| a girl named Emily |
[Jan. 30th, 2012|02:11 am] |
Oh god. It doesn't take much. Three beers drank hastily. I am a little inebriated.
I was in Hell's Kitchen this evening fielding a call outside of my downtown zone. I took the train from West 4th street to 42nd street, Port Authority and rode my bike up to 50th street. Afterwards, I had no calls, so I lingered on 8th avenue. I walked around the corner of this place called Talia's and was looking inside at the decor and saw a pretty young blond girl sitting with two other ladies. The place was dark, but I noticed her looking at me. As I turned the corner she waved at me, so of course I waved back. I didn't immediately presume that it was someone I knew since I had my hood up and didn't feel particularly recognizable. But at the last glance I thought that it looked like the girl who worked at Saint Dymphma's on St. Mark's Place downtown. I've had a passive crush on her, in fact. So I had to go back and check, but of course with my obsessive compulsive self consciousness, I couldn't let it be too apparent, so I waited a while before I doubled back to check again. She saw me and we smiled at each other. Suddenly I felt really self conscious, but I couldn't leave it alone. I walked my bike up the street a little ways and then walked back to the restaurant. I initially did not want to go in and interrupt this girl if she was having dinner with her friends, but drinks were a different story. I feel like you can walk up to anybody having a drink with anybody else, it's the sociable thing to do. it turned out that they were indeed actually just having some drinks and as I walked in to join them, or at the least say hello, they were walking right out the door and spared me from having to enter the establishment. I introduced myself to her friends and hung out for a minute before letting her say goodbye to her friends as I fetched my bike. As she walked off, I passed her on my bike and my better sense got the best of me. I rode back and hopped off my bike to walk with her. For two years she has served me brunch on a weekly basis and we never knew each other's names. Her name was Emily. Of course. We walked all the way to Grand Central and took the train down to union Square. We then walked to St. Dymph's and I had a drink with her. It was a little awkward, what with her working there and mingling with her coworkers and whatnot, but I managed to have a drink and bid goodnight. I rode down to Orchard street right below houston about 8 blocks away to have a couple more drinks. I often have a drink after work, but I don't usually actually drink after work. 3 drinks is plenty enough to do the trick. Besides that, I practically slammed them, due probably to my anxiousness to get home. I'm always a little anxious to get home after riding relentlessly around the city all day. I miss my dog. |
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| haiku #1 |
[Jan. 7th, 2012|01:37 am] |
The moon is near full.
Up late again.
I am finally tired. |
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| Oct. 20, 2011 |
[Dec. 21st, 2011|02:49 am] |
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The ends of my days are often much like the beginning of my days, the way I tend to remember them like dreams and then let go. Tuesday wasn't too eventful; I began the work-a-day shift reluctantly as ever. I bought the coat I had been saving for, finally, now that we are on winter's doorstep. I also scratched the itch I've had to duck into the dark mysterious building that stands at Houston and Lafayette, the doorway to Soho, the Hollister store. I have no particular allegiance to the brand, in fact, I don't think I even own any of their clothes besides a silly t-shirt I scored from a thrift store for a buck. When I entered the building, there was some sort of techno-christmas music on and before me was a dark corridor that opened up to a back room behind a set of flat glass slab staircases rising three stories high. I couldn't tell what level I was even on as I wandered around, surrounded by sweaters and jackets and repetitious patterns strewn on shelves that stretched around every wall, floor to ceiling around tables with piles of more folded clothes. I didn't mind all the clothes, it was like the world's most extensive walk in closet, but with questionable taste. I found a pair of sweatpants on sale and struggled to find a cashier to ring me up. I regarded the purchase as my admission to the fascinating building with its chandeliers pulled up on the top floor to hang in a manner where you could actually walk around them. Talk about elegance! The simplest things manage to amuse me. I find more interest in museums that don't boast themselves as museums. Even the sales people, mostly girls, gratuitously, were all