A New Purpose, or, Solving the Problem

Background Preamble / Getting to Know the Problem

As I stated earlier, I’ve been reading all about gender issues again. This is something that’s been on my radar for a long time. I think I first became cognizant of the true extent of misandry and downright unfairness in American society around the time my parents were divorcing in 2001. I have distinct memories of reconciling the giant biological motivators of puberty with the sobering truths (that were pretty self-evident, even in my limited experience with girls in school) offered by a man I knew only on the internet as NiceGuy. I remember, clearly, reading NiceGuy’s articles while staying in my dad’s trailer shortly after he and my mother divorced, but shortly before my dad pretty much permanently removed himself from my life by moving to California.

I followed NiceGuy as best I could over the next year or two, but eventually I succumbed to depression after having my heart wrenched around by women. Perhaps I will write about my memories of that time at some later date – I’ve been trying to unearth some kind of written record from back then (as I tend to prefer to rely on facts rather than my faulty and fragile memory) but to no avail. One thing I do remember was an intense desire – that was inevitably dashed – to escape my mother and move in with my father down in California before my freshman year. This disappointment only exacerbated my sullen mood. In any case, I lost sight of gender issues again until my junior year in high school.

Literally the day before junior year began, I was dumped by my first (and so far only) girlfriend. I detailed this as it happened to me. That summary was written only two days after the break up. I did not end up so much bitter at her or beholding of a grudge towards her as I wound up completely unable to trust women even in the most platonic of relationships. For the rest of my life up until literally about now, my feelings were mine alone, perhaps to be shared with my closest male friends who I knew understood me and were bereft of ulterior motives that would poison my trust.

My natural reaction at the time was to attempt to get back into a relationship – after all, I had been denied affection my entire life (hating to be hugged by my mother) and even if I had refused to have sex with Haley, I still found physical affection with a woman to be intoxicating. I was able to appreciate the way I had felt with Haley even if the circumstances of our breakup and the fact she had been cheating on me and lying to me had poisoned those memories somewhat. I was young and willing to try again. But I was not stupid and I was not willing to be hurt again. In my new search, I began to pay a lot more attention to the attitudes of my potential romantic partners.

I came from an extremely liberal area of the country – in one of the larger townships north of Seattle. Therefore, I was completely inundated in a culture that told me I was to blame for all of society’s ills, as a white male. And no group was quicker to regard me as a villain than females (I did not fail to note the irony of white females taking absolutely no responsibility for the guilt society tried to shove on me for our decidedly shared ancestry, instead being perfectly content to aid in the pushing). It seems my subconscious memories of NiceGuy’s wisdom began to surface and I started questioning all it was I had been taught.

I had always been fed up with school, also, feeling like I had been doing all of my “real” learning on the internet, talking to people who were sometimes twice my age. School I felt was a means to an end – a guarantor of some nebulous future concept of success that I had to tolerate if I wanted to “get anywhere” – but I became increasingly disillusioned with the entire education system. This all came to a head when I was told I had to do a “protest” project for my AP Language class. I was incensed at the idea that I had to protest something – I didn’t care enough to be angry and whiny like all those vapid idiots that protested trivial bullshit that didn’t matter all day long in our streets! I was initially inclined to protest the project itself, but I decided for a more devious option.

I decided to protest feminism.

I was able to convince a male classmate to tackle this monumental beast with me. Teachers who respected me advised me against it, called it crazy. I took the project very seriously. I bought two or three full length books and read them cover to cover, highlighting the juicy parts. I wrote Jack Kammer and even got an autographed copy of his book with words of encouragement. I tried to have civil debates with females in the library and what have you, and felt vindicated every time I was shouted down by their senseless and shrill accusations I was a rapist bigot. (Rapist? I’ve barely hugged women, thank you.)

I crafted my essay and showed off my video project – my partner was sick and wasn’t there to do the presentation with me. The video was a satirical look at men struggling to deal with the realities of going to a feminist college that was completely unfulfilling to them. It resonated with many of the males in the class, who asked if I had been taking years of video editing classes. (Nah. Just had a clear vision and went with it.) I received an A on the essay and a B on the presentation from a very liberal male instructor (at least men can be reasoned with!) but I don’t think I changed the mind of a single female in the class.

My research for the project left me extremely disillusioned with education as an institution. I did not want to believe the facts that I had unearthed, but everything I had experienced in life corroborated them. I was able to find a college that seemed untainted by this increasingly frustrating and frightening agenda and was even accepted, without having to finish my high school diploma (a rare honor that was probably secured due in part to very strong letter of recommendation from Mr. Michel, one of the best teachers and mentors I’ve ever had).

The catch? In order to qualify for financial aid for this institution, I had to get both of my parents to file paperwork they were completely disinterested in filing. Neither of them were cooperative. I think my mom finally acquiesced but the college never did receive the paperwork from my father, who was in California and impossible to get a hold of. And I was told that even if I legally emancipated myself from my parents, the law mandated that their incomes still be factored into any assessment for financial aid I might have.

