dianogi

Men's clothing is the most undynamic fashion in my opinion, especially here in America. Our culture appears to desexualize men, in general, while sexualizing women to such a degree that whenever words such as assault, harassment, rape, abuse, sexy, lovely, goregous, et. al. enter any discourse we, who have been even in part touched by the long arm of Elizabethan or Purtianical mores, erect such a hostile defense that we actually become offensive.

I want to design dresses, skirts, and provocative wear only for men. I want men to wear designs that make women jealous. One could argue that I may seek to further entrench sexual divisions and norms as we currently know them, but I shall respond that men are the ones who maintain their own repression! I've worn skirts, with nothing underneath even, and it's liberating being in clothes that fit you both as a person and a soul.

Men have figures! Men have waists! Men have hips! Men look damn fine in dresses and skirts, especially when they make no compromises of their penises!!

Penis, penis, penis!!! Men have dicks and we can wear dresses! Get over it bitches!

Days off- they give us pause to tender our energies where our scheduled time denies our whimsy; they allow us pause in any space, though never in time. A gathering of two or more sends comfort chemical levels raging, and the space becomes full, in motion, warm. The hours rush ahead to ensure ample allotments of mirth may distract you from obeying th rules of the noct- and diurnal.

So, I'm making the transition, albeit slow, back across the digital divide. Acquiring a computer able to survive my secretarial assaults has risen to priority one, especially after a rise in capital occurs. This could happen during the summer when I'll be running in and out of the oppressive heat of the Houston climate.

Throughout these past several weeks, I have again reexamined my own actions, in conjunction with my failures, toward completing key goals.
- I'm not in New Orleans.
- I have made no gestures beyond speech to re-enroll in college.
- I continue hemorrhaging capital: emotional, mental, & monetary.
- I drink more, almost everyday. (I'm functional.)
- I desire intimacy and, at the same time, loathe coming across desperate for affection.
- I know I could be more honest.

I will reorganize. I will outdo myself. I have to because I have a history to maintain.

Quality pictures of First Lady Michelle Obama and Second Lady Jill Biden walking the parade route are forth coming unless anyone else can find any. Moving on, I'd like to devote the entirety of this post to the most fashionable women in Washington D.C. So let's see those photos, and show some Love!

Despite the narrative, which is my existence, my history, the reality surrounding and involving me not only continues to educate, foster, motivate, and resurrect my actual and non-physical human beings; the reality surrounding and involving me still presents such an array of conflicts (opportunities) and non-selves (honest, constant inner dialogue and debate) that more distant realities, co-existing or not, are realities I could live. An acceptance of my existence, both among the realities built before and since my existence, has allowed me to further accept the existence of my non-selves, i. e. you.

The goals in near future are, to me, high and worth sacrifice.

- Move back to New Orleans.
- Finish Xavier with a job or law school matriculation.
- Become a figure in The New Orleans' Revival.
- Start band(s) that endure.

I've been up for hours baring myself to myself and happened to have moments of shared humanity with two of my closest friends, even though I've known they the least well. I feel like a brother among a radical, realistic family: it's liberating, beautiful, and amazing. I can offer hugs and not a suspect glance will present itself, just a pair of warm, embracing arms.

I recognize, more than anyone, that I could have a much more pessimistic view of my life and future situations; and yet, as I stated before, just to be breathing and recognize that I remain among the living, struggling, and even destitute people of this world reminds me that every person has the strength and will do whatever the fuck they want, especially if it involves receiving no assistance. Only we, as individuals, can run our lone lives; yet, somehow I sense a sentiment that the big corrupt-corporate, torturous- even criminal- government agencies and presidentially appointed ally (IMMEDIATE & HUGE RED FLAG, a lot of times) actually may have hit their home stretch, and we, American people, honestly have no choice except to prepare for the revitalization and the actual betterment of society, which is singular and obivously global at this point. And this too has led me to be happy everyday, especially when I feel down.

Thanks again to all my friends, whether we've not shared a word in years or the contrary, for simply caring enough to be my friend because I personally see where I could improve on the friend and communication fronts; but, I totally love you guys.

