I wrote this in India as a response to trents email and i keep returning to the first paragraph while writing in an attempt to keep the thought process focused, so the stuff at the end i wrote first and the stuff up top i finished with.

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Woah -

Does it hurt most or strike most cause he is right? Cause his insights are mostly dead on and though I can find things to come back at him with, I wont cause it will just diffuse the feelings I have and I want to resolve this, not dissolve this.

And cause he angers me so, it just angers me more that he is right in the sense that today walking down the road I was like I want someone to tell me I’m wrong and I got it, twice, in email form so that I wont forget it. Cause I got the message I asked for twice. Twice, so read it twice, and think about it. And cause its him, cause it’s the man who threw me out there into the fire to be eaten and for me to burn. And that’s why it fucking hurts me that his advice is what I asked for today. And that it is his advice which I’m going to try and follow. And that when I see him, I want to cry, punch him, and collapse, or turn the other way all at once.

I also said that I probably wouldn’t listen if I heard it and why coming from him am I listening?

And I think now I want to cry, or something. Pinky barks, Jason’s water bottle clinks and clanks with his step as his carabineers bump his nalgene and I sit, saddened, less saddened. And the noise for 3d pinball comes across the room from the comp Jason is at.

Yes it hurts/strikes most cause he is right, yes that is why it hurts most and what hurts most is that he is not on my side and on theirs and that this us/them is more like me/them and I’m quite alone, quite sad.

How then do I resolve this and not dissolve this can I return to the same actions? Can I just return to my room and read and sleep and burn the mosquito coil and candle and smear that cream on my ass and feet? Can I now do those things? Or do I want to sit and discuss and just talk and just tell anyone that I feel bad and that I’m sorry. Sorry.

The mood, my feeling has totally changed, and its switched back. But awkward, off. I might need to stop cause the mood flip vibe has changed.

Why is 4 pages of this easier to type than anything ive written all semester sans emails, the language is all the same, the bump shuffle blame, the same move around and let it out and bit by bit you see a bit here and a bit there. And I think I just had a conversation that was honest, if longwinded for the first time in a long time and I want to have more and I want to not turn around cause who knows what is behind me. Just a person, like me, a human being doing their thing and I’m afraid that they will just set me on end.

And captain “I don’t know if there can be a just anything” what the fuck are these just judgments just based on and its just Jason, just Jason. Just a judgment and just about everyone, and everything thing you encounter, everyday and all the time, so that no one or no place, and no thing escapes the stratification in your head that is based on just, just who knows what, for sure its not anything I can explain. And can I write off the stratification just like that? Are not some of my judgments based on principles, experiences, and beliefs; is it ok to judge or stratify based on those things?

Is it ok to judge or stratify at all?

And what is the value language shift, what are my values? I don’t know, I should elaborate on them cause it would help in this quest, what is this quest for?

Why does the blank canvas appear not so blank? Why did the nica air cut through it? What was it about those people? Was that a circumstance which allowed me to shine? And why? And why here is it not at all the same? Or was it? And was it tainted to begin with? And what will home hold? Can I cast away from the existing relationships that affect both of us? And will there ever not be a problem and how to work on it? And how to use it to address this? Because as I feel myself falling I know that I am not better than those ma’s in the coffee shops or better than any other white dude on church street. And its all walking backwards from here, cause my fingers detach from my body but attach to the keys and my head feels lighter body heavier and splat back to two days ago and the pavement a kilo away from city market and the eye will be fine, no tetanus though one would not hurt, cause I don’t even know what tetanus is and neither does Lawrence, neither of us know but Lawrence is going to the CDC to find out.

I, me, I, me, I, me, I, me, I, me – strictly performance based and lacking honest gut level honesty. And what about my standards, what the fuck are those? And those parries, yeah, you know those deft parries used to ward off most oncoming arguments and the worded responses and tone that I programmed into me long ago to satisfy those who asked for, and why in nica with those folk did I feel ok to say that im just acting and that the world is a stage. That im just acting and the world is a stage. And that im just asking what’s the play? What am I called to do? Why in that room, with the candles and moth, and joe and I and chris and l and l and traven and Woodrow and all, why in that room did I open what was it about that air, that cooled and calmed me so and why did I feel comfortable wishing the police a good night? Why were those eyes so strong, why in Nicaragua of all places was I lit up? What made me open up?

And the circle shifts the blame to philosophical ponderings not inner workings. Can I just see? And not doing anything else? Is the prospect of inaction so terrible? Can I be an observer not an actor? Am I anything to begin with? Is my nature that defined or was/is it shaped and either way fuck trent and maybe fuck chris for emailing if asked by anyone else to do so.

And page numbers don’t matter.

And the circle begins again with myself, past trent saying that I am just shifting blame, from ‘every time I…’ every time I saw, every time something upset me I had a problem, a problem in other people, is the problem in my vision, is the problem me seeing others problems? Is the blame to be placed in me for faulting? For seeing problems? Is it just being critical? Is there a just anything?

