very interesting, j
j was in a hotel conference room watching a film with a group of people from a hospital. this old middle eastern guy gets wheeled in on a gurney, and j notices he's buck naked with everything hanging out. j also noticed that the guy's genitals were rather large.
j thought that the guy might have some kind of legitimate problem, like perhaps his skin was too sensitive to be covered with sheets. then the guy's thing started growing larger and larger. as it did he made all these lewd comments to the women there and laughing at everyone.
then it shifted to later on... everyone was saying, "did you hear about when the police came to arrest him? he jizzed all over them!!!"
(j and i were cracking up hilariously at the last part all morning)
Saturday, February 28, 2004
Sunday, February 22, 2004
movie
i was dating a mafia guy and he asked me to climb a tower holding a spring tension rod. he was trying to save his father and somehow this was vital to saving the guy. there were a few small metal rings that kept falling out, so i put them on my fingers, all while holding onto this antenna on top of the tower, a fists' grasp from death. i was wearing a white gown. i was also in a movie theater at the same time, and could see four screens showing me on the tower as part of the movie. i looked down and it looked like thousand of feet down but i told myself that it was a set and that it was in fact only about twenty feet with a green screen, although i knew it was actually real and i could die - i was swaying in the wind, in cold and rainy weather. i maintained my calm though it was difficult. then dream switches to perspective an average white guy viewer in the theater, and he is talking to the director of the movie. director says he talk to him at any time about the movie and the viewer is pretty psyched about it.
jj
we received these nice looking but actually cheap casio watches from mom. jj was really excited about them and i pretended to be but i was cynical and thought they were copies. we programmed addresses and notes into the watches as they were similar to those old casio organizers. then i looked at the watch and saw they were FAKE casios, saying "CAS E/I O" on them. i pointed them out to jj and a friend. jj got infuriated. i tried then to show that i actually lost my data, which i hadn't but i was pretending. the friend was getting convinced but jj was just still angry. so i tried to understand why and then he practically wanted to beat him up. so i explained that i wasn't needling him, but just trying to understand, and that i thought he was angry because ted and i were always giving him our cast-off toys and not anything new. that calmed him down a lot, but he explained it was not that, and that there was more to his anger than i had explained of it.
i was dating a mafia guy and he asked me to climb a tower holding a spring tension rod. he was trying to save his father and somehow this was vital to saving the guy. there were a few small metal rings that kept falling out, so i put them on my fingers, all while holding onto this antenna on top of the tower, a fists' grasp from death. i was wearing a white gown. i was also in a movie theater at the same time, and could see four screens showing me on the tower as part of the movie. i looked down and it looked like thousand of feet down but i told myself that it was a set and that it was in fact only about twenty feet with a green screen, although i knew it was actually real and i could die - i was swaying in the wind, in cold and rainy weather. i maintained my calm though it was difficult. then dream switches to perspective an average white guy viewer in the theater, and he is talking to the director of the movie. director says he talk to him at any time about the movie and the viewer is pretty psyched about it.
jj
we received these nice looking but actually cheap casio watches from mom. jj was really excited about them and i pretended to be but i was cynical and thought they were copies. we programmed addresses and notes into the watches as they were similar to those old casio organizers. then i looked at the watch and saw they were FAKE casios, saying "CAS E/I O" on them. i pointed them out to jj and a friend. jj got infuriated. i tried then to show that i actually lost my data, which i hadn't but i was pretending. the friend was getting convinced but jj was just still angry. so i tried to understand why and then he practically wanted to beat him up. so i explained that i wasn't needling him, but just trying to understand, and that i thought he was angry because ted and i were always giving him our cast-off toys and not anything new. that calmed him down a lot, but he explained it was not that, and that there was more to his anger than i had explained of it.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
why i love j
from august 2002
good morning sweetheart. i miss you so much right now. it's 4am and i just heard an old message from you on the machine...
your voice is so sweet and welcoming. it feels like home. just wanted to leave this note and tell you how much you mean to me. i will love you forever. see you soon. jay
you're short and sweet-
down to your little feet-
with skin so fine-
and eyes that shine-
for a truer love there's no need to look
our love fills every page, of every book.
