korean dog

Tonight I ate at the relatively new Korean restaurant down the street, "Ttowa." It was a place specializing in dumplings and it was SOOO good. From there, though, I got to looking at details about the history of Korean cuisine online, and of course I came across the consumption of dog. This issue is sensitive for me (cultural relativism) normally, but I'm drunk now, so every slight emotion takes on a maudlin turn. Not to discredit my actual emotions: I seriously cannot handle the concept of eating a dog. And that's not only because I love dogs with an unreasoning adoration; I mean I could never eat a cat either. But seriously, the idea of a dog being raised and slaughtered for human consumption? It makes <0 sense to me. (While we're on 'cultural relativism', this might be because Western society never eats a secondary consumer except if it's aquatic. Who knows.)

Anyway, of COURSE I started looking up the lives of Korean dogs (apparently there are pet breeds and a group designated for food; let's ignore that they're all actually the same species) and I DON'T FUCKING CARE THAT YOU WANT TO INTRODUCE LEGISLATION TO VIEW THEM AS LIVESTOCK AND THEREFORE ENSURE RIGOROUS INDUSTRY STANDARDS INSTEAD OF KILLING DOGS PEOPLE GOT SICK OF, I JUST DON'T WANT YOU TO KILL AND EAT DOGS PLEASE I WILL BEG YOU. I'm sure to a horse-lover this is the same issue (tbh when I look at a horse I am astounded by the sentience and propensity for bonding, I'm just not personally familiar enough).

SO: I look up two terms, "nureongi" and "hwanggu"

Now I am absolutely sure that I want to, at some point, adopt a Korean puppy bound for slaughter. How fucking GAY is this sentiment, not only practically but emotionally? I'd just torture myself with thoughts of the ones I didn't "save." Anyway, the beautiful intelligence shown in these pups' eyes is causing me tremors, just like previous dog phases I have gone through (Irish Wolfhound, Carolina dog, etc.) but with more of the unhealthy petfinder.com mentality.

Also, I MIGHT be convinced that Chalie is part Jindo.

a word dump

from an old profile:

It may, after all, be the bad habit of creative talents to invest themselves in pathological extremes that yield remarkable insights but no durable way of life for those who cannot translate their psychic wounds into significant art or thought.
Theodore Roszak, "In Search of the Miraculous"

a story from work tonight i posted on /fb/'s wall:

This story is dedicated to Brand Cook.

This evening at work, I went to take my customary 15 minute break. After helping a bevy of customers that night, including a very smelly Bulgarian guy who tried to ask me out clubbing because we had spent twenty minutes talking about shittons of eletronic artists we knew/liked, two miniature people (they weren't midgets, they were just very small and with sped up sounding voices) who bought that Stone Cold Steve Austin action movie, and a friendly black guy who is mentally challenged and who huffs loudly while listening to music, I was going to relish those short 15 minutes of respite.

I grabbed my book (a short non-fiction work about sociopaths, which I spied on a display table and picked up because I'm fairly certain Willy Christie is at least partially sociopathic) and went to a quiet reading area in the store. I sat down opposite a Negro gentleman. After about three minutes of reading, two faggy emo-ish teenagers shuffled up, laughing stupidly about a book they had. I don't have anything against teenagers - I'll even sell foolish ones Fall Out Boy albums with a smile - but I HATE disruptive people. Anyway, they were guffawing and falling over one another - I actually gave them a longer glance than usual because I thought they might be gay - when the fat one said, "Move over, I wanna sit down and have it NOT be totally gay HURR HURRR."

Their book turned out to be something cleverly entitled "Pot Culture." So they sat together in the comfy chair, chuckling and talking with one another about their no doubt many and varied experiences with OMG WEED. "See that's the ettiquette" ... "Yeah I want to use a carb like that, next time I guess" ... "Oh dude it was so funny haha" ... "Yeah this one time we did this, and used vodka instead of water, it was sweet" ... At that last one I finally got fed up and said, "It's called a smoother when you do that." The Negro opposite me immediately let out a surprised laugh (WE MAY ASSUME HE TOO IS A TOTAL BADASS AND SMOKES MARIHUANA!), while the teenfags just stared at me not knowing how to react. I continued, "So if you guys want to go somewhere in the store where it's okay to have a conversation and not this quiet area, that would be awesome."