And the circle begins again with myself. Trent said that I am just shifting blame instead of looking at myself, and what that every time I saw something that offended, bothered, upset, transgressed my standards I should of said something? Asked, casually, why? But that is not at all a casual question that is a question loaded with negatives and criticisms and why didn’t you? And why cant you? And I cant believe you did that? And are you actually stupid enough for me to ask you this question or for you to do that?

The little boy is easily distracted and will lend his attention to anything that speaks or moves or excites him, he fills his time with new things looking for the old feeling that has left him and once people are around thinks thoughts of why him? And how come? And that’s unfair or stupid hair and my god what a fuck or that was interesting, which actually means, I bet she didn’t talk cause I was here.

The little boy enjoys quiet and the noise in his head, he likes books and reading and those other outward things he gets joy from only because he can perform well at, whether mechanically or passionately, though passion seems to be something that lives now only in memories or hope. He sees most clearly now in rage and delusion but wants both to end, soon. Soon. Soon, indeed. The silence is deafening to him thick and obtuse and refuses to disperse, I know she is there because I can hear the clamor of carabineer on nalgene and empty phone ringing, ringing, ringing, “hello? Hello? Hello?” click. The she is a he and we know not which is worse, and why are people worse? And why is there yelling and why now do you want only to run back to your room? And sleep? And why now has sleep become the place where you can find freedom from this fire?

That was interesting.

The little boy, stated and stared at, confused and abused, tortured and teased, mercilessly vented against and unaccepted without any freedom or pleasure and let go be by himself cause that’s the only why he knows how to be, other people scare him, they make him sad, they upset him, he knows the language and the set of locks for certain things but he sets them forth without any emotion or conviction just going through the motions and he sees all his faults and he throws up his shields cause he is tired of hiding but the motion is easier than sleeping or admitting or opening up to what might be on the other side of this.

And I don’t want to know who that is. Could be worse or better, couldn’t of said it better myself. And he talks and I listen and I think I sit I respond.

Superior. Yippee. It wont let go, I cant let go of it, and I see myself above and beyond and what? Like I want to break down and cry to trent or morley or anyone about how it hurts me inside and that the shell of hardness is cracking and fucking a look inside and tell me what you see, that little boy, that sad little boy, that scared lonely little boy who wants nothing more than to be hugged and hugged till he dies. And who, right now thinks of dying.

What that I cant accept or cant accept the fact that I think that im better than, or above or higher or on a different level than other folk, that I have my friends and associates – there is no never – and I choose people who see that or who I can hide it from or who I haven’t shown it to yet. Or who im afraid to show it to, and there are those situations in the beginning of moments/experiences/adventures that I lay out my range of judgments about those I’m with and those who will be with me for the duration of however long and I just posit myself above or below and work from there.

I am quite sick of the bugs. What am I supposed to learn? That everybody is different but equal? That I just might learn something? What dude I fucking learned things, I gained fucking knowledge, and what that I am whatever – better – just say it, its easier, accept the thought process that I am just better, quicker, smarter, more prepared, gifted. I think those things, I have thoughts, and I seek out people who corroborate them, and I do not actively seek out those who do not and if I let go of those thoughts I feel like everything will fall out from under me, and I know that it wont but I’d rather be alone than surrounded by people. I cannot seem to just accept, and man trent, fuck you. That’s about all I have to say.

I don’t know what to say or how to resolve, fuck the sock company and fuck Wyckoff too, how does this computer know Wyckoff is a proper noun? God, I used to sleep in the parking lot of that cvs, why? When? For? I don’t even know, something having to do with work I think.

I cant seem to jump past this anger, I want to read the mail and go through each sentence and craft a long well worded and vicious reply attacking trent and his fucking India is the best ever and im going to run around and support bonded labour and those who benefit from it. And jim, the fucking same, the im better and I know and I cant believe you are acting how you are acting.

And the yogi prince? Whatever! Saju called me that, fine, I accepted and enjoyed it, whatever, id been working on my yoga, and he saw it or he’s crazy or there is an idea im even afraid to type. That maybe people are sometimes just certain things, for whatever reasons. I cant seem to escape the fucking cacophony of compliments. Not for a day. Do I unconsciously seek it out? Am I crazy? Different?

What now? All I want to do is shove my dick down trent and jims mouth. Fuck them both.

And I have found comfort in friends, here and there.

And I have found comfort in standards that are beyond and above and higher than what I have seen.

And I don’t need some dick professor insulting me or putting me out there for a fucking slaughter to the group – I hold the reigns here and could cut the cord on the program, I wont, and I wont sit back with that option and seek comfort in it.

End run – bypass them – goddamn him. He succeeds only in making me angry and helping me see things.

And now what, let him sit there with the last word – as if he does not have something to learn? And morley? Like he is perfect? Or beyond the bounds of regular academic discourse.