hotel themes
i'm listening to hotel paper, one pop weakness of mine.
i have recurring dreams of two types of hotels. one is a very fine hotel with baroque detailing on the walls and ceiling. there is a small, narrow elevator that takes me up and down different rooms. last night my godbrother, also my first crush, was involved somehow. don't remember much except that his mother was in the hotel room and her vibe was that she was telling me about how life is, or something like that. another night, we were stuck in the elevator trying to get to the top of a long tower that had stairs leading up to it. we had also been running up and down the floors of the hotel, like my cousins and i used to during formal filipino medical association PMA events like new year's eve. except we were grown and they weren't my cousins, just random friends.
the other "hotel" is really an apartment building, a bit rundown with fucked up apartments in it, built in various ways. my brother ted was living in one very interestingly designed apartment which had a ladder leading up to it.
writer's life
i don't know how people can just decide to give up other things to become a writer or "artist." i get all my ideas and energy from dealing with work and other things, then hanging around my apartment all day on saturdays thinking up grand schemes and writing or thinking about whatever i want that pops into my head.
today i've been thinking of all the communities of people to which i belong, from my book group with bobby, simone and eva or my little snickering trio in the back room at work - that is, me and my office mates kendra and dave - arguing and discussing and bashing things and ideas. the nycoc group and icc dfers. susan and on, the world travelers group - how could i forget the brilliant and exciting older "siblings" i've always wanted (along with bobby of course). the new group i'm trying to tap are the genius level artist/writer/liberal types in my family. i'm so lucky to know these kinds of people.
i wonder what my mom would think if she could step into my life. i think she's finally starting to understand it. i told her how i like having just a small amount of money, enough to take care of things and have a little savings, because it forces me to be creative. she seemed to get it just then! a breakthrough.
from august 2002
good morning sweetheart. i miss you so much right now. it's 4am and i just heard an old message from you on the machine...
your voice is so sweet and welcoming. it feels like home. just wanted to leave this note and tell you how much you mean to me. i will love you forever. see you soon. jay
you're short and sweet-
down to your little feet-
with skin so fine-
and eyes that shine-
for a truer love there's no need to look
our love fills every page, of every book.
hotel themes
i'm listening to hotel paper, one pop weakness of mine.
i have recurring dreams of two types of hotels. one is a very fine hotel with baroque detailing on the walls and ceiling. there is a small, narrow elevator that takes me up and down different rooms. last night my godbrother, also my first crush, was involved somehow. don't remember much except that his mother was in the hotel room and her vibe was that she was telling me about how life is, or something like that. another night, we were stuck in the elevator trying to get to the top of a long tower that had stairs leading up to it. we had also been running up and down the floors of the hotel, like my cousins and i used to during formal filipino medical association PMA events like new year's eve. except we were grown and they weren't my cousins, just random friends.
the other "hotel" is really an apartment building, a bit rundown with fucked up apartments in it, built in various ways. my brother ted was living in one very interestingly designed apartment which had a ladder leading up to it.
writer's life
i don't know how people can just decide to give up other things to become a writer or "artist." i get all my ideas and energy from dealing with work and other things, then hanging around my apartment all day on saturdays thinking up grand schemes and writing or thinking about whatever i want that pops into my head.
today i've been thinking of all the communities of people to which i belong, from my book group with bobby, simone and eva or my little snickering trio in the back room at work - that is, me and my office mates kendra and dave - arguing and discussing and bashing things and ideas. the nycoc group and icc dfers. susan and on, the world travelers group - how could i forget the brilliant and exciting older "siblings" i've always wanted (along with bobby of course). the new group i'm trying to tap are the genius level artist/writer/liberal types in my family. i'm so lucky to know these kinds of people.
i wonder what my mom would think if she could step into my life. i think she's finally starting to understand it. i told her how i like having just a small amount of money, enough to take care of things and have a little savings, because it forces me to be creative. she seemed to get it just then! a breakthrough.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
the past comes back all at once
Randomly ran into Beka E at Cafe Magora in the EV. I haven't seen her in a million years. She's been in NYC for 4 years!! working for United for Peace. She said she was living in williamsburg, and began to explain to me what a hipster and I reminded her that I've lived in this city for three times as long as she. When I get around that chick, I get so hyper that I feel like I'm hallucinating. Doesn't matter whether it's with Beka over fifteen years ago, watching her run up and around the hills in her yard in her old school uggs, or the Beka at age 30, sitting in some hip joint, her delicate arms leaning across the table toward her silently sexy middle eastern man.
