Chief Justice Brandeis said, "You can have democracy or the unequal distribution of wealth, but you can't have both."

Last week, we discussed in my Bible study group the issue of poverty as it pertains to the Christian journey. The conclusion we reached was an expectedly uncomfortable, yet nevertheless eye-opening one. We realized just how much we compromise the teachings of Jesus, just how much we dumb them down, just how much we dilute them down from its salty origins, to an enjoyably drinkable water. Yet how much dilution has there been and for how long has it been exacting its un-doing power? The problem, however, is a simple one: Everyone wants to be comfortable - no matter what the consequences. A shame, but thankfully not a hopeless case.

We Christians have to listen to Jesus. After doing some talking with other brothers and sisters on such matters, I've come to realize that no mere man or woman can ever take the place of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the Way he said. The truth and the life. To whom can we go? He carries the words of life. Yet we'll repeatedly and unduly cling our attention on the meagers words of a few teachers, however compelling or blessing they may be. No one can take the place of Jesus.

His teaching is fairly clear. Love God and love one another. Love God and love one another. Oh, but the simple things in life...

Can we be rich? Can we accumulate such a wealth to come to that mystical, wonderland place of "financial security"? Where are you? 51% 13% 87% there? Then what? Considering what is at the core of Man, do you suppose that we can really be rich and still maintain democracy, Christlikeness? Chief Justice Brandeis spoke of democracy, and spoke very wisely I'd say, but our Lord Jesus speaks of democracy and infintely more. i wouldn't say He speaks of things altoghether different, but rather He fills in the vast areas where politics and economics miserably fail. What do politics and economics have to do with love? Yet love is foremost on our Lord's mind, not money, position, or any other temporal pursuit. Can you still be rich and remain a "folllower" of Christ? What has he taught us?

What do we make of Jesus' teachings concerning rich men, blessing the poor, last being first and first being last, etc. It seems we have for too long, swept the core of Jesus' teachings under the rug. When will we drop our cleverly disguised worldly materialism and greed and actually do as He said, "Follow"? It becomes painfully clear that this is no longer a hypothetical question - no longer a question of "if" but rather a poignant question of "then___". You figure our the blank for yourself.

"You can have democracy or the unequal distribution of wealth, but you can't have both." I agree, and I see that it goes so much deeper than just this.

hi princess pie. Just in case you've come into my blog, I've updated with this little thing. i should really continue to do this huh... Back to sermon.

here you are. this is one of my favorite poems. it is written by Keats. he was 24 when he wrote it - simply amazing...

John Keats (1795-1821)

TO AUTUMN.
1.
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

what do you know? really, what is it that you think you know? count the things. and stand back and you may either laugh, in a moment of pure honesty, or perhaps, in humility, you may be silent, knowing that you are on your way...

what are the things that you have done to learn what to know? what are the things that you will be doing in the next 3 years? what can you do?

Some more pictures of our little baby. Simply- too cute. I miss her so much

me and hannah in new york

so cute huh..

it rains and inside
a computer hums
an oboe invites itself in
a mellow piano as well
what comes first?

i know it rains because of the tip-taps on my window
i peer out between the cracks in the blinds
a speckled window against night
stationary but for occasional collisions
like shooting stars on a starry night
me watching the rain pitter-pitter on my window

what are those precious words
there are so many words
(but so few we actually use everyday)
to encapsulate and articulate a lifetime
in to these sparse words
is it grand words you hear?
or perhaps they be humble
an impossible task
i would like to hear what you think

the tired night, drunk with lethargy, feels an urge to speak
i listen and feel what he feels
i look and understand the miles he's traveled to arrive before me
with heavy fingers is this transmuted
beyond these disguised panes
they tic-tac along
this nighttime symphony

so
it has been a long time since i have paid any attention to this blog
but my girlfriend insists i update immediately
so
here i go

today was nice
hannah and i went to kcpc in the morning
pastor ryan gave a sermon on people (us) and our ever-stubborn masks
it is a message for all times
indeed