I had previously tried to be reasonable with my mother and offer her a compromise where I would stay in Bellingham and try to mend our broken relationship if she allowed me to move out of the house. Rather than be reasonable, she accused me of (among other things) constantly playing the victim and completely incapable of taking care of myself. I would never, ever again try to reason with her. When my hopes to go to St. John’s College had been dashed, I quickly turned to a friend, Nathan, for help. Nathan had always been a very good friend to me. (He is 9 years my senior and has a family of his own, and in some ways, I feel as though I am a part of his extended family. I initially met him in Bellingham, but in short order he moved back to the place of his birth – Utah.) He understood why I felt the need to get out of my house and said he would allow me to stay with him for a time in Utah until I could get a job and apartment of my own.

So, at the age of 17, I packed everything I owned (purchased with money I had earned working part-time since I was 15) into two or three boxes and drove with Nate to Utah to start what I hoped would be a new and more fulfilling life, free of the toxic influence of my mother.

Glossing over many interesting details, Utah did not solve any of my problems. I assumed the problem must exist with me, that I was somehow flawed. I needed to do something drastic to improve myself, I thought, and so I (for many, many complicated and complex reasons I will treat another time) decided to enlist in the Marine Corps.

About this time last year, I went on leave after graduating the final phase of my year long training process before going to my first duty station in Japan. I saw my brother for the first time in five years. My brother had been my idol and only parent growing up, and watching him spiral downwards into alcoholism affected me in untold ways. He had finally met a woman he was going to settle down with, and apparently kicked his habit, and he even had a child! My leave was to be a joyous reunion and the celebration of a new nephew named after me.

Instead, I got embroiled in a bitter and brewing custody battle. I spent my nights writing forum posts (let me know if that link works – somehow my IP address has been banned from that forum!) and emailing Dr. Warren Farrell to see if he would serve as an expert witness in the event of litigation my brother might have to get into. Much to my surprise, Dr. Farrell responded within 24 hours of my emailing him, and was more than willing to help if it came to it. I was planning on spending the entirety of my $15,000 enlistment bonus to help my brother if need be. This was my nephew, and I wasn’t going to see him mistreated. Even at this time, it seemed like men’s advocacy groups were in a minority on the net.

The situation never required litigation, thankfully, and my brother has maintained custody of my nephew. The situation was stressful but fulfilling. It felt good to help my brother. I felt like maybe it was the time to reconcile with my mother, that maybe the whole family could heal by uniting behind my brother and supporting our nephew. I decided to go visit my mother at home.

I was disappointed to learn that my mother did not trust my brother and was still angry with him over disappointments from the past. What’s more, she completely denied and decried all of my memories of growing up in her home as ridiculous (even though I corroborated and attempted to temper them with written records like journals, emails and forum posts I’d made during the time, and conversation with my brother).

Mine has been a life characterized by isolation, an infinitely repeating loop of trauma, trying to forget that trauma and once it was forgotten trying to remember it once again. My memory is awful, likely as a subconscious coping strategy to block out pain that would render me immobile for days. In Utah, I remember reading a book that rendered me paralytic for a whole day because of how it resonated with my tremendous and inexpressible pain.

I did some other things on leave that I’ll also have to write about later, but which resulted in me feeling like I was ready to try and enter the uncertain world of male-female relations once again. I had isolated myself for a long time (my entire enlistment thus far) from women and from thoughts of gender bias. I had thought that perhaps I was wrong and that previously I had just been buying into a crazy and bigoted world view.

I joined a dating website with the hopes of finding a woman to connect with. Over the past twelve months, I have had conversations with over 300 women from that website that have only served to completely corroborate the facts asserted by men’s rights advocates. Recently, I rediscovered NiceGuy’s page, and very recently, I decided to start exploring the forums, which led to me finding all sorts of links to a burgeoning men’s movement that seems to have cropped up almost overnight.

I spent the past few days reading all these various websites almost religiously, finding catharsis in knowing that I am not alone and that I am not crazy, at the very least. All of these sites and blogs and forums and statistics are excellent at articulating The Problem. I am assuming you already know what I am talking about – if you don’t, get acquainted. This is as good a starting point as any, with a well written posts and a billion links to explore for some more of the same. But, I need more than just catharsis and camaraderie. I need a…

Solution

There doesn’t seem to be too much written about solutions to The Problem. Granted, I have not fully groked the “men going their own way” movement, but it seems at best an embrace of being single. This does not seem like it will fix our society or civilization. Another common solution, and the one NiceGuy adopted all the way back in 2002, is to leave America altogether for greener pastures. While I cannot blame him for going somewhere where he will be more appreciated, if all of our best leave, who is going to pick up the mess? How many innocents will suffer because all of the best people have left to get what they understandably deserve?

No, I can’t just up and abandon America. And I don’t want to advocate a life of eternal single hood and possible celibacy – I don’t think that’s an advocacy that can catch on. America was founded on principles I agree with and I do not want to think it is completely beyond salvaging. I am not so optimistic or naive to hope that I will be able to fix everything that is wrong with America in my lifetime, or to enjoy the fruits of my labor, for instance. But that is not why I choose to stay.

America, and indeed, all civilization, was built on the backs of many quiet sacrifices. Every generation sacrifices for the next so that things will be better. If we all pursue only our own happiness, then our species would surely go extinct. So, it seems as though it is necessary for some capable people to answer a veritable call to arms, even if it means they stand to personally gain little in the process. We need realistic and practical alternatives to abandoning women or abandoning nation.

