Dream #1

I found myself in a shad­owy wood, there was the moon pul­sat­ing with white, pale light that cast shad­ows every­where. There’s this woman in a hood and cloak and I can scarce­ly see her face, only the mouth por­tion and hair which appears to be dark brown. She’s very slim and enig­mat­ic, and has glow­er­ing amber eyes. I kept chas­ing after her but she kept escap­ing, laugh­ing, taunt­ing me, belit­tling and mock­ing me. I’m walk­ing along, and there’s this sen­sa­tion of calm, absence of fear or dread. I nev­er dream, so this is all rel­a­tive­ly new to me. Believe me, I don’t dream, like ever. When I wake up I try to recall if I had any. Some­times I’ll have one every once in a blue moon, and some­thing entire­ly ridicu­lous. Like shoot­ing pigeons with a 12 gauge shot­gun, repeat­ed­ly and I couldn’t stop.

I reached out a hand, as if I had some kind of secret pow­er and sud­den­ly vines from trees sprout­ed and slith­ered like snakes and coiled around her arms and legs. I laughed vic­to­ri­ous­ly so, you thought you could escape, huh?’ I said smug­ly, and removed her hood to reveal a face of a plain Jane type of white girl, you don’t get to escape, I’m the boss here, not you!” I was say­ing to her, laugh­ing. Why were you try­ing to get away?” I asked, she looked spite­ful and angry at the cur­rent predica­ment. I grabbed her cheek force­ful­ly Speak up, woman, I haven’t got all day!” I asked, sound­ing like a vil­lain from Star Trek.

Then she shape changed into a fal­con and flew away.
Then I’m rid­ing hors­es, along epic land­scapes filled with moun­tains and wide pas­tures. I feel so free and alive, I feel like I haven’t a care or con­cern in the world escape to trav­el and explore, go on adven­tures, secret mis­sions, and live pre­car­i­ous­ly.

Dream #2

I’m in the park that used to be right out­side my flat when I was liv­ing in Buck­town, right on Palmer street across the street from Hol­stein park where I used to walk Cleo and Max.

Here I am, in my robe and there’s all this mist float­ing around me, it looks like Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. A cou­ple near­by are walk­ing their Pomeran­ian when it sud­den­ly got off leash and came charg­ing after me, with a vicious blood­thirsty set in its cute eyes that read I’m going to feast on your flesh, you lit­tle piece of sexy human meat“. At first I was a bit tak­en off guard, but my train­ing kicked in. I pulled out a samu­rai sword and in one deft stroke, an explo­sion of blood as I per­fect­ly exe­cut­ed a stroke off all strokes that any Samu­rai would have giv­en me mad props for.

In fact that’s exact­ly what hap­pened, a ghost of a Samu­rai came out of nowhere, gave me a high five then one on the flip­side and left.

The cou­ple were hor­ri­fied and angry and start­ed to attack me, try­ing to get their revenge for my act of self defense. I used my eagle claw kung fu and brought them swift­ly on their knees, wip­ing the blood off my sword and onto their face, lis­ten you two, I don’t know who the heck you are, or what you’re doing here, but this is my hood, and nobody mess­es with me ! I’m the mas­ter of this park, and if I ever catch you here again I’m not going to be the nicest per­son you’ve ever met. I might show you a thing or three about respect, now get up and remove your­selves from my pres­ence!“

The hus­band turned and said One day, maybe not today I’ll have my revenge and kill your entire fam­i­ly, mua­ha­ha­hah­ha!“ then he bolt­ed. I threw the sword and it wedged between his feet, and pro­ceed­ed to slap him repeat­ed­ly, not very painful but real­ly annoy­ing. I found it to be quite fun, actu­al­ly.

Cute Shoplifter at Wal­mart

I spot­ted you sev­er­al times
look­ing like Tyler Durden’s girl­friend, Mar­la
stuff­ing panties and socks in your knock off Guc­ci purse
made in Chi­na

The secu­ri­ty guards caught it too
they rewind the cam­era footage
aha moment, you did it !
thank­ing God it’s a sexy urban chic­ka

You dis­ap­pear, I fol­lowed from a dis­tance
won­der­ing if you’re still sin­gle
or if you have a tin­der pro­file
and can I ask you out for din­ner ?