dressed in outfits, uniforms almost. The girls wore those short plaid skirts that I'm crazy for (who wouldn't be?). I can't remember what the fellas wore. What else is one to do on a winter night in Manhattan? I'm not much for shopping, but I felt good about my new purchases. Especially the jacket, now that it had begun to drizzle. My old coat was balled up in my backpack with my new Hollister sweatpants. I hopped on my bike and rode downtown to see Jen. She's a really cute Asian girl, I presume Chinese. She works in the fashion industry as a PR. We hung out for a little while and flirted a bit, but we're just acquaintances. I asked her if she'd like to get together later this week, but she told me she couldn't in a way that I felt was more honest than a rejection. I didn't press the issue, or search desperately for a date, but left it to chance as cooly as I could and bid her goodnight. I rode up to the lower east side and had a drink with the boss. He goes on and on about my video resume. He loves it, shows it to everybody as an example of what he wants. I want to tell everybody to simply forget about everything but yourself for once (ha!) and go at the camera full force, immersed in your ego, pour it out and then let it go. I have no idea what he wants to do, but I did my part and that's that. I got on a train back home at one o'clock in the morning. I hadn't been tired, but I could feel that time soon approaching. The train went express to 59th street and then announced it would go local up to 145th street, my stop. Great. I got home to the apartment quiet as usual. Roy would probably be in Oklahoma by now. I took off my coat and put on my new sweatpants and made myself some green tea. Tomorrow would be another day. I haven't even checked the weather yet. |
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| learning to love through the abstract |
[Dec. 20th, 2011|11:50 am] |
My sister flew to Brazil yesterday, making her second trip down there in as many years. My dad sent me a text a couple days ago requesting my presence on Christmas day to be spent with just the two of my parents and my grandfather. I declined. My mother and I went to Lincoln Center last week to watch a performance of the Nutcracker, our undying tradition. Chris and Theresa will be spending Christmas with the in-laws, little nephew Fletcher's first Christmas. Gef and Wendy will also be spending the holiday at the alternate family with Ike and Evelyn. If I am to have a lonesome Christmas, I may as well be alone. I am waiting on a new year.
I woke up early, having fallen asleep out of boredom the night before. Adam and I had gorged ourselves on Domino's pizza as we finally got his brand new x-box up and running. Kerianne had given it to him as a Christmas gift. How sweet. In return, she got a pair of yoga pants. So while Kerianne gyrated her legs in various Pilates postures next to us, her milky white breasts all cleavage hanging in a halter top, Adam and I got stoned and played video games. It turns out that he's a practiced gamer after all, blowing the hell out of aliens in Modern Warfare 3 while I died each time trying to orient myself. Still, I'm more gratified to have left with my third straight victory on the chessboard.
It was still early by the time I left, just past eleven o'clock pm. Kerianne had already gone to bed and Adam had to be at the coffee shop he worked at by 6am. I walked home and read for a little while, then fell asleep. I woke up at 8, took a piss and went back to sleep. I gathered two extra hours before rising reluctantly. The extra sleep allowed me to recall the dreams I had more clearly than usual. Adam had been in it. I remember being jealous of him toward the end as he stood with his arm around a girl I wanted to be with. The girl was Hanna, Kerianne's friend in actuality, but it wasn't specifically her. I had been in bed with her earlier in the dream, not sexual exactly, but intimate. However, there was always something keeping me from having what I wanted. All my subtle fears would surface, not to directly attack me, but they would stand between me and my desires.
When I woke up, I gathered the sweetness of the images to preserve the sensation as I warded of the reality coming into focus. Regardless of the obstacles and the anxiety present in my dreams, they didn't feel like nightmares. They might have been more nightmarish if I had been in direct conflict with my fears, like falling or in not having my homework kind of dreams. The dread of returning to the actual world of consequences is actually always picking up right where I left off, a continuity that isn't established in dreams. Even in daydreams I am biased by existential circumstances so much as to not defy them, but rather be tied to them in my deliberate mental evasion.
