broken

spell-check on blogger is broken. so I may not be spelling well in the next few posts. My webcam is broken. my cousin just smashed into something and some part of his body is now broken. the screen door out to the balcony I'm typing on is broken. The sound system piped throughout the house sounds like a record at the end of it's track. It is broken too.

My heart is not broken. My heart does not break. My heart is made of rubber, not porcelan. My heart is made of meat, of muscle. It tears and brusies and rips. but it heals. It bends. Hearts are not weak things. They, like people, are indestructible. They bend. they may even snap, but they keep functioning, to whatever capacity they can maintain.

My heart has hurt a lot, for long periods of time, and deeply. and it's all forgotten. It mine as well be a story about a friend of a friend someone's neighbor told me. It's a good story. It makes a good book. It makes a good life.

I've done some things I'm proud of. I've never stopped loving anyone I have ever loved. I still love my first puppy-dog crush. I see no reason to stop anymore. I used to think I shouldn't love. That really hurt.

I used to think other people should love me like I loved them. That hurt a lot too. I used to think other people hurting or feeling uncomfortable wasn't ok. That also hurt.

I

I'm harsh to my mom. It's a sad thing. I'm not harsh to anyone else almost. It's even hard to appologize when I say something hurtful, and realize what I've done. for some reason, with her I feel embaressed to admit it.

There is almost nothing that embareses me enought to do something out of integrity, but that does.

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I want a page break here.

the sea at night is deep blue and soft. the sound of waves on the rocks below is soothing. I want to fuck a hot girl. I want it like I want comfort food or a nice laptop. I feel a lack or a hole and I want to not feel that. I think that maybe sex will do it, despite the fact that I know it won't. The only difference is I don't have a memory of having sex and what it was like afterwards, to remind me that it really didn't fill that hole. But I don't need it. I know the answer to this question, and if I can trust that, I can save myself time and energy.

however, I do think I should try to have a relationship. because I'm scared of it, because I don't know if I want it or not, because I don't know what it is, first hand, at all. I have mastrubation to extrapolate straight up sex. But I don't have any experience that can give me an idea of what a real romantic relationship is like. I want to. It's scary and exciting. I like adventure.

I can live an adventure, easily. I only need to keep reminding myself of one thing: the adventure is lived starting NOW. Not later.

Ok, I guess there's a second thing I need to remember, which is adventure doesn't have to look like anything in perticular. Adventure is an eye, not a thing seen. It is a hand, a way of walking, and not what you are doing or the place you are going. That takes care of itself.

hmm. I think that was a bunch of bullshit. I don't know what I'm talking about... no, I know a little of what I'm talking about. I know about the eye of adventure, and the walk of the traveler. but I am still timid to go that way, blazing my own trail, alone.

alone, alone alone. the name of the blog. the name of my heart. the deeper I accept that, the more I love. strangly.

I am what I am, and the more comfortable I am with that, the less afraid I am to look at it, and the more I look at it, the more I love it. In this case "what I am" constitutes everything I experience, know, and do.

what do I do? I seem to have choice and power to create my universe, my life. I seem to have to power to direct things. I seem to be only watching a pre-scripted play, either enjoying it or boo-ing it.

what's going on with me right now? what else is importaint?

It's newyears. ten minutes till the calenders flip to 2010 here in mountain time. It's a full moon, right overhead. Shimmering pool at night. Full of love. I do not know anything. I am much wiser than I ever was. I am much happier being me. I am quiet. anti-social sometimes. I am kind and loving, easygoing and silent. hilarious and timid. I lean back in my throne, the pool chair, and make dreams with the cloud scapes and the stars and the moon. it's newyears. drink a sip of really bad shampagne. sing badly.

fireworks from the hot tub (small dinky ones. beautiful.) good music. distant cheers. reflections in the dark window of the burning colored explosions.

bigger fireworks now, louder. Now some flashing lights approaching the place in the beach where the fireworks were coming from, I guess illegaly. Hope the cops let the firework benifactors off easy. they were a nice touch to the night.

there are so many amazing stories I am not living. but that must not be my concern. How should I live? I feel like I get close to the answer when I sit and stare in silence until the world starts to melt.

In that vulnerability of doing notihing my heart is tender, ungaurded. it quivvers in fear and excitment as it slowly, apprehensivly reaches out a hand to touch the most intimate place of universe.

there's only one way this could be more tender, ungaurded and loving, and that is to be doing this in the midst of every day activity.

I love you, whoever is reading this, and I love what you think of as your faults as much as the rest of you. because i don't see them as faults. They are what make you you. I love that. I know this is true for you because it is true for me, and loving myself is the most difficult person to love. He's the only person I treat worse than my mom.

why am I kind to people? I think it really is because I am happy inside. and when i get angry at them, I'm getting angry at myself. they just remind me of parts of me I don't like, and it makes me sad, that I'm not better.

people treat others how they treat themselfs. especialy when they're treating others badly, you get a view of what they do to themselfs, inside.

the moon says it better than me, look;