You eas­i­ly con­sent­ed, if only to ditch me
secu­ri­ty is scour­ing the store, talk­ing to each oth­er
like spe­cial forces com­man­dos
say­ing things like perime­ter secure!”

Lat­er in the evening
In a grease spoon din­er, some­where oth­er
we find lots in com­mon
and you like my hair­cut

you hate the things I say
but love the way I look
the smell of my skin
hate my taste in books

you left me with the check
as you went to the ladies room
why do la femme fatale spies fill
my need for mis­ad­ven­tures ?

sleight of hand, iphone thief !
lulling me into a state of trust
you were too ter­ri­fied of
like an artiste with a blank can­vas

Week­end update

I went to the mall today, which lies 40 min­utes away, next to Great Amer­i­ca theme park. It’s called Gurnee Mills. I used to go here back in the day with my best friend at the time, we’d go to pick up girls. He had a thing for white girls, of which there were quite a few Brit­tany Spear types of mall rat princess­es that flocked there.

I come here to get away from it all. It’s full of cra­zies who seek the best deals and things to fill them up, to feed their sense of self worth, the empti­ness that they try to fill with this or that item. Adi­das, Nike, CK, Bebe, For­ev­er 21, Macy’s, all sell­ing made in Chi­na goods lack­ing in any qual­i­ty. Because of our mind­less con­sumerism we pay pre­mi­um prices now for cheap­ly made crap. We actu­al­ly pay more now for less qual­i­ty items than back in the era of qual­i­ty. I used to have wardrobes that weren’t just bet­ter look­ing and more styling than today, but were also resilient to the rav­ages of time.

I haven’t been updat­ing very fre­quent­ly, because I’m active­ly doing things behind the scenes. Read­ing books more on jour­nal­ing as well as writ­ing, too. Yet recent­ly I was very inspired and invig­o­rat­ed by a movie I saw and it rekin­dled the vital impor­tance of chron­i­cling our thought lives, and the cul­ture and shal­low peo­ple will always be dumb­found­ed by this sim­ple won­drous gift. We can’t explain it with human log­ic, nor should one try. Yet our sto­ries are more impor­tant than ever. I always start my entries off with dear future me because I know one day I’ll reflect back on that date, and read what I had expe­ri­enced, what I was going through, what I’ve felt. The storms and sea­sons, some­times that seem over­whelm­ing that I might drown and be destroyed would seem laugh­able at some lat­er date. Most peo­ple say there’s a book in me, I think instead that there’s a library of them in me, some­where.

Before, when I start­ed the curi­ous habit of writ­ing and cap­tur­ing life in my writ­ings I would do so most­ly because I would have these kind of pity par­ties and, like most Kore­an dra­ma actors wal­low and won­der why some­one so irre­sistible is pos­si­bly sin­gle heh heh. Also I would write down a whole litany of secret dis­cov­er­ies, obser­va­tions, truths, quotes, you name it. Yet one day, rough­ly around the age of 18 – 19 I took all of my pre­cious vol­umes and placed them into a roar­ing fire, a bon­fire of the van­i­ties under the night sky. I felt I couldn’t move for­ward with them, they held too much per­son­al junk that didn’t mat­ter one damn bit to any­body but me any­ways. So that’s when I had an epiphany : write not out of self­ish gain, self cen­tered ego­tism but rather to edi­fy, encour­age, love, help, and per­haps even annoy oth­ers. The last part which I was excep­tion­al­ly tal­ent­ed in doing. If you could even begin to imag­ine how much of a crazy dork I could be ! Lol the king of prank callers, the mas­ter of stu­pid human tricks.

Thanks for lis­ten­ing to me. Right now, I’m pon­der­ing what to write now. Something’s got­ta give, and it’ll be soon­er than lat­er.

City Life

Chicago cityscape

Pho­to of the day : Down­town Cityscape

I’m drift­ing through the arter­ies of a city I want­ed to leave.