What can be done? I propose that we need to develop and adopt a new philosophical outlook towards life and towards relating to others that is more mindful of the interconnectedness of all people, or at least certainly of all people in a given community. It should be easy to articulate, easy to understand, and demonstrable by easily observed examples. I will devote some energy to thinking about and distilling such a philosophy.

But philosophy alone won’t fix this. There will also need to be some kind of activism. Some of us, to include I believe myself, are so damaged by what has happened that we are quite literally unable to trust women. Even women who may be our allies in this fight. That being said, I think it is best for those of us who are so damaged to not talk to women about these things, if we can help it. Our bitterness and resentment will likely seep through and poison our purpose, turning allies against us before they even get the chance to fight with us. We should instead focus our intentions on the still young generation of boys who are still salvageable. If we are able to rescue them, perhaps their successes will provide us with a measure of happiness and resolution and we will then be able to ease our way back into reasonable conversation with the other gender. If not, as I said, we should find satisfaction in our sacrifice to instruct and save the next generation of males from the perils and unnecessary trauma we went through. Were it not for such quiet and sometimes ultimate sacrifices occurring throughout all of human history, we wouldn’t be here anyway.

The idea is that we need to find a purpose that doesn’t just provide us with a reason for living, but also a reason for dying if necessary. A purpose that, regardless of whatever else we may achieve in life, the pursuit of will be good enough for us even if we do not reap the benefits of its attainment. Necessarily, this is hard decision to make, and I do not expect many will be able to make it. But I will do my best to do this. It is not so different from my duty as a United States Marine. In the words of Kierkegaard: “The thing is to find…the idea for which I can live and die.” I think this is one such idea.

Belated summary of Friday, preview of Saturday.

We woke up around 0700 to go to battalion PT, which wound up being a four mile run in “boots and utes” around base. Guess who fell out? If you guessed the women, you’d be right. In any case, after the run, we had a field meet where our company took 5th out of 6 companies. There were complaints of unfair shit going on (some of which had substance) but, ultimately, who cares if we took 5th? This was not something we were told was happening but one day in advance, and not something we prepared for. Meanwhile, other companies have so little maintenance to do that they can spend all day doing stupid shit like push humvees around so that when a field meet comes up, they can take 1st.

After the field meet we had ‘bag nasty’ chow, and then stood around outside for forever while a health and comfort inspection went down. Surprisingly, the inspection turned up very little contraband, so hopefully that’ll translate into some tangible good come Monday morning.

We got done with all the bullshit around 1400. I took a power nap, as I have been doing lately, and upon waking was actually able to talk to Ashley for a bit. Kyle brought in a large mixed drink of whiskey and Canada dry (in roughly equal ratio). I proceed to pound that and get pretty buzzed/drunk (haven’t figured out yet where buzzed ends and drunk begins) while talking to her. It was a mostly one sided conversation – thankfully I didn’t say anything stupid like admitting any feelings for her or anything. She was mostly probing me for information about women in my past. I sobbed a few times, as there’s still a lot of pain there.

Around 1900 I go out with Griffo to get some CoCo’s, and we come back to Surfside to drink. I talk to Griffo, don’t really remember about what so much. I don’t know what I was doing with her, really, probably just an impulse decision based on my loneliness. I drank too much by the time the night was over and came back and vomited. I can’t currently remember whether I threw up two times or four times – I think I went to the bathroom twice and threw up a total of four times. In any case, I had too much, or mixed the wrong types of alcohol together.

I finally am done throwing up and in bed by 0200. I am woken up around 0700 by the duty looking for my fucking stupid shitbird roommate who needs to clean his common area. I drink water, go online, try to talk to Ashley (no avail), finally get some breakfast around 0930, and come back to settle in to reading a lot more of Female Misogynist and exploring some of the links. That’s probably what I’ll spend most of today doing too.

Today was frustrating, as usual

I’ll spare myself the predictable breakdown of no messages and no replies this time. I go to work early and finish OJTing Griffo on multimeters and draw the S&R duty again. I play some Borderlands on chow (I’ve been playing it over the past couple of days, while listening to Fall Out Boy and Motion City Soundtrack). I come back to work and am told my SSgt Favor I had fucked up somehow doing something but he isn’t clear as to what and he makes veiled threats about making my life miserable.

What the fuck ever.

I read some shit online – about bands, singers, and finally the digital revolution – and go back to the Cal Lab to work on the 3515N with Sgt. Benson. I keep getting pulled away by SSgt, who says I completely failed to OJT the Marines properly. Too bad he completely failed to explain his expectations for me – the way he had laid out the task made it seem as though the Marines would be QVI’d on the same gear they had used during the OJT, and, further, utilizing the same procedure. He had told me nothing of his intentions that they understand every little thing about multimeter theory and electronic theory (biasing voltage on diodes, for instance – you don’t need to know that to calibrate a multimeter).

My favorite idiosyncrasy was that he expected me to fully detail the capacitance function to the Marines even though we do not calibrate the capacitance function of multimeters. Now, why in the fucking hell would I train someone to do something they don’t need to do, ever?

