i've been tackling instances of authenticity, lately.

as well as the perception of others.

there's a whole group of people who think i'm simultaneously Daria, a Beyonce fan, and hip-hop aficionado.  these people rarely see me smile, and have only seen me truly happy once.  they think being quiet must be easier on me, my habitude, that most people know i always look unhappy.  these people know nothing about the kind of literature i read, or the existential thoughts i have.  they are the common folk.  and maybe they know i can't talk to them, because i can't speak their diluted, deluded language.  they share facebook memes, and twitter statii about being cynical, and wishing our western population had more intellectual and cultural, artistic, depth.  and then they see me as a snob, for rolling my eyes at their bieber excitement.  it is hard for me to interact with that kind of phoniness - it's a millennial suburban delusion.  a numbing kind of happiness, that's fronted with perkiness, and yet, a constant espousal for sarcasm.  they want to be me, and so i can't talk to them.

do you think i'm egotistical?

i think i'm egotistical.

a girl who i was best friends with, in pre-kindergarden and elementary school, in all her mainstream saturation, recently posted this facebook status:

‎~ You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life ~

and I responded:

man, i couldn't agree with this more.


i miss him.  his touch, his softness, his smell, and his warmth.

see?  i am just like you.

i believe that i am so admirable and likable that when you adopt my characteristics, you are not trying to be something you are not, but rather, are recognizing something out there, in The Structure, that you want more of, because it feeds you.  or you like the way that looks.  that's how i construct myself, after all, why shouldn't you be allowed to do the same?

a friend recently pointed out that my high school best friend was simultaneously my high school best friend, and high school bully.  we were both so insecure, and admired each other all at the same time.  this caused a toxic relationship, one where we were never truly happy for the other.  and loved each other just the same.  a team against the phonies who denied their unhappiness, but a challenge to each other's validation.  all the boys i liked, picked her, because she didn't have the weird acne, and didn't sport the baggy pants.  but the creative, funny folks picked me, because i was creative.  and funny.

i guess what i'm saying is, i can't tell who anyone is anymore.  or what anyone is anymore.  sometimes i think i can tell, and i find solace in that.  of course, that's a problem as well.  if the only time and space i can feel security in, is the one where shit makes sense, i will only find happiness and comfort in rare, random, uncontrollable, temporary, mili-seconds.

i'm a snob.  let's just say it!  i'm a horrible snob.

that's what i say sometimes.  and then i make a 5-step plan, on how to be a better son, daughter, or real good friend.  and i make a real good effort, real good try at it, and it makes me feel good to be good for others.  and i do good.  and then a little cape starts to grow on my back, and we're walking on productive territory, folks.  but the cape eventually slips off, like most things on pedestals do.  i do not belong there.

older folks, and people who met me when i was 16, all fall into the same category.  and they all perceive me from the top of the staircase.  i recently re-acquainted myself with a person from this past life of mine, and she looks at me, with a total incapacity to take me seriously.  and if i tried explaining myself, and who i was now, i would still come off so absolutely trivial and small to her.  like a child complaining to an adult about a bad dream.  the adult never takes the kid seriously, and the kid is always seriously scared.

i hate talking to those people the absolute most.  they see weakness in me, because for years i've been weak.  i'm stronger now, so it's refreshing to meet people now - but oh, old friendships.  you've truly seen me at my worst.

and i hate that he cape falls off - always falls off, because i can't shake it.  it's franny and zooey, it's a fear of being an absolute nobody, or is it an acknowledgment of my alienesque quality?  born different, born insecure, born sadder than most (thought not all.)

i should note, there are different, contextual kinds of sadnesses.

goddammit, cultural studies.

my experiences are not meant to be yours.  do not take them from me.  my identity is not meant to be yours.  do not take them from me.  my language is not yours.  my wit is not yours.  my intelligence is not yours.  my race is not yours, my racialized gender is not yours.  my passions are not yours, and so my art is not yours.  my heart is not yours, my face is not yours, my breasts are not yours (they are gloriously, mine, mine, mine).  my insecurities are not yours, my alien-ness, is not yours.

yours are yours.

i can't tell if i truly hope that no one ever gets me (inscrutable, sruti).  but i find a quiet comfort in knowing that absolutely no one fully does.  and a total frustration when someone tries.

i guess will be sixteen forever.