I’ve been yearn­ing to for some time now, there was too much nos­tal­gia, mixed with sour wine of bit­ter­sweet mem­o­ries. Per­haps I thought when I final­ly am out of here, I can start a new chap­ter in life.

It’s more dif­fi­cult to just get up and head out, to uproot and storm away into anoth­er place. I had my sights set on Austin, Texas.

I want to write more fre­quent­ly, draw and paint more abun­dant­ly. Alas I have very pre­cious lit­tle time these days, a scare com­mod­i­ty if ever there was one.

Imag­in­ing myself there already, where it’s warmer than here, and cheap­er prop­er­ty, per­haps more abun­dant nature, friend­lier peo­ple per­haps. Less chaos, less ghet­to­li­cious side of Chi to deal with. I don’t have to wor­ry about con­stant pot­holes, shoot­ings, and ram­pant unchecked cor­rup­tion. It’s not like 5.0 actu­al­ly pro­tects peo­ple. They’re lit­tle more than cus­to­di­al engi­neers who arrive after the scene.

ComEd rant

Recent­ly, ComEd decid­ed to auto-bill me a whop­ping $725 for two months worth of elec­tric­i­ty. Then dou­ble bill me to a total of $1400 for sev­er­al months (yeah, that sounds accu­rate, even the ComEd cus­tomer ser­vice rep balked at that one.

I couldn’t gen­er­ate that amount of pow­er unless I was at home run­ning the dish­wash­er, microwave, had all the lights on, tv on, com­put­ers on, hairdry­er„ xbox, karaōke sys­tem and still be hard pressed to reach that amount. I live in a two bed­room flat, not a huge man­sion.

Of course I already knew what the issue was, and I had report­ed that there was indeed an issue. Over the sum­mer when some Mon­go­lian guys moved out of the unit on the first floor (1N) they killed the pow­er to MY unit, obvi­ous­ly in error.

This time around they’re dou­ble billing me, $1400 for sev­er­al months worth. The elec­tri­cian who came on the first call showed me the issue : some genius tech from ComEd came and mis­la­beled each and every unit’s meters. Bril­liant. So now ComEd had dis­patched its geek squad tech over to do some intel­li­gence’ oper­a­tions, now they have to fig­ure out the whole ugly mess and sort out everybody’s billing cat­a­stro­phe over the last few months.

It’s a deep mys­tery why nobod­ies sued these whack jobs yet. They can’t even get their billing right.

Life Math

I used to con­tin­u­al­ly ana­lyze the many intri­cate maths in life. Life in gen­er­al, not my own specif­i­cal­ly.

For instance, I was always high­ly curi­ous why some are hope­less blessed and oth­ers hope­less­ly doomed from the start in life. The for­mer almost invari­ably wind­ing up in a worse state, the lat­er in a bet­ter one, like some type of Charles Dick­ens sto­ry, or a Hall­mark chan­nel movie where everybody’s eat­ing ice-cream and say­ing some very sweet shit at the end of things.

Myself includ­ed. I was for­tu­nate and high­ly blessed that I had very well off par­ents. This isn’t to sug­gest that I myself was an inher­i­tor of their wealth, and I’ve seen the dark pow­er of monies turn sup­posed ordi­nary, sweet­est of peo­ple into the dead­est, most rigid and uptight mon­sters, and these were nei­ther rich nor poor. Per­haps in some peo­ples eyes well to do, and poor by the filthy rich.

Still, I didn’t have to real­ly have a job dur­ing high­school, I got a week­ly stipend that kept me con­tent. I believe back when it was $20/​week, which was con­sid­ered a siz­able for­tune. There wasn’t any smart­phones or tech dis­trac­tions, the only things that kept me and my friends pre­oc­cu­pied was music, books, art muse­ums, it was very much Fer­ris Buelher’s Day Off, that was a accu­rate depic­tion of what life was tru­ly like for mid­west high school­ers.

