Because I had to, and because you don’t know me.

With a swift ninja strike, she hit me right between the eyes. Two prongs, two sentences, and she ripped through the bullshit. Abrasively upfront and without pretenses, and completely uncensored, this loud mouth girl asks, “What’s the matter? Are you still hung up on your Ex, Baby Boy?”

Under normal circumstances, I’d welcome that breath of fresh air. But it wasn’t that she was REAL and that this was her being her. There was a take it or leave attitude, with a hint of bitterness. Because I’ve met REAL people. My closest friends, those that touch me most, they’re REAL. This girl is caught wanting; she is something else, a Pretender. It’s common rule, etiquette, not to put people’s shit on blast, but she didn’t care. She was drunk, and her powers of observation was use defensively in attack. One word after another after another, her sentences blasting away. First at me, then at my boy.

For sure my mindset wasn’t right. In lack of clarity, a conspiracy arose unintentionally undermining me and breaking the bonds of trust I held so dearly. Choosing to see me as who I was in the past instead of who I was now in the present, brought on a wave of demons that surges over me. In that moment, I was a broken little boy. So with what little power remaining, in calm and collected fashion, I held on as that burnt ambiguity between buzz and sober on the nasty side of the fritz, fizzled and died. I would hold on until it gave. I turned to my breathing. I removed myself from the happening, and alone on the balcony seven floors up, I breathed. I just breathed. I made phone calls to some people I know I could turn to, but those attempts failed leaving me not wanting to reach out any further. This was me alone, and I would have to face this so.

“Do you ever feel like you’re the only sane man in an insane world?” I asked a friend who was too intoxicated to really respond. Instinctively, she knew to hug me. That’s why I like her; she is REAL. Maybe not all the time, but when it counted, you knew her heart was in the right place. “Or maybe I’m the one that’s crazy, and everyone else is insane.” She reassures me. What else could she have done? Was there really anything else that I wanted?

Under normal circumstances, I would not have been so vulnerable. But battling an addiction is tough. Battling your own demons and insecurities is no picnic. Battling them both on the DL during a social party is like walking on glass. Then this Pretender blasts away. Yeah I get it. She’s festive and enjoying herself. She wants to keep it REAL. Than why blast at me and deflect? Why cutoff my boy mid-sentence and call me out like you have the right? Because you're REAL doesn’t give you access to drag my shit out into the light. Because you have a partial four-year shrink degree doesn’t give you the right to stab at my wounds. Especially since you don’t really care, nor do you want to solve this mess. You just want to exercise your prowess. Yes you’re observant, and yes, you can get into my head. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should. You’re instinctively good at what you do, but your defenses just did some damage. Ethics and etiquette, perhaps pretenses, but sometimes that’s what being REAL is. It’s to know what the situation calls for, that your energy was conquering that it smothered that flailing flame and hushed that lonely birthday candle is tragedy.

And I do what I do best. I take it on the otherside. “I just want to save this microcosm of a world, and I can’t even do that.”

Greatness is Aggregate

They don’t teach you confidence.  It’s like trying to teach power, or love.  They’re all allusive.  They’re easily gained, easily lost, and you’re left wanting. 

* 

One thing that got me through the LSAT was the road ahead.  Before, my first time at bat, I struck out because everything, my entire future, my life, my entire meaning of existence, was riding on doing well.  The pressure and the anxiety were unbearable.  I swung wildly all the while with knots and butterflies in my stomach.  Doubt clouded my vision, and I kept looking back, second guessing.  I struck out even before the exam began. 

This second time around, I had both the luxury of hindsight and the prudence of foresight on my side.  Did I do well?  Who cares?  What I can say is that this exam had not and cannot beat me.  It never will, because life is not all about make it or break it moments. 

I mean there are those moments, and you know it when that time comes.  Your fundamental character and the course of your life have changed, and for better or worst, it was a defining moment.  Yes, they exist and stick out like mile markers, but life is on the road.  It doesn’t only exist at these markers.  It is in the driving from destination to destination.  It is the entire journey, and it is a daily adventure.  On this concept, it is inline with the baseball allegory. 

