If it's all in your head, why have a head?

Here at the sanctuary, it appears that one does very well according to their "act," or how they talk, what they talk about, how they move their hands around, how they sit, stand up, walk, how they dress, how comfortable or uncomfortable they are in their body, how they respond to situations and people, how they drink, what they drink, if they have "things" that others can ask for and if they are willing to dole out. Most important is if anyone is watching.

And before all that: what am I really writing about here?

I am an intensely idealistic mind. There are many moments where I am watching the dream and not the film in front of me. For instance, I would rather be sitting with people I can create fun with than sitting and writing this, because I feel insidious making these notations about a place that I struggle to feel at home with. I mean, I am certainly at home wherever I am, wherever I go, in this body, outside this body. That's my way of saying, "it's okay."

There's something inside us that has to work to keep us "sane." Maybe it's denial, maybe it's renunciation of a self altogether with feelings and thoughts and a heart that mostly goes without mention.

I'm bothered that I am a ghost here. We are all ghosts here to a certain extent, living in queer purgatory. Visually it is paradise, but there is a deeper current missing altogether. I think it's all those little things that surmise into "community" that I feel missing, that subtle thread that connects you to me to them, an energy web of compassion that arises out of somewhere.

Some people welcome you with open arms and brilliant eyes - sensory outputs for what is undoubted support of your existence. Some people don't even look you in the eyes day after day after day after day.

I'm really sad about that point.

You know, there are some strong personalities here, strong, developed characters with acts and they have sketches to perform, cycles of them. I'm sorry, we do.

So I don't know what "it" is. I'm not a leader or a hero or anything. I don't really want to be here. I would rather move mountains and fly, and making music sometimes is like that. I would rather be having fun. I would rather hang out with a group of kids. I don't think I can take much more of this if this is what being young and 20-something is all about, this daily, weekly affair of apathy and "fuck you" with my eyeballs staring at you with that look of "and what the hell do you want?"

It's this part of the river I don't understand. You give it all up to some higher power, some more enlightened energy that sees where you've been and maybe what direction you're heading, so you give it all up to it, travel, meet lots of people, visit communities.

I don't know.

Why bother writing?

I'm defeated anyway. Everyday I am defeated. I go to sleep and there's no "thought" of "defeat." And there's no consciousness, until the dreams come.

There's a lot of compounded frustration here in this moment, right at my forehead, like it's all about to shoot out. Everything is there, everything I've thought of, every way I've looked at all this.

So, I am defeated.

I give up.

Again.

And again.

Sometimes writing makes things worse.