Get­ting back on point I pon­dered God’s algo­rithm for life. I take myself as a exam­ple, and these are my thoughts :

  • I could have been raised in a sm
  • all apart­ment, low income hous­ing, with a
    sin­gle hard work­ing mom­sI could have been the only child
  • I might’ve had broth­ers instead of sis­ters
  • Might have been born white, black, or lati­no
  • Could have been born in a for­eign coun­try
  • Could have been born insane­ly wealthy, and end­ed up a spoiled lit­tle some­thing
  • I could’ve been born a Shaolin monk
  • Might have got­ten bit by a radioac­tive cock­roach when I went to Sci­ence and Indus­try for the first time

Even though I grew up in a upper mid­dle class nuclear fam­i­ly who was very sec­u­lar, I strange­ly held a secret envy for many friends own fam­i­ly lives. They seemed quite close knit, depen­dent on one anoth­er, sup­port­ive, affec­tion­ate, more eas­i­ly lov­ing despite their myr­i­ad dif­fer­ences.

I felt detach­ment in my own fam­i­ly, a lack of com­mu­ni­ca­tion, some­times iso­la­tion and apa­thy. There were so many dynam­ics involved, so many per­son­al­i­ties that either worked or clashed. For instance my old­er sis­ters had been kind of envi­ous of me, the youngest and only son being dad’s favorite. Even my own moms had a bit of it her­self. My dad want­ed me to suc­ceed, he had great love as a Kore­an dad does for his son, his own flesh and blood.

I guess I was always my own per­son since ear­ly on. As a latchkey kid, I learned a bit of inde­pen­dence almost entire­ly too young,

I had come to the belief that chaos the­o­ry math pre­de­ter­mined ones set of bless­ings and curs­es in the form of their start­ing lot in life, weak­ness­es and strengths, highs and lows. I could have gone many routes in life, like in a choose your own adven­ture nov­el (which I’d read so many grow­ing up).

I keen­ly observed the unwor­thy in lofty, unde­served places, sta­tus­es of opu­lence. And sim­i­lar­ly, I took note of men and women who pos­sessed hearts, minds, and souls that would have made them kings, queens and emper­ors in an alter­nate real­i­ty who were square pegs in a round real­i­ty (that almost makes sense).

Yet, be that as it may, I also noticed this as well : despite hav­ing the essence and the tools of such esteemed great­ness in poten­tial­i­ty, luck wasn’t the decid­ing fac­tor in their equa­tion. Luck was a capri­cious equal­iz­er, prone to errat­ic unpro­duc­tive behav­ioral pat­tern. So nobody could right­ly rely upon it as a sta­ble con­stant. Me try­ing real­ly hard can in and of itself pro­duce a mod­icum of its own luck“, in terms the world under­stands. But it’s sim­ply the fruit of exer­tion, not chance.

As I grew old­er and wis­er, I dis­cov­ered life real­ly was a choose your own adven­ture nov­el. Every wrong deci­sion could be the actu­al cor­rect one, and every wrong per­son in your life might be step­ping stones towards right ones. What I mean here is not cryp­tic, just the oppo­site : we’re not stuck in one sea­son in our lives. Peo­ple change, the cir­cum­stances change, and we can either change with it or dwell in the past, stuck in a lin­ear sequence of events and try­ing to live life in that plas­tic bub­ble wrap con­tain­er.


The real rea­son I haven’t been writ­ing much on a per­son­al lev­el is that I’ve been so engrossed with projects, try­ing to build a updat­ed stack of show off work. These days you have to have every­thing under the sun in your port­fo­lio, but real­ly the sex­i­er your work is it only seems to engen­der envy induced hat­er­ade or peo­ple just bit­ing your orig­i­nal­i­ty like it’s a free for all down­load­able tor­rent. Yeah, I worked my butt off so some sideshow freaka­zoid can come along and steal my work 🙂