They got up, looking uncomfortable and unsure, and started walking away. Then the thin one made some courageous zing about the water I was drinking and had dripped on my shirt. Well fair's fair I guess, I let him have that one. The young Negro gent laughed again and made a remark indicating his surprise. I said, "Well I work here, so I guess I kind of feel entitled." He was like "Dang, remind me not to have a conversation around you," laughing. We went back to reading and I finished my break in peace. Then I went back to work and had an awesome conversation with my coworker about using lavender and rose flowers in desserts.

[fin]

Shortbus

I just watched the John Cameron Mitchell movie "Shortbus." Jason burned it for me. I didn't know anything about it prior to watching (except what Jason implied, which is that it was sexual).

I can't remember the last time a movie made me cry that much. Maybe "Dancer In The Dark"? But that was five or so years ago. (Plus that movie is simply artfully aesthetic'd meldrama.) Anyway it was a great movie, with a somewhat weak climax/denouement, but still pretty wonderful. Here are some things that made me cry:

James is a sad beautiful character. I identify with his inability to be permeated by love, his tender guilt, his wish to cease being, his care for an SO who loves him deeply and whose love he can never receive. I identified really, really strongly with the stalker guy-- I'm not a voyeur or even a stalker, but he is perenially outside looking in (self-imposed?), pathetic, possibly loathsome, wishing really hard at love. Watching him made me sob like a retarded faggot. (Why did I need to put that in there? "Look ego, I'm still an offensive badass") I didn't really identify with the main character of Sofia, as I'm not new agey, Asian, or anorgasmic, but I did identify with her intense yearning watching the Beautiful Couple; in that pedestrian way of "That's so beautiful, why can't I have/experience/be that"; but watching them fuck almost broke the fourth wall, because I was pissed off that, yet again, the pinnacle is Beauty. Also the orgasm thing-- No one else has ever given me an orgasm. This is almost totally because of me, though; I'm not willing to have someone waste their time experimenting on me. I can't bear to be under pressure or scrutiny (how sad that I see me-focused sex in that way).

The first moment that made me well up was pretty telling-- I can't even remember which character it was, but two people were kissing. The kiss broke momentarily, and the one person watched the other person's face, which was in a state of total relenting desire, of vulnerability. This is what truly terrifies me. I can never be truly vulnerable in front of anyone. I have a lot of leeway-- I don't mind learning new things, being first perceived as stupid, making an ass of myself being ham-handed or clumsy; because in those circumstances I still have a core Me to come back to, and that's always protected. But that fear of rejection and ridicule, so intense that it's almost a phobia, never permits me to open myself to love. I can give love, and I can receive most kinds of love, but I have never made myself love-vulnerable to a person. I've come close-- obv. Alex, and actually Michael too, in a malformed kind of way. At least Alex is a fundamentally good person and we were both stuck in shitty situations (Venn diagram'd).

I'm pretty happy with seeing Tushar. His lack of any sort of romantic/sexual pressure, and esPECially the fact that he accepts me without dithering about femininity, combined with the fact that he actually does like me, is exactly what I need. There is a chance that he could be the person to change my heart about how men can't feel love-- To have someone explicitly say they like your intellectual curiosity, without it being forced or overly emotional, is one of the most genuinely flattering things I can imagine-- though if it had been said flatteringly I would have cringed and crept away. Maybe sexually we're not a WOWEE 100% MATCH DINGDING (the quick-answer in my head has always been "I need some miraculously talented omniscient Ubermensch to show me the ways, make me come, and leave"), but I like having sex with him, I like blowing him, I really like laying around together joking and touching. He almost made me cry a few times (not that he knew this) when he touched/held me like I have been craving for over a decade. Maybe he'll slowly get sick of my "plz srsly don't worry about making me cum lol" schtick. Not too quickly though or I'll feel PRESHAH. Good lord I feel so sorry for every human who gets ensnared in my awful labyrinth of a mind.

