Disjuncture

You, my readers, may have noticed that often my writings read chaotically to the point of near nonsense. This is the way my deepest feelings, at least the ones to which words can even apply, evince themselves in my mind. They are weird, they are disturbing. They have no coherence. There are times I do not limit the direction or content of my writing in order that I may be able to sense emotions underneath the fear, cynicism, doubt and anxiety which cloud my view of them. Perhaps it is a kind of fetishism to think that if I write the words that thereby come to my mind that there will be a direct communication from the innermost of myself to the innermost of yourself. Perhaps there has to be some kind of intellectual or artistic intervention to make these words comprehensible to you. I don't know (and of course you're not telling me.)

Having said this, I would like to add that there is a further disjuncture between intent and result in my mind and in my emotional self-knowledge. I am trying to reach for my own humanity in order to make decisions about who and what I am so that I can live the life I need to live, which, I hope, I was meant to live. According to my therapist, because I'm transgendered, I never left adolescent confusion behind. Now I have some question as to whether it is desirable to totally abandon confusion, but in any case I am now dealing with some of the same kinds of questions that I originally approached by passively following what seemed rewarded by family or school or by a sort of dreamy, detached, idealized wishing for what was either impossible and unrealistic or what was irrelevant to needs I had but ignored and of which I was often ignorant.

I am trying to be friendly. How can these words accomplish this goal? I feel like I was trying too hard to be so, but I had to, because I strive to love.

I am not crack.

Please let me love you.

I like it.

I've been really a little afraid.

I cried at being a loser.

Love me?


At any rate, I can listen. I changed to love, not to strike.

Maybe you will like what there is and I'll try my best to listen to myself understand what that is.

Eat, please.

It's been done.


Foolish, dark, strong.

Indentured affections.

Clean but rusty.

Now I can organize myself.

Next: Priorities?

I've got to clean the bathroom and wash my clothes and pick up some new meds and pick up this room and make my mother understand that I am sensible.

I've got to get going.

It's been done.

It's been done.

Please do love as a way for you to be nice.

So many misconceptions, still.

I'll try, anyway (to stop hating).