Let’s talk about sex.

I just had an interesting conversation with someone on, well, sexual frustrations.  Not the typical milieu of not getting enough, or hysterical mishaps that would be seen on a blue version of America’s Funniest Home Videos, but genuine frustrations of not performing well, being scared in bed, not being able to have an orgasm.  I’m going declare right here and now for all the internet to read that I am not the typical male braggart–I do not boast about my conquests because the truth is I have only had a few of them.  And I rarely boast about my any false sense of herculean talent, because the truth is my encounters have been so few and far between that, while I’ve never received any complaints, I haven’t had enough sex to really know.  This is not from a lack from wanting, I will admit I do fall into certain gender stereotypes occasionally, because sometimes gender stereotypes are based on something that is pretty factual.  But wanting and getting are very often very different things, it’s getting to that point that I seem to have trouble with and I wonder if that stems from a deeper fear of “what do I do when I get there?”

This conversation I had was a very open and honest one, and I have to commend the this person for being able to open up, because I don’t think anyone really enjoys allowing themselves to be that vulnerable around another person.  I think the conclusion of this conversation is that Sex can be a pretty scary ordeal.  And it’s that place of vulnerability that makes it so scary.  The idea of letting someone be that close to me (not necessarily in just a physical sense) makes me incredibly nervous and I honestly don’t know why.  I can rattle off some psychological babble about self-confidence and control issues, and issue in my past that have probably scarred me a little bit, and all of these are true, but I can’t believe that this is the sum of it.  Because it’s not just physical intimacy that scares me–I have said plainly and clearly that I would like to be involved in a relationship, but the weight of such an idea nearly sends my heart into palpitations every time I think it.  There is such a great fear of the unknown–how do you go from not knowing a person to being able to have such a serious commitment to them?  Now you may be thinking “but Caleb!  Sex isn’t a contract!  Just get out there, have a one-night stand!”  But it isn’t that for me.  I have no real problem with the idea of casual sex, but there is a very definite distinction, at least in my mind, between casual sex and anonymous sex.  And besides that, the fact remains that I still just don’t know how.

I suppose it’s possible to have a phobia of sex, or at least a fear of letting go, a fear of intimacy, a fear of vulnerability.  I suppose I have that fear.  I love women, I really do, and (from what experience I’ve had) I really love sex.  I don’t see anything wrong with this, and yet some visceral feeling is still holding me back–keeping me scared of committing to really anything that I check out completely and don’t even try.  While it was somewhat reassuring to know that I am not the only person who faces a dilemma, this conversation really made me wonder what it is that keeps any person from being able to enjoy such a wonderful thing (because let’s face it, sex is really a wonderful thing).  When you compound this insecurity with societal pressures (for both sexes), peer-pressure, even partner-pressure it really makes me wonder how with all this stress any person is able to pull it off?  

So then, what makes it so difficult for me?  How do I let go?  How, in my mind, do I make sex okay?

Who ever is up there sure likes to cut things a little CLOSE…..

he said with a wary eye to the sky.

Things have been pretty ugly.  They really have been.  It’s been on the brink of having to make some hard decisions and really having to make them alone.  Then the past 24 hours happened.  Went out last night with a really cool girl, had an amazing time and we both left wanting to see each other again.  It was kinda funny, because neither of us have ever “dated” in the strictest definition of it, and neither of us like the dating game.  So it let us kinda do our own thing.  We spent the night eating frozen yogurt and walking and talking.    We held hands most of the night as we talked, by the end of the night we were resting very comfortably against each other.  It was comfortable, it was nice.  It was a pleasure to be able to let my guard down.

But really this was the prologue to this morning.  I’ve been looking for a job pretty ardently for the past month or so, without much success.  I got a call this morning from a place I’ve been REALLY hoping to get a job, and now all of a sudden I have an interview tomorrow afternoon.  I have been trying so goddamned hard to get a job and then beating myself up for not trying harder.  It really wasn’t until I was about to give up until something finally fell in my favor.