I’m mostly just upset that he handled this in such a childish manner, flying off at the handle and making stupid threats, all the while failing to realize that he hadn’t properly laid out his expectations for me. This coming from a man who claims he’s all about having clear expectations and so on. It’s probably a result of miscommunication – before SSgt Favor, we didn’t really even have a QA program whatsoever, and QVIs were a joke.

I’m just fucking sick and tired of work right now.

I went home after work and played more Borderlands and took a nap, as I have been doing recently. I realized I hadn’t made the daily post like I wanted to yet, so I stopped reading NiceGuy’s Forums and the various links from there to come here and recount my day. I am finding some solace from the readings. I just wish I could find a woman to love. Ugh.

Broken Heart

Today was another day. Woke up around 0520 – no replies, no messages – and PT was cancelled so I tried to go back to sleep. Just as I was falling asleep around 0600 (or perhaps, just as I had arrived into a dream-like state), my obnoxious third roommate (PFC Miller) entered the room and woke me up with his discourteous use of lights and noise. I decide, angrily and begrudgingly, to just get the fuck up. I have an early breakfast and arrive at work early for no reason.

I finish the OJT with the multimeters for LCpl Hartman, and then I sit around and do a bunch of nothing. I listen to angry music. I read my textbook for the final quiz I’m taking later – but I don’t read it very seriously. I am then told that I should go to early chow so I can pull the S&R watch over regular chow.

I go into the room and immediately try to nap – this is around 0930. Around 1000, I wake up from a dreamlike state thanks again to PFC Miller’s discourteous use of lights and noise. WHAT THE FUCK? Twice in the same God damn day, and when I was on early chow? Holy shit. In any case,  I once again forgo trying to get back to sleep and get on my computer. No replies, no messages. Ashley is, however, online and active. I debate internally the virtues and missteps regarding sending her a message and decide to hazard one anyway.

She is, as usual, some what distracted seeming and slow with responses. She is noncommittal with answers regarding my proposition, perhaps because she is unclear on the particulars. She apologizes and says she’s been at a Christmas party and some other things – she also says she’s taking a phone call. That’s all fine, I suppose. I tell her I have to be getting back to work, but that perhaps when she gets a moment to herself, she could write me back and wish her well.

I go back to work. I read some of this guy’s stuff, having found it from BusterB’s webpage. Around 1300 I go back into the lab and wait for Griffo to finish whatever she’s doing in mech so I can OJT her on multimeters. I listen to angry music. I read my textbook nonchalantly. I “keep on trucking,” as I have been since forever. (I learned previously not to wear my heart on my sleeve, sometime in high school.) Griffo doesn’t get far with her training before I have to leave for class.

I go to class. I take the quiz. I come home. Ashley hasn’t responded. She looks as though she is active on the internet, however, so I hazard a message. This is about fifty minutes ago. She has not responded, still. Oh well, right?

Seriously, I want to be fucking dead at times like this. I’m not in any danger of killing myself, I’m just saying.

One of the songs I listened to many times today (Broken Heart by Motion City Soundtrack, bold for emphasis):

I’ll start this broken heart
I’ll fix it up so it will work again
Better than before
Then I’ll star in a mystery
A tragic tale of all that’s yet to come
Fingers crossed there will be love

But I get carried away with every day
And every fantasy
the deeper the wound,
the harder I swoon and wish that that was me

So much to say
But no words to convey
The loneliness building with each passing day
But I’m getting used to it, you have to get used to it

I’ll devise the best disguise
A brand new look and take them by surprise
They’ll never guess what’s not inside

I’ll express myself with ease,
With confidence and character complete
With fingers crossed they’ll talk to me

But I get carried away with every page
In every magazine
The cheaper the thrill
the deeper I fill my head with blasphemy

So much to say
But No words to convey
The loneliness building with each passing day
But I’m getting used to it, you have to get used to it

I’ll destroy this useless heart
I’ll fuck it up so it’ll never beat again
Not just for me but for anyone

But I get carried away
with every phrase and made up malady
The longer I hide behind these lies,
The more I disintegrate

So much to say
But no words to convey
The loneliness building with each passing day
But I never get used to it, you just have to live with it 

I should have mentioned…

It’s now 1202, and I am back from Foster and my CLEP test. The first thing I do is check Facebook and OkCupid – no replies, no messages. I should have mentioned that I knew I would do this even as I wrote the last post, and due to this indiscretion, I am now obliged to mention that the first thing I will do upon returning to my room at approximately 1630 is check again for replies and messages. Likely, there will be none. That won’t stop me. I’ll probably hang around on Facebook all night until I sleep, and then the process will repeat.

No messages, no replies

I woke up today at 0520 or so. I knew I wouldn’t have to PT, because I was going to CLEP on Foster this morning. The only way to get to CLEP in time is to take the 0720 bus, as the 0820 bus would get me there too late to be “on time.” The first thing I did upon waking up was, as usual, check my Facebook and my OkCupid. Upon seeing that I hadn’t received any messages in my inbox on Facebook (which is the vehicle I used to inquire about my leave plans) or messages on OkCupid, I take the next logically obsessive step and check both of my active email accounts. Again, no messages.