This Christmas has been the best Christmas I've ever had. Christmas was not just a good day: it has been a week and three days. I finally went home. After two years away, after missing out on so much with my family, I visited what I now know as my home. I once again feel like I have that both(  mystic and physical place called home. )

Ten weeks ago, I wrote in my journal, this journal. Then, then ten weeks ago, was the time I had held hope my mental, physical, and emotional fatigue would yet earn me the narrative I want to have. My plan was simple. [Notice how the simplicity of this statement produces a brittle, hollow independent clause which calls attention to the plan- a plan that was simple, a plan that was brittle, hollow.] *big shock*- Failed Plan. ( But rather than writing out a huge in depth crazy summary of what I have been doing and what has happened to and with me, I have made a list of some of the things I have done in the ten weeks since my previous post. )

1) This job is not going to drive me mad. The structure I am erecting will serve me well beyond my last day, even if I have to sue my boss for all the overtime he owes me. To date, it has cleared $1,000 by an additional $17.80.

2) I need Xavier. I have confirmed my re-admission. Money remains an issue, and that is my primary concern. As soon as I secure my financial situation, I'll be able to worry myself crazy about housing. Of course, I'd prefer to live off-campus, although the vast majority of business interests in New Orleans will continue to complain about revitalizing the city while ensuring that the poorest of its former residents cannot return.

3) Today, I finally got back to this list. It's been at least a month since I last have seen this list, which means I have not touched this list in at least a month and never plan to finish it.

4) Oops, I just did.

Behind, in front

Out, In

Loud, Quiet

Everywhere, Somewhere

Welcome to the Land of In Between,
where voices aren't heard and the
people aren't seen.

Strict disections
maintain
the restrictions
uphold
strict distinctions
in the in between of the different
factions.

I like disappearing. I'm not the only one who can.
But, I feel more comfortable when I am.
Moving in between the opinions and fact,
I am able to destroy any illogical crack.

People aren't seen.
Vocies are not heard.
Welcome to the Land of IN BETWEEN!

Somewhere, Everywhere

Quiet, Loud

In, Out

In front, Behind

As everyone who's ready this can see, it's been fucking forever since I've scribed the insanity everyone knows commonly as my(, much like everyone else's,) life.

The sexual starvation is nearly complete. Motherfuckin' yay for next week, the 14th. I'm going to screw some lucky guy dumb as the fuck. Plus, I can start giving head again. Yummy. I came in my own mouth sometime last week. I totally enjoyed it and realized how comfortable I am relating to my sexual desires and activities. It's a different kind of comfortable since I haven't been getting any ass. Even though I'm not quite finished with my full year, I feel prepared to make a very definite statement: when I feel comfortable enough to bottom, I'm going to ride like breast-fed, cornbread straight up whore.

Ben & Jerry's will no longer employ me because I'm leaving that fucking store in my dust. I'm completing my arrangements with Xavier and my loan company in order to secure some kind of funding for my education since I'm fucking poor. I haven't found a new job yet, but I've got a couple of prospects that make me very happy.

I'm ready to say, "BURN in Hell Houston," But if I have to stay in this city, I am already in the process of laying a work in progress of developing a scene, underground or otherwise. It'll be awesome, but I have to find out what God really wants me to do. Either way, I refuse to be unhappy anymore, and that statement is all inclusive.

Living in Houston, with such awesome friends by my side. Within my first six months here, I had a handful of close gay friends- their number has only grown,- and began my period away from school. In six more months, I not only had a job, but I obtained a promotion. I was still finding time for socializing and able to secure another solitary living situation. And now that I am a full year and a few weeks known again as both a Houstonian and a Texan, I have to say that my time here is ready to close. If ever there were a time I felt most at peace with all my past, present, and future, that time is now.

So numerous are the twists and unbelievable had-to-be-there moments, I am grateful I can recall nearly all of them without requiring their initial contexts:

A super gay, self-hating Asian who is the complete A&F, A&E, American Appeal, Armani Exchange (etc.) wannabe.

Bobby's rebellious stomping of a Bible he tore from the hands of a bigot preaching what he thought was the word of God.

I gave up working in a laboratory and little exam room to now serve non-reading, inattentive middle-aged professionals and their (more often than not) ill-mannered, disrespectful, and ingrate spawn they call children.

I no longer find joy through sex. I still enjoy it, but I'm not having it; so, I've learned to value it so much more and also that no two people see sex the same, even- and sometimes- especially if it's mutual.

All of the times I've been out by myself, I've made into mini-dates with myself. I find so much more enjoyment in just wandering around town than I have anywhere else I've resided.


