Digging too deep, we are all obscene.

There are far too many wonderous things on the internet. I would rather stare blankly at a series of windows flashing and coalescing than write, alas, it must be done.

Because I have a huge ego.

Probably two things:

I successfully killed who I was. I made decisions antithetical to my previous nature. It was awesome. I drunkenly exploited a third world country for its resources. I spat on a police officer and veteran, then stole a painting from a sad hawker with two kids. I think I didn't flush and then fought a group of schoolchildren and defended my actions with "Everyone is allowed to have emotions!"

I expected some perspective building out of these deaths of previous self, but what I've found is that I have experiences, but my person hasn't changed. I feel pretty much the same way about life. Maybe I should do it again. Maybe I should do it every weekend waiting for the mirror and the words to shift and aggregate.

Thing two: I've been having some trouble while I'm having sex with A LOT of women (I don't know why people don't take me seriously). While I'm rocking the motions the only way I know how, I keep having to stop the action and tell her not to move her body, but make faces at me while I pan around her and close in on her face, and then back up again, only to pan around.
It's a challenge to do this spectatorship and participate at the same time, leading me to have virtually no sex my entire life.

Some of my friends inform me that this behavior is actually a representation of a need to be stimulated by what I've seen, which is apparently odd camera angles in cheap pornography.

Well! How-dy! I'd like to counter by depicting realistic, inspiring sexual experiences that could also be made into pornography:

Passing each other every day for about six, seven month Going out for coffee and talking about displeasure with the intellectual regime about a month later and awkwardly making an advance that pits me back further, over and over again until

A final culmination of unsaid and (often) unwanted evanescent emotions leads us to an encounter for five, ten minutes until I fall asleep because of exhaustion.
All of this would take place in real time.

But that would be like making a map that so accurately depicts the terrain that it exactly covers it like a fitted blanket.

It sucks to have to pick and choose. You miss out on so much.

That quote doesn't mean anything. I typed in a text message about food. I like to be enigmatic, but not too enigmatic.

So time flies when
anything.
Cliche, right?

But it has flown. My hair is eight inches on top. Most people on the street don't respond to my smiles anymore; they assume I use drugs, which is true, but is unfair of them to assume.
Classes are better, I'm smarter. I'm less patient. I think I'm a better person, but I'm struggling with that. Who knows?

I mostly struggle with my predisposition for predestination. I inactively focus on what I'm supposed to be experiencing, while fighting against that impulse with solipsist nihilism.

For instance:

"It's a beautiful night, the people are wonderful. I think I want a hot dog. I would like to make something of my life. Good thought, I wonder what lesson I can take from leaving Scott's apartment early. Probably one to do with temperance.

WAIT.
No, Joel. Stop it. You're doing that Calvinist thing again when you think there is a lesson in every moment. It's not that life might not be important, it's that life is not important right now.
Stop it. Stop it. I do want a hot dog."

Plenty of silly things have happened that I should have chronicled, but I have neglected my ego. One time, I was moving stuff from a storage apartment, but it was too carry to heavy, so I put all of the clothes on and walked the rest of the mile with ease, asking pedestrians if they knew about the storm.

I do a lot of stuff like that. I'm unappreciated and that's probably for the best.

You know what the best part of being Youth is? I can purposefully make decisions I know are poor and chalk it up to my age. Immediate acceptance of terrible actions.
"We were all kids once," I'll nudge my ashamed children, "right?"

I went to see the Blue Scholars at the Bowery Ballroom and it was a great show. The highlight was when the MC, Geo, and security shoved his way into the front before he started. I was in the front next to him. I knew it was him so I said, "I can tell you're in the band because of how you look, but who the fuck is the guy on stage?"

"He's low-key and shit." Then he laughed.

I liked Blue Scholars more than I liked Public Enemy.
I hope both parties read this post.
A boy can dream.

Father Figures (Or Why I Learned to Love Artificial Insemination)

Okay, not really.

I would hate to have a blog, or any series of written pieces where members of my regular, dedicated audience says, "It's all kind of the same, Joel. You didn't grow, you hack."

You know?
If I was an old, bitter drunk and I wrote about being an old bitter drunk, maybe a wouldn't care, but I'm not Bukowski or Burroughs or
Hell,
I'm not even Hemingway.

So,
I'm really digging into the possibility of finding my biological father. I think the state of science is awesome and frightening, all the same. I shouldn't be able to find him, you know.

There are some exact matches on the DNA Family Tree website and I sent an email to my mom saying, "I know this guy isn't alive anymore, but he could have been my biological father."

She said, "No. This is why:." She then listed facts about my biological father of which I had never been aware. WAY TO KEEP ME IN THE DARK ABOUT EVERYTHING MOM.
I'm not angry, but if I find out about another sibling this year, I'll go crazy. I'll snap.

I put here a list of the things I knew about my biological father a month ago:

-Brown hair
-Brown eyes
-Master's program when he donated
-Lived in Oregon
-I can only assume male.

Here is what I was informed:

-25 in 1990, so born in or around 1965
-Many siblings, roughly 5 brothers and one sister
-Medium complexion
-Married with no children in 1990.
-5'11"
-Hobbies included biking, reading, writing, history and backpacking
-O+

The more you know!

It's like I'm discovering myself. Answers to questions I've always had, like my family's surprise at my academic success.
"You did really well in school this year, Joel!"
"Right."
"Well done!"
"It really wasn't an issue. Didn't you and Dad do well in school?"

"Well, no."

I don't know. I don't want to overthink it. Overwrought in Overthought. It'd be cool is all.
Right?