other dream-like things
the building down the street from j caught fire and burned down. he woke up at 2am in the morning to the smell of smoke, so powerful that he thought his own building was burning down. he said now the fire vehicles are gathered around the building, and there's a wall that is standing in the middle of it all. it looks brand new. and he's not sure whether it had been built there or if the firemen had put it there for some reason.
description of the news cafe on university blvd & 11th
in most cities, sitting in a cafe, you're bound to see a child. but already it's been an hour and i don't see even one. on the television perched overhead is a story about crossed television signals - a person who had hooked up his camera to his television set had picked up the signal of one of his neighbors, who was beating her foster kids up right before his eyes. the cops traced the signal and arrested the woman.
at the tables are a lithe blond model and a pair of students conversing in japanese. the several people wandering in and out of the cafe: a punkish design student, an executive with a baseball jacket on over his suit, an old jewish woman with curly, badly dyed hair and outdated purse. but no children.
is it the grinding sound of the city bus with the darkness, lit only by fluorescent parking lot lights that drive away the children? or idiots who decide to leave the cafe entrance door open in 26 degree weather? the lonely asians who seem to occupy every table with a paper and perfectly coiffed hair?
it's a sea of black backs. even the model has put her black coat on. the air from the open door has freshened the stale, oily atmosphere but the cracked paint on the floors depress me. nothing, not the colorful rows of magazines perfectly arranged in a mosaic on the wall, nor the old-fashioned wooden store fronts across the street can cheer up this place.
smalls/fat cat
these are the jazz clubs owned, or once owned, by mitch borden in NYC in the west village. i need to sit there and describe it for you. but it'd be even better to find someone who loved smalls but hates fat cat, who will tell me what they think of those places.
too much shit to do
two pieces to finish. one piece to send out.
do you ever stand on the subway platform and notice red colors, from the scarlet cashmere coat on the girl walking toward me and the backpack on the guy walking through the gate and another lady's wool hat, moving back and forth together through the crowd?
more burroughs
Of course the Annexia police processed suspected agents, saboteurs and political deviants on an assembly basis. As regards the interrogation of suspects, Benway has this to say:
"While in general I avoid the use of torture-- torture locates the opponent and mobilizes resistance --the threat of torture is useful to induce in the subject the appropriate feeling of helplessness and gratitude to the interrogator for withholding it. And torture can be employed to advantage as a penalty when the subject is far enough along with the treatment to accept punishment as deserved. To this end I devised several forms of disciplinary procedure. One was known as The Switchboard. Electric drills that can be turned on at any time are clamped against the subject's teeth; and he is instructed to operate an arbitrary switchboard, to put certain connections in certain sockets in response to bells and lights. Every time he makes a mistake the drills are turned on for twenty seconds. The signals are gradually speeded up beyond his reaction time. Half an hour on the switchboard and the subject breaks down like an overloaded thinking machine."
Randomly ran into Beka E at Cafe Magora in the EV. I haven't seen her in a million years. She's been in NYC for 4 years!! working for United for Peace. She said she was living in williamsburg, and began to explain to me what a hipster and I reminded her that I've lived in this city for three times as long as she. When I get around that chick, I get so hyper that I feel like I'm hallucinating. Doesn't matter whether it's with Beka over fifteen years ago, watching her run up and around the hills in her yard in her old school uggs, or the Beka at age 30, sitting in some hip joint, her delicate arms leaning across the table toward her silently sexy middle eastern man.
other dream-like things
the building down the street from j caught fire and burned down. he woke up at 2am in the morning to the smell of smoke, so powerful that he thought his own building was burning down. he said now the fire vehicles are gathered around the building, and there's a wall that is standing in the middle of it all. it looks brand new. and he's not sure whether it had been built there or if the firemen had put it there for some reason.
