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

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.