Angry Boy

Today I woke up angry. Maybe it was because I've been averaging four hours of sleep, or because I've had so much work to do lately, or because I just have my panties in a bunch, whatever the case I woke up mean and nasty and really wanting to punch somebody square in the face. 

I was up last night til about 5, making a book for my research project on the history of paper and its significance leading up to the Gutenberg Press, riveting stuff, and it turned out like shit. I was suppose to wake up at 9 so I could make it to a class workshop so I could get some projects critiqued before I had to turn them in. I woke up at 11 and missed the train downtown.

I was late to class and had to turn in my mediocre project. We had to do presentations on them and I flubbed extravagantly. I didn't have time to eat so I had a monster and funyons, meal of champions. We got our midterms back which I thought I did alright on, but was proven otherwise. The day was not going well. The professor didn't hand me back my essay so I went up to his desk to shuffle through the papers. He reprimanded me for touching his "personal" stuff and told me to sit down. 

After class I had to take the Bart down to the Mission to go to my internship at the Intersection for the arts, I had a little time so I decided to grab some lunch. I've been reading "Ham on Rye" by Charles Bukowski so I pull that out while I'm having my vietnamese vermicelli. It's a semi-autobiography and some parts reenact parts of his life where he has gotten into fights and has basically beaten the shit out of people. All I could think about was all the times that I had gotten my ass kicked and knocked out cold, waking up with a swollen face and loose teeth. Other parts recount his inability to interact with girls and how he has never had a meaningful relationship with women. I start thinking about the last girl I had been seeing and how she rejected me after I told her that I liked her. I pay for my food and head down Valencia.

At my internship, we've been prepping for a show by Migdalia Valdes "Everyday in Black and White" in which she chronicles her life for the past decade through daily photos, found objects, and journals. I've been working on prep work for the past week or so and my job has been to cut and document about 18 months of daily photos; it has taken me 6 hours to get through a month and a half. I suppose at least I get to listen to whatever hell type of music I want. 

So by the end of the day, I'm brain dead, tired, and really don't feel like I'm worth anything. I call it a day and walk outside to have a cigarette after I pack up my shit full of all sorts of self-pity. I sit on a hydrant outside trying to plan out the rest of my day, what assignments I have to finish up, if there is food in the fridge and basically being a negative nancy. The program director at the Intersection, Sean, comes out and starts talking to a man who is sitting next to an SUV with a rag and a bottle of car cleaner. The man is around 60 with deep creases in his face and obviously lives on the streets but he's got a huge smile on his face. He's scrubbing at the right door panel where there is some slight damage. Sean and the man banter and chit chat and I see Sean hand him a five. They joke and laugh and Sean goes back inside.  Down the other side of the street  I hear shouting down the street, a lady (obviously a crack head) is having a verbal shouting match with her boyfriend/pimp. 

"I need my fucking money!"

"Fuck you."

"Don't you be talking to me like that!"

"Fuck you, don't you ever fucking talk to me again."

"That's fine with me bitch" the man says as he turns and heads down the street.

"Fuck you, I need beer. I need to be drunk" she shouts after him through sobs and hysteria. "Don't you ever call me again I won't ever talk to you again."

She passes me and the man cleaning the car, yelling and crying. The man just leans back and guffaws. "Even when days are bad, I'm just glad that I ain't with a lady like that. I am just happy sitting out here doing my thing and helping out when I can to make a couple of bucks" he says as he winks at me. And at that moment I can't help but smile with him. I realize how silly and trivial I am about everything. My circumstances, school, work, life: my whole day had just been put into perspective. And I can't help but walk down to the Bart to catch my train home with a huge grin on my face.

Crybaby

I've been depressed lately. Yeah, yeah, I know boo fucking hoo, like I really have anything to be crying about. It's never really triggered by anything really, it'll just come, this beast rearing it's ugly head. The thing that prevails is this deep, trying emptiness. I'll smile, make chit chat with friends, pretend that everything is right and chipper. 

