(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.

New Years Eve

First of all, I hate how there are a shit ton of daniel chens.  I have never been able to get "dchen, d.chen, d chen, dan chen, daniel chen" or any other shortening of my name as username.  If I could fistfight all the Daniel Chen's of the world to the rightful title and usage of my name, I would.  I hereby challenge all those nerds to a tournament of fist fighting, I'm sure I could probably get to the semi-finals.

  The weather has been overcast and it's been drizzling/raining throughout the entire time i've been here, which makes it kind of hard to walk around since i am vehemently opposed to umbrellas. It's nice walking around in the rain sometimes, even if it's of the "acid" type, due to all the pollution from industry.  

I woke up on new year's eve around 7 30 am.  I would say it's due to the jetlag from travelling across the pacific or the fact that I passed out at 9 the night before.  I finish reading "Haunted" by Palahniuck which I had read once before a few years back when I was on my Palahniuck binge and I still didn't like it.  In fact, I haven't liked his stuff in years since now I just think he's just pushing shit a little too far for pushing shit's sake.  I was pretty disappointed by the novel as a whole, but I guess a few short stories in there weren't so bad.  It's 9 30am by this time and my mom knocks on my door.

"Come out to breakfast with me and your dad."

We stop by this little Chinese kitchen that we always have breakfast and stuff my face like a fat boy.  The bill comes out to $3/person.  I wish this place would become a franchise.  My parents drop me off and they go out.  I go back up to my room on the fourth floor.  It's pretty sweet having my own room out here, albeit no cable television or internet connection (i'm on my mom's mac), but i guess in the end that's probably a good thing.  

I decided that this vacation wouldn't just be plain debauchery and procrastination so I bought a few brushes and water colors before I took off on the 27th.  Just the primary colors and white, just to get back to basics and not let my color mixing all go to shit.  I would post the pictures, but macs are stupid and don't have memory card slots. Get working Steve. My first two attempts were pretty shitty, but after a while everything clicked and  started to flow pretty well.  Adding a new medium to the arsenal is never such a bad thing anyways. 

So i'm doing that for a few hours until about 2pm in which time a.d.d. kicks in pretty strong and I feel an urge to get the hell outside and do some walking around and exploring.  I get the backpack and the krink pens and head out.  I walk about two blocks down and find a hardware store, on display is an arsenal of spray paint. i buy four cans and put them into my defacement survival pack.  life is good.

I take the subway out into the downtown area of kaoshiaong. i have no idea where i am really headed but not knowing where you are and then trying to figure it out is half the fun.  I get out of the subway and figure i'll just walk around for about 4 hours until i have to meet my family for new year's eve dinner which is at 7. I decide that I want to make it to a bar that I always frequent out near the docks called "the pig and whistle", since it's the only English/American style bar out in this city. I've spent many early morning smashed as fuck at this place since i was just a young impressionable adolescent.  There are a lot of foreigners and douchebags alike, at least they play football on sundays.

I stop and ask people on the street how far it is.  They tell me it's across the city. I tell them I'm going to walk there.  They look at me like I'm an idiot.  I guess people in this city don't walk very far.   I keep trying to look for places to tag, but the entire city is teeming with people and besides the one or two quick shitty pen drawings i have time to throw up, no public art gets accomplished, at least not for now.  

I get to this pretty hip little neighborhood full of cafes and boutique shops and try to figure out where all the young kids are going for new year's.  I head into into a trendy little shop and go through some clothes a sales girl comes up to me and we start talking.  Salespeople out here will walk around the entire time with you while you are looking at shit.  It gets a little bit annoying.  I guess if she had been a little bit cuter I wouldn't have minded so much, but she was going a little heavy on the mascara and she also had in fake eye color contacts.  That shit is not attractive.

A lot of guys in Taiwan are really into shopping and buying clothes and being trendy and all that.  They will go to stores together and try on clothes and ask each other whether they think it looks good or not.  maybe they should just take it to the next step and start holding hands.

I walk out the store and walk onto a street i'm familiar with.  I'm about two blocks away from my tattoo shop. I know the owner pretty well and figure i'll drop by and say hello and see if he's got any new shit i might want to get inked on my body.  We chat for a bit and I show him some of my art and he tells me i should get into tattooing.  I am giving it some serious thought. Anyone want a tattoo?

