Quote : Le’Petite Prince

The lit­tle prince went away, to look again at the ros­es.
You’re not at all like my rose,” he said.
As yet you are noth­ing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one.
You’re like my fox when I first knew him.
He was only a fox like a hun­dred thou­sand oth­er fox­es.
But I have made a friend, and now he’s unique in all the world.”
And the ros­es were very much embar­rassed.
You’re beau­ti­ful, but you’re emp­ty,” he went on. One could not die for you.
To be sure, an ordi­nary passer­by would think that my rose looked just like you
–the rose that belongs to me. But in her­self alone she’s more impor­tant
than all the hun­dreds of you oth­er ros­es :
because it is she that I have watered ;
because it is she that I have put under the glass globe ;
because it is for her that I’ve killed the cater­pil­lars
(except the two or three we saved to become but­ter­flies);
because it is she that I have lis­tened to, when she grum­bled,
or boast­ed, or even some­times when she said noth­ing.
Because she is MY rose.”

Activ­i­ty report

I’m off today, it’s actu­al­ly pecu­liar how it got so ☀ warm out. There’s real­ly no pat­tern to weath­er now, it does its own thing. One week it might feel like an arc­tic blast from Cana­da, the next it feels like a heat wave and pre­ma­ture onset of spring. The pat­terns of my youth, as record­ed by my numer­ous jour­nals I’d kept were much more stricter and pre­dic­tive, to a fault. I could pluck out a par­tic­u­lar date on the cal­en­dar and tell you pre­cise­ly what the weath­er would/​should/​ought be like on any giv­en Sun­day for reals.

6am : made break­fast. Here is said break­fast, not my usu­al. I’m most­ly cof­fee and maybe a scone or a crois­sant kin­da guy, fol­lowed by a cup of tea and then a sec­ond cup of joe.

breakfast

6:45am : I start­ed rewatch­ing LOTR on Net­flix, because they decid­ed to sneak it in there. There’s real­ly not much hard­ly at all to watch nowa­days, and I’m kind of glad to be hon­est. It frees me up to being more cre­ative, pro­duc­tive, and focused on life, projects, and intel­lec­tu­al­ly tit­il­lat­ing pur­suits like writ­ing of course.

6:50am : show­er pow­er. My show­er rou­tine is rather sim­ple : wash with axe body soap, sham­poo, con­di­tion­er, then I use a almond body scrub fol­lowed by an exfo­li­at­ing cleanser. Just jok­ing ! Heh heh when­ev­er I swim over mun­dane details it reminds me of this scene out of Amer­i­can Psy­cho :

7am : I let stoops go pee in the alley, then feed him. New neigh­bor some white­boy named Dominick in apart­ment 2B is tak­ing a smoke break on the back porch, Stoops is sniff­ing his nether regions like a nosy dog is prone to do. Lat­er I did a quick swifter sweep of my dojo, it was get­ting quite ingra­ti­at­ed with his loose hair through­out. I’m research­ing for a more effec­tive yet eco­nom­i­cal brand of dog­food right now. I want some­thing that’s nutri­tious and healthy. Hard to deter­mine these days. I hear many crazy sto­ries about bad dog food with a ton of use­less junk in it.

7:30 – 8 am : I’ve been in a cre­ative slump late­ly, though I real­ly want to start pen­ning out some mad poet­ry and a few chap­ters in a book I’m plan­ning to get pub­lished some­day. I need­ed a good work­out so I hit T-25, my per­son­al train­er ShaunT. Actu­al­ly I tend to use xbox fit­ness evolved, a cool kin­nect work­out game but it ceased func­tion­ing entire­ly. I like T-25, you get a decent work­out and the moves are more con­densed and fun than his Insan­i­ty series.

Working out with ShaunT

Work­ing out with ShaunT

8am : took stoops to my pre­ferred park of choice near­by.

stoops

stoops, my canine pal

sea-of-strangers

Sea of Strangers by Lang Leav

9:30am Bought some thin­gies on Ama­zon, spend­ing a $50 gift card some­body had bequeathed me over Christ­mas. I most­ly just bought Japan­ese style notebooks/​journals/​pen/​and a poet­ry book called Sea of Strangers“ by Lang Leav. I was curi­ous because this girl is trend­ing in the lit­er­ary world so I want­ed to see how she wrote and such. The cov­er looks rather chick flick­ish, but I do remem­ber perus­ing some of her work at Barnes, and it seemed sol­id. Though I must say I didn’t actu­al­ly care for her book cov­ers that look like old­school type books and too col­or­ful and gim­micky. How­ev­er, I do sup­port asian artistes.

