dear future self,9:45 amTomorrow's new years day. Tonight I'll ring in the new year and lounging in some classy digs, namely The Drake hotel. Not in downtown Chicago but in Oak Brook, IL home of the HQ of Mcky D's if you please. I remember all the times past before the epic celebratory auspicious occasion. Friends frantically trying to set plans within plans, furiously pooling resources together, everybody connecting dots like it's an Ocean 11's bank robbery heist...thinking every contingency with militant precision. If only humans could be so focused, so thoughtful of details that they commonly ignore and overlook....perhaps the world would be less dull and ignorant. Think even beyond this at how much happier people could/ought/should be if they worked in tandem instead of making . . .
To prepare myself for upcoming 2019, I went out of my way to delete my entire collection of anti-social media accounts I really felt less than perked up to actually maintain. Besides this, I firmly believe that wasting yourself and your precious time festering on them is damaging to your psyche as well as your own thought life. After awhile when you rub shoulders with people who willingly live on such channels you start thinking along the same lines of other conformists who think this is edifying. . . .
dear future self,I write when the city is winding down at night, when there's this elusive tranquility that mutes the sounds of chaos and random variables. I realized that people were too engrossed with self, with doing their own thing, and had an almost passionate love affair with being indoors...inside the strongholds that they built for themselves within. Insolated life, where they were 'safe' and nothing could touch them, affect them in any slight way. . . .
I always start off any personal entry with these words 'dear future self' because I tend to be a time travel, reminiscing on what I did on this or that particular day. Sometimes there's fragments in my past I vaguely recollect, which feels much like phantom limbs of my own soul. Kind of how you try to remember what it must feel like to be in your own body when you were 10, 16, 24, 29. You have a vague shadow image of the feeling but it's something you'll never again experience. Those would make for excellent writing prompts. . . .
Tamale vendorI recently switched tamale suppliers to Daniel, who works the next block on the corner of Hamlin + Lawrence. His tamale's have more variety of flavor, and he's quite professional which I like. Because I'm a professional tamale eater heh heh. Okay that was funny because I decided that it was.I write a bit in one of my journals. Words came, though I felt creatively constipated. *Just write* sometimes works as a laxative. I check online for latest news...Miss Philippines Catriona Gray wins Miss Universe once again. She just won it in 2016! I guess the world is starting to recognize that Fillipino chicks are hot. So much for south Korea and all of its plastic facial surgery mess. Maybe someday when synthetics become real looking and we're all living in a Blade Runner . . .
Hello and welcome to my life, such as it is. It’s not always exclusively about myself, and yet it is.First, I’ll tell you what this is, why you should read it and it’s really not all that, but it could be. The potentiality is certainly there, however I don’t require a readership of people hating on this, nor do I require followers and likes from said people, because it’s not my intention. I simply am a poet and writer, and I enjoy writing for the sheer pleasure it instills, but also to discover the life within, to stretch it, expand on it, and publish it. This might unsettle / upset / offend the sensibilities of some, but that cannot be avoided. In life, we often will find more than not that this is a normal residual side effect we have on others. . . .