after the sermon, hannah and i went downstairs to play with the babies a little bit
we watched as heidi was mean to her little brother theodore
(who is as cute as a buttermilk spice muffin)
-___- that was a little fruity huh
but we laughed thinking mutually:
how strange, such likeness yet such an age discrepancy
the babies were quite adorable
soon soon soon

we went to canton restaurant to eat dim sum
it was alright- tasted alright
hannah insisted a place in foster city was much better
we'll soon see
there was a party next to us celebrating a 60th anniversary
an old chinese couple- looked happy
it was nice to see
sometimes i really wish that life were a book
a novel about each of our lives
each life its own novel
we the protagonists
and these events that occur, such as the 60th anniversary, a foreshadowing of things to come
but alas, life be not so simple and predictable
some people make their careers on making people's lives predictable, but...
it would be nice

after our lunch, we made our way to union square for shopping
4 hours of shopping!
hannah kept questioning whether i was having a good time or not
i was having a great time - if only though, if only i had more money to spend
h&m, a&e, express, guess, cache, aldo, nordstrom, fcuk, h&m again
i really want those fcuk jeans!!!
i really want those fcuking jeans!!!
hah that was funny
ripping good laugh
oh man, i really want em
anyone want to buy a good kidney?
some nice korean kidneys on the market here

i'm drinking stella artois lager at the moment
sometimes hannah brings me one
this is very nice indeed

after shopping, we drove north to this great cafe called gallery cafe
it was in the middle of blocks of apartments
those typical sf apartments you know
the ones we all saw on the full house intro
you know the ones
it was really very nice
there was cool jazz playing the background, plentiful seats (a secret spot!)
and good food and strong java!
hannah and i got this drink called depth charge: coffee with a shot of espresso
yes
very strong it was
she got the smoked salmon on ciabata bread- very good
i got a bearclaw pastry- alright
slight squabbles aside, twas quite nice

we made our home
i'm starting to get the hang of sf driving
slowly
we've been going about twice a week, so i better be getting better
i've been making very use of maps
the drive home was really nice
driving down toward the bay bridge, we could see the city and bridge lights against the night
really nice
we also had a good talk to square away our squabbles at the cafe
"everytime we have a tiff, you run to the bathroom" - project runway is really fun - i gotta admit

now we're home and at our respective laptops
soon we'll go out for our night walk
where will it be?

fourth street?
north berkeley?
solano?
college ave?
berkeley marina?
wherever it be, i really recommend all your couples out there to go on these walks
when life can be so complex and busy and noisy
it is very nice to be silent and just walk
perhaps a few sparse words
but mutual agreement that heavy conversion need not be needed

so now we are off
hannah's a bit tired, but i am not
so we shall go
wherever she likes
because that's the way it goes
sometimes

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
valentine's day is but tu days away
so any takers for that fine korean kidney?

turn the page of a book
after dinner coffee sips
swirl and sniff the wine
repositions the glasses
heel points on cold ground
are you cold over there?
are you so immersed in...?
a ribbon flutters in the wind
before eyes so intent on...
just for a moment brief
lips unmoving restrained
eyes traverse the page
a leg crossed over other
are you cold over there?
please, won't you stop?
take this moment to think
in some dank cabinet am I
if these minds could see
listen these words yearning
there is me, i and within, we
but alas
this be not spritey fairy tale
non non non, but reverie
what end for it?
reverie, ah, but to dwell
if but just for a while

my future:

she said i would have a hard life
i think now i know what she meant
she was entirely correct
because only so few can live that life
life ideal
for others it is to have to search for enjoyment
to have to
how wasted a life is this..
if we are fortunate, we will live perhaps 40 more years
the ideal suddenly takes on more luster
but alas, it is still mere ideal
mere?
in 2 years
i
will
have
found an occupation i find satisfaction in
the satisfaction of standing before a completed construction
imagine a skyscraper
erect because of your own hands
such a satisfaction
this is not so much to ask
in 2 years
i will have married the most beautiful of God's creations
so lovely a thing..
there will be an understanding
there will need to be
i see i am not the most understandable or
easily acceptable person
in 2 years, i will have begun a series of short stories
a compilation of poetry
scattered thought
but to bring to adhere
in 2 years, perhaps i will have become a father
a father..
but enough musing
there are more immediate needs at hand
!!!