Take a look at baseball player’s batting average.  These numbers indicate the number of hits over the number of times a batter steps up to the plate.  The greatest career batting average was .366 held by Ty Cobb.  In fact, in today’s baseball season, batting above .300 makes you an excellent hitter.  Baseball is one of the great sports that you can measure today’s players with that of the players of the past.  I digress though.  The point of significance I am trying to make is the actual batting average of .300. 

In any other arena, a .300 is entirely unacceptable.  Can you imagine if that were your college GPA?  But in baseball, batting consistently every season at .300 makes you excellent.  Do a little better and you might achieve greatness.  Think about that real quick.  That’s aggregate.  Do well each day and maintain a consistency.  Do a little better, and over time that accrues to greatness. 

I may not be the best baseball player.  I probably never will be, but that doesn’t stop me from being the best person I can be.  The LSAT doesn’t stop me from attaining that goal either.  I just put one foot forward and do good each day.  I follow my footsteps the next day, and the next, and day after day, until someday, one day, I achieve greatness. 

feedback/comments?

10:00AM - the phone calls pour in. Josh's responses were, "I'm sorry.” "Have fun.” "No Thanks.” "You know, let me get back to you." All excuses. Mornings.

Something's changed again. Now he's looking at his monitor and he's wondering why despite so many invitations, he chooses solitude. No one chooses self condemned solitary confinement, right? Well, that's not true. His junior college psychology professor would argue these people exist in multitudes. There are those who choose to lock themselves away, who withdraw from society.

It wasn't like this before, but now Josh can't shake what his professor said that day. "Despite what we may consider reasonable engagement with life, that's contrary to what the disengaged mind is inclined to accept. They withdraw, and all rationality justifies their reasoning no matter how ridiculously isolating it may seem." Josh had remembers his neighbor Ben. The old cook was rarely seen outside is apartment. Ben hadn't shown up to his Laundromat gig in ages, and the orderlies keep filing up. Eventually, the subsystem created a machine to replace the workload, but the macaroni and cheese was never the same. Not the way ol' Ben made them.

Still, Ben never left his room. The newspaper came ever morning. By late evening it vanished. Josh remembers that at the time, various odd noises came from Ben's apartment. The S.Ync Module was on all the time. Ben though disengaged with society, was still engaged via S.Ync Module. The contradiction was why Josh ventured a daring question in class for his psychology professor. "Why would someone who is disengaged with society remain engaged to the S.Ync Module?" There was a snicker of laughter from elsewhere in the lecture hall, and there were plenty of eyes rolling. Still the contradicting actions and paradox, according to Josh, didn't make much sense.

"Well, Mr...err?"

"Weebler." responded Josh almost intuitively. Why did he say Weebler? Why did he choose ol' Ben's last name.

"Yes, Mr. Weebler. You pose an interesting question. If you were to look at it, I suppose those actions do seem contradicting. But you must remember why we have the S.Ync Module in the first place. The module is vital to our social fabric. Without it, how can we ever truly know what is going on with current events. Without the S.Ync module, how could we feel as others feel? Thus the irrationality behind disengagement. Despite how these people rationalize not fulfilling their social obligation, they must be considered irrational and acting selfishly and childishly. If they truly were to disengage, from all society, they would turn the S.Ync Module off."

That last sentence gave rise to shock and horror amongst the students.

"That's blasphemous!"

"How can anyone turn it off?"

"It's vital for life. For society!"

Josh sat there looking to his left and right. He made faces of disapproval and disgusted emotion. He emoted, as he should in the situation, like everyone else. From then on, Josh recall thinking of ol' Ben as that Crazy ol' Ben. The glow of the S.Ync Module in the evenings could be seen seeping under the apartment door. Crazy ol' Ben's brightness adjustment must be out of wack. Crazy ol' fool probably turned it on full blast.