Its happened throughout my life, I've tried things from meditation, herbal remedies, to exercise, just not as far as popping pills, at least not ones actually prescribed to me. I suppose the vices don't really help things at all, just compound to the problem. It's like being stuck in the bottom of a muddy hole, and every time I try to claw out of it, I'll just be covered in more shit. And then usually after a few weeks or months, one day it'll be gone and the world will be beautiful again and I won't have to fake the smiles. 

There have been also been moments of extreme elation: getting into my top choice college, truly loving a girl for the first time, traveling. I try to rationalize everything, why I feel down and gloomy, but I just push past it, try to keep myself busy, drown it out, drink it down, and hopefully it'll pass like it always has. I suppose that certain events wouldn't be as beautiful and poignant without these pitiful lows. Food tastes bland, the work I'm producing just never comes out right, and sometimes I really just want to get into the car and just run away from everything.

The last couple of months have been a blur. Life revolves around school, work, and the studio. I spend the weekends drunk out of my mind, sometimes on the weekdays as well and I really have to cut that bullshit out. Work is no longer enjoyable but something I've been trudging through. I've been thinking about going to a shrink, but somehow I feel like that would just be admitting defeat.

I saw this girl this past weekend who I used to date in college. Let's call her Suzy. I treated her like shit. One instance in particular stands out. She was visiting me for the weekend and staying at my place. She did this on several occasions and we would go out to parties and she would be fun and social. My friends adored her, she was beautiful, and she came just to see me. We had been dating for a few months and she was the sweetest thing. She would write me cards and send them to me in the mail if we hadn't seen each other for a couple of weeks. We were at a dinner party and one of my friends asked me if we were seeing each other and I remember saying we were just friends. I watched her heart drop. A few weeks after that I told her I didn't want to see her anymore specifically citing the "it's not you, it's me" line like a douche.

I am surprised that she would even talk to me anymore and I suppose it's things like this that have wreaked havoc on my own karma. There are a lot of things that I wish I could take back. All my ruined relationships and my need to sabotage and destroy anything pure and good. People always say that you can't really ever love anyone until you love yourself. If this were true, I don't really know how things will ever work out.

I told Suzy that I was sorry for the way I treated her and that she was the one girl I wish I hadn't broken things off with. She smiled at me, but her eyes were sad. She told me that I had broken her heart and I knew it, because I had watched it happen. She told me to just let it go, that it had happened and it's how things just are. Sometimes things are just better left unsaid. 

It's 5 in the morning and I haven't been able to sleep. I have to be in class at 9 on a saturday morning. For the last few hours I've just been laying in bed with my eyes closed and a thousand ugly things running through my mind. And when I think of Suzy and her soft heart and delicate sweet smile, all I think about is how very sad her eyes looked and I feel like a complete and utter bastard.

I don't know where I'm going with all of this, I just know that I deserve a lot of it. Being a lifetime asshole doesn't really get you much credit on the cosmic scale. I want to say sorry to the girl I use to make fun of in elementary school, I want to tell my ex girlfriend that I wish I wasn't such a dick to her, I want to mend all the things I've kicked and broken along the way, but these things are much easier to be said than actually done.

puddle wonderful

I try to wake up early every morning. Not early, early, but at least before 9 which I suppose isn't exactly seizing the day, but it works out for the most part. I spend the first hour trying to shake off the remnants of dreams in front of the computer while brushing my teeth is usually hit or miss. Then I take Emma out for a walk.  It's usually the same route for at least a few weeks before I get immensely bored and have to switch it up. But in all honesty, taking a walk through the suburbs everyday isn't exactly the essence of exploration. 

I'm usually pretty good about it except when I'm recuperating from the occasional bender. It's been raining intermittently recently. Every time it rains, the pavement on the trail I walk through will be replete with worms.  Wriggling and trying to find solace back in the soft earth, but only to be fucked on the pavement.  Once in awhile I'll bend down to throw a couple into the grass, but trying to save every one would be impossible so I just try not to step on any of them. 

