the architect

i frequently dream of conjoining rooms,
some are attached by eccentric hallways
some are grandiose, some succinct
often bounded by walls of concrete
labyrinths?
perhaps.
but they are NEVER dark...

and stairs
always those goddamned stairs
i start on the 3rd floor,
get to the 27th,
take the elevator to the 54th,
run down to the 6th
and only twice have i ever managed to make it to the roof.


sometimes i dream about a mall
god, if only i could recreate that structure!
the negative spaces in that place are like cubbyholes
the light emanating from stores are blurred, sort of like a bokeh effect;
and another mall
perhaps 6 stories tall
almost entirely composed of glass
no escalators, just winding flights of glass steps
and yellow-amber lights reflecting and refracting in a glass elevator.

i dream mostly of places i've been to,
morphed, distorted, recreated
they're renderings of an inspired, dormant architect
a 3-D virtual reinterpretation of my living experience
but they differ just enough such that i can (re)discover these constructed places.

perhaps the best part stands in the fact that
i can glance away from these rooms,
and when my gaze returns,
...
they change...

free association 1

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thoughts on direct/indirect realism and an absolute universe (rough draft)

the question of whether or not the mind perceives the universe as-it-is has been debated for some time. but my view is that while the mind can (and does) perceive the universe, it can't do so directly. senses are particular systems that have been "programmed" to work a certain way. the information they receive is sent to the brain, and our conception of things are formed in the mind. the information is direct and of the universe itself -- the processing and "making sense of" it is an interpretation of this information.

but this isn't to say that, since illusions are possible, one should deject the existence of the external world entirely, even when assuming all information one receives is false. if there were no external world then there could be nothing to perceive at all because our bodies are formed of it (and our bodies contain a brain, which hosts a mind, which does the perceiving). to put it differently, there would be nothing to explain one's very existence.

my conclusion: the external world exists objectively, but we cannot perceive it directly since we exist within and are formed of it. (the idea of anything containing itself in some way is nonsensical: one would have to be greater than oneself to do this -- a violation of the law of identity.)

punchlines and dodging punches

something i might have written as an adolescent...

i sort of take pride in my ability to express self-pity. i make sure i beat everyone else to the punch. yea, i know most likely you don't understand, but it's a conditioned defense mechanism. i can do it quicker than a boxer throwing a jab, more cunningly than a left hook, and more forceful than a haymaker.

but on my better days, i'm defensive; i'm confident, rigid, and immovable. i have a "fuck you" mentality that isn't compromised by petty accusations and personal attacks. and i admire that me. i want to be that me all the time. he's sort of like the big brother i wish i had...


~~~


how many of you have seen fight club? well, i still remain skeptical about the validity of dissociative personality disorder, but i guess i can identify with the main character to some degree -- or main characters, rather. but the difference between the narrator and myself is that i was never surprised to find out that i had another side; his creation was intentional.


~~~


yes i'm fucked up, but who isn't? you can't sit here and tell me with a straight face that you've never looked at the guy staring you back in the mirror with that smug expression, wanting nothing more than to beat the living shit out of him. or maybe to have him beat the living shit out of you.

ha. i'm beginning to believe more and more that my life is a dark, surreal comedy whose punchline i'll never get...

the pseudo-resurrection of Schrödinger's Cat

a while ago i had posted a nonsensical, superfluous attempt at a logical persuasion as to why i shouldn't be concerned about my seemingly impeding decline in mental stability. condensed, it went something like this:

P v Q: i may or may not be crazy
P -> (R ^ (R -> S)): if i'm crazy, then there's nothing i can do about it, so i should pick up the "fuck it" mentality
Q -> (U ^ (U -> S)): if i'm not crazy, then i'm stressing over nothing, and so i should still pick up the "fuck it" mentality
(P v Q) -> S: regardless of my stance on my own sanity, i should pick up the "fuck it" mentality

lol

so basically, since P and Q occupied the entire universe of discourse (and are mutually exclusive), what i was trying to do was deduce the arbitrary necessity of S.