11:45 am : Lunch

lunch

Lunch : sim­ple blt and some Pro­gres­so lentil soup, with sparkling water and ruf­fles. I don’t always eat some­thing that looks like it was made for Iron Chef.

12:00 pm : cup of cof­fee. Brows­ing online, want­ed to get this rug for my dojo, it’s pret­ty expen­sive. Made in Nepal, hand woven, wool and bam­boo silk. Alas some­day.

wish-list-Rug

Some­thing I can’t afford right now, some­day maybe 🙂 a nice hand woven rug made in Nepal.

journal-spaarks

jour­nal-spaarks

12 – 1 : read­ing Jour­nal Sparks“ for self enter­tain­ing pur­pos­es. It’s actu­al­ly a fun book, some­thing of a mashup between writ­ing ideas for your jour­nal and artschool 101. These are pret­ty fun some­times, gives you some­thing to do such as doo­dling and prac­tic­ing cre­ativ­i­ty so that it becomes less of a dor­mant intel­lec­tu­al brain­fart and more hands on.

1 – 2:30pm : I crashed, took a pow­er­nap. I dreamed I was hav­ing lunch at Hoot­ers in Tokyo when sev­er­al Yakuza were hold­ing up the place, act­ing all gangs­ta. I took them out with my moves, and team Tokyo girls were cheer­ing me on. Yes, I was hav­ing a guy moment here, the hero of my own sto­ry, who wins the day. Then just after, a group of very mean white boy jocks who hate asian guys came in as well, and start­ed oogling the Japan­ese girls with Hey baby, me love you long time!“. I told them to take a hike and they all sur­round­ed me intent on teach­ing me a very vivid les­son, one I wouldn’t soon for­get. Yet instead of a bloody mas­sacre I went into bul­let time. Fast for­ward I had them all laid out on the ground. Don’t let me see you punks in here again, now scram, beat it!”

I must say I looked rather cool, my kung fu is excel­lent.

I was being a bum through­out the day, it’s a day off after all. Played chess on chess​.com, browsed a bit, try­ing to yank some fresh poet­ics out of me. You can’t rush genius, son. It takes time, I have to decon­struct and recon­struct, I have to do research, and get into genius mode.

5:20pm : sushi for din­ner, I haven’t had it in quite some time.

Sushi dinner

Sushi, yum­my

Jan­u­ary : Good things

  • unsea­son­ably warm weath­er on my days off
  • It’s a new year, baby !
  • we’re almost over win­ter (one more month)
  • Strange warm spells in mid­dle of win­ter
  • unformed poet­ry com­ing togeth­er in my mind
  • inspi­ra­tion derived from sim­plic­i­ty
  • big caul­drons of beef soup
  • the stu­pid antics of peo­ple to make me laugh
  • sim­ple sil­ly jokes
  • dream­ing of dream jobs
  • writ­ing my first nov­el
  • per­son­al blog addic­tion
  • goal set­ting
  • fast­ing from neg­a­tiv­i­ty
  • fast­ing from com­fort
  • liv­ing min­i­mal­ism
  • spon­ta­neous acts of kind­ness
  • ran­dom acts of strange­ness
  • jour­nal­ing more con­sis­tent­ly
  • drawing/​painting more
  • mini road­trips to Mil­wau­kee
  • relo­ca­tion des­ti­na­tion : Austin, TX
  • read­ing more
  • reg­u­lat­ing inter­net usage, some­times need to unplug !

Escapism

I want to escape
From this max­i­mum secu­ri­ty prison
Called escapism
And have my Andy Dufresne moment

I’ll escape the sis­ters, who prey
Upon the weak, and try to steal
Your very soul from under­neath you
And fight with gus­to the vile ones
In boil­er rooms

And when I’m on a hot roof
Dur­ing a mer­ci­less sum­mer day
Offer to make a tax shel­ter
For an evil guard

One might argue now, right­ly so
That escap­ing from escapism
is in truth, escap­ing from escape
The math doesn’t add up !