Time to time I sift through my var­i­ous pho­to archives : pho­tos in my iCloud or google pho­tos that reminds me I have a mem­o­ry to look back on. My inner nos­tal­gist awak­ens, and some­times I sit back and try to res­ur­rect a cer­tain time in my life, where I was an entire­ly dif­fer­ent being in a dif­fer­ent real­i­ty, dif­fer­ent cir­cum­stances. As I do, they felt like phan­tom limbs now, I have this vague­ness where the clar­i­ty once was. How many times do we sit back and enjoy the sim­plic­i­ty of rec­ol­lect­ing a sum­mer of a year from child­hood ? Where I spent the entire sea­son play­ing, get­ting into mis­chief, enjoy­ing my quick­ly spent youth ? Remem­ber­ing what it felt like to be in my younger body, and all the cute prob­lems’ I had. How they seemed to laugh­ably triv­ial, obvi­ous­ly. Even in my young adult years, where I spent the vast major­i­ty in the bow­els of choice cafes, los­ing myself in deep thoughts, words, read­ing and writ­ing. That was my life then, copi­ous amounts of time on paper, as if this was my des­tiny in life which was to write about life, draw, cre­ate. Noth­ing else could sate my insa­tia­bil­i­ty.

Late­ly I’m real­iz­ing more and more that I have less and less I real­ly want to dis­cuss about my own inner life. It’s not fear, it’s not lack of want, but some things I do keep under lock and key. Maybe in today’s share obsessed world, I’m more con­tent with focus­ing on bestow­ing an impar­ta­tion on oth­ers rather than force feed­ing them my own issues, which I sel­dom if ever dwell upon. Putting them under the micro­scope hard­ly does any­thing in chang­ing cir­cum­stances, it only mag­ni­fies, inten­si­fies, enlarges.

Rather, of late I’m not sim­ply being pos­i­tive’ but try­ing to inspire oth­ers toward being pos­i­tive them­selves. I’ve rec­om­mend­ed a neg­a­tiv­i­ty fast for some friends, where you have to not be neg­a­tive whether in what you say, what you think, or how you behave. Sounds easy, right ? Give it a whirl and try it even for an hour much less 1 – 2 days !

I have to admit, I feel like of like Mr. Spock when I do. Emo­tions are illog­i­cal” lol.

Liked words

brisk and cheer­ful readi­ness.
hav­ing or show­ing keen men­tal dis­cern­ment and good judg­ment ; shrewd.
assis­tance and sup­port in times of hard­ship and dis­tress.
the mon­ey or oth­er means need­ed for a par­tic­u­lar pur­pose. Per­son­al­ly I’ve grown sick of peo­ple over­ly using it, but decid­ed to put it up just because I was so sick of being sick of it.
Self taught per­son. I guess I fall under this cat­e­go­ry.
a per­son who has or affects to have a spe­cial appre­ci­a­tion of art and beau­ty. I learned of this in one of my favorite books Inter­view with the Vam­pire.

Spring is in the air

Dear future me,

I’m recov­er­ing sort of from a lengthy, fun filled week­end. Time real­ly does pass us by so eas­i­ly, with stealth and unaware­ness it drifts with­out ceas­ing or pause. At times I hat­ed time, the unceas­ing nature of it, the con­stant chang­ing effect of it, like it wouldn’t give you pause for respite and to reflect, bask in the plea­sure of alive­ness.

Sure­ly we weren’t each cre­at­ed unique­ly only to not enjoy our­selves in some slight way. What good was it for a man to be a slave, to plow through life and mov­ing to the orches­tra of acci­dent ? Do we work mere­ly to exist and keep on exist­ing ? Like pure automa­tons work­ing in a Japan­ese machine fac­to­ry. Who am I help­ing through my toil besides me, to quan­ti­fy my right to exist.
I found myself con­tem­plat­ing life and its myr­i­ad nuances, so infi­nite in scale, broad in scope. I saw men of pow­er and pres­tige, incred­i­ble wealth who were they them­selves slaves to the winds of pan­de­mo­ni­um. And I also beheld men liv­ing in abject pover­ty rich­er than any prince of men, kings and emper­ors had they been born with but dif­fer­ing cir­cum­stances, more favor­able vari­ables.