Those are few of the many lessons, maxims, and memories I'll keep with me. And now, that I've decided to finally start a band, like I have wanted to since I was in middle school, I plan to maintain the flow of all this wisdom upon and through me. Because now I'm no longer just living my life to make me happy, healthy, and sane, I'm starting now with my whole foundation for the way I'm going to raise my silly kids when I decide I'm ready to teach some new and unique individual as many of things in the depths of my mind as they can [generally] age-appropriately handle.

You scored as Sweet. </td> Sweet 75% Hot 75% Soft 56% Exciting 50% Violent 50% Shy 31% Awkward 13% Wet 6% What is your sexual style? created with QuizFarm.com

My trip out of Houston has only hours before it begins. I don't know if I want to contain an ounce of the elation I've felt for the past couple of months. This trip represents to- and for- me a grand confrontation of a host of problems and concerns. I don't say this to mean I will- nor even plan to- solve anything. I am simply ready to engage them.

Confrontation appears to be in full swing: social, moral, congitive, religious, and (forever and always) personal. It's become a more comfortable state of existence because I am becoming more aware of the inherent positives confrontation can create. Not everyone mentions, much less acknowledges, that through confrontation dialouge finds its spark and thoughts no longer weigh themselves down with endless recycling of prior statements, questions, or conclusions.

In eleven days, I will have lived three times longer than I intended. My decision to not only see, but to live, my future is one that I will continue to treasure because this life continues to be a hell of an adventure. I have come to the conclusion that I have thought, and several times have almost dared to act, not only in haste but in spite of myself and the things I know to be true.

I have lived in my head for so long I had distorted the reality that lay in front of my own eyes. Now, I reached a critical point. I have joined a small minority of people who are aware. It has nothing to do with a question of what; it is a simple state of existence. It feels like what some may describe as the place beyond middle age, a place where things can continue to not make sense and yet it is acceptable because the forces behind those nonsenses are the true object of attention.

I may not be ready for what I feel is going to be a great leap forward, but I don't feel I should be. As the leap occurs, so too will my grasp of how best to manage and/or cast aside whatever I see as an obstacle, an oppurtunity, or both. For so, so long I have felt a great urge to run, defend, and define myself, and I continued to destroy what I should have cherished, what I wanted to cherish. That urge has left me: anywhere far is not what I need.

In a negroclash post long forgotten, mrs_devastat0r mentioned a phrase which, I believe, could be a super-fucking awesome name for a band: The Fantastic Internets. In a grand scheme based purely in faith, I will attempt to bring said band to life this year after I have moved back to New Orleans. I have already decided that each member will have a stage name of their choosing. I have already chosen mine, Men Are Drama Queens (Mad Q!).

Thoughts and opinions?

if you comment on this post:
1. i’ll respond with something random about you
2. i’ll challenge you to try something
3. i’ll pick a color that i associate with you
4. i’ll tell you something i like about you
5. i’ll tell you my first/clearest memory of you
6. i’ll tell you what animal you remind me of
7. i’ll ask you something i’ve always wanted to ask you
8. if i do this for you, you must post this on yours

You are a bitch. I don't hate you because you are truthful, and I respect and accept truth. You keep me on my toes. You allow me to fail, and I must thank you, especially when I happen to be right. I made myself cold and callous, and you've made sure that I have become aware that it was my own doing. Finding and releasing this potential is a fantastic and unreal journey I sometimes want to quit; and knowing this, you never choose to stop me. I push me. I shape me. I own me. It also happens that I own my actions and thoughts even if they remain unexpressed or un-admitted. I have brought myself this far not only with your aid, but most likely by your will, desire, or plan. If said statement is false, then I am an amazing individual. And if that statement is true, then your are not a bitch: it is I who exists.

I am so close to just giving up on work and any meaniful relationships I have or desire. More and more, I wake up still tired and burnt out; then, I do nothing until I leave for work, where I attempt to enjoy myself and fail. I'm tired of dealing with everyone; I'm tired of this city. I want to leave and never come back!! Fuck Houston!!! I HATE THIS CITY!!!!

Thank you Hurricane Katrina for destroying my life. You took everything I ever wanted from me. You shattered a sacred piece of my soul. It's been a bitch trying to reconstruct it, and for that I can thank everyone who currently feels disappointed in me, feels frustrated with me, or feels hurt by me, even though you'll never have the guts to just tell me out right. To anyone who feels that the previous statement does not apply to them, thank you, just thank you.