The first thing I do upon finishing my CLEP test, while waiting for Kyle to finish his, is check Facebook and OkCupid again at 1020 or so. Again, no messages, no replies. The thought hadn’t ocurred to me yet to check my email, so let’s do that now – no surprise there, empty!

Why am I surprised by this outcome? Furthermore, why am I disappointed? Why do I check so frequently when I am rarely rewarded? This feels a lot like grinding for gear in (a) Diablo 2 (-esque game), wherein by enduring hours of mundane tedium I am rewarded with a paltry trinket that seemingly makes the whole thing worth while. In fact, I made an observation on this mechanism some time ago. Why do I think the ceaseless days of agony and longing are somehow made up for when someone deigns to respond to me once, twice, or (the odds asymptotically approaching zero, now) thrice?

“I know I shouldn’t waste my time wishing I’d been better designed…”

Here’s the problem

Most of life’s difficult questions are irrelevant to me. People worry endlessly about whether or not God exists, what career one should choose, if one has truly found the love of one’s life, if a given investment was truly wise, how to make more money, how to make less money, how to be happier, how to find love, how to find contentedness, and on and on.

I can’t even figure out if I want to be alive.

This isn’t a suicidal impulse. It’s merely an unwillingness to be alive. Rather than wishing to kill myself, I instead wish I could just wake up dead. If given the chance to go back in time and decide to “do it all over again” or choose to not be born, I would choose not to be born. I resolved a very long time ago, however, that I would not kill myself, if only for logical reasons – it is impossible to know what lays around the corner, what could happen. This is a true regardless of my disposition or attitude towards the unknown future – we cannot be guaranteed with certainty about the outcome of future events. They are impossible to fully predict, even if we can discuss likely outcomes. More and more, though, I wonder how much of life is fated, to one extent or another.

Since I can’t figure out if I want to be alive, I can’t figure out what I want from life. Sometimes I think I want one thing, and at the drop of a hat, that thing is no longer appealing. A recent example: just yesterday I was convinced I should take some leave. Now, I see it as pointless. None of the options sound all that appealing anymore because I feel as though I’d just be chasing fantasies and false hopes. I’d sooner go to some area of the country I’ve never been before and drink myself into oblivion each and every night. At least that would be a brand new experience – who knows what could happen? The other options don’t seem to offer anything new.

I think part of this (lack of desire to go on leave) is fueled by my irrational disappointment in Ashley’s lack of a response so far. For whatever reason, I really like her. I don’t have much reason to – I’ve never met her, we’ve only corresponded a few times and had a few chats (compared to some other people I’ve talked to). She seems compatible, but then again, I doubt I am truly compatible with anyone. In any case, I had written her off a while ago – August or earlier, perhaps – because we didn’t seem to be talking at all anymore. I couldn’t abide being regulated to whatever position I’d been placed in, only being talked to when she wanted it and never getting a reason as to why she would not respond to any of my attempts to establish a line of communication. (Even a simple “I don’t like you!” would have sufficed. At least I’d have some closure.)

In any case, she recently messaged me over, of all things, XBox Live, and wondered why I had deleted her Facebook. We exchanged a few pleasantries over chat and then she suggested I email her over Facebook again. I do this, she replies, I reply, and then deadlock. I try to catch her for some follow up chat over the next couple evenings but to no avail. I send out the message saying that perhaps I could come visit her – she had expressed interest in that in the past, and perhaps it was hopeless of me to assume she maintained that interest in the interim – and no reply.

Allyse was the first to respond, even before my brother. She’s always so kind. I do like her a lot, too – perhaps more than Ashley – and I have liked her a long time. The problem is, I know she’s not interested in me ‘that’ way, and that I must always endure the dreaded ‘friend zone’ with her. I usually do not like being friends with people. I feel like I have more to offer them than they have to offer me. I do not feel this way about Allyse, however. I feel like she deserves everything I have to give her, if she would take it – if only because she is one of the only people (particularly women!) who have been consistently and routinely kind to me throughout the years, without reason to be.

I don’t really feel like seeing my brother again. I dunno.

Today at work, I talked about competitive gaming with Sgt. Benson and the possibility of starting a business doing that. He seemed interested but I doubt anything would ever really get off the ground with it. I didn’t do much around the shop – tried calibrating a Christie, but the MI wasn’t installed so I had to reject it to repair. I spent the rest of the day OJTing Sgt. Benson on multimeters, then I went to class. Amber looked great. Sigh.

The way things are

So, on December 4th, I finally took down public access to my blog and transported it (yet again) to another address. This time, I made it so that I can’t just give out the address to my blog and have people reading it and start following it whenever they would like. It is not listed in any searchable space. A reader must log in with a valid email if they want to read – this greatly increases privacy and also makes it easier to control who does and does not read what I put down here.

Having a public blog was always something of an “experiment” I felt I was conducting. I wanted to see if I could get people who ostensibly cared about me to take it to that ‘next’ level, so to speak. It never worked. It was painful to repeat the same scenario over and over again – being told whatever lie (I am interesting, I am good at writing, said person wanted to know my thoughts, said person wanted to know my history, said person cared about what I had to think or so) and not having one’s actions match up with one’s words. Perhaps I simply expected too much of other people. In any case, this is no longer open to just anyone – and it’s likely I may make it a private place for “just me.” (EDIT: During writing, I deleted the one person with access to this. For future reference, there are very few people I would allow to see this at all. Kai, Nathan, Nick, James and perhaps Justin all come to mind.)