it completes me
it sets me at ease
it comforts me

both of you.

so
life goes on afterall
and i want a child.

it is not the light
but light through the thing
diaphanous leaf in evening sun
(crunches under foot
my chin rises to intermittent rays
my eyes to sting
the air is brisk)
i sit obtuse the line
and i find
i will die and
this thing
makes me to wonder
will ever be
light through limpid leaf
and here it i'll've sought
this thing
now
a comus to this soul
make also limpid this thing
make diaphanous to see
to likewise shine through me

jc's girlsgirlsgirls
former stripper out on a mission to spread jesus in stripclubs, porn conventions, etc
wow
only on acurrentaffair

thinking and doing
thinking and doing

with no particular intention, i picked up ernest becker's the denial of death again. it's been quite a while since i've read it, but how i feel now is that i should never have put it down. i wish i could type for you the whole book, or even just a whole chapter--it is absolutely astounding, this work. although i will not give you everything (though i fervently, fervently believe EVERYONE should read), i will give you a few excerpts from a chapter titled "the psychoanalyst kierkegaard":

"kierkegaard understood that the lie of character is built up because the child needs to adjust to the world, to the parent, and to his own existential dilemmas. it is built up before the child has a chance to learn about himself in an open or free way, and thus character defenses are automatic and unconscious. The problem is that the child becomes dependent on them and comes to be encased in his own character armor, unable to see freely beyond his own prison or into himself, into the defenses he is using, the things that are determining his unfreedom" (73).

"kierkegaard gives us some portrait sketches of the styles of denying possibility, or the lies of character--which is the same thing. he is intent on describing what we today call 'inauthentic' men, men who avoid developing their own uniqueness; they follow out the styles of automatic and uncritical living in which they were conditioned as children. they are inauthentic in that they do not belong to themselves, are not 'their own' person, do not act from their own center, do not see reality on its terms; they are the one-dimensional men totally immersed in the fictional games being played in their society, unable to transcend their social conditioning: the corporation men in the West, the bureaucrats in the East, the tribal men locked up in tradition--man everywhere who doesn't understand what it means to think for himself and who, if he did, would shrink back at the idea of such audacity and exposure" (73).

kierkegaard's description of the "immediate man" (inauthentic man):
"the immediate man... his self or he himself is a something included along with 'the other' in the compass of the temporal and the worldly...thus the self coheres immediately with 'the other,' wishing, desiring, enjoying, etc., but passively;...he manages to imitate the other men, noting how they manage to live, and so he too lives after a sort. in christendom he too is a christian, goes to church every sunday, hears and understands the parson, yea, they understand one another; he dies; the parson introduces him into eternity for the price of $10--but a self he was not, and a self he did not become...for the immediate man does not recognize his self, he recognizes himself only by his dress,...he recognizes that he has a self only by externals: (73-74).

nietzsche: "are there perhaps--a question for psychiatrists--neuroses of health?"

"if health is not 'cultural normality,' then it must refer to something else, must point beyond man's usual situation, his habitual ideas. Mental health, in a word, is not typical, but ideal-typical...the 'healthy' person, the ture individual, the self-realized soul, the 'real' man, is the one who has transcended himself" (86).

