stream of consciousnessPosted: April 25, 2009
– An attempt to write nonstop for as long as I can feel like, with the first things that come to mind.
– After I’m done, I’m going to edit the grammar, and nothing else.
– Also, disregard whatever offense or insight is gleaned from it, because it’s probably just the rambles of someone with too little to do.
It goes, as follows:
I finally figured out how that whole “birds and the bees” metaphor worked during a lunch hour in which I was probably talking way too loudly on the merits of not being a vegetarian (instantly alienating everyone that would have respected me if I was one) and, as one should know a conversation goes to weird places when you’re young, bored, and sitting in a circle with someone you know well, someone you don’t know as well, and various other someone’s. To paraphrase what was said, men are bees because we pollinate (there was an accompanying hand gesture that elaborated on this point to the point of, well, obviousness), and birds are women because, as the jaded heartbroken man put it, “they flap their wings at you, mocking you, and then right when you’re about to get them they fly away, laughing and mocking you further” or something along those lines. This is probably obvious for a great deal of people, but at that time it seemed like a goddamn mind-blowing notion. Said conversation pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day, as I was constantly reminded of the prevalent loneliness that sometimes encompasses someone when they’re, well, alone, and notice it as they go through their days. (Bonus points for people who were utterly confused by that last sentence) I throw a phrase around that I almost always mean; that being the fact that I “meet people that I want to, but never will again”, for obvious reasons, really. See, when someone is considered “good with words” and is constantly reminded of the fact that they’re “good with words”, they’re probably expected to be able to turn a phrase on a dime. The difference between a conversation here and a conversation over, say, a cup of espresso, is that this conversation is one-sided, and I can take as much of my sweet time as I want planning my response. There’s initiative from myself to throw myself head (or is it feet) first into a situation in which I would be forced to be the one that makes the first move because I’ll be honest here, I never make the first move. And that’s a damn shame.
I’m debating posting this. If someone reads this, there’s two things I’d like to say: this was a slight too personal for the purposes of this blog (but fuck that, it could be construed as an essay of some sort), and also, that I commend you for wading through such a giant block of text amounting to shit.