So what will I be doing now? When my blog was public, I tried to be as frank as possible, and write when the mood struck. At least, that was the intent. However, I was always hesitant to put my true thoughts and feelings out there because I was uncertain who would be reading them and how they would react. Also, it put me at an unfair disadvantage when it came to human relationships – someone could potentially know far more about me than I would know about them, and they would not understand the full context of the things they had read. The upshot of all of this was that the blog was only marginally useful to me, and didn’t fulfill the purpose it should have – which is to basically be a sort of journal.

Yes, a self-indulgent journal. My memory isn’t very good, and if I don’t write about certain events, I am likely to forget them. Sometimes I know this, and I avoid writing them because I -want- to forget them: they were painful or unpleasant or I just want to move on. However, this is also dangerous, considering I can’t ever FULLY forget events, and I end up remembering important details wrong, which has an impact on my relations with other people. I begin to resent people based on mental fictions and so treat them unfairly.

So, for the most part, this will probably be hopelessly boring. But here goes.

I spent Friday night out with a friend (Kyle) and some acquaintances (Schultz, Limon, et al.) for the purpose of celebrating Cpl Smylie’s departure from Okinawa on Monday. I tried calling Amber, who I met a few months ago during class on Kadena, to invite her in on the festivities. I’ve spent some time with Amber outside of class, first on a fishing trip with her and some of her co-workers to celebrate her 25th birthday, then again on Thanksgiving with some of the same coworkers. She described herself to me early on as “technically” married. She also doesn’t seem to take much interest in men older than herself. Yet, I get a lot of mixed signals from her. She is also certainly attractive to me (“my type,” if you will). I have mixed feelings about the whole situation, however, it’s never gotten to the point where it would result in anything bad. She’s kind and helps me get out of the drudgery of barracks life and always being around other Marines, and for that, she’s a welcome breath of fresh air. In any case, she wasn’t available to go because she was restricted to her home due to a medical condition.

So, it was just the guys. My group arrived somewhat ahead of the main entourage and quickly proceeded to get drunk – I had several large margaritas before the main group arrived. Once they arrived, I had a couple more margaritas and some other mixed drinks. Eventually, Griffo shows up with Delacerda. I had been anticipating her arrival. I think it’s mostly due to my lack of female interaction. She has a decent head on her shoulder, all things considered, and she’s kind of cute, but I really doubt she’s my type. Still, Okinawa has a reputation for distorting one’s taste in women, due to the horrible ratio of available women to available men.

In any case, I’m not really sure at this moment what I had been thinking at the time or hoping for, but I left unfulfilled. I was offered to stick around with Griffo and Delacerda, as they were waiting on Griffo’s friend to show up to celebrate her birthday. I declined, thinking it best to stay with my original party. They were going to go out to Gate 2 street and I figured “why not?” Perhaps I could catch up with Griffo later at the Surfside. However, as things went, Kyle and Schultz decided to go back to base and I went with them. We stopped at a bar right outside Kinser and had a couple of shots then walked (slowly) to the barracks.

Here I ran into Herrarte, who I stopped and talked to for a while. She is also cute but again I’m not sure if she’s my type. She has been sending me signals, basically telling me I am attractive and “beautiful,” but she’s in a relationship too. Oh, women. In any case, we talked for a while. Then I went to bed.

I didn’t do much over the next day. I started ripping all of my PS2 games to my laptop and I read a lot. I mostly read articles from Sirlin’s web page and game reviews by Shamus Young to see if I could rekindle some nostalgia.

Today I had a crisis where I thought I could not stand the Marine Corps anymore. It wasn’t spurned by anything (perhaps having to wake up at 0800 because Cpl Smylie had gotten so drunk he destroyed the furniture in his room, putting his flight date and rank in jeopardy). I think reading Sirlin’s articles on competitive gaming made me think back to my glory days with Unreal Tournament 2004 with fondness. I reflected on this throughout the day and discovered my sullen mood is largely my own doing. I am feeling depressed and unproductive. In order to combat this, I want to try out a new regimen to work on pull-ups (my only weakness in the Marine Corps, really) and incorporate more time at the gym. Additionally, I hope to put in a leave request by Friday so I can get some time back in the states somewhere.

My options include either going to see Ashley in MA (not really an option I’m sure of, for various reasons), going to see my brother in ND, or going home to WA. I’m not sure which I’ll wind up doing as of yet, but I’ve sent out probing messages to all the parties I’d care to see on leave, to try and figure out who’d make time for me. We’ll see what happens. I’m not sure why I don’t want to see Cara. That’s something I’ll have to think about and reflect on in the days that come.

Braid: The Story

Spoilers follow. Do not read this if you intend on playing. Later, I’ll be analyzing the plot.