No, let me frame it in this way
I’m escap­ing from a being wrong­ful­ly con­vict­ed
Of crimes of pas­sion
And being pum­meled by the injus­tices of life
Because of the man I was des­tined to become

Not what cul­ture tells me who I ought to be
Or the har­row­ing traps of our great soci­ety’

When I get out of here, I’m tak­ing you with me
and then, we’ll final­ly leave this place
To find Annabel Lee’s King­dom by the Sea

Places

There are mark­ers from my deep past
That con­tained a frag­ment of me
Which seems to have been purged
From life’s brows­er his­to­ry

I walk down Oak street, enam­ored by the wannabe
Par­sian shoppes and the fad­ed glam­our of the 1980’s
When American’s were pres­ti­gious and wealthy
trans­fixed by the glit­tery, beau­ti­ful lights of life

Through­out my 20’s I had a pecu­liar habit of par­ty­ing in hotels
With friends, not your aver­age ones, but ones with fad­ed antiq­ui­ty
That remind­ed me of the rich his­to­ries and glo­ri­ous fan­ci­ful sophis­ti­cates
Who did it with class and style that’s no longer

Mon­trose beach, along the lake­front
Dad and old­er sis­ter used to take me there, just to enjoy
Sim­ple seren­i­ty, and bask­ing in the moment
moments entwined in the dou­ble helix of my time­line

Dad cruis­ing like a big olé pyi­amp down lake shore dri­ve
On his way into the office of Lester B. Knight
The high ris­es that spoke about worlds of infi­nite pos­si­bil­i­ties
I want­ed to live like the Jef­fer­sons

My familia’s su casa, the ances­tral estate on a street called Dover,
Was the U.S.S. Enter­prise of my youth, a cas­tle of bright lights
and har­row­ing melan­cholies
Imag­ine a ves­sel that was sat­u­rat­ed with the entire­ty of your exis­tence

I missed the esquire the­ater on Oak, where I first saw Return of the Jedi.
Also the one in Water Tow­er, where I went on my first date, and had my first
Offi­cial date’ kiss,

I can­not exclude Mar­shall Fields on State street
Moth­er would dri­ve me crazy spend­ing the entire day there
Not buy­ing a sin­gle thing ! It’s Xmas eve
You’re dri­ving me absolute­ly crazy

And Ryan’s restau­rant,
Moms and me would enjoy meals togeth­er
Warm heart­ed, kind wait­ress­es with hearts of gold
That thought me so adorable
Stuffed floun­der, deli­cioso,

Groovie Movies

Compliance1. Com­pli­ance : Mes­mer­iz­ing movie that depicts the crazy hap­pen­ings that took place at a Chick-fil-et chain in Cal­i­for­nia dur­ing the 90’s. Psy­cho­log­i­cal thriller that shows how gullible, naïve, and sus­cep­ti­ble some peo­ple are under the weight of a seem­ing­ly legit author­i­ty fig­ure.

sideways-feat2. Side­ways : always a clas­sic, unpre­ten­tious com­e­dy that’s based on a road­trip to Sonoma/​Napa Val­ley and cen­ters around wine. There’s rarely a movie like this that’s fun­ny and amus­ing at the same time and has to do with wine snobs.

Coherence3. Coher­ence : A very cle­vere­ly wrought sci fi movie that shows how amaz­ing sto­ry can bring to life even the lowli­est bud­get indie movies.

All the money in the world4. All the Mon­ey in the World : For­tu­nate­ly, Kevin Spacey was replaced with the tal­ent­ed Christo­pher Plum­mer. Painful watch­ing Wahlberg’s piss per­for­mance in com­par­i­son to his co-stars who eas­i­ly out­shine and out­class him (Plum­mer and Michelle Williams ). Most comedic scene was watch­ing Wahlberg try­ing to diss the bril­liant actor Plum­mer with some lame sound­ing lines that tried to sound machisi­mo and cav­a­lier, lol.

Margin-call5. Mar­gin Call : live in the few days just pri­or to the glob­al melt­down and get a glimpse of the Wall­street yup­pies who effect­ed said melt­down and their ver­sion of how things went down.