Now, something's changed again. Outside, Josh realized that it was night again. While everyone sleeps, the changes creep. His S.Ync Module discusses the recent tragedy and how our great nations people must feel. Emote emitters disperses various signals, but Josh feels nothing. Outside the city lights turn off. Something’s changed again. People are asleep; there is no need to waste excessive energy.

Josh got up from is form fitting recliner. It felt like he's been sitting forever, his entire life. Putting on his dark denims and a black hoody, he grabbed his key and spring assisted jagged edge knife. No more sitting. As he stepped outside of his apartment, he and Ben nodded at each other. They locked their doors and were off into the darkness.

They didn't speak as the walked. They made little noise. Josh just followed Ben. It was instinctive by now. He remembered when he was filled with question, when he was filled with uncertainty. Something's changed again. The glow of various S.Ync Modules shifted colors. Secondary units filled the streets cleaning and rearranging. Ben and Josh kept to the shadows. They took dark alleyways and crawled through sewage ducts. They climbed various lines and connecting belts. All the while silent.

Josh remembered when the S.Ync Module played animated toons on Saturday. He felt like he was in them now. They made their way up twelve city blocks near the train tracks. There were no passengers as everyone is now sleeping, save the hooded world. The trains still ran, but they were carts filled with parts and subsystem secondary units. Turning to Josh, Ben spoke in a low commanding voice. "We're taking the train tonight. Saves time, but dangerous. They don't stop, so we're hoping on. You have you knife?"

Josh nodded.

"Good. Do as I do. Use both hands, and cling on. When I let loose, kick loose you knife and follow me."

The directions were simple, they always were. In the dark, you listen to the man who can see. Ben sees the darkness all so clearly. On the adjacent building, Josh made out two hooded figures at least, but he could not see nor knew their intentions. "Pay attention, Josh, the train is coming. Do as I do." As the trains hurled pass them, Ben took a step back to gain momentum. With two steps he leapt from the edge towards the speeding train. With both hands he drove his knife into its back and was attached for the ride. Josh did so immediately not wanting to loose his friend tonight. There is no more defeat. Though not as graceful, he managed and clung for dear life. It was a rush. The darkness swept by, the various glowing orbs, S.Ync modules, and secondary unit lights blurred out of existence. Ahead, Josh could see Ben riding high and free. As they traveled more city blocks, Josh began to wonder how much longer it would take. His grip was yearning and his body was now cold. Despite the near death part, his heart was racing mad. Josh liked that feeling. Always with his eyes on Ben, Josh noticed a sign. Ben was kicking the train. His blade was loosening. Rides over, time to go. As the world sleeps, something's changed again.

In his shadow.

In his shadow, we cower for fear of upsetting his precious harmony. There's a balance of sorts, a system, but in actuality, the mechanism broke down years ago. Now we play mad hatter and sip pretend at the grand orchestra. We're the wind the strings the percussion. To hit the notes he wishes, to fail and fall short of his grand design. Behold the master of his own company. Dare not to upset the system.

There are faint whispers in the hallway. They steal away to kitchen and behind closed doors. There's talk and empathy. In his giant gallant stride, we scurry. We take his lead and follow suit. Like tin soldiers we walk to his beat. There will be no war games today, but maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a quick turn minute. His musical whims vary and flux in instances. His will and no other.

Fell an angel from his graces. Fallen too many from such great paces. Still his orchestrated vision cannot be undone. For every dissonant note for every mutiny, he deals but one swift cut. This is his house. Through the ether, his baton slashes it out of existence. There in its wake an empty shell to be filled by music or left forsaken.

He wields and wields and now he shoots flame and fire. In his wake, they tremble. He stamps his foot and lets it burn, together or none. The house shakes. It's foundations rumble. Under his word, in his honor, they will all go up in flame together now. Faster and faster he slashes his baton.

Now lose voice and make no drama. They whisper no more. There is no talk. Scurry now and hurry now or left behind and be slashed and burned. Stay close and keep pace, dare not step into the light and remain forever... in his shadow.

