Tag: journal

Interesting Day in Class

2:25pm: I just got outta class: some kid just had a psychotic episode and cursed out the professor.

A student with a thick red beard and aviators waltzed through the classroom door roughly five minutes into lecture and yells ‘Dale Dennet is a fucking douche-bag, who’s with me?!’, throwing up his hands as he walked and collapsed into his seat, leaving the professor staring blanking, poised mid-breath, still hunching over his lecture notes. After a curious pause, the professor, being bellicose and quite provocative, corrected the student by saying “I dont think I’ve heard that name, Dale Dennet” to which the kid replied “He’s the guy who’s actually stupid enough to believe that evolution is actually real.”

With his usual air of superiority, the professor casually retorted “Perhaps the name of the person that you’re trying to, or attempting to, reference that has got you so mad is actually Daniel Dennet, the popular contemporary philosopher, who has written “etc, that book on evolution”.  Upon hearing this the student vocalized his dubiousness, arguing back and forth with the professor and saying things like, “Are you sure about that?”, “Are you sure?”, “How do you know?”, “I don’t think you know what you’re taking about”, etc., until the student grew visibly bloated with emotion.

Observing the satisfaction that the professor derived from being right and telling him he was wrong, the berate student blurted for the professor to “fucking read Chris Langin, cause he’s the smartest fucking guy alive”, to which the professor replied that he actually never heard this guy’s name and asked why should he read him, with the student replying “you wouldn’t know him or read him because you’re a god damn athiest”, to which the professor, with his hands in pocket, gave a bewildered and confused look at the kid, a look I interpreted as “what the hell are you trying to do, kid”.

But the student’s emotional discomfort continued, well past the point of boil, and the situation quickly escalated as he leaned toward the professor, postured and erect, and began yelling intermittent profanities into the silent classroom like “you’re a fuckin atheist, a fucking idiot”, “fuck you, fucker”, *pause of shock and silence*, then he yells “I win” and “fuck you”, grabs his bag and stands up, throwing up a peace sign as he passed by the prof’s face, and stomps out the door, yelling “fuck you, peace fuckers”.

Silence and incredulity blanketed the room as each person tried discerning what to make of the episode: if it was a joke, if it was a threat, if we should just continue class, if we should be alarmed. But the prof, slightly bewildered and now evidently perturbed by his own ratiocination’s on the matter, continued with small lecture talk in an effort to ease tensions and make light of the confusing and outrageous behavior.

But not a minute into talking a girl interrupts to ask if he could shut the door because, confessing coyly, she was slightly worried he might come back. At that point the prof regained some gravity over the situation and asked if there should be concern, or any reason we should be concerned, such that would require notifying the police, for instance. The class then began exchanging opinions and weighing in on the matter until a student in the far back raised his voice and vocally assured us, quite ineffectively I might add, that we shouldn’t worry because the behaviors he exhibited appear to be consistent with his past, recalling that the student had taken a leave of absence in previous semesters for similar bizarre phenomena.

Obviously, as you can imagine, this had the opposite intended effect, causing quite the consternation among students, and heightened alarms that he may indeed pose a threat, be it to us or himself or others. As these concerns percolated throughout the classroom the professor, appearing less pugnacious and more thoughtful than usual, acquiesced under the growing hysteria and, with a controlled repose, began jotting down some notes as he slowly indicated to the class that “I think we might just take the rest of the day off, and since we have off Friday, I look forward to seeing you all after break”. Then the commotion gave way like a release of breath and everyone barreled for the door to gossip about the bizarrity of the episode.

SoJourning Love.

Time to journal. I was going to write in my hand-written journal but I decided to log this one digitally.  Not sure why.

What do I want? Right now I’m feeling emotional. Not sure why. Well. Lies. I actually know why. I just have problems expressing vulnerability. I like a girl. I desire her. I am attracted to her. Yet, I don’t know what that means. I’m usually so detached from those feelings. They occupy deep hidden places within me. I obey them from afar so when they get unwieldy I’m at a distance.

What do I want? Right now. What is it? Ok, more specifically: What do I want from a female? I realize I could subsist off of my own imaginings and writings and thoughts and dreams and studies and friends… but there always seems to be something missing. It leaves a dull ache, a dull emptiness. I know that no female will ever take it away, but I feel as if it could be allayed more than it is. Intimacy. Intimate encounters that last longer than physical climax. An intimate encounter that endures and subsists behind the daily happenings of life. Where I can seek comfort. Intimacy that persists long after those endless gazes. How is this intimacy achieved? Well. Great question. I’ve been struggling to figure this out myself. I achieve a great level of intimacy with a large number of my platonic relationships, but it eludes me when my heart is involved. Perhaps expectations ruin the momentum? I tried sex. Raw hot heavy sex. That didn’t work. When sex is achieved before an investment is made, why bother? Subconsciously I resist making that pledge. Maybe I lose respect? I can’t respect a girl when I already own her. Especially that easily. Make me care enough to work for it. Please?

