collections 6:2

This is the part of the story where he says, "It doesn't really matter what happens, because I'll always value everything that you've taught me." He says that as he holds he holds his breath, releases his clenched fingers from the hand of the woman he loves, and steps into the warfront. Bullets will inevitably plunge through his body like falling stars disappearing into the night sky and he'll fall to his knees. What he finds there will either be his salvation or his demise.

This is the part of the story where the hero dies or gets just what he needs. Every character ever written wants something. It could something as simple as wanting to live or it could be something as complex as wanting to find a higher power. A character who is apathetic doesn't do things- even if you should throw him into an unlikely situation (lol, helicoptor attack), it won't be much of a story if he doesn't make any attempt to defend himself. Just like with real life, apathetic characters don't make great people to hang out with. Every story needs a passionate hero who picks up his mighty pen or sword or whatever you want to arm him with for the sake of something- love, life, happiness, whatever. It could even be the sick pleasure of sadism that keeps him going, as long as it's going somewhere.

More often than not, I have to wonder if I'm just an apathetic character going through the motions. Sure, I'm in school... that must mean I want a college degree, right? I'm living on my own in Chicago, even though I don't have any family to speak of. That must mean that I want independence or the city lifestyle, right? I occassionally have a romance. That must mean that I'm trying to find the dream of falling of in love or at least trying to get a piece, doesn't it?

I don't really know what it is that I want. I don't even know why I'm blogging. Writing just to write doesn't make any sense though. We know one thing: I want to get published. Samurai Melodrama hasn't been touched since last semester and those were only some careful changes to the first chapter, but not careful enough to get me an A in my historical fiction class. Either way, they could use a little more work.

It's pretty easy to see what I don't want- stalkers, for instance, are an ongoing issue. Let's not drop names, but over the last year, I think I've had four people pursuing me with intent that has driven me uncomfortable and even angry. I also don't want bad grades, apparent by my fixation on my writing and working on new things. More than anything, I don't want failure. I'm sick of being the low-class kid who rolls his own cigarettes and never misses a free lunch at Columbia. I'm sick of wearing the same worn out boots or shoes that are in terrible need of a cobbler or disposal. I'm sick of the taste of black coffee because sugar and cream don't feel like a worthwhile expense.

Being poor has taught me a lot. It's taught me the value of a dollar- how to stretch it and how to make it do what I want. Today, the dollar has put me in school, it's given me my apartment, and it's given me what I need to succeed in a career as a writer (like a printer, ink, paper, computer, black coffee). However, the dollar has fucked me over one too many times. The IRS isn't on my ass quite as hard as they used to be, but there was a time where I owed fifteen thousand dollars to the internal revenue service because of mistakes my mother made that I never saw any benefit from myself. There were times where I thought I was going to get kicked out of my dormitory because I hadn't paid the full amount to continue attending college. There were times where I was even homeless. Money and I have had a relationship that's been on and off and while I'm in no particular trouble right now, I can see money being fickle as I consider my plans for the summer.

Love is a funny thing to talk to me about. Most of the time, I'll deny it even exists. "What's love? Just two people getting along." Most of the time, it isn't even that. It seems like love is best defined as two people who don't get along but choose to stay together anyway. I've been in situations like that- but I don't know that it was love that bonded us. Recently, I read Shit Magnet by Jim Goad and a wonderful thing happened to me: Clarity. Shit Magnet is Jim's autobiography and in the book, he tells a tale of women scorned against him and out to create misery beyond anything he could've possibly comprehended. A lot of my relationships where I unhappily stayed together are similiar to his, except I don't beat the shit out of those girls like he inevitably did. It's a powerful weapon called guilt: Guilt projection is the idea that when someone is unhappy, unsatisfied, and unwilling to accept responsibility for their answers, they'll place it on their significant other- "You're the one who makes me unhappy." No, it couldn't be the fact that you've never thought highly of yourself. It must be my fault. Guilt projection is a powerful weapon that has a means of confusing the idea of love for what really is a tag game of blaming, until finally there's no point putting up with it. In the last few relationships I've had, I took the blame on my shoulders just because I didn't feel like doing it anymore. I'm not invincible and it hurts, to be degraded verbally to all her friends and family, but I'd prefer that to mainting any relationship where I'm just trying to push something off on someone else that they pushed onto me.

So what is love then? Love is patient, love is kind, love is everything the bible says it is. Love is living and according to the bible, we owe it to God for giving us the benefit of living. Thanks, God. You're really makin' it easy on us. Love has also been confused with obsession- That takes me back. I once was obsessed with a girl, nearly eight years ago. I was in high school and had never so much as smelled a girl before when one stepped into my life and we fell head over heels for a while. Back then, I would've let her poop on me if it made her happier to be with me, which reveals how little I really thought of myself in the first place. It wasn't about my happiness- it was about hers, but then again, why did I want to make myself happy anyway? I hated myself. It's not quite the case anymore and I by no means am excited by thought of a Cleveland Steamer.

In fact, I'd say I have a healthy relationship with myself despite the questions of mortallity apparent in my last post. I like the way I like, the way my skin hugs my bones and the art or jewelry embedded into it. I like the way my dick looks, enough to describe it to an audience of my peers during the first week of school last semester. I like the way my hair looks as it grows out and trails over my face, like a feather veil to decieve those around me from being certain of my true intent. I like my bold lips, my olive skin, my large, brown eyes, and the way my my face has a triangular shape. I think I'm attractive, so what? I like the way I think too. I like the way that I can jump to abstract thoughts whenever I want and the influences I have- the will that I have in order to be successful and the mathematic talents handed down to me by my parents. I like how I'm cleverly poetic when I have the right inspiration and how I easily I can pick up another language. I even like how warped and vulgar I can be, whenever I want to.

I'm not saying I'm superior to anyone. I'm no ego-maniac- just a kid with a healthy self esteem. This body and this mind aren't forever and like everything, they'll return to the earth from which they've come one day. But for now, I think it's appropriate to say that I have a better understanding of love than I previously thought. If I had to say what love is, it's being able to admit when you're wrong or being stupid- love is being able to be humbled by another person, regardless of how highly you think of yourself. Love is being willing to ignore your responsibilities, to make sacrifices in order to appreciate the person who you care about. But if only one person in a relationship loves themselves, it becomes one person making meaningful sacrifices and admitting he's wrong. It becomes one person who has something to throw away for the other and another person who has nothing worth throwing away, because that other person cares so little about everything he or she already has.

So now the big question- Have I been in love? That one'll sit in the air. It's not that I'm uncomfortable answering it, but rather I don't see a purpose in it for the moment- I could say no and break the heart of everyone who's ever shown any measure of affection to me or I could say yes and make others hopeful when hope isn't meant for them. Love is private- love is a secret that you want to tell everyone, but you know better about it.

So we've broken down my two wants into clear ideas: Money, the success that comes with it- the freedom that comes with it. And love, the constraint that comes with that and the willingness to sacrifice the freedoms you've achieved. I'm not sure if that's what I really want or not- if that's what makes this character tick, but I think at the very least, I'm onto something. Tomorrow is a new day- the sun will rise over the city again and I'll travel through snow, in order to better my education and hope that one day, I can give someone I love everything she needs. Either way-

Now that we know who this character is, let's keep reading to see where my story is going.