description of the news cafe on university blvd & 11th
in most cities, sitting in a cafe, you're bound to see a child. but already it's been an hour and i don't see even one. on the television perched overhead is a story about crossed television signals - a person who had hooked up his camera to his television set had picked up the signal of one of his neighbors, who was beating her foster kids up right before his eyes. the cops traced the signal and arrested the woman.
at the tables are a lithe blond model and a pair of students conversing in japanese. the several people wandering in and out of the cafe: a punkish design student, an executive with a baseball jacket on over his suit, an old jewish woman with curly, badly dyed hair and outdated purse. but no children.
is it the grinding sound of the city bus with the darkness, lit only by fluorescent parking lot lights that drive away the children? or idiots who decide to leave the cafe entrance door open in 26 degree weather? the lonely asians who seem to occupy every table with a paper and perfectly coiffed hair?
it's a sea of black backs. even the model has put her black coat on. the air from the open door has freshened the stale, oily atmosphere but the cracked paint on the floors depress me. nothing, not the colorful rows of magazines perfectly arranged in a mosaic on the wall, nor the old-fashioned wooden store fronts across the street can cheer up this place.
smalls/fat cat
these are the jazz clubs owned, or once owned, by mitch borden in NYC in the west village. i need to sit there and describe it for you. but it'd be even better to find someone who loved smalls but hates fat cat, who will tell me what they think of those places.
too much shit to do
two pieces to finish. one piece to send out.
do you ever stand on the subway platform and notice red colors, from the scarlet cashmere coat on the girl walking toward me and the backpack on the guy walking through the gate and another lady's wool hat, moving back and forth together through the crowd?
more burroughs
Of course the Annexia police processed suspected agents, saboteurs and political deviants on an assembly basis. As regards the interrogation of suspects, Benway has this to say:
"While in general I avoid the use of torture-- torture locates the opponent and mobilizes resistance --the threat of torture is useful to induce in the subject the appropriate feeling of helplessness and gratitude to the interrogator for withholding it. And torture can be employed to advantage as a penalty when the subject is far enough along with the treatment to accept punishment as deserved. To this end I devised several forms of disciplinary procedure. One was known as The Switchboard. Electric drills that can be turned on at any time are clamped against the subject's teeth; and he is instructed to operate an arbitrary switchboard, to put certain connections in certain sockets in response to bells and lights. Every time he makes a mistake the drills are turned on for twenty seconds. The signals are gradually speeded up beyond his reaction time. Half an hour on the switchboard and the subject breaks down like an overloaded thinking machine."
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
subject matter of the day: catholic cults, actors as ministers in cults
william burroughs on mind control - from naked lunch. pay attention to the second paragraph. did you know that many cult leaders, not just cult members ala scientology, are often aspiring actors or actresses?
damn you cults, you cult leaders who are actors, you who were aspiring actors turned ICC catholic scientology cult leaders.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Benway had been called in as advisor to the Freeland Republic, a place given over to free love and continual bathing. The citizens are well adjusted, co-operatives, honest, tolerant and above all clean. But the invoking of Benway indicates all is not well behind that hygienic facade: Benway is a manipulator and coordinator of symbol systems, an expert on all phases of interrogation, brainwashing and control. I have not seen Benway since his precipitate departure from Annexia, where his assignment had been T.D.-Total Demoralization. Benway's first act was to abolish concentration camps, mass arrest and, except under certain limited and special circumstances, the use of torture.
"I deplore brutality," he said. "It's not efficient. On the other hand, prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skillfully applied, to anxiety and a feeling of special guilt. A few rules or rather guiding principles are to be borne in mind. The subject must not realize that the mistreatment is a deliberate attack of an anti-human enemy on his personal identity. He must be made to feel that he deserves any treatment he receives because there is something (never specified) horribly wrong with him.< The naked need of the control addicts must be decently covered by an arbitrary and intricate bureaucracy so that the subject cannot contact his enemy direct."
the rules of propriety are so fascinating
for instance i am studying the rules of concealer like an alien. who'd have thought that a little drop of light watery fleshy stuff can transform you from a little girl to a real woman? oh it's so strange.
william burroughs on mind control - from naked lunch. pay attention to the second paragraph. did you know that many cult leaders, not just cult members ala scientology, are often aspiring actors or actresses?
