Greetings from California, live from New York.

Approximately One Minute of Self-Congratulation

Wed, 17 May 2006 06:05:09 GMT

Wednesday, 17 May 2006
10:30 a.m.

I graduate cum laude from Columbia with a B.A. in Comparative Literature and Society.

---

(No more than sixty seconds were used in the production of this post.)

Sweet Sixteen

Mon, 01 May 2006 21:10:18 GMT

Today was my last official day of class at Columbia. I do still have one unofficial make-up seminar on Thursday; however, being that the reading is David Lodge’s Changing Places (a fortunately light, amusing novel), and being that I tend to like prolonging things, I can’t seem to find cause to complain. In any event, the registrar of Columbia University says that I’ve officially finished what started three years, nine months ago, and, well, that’s good enough for me.

(Final papers, at this point, are an afterthought, and accordingly are being mentioned only now. Unofficially done Thursday, officially done next Monday…)

I still remember F block with Ms. Picconi. The FITWC. AP Euro Saturday review sessions. Track practice. Oh! sobbing on stage at the senior retreat – I remember that too. And now, another four years, rendered in photographic memories and incomplete sentences. I can’t believe it. Can’t. Fucking. Believe. It.

January 2006.

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 15:55:51 GMT

Twelve hours ago, I was standing on the balcony at home (San Diego), smoking a cigarette; the full moon was rising from the east, and I was headed straight for it. I breathed in one final puff, and very intentionally thought to myself that the next time I would stand there, it would be home -- fully home, again. Three hours ago I saw the incoming New York skyline for the last time as a New Yorker -- though I like to think that maybe, a New Yorker never really stops being a New Yorker. It felt not so very big this morning. I'm grateful that this place has become home, has become not so very big. I'm grateful also that I can leave, and that that's okay.

The bulidings were beginning to gleam from a dawning sun off the East River. I was mostly thinking of the cliffs and the shores I saw one week ago.

Six months later...

Tue, 10 Jan 2006 02:46:09 GMT

Twenty-four hours ago I was fine-tuning a route home from a different California, and the only things between me and my paradise of freeways were the idyllic and precipitous reaches of Monterey, Big Sur, Carmel, &c. On my way up I devised a notion that California must indeed be the world's treasure -- Pacific Coast Highway has confirmed this belief by leaps and bounds, notably those of the seaside cliffs that can only be described as beautiful (that certain kind of beautiful that evokes a million-and-one other adjectives, that certain kind of beautiful that seems strangely insufficient but must suffice). Kelly cannot cease to make me proud, with her photography, with Jon and her wonderful friends, with her little yellow house, with her complete and happy life in that other California. It reminds me, not sadly, of certain things missed over the past four years; it reminds me of why I want to be back.

In four months I hope to be back, different as only New York can render one, and with only a certain highway and those beautiful seaside cliffs between me and a young woman whom I cannot help but think of with the word 'sister' in mind.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 04:34:48 GMT

I adore Kelly Kristine Brown.

Happy birthday, love.

(I think this suffices perfectly for a once-in-six-months update.)

Fri, 07 Jan 2005 17:15:51 GMT

The only reason why I would ever dare to watch We (Women's Entertainment) at 9:00am on a Friday:

Hairspray.

Tracy Turnbladt; 'nuff said.

Sun, 02 Jan 2005 09:44:38 GMT

It nearly pains me to say it, but it's been something I've thought about, quite a bit, recently. As chaotic, confusing, and ultimately traumatic as it was, part of me deeply misses the Pete that existed, five years ago, who had a boyfriend and who felt like he was truly in love. On any other day, on any other night, I'd laugh at the thought of such a reckless Pete, and at silly and stupid Dan Leonard. But I can't tonight. Love / like / what-have-you doesn't feel very real to me anymore. Well it does, maybe -- I'm just in no real position to do anything about it.

I hope, in the most genuine way possible, that Paris will make this all somehow and magically disappear. But it seems as if everything will be here, in June, waiting for me (which is at once wonderful and terrible).

I was going to make a very long entry about feelings, and about being lost, and about being scared. I can't seem to force myself to say some things, though, so perhaps this entry will best be left until another sleepless night. Happy new year, friends.

Sun, 28 Nov 2004 04:17:14 GMT

I've been driving myself absolutely insane with idleness the past few days.

That's really all I've got to say. That's really all I wanted to say.

Thu, 21 Oct 2004 21:03:43 GMT

It's time to be serious, and a little frank, for a while.

