Jinked

The following is from the paper journal I started today. Updates here on out will most likely be transcribed from that journal. I don’t know why… but I find it easier to write on paper. The computer screen is just too blinding!

After reading my old journals, the ones that spanned from 1998 to 2006, it made me consider journaling once more. Even though my younger writing was tinged with immaturity, it holds a… spark. A certain spark that my writing now seems to lack. I don’t know what’s missing from the equation now. Is it because I’m not depressed? Is it because I’m not riddled with self-loathing? Is it because I’m no longer dependent on Jacky? What? What changed?

I had an awkward grasp on language when I was 19, but it’s this awkward grasp that made my writing so interesting. I just let the words flow without much thought. I most definitely did not self-censor. I guess when you become an adult that’s one of the first lessons you learn: watch what you say and how you present yourself to others, lest you fall down, down, down.

I watch what I say too often. I do nothing about it.

I want to regress a little, let my feelings and raw emotions dictate my writing. I can always go back and edit if need be. What’s stopping me?

I was very observant at 19. I could turn any situation into a good piece of prose. I need to open my eyes a little more, see the beauty in the things around me.

There is beauty in the mundane. I promise.

I liked not just reading how I felt at a point in time, but I liked reading about what I did. I remembered a lot of it once I was reminded. Think of all the things I’ve forgotten when I stopped journaling. Four years of my life, my feelings, is missing.

I just completed the 2010 census. It was a lot shorter than I expected it to be.

I know I have online journals from 2004 onward, but somehow, I don’t see those as the same. They don’t seem to… carry as much weight? Does that sound right? Who cares. I don’t.

I miss being conversational in my entries. I feared I had forgotten how.

Because I was sick today, I stayed in bed and read. Heh, that rhymed. Anyhow, I finished A Fractured Mind which proved itself quite worthy of a read. It’s always comforting to know that dissociation is common and a normal part of functioning. Robert had MPD (or DID, take your pick) and that’s an anomaly, but he certainly came a long way. He integrated eleven into three and to that I say, “Fantastic job.”

Also read a handful of zines which include: Motor City Kitty #12, How I Learned to love Myself and Occasionally Other Men #1, Culture Slut #19 and Your Secretary #3, all of which I got for trade at the Chicago Zine Fest. All made me think about queer identity and how I have misconceptions and got things a little wrong. Even wrapped in chains, these people seem so much freer than myself in terms of identity. It’s definitely worth it to consider. So many facets to consider. So many angles and words and colors.

I’m mailing out free zines to friends a family tomorrow who asked for them. That will give me an idea on postage so I can set up a PayPal function for those who wish to buy. All funds will go to make future zines, support other writers through zine purchases and to buy ingredients to be used in making cookies and cakes for those who let me use their photocopiers free of charge.

Tomorrow I have to write too. A story needs to be told. It’s getting there slow but sure.

I want to do a zine on not being a vegetarian or vegan.

I want to take over the world.