The-Way-Back6. The Way Back : This is sim­ply a sur­vival­ist movie that feels like a long road­trip by foot through beau­ti­ful lands you will almost nev­er real­ly vis­it will­ing­ly. Ed Har­ris and Col­in Fer­rel.

naked-weapon-movie-feat-img7. Naked Weapon : A secret mod­el­ing agency of female free­lance assas­sins, Mag­gie Q, cheesy sto­ry, and equal­ly cheesy romance. Feels like Bat­tle Royale meets La Femme Naki­ta. I love Hong Kong cheesy asian films, they’re pret­ty tight. Pret­ty girls, cheesy bad act­ing, bas­tardiza­tion of plot lines (Bat­tle Royale meets La Femme Niki­ta) makes for fun filled enter­tain­ment.

Batman8. Bat­man tril­o­gy (Christo­pher Nolan series). In all hon­esty, I don’t think any direc­tor is going to top­ple these in the visu­al sto­ry­telling depart­ment. Yeah, some­times it does feel like the action sequences are so lethar­gic I want to fall asleep, but they still nail the essence of the Dark Knight per­fect­ly, and that’s hard to do. I think we’re all just so damned spoiled that many sim­ply took it for grant­ed that Nolan made some very good cin­e­ma in this tril­o­gy.

Bladerunner-20499. Bladerun­ner 2040 : Once again, I think we’re just a spoiled cul­ture that can over­look and yawn at this, as if it was mediocre cin­e­mat­ic fare. Yet all the fan­boys“ out there in so called nerd world are all harp­ing on about The Last Jedi like it’s the end all be all.

The-Visitor10. The Vis­i­tor : A cute, sim­ple, and straight for­ward sto­ry with a human­is­tic aspect, very fun movie with stel­lar act­ing.

Lives-of-Others11. The Lives of Oth­ers : This is a bril­liant and beau­ti­ful film, tak­ing place is post era WW2 when the social­ists were run­ning things in Ger­many. It shows how we can all be trans­formed by learn­ing and spy­ing on peo­ple we wish we knew in real­i­ty, peo­ple we wish were our actu­al friends.

Lon­li­ness

SOLIDAO, LONELINESS.
What is it that we call lone­li­ness. It can’t sim­ply be the absence of oth­ers, you can be alone and not lone­ly, and you can be among peo­ple and yet be lone­ly. So what is it ? … it isn’t only that oth­ers are there, that they fill up the space next to us. But even when they cel­e­brate us or give advice in a friend­ly con­ver­sa­tion, clever, sen­si­tive advice : even then we can be lone­ly. So lone­li­ness is not some­thing sim­ply con­nect­ed with the pres­ence of oth­ers or with what they do. Then what ? What on earth?”

Paul Merci­er, Night Train to Lis­bon

Guy on the train

I’m rid­ing the brown line from Albany Park to The Mart.

The ride itself is a bit med­i­ta­tive, every­body in my lcar is absorbed in their devices, you could hear a mouse fart. Some­times, you do get the occa­sion­al per­son who feels the express need to express them­selves and broad­cast their con­ver­sa­tions about noth­ing at all, actu­al­ly. I idly won­der what would it be like to steal frag­ments of these intru­sive con­ver­sa­tions and piece­meal them into a sound byte, just for the sake of self enter­tain­ment. Then, I’m not that moti­vat­ed to squan­der the ener­gy in doing sil­ly thin­gies like I once used to be, so inter­ac­tive with my sur­round­ing envi­ron­ment. In a world of dig­i­tal dis­trac­tion, real­i­ty does pro­vide for cheap end­less enter­tain­ment when one looks and observes the world around them.

The Clocktower (photo)

The clock­tow­er I would always hike to when I was a young pup.

When I pass this clock tow­er, I’m remind­ed of my youth. I would jour­ney to Ravenswood avenue and hike along the metra tracks look­ing like one of the boys from the movie Stand by me, and this clock tow­er would be my stop­ping point. I used to think it was so ter­ri­bly far from my home, and it was the most vis­i­ble place you could see visu­al­ly. It’s fun­ny how some places are sat­u­rat­ed by a moment of our own time­lines, and we for­get these things. Take them for grant­ed, scarce­ly real­iz­ing that some­day, we will look back and real­ize we were in those places, we lived a part of our exis­tence in them, they sym­bol­ized a place in our­selves. I saw my young pup self, an imprint from my frac­tured mem­o­ry hik­ing along, hav­ing fun being on an adven­ture’, an intre­pid urban adven­tur­er look­ing to dis­cov­er some­thing lost or valu­able in hid­den places.