I suppose this is entree of my thoughts this afternoon. I’ve never been a huge believer in superstition, I like to believe that I make my own fate.  But so many times a person is faced with situations that are simply beyond their control, and for someone in control of their own fate it’s difficult to understand this.  If I am in control of this situation, then what am I doing wrong to not get the right results?  When does fate come into play, what unknown element is helping us in this kind of situation?  And what lesson is there to be learned?

If you’re not careful, it’ll swallow you whole.

So much has happened, so much has been going on. where do I begin? Well, if you didn’t know I am actually back in California. I know, surprised me too. I didn’t think I was going to make it, suffice it to say that the end of the summer was a lot like your first time–quick, confusing and strangely anticlimactic. We’ll fast-forward through the events of getting here, and the trip out and spending the past month or so relatively homeless–those stories are for another entry. And instead I think i’ll focus on the past week or so.

Last week I finally found a place to live, so breathe easy I am no longer homeless. My dad, awesome guy that he is, used his position in the Methodist church to help me contact some incredibly compassionate people to help me search. You may imagine how difficult it is to find people genuinely concerned for your well being in a town like Los Angeles. Altruism is hard to find in this place. So it was a great relief when I got such a magnanimous offer within twenty four hours. Ms. Hamilton goes to the church my dad called, and happened to have a free bedroom in a very large house in a very nice neighborhood. I went to talk to her and within a week I finally had my own bed for the first time in a month.

It’s been a week since I’ve moved in and things are going pretty well; but as I pause to reflect on the situation yet again, I still can’t get over how incredibly different this place is compared to everywhere else I live. I guess the biggest difference is just how quiet it is. I’ve lived in the dorms for three years, I spent a month with my friends–I have been constantly in the midst of a hive of activity and conversation. Hell, even when I’m living at home my family is there, going and coming stirring the air at least enough to be noticed. Now it is just me and her, an 87 year old hard-of-hearing woman who is retired and keeps to herself most of the time. This is her house, I am simply renting space in it and as such it’s a little difficult to understand how I fit in to the place. She has been in this house for a long time, and been living on her own for only a little less than that, so it’s easy to understand that she’s established some routines. Problem is that I have too, needless to say it’s a little difficult for a college student and a senior citizen’s routines to really mesh up.

I guess the biggest thing I’ve noticed is how lonely it feels there–feeling out of place, further away from my friends than I’m used to, like everything around me is really fragile. My family is 3000 miles away and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss them. I remember telling a good friend of mine when she was thinking of moving out on her own to Los angeles, this town is tremendous and very frightening–if you’re not careful it’ll swallow you whole without a second thought. It’s why it’s been so important for me to spend time with my friends lately, I am afraid of being eaten alive. Around this place you need a family, and around this place they are my family. I don’t know how to really tell them, but I love them and they mean the world to me. If it weren’t for them I don’t know if I could survive this place, I know I couldn’t do it on my own.

John Mellencamp can have it.

It’s difficult to clearly elucidate what life is like in such a small town in the rural south.  The world simply moves slower ’round here.  To those used to the fast-paced city life it would nearly seem backwards, almost illogical–believe me I’m one of them.  After living in Los Angeles for the past three years I think I had actually forgotten what it was like to live in a town that…ends.  Greenwood, South Carolina is certainly adjacent to the twenty-four-hour, multi-discursive vibrancy of Los Angeles.  Hell, if nothing else just trying to find something to do around these 36 square miles proves a challenge that I’m frankly not used to.  But it’s not just entertainment vacuum, or the culture shock or even the people–intrinsically life seems to function at a different pace here.

