The Leanover.

"Marguerite Duras is never funny, and for some reason this strikes me as difficult and important. Her gravity is not easy; an unlikely, even shocking kind of liberty. In The North China Lover, Marguerite Duras writes that "l'enfant," the child, is "folle de lire; libre."Mad to read, in love with reading; free. Free. The child, her, little Marguerite, her freedom: her insane appetite. Her sexuality might as well be reading - mental freedom, cause it is."

- Ariana Reines in "The Problem of Knowledge" for Animal Shelter

I'm not sure if everything is disingenuous or if everything feels disingenuous. When I say everything, I mean youth and the notion of youth. From the onset, this concept, the notion of youth, plagued and confused me. There seems to be a participatory aspect to being young and an anticipatory norm to living life young.

Two nights ago, I attended a music performance by the band Javelin. The group's songs are lively and fun and enthsiastic, at least when taking into account the band;s numerous influences. I take the music for what it is: a means of whetting one's pop-culture appetite. This is not a bad thing. Each song is more eclectic and interesting than the collective Girl Talk catalog. Each song is short and sweet and whole.

The set was held at Golden Age, an adorable, endlessly hip conceptual art shop in the burgeoning Pilsen artist community. At the end of the night, rather than take the train home, I hopped a ride from my mother. I mention this openly, without embarrassment, because the experience was so surreal on the surface and familiar through memory, that I can't be bothered to pontificate on what is good or cool or right.

Sometimes I feel like there is a participatory aspect to existing within a group, especially one that is routinely stereotyped. You are either so invested in the group that you don’t realize others have reduced your existence based on appearances to clichés or you are so desperate to be a part of the group that you will actively, enthusiastically embrace the group’s norms in order to belong. Homogenous environments are uncomfortable. Either everything really is disingenuous because it is all the same or, as an outsider, everything just feels disingenuous because you don’t belong. As an outsider, it is difficult to admit that perhaps others just don’t want you to belong or that you will never truly belong, to be a part of their group, and so you begin to place blame on others to feel better about your unfortunate situation.

Like youth, like authenticity and disingenuousness, I am fascinated by belonging. What does it mean to belong?

What I was certain of was the fact that I don't belong, in no uncertain terms. The thing is, my entire existence has been a struggle to figure out where I belong when the fact of the matter is that I don't quite belong in any one place or with any one group of people. I think that is why I have been so confounded with personal observations. It is easy to notice, to take account for the actions of others if you are not a part of the group in which these certain things occur.

"Pretty in Pink" by The Psychedelic Furs

I'm beginning to feel frantic now, at least about my lack of full-time employment. People ask, "Well, what do you want to do?" which I've quickly realized is a worthless question. What I want to do is of little importance. What I want to do in no way matters in this, the real world. The situation now is what I need to do to survive. I hate that. It is the lack of agency, the inability to live life in accordance with my sometimes outlandish dreams.

Moving back home hasn’t settled in yet. Right now, my bedroom feels like the coolest place ever, and that’s why I rarely leave. I come home, and it feels like I’m spending the night at what my teenage self would consider to be, “the sickest place ever.”

When I was an actual teenager - not just in spirit - I avoided my room as much as possible. It was permanently stuck in junior high and, despite the fact that my tastes and interests inevitably changed, I never felt the need to manipulate my surroundings to reflect those changes. In the back of my mind, I always thought, what is the point in changing things when I know that I’ll going away and possibly never coming back? That, of course, didn’t happen. Despite applying and getting into schools across the country, I ended up less than an hour away from the comfort of home.

Now that I am back (for, what I hope is a short rather than long period of time, *fingers crossed*), the need to reflect whatever growth I made in college was felt immediately. Because I am surrounded in a tiny space by my favorite, most cherished items, it all feels deliciously overwhelming. Look at this fucking music collection! Who owns those fantastic dresses? What a book collection! None of it feels like my own which is exciting, at least temporarily. In the back of my mind, I feel pretty pathetic about the situation. How can one forget how much stuff they own?Where did all of this come from? Is this why my financial stability is questionable? Am Iconsumed with the idea ofstuff?At the moment, though, I am amused. I’ll see how long this lasts.

I miss that feeling of being subjugated to my corporeal being. I was without control, completely consumed by his touch and my desire.

This summer has made me more aware of these things or more attuned to my inner self. Without the barrier of school or work, I feel a rush of emotion and curiosity besiege my every waking moment. My hormones are firing and on rapid ascent towards some climax that I fear will not be satisfying.

That is my second issue: fear. I am an interior being and my interiority is witnessing my mental confusion, my physical need and is confused. It is so unlike me that I can't help but be fearful. Is this permanent. Are my desires insatiable.

Sometimes I think of the past. His lips were soft but his kisses were sloppy. When I pulled away from him, my mouth was full of his saliva, a nauseating taste of herbal cigarettes. The taste irritated me and I usually ended the evening because I was unsatisfied with the course of events.

Padding the thumb along the bottom lip, the ridges and curves, is simple in its eroticism. It says, I yearn for you, for our lips to touch, and yet I am exerting control over myself and myself in this situation. When you do it, I know that you are near breaking. Palpitable, I like that.

I think the feeling now, is that I am consumed by my body. When I say this, I mean that there is so much energy flowing through my corporeal being that I need someone who can love me to the point of trust: trust in my demeanor and I too can trust myself to let go. Sometimes then the yearning feels too much, but I can survive another day with the belief that there is more and I've yet to find it, to consume its essence.