Attempts to Journal, Pt. 1

Sunday, April 23rd, 2017

We wore matching clothes today: bright yellow tops that ultimately looked ridiculous together. We tried to get a friend to wear yellow as well–we’d loosely planned to meet and go to an art show–but alas, plans fell through. It’s okay, though. ’twas still a good day.

God, I used to write journal entries like this all the time. I’d come home from school and go straight to the computer where I’d write and write and write. I’d write about the stupidest things, things I’d never care to remember the next day or month or year. I’d write things like, we each had baked potatoes for lunch and then made wild chants upon finishing them. Life’s a million times more interesting now than it was then. Ironically, though, I don’t feel the need to write about it as much. Or even record it. But it could just be a momentarily lapse in obsessive life-recording.

Anyways. Where was I? Right. Journaling. I’m trying to get back into it.

Image result for chewing gum show

Started and finished Chewing Gum on Netflix in about three days. It’s kind of hard to describe how utterly weird it is–it’s cringey in a do-I-laugh-or-cry? sort of way. And it’s so absurd that it catches you off-guard multiple times in a funny discomforting way. My best friend didn’t like it much, but the Internet’s raving about Chewing Gum. At first I didn’t get it, thought it was strange and foreign, but then it grew on me. Next thing I know, I’m imitating the hilariously uptight little sister who’s religious and shrieks a lot.

It’s quirky. But, y’know, I like weird, I like quirky.

Now I’m trying to get into Stranger Things. I’ve watched about an episode and a half, haven’t gotten too far. It reminds me a lot of the video game Beyond Two Souls–from the (Spoiler alert!) government-rooted shapeless evil blob to the hunted protagonist girl with short brown hair and supernatural powers. Update: turns out I’m not alone in drawing the parallels.

Good Ol’ Days Are Now

There is a moment in Bojack Horseman, an adult cartoon I recently finished, where one of the characters goes: I wish we knew when the good ol’ times were when they were happening so we could enjoy them then.

I have an odd little feeling that this might be one of the happier times in my life, and that I’ll miss it. I can’t say for certain–I can’t go into the future and look back to nostalgically decide how happy I was, but I am. Happy, I mean. Happy with the people in my life, happy with what I’m doing, happy to be where I am. I was pretty happy in… December, and then from February to April. Dipped into some weird existential haze come summer 2016, which would have been a sublime time to have watched Bojack Horseman. Instead I meandered aimlessly, sinking in sweaty bony skinniness and devouring Marukami, who made everything feel dreamlike.

Bojack would have been ideal to watch in the summertime. I’ve just finished all three seasons, rationing out episodes to one per night (generally around 2 in the morning). In terms of content, it’s deep, but doesn’t seem it at first glance. It’s little like treading into a pool that steepens from 3 ft to 6 ft: before you know it, the water’s up to your chin. The show is, to put lightly, dark, which is unsurprising given that Bojack’s depressed, mired in self-loathing, and manages to fuck up all his relationships. Yet it isn’t just a sad show: it’s funny, it’s clever, it’s deep and it’s strange. It’s whimsical. It’s meaningful. And it’s beautiful, in a weird funny way.

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Ironic to be watching such a sad show when I feel, in general, pretty upbeat. I guess it temper things, evens them out. At any rate, I’m grateful for the up’s in life, and if this does happen to be the ‘good ol’ times’, I’ll try my very best to savor the here and now. (This is my cheesy spiel)

Capsule Cocoon

This is my sensory capsule (warmwarmwarm in my cocoonish sensory capsule) A pile of the links/things/stuff I’ve consumed/created/engaged in in the past few days, from stories to art to episode analyses; from conversations to unsent letters to voyeuristic works:

Reading: The First Wife, Lit Hub

Listening to: Marsipan on the phone as we laugh and vent and discuss–

Viewing: When Photography Imitates Voyeurism, NYTimes

“Arne Svenson’s photographs…capture people at home through their windows. The neighbors, who were unaware they were being photographed, are somewhat obscured — bending over, back to the window, head turned, behind a curtain.”

Talking: about the odd intimacy between the viewer and a seemingly private space in voyeurism; a podcast on a woman who watched a young couple grow old then frail then sickly and gaunt; the way psychopaths are hollow, the way the best friendships bloom from outta nowhere; did you know horses hit the hay after giving birth?

MT: You know, honestly it makes me sad when you don’t remember the things you’ve drawn for me.

Me: What do you mean? I forget. Oh, I just did it again. Remind me. Are you talking about–

MT: –That rodent project we did in Luzardo’s. I was kind of sad and angry you didn’t remember it. 

Me: You were angry?!

MT: Yeah, I kinda wanted to keep it, too.

Me: I could draw another rodent for you.

MT: Wouldn’t be the same.

Drawing: Two Point Perspectives in my queer politics class; we’re talking about discourse and Heteronormativity (but we’ll end the terms list with Queer)

Watching: Auto Erotic Assimilation, Rick and Morty (this is the analysis)

“…the profoundly bleak ending suggests that Rick really does have a deeper emotional connection to Unity, albeit one that he would refuse to consider long enough to ever be able to properly articulate…

…Taken all together, this is one of Rick And Morty’s most thematically coherent outings, a half-hour expertly devoted to teasing out all the possible ways people’s interactions can turn toxic and destructive. This is a question to which there really is no right answer….”

Writing: Library Letters to a ‘bertus, who’s in training

September 13th 2016 at 9:39 PM – Remember when you showed me No Role Modelz by J.Cole in December 2014? I do. And I’m sitting in an overly air-conditioned basement of a library listening to it and thinking of you and how I’ve been meaning to write this letter so now I am.

(I haven’t sent it yet)