The Asshole in the Mirror

It's only 11:30something, as I use to call it

Now it's late.  I'm too old for this game.  To which response, J.H. might say, you gotta play in the game first... (before being too old is the assumption).  

It doesn't take that much anymore, just a little is enough... and now I'm flying...  I want so much, but wanting is not enough... if it were we'd be less for want, and more for not.  

It's not what homo?... it's only what? what you make of it?... you weren't listening, kendo is a pass, but you weren't listening... that part of your life you can keep, because I'm walking off.  That's all you, and I'm happy you got the babies to lay with, but for me, I got my own nursery.   I got my own rhymes... rhythm... and blues.  

Now I'm numb, to the world, to you.  Just a little taste, just a little more, I become a burden... so I walk my ass home, but at least I'm numb to you.  

How do I say, I don't want to be here, this is a fucking set-up without sounding like a *&(*%$#?

Because it is.  I told, you before the many many weeks you been bringing it up.  Now I'm telling you again... that part you can keep.  Me?  I have my own thank you.  

You inevitably sound like an asshole, and I accept what I might sound like to you.  That's just it though, what it sounds like to you... it's how you hear it... it's how I want to be heard.  I'm sorry I sound like a *$(*%$#.  It sucks to be your ears right now... but deal with it.  

---

We held hands...

---

Underneath a table, side by side, my hand found yours. I played with your fingers and then eased them, yours and mine between each other. You gripped my hand, and I knew you weren't going to let go. Not now, not ever. We we made eye contact what was brief to anyone who noticed, but was an eternity for us. You slightly smiled and turned your attention towards our friends. It's been long since I've seen everyone, it's been long since I've seen you... but my feelings remain the same...

This conjured image so warm, based on life, and based in dreams...

I awaken. A lot can change in ten years. You might not even recognize me anymore.

---

I've been sick all week.

---

Maybe it's the air quality, though in truth, I was careless Monday. The extreme temperature between A/C and non A/C environments couldn't have helped any. Not drinking enough water doesn't help either. Drinking hella alcohol doesn't help either... seems like poor choices for a supposedly grown man.

---

"I may grow old, but I refuse to grow up"

---

So someone once said.

I still dream. Somewhere I got the idea that growing up would be like not dreaming anymore. Like waking up to the cold hard reality of it. Life just takes hold... and you stop dreaming. I wasn't far off... I hadn't dreamt in ages... I mean really dream. The longing wishing dreaming if there was an African Goddess in heaven type of dream... shit if this was how life worked out to be... I'd have you now. You'd have me..., but then I guess that might be a nightmare huh... depends on perspective. :/ yeah... changing subjects.

---

I'm going to die.

---

Not in the immediate future if I can hep it. But in all likelihood, the odds are set against me. I'm okay with mortality, but you question the necessity of the finite if what we have ahead of us... you know where we go after... if that's infinite, why the finite? Trial & error, test & judgment. Hell I'm screwed to begin with if life's one big exam. I'm a lousy test taker... and than the whole life is one exam after another takes on a whole new scale of meaning. St. Peter and his keys to the pearly gates, and Cerberus and his three sets of piercing eyes... doomed.

Then there's the other theory... the life is infinite theory... that the cycle continues and on and on with no end... your only escape is dying as an innocent a thousand times over. Which means for the ilk that is my kind, being born a badass wins me a ticket to eternity's-ville. Sorry, man, you're shit out of luck. Questionable, many of those close to me would roll their eyes at my claim to the badass category... yeah you're a real badass alright... but I'm saying... I don't worship evil... there's just this appeal... like a completeness that otherwise defaces our value. homo superior - that is man, is not without the light and the dark. Considering our roots... murder, rape and the various incarnations of said sins a thousand times over and you get the picture. Granted man doesn't go around raping and pillaging villages as much anymore (O_O yeah as much) and we're all cultured and civilized thank Jeebus... but we do it in otherwise. We kill each others time, we kill people's dreams, we destroy identities, we steal it, we rape it. It's far removed from before... but it's still there.