my one friend has a unique way of experiencing music. she only likes music that directly pertains to her immediate experiences. it's so weird! when i met her, we were both incoming freshmen to college. she was a ska/punk girl-- dyed hair, wacky clothes, all that. (actually that summer we met by chance at a weezer show-- she was a HUGE fan at that point.) after about a year and a half or two years, her focus changed: she no longer wanted to have such an immediate breadth-- she studied abroad both in brazil and india within a yeah of one another. we'd both studied a variety of languages up until then, but she got very into romance stuff (whereas i had a broader yet shallower focus). IMMEDIATELY she shifted from her former interests (deal's gone bad, mustard plug) to new ones (manu chao [whom i had introduced her to actually!], mestre suassuna). so for at least a year, all she listened to was brazilian, indian, and especially capoeira music. she had started doing capoeira. i still hate capoeira to this day, although i really shouldn't, simply because of her interest. you see, i viewed her shifting alliances as an affront to the established friendship we had had. anyway, after a few years of that (during which she recovered her old hard drive and was shocked and amazed to see how much ska she had had, as though it were a surprise from ancient history), she made friends with a new group of people, the townies of our rural-ish college town. now she listens to "old-timey" music-- zydeco, bluegrass, ragtime, anything turn-of-the-century-americana like that. luckily i was interested in all those before she was, or else i'd probably hate them too. i take music so seriously and personally, and she doesn't realize how little the actual music matters to her, only the social situation surrounding it, that i see it almost as an insult. no, definitely as an insult; i just wish that weren't the case.

anyway, that's my entry for now. love you.

I want to be attractive so that the use of my body could bring someone pleasure :(

I refuse to even think about the damage to me that might have been undone if, many years ago, someone made known that they wanted me.

loneliness my companion

I feel so gut-wrenchingly agonizingly lonely. I want to curl up, rake my nails over my skin, tear my hair out of my scalp, rock back and forth, keen slowly, stab things, cup myself because no one else will hold me. I keep crying. I'm so lonely. It's acute now because most of the time I am (pretend to be?) just horny but now I am craving love and affection. Jesus Christ I want someone to hold me so so badly. I haven't had a best friend in over a year and I can't keep going on as if that's not affecting me. I have no external validation and a pig-headed idiotic will that I shouldn't need any. I can't even imagine believing that someone is fond of me, let alone being able to accept physical contact without panicking. Even Jimi, those months ago, made me cry when he wanted to kiss me, and I never lusted after/Loved him (loved him yes not Loved him). And he was so kind and tolerant, and I had known and trusted him for years. Even as I desire affection I believe it impossible. I really, really wish that weren't the case. I wish I could believe in something resembling love but when I hunker down and consider it it seems too implausible. I recognize its existence everywhere else but cannot graft that idea into my own emotional landscape. Am I alone in this?-- When I watch people interact lovingly I either assume without malice that it's a charade or boggle that there could be such a communion between two people. My lovely schism: m/f interaction must be non-sexual/romantic/loving, either as friends or as porn. How happy. I want someone to hold me and fuck me and love me but I can't conceive of that happening or of me accepting it if it did. I am too suspicious of trollery. GUESS WHAT JOKES ON YOU YOU TROLL URSELF FAG. This was supposed to be a cathartic release of anguish and instead it turned into yet another pointless, circuitous, needlessly pedantic, looking-at-it-from-many-angles-but-guess-what-you're-in-a-hall-of-mirrors-so-all-
your-data-is-irrelevant polemic that no one else could wade through. Fuck. Well at least I'm not shivering and crying anymore.