"...the self must be broken in order to become a self..." (88).

he i am again. what does it mean to be broken? for becker it is to become totally aware of one's own condition: that man is creature; paradox; food for worms; a thinking, creative, artistic being that must die; who has a name, but must die; who contains within itself, urine and excrement...to rid oneself of all those things, conditionings from birth, that have built walls against the acknowledgement of such horrifying reality. how to do this? and why? read!!!

promises promises promises
so wondrous when kept
like an yrect edifice firm
falls into my pocket secure
the contour of two lives
bound by this silly notion
quietly hushed clandestine
do you promise me? yes.
simple but for rift betwixt
close your eyes as will i
do i promise you? i do.
so be it amen as they say
and live life in calm trust
for here remains it yet
a spark and dim flicker
y-radiat for this promise
this promise this promise

it's elementary
somehow you're an expert
remember
we live in a world defined by
we believe in gods who teach with
all truth is dependent upon
what
what else but
contraries
paradox
sense in senselessness
so what to make of the yourself
where is truth outside of those things
the first will be last
to die is to live
to know is to know you don't know
to think you know is to not know at all

to be
the first as first
to die to die
to know to know

irrelevant
meaningless
a meteor vaporizes the earth
and our great minds to oblivion

it's difficult though isn't it
who does not dream of applause
i want to be king

how ridiculous
how contrary to my every inclination
so i am to be as a leper
a common beggar
ridiculous
scandalous
get out of here

difficult
certainly difficult

slowly we tread onward
a hill
a granule
patient foggy mornings; nightcrawlers

for those who lack the muse to word to song
or just to those who seek a piece to long

cannonball - damien rice - O

theres still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
theres still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
its still a little hard to say whats going on
theres still a little bit of your ghost your witness
theres still a little bit of your face i haven't kissed
you step a little closer each day yet i can't say whats going on
theres still a little bit of your song in my ear
theres still a little bit of your words i long to hear
you step a little closer to me so close that i cant see whats going on
stones taught me to fly
love taught me to lie
life taught me to die
so its not hard to fall when you float like a cannon ball
and i don't want to lose
its not hard to grow when you know that you just dont know

wonderful..

lately i've been trying to quit several addictions i have
someone once told me i was a man of many addictions
i suppose it is very true, this statement
but i suppose it is very true of many people
all people, if i must--but i digress
so, one tries and succeeds or fails
teaching an old dog new tricks..
if you see this dog chewing on sticks and bones--
(no wonder dogs chew so much
someone give em a cigarette)

is regretting apologizing?
generally, i think we should all limit our apologies to those few instances most deserving
and few they ought to be
but regretting...
i am thinking this because of a sudden rush
one of those rare moments of dawning
i truly regret a thing
investing so much in a thing
over so little a time
i may be no better than myself 6 years ago
i may be worse
but as i am now
i say i regret
can a person ever give too much to others?
can one love too much
so much so that it betrays the bounds of reason and of any other virtue
it appears in this season i live now
yes
i must learn to control
moderation
choose your battles
investing myself so as to profit all
and yes, even myself
this
this is what i too often neglect
my will
my future
generations




I do not mean you cheesepuff

i know i was going to write something
but it escaped me

i want to leave berkeley for a while
old bread gets stale
older bread rots

i suppose marriage is manna
and i suppose
some things never get old

but that's just speculation
spectator
something something something

i really like cheese. the aromas (stink). pleasure in the pain. pleasure in the pain.

good lord, i could be cheesy sometimes.

just now
on a strange whim
i placed my hand on my chest
searching for a pulse
sure enough
there it was
and now i see
so it is now
i realized i was alive
my heart beating
constantly beating
how beautiful
i realized i was alive
a working machine
i wondered
if this heart ceased to beat
would i still be thinking
creating ideas
wondering
what if this heart ceased to beat
inconceivable
inconceivable

won't you take this time now
to feel for your beating heart
inside there
hidden from the eyes of the world
some more in the shadows than others'
hidden but ever showing
won't you make this heart beautiful

give it a face
make it a smile
give it a purpose
make it worthwhile
give it love
for all the above