Mortal Trash by Kim Addonizio coverRight now I’m read­ing : Mor­tal Trash by Kim Addonizio. Some­times I do dig her work, and a few poems I found were replete with allu­sions to past expe­ri­ences and blun­ders, tri­umphs, and ennui from life. Of course these are pow­er­ful shaper’s of our­selves, since they were things we par­took in, like a play and we the actors in the the­ater of minds. I real­ize this now, that I’m in a place I nei­ther wish to be in, from, or asso­ci­at­ed with, but rather in some oth­er world entire­ly. Yet I sup­pose not learn­ing and know­ing of such places helps, for when I arrive I don’t want to feel like I’ve arrived, or I’ve been there my entire life before even hav­ing stepped foot on its soil. Yet I didn’t find her work as me’ as Richard Silken (who wrote War of the Fox­es’). There was a way in which he flowed and detailed his poems that res­onat­ed with me. It was clean, descrip­tive, and beau­ti­ful, a touch of melan­choly and a smat­ter­ing of cun­ning.

I ran stoops this morn­ing at the park, he was quite hap­py. Late­ly it’s been too arc­tic cold to even ven­ture much far­ther than I ordi­nar­i­ly would like. I was able to cast the ball yes­ter­day as well so he’s going to sleep in good today while I’m at work. I see my friend Amra at The Mart now, she’s such a sweet Bosn­ian girl, and I made friends with her and her hus­band just from walk­ing stoops at Eugene field so much. I also befriend­ed my neigh­bors Angela and her son Chris, who some­times dogsit stoops for me when I go on road trips. I took a lik­ing to the kid, he’s an hon­or roll stu­dent and takes his stud­ies seri­ous­ly. I was men­tor­ing him for a spell, until his moms tried mak­ing me his free tutor/​babysitter. Fun­ny how some peo­ple try to take a mile when you give them an inch. I won­der to myself what would hap­pen if I asked them a favor or leaned on them expect­ing their help with this or that ? They might for a lit­tle while.

I gave the neigh­bors upstairs in unit 3B some last minute gifts. This sweet woman named Paris I gave a Japan­ese style note­book I got from Kinoku­niya at Mat­suwa mar­ket­place, and her son a book : How to Draw Almost Any­thing. Small, neigh­bor­ly gifts, I like to think that they enjoyed them. Every now and again, I like prac­tic­ing ran­dom acts of nice­ness if only to bright­en up some­bod­ies exis­tence. Restora­tion in human­i­ty starts with giv­ing, not always receiv­ing and wait­ing for oth­ers to ini­ti­ate life.

I have vol­umes of jour­nals, sketch­books, note­books that are dying for me to bleed ink all over the blank pages. These days I seem to be too busy, pre­oc­cu­pied, I have to exhaust myself to the fullest just to make it anoth­er day. My world is such like a fine­ly tuned pre­ci­sion orches­tra, one wrong wave from the con­duc­tor can send my per­for­mance into full dis­as­ter mode, and unlike in IT there’s no dis­as­ter recov­ery from that. One instru­ment fails, they all do, as one. Sync or swim.

Pho­to sto­ry : The Road

The Road

I took this shot right before true win­ter had come. I like nature, if only for soli­tude and tran­quil­i­ty it imparts in all of us, when we can come to the silent under­stand­ing we are mere mor­tal crea­tures and very finite ones. I like to imag­ine it would take us to places we secret­ly wish we were in, anoth­er time, anoth­er place, a place that defies our expec­ta­tions. Places that with­stood time and were sat­u­rat­ed with fad­ed mem­o­ries of past sto­ry­tellers.

The road beck­ons us to fol­low it, not with fear or trep­i­da­tion but in awe and won­der, where will it take us ? And to leave our sil­ly anx­i­eties and fears behind, which are obsta­cles toward love and knowl­edge, and life in gen­er­al.

Rumi­na­tions

dear future self,

I stopped to con­sid­er things, life, ideas, way­ward thoughts, rumi­na­tions of my own soul.

