The first computer of my own

[post transcribed from a paper journal]

Friday night I finished putting my computer together; where just a few hours before there had been mere parts, strwen about the room, now there is a functional computer. With my own hands and mind I have constructed a device that can change the world, or just change the way I look at it. And yet, though I have never had a computer of my own, nor in my own room, it had already become “normal” in my life.

Then Saturday evening something terrible happened, while I was out with friends, having a relatively good time, that left me shivering and alone in pain. I will not say exactly what it was, but a part of me died Saturday, and it can never really be replaced.

Words.

[post transcribed from a paper journal]

Words. With words, when I want to, I can affect people; make them think and do things. With words, sometimes when I don’t want to, I can affect people; make them think and do things even when I’m not trying to. I do not like making people I care about do things they don’t want to do. I do not like that the people I care about (who care about me, too) will be affected even when I do not say something, will do and say things that they think I want them to say and do, regardless of how they feel about these things. I do not like the idea that the people who care about me (who I care about, too) change the ways they think and feel just because of the ways that I act and the things that I say, even though sometimes I am not aware that they are, and sometimes they interpret me wrong, and sometimes (worst of all) they go against their own intentions to do what they feel I would like them to do.

Sometimes . . .

[post transcribed from a paper journal]

Sometimes . . .

Sometimes my mind . . . twists.

Sometimes the splits and cracks and complications; the things in my mind that make me me, that make me we; become more evident – become more real . . . and take over.

Sometimes the parts of me, some of us, the personalities among us (me) that usually hide behind the rest of us, that aren’t strong enough to be seen . . . get to play.

Sometimes when we, the strong, the obvious ones, let them, the weak, the hidden, those that do what they want, and don’t think about the future, take control, to see what they’ll do, to feel what we can’t . . . it hurts.

Sometimes the pain, which is not usually physical, which hurts because they know now that they shouldn’t, that they’re not allowed out, so they don’t . . . i cry.

Sometimes we (I) just want to let go of it all, let them all do what they want, what they should, what they can . . . forever.

Sometimes . . .

overstressed and undersexed

[post transcribed from a paper journal]

Several times during the past few weeks, people have been telling me, for one reason or another, that I am “overstressed and undersexed.” I usually say something along the lines of “Well, duh!” This weekend, at a workshop that I was attending, I took a stress test where a score of 50 was low stress, 100 was moderate, 200-250 was high, and 350 and higher was “Maximum” for staying alive. I scored 1247 points, putting me with the ranks of the dead. Apparently the level of stress that I’m under should have killed me by now . . . I wonder why it hasn’t yet. I asked the teacher if there was some way that my score could possibly be wrong, and she said that I should only take points for things that had actually caused me stress. My score quickly dropped to 0, but perhaps I’m wrong, because I’m under so much stress that I can’t tell what’s stressful anymore . . .

Oh, and since I’m a virgin AND celibate, I’ve never had sex and never will. This was not my intention ten years ago when I vowed celibacy; at that time the word celibate meant unmarried, and because of my knowledge of the way that marriage effects people, I decided that I didn’t want to do it. But, keeping up with the times, I also now have a vow not to have sex.

this poem sux!

[post transcribed from a paper journal]

As I wipe the frozen tears from my eyes,
I remember the reason that I cried.
No reason at all; No who and no why.
I find that somehow there’s a tear in my eye.

Sometimes no feeling there is to be had,
My tears don’t depend on my happy or sad.

Psst…! this poem sux!

My brain seems to be bogged down with thoughts and ideas, and the part of my mind that does poetry seems to be getting the short end of the stick. Perhaps some other time would be better.