damn you cults, you cult leaders who are actors, you who were aspiring actors turned ICC catholic scientology cult leaders.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Benway had been called in as advisor to the Freeland Republic, a place given over to free love and continual bathing. The citizens are well adjusted, co-operatives, honest, tolerant and above all clean. But the invoking of Benway indicates all is not well behind that hygienic facade: Benway is a manipulator and coordinator of symbol systems, an expert on all phases of interrogation, brainwashing and control. I have not seen Benway since his precipitate departure from Annexia, where his assignment had been T.D.-Total Demoralization. Benway's first act was to abolish concentration camps, mass arrest and, except under certain limited and special circumstances, the use of torture.
"I deplore brutality," he said. "It's not efficient. On the other hand, prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skillfully applied, to anxiety and a feeling of special guilt. A few rules or rather guiding principles are to be borne in mind. The subject must not realize that the mistreatment is a deliberate attack of an anti-human enemy on his personal identity. He must be made to feel that he deserves any treatment he receives because there is something (never specified) horribly wrong with him.< The naked need of the control addicts must be decently covered by an arbitrary and intricate bureaucracy so that the subject cannot contact his enemy direct."
the rules of propriety are so fascinating
for instance i am studying the rules of concealer like an alien. who'd have thought that a little drop of light watery fleshy stuff can transform you from a little girl to a real woman? oh it's so strange.
fuckin' dreams are more interesting than i am
i was holding each of my brother's crazy cute pugs in my lap. when i held one of them, the pug who was supposed to be mochi, he looked weird because the part where is nose and mouth are all black was fawn colored this time. he looked like a weird kind of pug shaped golden labrador. but i comforted him and told him i thought he was cute anyway. then i held the other one, puki, and she looked even freakier. in fact, uncle eli's head was on puki instead of her cute little crying eyes. but he still had puki's long tongue smile and looked utterly content. i held her, accepted and i loved her even with uncle eli's face staring back at me, grinning happily.
i was holding each of my brother's crazy cute pugs in my lap. when i held one of them, the pug who was supposed to be mochi, he looked weird because the part where is nose and mouth are all black was fawn colored this time. he looked like a weird kind of pug shaped golden labrador. but i comforted him and told him i thought he was cute anyway. then i held the other one, puki, and she looked even freakier. in fact, uncle eli's head was on puki instead of her cute little crying eyes. but he still had puki's long tongue smile and looked utterly content. i held her, accepted and i loved her even with uncle eli's face staring back at me, grinning happily.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
oedipus dream
my exboyfriend and i were riding around platonically, and we decided to stop and rest. we were at a motel and steve johnson was there. i hid under a desk and kept sliding a cd toward him. he saw me there and commented that i had sexy thighs. then my ex shot him with a gun. the police arrived but didn't question or accuse us. we left and all of a sudden i really wanted to fuck my ex.
renovation
i had decided to renovate the floors in my apartment. so i started peeling off the tiles and found there were 7 layers of linoleum on the floor of my apartment.
later my landlord and i were looking at the building from the outside. we could see into the apartments because each one had a wide, new modern window, from floor to ceiling, which opened up to the front rooms. we could see a beautiful renovated white kitchen and another apartment with little detail i could see. i also noticed that my apartment was the only one without the huge modern window and i was a bit annoyed but kept it to myself. he was disappointed for some reason, and i assured him that he would be able to sell the building one day at a good price because we were all renovating.
i'm back in my apartment pulling up the layers and found that in the living room, some of the layers were actually made up of my old roommate genieve's and others books and junk.
my neighbor, who was rather dandy looking like a carson from queer eye, came down. he was normal at first. then all of a sudden, he was this evil character. i had to run away from him, but it was hard because he had the power to see where i was at anytime. however, the scope of his power would grow and wane in cycles, so he could only perceive me at 20 to 200 feet at times, then as far as 2000 miles. and there was a limit too. so i figured that as soon as i could get to an airport without him catching up with me, i was okay as soon as i got in the air, safe from him. at one point he was chasing me down the sidewalk in front of the apartment at night in the rain.
