07 February 2011
06 February 2011
I'll admit it, we seem to have reached an impasse at this blog. We being you and I. I want you to read me, you want me to provide you with something worth reading. This should be an ideal relationship. However, like all so-called "ideal" relationships, there's some complexity to the situation. Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?
I began this blog to vent and address my experience of coming to know myself re: my sexuality, specifically. I have much more of a handle on all that now. I know what I am, and I have a reasonable idea of what I want. This is good for me, but makes crappy storytelling. That is to say, there is no story to tell anymore.
As my original material dwindled, I began to see that the only way to keep this thing alive was to grow. I embarked this blog, this tryst with the internet, as innocently and as arrogantly as any Freshman stepping onto campus the first days of classes. I was going to reinvent the sexual world. Bisexuality was new, it was ridiculously avant-garde, and I was going to provide the backwards world with an undeniable shade of complexity it had heterofore ignored. Truly, I cringe at my own naivete. Cringe, I tell you.
So obviously that didn't go as planned. Well, actually, for a moment, it did. I was becoming a moderate size fish in a tiny pothole puddle when I got into an argument with a few key bigger fishes in said pothole puddle and that was that. Blam. My fifteen minutes of fame were here and gone and I was forgettably mediocre at best. Ouch. Hello, faceless defeat.
But what to do in the face of faceless defeat? The way I see it, there are always two basic options when faced with failure: give up (and ultimately that means kill yourself,) or re-examine. I'm not suicidal, though death makes a great litmus test, I will admit. If you ask yourself, "How bad is it? Bad enough to die?" and the answer is, "No," you can get this right. If it's bad enough to die, than do it. Just put yourself out of your misery already. And if you can't do that, than it's still not that bad. If you feel like you want to die but you're not willing to commit to it, than you're not willing to die, are you? Move on, already.
Obviously, I'm not dead yet, so you may reasonably surmise that I've been re-examining. ("Ah, now she comes to the point," you say. And you are right, you clever thing, you!) I've arrived at the conclusion that I should stop parsing and sub-dividing myself into various portions for various parties. This requires a certain amount of trust on my part, but at the same time a certain amount of distance. This means being open and honest about what and who I am to everyone, which honestly has been the goal of this whole project from the beginning, but it is more than a little intimidating.
"Yes, but what does that mean to me?" you ask. Ah, the eternal question. In short, this means you see my face, you see my tattoos, and you see my life as I see it. I don't talk a lot. I watch and I think. And I listen to music constantly. And I prowl.
So that's that. I'll be less reserved if you promise not to rape and murder me. Unless you should happen to be that perfect merger of Liv Tyler and Janet Joplin I saw in the bar the other night. Liv/Janet, you can rape me anytime.
I began this blog to vent and address my experience of coming to know myself re: my sexuality, specifically. I have much more of a handle on all that now. I know what I am, and I have a reasonable idea of what I want. This is good for me, but makes crappy storytelling. That is to say, there is no story to tell anymore.
As my original material dwindled, I began to see that the only way to keep this thing alive was to grow. I embarked this blog, this tryst with the internet, as innocently and as arrogantly as any Freshman stepping onto campus the first days of classes. I was going to reinvent the sexual world. Bisexuality was new, it was ridiculously avant-garde, and I was going to provide the backwards world with an undeniable shade of complexity it had heterofore ignored. Truly, I cringe at my own naivete. Cringe, I tell you.
So obviously that didn't go as planned. Well, actually, for a moment, it did. I was becoming a moderate size fish in a tiny pothole puddle when I got into an argument with a few key bigger fishes in said pothole puddle and that was that. Blam. My fifteen minutes of fame were here and gone and I was forgettably mediocre at best. Ouch. Hello, faceless defeat.
But what to do in the face of faceless defeat? The way I see it, there are always two basic options when faced with failure: give up (and ultimately that means kill yourself,) or re-examine. I'm not suicidal, though death makes a great litmus test, I will admit. If you ask yourself, "How bad is it? Bad enough to die?" and the answer is, "No," you can get this right. If it's bad enough to die, than do it. Just put yourself out of your misery already. And if you can't do that, than it's still not that bad. If you feel like you want to die but you're not willing to commit to it, than you're not willing to die, are you? Move on, already.
Obviously, I'm not dead yet, so you may reasonably surmise that I've been re-examining. ("Ah, now she comes to the point," you say. And you are right, you clever thing, you!) I've arrived at the conclusion that I should stop parsing and sub-dividing myself into various portions for various parties. This requires a certain amount of trust on my part, but at the same time a certain amount of distance. This means being open and honest about what and who I am to everyone, which honestly has been the goal of this whole project from the beginning, but it is more than a little intimidating.
"Yes, but what does that mean to me?" you ask. Ah, the eternal question. In short, this means you see my face, you see my tattoos, and you see my life as I see it. I don't talk a lot. I watch and I think. And I listen to music constantly. And I prowl.
So that's that. I'll be less reserved if you promise not to rape and murder me. Unless you should happen to be that perfect merger of Liv Tyler and Janet Joplin I saw in the bar the other night. Liv/Janet, you can rape me anytime.
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