It’s always this time of year that I get in a reflec­tive, con­tem­pla­tive mode, think­ing about the year which had past, how much and how lit­tle tran­spired under the sun. My heartaches, my silent suf­fer­ing, long­ings. I came to a point in life where cer­tain things weren’t impor­tant any­more, and what I once thought was cru­cial and heavy, actu­al­ly wasn’t. We just infuse details of our exis­tence with a type of arti­fi­cial alive­ness, we want to live in the nook and cran­ny of our hid­den worlds, imag­in­ings, and some are per­ma lost in them. The lotus eaters that are so far gone the only way they can be plucked out of the quag­mire of them­selves is some sort of calami­ty, some­thing pow­er­ful enough to dis­rupt them­selves from them­selves.

I think I found myself there at one point. Exist­ing sim­ply to exist, with­out pur­pose, only a vam­pire who kept feed­ing his remorse­less appetites, vying for dom­i­nance and the dreams of excess we all have. Nev­er ful­ly com­pre­hend­ing the woes and suf­fer­ing that were went hand in hand with the reli­gion of self­ish­ness. I’ve since unpro­grammed myself from being a slave to myself, to lim­it­ing myself in such a way that the only point for my being is for me first, all oth­ers last. Most of my gen­der are hard-wired as such, as a kind of false secu­ri­ty blan­ket. The mod­el of this is If I just have enough mate­ri­al­ly, the whole nine yards of beau­ti­ful house, beau­ti­ful ride, beau­ti­ful bank account, beau­ti­ful sig­nif­i­cant oth­er, then I will be com­plete and untouch­able not need­ing any­thing much at all ! Just upgrade, like I’m a SIM liv­ing life as a SIM.

The trap is sub­tle and almost artis­ti­cal­ly genius, this rat race par­a­digm that cul­ture pro­motes and push­es. You can write a library of books that edu­cates, informs, and illu­mi­nates the many neg­a­tive aspects of it but ulti­mate­ly people’s lazi­ness and igno­rance will pre­vail over wis­dom, and a dif­fer­ent school of thought. As much as we are all intel­li­gent beings, intel­li­gence is invari­ably only a com­po­nent of life. There are so many oth­er pow­er­ful, equal­ly as vital aspects to life. After all a IQ of 170 might sim­ply land you a job at Star­bucks or as a cus­to­di­al engi­neer for Play­boy, but not nec­es­sar­i­ly at Google or the NSA. Charm mat­ters, per­son­able like­ness mat­ters, emo­tion­al IQ mat­ters.

So late­ly I’ve begun a fast, not the trendy kind to suf­fer for the sake of van­i­ty, as if the ends jus­ti­fied the means. Rather :

  • from self­ish­ness
  • from neg­a­tiv­i­ty
  • from criticizing/​disparaging oth­ers
  • from cursing/​swearing
  • from spend­ing friv­o­lous­ly
  • from excess mate­ri­al­ism
  • from road rage
  • from lazi­ness
  • from gos­sip­ing
  • from fear

you’ll find how near impos­si­ble it is sim­ply to go through your day with­out feel­ing neg­a­tive about a thing, which requires a great deal of dis­ci­pline. Or sim­ply to speak pos­i­tive and enter a pur­pose­ly pos­i­tive frame of mind, and not have it shat­ter or be frac­tured on account of one indi­vid­ual who seeks to dis­rupt your plans. I have too many char­ac­ter quirks (flaws) of my own to con­tend with, so what right have I to accen­tu­ate, high­light, and point out oth­ers just to feed the false sense of supe­ri­or­i­ty oth­ers deceive them­selves with ? It might as well be crit­i­ciz­ing oth­ers for being dif­fer­ent, unique, and let’s face it all of this need to do so stems from envy, pure and sim­ple.

Guide our dreams /​Michael Leu­nig

Dear God

We give thanks for the dark­ness of the
night where lies the world of dreams. Guide
us clos­er to our dreams so that we may be
nour­ished by them. Give us good dreams
and mem­o­ry of them so that we may car­ry
their poet­ry and mys­tery into our dai­ly lives.
Grant us deep and rest­ful sleep that we
may wake refreshed with strength enough to
renew a world grown tired.
We give thanks for the inspi­ra­tion of stars,
the dig­ni­ty of the moon and the lul­la­bies of
crick­ets and frogs.
Let us restore the night and reclaim it as
a sac­tu­ary of peace, where silence shall be
music to our hearts and dark­ness shall
throw light upon our souls. Good night.
Sweet dreams.