I've always wanted to give blood, and today I finally mustered the energy and will to do so during Columbia's blood drive. A little moridly excited by the idea, I headed over to Lerner to fill out my forms, wait, &c. I knew priorto that they prohibited blood donations from men who have had sex with another male (even once, as their information so thoughtfully and insistently states), but I suppose that they were referring to that particular kind of sex, the kind between men which is not to be spoken of. I saw no deterrence in this addendum, mostly because (yes, sigh) I am a virgin.

I have engaged in oral sex. It's not something I should lie about, nor is it something that I've given much particular thought to -- once two years ago, once five years ago. Small incidents, neither of which ended in gratification, neither of which led down any sensuous path to something potentially more satisfying. A clock's minute hand makes in three-or-four rotations more time than that which I've spent engaged in fellatio. I give you this frankness because I learned today that those otherwise-ignorable moments make me permanently ineligible for blood donation.

To be honest, it's hard to argue with their rationale, since homosexual males still (and unfortunately) possess the greatest proportion of AIDS infection. I don't wish to try and argue with their reasoning, because it's ultimately for the safety of the blood-needy public. But I can't begin to describe, nor would I really wish on anyone, the strange, unexpected and pathetic feeling of embarrassment I felt. Something that felt (and feels) so irrelevent to me, something so self-convincingly minute that I nearly claim myself sexually untouched, suddenly becomes a branding that renders my body tainted and useless. I smiled as the director explained all this to me, and walked brisky away as he took my form. But I felt embarrassed, perhaps a bit disgusting, and for the first time in almost seven years, I thought what a horrible thing it is to be gay.

I haven't cried in a while; I should have known it was coming.

Sat, 16 Oct 2004 04:08:05 GMT

On 9 June, I bought Naguib Mahfouz's Cairo Trilogy. After four months, I've finally begun to read it. I shouldn't have waited this long.

Naturally, I've begun also to think of Egypt. It's funny, almost. In three months I will be leaving for Paris, something I've to this point always dreamed about with intensity greater than longing. Now that the dream's realized, I find myself anticipating a vague and uncertain possibility, that of returning to a place that could not be more different, attempting to relive an adventure, a dream that, in retrospect, seems to have sprung forth so wonderfully unexpectedly.

I found a Borders receipt, from 4 January, for the purchase of a Lonely Planet Cairo guide. More than a tiny part of me thought that I would never use it. That portion of me was entirely wrong, and it now seems strange that the book was indeed ever used. A book, a receipt, and everything that would result from them: I suppose I'm feeling especially grateful, tonight.

I can smell Cairo in my cotton fabrics. I can smell its filth, its oppressive heat, its unrelenting rapidity, its neverending humanity. There is no sweeter smell that could fill this tiny space of mine, tonight.

---

Fri, 17 Sep 2004 21:05:50 GMT

Bruce Robbins, my Backgrounds to Contemporary Theory professor, cited this passage from George Eliot's Middlemarch:

"If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence."

---

The above struck me as so beautiful and profound.
There is so much, too much, in the world that one can know.

(Cairo was beyond any description of amazingness and wonder I can attribute to it. The sounds, the people, and the physicality of the place drove themselves into my heart, and my heart now beats at the mere possibility of return. I miss standing on the other side of the earth, and knowing that I can live, wholly and independently. I miss feeling as if there may actually, truly be some meaning to these silly, wonderful lives we all live.)

I am probably speaking to myself. If this prove false, hello.

for those of you who know, those of you who don't, ...

Fri, 07 May 2004 02:15:36 GMT

Anyone who read this journal, ever, in any capacity; be you well-wisher or otherwise --

I am going to cease using this journal, beginning one week from Saturday, on 15 May, for the summer. This is not a result of any recent dramas, confrontations, or other unfortunate circumstances that have befallen our fair Loser Hill. Rather, I will be using a new journal, "whilst", until I come back to New York in September.

I have, as you may or may not know, the opportunity to study in Cairo, Egypt this summer, continuing my Arabic instruction. I will be using "whilst" to catalogue, hopefully, a visual summary of all that I will be experiencing. I leave San Diego 1 June, arriving in London 3 June, where I will be spending four days for my first (and, nicely enough, individual) European visit. I will be flying to Cairo on 7 June, where I will be living until 24 July. I hope to take as many pictures as possible, and to be able to show them to you, to let you in some way experience part of my life, there.

I know this may come across as self-important, melodramatic, or unnecessary. I can only assert that I am more excited about this experience than perhaps any other in my short life (with the exception, probably, of the journey that has led me here, to New York), and that I wish to share, somehow, this experience with those in my life.