1.

a. At a cafe on a bright plaza, most customers sit back, feeling the warmth of the sun, enjoying their cold drinks. But not Tim – he barely notices the sun, doesn’t really taste his coffee. For him this corner affords a good view of the city, and in the teeterings of the passers-by, in the arc of a shop-girl’s hand as she displays tea to an interested gentleman, Tim hopes to see the clues.

b. That night at the cinema, fictitious adventurers lunge implausibly across the screen. The audience here is mixed. Some are patrons of the cafe, now sitting excitedly in the plush chairs, eager for another new flavor, for distraction from the boredom of their easy lives. Other seats hold fishermen and farm-workers, hoping to forget their toils and rest their hands.

c. Tim is here too, but he is scrutinizing the gloss on the lips on the screen, measuring the angle of the plume of a distant helicopter crash. He thinks he discerns a message; when the cinema closes and most of the audience strolls down the plaza to the South, Tim goes North.

d. People like Tim seem to live oppositely from the other residents of the city. Tide and riptide, flowing against each other.

e. Tim wants, like nothing else, to find the Princess, to know her at last. For Tim this would be momentous, sparking an intense light that embraces the world, a light that reveals the secrets long kept from us, that illuminates – or materializes! – a final palace where we can exist in peace.

f. But how would this be perceived by the other residents of the city, in the world that flows contrariwise? The light would be intense and warm at the beginning, but then flicker down to nothing, taking the castle with it; it would be like burning down the place we’ve always called home, where we played so innocently as children. Destroying all hope of safety, forever.

2. Time and Forgiveness

a. Tim is off on a search to rescue the Princess. She has been snatched by a horrible and evil monster.

This happened because Tim made a mistake.

b. Not just one. He made many mistakes during the time they spent together, all those years ago. Memories of their relationship have become muddled, replaced wholesale, but one remains clear: the Princess turning sharply away, her braid lashing at him with contempt.

c. He knows she tried to be forgiving, but who can just shrug away a guilty lie, a stab in the back? Such a mistake will change a relationship irreversibly, even if we have learned from the mistake and would never repeat it. The Princess’s eyes grew narrower. She became more distant.

d. Our world, with its rules of causality, has trained us to be miserly with forgiveness. By forgiving too readily, we can become badly hurt. But if we’ve learned from a mistake and become better for it, shouldn’t we be rewarded for the learning, rather than punished for the mistake?

e. What if our world worked differently? Suppose we could tell her: “I didn’t mean what I just said,” and she would say: “It’s okay, I understand,” and she would not turn away, and life would really proceed as though we had never said that thing? We could remove the damage but still be wiser for the experience.

f. Tim and the Princess lounge in the castle garden, laughing together, giving names to the colorful birds. Their mistakes are hidden from each other, tucked away between the folds of time, safe.

“I’m sorry, but the Princess
is in another castle.”

3. Time and Mystery

a. All those years ago, Tim had left the Princess behind. he had kissed her on the neck, picked up his travel bag, and walked out the door. He regrets this, to a degree. Now he’s journeying to find her again, to show he knows how sad it was, but also to tell her how it was good.

b. For a long time, he thought they had been cultivating the perfect relationship. He had been fiercely protective, reversing all his mistakes so they would not touch her. Likewise, keeping a tight rein on her own mistakes, she always pleased him.

c. But to be fully couched within the comfort of a friend is a mode of existence with severe implications. To please you perfectly, she must understand you perfectly. Thus you cannot defy her expectations or escape her reach. Her benevolence has circumscribed you, and your life’s achievements will not reach beyond the map she has drawn.

d. Tim needed to be non-manipulable. He needed a hope of transcendence. He needed, sometimes, to be immune to the Princess’s caring tough.

e. Off in the distance, Tim saw a castle where the flags flutter even when the wind has expired, and the bread in the kitchen is always warm. A little bit of magic.

“Wow…that was very strange.
Oh, uhh, the Princess…
…Princess who?
She must be in another castle.”

4. Time and Place

a. Visiting his parents’ home for a holiday meal, Tim felt as though he had regressed to those long-ago years when he lived under their roof, oppressed by their insistence on upholding strange values which, to him, were meaningless. Back then, bickering would erupt over drops of gravy spilt onto the tablecloth.

b. Escaping, Tim walked in the cool air toward the university he’d attended after moving out of his parents’ home. As he distanced himself from that troubling house, he felt the embarrassment of childhood fading into the past. But now he stepped into all the insecurities he’d felt at the university, all the panic of walking a social tightrope.

c. Tim only felt relieved after the whole visit was over, sitting back home in the present, steeped in contrast: he saw how he’d improved so much from those old days.

This improvement, day by day, takes him ever-closer to finding the Princess. If she exists – she must! – she will transform him, and everyone.

d. He felt on his trip that every place stirs up an emotion, and every emotion invokes a memory: a time and a location. So couldn’t he find the Princess now, tonight, just by wandering from place to place and noticing how he feels? A trail of feelings, of awe and inspiration, should lead him to that castle: in the future: her arms enclosing him, her scent fills him with excitement, creates a moment so strong he can remember it in the past.

e. Immediately Tim walked out his door, the next morning, toward whatever the new day held. He felt something like optimism.

“Hello there!
I’m sorry, but the Pr…
Hey, where are you going?”

5. Time and Decision

a. She never understood the impulses that drove him, never quite felt the intensity that, over time, chiseled lines into his face. She was never quite close enough to him – but he held her as though she were, whispered into her ear words that only a soul mate should receive.

b. Over the remnants of dinner, they both knew the time had come. He would have said: “I have to go find the Princess,” but he didn’t need to. Giving a final kiss, hoisting a travel bag to his shoulder, he walked out the door.