When I was a kid I loved the rain. I would ride my bike through it and jump into puddles and barrel through the mud ladened fields. Tracking a wonderful mess everywhere and giving my mom the cumbersome burden of cleaning everything. I miss childhood and the simple pleasures which came with unbridled freedom and innocence. And growing up, you learn the harsh truths and realities of life. The dark underbelly of life which you were sheltered from. That evil exists in the world. No more running around naked, no more eating five bowls of cereal while parked in front of the T.V. watching Ninja Turtles, no more jumping into huge puddles without looking somewhat crazy and imbalanced, no more days of truly unplanned and unbridled unrestraint upon life. Rules and regulations, schedules and deadlines, life as I know it.

Once the rain thins and the sun comes out for the next couple of days the worms which have not safely found their way back home are baked red-black in the sun, like crispy bacon bits. And I guess it really bothered me for a bit, that there were hundreds, if not thousands of these corpses just crunching underneath my every footstep. I wonder if this would have bothered me if I were a child or merely I just think too much about such a trivial thing.

I wonder if it is possible to ever return to return to a state of innocent perception. To not think through knowledge and learning. I want to be a kid again and just not care about anything.

in Just-

spring        when the world is mud-

luscious the little 

lame balloonman

whistles          far        and wee

and eddiandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer 

old balloonman whistles

far         and       wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's 

spring

and

       the

   goat-footed

balloonMan           whistles

far 

and 

wee

-e.e cummings

If you are not familiar with any other works by cummings, I highly recommend him albeit I am not the biggest fan of poetry nor have very extensive knowledge on the subject. 

(no subject)

I don't know why I started a "blog". Merely as another creative outlet I suppose. Sometimes phrases and thoughts get so jumbled up and intertwined that I feel almost a necessary urge to expunge them from my mind, like throwing up after a long night of binge drinking.  It always feels better afterwards, no matter how vile or sordid the contents may have been. It's only with this need for this release for which I write and share my thoughts. 

I recently received an email from a friend whom I haven't talked to in quite some time. Being in an unusually optimistic mood, I opened the email with relish, hoping to find a bit of good news or at least a generic "how to do" from someone who I hadn't been in contact with for quite some time, since the subject line had been aptly titled (no subject). It came to quite a shock when I began reading the email and found that this was not to be the case, but more of a reprisal upon one of my postings. At first I was taken aback, somewhat stunned by the candid and temerarious nature of the letter.

"I know that we don't talk much anymore and I have no idea how you're going to take this but I decided that however you take it, I'd rather know I said something to you about it and have you never talk to me again than to never mention it at all."

To be quite frank, my initial reaction was that this would be an unrequited love letter, her exposing her deepest feelings to me, but that was merely the egomaniac in me. As I read further, the tone changed. From friendly banter to one of distinct loathing and criticism. She was pissed off that I had driven drunk and then wrote about it in my first post on new year's day.

"Now I know you're a young guy, and you're still in that I'm young and invincible stage. However... it's about time you knocked that shit off."

"I can't think of a single thing that is more unattractive than someone who so blatantly gambles with another person's life."

"You are not cool. You are not a badass." (My favorite line of the entire email. I could not really have said it any better myself.)

"You're an artist/deep thinker right? (Hardly) do me a favor and think deeply about whose life you are going to fuck up because you are too cheap or lazy to get a cab or call a friend."

"Grow the fuck up [...] I'm embarassed for you. I'm ashamed for you. I am shocked at your blatant disregard for the seriousness of what you did, and no doubt have done in the past."

Now, I suppose that it might appear that I am poking fun or being sarcastically whimsical about the whole ordeal, but this email did bother me for quite some time and point out some very valid things. My intention for writing has never been to glamorize any of my actions although I'm sure there is a proliferation of arrogance and self-doubt.  I merely write to write. It brings me peace. 

I take nothing back, I've done things in the past and probably will in the future that I abhor. I believe everyone has, but I simply choose to share them. To expose them really. I do stupid things, I hurt people, I have alienated and sabotaged almost every relationship I've had in the past four years. I don't really know what is wrong with me, so I write about it.  Every beautiful and dirty thing that comes along the way, because I really don't know any better.