Eh. I don’t know what to think. Relationships. These courting encounters. They’re fun. The masquerades. The lampooning. The dancing gestures. The intimations. All behavioral and empty.

Meaning is difficult for me. When I say things I mean, I feel them. Meaning and feeling seem inextricable. They are one in the same. How do I mean anything when I feel nothing? Words. Empty gaseous words. The effluvium of desire. Yearning pleasure. Sexual banter. Until the impulse subsides and I stare at a stranger.

What is it that I want? I want someone to want me. Nay. Need me. Right? Isn’t that what anyone wants? To feel irreplaceable? How to convey that without ripping your heart out? How to convey that without faking it? Jesus. I have no idea.

I almost feel bad for girls that are into me. As much as I long to shed and share all, I resist out of courtesy. I don’t want to overwhelm them with my complexities. My complicated spirit. My ornery soul. It overwhelms even me. Even I struggle to appreciate something so beautiful and so appalling.

I can be anything to anyone. These masks. People need consistency. How does one disarm their masks. Who is the true Michael? Intimacy, love, whatever you want to call it, it extends beyond these masks. It requires pulling down the veils that honesty hides behind. What lies behind is something beyond me. I like to think that my closest friends are familiar with this person. I appear in various fractals.

Honesty hides behind veils. It is always there in full view, only obscured by a veil.

Okay. So I lost my train of thought. Not too unusual. Tonight I’m hanging with some friends at a local microbrewery. I guess I’m going stag at this point. Amongst three other couples…awkward? Awkward is a state of mind. Nothing is awkward unless you think it so.

What to think… Saturday. Went to brunch.. worked out at the gym…. played raquetball… showered. I think I’m gonna grab Chipotle.

Beauty, like a dream, fades. Faith endures. It stipulates nothing.  Intelligence wanes. Physicality and success, all seasons in time. They all play leads at one time or another, only to fade into the background. What is left? Love. Faith. I suppose a variety of virtues.

It’s so much easier to hide your heart. To keep it all for yourself. But the unequivocal joy of extending it to the other, and having them cherish and bask in its naked state? It lights you on fire. It is unbelievable to love and be loved.

I don’t think one can be in love without vulnerability. No. I know it. Be prepared to expose yourself. God. What a dilemma.

So. I’m at a point in my life where I desire substance, in people and relationships and tasks and goals. No more petty aspirations. No more temporary longings. Have some long term vision. Use imagination beyond the moment Michael.

I don’t have time for people that don’t have this. Confusion? Fickle? Flaky? I will have none of it. I might be around, but not for long. I will learn briefly and find someone else who’s pursuit is for the real. For the thick of it. For the substance that extends through space and time and is with you in all the oscillating experiences, the undulating sine waves of life, where it peaks and rockets toward the trough, only to crest again. I want substance through it all.

My morning.

I will journal.

Today was fine. Funny word to describe a day.

We all live in these gardens, menageries of wonder. Behind every smile, every inquisitive eye, every coy and daring gesture, there is a world in need of exploration. This is why I love people. Why do we run from these worlds? We should embrace people. (Of course these worlds are gated; many have high walls. I believe, and curiosity would agree, that every wall should be scaled.)
Continue reading “My morning.”

Fall Children

its getting cold out. The weather is windy and brisk. The air stings when you go outside after sitting in the cozy dorms. The leaves have almost completely fallen from the trees. The wind carries them around in little tornadoes, whipping them up into the sky.

Three were small children playing in the quad today. I imagined being a kid again. How big the world seemed. How care free they all were. Screaming and chasing each other. One little boy ran completely to the other side of the quad. The bunch of kids huddled and watched as he ran off in the distance. They began screaming for him, “Come back! You’re too far away!”, and looking around for an adult to intervene. He knew what he was doing. He wanted adventure. He wanted to test the limits.
They all had miniature replicas of big-people clothing. There little sneaks. Their big fluffy winter jackets that were too big and uncomfortable to zip up hung open on their shoulders. They ran around like it was their cape.

I tried remembering when I was a child. It’s a sad feeling. It tugs at my heart. The innocence lost. How early did I lose it? When all things were never as they seemed. Everything is much more now. We complicate everything with our feelings. There is a construct of past interpretations and opinions that shield us from hurt or anything uncomfortable. Instead of screaming and running free, we live in a shell. Rarely testing the boundary’s of normality. We’re comfortable with the minimal thoughts that bump into reason and effort as our means of justified communication. So it seems anyway.

When I was young everything was an adventure. Everything was new and had to be figured out. I thought I could fly if I ran fast enough. When I grow up, I thought to myself, and my arms and my legs are a little longer, I’ll be able to run fast enough and flap hard enough to take off.