Consider Man. Today's man. He's far removed as well. No longer is he tied to just finding the means of surviving... hunting and gathering... we have evolved and so has our passions for destruction. Enlightenment is fooling us into thinking we can hide the shadows at our backs... that there is no heart of darkness... I beg to differ. Accept it. There's two sides to the coin. (P.S. yeah I just saw Dark Night, and yes you should watch it.)

So there's this side to me that's light and then there's this darkness. I apart of me dreams of hopeful things, Another is all fatalistic. There's this infinite life or death or both and there's an exam.. so listen up. Enlightenment if a candle that attracts moths which you can kill for fun by plucking their wings and in which case you're going to rot in hell of be reincarnated as a moth who gets killed by having its wings pulled off... and then there's this headache... because I drink too much, all of which will probably if not now sooner, will eventually later kill me. Thank you and goodnight.

---

P.S.S: Dare to dream.

---

She taught me what a boredom boner was. She taught me what it meant to be imprisoned by love. Love... I loved her before I even knew what it was... There's love in the Light..., but there's also a darkness about it. Like our souls, like our hearts... there's no escape. Save but then in my innocence in which I knew it ass pure and as white as a thousand supernovas collapsing into itself. And all that energy released and loss and brought back into itself. Love gives endlessly, and I'm there left never the same again. Someday I will find you again... I will tell you how you changed my life for the better... that had you not bribed the fake sheriff to put me in fake jail, I'd never have this feeling that was so real. So I can't die... not yet, not into I see you again.

So we gathered, not knowing what the future holds...

We're all at crossroads.  That much was certain.  In the past, I would have driven the 300 odd miles to connect those common threads... weave ourselves together and retell those old tales.  In the past, I would not have hesitated to say, "Tomorrow, picnic?  Okay!"  

I missed the faces tonight.  Superbitch's house warming: I waited eagerly anticipating the event more so than anticipating a summer blockbuster.  I knew it would be special, and it was.  Understandably (hopefully), I spent most the evening in the company of old friends, not mingling and networking.  It's knowing where priorities lie, and how the future, uncertain as it is, leave little opportunities for all of us to gather in one spot.  It's become so rare.  How can something so rare as friendship, tried and true and tested... supposedly uncommon (and is, I've searched) ever be taken for granted or let fall into our past... the old stories and the old memories...

Yet, like it was yesterday, there you all were.  There we were.  I was at my lowest in your apartment.  I was at my highest.  I took you in, I fed you, and I made sure you felt home... you returned the favor... and now we're here.  For a moment, I was me again.  You took me in, you fed me, and you made me feel at home.  Tonight was so awesome, I know that whatever uncertainties lie ahead, we'd always have those common threads... these moments to remind each other, to remind ourselves, what we mean to each other.  I hope you never forget what you mean to me.

Brilliant film making... I only hope it doesn't get lost in the Summer Movie Shuffle.

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army... a review

I'm what you would call a fanboy, an osaka, if you will, when it comes to these comic book movies.  Yes, admitting such 

makes me a bit more of a dork...  than I already am.  :D

I can see the arguments about the movie being slow, but I counter that argument with the many elements and subplots that the 2nd movie had to develop.  There were two love story subplots, six character developments at least, back exposition, and than there's the technical filming and shooting of such an amazingly visual world.  I know that the director doesn't like to rely too heavily on computer special effects, and if you watch carefully, you'll see those slick Guillermo del Toro shots.  

Hellboy 2 is actually a perfect example of why I felt Wanted (2008) fell short of expectation in my previous blog/review.  (Feel free to use the google search to look for it, or scroll through my blog archive).  I think Wanted (2008) delivered the action.  It was fast paced and kept the action moving.  That's great, but the story fell through the cracks and the characters could have used more development.  Hellboy 2 is more action-adventure in that sense.  There's development of characters, and of this whole other world with it's own rich history.  See, that's what I meant by good direction.  Guillermo del Toro is able to tell us a rich story without sacrificing depth.  In Wanted (2008), the Fraternity of Assassins or Weavers could have been given much more depth, but instead there's quick surface expositions and the action starts again.  