His new assistant is pretty hot, but i think he's banging her and she could use a few hamburgers.  Speaking of hamburgers, I'm pretty hungry by this time and could also use a few drinks.

I walk about 20 minutes further south and finally get to the bar.  I'm the only person there.  I have about an hour so I sit at the bar and order a whiskey soda. I've been having a lot of whiskey sodas lately because i just finished reading "the sun also rises" by hemingway for about the fifth time.  Now i just have to go watch a bull fight in pamplona.  The bartender keeps talking to me and i don't feel like being social so i pull out "catch-22" which i bought at taipei 101 two days ago, i never figured it would be so hard to read a book at a bar.  I have four whiskey sodas for $9 since it's happy hour, buy one get one free from 11am - 5pm. Tits.

I call my dad and figure out where they're going for dinner, I'm late. I hop a cab and head out.  My dad made reservations for a pretty swank place, high society type crowd, not a hot chick in sight, I am a bit disappointed.  Dinner is spectacular and i eat til capacity.  Nobody in my family drinks much, so i have a few mint julips.  We're suppose to attend an event after dinner in their banquet hall with entertainment, whores d' voures, music and all that after dinner. it's about 9 30.  The thought of watching crappy belly dancers and a cha cha band doesn't bode well.  I'm uncomfortably full from being a pig dog and my buzz has worn off. I tell my parents I'm gonna go out for a walk.

I head down along the dock for a bit and finally find a construction site.  There's a bunch of people out still. I hop the fence and walk behind a foundation wall so nobody can see me and get to work with the spray paint.  It's the first time I've tagged a crane.  I go at it for about an hour and head back out to the restaurant.  I've quenched my yearn for crime and it should probably hold me for at least the next day or two.  

I get back and my uncle John has just arrived from another dinner party.  He's a pretty big drinker and we order a fifth of scotch whiskey, it's on the house after he makes a few calls. It's good knowing people in high places.  I get sauced.  The entertainment is bad, but at lest i'm hanging out with my family.  

I've never really made a new year's resolution.  I've always thought is was stupid as fuck when people make some trite resolve.  "being better to family, quitting smoking/drinking, being nicer to people, etc." What the fuck is so special about new year's in which you have to make these promises to yourself.  Couldn't you just do that any other day of the year? If you want self-improvement, just fucking do it, don't put it on your public blog just so that you can feel good about yourself.

And this is going to be a tangent, but I also hate people who write about their religion or evangelize on the internet.  No one cares about how much you love Jesus.  Sorry.

After the countdown everyone wants to go home, but i'm drunk and feel like going out so i get dropped back off at the pig and whistle for some much needed late night carousing.  It's pretty packed downstairs and i need to make it back home so i stay off the hard stuff.  Strictly coors light for the rest of the night.  

I start talking to this Canadian girl, who's teaching english.  Every fucking foreigner out here is teaching english.  At least all the one's not in suits.  We hit it off pretty good and she says she is going to kiss me for new years.  Strictly closed mouth business, I figure i have never been with a Canadian girl before and maybe this could go somewhere.  We start talking about sports and i let slip that watching women play sports is boring.  She gets irritated. She asks to change the subject. I ask her how she feels about Americans.  She wonders if I really want to know. I shake my head and smile.  She says Americans are assholes. I tell her I'm chinese American and she walks away. Me ftw.  

The rest of the night is pretty hazy, but somehow i end up talking to these two girls who are about to head out to an after hours bar.  They invite me along.  One is cute and the other one is pretty haggard.  I just really wouldn't mind the free ride home. I ask them what time it is, 4 30. We leave the bar and head out, turns out the place is closed.  One of the girls takes a cab home with some dude, the ugly one drives me home.  Except she says she's too hammered so i get behind the wheel.  I've heard that a DUI out here costs $3000 but no jail time.  I'll take the risk. 

Miraculously I find my way back to my dad's house and say good bye to the girl.  I might have accidently given her my number.  But I've been handing that shit out like candy lately, hopefully she won't call.  I go to the 7 11 down the street and get some food, it is delicious.  I am glad that I woke up in my bed this morning and not passed out on the couch for my whole family to see and denounce.  I hope they don't think i'm some kind of degenerate, but who am i kidding anyways.  Happy New Year.