i have a jewel in my pocket. i have kept it there for quite some time now. when i first received it, it was so beautiful. wondrous and delightful to look at in all lights and from any direction; it would sparkle and it would sparkle for me. i took so much pride in the simple notion that i had this special thing with me, and it would shine for me. it shined for me. time. we only are. labels defined by simple devices powered by inexpensive batteries; devices which ridiculously run in circles, and display numbers adding upon each other over and over again--silly--as if this were some indication of our condition, our reliance upon this artificial framework. as if we have all made our selves time-bombs, because we are all time-bombs with no lcd display. is this how we shall delineate our existence? perhaps it is time for reformation. time. what was, has eroded into what it has become now. this, in my pocket. i reach my hand in until i find the object. revealing it to light gives me such a feeling--apprehension--yes, how fitting the word. ere i view its facets, i am flooded with you, by the memory of you. isn't it grand. isn't it pitiful. it has always been this way, this sudden emotion, this strange looming anticipation of an uncertain thing. the sky is blue and cheerful. blue skies, in my eyes. the memory of you. what were once facets have, naturally, with time, become as dull, sea stone. what else can one but gaze at the phenomenon. the white and sound of crushing. smoothing. taken aback, frantic, i flip the once-jewel every which way. searching its tiny surface. frantic ranting i begin to lose hope. searching, flipping this now-cobble to rediscover its once-luster. never. never. i will not. don't you dare lose that napkin. don’t you dare tear it up. never. never. the seagulls and the skyscrapers jutting out into the clouds. don't you love those foggy days when you never know when those skyscrapers end, or where those seagulls fly. don't you wish they would never end, that they would fly to the stars. you must believe it. you must believe it. your eyes and these images are all there are in this land. you must simply trust me. it never ends. never. never. i will not allow it. there are moments when fertile silence beckons new thought. emerge. yellow tulips. the shadows are as pleases me. a lonesome riverbed reveals its work. a leaf, stripped of its meat leaving only its sinewy veins, now cast in stiff remembrance. impressionistic images of red, yellow, orange, and green strokes, splotches, streaks. more flamboyant days. now. this leaf. this jewel. lackluster. barren. useful to start a flame. useful for skipping a rippleless lake. so fiercely, i wish to let go this stone, this skeleton-leaf. how i wish it were so easy. how i wish. how i wish. but so cherished was this stone, so intriguing the fanning pattern. how will it be to walk down those familiar roads, only to find, profound, poignant, a hand warmed in an empty pocket.

i'm a total sucker for profundity;
impress me.

you are my sanity
when i do not have you
i dream i am dead
i walk a gray path
all around only black is
i search my eyes frantic
but not a petal
no pleasant aroma here
where is this place
what is this i have done
i cannot turn back
my eyes fixed ahead immobile
paralyzed to act
my teeth knashing to its roots
this is not what i wanted
i have done a horrible thing

she is never more
but in another time
won't you come with me
catch up or you'll miss the call
there is only one
i am here waiting for you
i gaze at this horizon unchanging
my feet weary
complaining for destination
i must scold them
i walk and you bear the burden
that is your destiny

you and i were once one
isn't that strange? they would say
not as strange as being two
taking me to such a place
so strange
leave this place
leave me to my self
but i did not want this
not like this

can i dream in this place
dream my life to life

ah, the seasons in mind
change with each step
metamorphosis in the step
all around the burgeoning
effluence of color and wind
gushing y-radiant ecstasy
saturated with purity
how pleasant.

looking ahead in his dead gaze
he needs not to blink
he steps forward in a slow methodical gait
all around only black is
slowly his lips fashion a gray grin
he appears content
where he is what he is now
there is no direction
there is only condition
where once blood flowed is now not
he has achieved what he knew not
he has arrived in that place where many roam
but never a path cross'd
no face
insania infinitude

sometimes we forget
forevermore he is in oblivion

sometimes
the thought of being alone
is not so bad
when alone
one can do what one wishes to do
go where one wishes to go
be whatever one wishes to become
sounds nice doesn't it?
it sounds nice

but for how long can this last?
such a question
john donne
what he would think of me now
for your information
he is the one who wrote:
"no man is an island, entire of itself..."
"...therefore never send to know
for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
what a great mind

such an inclination to believe the contrary
is this mind of me
no man is an island, entire of itself
because of those attachments
those loves - or
those objects of heart-break
loves