I don't know, it's preference really.  The go, go, go works well in action movies.  And in all honesty, I liked Wanted, but that's on the entertainment level.  It's just comparing the technical capturing and delivering of a certain vision... hands down, direction goes to Guillermo del Toro.  

Other recommended movies by the director:

Another grain of sand that slips through your fingers...

Thursday, July 9th, 2008.  20th anniversary of Gordon Bierch, Downtown San Jose - Night

Cal 

"You got to let it go man, 

(a break) 

That bitterness in your heart man.  It's like the heart of darkness... oh shit, I can't believe I busted Conrad on your ass!  Shit, but really man. You got to let in out instead of all this internalizing shit."  

Cal's arms and hands try to animate his sentiment.  From his chest, they arch outwardly as in a motion of release, of giving.  

If only I had the courage to step up tonight...

Before I forget, I want to say this... You're amazingly, deception-ally, stupendously, awestruck-inally, damned if I can find the words... there's just this energy, this vibe.  We're connected.  I know you know, but it's not like we're going to let it happen.  No, not again... say, let's dance.  Why not right?  We live but once, so let's live.  I mean really live, because people say they live, but they don't mean it... not like us, not tonight... you and me, let's make fools of ourselves and think nothing of it... let's go out there... leave it out there... and whatevers... because that's life.  It's you and me and now.  What do you say?

I wonder...

how many more worthy grains of sand is lost needlessly before I realize that I am left with nothing?  Alone in my bitterness, I curse love, and with emptiness in my heart I wallow in my own self pity.  So the story goes... he who dwell on dreams dwells in misery... I wonder if there is an end to misery,maybe it's just displaced and never goes away.

Rule #1, according to the legendary Johnny S.

Don't (repeat).  Don't pick up the dropped quarters at the Lusty Lady.

"What is the Lusty Lady?" I ask.  Apparently, it is a coin operated peep show venue.  Think about it... freakin' words of wisdom, and yes... spoken from experience.  

Immediately, there was something different from the man.  Like a different wavelength, a different form of energy, radiating from him... he speaks wisdoms, yet he looks upon us like younglings... perhaps rightly so.  "You wouldn't be able to handle Vegas with me.  You need to pop your cherry several more times, before you can do Vegas with me.  It's the smutty, sleazy side, and you wouldn't be able to handle it... not yet."  

Awestruck and scared... this man has been there, done that... I can learn a few things.   

I'm so hungry right now!

I know you know the feeling.  The whole world over feels what I feel.. We're all starving, we're all hungry for it.  I'm talking about our time, about when we get our slice of the pie.  My generation's all about entitlement, like we don't have to work for our crumbs!  We do, we understand that.  Just give me something I can work with... something that pays... something that I'm good at!  I'm here, just hungry for it... I want it so bad!  When am I going to be free?  Free of this rat race, free of this forsaken place!  I need escape... I know you feel it.  I feel it.  The whole world over feels it.  Stop the hunger, feed the world!  Let's create wealth together.  

The world I want to live in...

I'll never forget my first time... playing MASS EFFECT. 

:P

My cousin J, who's known me all my life, can vouch that I take my sweet ass time playing any RPG.  The first one that I really played was Final Fantasy VII, which needless to say, blew my mind.  Yeah, I might have played other RPGs since then, but as quickly as they came just as quickly did they leave.  FF7... that was my first time, and you never forget your first.  One, you're never really over your first; I never really completed FF7.  Without using any game cheats or third party code breakers, I ended my third run through of the game in 2005 only missing one damn Enemy Skills Materia!!   Two, that was the only RPG I ever tried that with... you know, completely finishing 100%.   

