1557 Noe St., San Francisco

Cutting. My scars attach me to my past. I would be a completely different person if I didn't have these scars. The scars remind me of who I am at the core and the hurt that identifies me. The scars are the guarantee that I will kill myself. There are some things I will never forget, even if I can't quite put my finger on them, and they gently rest within the unnatural lines on my skin.

I would never have guessed that when I first started doing it, back when I was twelve or thirteen, that I was somehow writing an early end to my life. But back then, I would never have guessed that I would make it to 30. Back then, I started and then continued doing it under the assumption that I would kill myself soon. So I could have guessed that I was guaranteeing an early end to my life, but I never could have guessed entertaining the possibility that I wouldn't want to end my life anymore, except for these simple, but significant, constant reminders.

But I love my scars and I wouldn't want to get rid of them even if I could. They are part of my identity. I would be ordinary without them. There would be no proof of who I was before. Maybe that's why when the time came to stop the strife with the 'rents, it was so easy. Because I had a proof like no other about what had happened. What kind of childhood did I have? What kind of relationship did I have with my parents? I can just show my arms and legs. I didn't need to keep fighting the 'rents to prove that something was wrong, to maintain the identity of hate and resentment that they created.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

My friendship with Anita is now headed South. She put something on me. She put something on me based on indirect, circumstantial innuendo. She held me to an expectation. She made an assumption about me and lashed out at me when I didn’t live up to it. She put me in a position where I had to explain myself. No one puts anything on me. It is a sore spot which might be traceable to my relationship with Josephine.

The very reason why she is one of my closest friends is that she doesn't put anything on me. I don't have to explain myself to her. I'm taken as I am. But what it is, is distance and it says a lot. My closest friends are all arms distance away. They are not allowed to get close enough to me to put anything on me. They are not allowed to put me in a position where I have to explain myself. They are not allowed to impose their false impressions of me on me and make me explain them. If their impressions are supportable and verifiable, that's fine, but they can't pull a Josephine on me.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

That feeling that whenever I write in here I need to be assessing my entire existence and experience, I think it's because my life really isn't involved in anything. There's no drama in my life, there's only the big picture. No, not even. No big picture. Just lack of any little pictures. Occasionally, maybe a sketch on a napkin left on the table after the meal is done.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I can't write in here without the feeling that I need to be wrapping things up. I have a lot of questions concerning what I'm doing here and what I should be doing. Not the big questions, the little specifics. I've established how I should go about my day to day life, the accomplishment of which will in itself be no easy task. Now it's a matter of considering how that affects the other elements that make up human life and deciding where I stand on them.

Relationships should be a no-brainer, but they are an embarrassingly prominent issue. Relationships should be 100% out for me. What relationships are to each of us is different, so I'm not saying that all people with pursuits similar to mine, pursuits to get a little bit of clarity on life and existence beyond material appearances, should avoid relationships. But for what relationships are to me, they should be avoided. They don't support my pursuits, they only distract.

But I struggle with desire and feeling. I still recognize the strength and allure of emotional intimacy. It's difficult to get past entertaining the possibility of getting into a relationship. It's difficult to up-front declare that I will no longer participate in the relationship culture.

I guess at the core of my being are echoes of a lot of pain and suffering and inability to cope. At the core, I'm still hurting from whatever and hoping for some miracle that will make me feel all better. There is still a lot that I want. There are things in my past that are long gone, but I long to recover and I haven't resolved that.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

It’s only three days into the new year/century/millennium. The new paradigm for how I should be living my life is that I ought to live my life like a person deaf, dumb, and blind, but with my eyes, ears, and mouth open. Now I have to figure out what that means.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

People don't matter. They're not really here. Their reality is dependent on the value we subjectively give them. All existence is symbolic, illusion.

The emphasis that people place on their existence, calling it life, apportioning it such great importance, that's their subjective reality. This that surrounds us is the consistency of their lives. Their existence is all that they know. But the existence that each of us knows is just a speck of what makes up the Real.

Each and every thing that we think or say is testament of what we don't know, of our ignorance. Because with each and every thing that we say, an infinity is unsaid. Every word of expression stands in stark contrast of what is not expressed. With every consideration there is a world not considered. Yet with each and every thing we say, express, or consider, we think we are making some mark, are of some significance. Our physical existences are scratch marks on desert sands.

It's the divine male and female. What gets said is the tiny male, what is unsaid is the huge female. The known, visible male, the elusive, intangible female. The insignificant, material human male. The Real, unknowable, divine female.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

Happy Fucking Millennium! Again that urge to assess my entire life when I write in here. It hasn't changed from last month. There's no one really significant in my life and nothing really significant happening. I live a life none so significant.

What I'm doing still alive is still a mystery to me. I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing still alive, and if I don't find an answer, I see no reason for staying. Really! I'm more and more convinced that I'm done and I should start living my life like I'm wrapping it up, wrapping up loose ends. Yea right, when have I not felt that way?

I was out on my bike for the new year. It was actually quite uneventful and anti-climatic. I did Critical Mass in the evening. It was smaller than usual, but it was the only hint of a party in this city for most of the night. It was fun and a little more boisterous, but there wasn't a whole lotta traffic to disrupt, it being a holiday.

At midnight I was on Twin Peaks with hundreds of other people. So much for being alone. The fireworks were visible, but no big deal. July 4th displays are typically more...more. I was heading down before the fireworks ended and after that I just rode around the city. It was basically a big fat nothing. People were off the streets by 12:30.