I ground up some frozen coffee beams, sticking a bent fork spoke in a tiny slot where a button used to be, and wondered if anyone was home at all. They could very well have come home after I fell asleep. Roy is leaving for the holidays today, going to Oklahoma. I'm not clear on Crista's plan, considering she avoids me like a misanthrope. It might be nice to have the place to myself a while, but I am beginning to miss Coconut, as much of a relief it is to not have the responsibility. I figure after the holidays blow over, I can plan a visit to Maryland. As much loathing I have for that place, I've developed more of a social network there than in this city. Maybe it's the traveler in me that can muster more relations in passing than in staying. Maybe it's the dreamer in me that clouds the world in beauty and angst for me to learn to love through the abstract. |
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| early resolutions |
[Nov. 29th, 2011|03:10 pm] |
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November has never been so sweet on the east coast regarding the weather. I've taken advantage by taking my bike out on the days where my jacket keeps me warmer than I need. I know as everybody knows what we can expect to be in store for the upcoming winter. Besides the climate, I feel like this winter I can make truly different for my third round with it in New York. Who knew that I could manage to hang on this long to the big city without it shaking me. I've been through nothing but rough patches, and I blame all my angst on my environment, just as I had in Hawaii, but I know it is all internal strife at this point. I don't know what happened three years ago, but three years from now I hope to look back and have none of that matter. It is a new day and I feel different. I am not 100% and probably far from it, but time is coming to reap a hearty harvest this year. Thus, I have begun my resolutions for 2012. My writing must begin with my reading, so it is absolutely necessary that I immerse myself in literature from the beginning. With Emily's kindly, I don't see why I can't read a book a week. Unless it's one of those 1000 page novels, but I doubt I'll be getting into any of those. After all, I sure as hell don't intend on writing any 1000 pages book. Why would I not just make that into 3 different books? Anyway. I will also finish writing and recording Mary Ocean Yellow. I will publish Lonesome Paradise. Furthermore, I am officially switching my instrument of choice from acoustic guitar to piano. I suppose I'll be playing "keyboard" for all intensive purposes. I want the piano in every song I record now. I am in love with the sound, but I am a lousy player and can barely read music. I can read music, but very slowly. I can play, but I need lots and lots of practice. Finally, on my list is the goal I've been working toward this whole time. Move to Oregon. Or Washington, whatever. It can happen, but I am not sure how or when. I am not there yet. I am not here yet. I will be ready to leave when I am ready and there is no substantial criteria for what that is. I feel like I am headed in that direction and for now that is good enough. |
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| the Thanksgiving day blues |
[Nov. 26th, 2011|02:59 am] |
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Time presses forward as I lie in wait, for what, I don't know. I watch it like a child with his face pressed up against the glass looking at the street lamps in the night time thinking that it may just be the right time for just about anything. I remember years passed as my nephews and niece and extended families become a reality that I am more and more distant from no matter how close they are to me. It is not a matter of love in doubt at all, but a relation issue. I spent all my time soul searching and know now less than ever who I really am or what I want and yet my own family, so perfect, so strong, seem to have known themselves all along, and even seem to have an impression of me that I can only hope I've presented in a better light than I really stand. It's been a long thanksgiving break. I, for one, am grateful to be here no matter how hard it gets. |
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| the damn dog. |
[Oct. 16th, 2011|11:53 am] |
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I cannot do my yoga in peace. I do my yoga for peace, first thing practically. But there is a dog that stares incessantly at me. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but to me, I cannot create a space for myself to ease into my day with while it is being pierced by anxious canine eyes. Every move I make, every where I go and every word I utter is absorbed by this creature and usually taken as an invitation to take a walk outside, even when we just went. That wasn't the case this morning, but I needed 15 more minutes that my dog apparently didn't want me to have. It's no secret that I don't even like having a dog. I don't think anyone could deny that I love her, especially for all I do for her, and I do it for the most part alone, except for when I take the occasional trip home for a day or two. Even then I'm not so sure she's so well taken care of. I can't imagine anyone else here getting up and walking her so devoutly like I do. And that's my true resentment, that I do not have a consistent hand in assistance for her. Maybe Roy takes her along with him now and then. Still, I cannot wait to send her to Maryland for the winter and have my life back. One more month until Thanksgiving. I can't wait for once. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 30th, 2011|11:50 am] |
