What's the Difference Between a Woman and a Prostitute Besides the Honesty?

*Title reference

In using the written word as my primary instrument for expression, and using it again and again exhaustively, I fear that I’ve realized something that I have longed denied, the written word by itself is limited in scope. How then can we express ourselves?

What have I used the written word for? Early on, I realized that through exaggeration and extremism and even simply through blunt frankness, humor can be conjured effortlessly. In retrospect, most of my work, in the latter part of my life, has been excess. This was initially, excess with a point. Excess, in this case meant anything and everything. Excessive pseudo- “racism,” “confidence,” “masculinity,” “feminity,” “emotionality,” “sexism,” “narcissisms,” and “misogyny” were all themes that supposedly unified under a singular directive and message: “Get over yourselves people!”

At times, this was used to great effect and I cannot help but be a little guilty because much of this can be said and described as manipulative (but we all are!). Under various guises, my writing possessed an alternate persona—one that reflected little upon myself. This has grown stale and the formula needs something new, either that, or I have to reinvent the persona from ground up. But how so, when my persona lacked style and personality?

The problem ironically, stems precisely from the fact that I never got into myself. How could I get over myself when I was never really into myself in the first place?! There lies the paradoxical epiphany and the statement is made with sincerity. More significantly I realize, I am perhaps the most “impersonal” person, to ever write. Various divagations in my writing distract from my more important thoughts—there is always an ulterior motive. Furthermore, this is aggravated by the use of formality—the language is at times verbose—perhaps alienating some potential readers. More embarrassingly, is that some teenage blogs, xangas, and MySpace are more “personal” in content than I ever will be.

What then is my definition of “personal” language? Personal language, I suppose is anything expressed that can leave the originator of the content vulnerable. Yeah, sure telling you that my favorite color is blue, my favorite drink is soy milk, and my favorite book is The Catcher in the Rye is personal but largely in an inconsequential sort of way— it leaves no vulnerability. Furthermore going around asking questions like “What’s the difference between a woman and a prostitute besides the honesty?” does not really help matters.

So, how about some introspective narcissism? Most of the time, I realize that my writing protects me via a perpetual devolution into pretentious abstract. Where are the concrete revelations?

Let us start. My greatest weakness is one of indecisiveness, there are many things that I am sure of but most of the time I am uncertain. In the past, I have spent and invested great lengths of time and energy to mask this debilitating weakness by doing well in school and staying competitive, courteous, and most of all, reserved. The things that I know I like include music, writing, and thinking. As for people, I’m not sure. I’m quite apathetic when it comes to people. I think this apathy is worse than hatred since hatred shows concern while the former does not. I cherish the few friends I do have and yet it is more important for me to appear to have friends than to actually have them. There must be some shitty Freudian explanation for my downfalls…

I fail. I fail to tell you how I really feel. And I apologize. A friend of mine tells me that I’m “weird.” Another one points out that I’m an “enigma.” In either case, there is some truth to the generalization. However, to be precise, it is my disparate and oftentimes deliberate displacement of the self from my writing persona that creates an ambiguity of identification.

Even now, I'd like to say, ring in the Golden age of "emo-ism".... I hope I approach it with creativity!

if only I were a black, transgender, gay, disfigured, crippled, mentally retarded midget from detroit aka meandering analysis of the insititution & me