well such as it is
so be it
machinations of man
so be it
take your glares off of me

freedoms to roam
imagine the freedom
illumine this mind for a while
for a while
how marvelous
God is good

as long as i have lived
what i call my life
a collection of snowy images now
i don't remember that coffee table being there
oddly
i digress

how far does wit sustain you
can't one be that island
no other refuge
no option
only being and doing and being some more
doing as one wishes
walking those paths unchart'd
pickings fruit of strange bushes
perhaps shaping a walking stick to assist
seeing the horizon with day
seeing infinity with night
listening to its colossal hum
no one told me it would be this way
walking ways untold
no one told me this

it is not abandoning love
my loving parents
my faithful friends
loyalty so virtuous
never to abandone
but...
it is painful

it is never so clear but what is is what is

comparing different versions of the rach 3
i stress "different"
i grew up listening to and loving the horowitz/ormandy
so i feel it's built such a wall against further criticism
however
listening to other pianists like byron janis and rodriguez
i see just how different they can be
each it's own piece; same name

so i hear people make this a great hobby
collecting the rach concertos
each pianist with respective conductor and orchestra
very intriguing
interesting this about music
the notes are laid out for players to read and play
but also create and make it their own
can't do it with painting, sculpture, etc
but why music?
repainting a masterpiece is scandalous and cheap
worth nothing
but to hear some of these guys play rach
they are masterpieces in themselves
what a remarkable gift these composers offer the world
truly remarkable, to say the least

could such altruism be given through other art forms?
hard to conceptualize it ever happening
other artists are so exclusive
selfish, in a sense, in this context of course
selfish to individualize one's talents
but i suppose that's just the nature of these other art forms
writing, poetry, painting, ---
but what makes music so different?
are not these composers just as brilliant
just as exceptional as other master artists
what is it?

i'm now 23
so, who wants to get married?
here's what i've to offer:

occasional breakfasts and dinners cooked by me (not too good with lunch, oddly)
i wash a mean dish and cup and various utensil
a joke every week
babies
lullabies for the babies and you (wow!)
an occasional surprise (intriguing~)
various IOU's

...
i reck'n that's about it
so
anyone?

good lord...

people advertising their useless ____ in their comments to my blogs
well well well
i suppose these people have faces
families who love them or hate them or don't care to offer either extreme
people
too harsh? too hasty? too toohey?
well well well
i like to watch little house on the prairie
it shows itself to me in the telebox during some afternoons
it shows itself before mash
which i also enjoy viewing with my eyeballs

i suppose one must
must adapt to the age one lives in
how else to live?
otherwise outsmart a'do
it's a mite powerful surge to wade
so much easier to ride the wave
blissfully on one's back
floating to a destination blurred by perpetual fog
i like foggy mornings
foggy mornings with dewy air
to make breathing a moist affair (unintentional)
and the sky so gray to devour the tops of mountains
and you hear the sounds of tires treading over soaked road
one after another
i love to listen to those sounds
sometimes those fogs become so thick
they become
ever so gradual
drizzle to gray my hair
coating me with a delicate layer of tiny little beads of moisture
how fun!
do you remember?
but now
...
the weather out is sunny
splotches of delightful clouds
girls bathing in the bright
with nothing on but that necessary to avoid (or attract) the law
i suppose
there is a time for everything
even sunny weather
but strange
strange?
this affinity toward gray skies

oh ya, i hate these damn advertisements
seeping, creeping...invading!
MY!
PRIVACY! (no such thing)

damn you cialis!
damn you viagra! (damn you for now)

that is all i have to say at this moment. goodbye.

it's really good to have good friends
who can't help but be good teachers
of how to be a good friend. (what talent!)
all you need is one to do it for you
and when you get it you just know
"this is one whom i must never let go."

i love to lay here
where my back is warmed by the convective earth
a shade to shield myne eyen from a vulgar sun
to reveal only the pearlescent blue so calm
i am as a cloud dissipates
white gives to blue, and i am so content
at such a moment
an image of purity strange
how oft have i o'erlook'd this place
like a number and quarter stuft in a pocket of a forgotten coat in a forgotten box in some forgotten attic in a forgotten home in a town called oblivion
but alas
redemption.

