metaphor at play here about driving someone home, and home being heaven, but i haven’t quite grasped what the dream was really trying to say, other than on some obvious level the lesson that i probably shouldn’t be the one trying to make up the rules in any given situation as i am generally incapable of conceiving every possible scenario that could come up in a game. i also think there was meant to be some type of insinuation that cooperation is still taking place between us, and that if i would stop trying to make the rules up as i go along, and just play the game, they would drive me home, ie, heaven.

which begs the question: how then, am i trying to make up the rules of the game? perhaps in my zeal to be fulfilling God’s purpose in my life, i keep getting in the way of God’s working in my life. maybe when i am going out of my way to dictate how a future spouse should think and act, i am scaring away the ones that God might know are best for me, even possibly including Lucy. of course, it is arguable that anything i am doing presently is still not quite in line with what God wants, or perhaps some of it is–when i least think it to be.

the other book i got at book people is about a radical Christian who is about my age and living among the poor in philadelphia. i have mixed thoughts about the book, namely, where i expected much of the first third to lead to in terms of the type of ministry he was going to talk about, as well as the general nature of his tone, which at first was appealing, but now is starting to sound rather pompous over a third of the way into the book. he spends a lot of time talking about how missions and other Christian outreach efforts were not fulfilling to him, which makes you think he is leading up to a ministry where they’ve stripped bare any meaningless activity–but then it suddenly sounds like they are living like a bunch of bohemians, or burners in the inner city, having a grand old time being poor among the poor, helping when they can, but mostly just being eclectic, kind of arty, kind of like zendik farms, maybe. i don’t know, i haven’t finished the book, but it is heading from it’s starting place of being inspiring to becoming almost pretentious or even like some kind of cult manifesto.

one thing i don’t get about all these guys–i’ve read a few of their blogs online, too, is how they are raised in the bible belt in some methodist or baptist setting, then they discover the holy rollers, the spirit-filled, pentacostals, with the rock band and the overhead instead hymnal, and hands up in the air and shouting and praising–and they are all so very turned on by it, thinking it must be so much closer to the real thing. having grown up in a church like that, i just don’t get why someone necessarily can feel that way about it–frankly, i saw just as much (or little) true devotion to Jesus at that kind of church as i did at the catholic, baptist and methodist churches. people were either going there to get more Jesus, or going there to get some kind of high they couldn’t get from drugs or booze or sex anymore, but nonetheless going for the high itself, and hardly for the Lord.

anyway, the last thing i want to do is go join a cult, or be part of a movement whose author seems to think is The Only Way. it permeates his writing–every time someone he encounters in the media or a church setting says something to him, he has a clever, silver-tongued response, that might seem funny to read about in a biographical account of someone else’s life, but to have the autobiographer filling his pages with how clever he is (or she is, if the case may be), starts to make one a little suspicious as to just how pure his intentions are, just how great is he really, and why isn’t he spending more time confessing his mistakes and screwups and awkward moments where he didn’t have the wittiest or most clever response, but walked away shamefaced or inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings?

i mean, i think his intentions are pure, i don’t think he’s really trying to be a cult leader or anything like that, but it does start to wear on you when you’re reading a book written by someone your own age who, by his account, hasn’t really made any mistakes in judgement since he was a teenager.

for some people, i guess that’s a necessary thing, to get them to come over to your side. but, it’s never been appealing to me. way back when i was eleven, and i went to that baptist camp with my neighbor–the first camp i spent several nights in a row away from home–the one preacher/counselor there who really made a difference on me was the guy who was admittedly still struggling with booze. for a lot of folks (my own mother included), it probably wouldn’t have even been acceptable to send their kids to be preached to by men who were still struggling with such huge personal problems. but for me, because the guy was open about it, and earnest about his efforts to give up the booze, i had a lot more respect for him, because i could relate more to someone who was wildly imperfect, than some little holier-than-thou prick running around whose worst sin was probably merely pride.

there have been many time periods where even Jesus doesn’t really impress me all that much for this reason. he never sinned. being God’s son, he knew he couldn’t fail, he knew that he would get pulled back up into the clouds at the end of it all. how dirty did Jesus really get? how human was he really, or how much was he just some kind of automaton, programmed and spat into a womb, then crucified, then revived? i can understand why he needed to be perfect, being one and the same as God and all, and being our bridge to pure Love, which can’t get tainted, or it becomes something else. it just hasn’t always left me respecting and admiring Jesus the most. people like St. Augustine, who had a live-in lover for years, are easier to relate to. after all, i’m trying to get to heaven, and i know very good and well that if heaven is only accepting guys who have silver tongues and never appear to sin at all, i’m in deep shit.