I used to indulge in so many pity par­ties grow­ing up. Why is a CK mod­el look­ing guy like me so sin­gle ? When is my hot, mod­e­lesque, sexy god­dess going to emerge in my life ? Where’s my dream job with a desk, phone, sec­re­tary, and keys to the com­pa­ny car ? I was sup­posed to be schmooz­ing with clients, sound­ing rather impres­sive and mar­ry­ing the boss­es daugh­ter even­tu­al­ly, after he real­ized how much he want­ed me to be his son. Mor­gan Freed­man or Liam Nee­son is sup­posed to be nar­rat­ing my sto­ry. And yet, noth­ing at all ever tran­spired accord­ing to my designs, despite my thought process­es rival­ing that of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Lord Sid­i­ous him­self. For all of our plans with­in plans, they invari­ably wound up fruit­less exer­tions that lead to equal­ly fruit­less results. Some­how, I real­ized that was the fate of every­thing born out of self­ish gain.

For how can I explain it the pecu­liar­ly sat­is­fy­ing sen­sa­tion of show­ing kind­ness, affec­tion, mer­cy, and char­i­ta­ble acts toward the impov­erised, the less for­tu­nate, and bestow­ing rar­i­fied dig­ni­ties on the poor ? For isn’t this the liquor of love, because it impart­ed in me this super­nat­ur­al suc­cor I couldn’t begin to explain. I, in secret lav­ished such things on them in secre­cy, because cul­ture vil­i­fied and con­demned these things as being weak­ness. How­ev­er, I was an intel­lect and I was not sub­ject to the whims of con­ven­tion­al wis­dom, yet truth had guid­ed me, or rather a long­ing for truth. I quick­ly came into a fuller, rich­er bod­ied knowl­edge that men weren’t only weak, pow­er­less, but utter­ly lack­ing in answers and knowl­edge. They only had shal­low, dis­tilled and hole filled knowl­edge which was inher­ent­ly flawed, chock full of error and rid­dled with sub­jec­tive sup­po­si­tions and wild the­o­ries. They only want­ed to have their ears tick­led, they reg­u­lat­ed you with con­tempt for ques­tion­ing and chal­leng­ing them, but often did the exact same thing to any dis­agree­ing with their answers and thoughts, tak­ing offense where there was none. It was mad­den­ing how lost and scared peo­ple were.

Habit : I’ve begun devel­op­ing the habit of dot jour­nal­ing, not that I need­ed any sort of out­let for my OCness (guilty). Some­thing about it pro­vides a mod­icum of amuse­ment for one of my exquis­ite sense of metic­u­lous­ness. I’m just kid­ding, it’s just fun, craft­ing your thoughts, your activ­i­ties, your appoint­ments in art­sy fart­sy ways. I guess for the com­mon per­son this is a form of artistry in itself, an expres­sion of cre­ativ­i­ty, or just a means to sus­tain­able order.

What would I even deduce see­ing my life in such a way, as if it were a series of fan­ci­ful, DIY info­graph­ics ? Is it just yet anoth­er dis­trac­tion in the sea of things ? I’m try­ing to real­ly add reduc­tion sauce to the dig­i­tal dis­trac­tions as well as organ­ic ones like bing­ing on sketch­ing.

Back to the week­end report­ing…

I had striv­en to write some, and I actu­al­ly did but have been derailed mul­ti­ple times by things, such as laun­dry and nurf­ing, work­ing out the bod and giv­ing stoops decent work­outs to shake off winter’s lethar­gy.

I was also brain­storm­ing ideas for imple­men­ta­tion into my own life, which felt so exhaust­ing, time con­sum­ing, and even dis­tract­ing. Is sync­ing our life in bul­let jour­nal for­mat real­ly pro­duc­tive vs. giv­ing the illu­sion of pro­duc­tiv­i­ty ? Does it bestow an impar­ta­tion of hav­ing our­selves well put togeth­er, pol­ished, refined, and thus above the herd of lotus eaters every­where ?

I read this arti­cle which I found quite intrigu­ing, it explores the mys­tery con­cern­ing wealth and suc­cess and how much of a role has in either attribute. Luck, for me has every­thing to do with it. Some of us I under­stood grum­bled and com­plained for not hav­ing per­fect par­ents, not hav­ing rich ones, or some short­com­ing their par­ents pos­sessed which made their lives a mis­ery instead of a suc­cess. In my opin­ion, your par­ents tomb­stone ought to be your step­ping stone.