I’ve moved around a lot, enough to earn the “everywhere” response when I’m confronted with the premier litmus test of the south–”where y’all from?”  In my travels, I began to come to the conclusion that where one lives matters very little, that all the places I went seemed to be roughly the same.  Perhaps I wasn’t visiting enough places.  Los Angeles and Greenwood are different, very different, I’m not sure you can get more different.  Please don’t misunderstand, different is not necessarily bad–there are aspects of Los Angeles I would love to forget, but the fact remains that I am incredibly used to living in all it’s glaring parts.   In Los Angeles I could throw a stone in any direction and find something interesting to do where it landed.  Here I have to drive 20 minutes just to get into town.  I suppose it’s not terrible, I do live on the shore of a very large lake, which is nice. But we don’t own a boat, we don’t have a tremendous view, and evidently there’s a leech nest near in the shallows near our dock (yeah.  Leech.  Nest.  Bet you didn’t even know they came in nests….its okay I didn’t want to know either).  So my family and are resigned to sitting around the altar of the all-glorious television waiting through the monotony until the itch kicks us up to “drive into town.”  So what’s the benefit of driving into town?

Well, there’s the Starbucks.  And there’s an art gallery down town.  Theres a large structure which is called the Greenwood Mall, but I’m certain this is a lie.  Greenwood, like a lot of American small towns was born and raised around factories, enormous brick mills supplying the region with the bricks used to built the south.  When those factories closed, the only thing left was a hollowed brick-and-mortar shell of Greenwood’s burgeoning prosperity, a monument to just how little this town has changed.  I will say that that in my sojourn through this town one can find miniscule pockets of character, if you look closely enough, nestled deep in the crab-grass cracks.  I did say there’s an art gallery and it’s pretty good–it blew straight past my watercolor-landscape expectations.  There’s a community theater that just finished running it’s rendition of Little Shop of Horrors.  Okay, so it’s a start.  Unfortunately, as far as I can see it’s only a start.  I can certainly see the appeal of vacationing to a spot like this.

I have never seen a better living description of the word “ennui:” a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of occupation and excitement.  It’s a matter of fact that a job would break up the monotony, I’d be less concerned about my spending and those trips into town would be a lot easier.  But there are simply not enough jobs to be had.  It’s not just me, it seems like it’s half this town, everyone is looking and only a few places are hiring.  So in the meantime we all mope around the town, scarcely aware of  each other or the passage of time under our eyes.  It is as we are all standing around, waiting for something.  Some immeasurable force to come along and suddenly fix everything and revitalize our lives.  If it’s coming I hope it gets here soon, because this is not the south I remember.

There will be more thoughts on this and other things coming soon.  I hope you enjoy them.

A lesson in fear.

There are many things I have been able to take away from the year and a half I spent as a resident advisor at CSU Northridge. But I think one of my favorites has to be my ability to scare people. I was grossly unaware of the task I was taking on that October in 2006, the responsibility of preparing the dorm’s halloween festival was dropped in my team’s lap and I reluctantly volunteered to take on the haunted house, at the time a mild side attraction to the festivities. I had experience working in haunted houses, and I liked the idea of possibly creating my own. What I didn’t realize was how much I would enjoy it, or just how damn good I was at it.

RHA had given me a pretty sizable budget and all the supplies they had from the year prior. I was excited, this was my first big project and I didn’t want to let anyone down. By the end of the night more than 600 people had gone through my haunted house, including my boss, two police officers (including an ex-marine) Most left that night so frightened we had to promise that it was just a ride (yes, including the ex-marine). I call it my haunted house the same way a director calls a movie his own–essentially it was merely the fact that my name was on the top. Working right beside me was a team of residents and resident advisor who I discovered were just as committed to my idea, perhaps even more than I was. I had a make up artist from the theater department working for me, a commercial composer from the music department running sound. To this day it does not cease to amaze how a project will come together when you surround yourself with the right people, each just as excited about the goal as you are.

When I think back on what it meant to run this haunted house, to have free creative rein over something that may not seem important to most, but gave me a change to express my ideas to a tremendous audience, it occurs to me how much I love scaring people. But more than that, it occurs to me how much I love being a part of a large theatric performance, of planning every nuance of a great strategy to achieve something great. I haven’t been happier, and I haven’t been angrier, and I haven’t been more exhausted as I was putting this project together. I think when I get back to Los Angeles I’m going to try and get my foot in the door with a major studio who does there own haunted house, see if I put my ideas out there into the fray and have someone pick them up. I want to be part of something big again.