There was once a point where I felt constricted and contained by rules and criticism and public perception. But fuck all that, it's not like I'll really be running for public office any time soon. I want to push past fear, to get rid of every shred of insecurity. To be completely comfortable in any situation, with anyone, in any part of the world.

I feel somewhat flattered that someone would actually email about a post, even if it was negative. I write for writings sake and if it at least strikes a chord somewhere, I suppose I have done my job. 

studio life

I used to watch my grandfather paint in his attic for hours. Traditional chinese calligraphy and water colors.  The rich, deep aroma from his pipe filling the room.  He was my first art instructor. How many lessons I gained watching him work, subconsciously learning the trades of the craft, hand control, muscle memory, the subtleties of the strokes.  

In some sense, I've always wanted to be a painter.  It's something that I've always loved and was proficient at. It was only fear that held me back. It is such an untraditional occupation. I was always ingrained with the belief that I would become a lawyer or a doctor, neither title which I had much of an affinity for. I see the world through paint. Lines, forms, and color, variations of blues, greens, and yellow. When I look at someone's face while I'm talking to them, I start to break down their structural features and think about how it would appear on canvas. 

For most of the work week, I am in my studio.  Sometimes, I won't speak to a single person for the entire time. Just me, the dog, and music.  I might say hello to the barista or the cashier at the market. And really I don't mind so much, it bodes well with my usual antisocial habits.  Like many other kids, I started out trying to replicate comics. Particularly Wolverine of the X-Men because he was badass. You don't see people trying to make a film about sissyboy Cyclops. 

I consider myself tremendously lucky to be chasing this dream. I'm still extremely flattered when people like my stuff. I have to give a shout out to all the friends who have been there from day one, supporting my shit. And the only real thing left to do is to keep painting and upping the skills and the paper stack. To paraphrase Krink owner Craig "KR" Costello "Getting props is a young man's game, I'm about making making money and supporting a family." And I couldn't really say it any better than that. 

I've always done art of some sort throughout my life. I used to paint dog portraits back in college. I had a few pet stores that had me on commission for my pieces, but it was still a side thing just as a hobby. I love being in the studio. The toxic mix of spray paint and oils, a cup of coffee and my pack of cigarettes. My mom bought me a box of gas masks and I think it is a good idea to use them in the long run. Losing track of the hours and forgetting about the world, the hunger in my stomach because there is another hunger that has taken its place.  It drives deeper and yearns harder to be heard and satiated. 

I'm new to the game, but the goal is to keep pushing forward. To go past the pain and the doubt and the insecurity because there really are no other options. 

death

I've been preoccupied with death lately.  He lingers on my mind and won't let me alone. He comes back once every few years, mostly in dreams. Before I left Taiwan, my paternal grandma fell ill and had to be rushed to the hospital. I've never been fond of hospitals, even though for the most part, it's a place where people are nursed back to health. The doctors said she somehow broke her leg.  She's been paralyzed on the entire left side of her body for twenty odd years due to a stroke.  The whole business gives me trepidation.

My family visit the hospital at all hours, everyday, just so that my grandma is never alone and for the few hours she is awake, she'll have someone to talk to.  When she is awake, she'll at least maybe recognize a smiling face.  For the most part, the only sound in the room is the soft buzz of the television and my grandma's breath, raspy in sleep. I wonder what she dreams about, if her dreams are still lucid. Both my grandparent's have alzheimer.  They recognize me maybe 5% of the time.  

My earliest memory is being fed by my mother by one of those rubber tipped spoons. I'm not sure if it was an actual memory or just part of a dream, but I had to have only been two years old.  How completely helpless are children. They completely at the peril and care of caretakers, not only for physical needs, but subsequent upbringing.  Sometimes people fail miserably to say the least.  I guess that's the state in which my grandparents have reverted back to, but no longer learning, rather expunging a lifetime of experiences. Needing someone to hold them while they walk, telling people when they need to use the restroom. My grandpa still asks for my grandma daily, even though his mental capabilities are spotty at best and I figure that is what love is.