i deleted that post when someone close to me told me it was nonsense. basically, after the hint that it was bad, and then my prying to know just how bad it was, i deleted the post out of embarrassment. but, what it took some time to realize, though, was that this is my blog, and although the post actually WAS horribly written, i shouldn't have been ashamed. i had written what was on my mind at the time, which is exactly what the fuck a blog is for. i was actually a bit shocked at who it was that treated my anxiety about my own sanity as trivial, perhaps dismissing it as a twisted narcissistic manifestation begging for a release -- or whatever the hell it was she was thinking. i'm unsure exactly what they all thought when they read it, but the reaction was clearly blatant amusement.

what's actually funny is that the saying "crazy people don't know they're crazy" is thought to have come from someone who is sane -- however, if the statement itself is true, then the coiner himself could very well be in denial...

The constant influx of information and why i reject certain apocalyptic theories

I was discussing the topic of the end of the world with a friend of mine not too long ago. He appeared relatively neutral, but a little more toward the side that proclaimed "yes, the world seems to be coming to an end because of all these natural disasters and political conflicts". My stance, however, was that these "impeding doom" ideas are simply perpetuated by the massive increase in access to information we now have that was far more limited even as little as 20 years ago. I know you guys don't want to end up reading another long article, so I'll make this brief.

Think about it: before the internet, we relied on television and the radio for info. Before that, people communicated via telegraph; prior still, letters were hand delivered -- discovery and harvesting of electricity only began about 200 years ago or so. But what we seem to forget is that natural disasters have always occurred and will always occur, and the same goes for conflicts between those in power and the people ruled by them.

Ok, I'll start with disasters. [1] Among the six earthquakes with the highest death tolls recorded are the Damghan, Aleppo, and Shaanxi earthquakes, with respective casualties of 200000, 230000, and 830000 -- all three occurred before the 17th century AD (years 856, 1138 and 1556 respectively); [2] four of the ten floods with the highest death tolls took place before the 1700s; [3] and four of the ten worst tsunamis ever recorded happened before the year 1800 (four tsunamis that occurred after 2010 are ranked eleven to fourteen). Please note that I say these are the "highest death tolls ever recorded," meaning that there could have been disasters that happened so long ago that there was no way for anyone to list a definite death toll -- in fact, I'm sure this was the case. The fact that many of the disasters that top these lists are said to take place after the 1600s to me is just further evidence that societies have gotten better at recording these events. And it's common knowledge that those things which are recorded stand the test of time best.

It is known that Chinese Philosophers who lived and ruled between the 6th and 3rd centuries BC frequently quarreled over differing Philosophies and often spoke of political conflict. Mengzi even alluded to the idea that, although it is the ruler's responsibility to lead the people in such a way that is in accordance with moral code, if the people overthrew an incompetent ruler then it need not be said they are in the wrong. To put it another way, if the people felt that a ruler was not doing a good job, then the idea of overthrowing him is permissible. Another well-known example of political conflict is the American Revolutionary War that took place between Britain and its 13 colonies. That is a clear example of rebellion against those in power, so I won't go into detail here.

All in all, my point is that natural disasters and political uprisings are not new events. It only seems like they occur more frequently now due to the recently rapid growth of global communication. The fact that I could go online this past March and read about the tsunami in Japan or turn on the tv for live coverage of Hurricane Katrina back in 2005 only means I had easier access to that information than I would have for the Shaanxi Earthquake in 16th century China. This alone is not sufficient grounds for believing the world is coming to an end.