i now have a big bed in my room
queen
i love it
i really do
now if i can only get my own place
and a few concubines to fill up space
bc space is copious

there is one thing we must all know
because we live with other ones
because every one is a different one
and because every one is a one
and it is: the science of these ones

failure will be a tumult and flood
a lifetime of stinging bites
an eternity of loneliness
in view of this we still falter
because--we are all still ones

i just caught a fly in my hand. i demand an applause.

lately, i've been very eager to use the word "propitious" in "everyday" conversation.

The hour is propitious.

and so it is
just like
you
said it wouldbe

but i
could ne'er see
feel
before me

so how

i walked into a bookstore today and came out with 24 books for 4 classes. i am familiar with only 2 of the authors of those books. so. contemporary novels, show me what ya got (no al pacino). it literally amounts to more than 2 feet of pages. so. haha...

"History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
---James Joyce, Ulysses

memory
leave me
apparition of fallen love
why to torment
a body clothed
under fingertips the feel
pressed tightly 'round
redefines my world
deluge of middle hopes
streaming too rude
consider me
wretched dream
loose imagination
linger no longer
no space here for love
a season to lay fallow
blind to temptation
deaf to sweet lips
reason grasp the reigns
let the weeds take root
if but for a while
hope
is a dangerous idol
too highly exalted
too often abused
phantoms of memory
leave me
if just for the night
for night lays too still
too perfect for contemplation
do you
do you hear me

are you waiting
like i am waiting
behind this opaque curtain
your face only in mind
for some word to say
to see the word
and mouthe it aloud to myself
where there is no one
a light flickers and
well, i doubt it

we can never forget
well
rather
we can always recall those things we've forgotten
even if we've wanted to forget
they say we use only 10% of our brains' capacity
but i believe i've just realized why
because we only remember 10%
it's strange
incredible storehouse of memories
to make me ahh
it is that hour of the night
when even the city beyond
in its immense energy
only
hums a gentle droning note
i wonder
wouldn't it be delightful to play my guitar
sing those songs that wish me tear
at such an hour as this
there was another time wasn't there
at last, man's reached 10.3%
i recall now
not without some effort
a moment in my life
here in berkeley. i was new to this big place. it was big for me then, but wasn't i the idealist... it was such an hour as it is now, and perhaps around the same time of year. the night sky yet uninterrupted by dawn. i was walking to the subway station then. he seems so young there, walking by himself at such a lonely, whispering hour. perhaps if he had known what he knows now, he would not have done this. but he's carrying something with him. heavy and causing his steps to sway ever so slightly. oh. it's his guitar. carlo robelli. so regal. so cheap. he walks and the air is still. the leaves are still. at the station, he stops to make his music. quiet. you don't want to wake the street-dwellers now, do you? quiet and sweet. a moment with a feeling and an impact. but now, he wonders: what was it? some moments. those feelings we wish we would never forget. those nights. touch profound. he has fulfilled his wish. packs. walking back the way he had come. he is roaming his eyes. left. right. above, the sky: the earth on its epic geometric course has not yet reached twilight. there is a tall man ahead. awake. at such an hour. curious. cautious undoubtful, yet unfearing, he approaches this man and offers typical but ever-neglected greetings. geez, this fellow is tall. basketball tall. speaking now, his voice enters his mind and there is understanding. he walks with him, up the slight slope. up to his apartment. still new to him then. up they climb and upon his room. he had been quite hungry. and awake! he makes him a sandwich and brews a pot of coffee. they sit on the futon and watch sports. the time draws nigh. mysterious and subtle it is. how? who makes the gesture to leave? but inevitably, the time comes. he is leaving now. a plate with specks of crumb. he takes with him a large container with hot coffee in it. the sky was now yawning.