my exboyfriend and i were riding around platonically, and we decided to stop and rest. we were at a motel and steve johnson was there. i hid under a desk and kept sliding a cd toward him. he saw me there and commented that i had sexy thighs. then my ex shot him with a gun. the police arrived but didn't question or accuse us. we left and all of a sudden i really wanted to fuck my ex.
renovation
i had decided to renovate the floors in my apartment. so i started peeling off the tiles and found there were 7 layers of linoleum on the floor of my apartment.
later my landlord and i were looking at the building from the outside. we could see into the apartments because each one had a wide, new modern window, from floor to ceiling, which opened up to the front rooms. we could see a beautiful renovated white kitchen and another apartment with little detail i could see. i also noticed that my apartment was the only one without the huge modern window and i was a bit annoyed but kept it to myself. he was disappointed for some reason, and i assured him that he would be able to sell the building one day at a good price because we were all renovating.
i'm back in my apartment pulling up the layers and found that in the living room, some of the layers were actually made up of my old roommate genieve's and others books and junk.
my neighbor, who was rather dandy looking like a carson from queer eye, came down. he was normal at first. then all of a sudden, he was this evil character. i had to run away from him, but it was hard because he had the power to see where i was at anytime. however, the scope of his power would grow and wane in cycles, so he could only perceive me at 20 to 200 feet at times, then as far as 2000 miles. and there was a limit too. so i figured that as soon as i could get to an airport without him catching up with me, i was okay as soon as i got in the air, safe from him. at one point he was chasing me down the sidewalk in front of the apartment at night in the rain.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Infuriation
Troll know how to infuriate. One troll does it by taking someone's self-blaming feelings and insisting that this accusing self is telling the whole truth. They amplify the secret fear you have that these thoughts are only true, or not true. The fact is, these accusing thoughts can be somewhat true and mostly false.
These antisocial types can do a lot of damage, and are unstoppable at times as they seek to heal by damaging others. The pain they can cause people on the internet or in real relationships is directly to another's unconscious. Which is often why their words are powerful, until you bring it to the conscious mind.
And I know the infuriation and despairing feelings are simply a monitor for what this person feels unconsciously. Sometimes our bodies and hearts are thermometers of the disturbed who walk among us.
Troll know how to infuriate. One troll does it by taking someone's self-blaming feelings and insisting that this accusing self is telling the whole truth. They amplify the secret fear you have that these thoughts are only true, or not true. The fact is, these accusing thoughts can be somewhat true and mostly false.
These antisocial types can do a lot of damage, and are unstoppable at times as they seek to heal by damaging others. The pain they can cause people on the internet or in real relationships is directly to another's unconscious. Which is often why their words are powerful, until you bring it to the conscious mind.
And I know the infuriation and despairing feelings are simply a monitor for what this person feels unconsciously. Sometimes our bodies and hearts are thermometers of the disturbed who walk among us.
Can't stop thinking of anything but this:
Sometimes my thoughts come together manically; disparate elements that seemed hopelessly unrelated and despairing magnetize and click together into ingenious compounds of passionate energy toward some uncertain but exciting horizon. I felt this way when I applied to graduate school several years ago. I'm feeling it again.
My friend told me that all of my experiences have been preparing me for my future role in helping many people. I don't know what that is yet. All I know is I feel something bubbling up inside me, almost beyond my control. I feel like I am exploding inside but with what, I don't know yet.
Have you ever had moments like this, when you feel that you know what those Pulitzer prize winning authors and Nobel laureates once experienced? It doesn't necessarily mean that you will accomplish what they have - but it doesn't mean you won't, either.
Sometimes I think about my children, who are not born yet, but are living inside me, at least a part of them. And another part of them is living inside of someone else. My children will bring the compassion out of me. I know because when I think of my child running towards me with an excited smile in his eyes, small black wondering eyes that face the world with no expectations except that his mother loves him, it makes love real to me.
Sometimes I see a grand future just within my fingertips, of these exploding thoughts inside my mind fully expressed, its complexity unfolded and translated to a world waiting for words to more fully explain its mystery. I cannot put it into words yet.
Do you ever feel these things? Am I the only one?