Bibliography:

[1] http://www.infoplease.com/ipa/A0884804.html

[2] http://www.epicdisasters.com/index.php/site/comments/the_worlds_worst_floods_by_death_toll/

[3] http://www.ranker.com/list/the-worst-tsunamis-in-history/drake-bird

sometime last spring

he ran his fingers through her hair as she talked, her head on a pillow, the pillow on his lap.

he sat there on the couch and listened. it was late (or was it early?), and he was dozing off, but he fought the urge to give in. as she unveiled her anxieties, he told her she shouldn't worry so much about what other people were thinking. he wanted to keep running his hand across her head and to tell her that everything would be fine -- but honestly, he himself was unsure that it would be. in the back of his mind, he was hoping she'd get tired because, well, he was exhausted, and wouldn't have been opposed to laying there and falling asleep with her.

but that was months ago. and still to this day he finds himself wondering whether or not he knows for sure what love is. but if it's noticing that the only thing he wanted at the moment was for her to cease even the slightest bit of suffering as he witnessed her innermost thoughts; if it's wanting to hold on to the point in time where, though he hadn't known her for even a fraction of a percent of the time she's spent on this Earth, his very presence was enough to make her happy and forget about how awful she felt for most of it; if it's realizing that he wouldn't hesitate to trade his own life simply for a promise that she'd never desecrate herself ever again -- then he just very well might have fallen for her that night.

and as the bitter cold of autumn's dusk engulfs him, he stands on his porch, looking past the fallen clutter of amber and frozen statues of brown, up at the sky. he's reminded of spring's slightly less bitter dawn; he's reminded of the stockings she wore and her skirt swaying gently in the breeze; of her anxious words and erratic, single-sided discourse; of her longing eyes hidden behind glass and her stirring soul trapped beneath those eyes that were once exposed to him -- will he ever see her again? he finally surrenders to autumn's brutal warnings and retreats inside, deceased bits of flora in tow, seeking refuge from the violent storm to come...

alone in a nighttime cityscape (previously "a requiem for synecdoche')

i walk aimlessly,
through spaces which,
although not occupied by buildings,
are filled, nonetheless.


amber lights
from tall, lanky lamp posts;


tired engines bubbling past, while
taillights trail a half-second behind;


hazy silhouettes of slim, steel staircases
cast by dim neon lights;


traces of faint cigarette smoke
tainted by the frigid, brooding autumn breeze.


as i look up at the indigo sky, that's when i realize
i will never feel more at home with this
luminous, atmospheric, post-industrial labyrinth
keeping me company;

but
at the same time,
never could i feel so...

leaving wonderland

i stand here, motionless, letting the water run down my back and over my shoulders. i reach behind me and turn the knob counter-clockwise, slowly, letting the increasingly hotter specks pelt my skin, like hundreds of little bb pellets leaving indents wherever they make contact, until the sensation becomes uniform. i wish i could just stand here in the heat...



stand - not with things called muscles contracting as a result of electric signals being carried through a nervous system originating from a brain that is fated to natural deterioration sometime within the next 60 years;

in the heat - not under a shower head releasing water and steam that was subjected to conduction via hydrocarbons stripped from the earth and ignited to produce an excess of greenhouse gasses;

here - not on the 2nd floor of a university apartment located 20 miles from my hometown on a vast continent in the western hemisphere of a planet that's adept at assembling atoms and molecules in such a way that life comes about via a concept we call 'emergence'...




sustained ideas of things with no meaning -- ideas of things restricted from being integrated into the mind -- are what some philosophers call "isolated phenomena." in this state, they produce a sense of wonder. undeniably, time can (and maybe it always will) be one of these things.



ever wonder why we were so carefree as children? it's because we were naive; we didn't understand anything, and didn't care about trying to. that's how children are. every thing was an isolated phenomenon; every thing brought about wonder. yes, 'every thing', not 'everything.' but man, i wish i could traverse this arrow of time and stay locked in an arbitrary moment of 'back then'...





time. one of the mind's last uncharted territories. definitely the most sacred wonder. i think i should turn off this water and take a step back into reality. this is the one thing i need leave unperturbed...