Yet in so much as we real­ly want a scape­goat for our lot in life, one must relin­quish and give up the pity par­ty we all like to wal­low in like we’re in some drat­ted Kdra­ma. My own par­ents were nev­er per­fect, far from it, yet our chal­lenge in this life and our path is the more dif­fi­cult one which is to love instead of find­ing excus­es not to. Love isn’t a smooth­ly wrought road full of uni­corns and ice cream. It’s dif­fi­cult, it’s ardu­ous and it requires courage, strength, heart, and soul. Amaz­ing­ly, the bulk major­i­ty of us are unschooled and igno­rant of the basic under­stand­ing of the nature of love, only think­ing it a four let­ter word that mag­i­cal­ly hap­pens when all our vari­ables align with the uni­verse. That’s the most detri­men­tal delu­sion that one can have, a thought weapon designed to assas­si­nate the actu­al­iza­tion of authen­ti­cat­ed love.

I don’t pre­tend to be a self help guru here, a dat­ing coach, or liken myself to the author of He’s Just Not That Into You (wish that were the case). Indeed I’ve messed up so many poten­tial rela­tion­ships through noth­ing more than pure self­ish­ness, stu­pid­i­ty, and oth­er fac­tors I don’t exact­ly care to share with any­body on the inter­nets. Might get in the way of my delu­sion of self per­fec­tion 🙂 (that was my joke).

Sea­son Change

So I was wit­ness­ing win­ter slow­ly tran­si­tion­ing into spring, and it was sun­nier and the days length­i­er now. The snows of win­ter are all gone, thank­ful­ly, and I feel a long­ing inside. My mind drifts to deeply embed­ded mem­o­ries of my fad­ed past. If I could bun­dle them and con­sol­i­date them into one pri­ma­ry sin­gu­lar col­lec­tion, yet I couldn’t. My frac­tured mem­o­ry only piece meals all of them in ran­dom, chaot­ic man­ner. I think of a cer­tain day in a par­tic­u­lar peri­od of my life, and all of the things I took for grant­ed or railed against, all my stub­born acts of rebel­lion, my reck­less insub­or­di­na­tion. How young and stu­pid I had been, so ter­ri­bly much so and that bore bad fruit in my life in the form of need­less suf­fer­ing. I always pon­dered why God had cre­at­ed me in the first place if only to live a banal exis­tence suf­fer­ing, more of it, less of it at some points where­as dis­trac­tion became my design­er drug. I would lose myself in books, in art, in poet­ry and dal­liance. I quick­ly cul­ti­vat­ed a lust for wine and beer, and my friends were noth­ing short of slaves of wine and spir­its. How quick­ly they dis­persed and van­ished like a fart in the wind when things became real, when sober and faced with hav­ing to live like men. I quick­ly real­ized I wasn’t one of them, who sought liq­uid courage to live, to deal with emo­tion­al weight­i­ness of real­i­ty and exist­ing. I sup­pose read­ing far too much for my own good had cat­a­pult­ed me in a lit­er­ary world I pre­ferred exist­ing in, one where romance and pro­found epic sto­ries hap­pened reg­u­lar­ly. How could mere mor­tal man not choose to sub­mit to that milieu of pro­found poet­ry ? Why would you set­tle for the noth­ing­ness of infe­ri­or mind­ed men, dead men who loved death and shunned the ele­ments of life ?

Despite all of my intel­lec­tu­al prowess and cre­ativ­i­ty, I too had suf­fered from a lack of matu­ri­ty on some scale. I was far too pride­ful, cocky, and brash, heed­less of those I left in my wake that I had wronged on some lev­el whether in friend­ship or in affairs of the heart. I nev­er real­ly hon­est­ly respect­ed women or their emo­tions, see­ing them as objects of car­nal­i­ty designed to to be treach­er­ous temptress­es. They only sought to annoy and irri­tate the souls and minds of men or to detract them from their des­tinies, to mock them or hate them with a sense of jus­ti­fi­ca­tion. Yet women, espe­cial­ly in this day and age chased after van­i­ty and in doing so became slaves of it. They were com­plete­ly igno­rant of things of romance, only equat­ing it with sta­tus and the trap­pings of suc­cess, yet nev­er hav­ing the soul with to detect poten­tial­i­ty for wealth. Mind you that ever mega mil­lion­aire and rich­er than rich per­son was once a noth­ing.

