Choice

Choice. You can choose. Too lose weight, to not masturbate, to not drink, to run instead of walking, to not drink water, to smoke, to lie, to have sex or to not, to study or to cheat, to break someone's heart, to love, to sell your gifts, to give them out for free. To work hard, to not look for work, to pray, to chastise, to dance, to wash, to kill, to get married, to go to war, to sing, to write, to listen, to believe in God and the Devil, to believe we are alone. To rely on the possibility of humanity, to torture, to teach, to judge, to learn to swim, to be reckless. To be on time, to learn to rhyme, to tip and tip toe, over all you encounter.

All the suicides in All the world.

I'm not completely in agreement with Michel Martin who argues that technology and voyeurism in a reality obssessed culture is the blame for Tyle Clementi's death ,though I do share the admittedly minority opinion, like her, that it was sex and not necessarily sexuality that proved to be provocative and 'worthy' of broadcast. And I think his classmates should be punished as such. That Tyler chose to take his life, to me is a more complicated matter. He clearly lived in a larger world that wasn't the most welcoming, that discriminated, that begged him to change, to be 'normal.' It should have been the task each participant in this society to wear away those foolish notions that became hardened within him-- his death and every unnecessary death in the end is our failure. They belong to all of us.

Someday I'll Unleash the Magic.

An empty day, that's what today turned out to be. I stayed at home feeling at first, the relief of being sick-there is an initial glee of being able to nurse oneself through the hours salvaged from not being at work. I was weak though and as much I wanted to steel myself with productivity-I only half succeeded. Turning on the TV, I noted the extremely perky TV chef who urged me to employ my still unopened slow cooker in the service of a making a sweet and sour pork loin guaranteed to "make my man happy." The truth is, the recipe itself seemed designed for lazy invalids like me- that, or my slow cooker was expected to perform magical feats of culinary perfection. I fantasized in those glossy tv moments of getting out of my slump, plucking my penis back into my droopy pajamas and showering my morning filth away. I would get dressed and head off to the market, returning gloriously with my meat. My "man" would come home six hours later, the delicious vapors of my magical meal, greeting him in a wonderful surprise cutting through the grime of outdoors. Upon entry into our home,I would then pretend to be nonchalantly entranced by some random cable programming. He would be overwhelmed by the shear magnitude of my domesticity and subconsciously chuckle at the surface absurdity of our living arrangement.I would be illuminated-glorious-and the curtains would fall. But the first step remains: Get up and turn off the tv. Amazingly but I suppose not too surprisingly, my perky TV friend who erstwhile encouraged me to start my day, instead now switched gears (after her meal arose perfectly out of the oven) daring me to stay tuned to her southern counterpart coming up next with the best roasted chicken . Someday I'll beat you at this game! I thought as I settled in. Deep breath.
When not at work, the hours always scream by. It has occurred to me, the only GOD that exists, is the vengeful one determined to make all our withering time, unnecessarily meaningful and long lasting, while the few minutes of liberation behave like quarks that eschew in and out of existence instantaneously. On the brightside, the day itself matched my mood. It was a gray day in New York today, and I took great comfort in that. Tornado warnings attached themselves to the bottom of the local TV stations;in their bright lettering I drew some sort of twisted excitement, I prayed that destruction would come my way, if only the dramatically alter the direction of my life that seems to be permanently in the "loading..."phase. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Goodbye 501 Fifth.

So I've decided to leave my job in three weeks. Or close to three weeks. The plan is to work this week as normal and then provide two weeks notice starting next week. I need to
try my best to lay low, not spend money if I can help it, and focus on finding a job. Whether one arrives in time for my deadline or not, the blatant, desperate truth is that I need to change my life. I need to leave this job. I have been here too long and have grown stupid. My work is rudimentary and degrading. THere is no room for growth in this company. I watched over the past 8 years, people come and leave, taking their lives with them while I stay and rot, performing the very tasks I am still doing today, and perhaps tomorrow. I used to believe that I needed sometime to gather myself and focus, to find something that suited me right, but in my desperation to have a new life, a new beginning, I can no longer be picky. I need to stick a knife in this current life and be reborn again. I need to claim myself again. Perhaps that means, going to school, or being poor, or struggling like I've never done before, but this is a choice has slapped me into an awakening and I am grateful for, and will boldly align myself withe consequences, whatever they may be.