My father has driven out to the hospital at least twice a day on top of his job and other obligations just to see my grandma who sometimes doesn't even remember who he is anymore. He rushes back and forth from home so that neither my grandpa or grandma is never alone for more than a few hours.  I can tell that the stress is wearing him out, but I figure that is what love is.

My mother lost her own father seven years ago. My own art mentor and the person who inspired me to chase my own crazy dreams. My mother will still tell me stories about him and how he escaped communist Chinese capture in his teens to the island of Taiwan.  How he met my grandmother and their life story. She still visits his grave out in the countryside when she can, and I figure that is what love is.

I've always imagined myself dying young. Always in some hapless and haphazard accident because that's just the way I've lived my life. I'm still learning I suppose and trying to figure things out. Learning about life and all the beauty and tragedy that comes with it.  And I suppose that I'm wrong about a lot of things. That I still have a lot to learn and all the things I've not yet seen and still have to experience, because I'm not ready to expunge.  So for now, I figure death can suck on my balls.

we're driving out of the city.  my uncle is taking us out into the country to do some fishing at his friend's pond.  it's good to get out of the bustle and craziness of the city.  maybe one day when i'm ready to settle down and ready to take things a little steadier i'll move out into the country. but i couldn't imagine it now.

we drive an hour north of kaohshiaong.  no buildings in this town are taller than four stories, it's a change from the skyscrapers and slick public transit systems.  there aren't many people on the streets, we run red lights because there are hardly any other cars.  not everything is rural though, we stop by a 7 11 to pick up some provisions, beers and snacks.

we spend the entire afternoon fishing for tilapia,  we are using whole wheat kernels as bait.  i don't catch any for the first two hours, but the beer is cold so i can't really complain.  it's still been drizzling intermittently the last few days, but the weather is good and there is no breeze.  

whenever i come back, one of the first things people ask me is whether i've got a girlfriend back in states.  i've always answered no and when they ask why, i just say that i've no need for one.  that i just don't want one.  it seems to be a bewildering circumstance to most people.  people place such importance on relationships here, as if a girlfriend will make me happier.  i just haven't hit the stage where i want to settle, to be safe, and responsible and all that. i'm just still too much of a man child. 

my dad's been wondering when i'll be getting into another relationship, he asks me if i want to meet his friend's daughters or if i want to get introduced to any girls. as if a forced awkward social situation would really make things better. he thinks my life is too crazy, i tell him maybe it's because his life is too dull.  i've just always figured that a concept as ethereal as love would just happen.  maybe not to everyone, but at least to the lucky few.  i've never believed that it is something you have to work at.  but maybe my ideals of love are a little quixotic. and maybe i'll just end up dying a bitter, lonely, old man.

after the first hour i start getting bites like nobody's business.  i would drop the line and hook a fish, drop the line and hook a fish.  it was starting to get so easy it felt a little bit like cheating.  i could've stayed out there for days. we fished until early dusk and packed up our things.  i started to clean some of the fish, but my uncle said that we could just save all that for tomorrow. we head out to a local restaurant which served japanese/taiwanese fusion food.  the restaurant cooked up some of the tilapia along with their own dishes. the weirdest dish had to be the deep fried pig intestine. my uncle brought a bottle of 18 year old glenfiddich, single malt. i can't really imagine how life could be any better. 

i met a girl out here in taiwan last week and we went out to dinner a few times. she was really into astronomy.  she asked me my sign and started telling me about the personality traits.  i've never really believed that sort of thing.  she said libras have fleeting hearts. i had only known her for less than two days and she was trying to tell me who i was as a person.  she said that libras are flip-floppers who have striking dualities.  i told her that astronomy was for bored housewives and hippies.  she said that libras hate criticism, probably due to low self-esteem and insecurity. i don't say anything because i don't know really why i decided to take this date in the first place.  

after all this time and all this running around, i think i'm just still trying to find a deeper purpose.  to make something of all this mess. and maybe i'll find it and maybe i won't.  all i know is that sometimes life is beautiful.  and if one day all things go to hell, i know that i'll sill be able to find myself a nice body of water and fish all day.