Resume

Caleb L Moore

Address: 236 Irvine’s Cir                                     telephone: (209) 614-5859
Greenwood, SC 29646                                e-mail: moorecowbell@gmail.com

Objective
A position is customer service or related work.

Education
Bachelor of Arts in English with emphasis expected fall, 2008
in creative writing
California State University Northridge, California (CSUN)
Associate of Arts in Music May, 2005
Modesto Junior College, Modesto, California (MJC)

Related Skills
• Previous experience in all duties previously outlines
• Quick study who thrives in a diverse environment
• Computer: MS Word, PowerPoint, Publisher, Outlook
• Languages: proficient in American Sign Language
• Creative individual who enjoys working in a team environment

Related Work Experience
Resident Advisor August, 2006-December, 2008
California State University Northridge, Northridge, CA
• Served as leader for resident of my floor, as well as the Resident Advisor staff
• Worked on an individual to large group basis.
• Made myself available the needs of students and staff working in Residential Life to maintain a safe, positive learning environment.
Assistant to Youth Director Summer, 2004
First United Methodist Church, Modesto CA
• Collaborated with Youth Director in planning and outlining lessons for elementary through high school youth over a long-term period.
• Organized and headed the application process for large-scale youth mission trips.
• Acted as a leader for said mission trip and a representative of my organization.
• Served as a liaison on an individual-to-large scale basis between other religious organizations and administration.
• Planned church-wide events, including: booking, advertising, logistics, and master of ceremonies duties.
Retail operations and Administrative assistant Spring, 2003
Langlois Piano Company, Modesto, CA
• Structured and operated client database including lesson schedule, service scheduling and purchase history
• Served as liaison between my organization and third-party companies.
• Maintained manager schedules including meetings, and service appointments.
• Served as liaison between clients and management for purchase orders, and billing operations
• Assisted customers in purchases, tracking purchase history, and special orders

For Hire

College student seeking gainful employment to support lifestyle accustomed to in Los Angeles.

-Poet and Artist.

• Useful knowledge in poetry and narrative writing, some experience in painting, sculpture (clay and woodwork)
• Certified in capturing the human spirit and the American experience
• Expert knowledge at observing the dilemma of modern society as it searches for it’s place in history (also experience in advertising, administration and some technical writing

-6 years experience in customer service

• Several positions held geared towards helping people truly understand what they’re seeking.
• Creative and psychologically-minded person with deep understanding of the nature of searching
• Variety of fields of employment has allowed for a wide basis of multipurpose general knowledge
• Insatiable need to learn and grow allows for quick adaption to tasks needed for any vocation

-10 years experience general grunt work and heavy lifting

• 10 years of experience loading/unloading/transporting moving trucks
• Expert experience moving pianos of various sizes
• 2 months spent renovating church pipe organ
• 22 years picking up children and playing “airplan

If interested in working with a deeply intellectual, creative, and energetic person who enjoys working in a diverse and mutlidiscursive environment, lease contact immediately.

additional skills:

• languages: American Sign Language
• Microsoft Word, PowerPoint, Outlook, Publisher
• typing: 90-100 wpm

haven’t written in so long I wonder who’ll read this

okay, that was a bit melodramatic, it’s more of commentary on my inability to write here.  So lets get it started.

I’m sitting in class right now, and we’re talking about the power of stories and how one tells them and what that means.  Interesting thought–how does a story change from two different perspectives?  I’ve been working on my story vaguely involving this idea, a shared story.  It’s exploring a lot of things really, but mostly what exactly does human contact mean? What’s it literally mean?  What’s it mean to the individual.  There is nothing more defining for a human being that the inexplicable moments we share with another human being.  The moment where two people share an idea, a though, a feeling, and share that moment in the exact same way.  Is that even possible?  Generally I would say no, but we can come close.  And the closer we come the better it feels.

So how do we have those moments?

