[this book...this freak of a book...i mean, i just cannot
believe what i'm reading when what i'm reading is this book...]

"'if a little walk's going to kill your
desire, you might as well not have any
from the beginning.'"



"all of us are dreaming."



"'but if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow,
everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn't
it?'"



"'the pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring
the future.  in truth, all sensation is already memory.'"



"'...at the time i decided not to force myself to judge anything.  if
the flow is there, i figured i'd just let it carry me along where it
wanted.'"



"...it felt pretty good to be walking around wherever he wanted in a
place he'd never been before.  he always enjoyed walking anyway. 
a marlboro between his lips, hands stuck in his pockets, he
wandered from one main street to another and down various
alleys...some parts were lively and crowded, others deserted and
deathly quiet."



"'hegel believed that a person is not merely conscious of self and
object as separate entities, but through the projection of the self
via the mediation of the object is volitionally able to gain a deeper
understanding of the self.'"



"'my grandpa used to say that things never work out like you think
they will, but that's what makes life interesting, and that makes
sense.'"



"people need a place they can go back to.  there's still time to
make it, i think.  for me, and for you."

so these are the days of dissolution, continuously confusing, andendlessly beginning and ending, over and over again.  amen. what was the point of it all?  i had everything that our cultureof being under the all-consuming-mass-media-conglomerate-uberstructuralinfluence could possibly mean to implicitly promise to anyone with thesheer force of will, the moxy to really believe they deserved it. weare all rockstars.  we are all gods, morality andmortality equally optional.  and whatever part of that i might have continued tolack, i was well on the way to achieving, just so long as i continuedto agreeably, blindly buy in.  and, man, was i buying in.

but all along that predetermined path, i was wracked with the faintestinkling of the possibility of the notion that i had, quite simply,forgotten something.  it was very much the same feeling i alwaysleave home with, its magnitude increasing with the anticipateddistance.  tap all the pockets, account for all the totems;keys, wallet, phone, cigs.  but wasn't i still forgetingsomething?  hopefully, as the day went by, it'd turn out to besomething insignificant, the neglecting of which wouldn't conclude in anynegative outcome.  that's the normal feeling.  this feelingwas the same, only on a scale of lifetimes versuspockets. 

if only i could have shaken the feeling off, everything would havefallen into place.  at least, that's what i'm supposed to bethinking at this point, if only the corporate machines had had theirsoulless way with me.  fortunately (and, trust me, that's a wordthe choosing of which was hard coming), because it was such afundamental something that i had been neglecting, it caught up withme.  it caught up with me in a fierce and wreckless fashion (somemore objective observers might even say "spectacular"), but it caught upwith me and tore my life very dilligently asunder.  i was forced togather the sundry remains, mash one piece into another, place a thirdastride, and then lash the mess together with a fourth.

and on that most uncertain foundation, i rebuilt my life.  ofcourse, it was more of a reconstruction than anything else, based uponwhat had stood before, and borrowing from any and all availablesources.  but it was new and it was uniquely mine, and for thosetwo qualities alone i already loved it. 

but still, what is thepoint?  after all the reformulations and reiterations of the past,what is really to set this one apart?  if anything, the obviouslesson to learn is that everything changes, most of all, the self (ifsuch a thing even exists).  but if that is the case, how cananyone establish a truly stable life without compromising on thefreedoms that allow the maximization of that growth? 

uhm, i think i'll just cut it right about there.  the koreans havea phrase for that, like they're always embarassed for having gone ontoo long.  or is that also just me?

[full moon over parking lot]

remember my tree?  the one i'd see from my balcony?  it seems, in
the absence of the tree, i have been given something for my loss. i
have to wake up early for work, but now i get to see the sun rise:

every evening a sunset [no photo].  every night, something like this:

okay, so maybe most nights are a little less, uncommon than this.  i
have to admit, this exposure caught me off guard.  not much to look
at here, but you should have seen the actual night sky i took it from...

figurative tapping.
grammatical accuracy.
a thousand kittens, lapping
at a thousand bowls of
fantastically colored tofutti.
spastic, relastatic relativity.
graffiti spattered as a fat
asthmatic mathematician
eats zitti off a plastic platter,
secreting antimatter tatters
of battered puff-adders
and secretly shattering
mirror-like beasts of
completely complacent
obesity.

that's okay.  i just read it too.  think of it as diarrhoea
(from now on, it's all about the accepted, yet seldom used
spellings--yeah, i still like me some dictionary.com) of the blind
mind.  and then not so much, as i go back and edit in all the
punctuation that i know i was thinking, but didn't want to stop to work
out until now.  now.  now all i have to do is find some nice
middle ground between this post and the last, and maybe throw in some
actual content, meaning, and/or a message.  and/or not.