When my aunt talks, she rambles. And most people caught in her web want to push her and her words away. But I am fascinated. She's the only one of mom's sisters who is fully present with what she feels. I know because her humorous tales tell me so. She mocks the Filipino traditional woman, that quiet, demure, "lady-like" thing. She is not afraid of a stacked fight. She will show you her many broken bones with pride.
She has too many stories and opinions. She hates with passion. She has made me feel like killing her. Silencing her. And she makes me feel like I can silence the world by simply willing it.
In mom's family there is some kind of furious muse that guides and drives and mocks all who are born from its blood. It will be conquered but who will recognize it, much less face it in battle?
Sometimes my thoughts come together manically; disparate elements that seemed hopelessly unrelated and despairing magnetize and click together into ingenious compounds of passionate energy toward some uncertain but exciting horizon. I felt this way when I applied to graduate school several years ago. I'm feeling it again.
My friend told me that all of my experiences have been preparing me for my future role in helping many people. I don't know what that is yet. All I know is I feel something bubbling up inside me, almost beyond my control. I feel like I am exploding inside but with what, I don't know yet.
Have you ever had moments like this, when you feel that you know what those Pulitzer prize winning authors and Nobel laureates once experienced? It doesn't necessarily mean that you will accomplish what they have - but it doesn't mean you won't, either.
Sometimes I think about my children, who are not born yet, but are living inside me, at least a part of them. And another part of them is living inside of someone else. My children will bring the compassion out of me. I know because when I think of my child running towards me with an excited smile in his eyes, small black wondering eyes that face the world with no expectations except that his mother loves him, it makes love real to me.
Sometimes I see a grand future just within my fingertips, of these exploding thoughts inside my mind fully expressed, its complexity unfolded and translated to a world waiting for words to more fully explain its mystery. I cannot put it into words yet.
Do you ever feel these things? Am I the only one?
When my aunt talks, she rambles. And most people caught in her web want to push her and her words away. But I am fascinated. She's the only one of mom's sisters who is fully present with what she feels. I know because her humorous tales tell me so. She mocks the Filipino traditional woman, that quiet, demure, "lady-like" thing. She is not afraid of a stacked fight. She will show you her many broken bones with pride.
She has too many stories and opinions. She hates with passion. She has made me feel like killing her. Silencing her. And she makes me feel like I can silence the world by simply willing it.
In mom's family there is some kind of furious muse that guides and drives and mocks all who are born from its blood. It will be conquered but who will recognize it, much less face it in battle?
Friday, February 13, 2004
Fuck my 20's...
I know I'm REALLY turning 30 when I feel the need to vent about the stupid Valentines day party happening downstairs. My company has had about 20 events in the past 2-3 days with cake, candy, mexican food, etc. Literally.
I remember a time, not too long ago, when that was cause to celebrate. But when I see younger co-workers rushing down to our V-day party for stupid little red candies and Big Red Heart decoration everywhere, with guilty little smirks and a little frantic breeze in their step, all I could think was:
I am too fuckin' OLD for this.
So instead of indulging in my "former" ways 20's-ish ways, and rushing down the stairs to gobble yet another useless piece of cheap chocolate to distract me from the fact there's still another hour left in my late Friday afternoon, I wrote this post. But let me tell you something - I am so lookin' forward to becoming a 30-something. I feel I'm finally leaving my childhood behind... and entering true adulthood. Something about the ability to choose your own way - and it's not painful anymore.
I know I'm REALLY turning 30 when I feel the need to vent about the stupid Valentines day party happening downstairs. My company has had about 20 events in the past 2-3 days with cake, candy, mexican food, etc. Literally.
I remember a time, not too long ago, when that was cause to celebrate. But when I see younger co-workers rushing down to our V-day party for stupid little red candies and Big Red Heart decoration everywhere, with guilty little smirks and a little frantic breeze in their step, all I could think was:
I am too fuckin' OLD for this.
So instead of indulging in my "former" ways 20's-ish ways, and rushing down the stairs to gobble yet another useless piece of cheap chocolate to distract me from the fact there's still another hour left in my late Friday afternoon, I wrote this post. But let me tell you something - I am so lookin' forward to becoming a 30-something. I feel I'm finally leaving my childhood behind... and entering true adulthood. Something about the ability to choose your own way - and it's not painful anymore.