The story is about two men who tour the LA river, exploring it’s path and it’s history. As they move they begin to notice the blatant graffiti tags that mark the cement riverbed.  You can’t miss them they exlpode from the gray wash canvas beneath them, before long the two men are walking an art gallery of human contact.  They are exploring hallways of artists who have declared themselves to exist.  The Graffiti artist is, intrinsically, a person who has too much to say an no way of truly understanding it, so they do.  I am.  I exist.  Hear me.

There’s some irony in this, not only the idea that graffiti (for most people) seems a blemish on the landscape, but that it’s done in a river bed, a place where the paint will inevitably be washed away.  If it’s not going to last then why do it?  Because time is not the point, the point is the act.  Moving from the unknown to the known–from O to 1.  Why is there such a broad spectrum of quality in this quasi-art?  Because underneath the abilities and ideas of these artists, is one defining project: shouting into the dark, and hoping to God that someone will hear you.

The most profound piece of graffiti I’ve ever seen, and subsequently the end of the story was a simple stenciled piece.  “I’ve waited my whole life for you”

All the tools in my bag.

I have one class that remains a mystery to me. My Hybrid and narrative class focuses on the method of telling stories and seeks to understand the nature of narrative in the 21st century. The idea behind hybridity is trying to discover the essence of voice and how it differs from other voices. After you find your voices, you find a way to blend them into a new idea, a new essence. It isn’t as simple as all that, but I suppose that’s a decent explanation.

I’ve had a hard time trying to interpret this idea through my own understanding, how do you write from two different voices? My professor stressed blending the projects of form, poetry and prose for example. What’s the purpose of poetry? What’s the purpose of prose? What new purpose can be gained from blending them together? After some thought I realized that the art that I enjoy the most always comes from a place of hybridity–music mixed with film, dance mixed with poetry, even the paintings I like to make go so much further beyond acrylic on canvas. But how does this translate when you’re only using one tool of expression?

Musings, nothing more.

I’m bad at blogging.  Well, no I’m bad at routines.  It’s a little odd because in general routines give birth to more routines, and I think I’m afraid of being to…well, routine.  I suppose it’s easy to forget how much I love writing, I’ve been reading The Diary of Anne Frank and I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy simply writing to no one in particular.  The idea behind the public blog is that eventually someone else will read it, but I’m not writing to you.  It just like to occasionally share my thoughts with other people, for the rest there’s always the private setting.

My classes this semester are tremendous, insightful, intellectual and challenging.  The course load is a bit intimidating, but so far I’m enjoying it (as proven by the fact that I’m actually READING the Diary).   I’m concerned about my organization, I promised myself that I’d do better this semester and I made a plan and I’m trying to follow through.  I think I’ll use the paper planner for homework and my computer calendar for engagements and appointments, that way I won’t be encouraged to take my laptop to class, the internet is a double-edged sword.

I guess it’s difficult to focus on classes right now because I’m just feeling very isolated.  It’s funny how the times we’re surrounded by the most people is when we feel the most isolated.  I wish I just knew how to get past that.  I think I do it to myself, sometime I wish I could just shut down my over-active mind and enjoy thinking about my friends and what I’m going to do over the weekend.  It just doesn’t happen, it never really has.  I tried to explain it to Marla but I’m not as good with spoken words as I am with written words.  Speaking of which, I’m looking forward to having my poem work-shopped in class on Thursday.  Thursday afternoons are what I spend my entire week looking forward too.  I can’t believe the work we have to do in that class!  If I come through I am going to come out of it a much stronger writer than I was before, I can’t wait.

My next two poems are going to be on the theme of absurdity.  I find I enjoy ruminating on ideas that saturate society that at a basic level are completely illogical.  I enjoy writing about what Theodor Adorno called “the tension in the voice of the people.” The first is on Drive-thrus, (thank you, dad, for sparking the idea for this one).  The second just came from Joy’s Blog About environmentalists who are arguing over who’s being more conscientious of the environment: Solar Panels vs. Tree-huggers: see it all go down Sunday!  That’s all for now I think.