i suppose now, he did not expect to sleep any time soon
he did not seem reluctant to leave this warm comfort
he did not expect a thing
a wanderer walking and accepting what intersects
what was his name? he told me. his name..
in here somewhere
perhaps in another moment to come
i may recall
but time
i suppose
there are times to live
in active participation of a moment
instant of continuous
and then
there are times to look back and appreciate those times
those moments
to cherish them
to understand who i was
why
and how different i am now
i sit here
tappity tappity away
now
i hear the grain and feel the voice
'gainst my body
peers and sears into this soul
illumine
y-radiate
to make a moment for another lonely night
a night as this.

i've been sleeping very late lately
many times i've watched the sky
shy in shadow blooming blue
i'm happy to be going home again
sometimes a change of scene is good
and sometimes, change is our sanity

shoot
the guitar
martin
is beginning to crack
epic tragedy
sigh
away with you

tabula rasa

we all carry about as though life were an absolute
we think and invent and philosophize and worship
i don't think this mystery is so elementary
why did everything occur as it did?
why do certain atoms combine to form molecules?
and why do certain molecules combine to form cells
and from these cells the framework of this thing life
i don't ask why it happens this way, but why at all?
why not a universe of inanimate bodies?
and the culmination of this creative process: us
moving and breathing; thinking and inventing
it's really quite incredible; unbelievable is it not?
but why does this thing called nature create for itself
organisms that evolve to become infections
on each other and the source of them all?
something is surely amis here
even our bodies function to combat infections
would one not expect the same from nature?
but it is what it is and remains as it has
bearing the abuse and bearing witness to

there must be something more to this existence
because what makes most sense to me is simple
but nature took a most strange and unlikely course
and went ahead and complicated itself
so here i am clicking away at these little buttons
can we really take the existence of life as apriori?
it takes some rather unlikely coincidences
fate-believers out there, i feel you but
but fate only goes so far
would you really rely on it for such an argument?

so what then?
if not fate, or mere coincidence, then what?
either there really is some kind of supreme designer
or nature's default destiny is complication
and perhaps even its eventual self-destruction
bleak?
enigmas often do evoke rather surprising effects
for those who don't hold to the designer theory
and don't believe in such a grim future
please prove me wrong and make this world beautiful
i dare you please

it's not the systems that are corrupt you see
capitalism and survival of the socially fittest
mere concepts- harmless but for the heart of man
why so low a standard human conscience?
where has your heart gone?
don't blame the constructs you dwell in
because it is you who has fueled their machines
your lust your greed your insatiable desire for more
more more more more more more more more

still, there must be more than just this surely

tormenting
these dreams of mine
resurrecting old loves in old places
makes for this fool to wonder
what of that love but memory
what of it

relativity v absoluteness
our greatest argument
what is beautiful is what is beautiful to me
what is abhorrent is what is abhorrent to me
no, you're wrong
this is what is beautiful and this is what is abhorrent
some things are so absolute
otherwise what you've got is: utter anarachy
you relativists are the most selfish people in the world
selfish...haha, define that for me please
(so familiar ey! Roark's back)
tell me then
what is beautiful?
what if I tell you that what you call ugly, is to me, beautiful
sure
but what of ethics and even religion?
tell me what happens when these become so relative
can this world be trusted with this freedom of relativity?
tell me do you believe people are so good?
does it satisfy you to know that you are so secure
and the world- what does it matter what they believe
can we think this way?
do we not have an obligation to the stability of the world
of our civilization?
moreover, since your idea of good is relative
what would your answer to this matter anyway
if I believe this (whatever it is) to be true
true to me
then how can I believe anything else?
these concepts are east and west

what would it take
for one to remake
a heart and mind
but for solace to find

so
it's 5 pm
and at this moment
slightly bittersweet
but sweet nonetheless
i am loving life.

slices of bucheron cheese
greek olives that look of grapes
steamed walnut sourdough bread
generously dipped in freshly peppered basil/garlic olive oil
all with a glass of chianti at hand
as a watch muircats at play on the tube
it's beautiful outside and i am content

if only though
if only i had my friend here to enjoy it with.