If you desire to keep track of my experience, find out the latest in my self-imposed turbulent life, or simply to see pictures of Egypt, please check "whilst" at your leisure, starting sometime in mid-June; if not, expect to see "btjoueur" back (to the extent that it is 'here' in the first place) sometime in September.

-- Pete

&c.

Wed, 05 May 2004 08:08:37 GMT

this was not how i wanted to spend the first four hours of, well, you know. i am writing a final paper, due this afternoon (but this morning for me because i wish it so). I'm writing in yinan's room; she's asleep on her bed, on orders to be awakened in thirty minutes. i've been with her consistently the past few days, and weeks. i believe i am extremely happy that we've become close, so relatively quickly. it means a lot, to have a friend.

i finalized flight plans, today. as of 1 june, i will be leaving san diego, new york-bound; on 2 june, london-bound; on 7 june, cairo bound; not to return until late july. i shudder to think that, thirty days from now, i will be off this childhood continent, on another, en route to a third. i am utterly excited and terrified.

my body is rebelling against me now, i think; too many cigarettes, and i crave more. goodnight; or, goodmorning.

Sun, 28 Mar 2004 20:05:58 GMT

'i am tired of being gay.'

i assure you that many thoughtful moments were invested the composition of this statement. for such a long time before now, i have attempted (in mostly vain, unsuccessful ways) to elucidate the nature of a general displeasure, ennui, that has come to affect me randomly, yet in the most total and unfortunately interior ways. i am keenly aware that these misgivings, these disturbances of an otherwise admittedly-comfortable existence, have been often vocalized, made known externally both to myself and to others (one, or some of you may already be grinning, or scowling, or sighing, &c). yet, i have not been aware of why. it is certainly one thing to be cognizant of a problem, but, as i am almost certain, it is far better to know its causes, its motivations. what could cause me to be so suspicious, so disturbingly dissatisfied with a state-of-being that, until now, has proven both emotional and rewarding, and at times nothing short of fun?

i blame, to be rather direct and perhaps foolish, the development of my sexuality to this point. it is, to be sure, a difficult situation to come to the realization of homosexuality in any context. whether by one's own self-chastisements or those of a community, i will not deny that this revelation, this 'coming-out' so-to-speak, has inevitable moments of emotional (if not physical) torment. i myself can (un)fondly remember instances of such in my own history. yet, wholly, as i now realize, my self-revelation was a process far easier than that of many. i nearly tremble at the thought that, as i sit here, a former pete of nearly six years was exernalizing (with such uncertainty, fear, and nervousness as can be imagined) the first utterances of a new existence, an inherent sexuality being for the first time realized, to another. those words - directed to a friend in whose debt i will forever find myself for her love, and gentleness, and ability to assuage the fears of a scared boy on the precipice of discovery - those words, though etched permanently in time and place, that one afternoon in that one hallway now indelible in my mind, were in their own, independent way, a verification, a validation of even more years' instances of perceiving myself different, a feeling of unknowable, and thus unspeakable totality. i once, so many years ago, noticed a boy's arms, and thought that they were beautiful. i regarded short hair with a special preference (a fact perhaps now ironic, as my own hair now finds itself at previously-unseen lengths).

these recollections all pinpoint the origin of a second direction taken in my life. after that first revelation to another, six years ago, i found myself propelled through such a whirlwind of emotion and occurrance that brings me to the present nearly in disbelief. had my present self the ability to return to my former, and speak to him of all that would become of this 'homosexuality' (without regard to what else has become of me), i am sure that i would find him equally indignant and excited. over five years has passed since i managed to make verbal revelation of myself to my parents. innumerable friends, acquaintances and others have been made directly (and, unfortuatenly, indirectly) aware of this aspect of myself that i declare both vital and yet inconsequential. a retreat to the mountains, two years ago, still feels a phantom-event in my mind's recollection.

these happenings would all appear outrageous claims to former-pete. i make them now with glib frankness, and perhaps satisfaction as well.

the reassertion of my relative ease of transition must now make a reappearance. i have concluded that this time away, this time of a new life in a new place, has represented an unfortuantely reactionary response to a time when homosexuality was something new, and the beginning of a time when it was not. i feel, generally, awkward to consider my sexuality. i may even go so far as to say that i feel alienated from it. it exists within, to be sure, yet i do not perceive it as an opening to a wonderful, exciting world of romantic opportunity. i view it as a hindrance to companionship, a thing which insists on keeping me ultimately lonely. i would have certainly expected a like response from former-pete. its appearance at this point in my history, however, strikes me as disturbing. ultimately, i desire a man to be with, one who understands and will be understood; one who will indulge my every idiosyncrasy and allow me similar privilege. perhaps the one reality of my current situation that my former self would find most abhorrent (and certainly ironic), is the fact that homosexuality has proven itself to me - in this place and at this time - to be the one thing most greatly preventing its realization.

yes, indeed, i am tired of being gay.