aloof

i know i seem distant to people who know me, and just quiet to those who don't. i guess i've always been this way. as a kid i was so eager, so curious as to how the world and everything around me works. i still am, though often it may not show. i was also a bit outspoken and kind of a know-it-all.

but somewhere between then and now, i guess i wasn't too happy with the answer that i demanded of my question-of-everything. somewhere between then and now, despair crept up on me -- and in turn, i frantically started trying to figure out how to fix this million piece puzzle that i call my mind. somewhere between then and now, i discovered that i don't accommodate for change as easily as i thought i did; and somewhere between then and now, i've spent a long time trying to figure out how to construct this fort high enough and complex enough for me to see over while remaining secure behind it. and now, i'm stuck trying to figure out how to dismantle the damned thing...

in a post i wrote a few weeks ago i said i didn't know how to love. i said i wanted someone to show me. i wasn't sure that anyone ever had, despite hearing those eternal three words from family members and from my then-girlfriend. but what i didn't realize is that i was too busy trying to build that fucking wall to notice that if i had been around the right people, i didn't even need one. i was too busy trying to keep from having anyone upset at me. i'd gotten adept at putting up filters on my personality to try and keep everyone content with me because somehow i thought that doing so would keep me happy.

i didn't need anyone to show me how to love; they were doing that all along. what i think i needed was for someone to remind me...

enticed by your glance (revised)

borne by chance

luminous

silent

calm, gentle

unbroken

just for a few seconds,

just long enough to make me feel...

lights nigh, reflected

in your eyes

locked

onto mine

i smile

perplexed, you ask

why the amusement?

no, rather,

i find muse

sent, in

the little things

in

those actions without mindful intent

which convey so much

through something

so minuscule

it brings me joy

you

are exactly what i need

just to get...

by the way, that's not something

i've been readily able

to admit

i know i fail to show it often

and, when i do,

it's obscure,

but it's true

and something tells me

you don't yet understand it

but in due time, you will

for now, just know that it's...

stolen

two said it was by an ex-boyfriend. one said it was after both her and her assailant had a little too much to drink.

women put trust in us men. they put themselves in places of vulnerability because they fucking trust us. and guys do shit like this?! what's the basis behind the need for that sort of power and conquest? i can't understand why even the thought of doing such a thing would occur to someone.

he forced himself onto her. she told him to stop and she tried to break free, but she just wasn't strong enough. my god, they were DATING. i felt so sick to my stomach when i saw her words show up on my computer screen. i hadn't known her very long; however, she was already comfortable enough with me to tell me this. her best friend stood up to the culprit when he found out what her ex did. i didn't know how to respond...

a few years prior, a good friend of mine and i were walking downtown one day after we got out of school. we had a pretty long chat -- somewhat about our attraction for one another, but mostly about sex. we came to a stop in front of the gold building, where we were waiting for her bus to arrive. she bragged about having sex with a guy for 4 hours (which i think was bullshit) and i told her that i'm sure i could go for 4 hours too (which she knew was bullshit, especially since she knew i was still a virgin back then). after a few more minutes of shooting the shit, she said it: one of her ex's had taken advantage of her, and that was her first time. she had lost her virginity unwillingly. i was speechless. all i could do was hug her, and a part of me felt out of place doing so because, well, i'm a male. why didn't she hate me? i mean, it's not like i was the one who did it to her, but i couldn't understand why she didn't hate all males after that. and why did she choose to tell ME? who else had known about it? this may sound stupid, but that was the first time it was brought to my attention that this shit doesn't just happen in some twisted story at the movies.