Bums in the park

I’m walk­ing stoops in Cal­i­for­nia park.

There used to be this hus­band and wife home­less cou­ple who lit­er­al­ly lived in the back of the field house the entire win­ter. Remark­ably, they would have quar­rels and bick­er­ing between them­selves. About what I’m not entire­ly cer­tain of, yet when I’m pass­ing by they put on a hap­py face as if try­ing to entice me into giv­ing them some $$.

The hus­band is an alchy, that much I could tell. He had this hor­rid sound­ing, hoarse, gruff tone that was a cross between deep root­ed anger, self loathing, and shame. Once I caught his atten­tion and he jok­ing­ly asked Excuse me good sir, do you hap­pen to have any grey coupon?” like it was the fun­ni­est thing imag­in­able. So much so he made him­self into a per­fect uproar at his own joke.

Fun­ny, I actu­al­ly always loved those com­mer­cials, it brought be back to a dif­fer­ent time when he had said that. Why did you have to ask me that of all things ? You couldn’t have sim­ply said hey mis­ter, got any spare change ? I wan­na buy some more booze“.

Once, while on a hot date in Wick­er Park a smooth black guy came up to me and said excep­tion­al taste in women my friend” and I prompt­ly gave him $5 because he just made me laugh beside myself. Anoth­er time a guy said Yes I’ll be your pan­han­dler for the evening, want­i­ng to hit you up for $1 so I can get my drink on” lol. That had me in per­fect stitch­es because he sound­ed so offi­cious and bru­tal­ly hon­est. I gave him a few bucks as well.

A time before we cared about things that trend, about how many steps we take, or what video we must see like it’s a life alter­ing event. When I didn’t have to check e-mail more fre­quent­ly than I already do.

Even­tu­al­ly the husband/​wife team decid­ed to leave their lit­tle nest, and I won­dered where they’d gone. It turned out they moved to the more lux­u­ri­ant park across the street, Horner. I still hear their bick­er­ing match­es time to time, and thought why ? You’re already in an abject exis­tence, why fur­ther plum­met in a down­ward spi­ral.

The bums of my child­hood were far dif­fer­ent. Remark­ably, they seemed to be the most charm­ing and dig­ni­fied, they hadn’t aban­doned their own human­i­ty indeed, it was all that they had left. Some­times, I firm­ly hold that when life is at its cru­elest and the world is indeed dark­ened, all you have left is your­self and God. Why throw in the tow­el even when you’re in a sea­son of storms ?

Spring is com­ing

The win­ter was strange weath­er wise, the pat­tern errat­ic, capri­cious, just like the times we’re liv­ing in.

Late­ly, I’m curb­ing my inter­net usage. First­ly, it seems that it takes far too much me time away from me. I see the same olé things, peo­ple say­ing regur­gi­tat­ed things just rehash­ing what some­body else has said, pass­ing it off as their own. Hard to tell who is say­ing what, real­ly, or why. I feel that there ought to be a fil­tra­tion sys­tem, just as we’re all adapt to drink­ing puri­fied water, should our inter­nets be any less puri­fied ? How long are we going to suf­fer trolls, inter­net bul­ly­ing, fame­whores galore, and lotus eaters who seem to pol­lute and take it for grant­ed, not real­ly con­tribut­ing any­thing worth­while of it ? There should be stan­dards, for reals.

I guess I just get sick and tired of hap­pen­ing upon what feels like one mas­sive Jer­ry Springer audi­ence all the time, peo­ple hav­ing flame wars and epic bat­tles over stu­pid things, or peo­ple doing stu­pid things for atten­tion. Stop it, you’re annoy­ing me. Go back to school, work on your career. Being viral isn’t an ends to a means. Live the best life you pos­si­bly can. That per­son mak­ing a fool out of them­selves ? They aren’t any­thing to be envi­ous of. What’s envi­able is read­ing books, expan­sion of your skills, work­ing hard. Not what you can get, steal, take by force, or expect out of a sense of enti­tle­ment.