Part I (draft)
Sometimes I get the feeling that we’re all just protecting ourselves because that is all there is left to protect. At college (the institution), the competition is stringent and rightfully so as the instructors are particularly discerning in even what constitutes a spectacular student and ‘just’ a good one. Perhaps this microcosm that is the institution is a reflection of the greater and even more depressing reality but per my scruples, may I avoid digressing further as I have already—I have not yet explored sufficiently the world that surrounds me. I am however quite confident that the institution is the vehicle of the so-called “American equality,” not in the sense that it is actually an egalitarian method for creating a single class social structure but in the sense that it gives just about everyone hope and opportunity. Oftentimes I find hope quite the vague concept and ‘America, the land of opportunity’ sickeningly cliché—to understand this equality then, it is crucial that we do not misconstrue it as everyone is also everyone. To clarify, not everyone is equal but most everyone has an equal opportunity and hence the beauty of American social mobility.
Recently a good friend of mine linked me to his blog. Like most adolescents the topics of discussion revolved around friends, interests in girls, rejection from girls, misunderstanding women, angst, but the most recent post of the 6 or 8 posts total held a related discussion on the institution. Now, the blog even with its dearth of posts sufficiently balanced itself with overlong prose, it was also riddled with grammatical and spelling errors and interspersed with gaps of reasoning and logic—needless to say, it was a largely imperfect affair. At the same time, it held in its voice the simple honesty and down-to-earth posture of a best friend speaking to his confidant—if I may, the post is arguably a stream-of-consciousness piece in the truest sense of the term. Perhaps this was why he had made it ‘private’ and limited the amount of users viewing his thoughts—after all we’re all just protecting ourselves these days. Possibly the most ironic twist is that in introspection it is the institution that has most helped hone my skills in manipulating the ever-malleable instrument that is the English language into what is seen here—a veil blanket over a disfigured child of my thoughts. Again, with the cumbersome metaphor, disposable simile, and overly-florid imagery...
After perusing the post, I had come to the conclusion that we had much in common. In the “post,” he called the competition at the institution “fierce.” He also complains in a blunt manner that the instructors here “suck (which I disagree somewhat).” Most importantly, he recognizes that he feels out-of-place. From a purely utilitarian standpoint, it can be assumed to that he too is here only for a chance at elevating himself within the social ladder because all this education and preparation and tests and courses and reading certainly does not help people discover themselves as so many have claimed. Discovering yourself through the educational system rarely occurs if ever and it is just a modest euphemism for, ‘Fuck yes, I had a 4.0 GPA and graduated from an Ivy League. With my degree in Astrophysics, I make millions and get blowjobs during my lunch break from underdeveloped high school chicks.’ Forgive the exaggerated parody, I only hope to illustrate my point—the goal is simple and universal. Generally, everyone is the same, therefore everyone is protecting themselves—their goals and interests. But while I agree with many of his key points, our ideas do eventually diverge. Unlike my friend, I understood that the institution would be a logical and consequently more demanding next step in the educational system so the increased challenge was to be expected. Competition I suppose is actually beneficial in that it creates an environment which catalyzes advancement in the myriad fields contained within any institution. What I did not expect was that I would flounder from its sheer magnitude and that I would not be able to mentally adapt to my newfound context.
On my journey, I have found people like my friend who is similar in predicament as I but I have also found people that succeed at just about every level of the institution. To those people, I would like to express my sincere respect for you and your accomplishments because I know there are many sacrifices that must be made in any process that results in success. To my professors, I express a similar reverence. Although I confess that I make comparisons to between me and others, some purely based on academic performance, these comparisons have little consequence—most of the time, I am just aware and I seldom alter myself because of how others do. What needs to be understood is that my experiences here do not speak for the experiences of others.
In my narcissism I shall revert the focus of the effects of the institution to myself. To further my self-indulgence, I shall say this: I am thoroughly frustrated with the institution but even more so, I am frustrated in my inadequacy, my incompetence. Every time I bemoan these frustrations, the coincident of wishful thinking occurs—I’ll do better next time. Optimism are of parental origin I assume because my parents have never let up hope on me—this I take solace in. Tran, who is a high school friend of mine, occasionally calls me to wish me academic wellness. This I also take solace in. His enthusiastic extroversion regarding the institution is something to behold as is his successes in Cal Poly Pomona. By reasoning with me, he concludes that only by extinguishing my reliance on the internet would I be allowed to potentially succeed in the institution. His admonishments and encouragement are meaningful and logical. Perhaps, my troubles do stem from my reliance on the internet—maybe it is time to acknowledge that I have a chronic addiction to the online contraption but this oversimplification is a misstep in reasoning.
At this junction, please allow me to quote Gnarls Barkley,

“Everybody is somebody but nobody wants to be themselves… Whenever you want to understand yourself, you got to talk to somebody else,”
“Why is this my life? That’s probably everybody’s question… and I’ve tried everything but suicide but yeah it’s crossed my mind”

At this point, I think I’ve reached the coming prelude of nadir because I have sunk low and I only hope to live until I experience a meaningful climax in life. The inclusion of lyrics in this discussion is admittedly jarring but their simplicity beautifully encapsulates the goal of the institution, which is to change ourselves and my having invested more than a year into institution realizes that, for lack of a better word, even within the context of the institution nothing is easy—there are no shortcuts.
They say the soul’s organ lives inside the head—I can hear it swelling it up with uncertainty. It’s easy to lump yourself into the group that had so much potential. There’s the much alluded ‘failure to live up to his potential.’ It must be difficult for anybody to confront that and come to terms with it.
Neither the lyrics nor the lazy moral-of-the-story interlude serve as the topics of discussion however, they do highlight my deterrent psychology.
I realize these are nothing more than scattered ideas and subplots—I’m just trying to be honest like my friend (name withheld). There is a pop song that somehow parallels my frustration. (How embarrassing to have life relayed through a fleeting pop song?) Like most pop songs, it is a song about a broken relationship. The male counterpart is thoroughly frustrated and we hear it from his standpoint. The song is called “The Past is a Grotesque Animal.” How unlikely that a pop song about a heartbreak could somehow relate to my situation—very. My relationship with the institution has been a longstanding one and through most of its course has been fruitful and even rewarding.
(To be continued)