fast forward quite a bit, and i'm laying in bed next to a friend, talking about any and everything that comes to mind. we'd spent hours that night discussing our friends, our relationships with them, our aspirations, our achievements. i don't think i have ever felt quite as at ease talking with anyone else as i had with her that night. i don't readily disclose whatever's on my mind -- save what's on the surface -- but i felt comfortable enough laying there with her, letting our conversation go wherever it wanted to go. and, eventually, it went somewhere. she told me that she and an acquaintance were both a bit too drunk when it happened. i don't think i broke eye contact with her the whole time she was telling me; i don't even think she blinked. i ran the back of my finger around her eye and down her cheek, feeling that any more contact, even just a hug, would be inappropriate. i knew she felt alone while she told me, and i'd never felt more helpless. all i could bring myself to do was spend the next half hour trying to convince her that being drunk and a bit flirty didn't mean she deserved what had happened to her. she'd actually thought it was her own fault.

it's hard knowing that there's nothing i can do to compensate for what someone else took; it's even harder trying to understand why these women confided in me particularly. but what i do know is that it's shit like this that makes me so fucking cynical and detached from the world. i send my condolences to all those who were ever raped or taken advantage of in any way. please just know that it's not your fault, that nothing can ever justify having that stolen from you which, you, as a woman, as the creator of life, should be free to share or conceal...

journey

The Neptunes are my favorite music producers. i don't know how much Chad and Pharrell each contribute, but i feel like Chad doesn't get enough credit. i do know, though, that Pharrell has this vision that can seem hard to anticipate. there's this otherworldly sound to the synths with a rythmic trance-inducing drum beat on many of their tracks; also, the name of their group is Star Trak, which is undoubtedly an allusion to what happens to be one of my favorite sci-fi series.

but anyway, every now and then i just lay down, relax, and turn on a track. i tend to picture myself -- glancing out a window of a spaceship, perhaps? -- at these formless bodies containing an insurmountable number of colors and lights. my mind provides the eye candy; The Neptunes provide my ear candy...

i think "down-to-earth" is the last term i might use to describe myself. and without intentionally playing on the pun, but there's nothing i'd love more than to just round up a few people, hop on the nearest space shuttle headed to the other side of the universe, and take off. imagine the exhilaration that comes when you realize you're starting a long journey and the mindset that the destination is just too far away for you to give a damn about arriving...

"birth happens at a single point in time, just as death does -- but the line life lies on is infinite..."

Love Is Not...

i've lost the capacity to love.

or so i think.

i have a select few people i can trust
and talk about anything with.
i have some that allow me to be ridiculous and crazy
just like they are.
i have a few that i can have a deep conversation with
who won't look at me later like i'd said something unthinkable,
and others i've only met once
but have had an incredible night with that i can never forget.
i've known some whom i've fallen out of contact with
and there are some that i've been smitten for;
a few who've taken an interest in me
and others who were simply careless.
i've known pessimists, optimists,
realists, dreamers,
idealists, thinkers...
i know some who will never learn
and some who are quick to change sides when the shit hits the fan.

and yes, if anything ever happened to any of these people,
there's no doubt that i'd be devestated.

but haven't you ever noticed
that we hesitate to euthanize those who want to go?
we can see it in their eyes that they suffer...
but what is it that stops us from pulling the plug?
is THAT love
or is it the selfish desire to keep them in our lives?

i wonder,
is it really possible
to feel compersion?
to truly be happy for another human being
when they are happy?

it seems like most of us are self-indulged --
selfless acts done simply to gain another's praise,
and to feel good about ourselves when we do.
or, for some, to buy our way into heaven.
personally, it pains me to do something completely selfless,
and that's brutal honesty.
it feels like a part of me dies
every time i do;
but i keep doing it... why?
beats the hell out of me...

what is love?
is it feeling depressed when someone close to you dies,
instead of being happy that they no longer have to suffer
through this thing we call life?
is it feeling like you can't maintain
when your significant other seemingly abandons you
instead of understanding that they didn't want to stick around
and end up hurting you?
is it a feeling of duty when you give birth to a child
knowing that you've given life to a helpless being,
knowing that you must do all you can to protect it?
is it an immense appreciation for another's company
or an obsession with the way they make you feel
whether or not they are around?
somebody please tell me,
what the fuck this thing we call love really is...

or better yet,
somebody please show me...