Sun, 21 Mar 2004 19:06:08 GMT

another inevitable, final 24 hours in san diego spent in an academic death sprint.
i am so, so tired of it all.

Sun, 29 Feb 2004 17:04:15 GMT

happy birthday mikey !

this would make you what,
five this year ?

Tue, 17 Feb 2004 23:57:33 GMT

-- what a most wonderfully surreal twelve hours --

Tue, 10 Feb 2004 04:39:02 GMT

crosstown cabrides are always better
always better --

Sun, 08 Feb 2004 18:04:28 GMT

i have grown anxious of telling time according to a 24-hour system.
of late i've made fifth glances, and unnecessary arithmetic occurs.
there is something disparaging in doubting the most dependable.

---

this may feel trite to you.
this may feel trite to me.

however (and i will be brave enough as to be metaphorically self-indulgent), my life feels semblant to this anxiety. i am satisfied, but i naturally begin to ponder whether this is enough. i will not say it, but i am l, with onely attached. i wonder how i've become so reclusive, so quickly.

tomorrow may bring change. tomorrow has a funny way of lasting 168 hours, however.

Fri, 06 Feb 2004 22:35:59 GMT

reaction to one, kelly kristine brown --
[this is only meant to be as such.]

i am not the father of the universe

Mon, 08 Dec 2003 05:15:04 GMT

i deny myself everything; my mind belies what my eyes cannot help but perceive.
i do not admit that he is masculine.
i am afraid to negotiate his dark, grainy waves of hair, locks whose gender i refuse to determine.
i contemplate so many pathetic utterances; my lips betray me, and i speak nothing.
i feel my heart, beating mercilessly inside, and i feed it nicotine out of annoyance.
i maintain my motionless body; i am an old, bitter tree, and i decline movement.
i consider everything about me, because i can consider nothing about him.
i do not look into his eyes, for i see his soul and i am petrified.

i see every sign, every indifferent signal cautioning me against movement, against progress, against penetration and against this feeling i've yet to discover. i breathe deeply, and traverse. i leave everything safe, but i have no choice. i have stood silent at this intersection for too long, and it is time for me to move.

emotions in analog

Thu, 04 Dec 2003 21:37:57 GMT

it's been a sombre day; a self-imposed, doleful day -

last night, i made a mix. songs that reminded me of sophomore year and kelly. songs that took me back to nights on the town, that miniscule patch of land that is downtown san diego. imagining the place where i now am ... how precocious we were, kelly! how wonderful and innocent and optimistic we were, how wonderful and innocent and optimstic we could be! i want to embrace those priceless children, those naïve and perfect adolescents who knew that they were above themselves. the world was ours, because nothing could take away our imagination. we would have russia and morocco. and one day, i will pull a golden apple from my pocket to see you smile.

i made a mix. thom yorke and a soothing-voiced icelander lulled me to sleep, becuase i needed to be unhappy. i curled up in bed, bitter at the world and at myself and at the man sleeping ten feet from me, pillow-on-head for i'd had the light on too long.

- - -

i dreamt that it was 14.1. 14 january, for those unfamiliar with my quirk of a dating system. peter anthony amaro and catherine laguna wed, twenty years ago, and i'm oblivious to it all, enveloped within her, still five months from my fist appearance in the world. i dreamt that it was 14.1, and my house was filled with hatred. and bitterness. and there was no cause for celebration. only yelling was there, and that illusory feeling of love i'd felt for so many years as a child was gone.

- - -

when i woke up, i was briefly consoled. dreams are really the worst when they're the best, becuase they are but dreams. and the best of them are those that are the worst, becuase they are but dreams. i realized, an instant of wakefulness too late, that it wasn't all quite a dream. i thought ahead forty days, now in dread. they've kept the illusion, the façade so well, for so long. i cannot be there when the dam breaks, because i cannot be broken. . .

i've smoked three too many cigarettes today. they are my only comfort, things to pucker my lips against in feigned amorous contact. they are my only comfort; they, and this mix.

a season in hell

Wed, 12 Nov 2003 04:30:24 GMT

correction.

(i rediscovered nine inch nails last night) -

that quite changed evertyhing.

whirlwind.

Wed, 05 Nov 2003 13:42:56 GMT

i was back.
and now i'm back again.

Thu, 30 Oct 2003 02:42:41 GMT

i wield my umbrella like a gun;

- - - rainfall, and

BANG

(we're all dead.)