What to say and who to say it to? I spend so much time focusing on who I am, as the sayer of things. I want to tell the boys to love me. I want to tell the girls to love me. I want respect and passion and the beauty of communion. It's all bullshit. I want them to tell me stories in which I figure prominently as philosopher poet, as student of life, artist of dreams. I want the lily and I want it gilded. Pleasure, philosophy, poetry, physics--both prism and prison.

How do I find something to say? I'm convinced at times that nothing I may say could possibly mean anything. Why am I so down? Why do I feel so sad today? Is it sadness or something else? Boredom? A desire for sex? Connection? Friendship? Sleep? Dreams? What? Excitement. Change. State A becomes State B. State B becomes State C. Motion by half steps is never achieved except that I have mass and am matter. Do I matter? How can I? Why am I so certain that I don't or can't? Why do I ask myself so many questions but ask so few of others? Especially men.

I can't even tell if I feel like crying or screaming or just spacing out. What a weird state to be in. My head is full of cotton and it feels like my head isn't quite attached/connected to my shoulders or neck. My eyes seem like they're going to close at any moment. That I will stumble and find myself asleep on the cobblestone floor of oblivion. I want to paint and draw and create things of beauty and meaning. Things have meaning--in and of themselves.

What I don't own in myself, I will find in another. What am I asked to disown? What experiences, qualities, etc. Who am I? I am incomplete, by nature, a half-full/empty glass to be filled. I'm thinking of oppression, intelligence, music. I have disowned my own music, my own language. I am drawn to creative people--why? Because I hope that by associating with time, I will be perceived as creative or because I hope to live vicariously through them.

We are asked to disown our fears, our anxiety, our best qualities through a shallowing--a reducing of depth--a flattening of topography. It's like our bodies and experiences must be squashed into a mold--the thinner, narrower, flatter, the more transparent--the path must be straight --the language must be the same. My body must shrink and shrink for me to find the acceptance I desire. I walk through my world both knowing and not knowing my own value--value determined in comparison to those around me. My thighs are larger than most women. My stomach protrudes--therefore, I am assured, that I won't be considered universally attractive. When F. or J (whom I realize are attracted to the shape of me) suggest hooking up w/ anonymous sexual partners, I'm sure that I won't be acceptable to these anonymous people and because of that "fact," I don't want to play.

J. slid into me last night. He said that if I made any noise, got any louder, he would stop. The restraint was sexy. Mine, not his. His restraint is part of what drives my desire. I want to be the one to make him lose control. I want to be the one he can't help but fall into over and over again. But, also, his restraint allows for my pleasure. Because he is aware of his body and my body, he pleases me and I trust him with my self. Last night he's sliding into me and I am silent at his command and it's thrilling and in my silence I love him. His body sings and I dance. His voice commands with threats and pleasure and I can't help myself. I come to him and long for him to come to me. To care: It means more to me. The sex is somehow the only way I can communicate this care for him. But I'm not sure he hears me sing to him. I'm not sure that he dances to my song--preferring always his own rhythm and cadence. I'm stubborn and therefore resent my adaptation to him. I feel trapped by the pressure and like I can only run--the only way to keep myself truly safe. I love him and what more than he has to give on the one hand, on the other; I'm content with what he gives me.

Why do I try so hard to disown my feelings for him? He's complicated, mean, cruel at times, generous, caring, considerate. He's also trouble. He's a risk-taker and values too many things/experiences over responsibility. This is not my way.