Through all the nights that followed, she still loved him as though he had stayed, to comfort and protect her, Princess be damned.

“Hi, ummm…I’m lost.
How are you?”

6. Hesitance

a. Perhaps in a perfect world, the ring would be a symbol of happiness. It’s a sign of ceaseless devotion: even if he will never find the Princess, he will always be trying. He still will wear the ring.

b. But the ring makes its presence known. It shines out to others like a beacon of warning. It makes people slow to approach. Suspicion, distrust. Interactions are torpedoed before Tim can open his mouth.

c. In time he learns to deal with others carefully. He matches their hesitant pace, tracing a soft path through their defenses. But this exhausts him, and it only works to a limited degree. It doesn’t get him what he needs.

d. Tim begins to hide the ring in his pocket. But he can hardly bear it – too long tucked away, that part of him might suffocate.

“It took you so long to get here!
But at long last, I can tell you that…
The Princess must be in another castle.
I’ve never met her…
Are you sure she exists?”

Epilogue

a. The boy called for the girl to follow him, and he took her hand. He would protect her; they would make their way through this oppressive castle, fighting off the creatures made of smoke and doubt, escaping to a life of freedom.

The boy wanted to protect the girl. He held her hand, or put his arm around her shoulders in a walking embrace, to help her feel supported and close to him amid the impersonal throngs of Manhattan. They turned and made their way toward the Canal St. subway station, and he picked a path through the jostling crowd.

His arm weighed upon her shoulders, felt constrictive around her neck. “You’re burdening me with your ridiculous need,” she said. Or, she said: “You’re going the wrong way and you’re pulling me with you.” In another time, another place, she said: “Stop yanking on my arm, you’re hurting me!”

b. He worked his ruler and his compass. He inferred. He deduced. He scrutinized the fall of an apple, the twisting of metal orbs hanging from a thread. He was searching for the Princess, and he would not stop until he found her, for he was hungry. He cut rats into pieces to examine their brains, implanted tungsten posts into the skulls of water-starved monkeys.

Ghostly, she stood in front of him and looked into his eyes. “I am here,” she said. “I am here. I want to touch you.” She pleaded: “Look at me!” But he would not see her; he only knew how to look at the outsides of things.

c. He scrutinized the fall of an apple, the twisting of metal orbs hanging from a thread. Through these clues he would find the Princess, see her face. after an especially fervent night of tinkering, he kneeled behidn a bunker in the desert; he held a piece of welder’s glass up to his eyes and waited.

“On that moment hung eternity. Time stood still. Space contracted to a pinpoint. It was as though the earth had opened and the skies split. One felt as though he had been privileged to witness the Birth of the World…”

Someone near him said: “It worked.”

Someone else said: “Now we are all sons of bitches.”

d. The candy store. Everything he wanted was on the opposite side of that pane of glass. The store was decorated in bright colors, and the scents wafting out drove him crazy. He tried to rush for the door, or just get closer to the glass, but he couldn’t. She held him back with great strength. Why would she hold him back? How might he break free of her grasp? He considered violence.

They had been here before on their daily walks. She didn’t mind his screams and his shriek, or the way he yanked painfully on her braid to make her stop. He was too little to know better.

She picked him up and hugged him. “No, baby,” she said. He was shaking. She followed his gaze toward the treats sitting on pillows behind the glass: the chocolate bar and the magnetic monopole, the It-From-Bit and the Ethical Calculus; and so many other things, deeper inside. “Maybe when you’re older, baby,” she whispered, setting him back on his feet and leading him home, “Maybe when you’re older.”

Every day thereafter, as before, she always walked him on a route that passed in front of the candy store.

e. He cannot say he has understood all of this. Possibly he’s more confused now than ever. But all these moments he’s contemplated – something has occurred. The moments feel substantial in his mind, like stones. Kneeling, reaching down toward the closest one, running his hand across it, he finds it smooth, and slightly cold.

f. He tests the stone’s weight; he finds he can lift it, and the others too. He can fit them together to create a foundation, an embankment, a castle.

g. To build a castle of appropriate size, he will need a great many stones. But what he’s got, now, feels like an acceptable start.

Why write?

It’s not like I can improve on something like this:

Listen Close by Maylene & The Sons of Disaster

It’s been a while and a million miles

Since I’ve seen the sun shine on your face

A long time coming but now I’m runnin’ back home

Southern pines and neon signs and every backroad between the two

Out of sight dont mean out of mind to me

Carry on this way

I’m singin’ to you from somewhere tonight

Am I getting through? (Is it getting through?)

I choke on every word and it never comes out right

This would be so much easier standing next to you

I didn’t know what I was lookin’ for

But I found it when I took your hand

The cheshire smile still cuts me down to the bone

Preacher says it’s for rich or poor

We see a lot of the latter of two

I’ve been gone so long I’m afraid I might be losin’ you

Carry on this way

I’m singin’ to you from somewhere tonight

Am I getting through? (Is it getting through?)

I choke on every word and it never comes out right

This would be so much easier standing next to you