Amen

Call to Arms

The elit­ists strived to exclude
your soul wit from the cov­et­ed ech­e­lons
of war­riors-poets of the ink well
try­ing to con­trol the uncon­trol­lable winds

those that chan­neled and har­nessed raw
pas­sion, fresh as Tokyo sushi
into bright wings of alive­ness
instill an infu­sion of love for noth­ing at all

I came to tell you, you don’t need an advanced degree
or an IQ of 170, and to have been gross­ly dam­aged
nor a can­cer sur­vivor
there are nat­ur­al born prodi­gies out there

born with bor­ing, hard lives and strug­gled in dis­hon­ors Engr­ish
who, for them Folger’s ins­ta cof­fee was Star­bucks
and Aldi’s was their Whole­foods
we musn’t judge the real­i­ties of genius­es

I give you gems of gen­eros­i­ty and uplift
like I do my left­over Puer­to Rican steak sand­wich to
the Navy vet­er­an ask­ing for spare change at the
entrance to I-94

remem­ber, poet­ry is prayer and vice ver­sa
you’re oblig­at­ed my broth­ers and sis­ters to
pour your­selves in ink and stretch across those
pages of rice paper

all the while, with a secret smile
and a rit­u­al you call your own
the beau­ti­ful tapes­tries of your thought life

Win­ter Notes 2018

Dear future self,

This new year wasn’t entire­ly grandiose, in fact you might just say it was qui­et and lack­lus­ter. Com­pared to my glo­ry hey­days which were always spent in some lav­ish deca­dence (that cost­ed me heav­i­ly mon­e­tar­i­ly wise), fol­lowed by the pre­dictable week of recov­ery to alle­vi­ate the delir­i­um of a mon­strous hang­over. And for what ? There was no reward, only a kind of need­less suf­fer­ing brought on by myself, add to the phys­i­cal recov­ery a recov­ery of lost wages to add insult to self inflict­ed injury.

I’m work­ing on my book now, it’s always a fun kind of daunt­ing task to rip pages out of your­self, piece the words togeth­er into chap­ters, ham­mer­ing and chis­el­ing, puri­fy­ing and per­fect­ing, try­ing to breathe alive­ness into things. I’m writ­ing what I myself would like to read. Right now it’s going to be an fan­ta­sy nov­el, think Game of Thrones but far less Machi­avel­lian, but more geared toward high adven­ture, intrigues, plots, love affairs, and some life lessons. My hope and intent is to illus­trate that evil isn’t as sexy as our cul­ture would dupe peo­ple into think­ing. When we have a cul­ture that accen­tu­ates hope­less­ness, an ado­ra­tion of ugli­ness, and a depres­sive state what is there to nour­ish our own souls ? We won­der why the world is so beau­ti­ful­ly messed up ? Mys­tery solved, there’s very lit­tle to sus­tain the suc­cor of our own souls, and it’s clear­ly evi­dent wher­ev­er you look. No source of uplift, com­pas­sion, empa­thy, life. We glo­ri­fy and mag­ni­fy entire­ly neg­a­tive attrib­ut­es, extolling them as being virtues. Imag­ine that, we are mak­ing bad things seem like good and won­der in shock and hor­ror that the bad det­o­nates all around us !

Am I say­ing we need to walk around like we’ve been molest­ed by a care­bear ? Maybe 🙂 yet what I’m real­ly say­ing is that it’s not always about us, oth­er peo­ple go through storms and sea­sons also, and well not every­body has to be a home­less per­son or an African child in order for us to offer a kind word, a sim­ple hel­lo, not to seem like some sort of do good­er enhanced human from the DC uni­verse. How much more we each learn and dis­cov­er our own true pow­er, beau­ty, and iden­ti­ty when we pur­pose­ly affect anoth­er per­son, even in the most sub­tle and sly ways (in good ways, not hus­tling them heh heh). I tell you, it’s me who is reward­ed, real­ly.