glistening wet asphalt; highbeam headlights exposing relentless,
sweeping arcs of rain, sleet, or snow, depending on the altitude--wait,
make that "elevation," falling down and then sharply towards the
windshield (stroked faithfully by blades of unfathomable polymers),
their trajectories tracing exponential--or would that be
logarithmic?--curves; meteorological models of our relative velocities
through the night.

scanning the modulated frequencies when our cds started failing to
please us, the roadside shoulder freezing right up to the trees which
were, at the time, bare of any but the hardiest leaves, we sped--at the
most appropriate moments, with just the couple/few
exceptions--along  interstates and business loops and the
occasional, dimly, if at all, lit routes.

caffeinated beverages were consumed at alarming rates, both
fluid-ounces per day and miles per hour; fast, junk, snack, and even
smart foods eaten repeatedly--no lessons learned about proper
nutrition, the lack thereof, or the effects of either on the digestive
system of the physically exhausted human animal.

too many commas?  improper usage of the semicolon?  sciencey
stuff not "quite right?"  check my spelling?  my math? 
words decimated in paragraphical bloodbaths of hit-and-miss,
hit-and-run, run-on sentences?  perhaps just precisely too much
pretense?  or more broadly, a general lack, a not-enough-making of
sense?  wondering where all the rules and niceties went? 

my grandfather (my father's father) died a few years ago at the ripe
old age of ninety-something.  i didn't cry.  i guess it was
because i felt he had lived a full life.  my father cried at the
ceremony.  it was the only time i've ever seen it with my own eyes
or heard it with my own ears.

my grandmother (his wife, my father's mother) died just over a month
ago.  this time i cried.  i cried when i realized that i
would never get to ask her about her life, and what she knew of my
grandfather's, and about their life together.  when my grandfather
had died, i guess it didn't matter so much so long as she remained to
answer my questions on his behalf as well as her own.  but these
were the grandparents i'd grown up with for the most part here in
california.  somehow, having known them even just that little
(there was a massive language barrier between them and me) makes it a
little better...

my grandfather (my mother's father) just passed away the day before
yesterday.  it was stomach cancer that finally got him.  he'd
been "dying" of it for the past two years.  i guess i had him
figured for dead already because when the news came, i didn't
cry.  but then i heard my mother's voice over the phone, getting
quieter and quieter until she wasn't talking at all.  i asked her
if she was coping well enough and she broke down, told me she had to
go, hung up the second i whispered, "okay..." 

now, my mother, i've seen and heard cry before.  not often, and
never frivolously, but once or twice because of me, and more
specifically because of my lackings or weaknesses.  but every
time, regardless of the cause, it has always, consistently, totally
broken my heart.  this time, though, it wasn't my mother crying or
my father's wife crying.  this time it was my grandfather's middle
daughter crying.  but instead of being frightening like seeing my
father this way, it was strangely, painfully beautiful.  and so,
as these thoughts were forming for the first time, i cried again.

today i wept for unconditional love as the sun rose.  there were
only so many people in this world that loved me that way because i was
my mother's son, and as i inch towards my own demise, it seems the
number shrinks faster than it grows...

just another fucked-up, late-night/early-morning brain-fart, 6:59am

i don't know how this keeps happening.  i didn't even play
counterstrike...yet.  damn.  i was supposed to sleep in
preparation for the day to come.  instead, i just spent the last
hour or so, boneheadedly crafting this:

"What can i say
about jen
that she hasn't already
morse coded herself?" 

she eats inappropriate things,
smells her fingers
at inappropriate times,
and inappropriately misappropriates proprietary properties,
properly and approximately
causing cases of proximate cause casually,
because of perfectly pert portions of partly
pornographic productions
(read: casualties)
that come
with holographic instructions,
naturally,
and without half a dozen formalities
like some of the more fucked up hollywood personalities
(read: comic-tragedies).

constructions of creatively
proportioned partitions of potent potions
and constructively destructive,
noisome poisons make enjoining reasons
in the rancid season: 
portent of rampant malfeasence.

green tea/zen
=jen,
internet resident and denizen,
resultant of a unique cultural blending, 
lending oblique resonance
to a performance for both women and men,
inclusive of "all them."

poems then send gems
beginning endlessly again,
blessed when the best bastions
of bastard battalions
burst the borders of the boardmembers
and white "masters."

the roster boasts "longer-lasters,"
aka, korean american, or "k.a."
politically-active fasters,
stronger,
horizons vaster,
working hard to avoid
and/or avert further disasters.

~geekYfaLsetto