How to turn invisible, using clothes. How to turn invisible using clocks, time. Reading Yohji Yamamoto's My Dear Bomb. It's awful. All he talks about is the innate characteristics of women and men and how men can't stand to suffer women who might deign to be a man's equal, etc. I was sort of hoping, which I realize now is silly, that there'd be some personal reflections on being Rei Kawakubo's boyfriend, but so far: nada. At least I got to the part of the book where he's talking about making clothes, rather than getting blowjobs from younger women who tire him out. Sheesh.
Feeling paranoid, jealous, sad. Bored. I stayed in last night. I wanted to go to at least two parties but I stayed in. I laid on my bed and felt too shitty for words. We have only very spotty internet at home, which sucks as it's a constant source of distraction. I guess it's good to go without it (or try to) sometimes, so force myself to actually deal with myself. Still it's no fun. Maybe Valentine's Day will be like Thanksgiving, and every other year will be great. This past Thanksgiving was fucking AMAZING. The one before that I spent home, alone, and very sad to be alone and not invited to things. Valentine's Day last year was quite romantic and thrilling. And yesterday was not. Fuck it. I hate holidays.
I feel pretty frustrated with myself for being so sad. I wish I knew something that would make me happy. Like, say, if I wanted to be a bigshot filmmaker, I would understand the world I'd have to throw myself into. If I wanted to be a Buddhist monk, I also understand that there would be a way to move in that direction. I just don't know what I want to be, or do. Things like writing stories or making performances are sometimes fun, sometimes there's a nice payoff, but I'm getting increasingly sensitive and, frankly, insane. I feel like I'm being a creep and alienating people. What do I even want? I don't want a whole lot of money or fame or attention or solitude or sex or something. I guess I want to want something. I hate waiting. I hate feeling like I'm waiting. I know it's not supposed to be fun, nobody promised that life is all fun.
Ok. I guess what I mean is that I'm looking for new values. Or new passions. Or new friends. Or old friends. I don't know. It sucks. Part of me wants to burn everything I own and quit my job and move to Europe or something but I don't know what that would change except upset my family. Kate Bornstein talks a bit about the idea of "Serial Suicide" to kill off particular, outgrown parts of yourself. Like competitiveness, which I definitely wish I could kill. I wanna kill all the bad stuff. Kill all your little darlings.
I knew a girl in a fiction workshop in college that had an iteration of that slogan (Kill All Your Little Darlings) as a tattoo. She was way cool, and after college she joined an indie rock band and got famous. I do not know if she is still in the band or if she is happy. A tattoo of instructions though, intrigues me. Once, in response to a story I wrote, which was incidentally a true story (about a kid in my high school running away from home on his bicycle), she said in front of the whole workshop that my writing was trite, that I didn't earn her interest, that she didn't believe me. I felt then and feel now that this line of criticism is usually more about the critic that the ideas or work being discussed (she seemed like the type of person who never felt that her interested was adequately earned, noticed or rewarded). But more than that, I feel like it's a political cause for me: it's okay to be trite. It's okay to be insincere. It's okay to be a loser. I'm a loser. And I'm just fine! See? I mean, I am fairly miserable, but it is also okay to be miserable. It's okay to not be okay. This is my mission in life, it feels like, and it fucking sucks, and I want a new one.
In one of those moods where I want to get my own tattoo removed. I want to turn invisible. Like actually. Sometimes I feel like the thing that is most scary (invisibility) is probably the best place to start/end up. The places that scare you, etc.