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It seems safe to say the dog days of summer are just about over as we move towards the dog days of winter. The days are shorter; the nights are longer. Even the routine of the shifting seasons is not one that I'm ready to settle in with too terribly much longer. Every day, I wake up reluctantly with no recollection of dreams had but for an abrupt return to a mundane, eventless life. I take a shit, I brush my teeth, then I go out to the living room and roll out my mat to do a set of 5 sun salutations (that used to be 10 in Kauai) and some other short poses that I don't even know the names of. The whole time, my dog watches me stretch and breathe into different postures while she waits anxiously for her morning walk. Walking the dog is usually the last thing I do at night before I go to bed. Irresponsibility is not really an option for me. So I know that it's a matter of time before we head out and she knows. |
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| presentation |
[Sep. 18th, 2011|01:16 pm] |
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It's high noon on a Sunday, I've been awake about an hour and have already been asked for two favors. It seems to me that I don't exactly have any friends until they need something. Adam Brown has moved in down the street; we haven't spoken more than a few passing conversations in the last year, neither before or after he'd gone to summer camp. I figure it to be a full blown case of Yoko Ono syndrome. I'm getting better at being alone, being on my own and doing my own thing, just like I used to have to do on the road. There are many lonely times to be had, and thus far I believe I have been better for it. I do not believe I am better off alone, but I believe in the power of engaging solitude. These are the times I have been most creative. Along with my creativity came a sense of understanding myself and what is actually important to me. Through my music and my words and any art that I embrace to express myself I invest myself with that which I believe in. Hope and love are incessantly recurring themes. Perhaps one day my collection of music will inspire me to live by my own words. To inspire anyone would be the highest achievement desired. In my life, this has been accomplished throughout worldwide travels of endless fascination when I believed in what I felt and no less. I hope to draw from the past for a new future of once again believing in a creative revolution called love. Love MUST be there, the love must already be there before anything will come for it. From time to time I feel like this can be be true, it can happen and everything will indeed take its place. Walking up 8th Avenue yesterday, I was looking in the faces of the passing pedestrians when one of the responded, interrupting her own phone conversation, "My God, you are absolutely gorgeous!" right at me amongst a sea of gorgeous people! I kept her eye contact long enough to smile at her and then carried on up to 14th street a little lighter than before. I had been feeling a little better than before, and in each of our own cherished anonymity in the crowds of the city, we can be noticed, and we will be seen for who we are by exactly how we are. After all, I take in a million profiles a day thinking the best of the brightest ones. Surely as the rich get richer, the good gets better. I have not wasted my time on this planet if I emerge at any point the person I want to be. I have not felt assured of myself the past couple of years, but time is not for dwelling. I can be competent and confident when I introduce myself as my best creation, presentation. |
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| Pot pie pondering |
[Sep. 18th, 2011|01:19 am] |
I place a pot pie in the oven from this morning's jaunt past the local market on its last stretch of the season before putting the final touches on another track for my album which is also on its last stretch of recording. I opted out of my company's 6th anniversary party despite feeling obligated to make an appearance. My first obligation is to the welfare of my puppy dog, Coconut, waiting for me every day to return; every morning, afternoon and evening she is waiting patiently for me, her everlasting caretaker. It is the most I can make of my love if it isn't some sort of sacrifice on my part. I'd miss it all if I wished at all that I could have things that I don't really want. I know there are things I don't have that I truly want and worse I know why I don't have it and still I struggle with myself to turn around and rediscover grace. It's been a while. My consolation is creativity and I'm beginning to gain ground on my projects. I think perhaps it could be a catalyst to break me out of my shell by gaining a sense of accomplishment, as novice as it may be. And I can keep doing it for a long while! All the songs I've written over the years accumulating! It is all that I imagined that recording could be for me.
With this, it's all I'll say for now I guess. I get so exhausted just thinking of all the things I have to write that I think perhaps it will take time. I think it will take time for the stories to be told. |
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