The rise of wonderful graphic engines, blurring the boundaries of the real and game world, brought with it more promise.   To someone who has always yearned for escape, they offered me the opportunity to live out fantastical adventures.  Only as a child did I live and breathe those far off worlds.  As adults, we're ever so grounded.  If they told me the truth, "being an adult is like being grounded for life,"  I would have told them to take adult hood and shove it.  Serious.  Now, there's this whole stigma-type stereotype about video games and the men/boys that play them.  After all, video games are just games, so they have to be for kids, right?  As an adult, your interests should be elsewhere.  To this I agree, partially.  I've dabbled in adult affairs, and there are times I would say reality sucks... dirty, unwashed, hairy ass.  Sometimes you need to escape.  A movie helps, rocking out to your favorite beats helps, or... a video game, better yet: living in an alternate world... a simulation if you will... that helps.  

So lately, life's sucking horribly.  Not much I can do about it but keep fighting...  

My release has been this amazing world created by Bioware.   Mass Effect (2007) is deep and rich in story and in imagination.  The gameplay is sweet: the open-ended/close-ended dynamic is perfectly balanced.  I expect the replay value may even surpass FF7.  No it won't be like the first time... but it was still amazing, and I will never forget the experience.  If you have a Xbox360 or a PC that can play it... do so.  You owe it to yourself and your children's children.  one day, they will hopefully ask you what it was like growing up playing FF7 (the original) or Mass Effect (the original).  They'll be baffled at how we can called such worlds immersive and virtual.  They'll be playing in their holographic rooms (yes, like in Trek) and would laugh at the size of our supposedly "portable" computers.   Apparently, being huge in the future is a stigma/stereotype.  

You gotta love the innuendoes!

Haven't written anything in a few days...

Arrrr....!

Imagine a playing field (soccer/football),  now imagine a huge boulder.  

The culture barrier isn't so much a barrier as it is this huge boulder.  Like a giant boulder dug deep into the ground, it protrudes out immovable and always a constant obstacle.  There are ways to dance around it, to skirt by, to climb over, or even dig into the ground and burrow a passage way underneath it.  Of course that requires massive reworking of one's foundation.  You can dig and dig and unearth this stone, but where will you put it?  There is no out of the way place that doesn't make it  an obstacle, because this boulder is still there on the playing field.  Whether you move it to one side or the other, sooner or later it becomes an obstacle.  How would you deal with this boulder?  

Simple answer maybe to blow it to smithereens.  Than you'd be erasing that part of you forever, destroying that part of your identity.  Let's face it, not all playing fields are the same.  We all have our own boulders protruding stones, there may be goal posts, line markers, different players playing different games with different rules...  you get the picture.  

The tricky part is playing fair.  Knowing the differences, whether you're playing at home or away, when you play with others everything has got to be on the level...  Complicated right, because now everyone has their boulders, you can't really remove it from the playing fields, and then everyone has different rules, lines, and boundaries... no wonder the world so fucked.  

Well what if every one blew up their boulders?  Or what if we include the boulders in the game, use them as marker, and then have everyone miraculously agree on a game of choice with set rules... sound fair?  

Hey, I can dream...  

Today, I tried dunking several times.  I'm not that tall, 5'8".  I'm one or two inches shy, but that encourages me to practice and develop hops.  :D  

Please don't let me forget.

There's this box.  

I keep everything anyone has ever written, anything in which someone has taken the time to put their sentiments down on paper, on parchment, on a card, or on a napkin...  It's my keepsake box.  There are some photos in there, and they all carry a memory I hold close to my heart.  

This is the one box I'd go back into the fire for.   Hell, I'd go into the lion's den for.  No fuck that, I'd go into Hell and kick the Devil's ass just to retrieve this one box.  Why?...

There was this picture.  

I took it a long time ago in middle school.  It was way back, and I must've been eleven or twelve.  I remember this picture and that time vividly.  It was after school, and it was all ending soon...  I knew I had to take this picture...  I remember thinking... "I will never forget you.  I never want to forget this moment."  The light was just right.  For some reason when the photograph came out, it failed in comparison to that memory.  It was after all a point and click camera.  Still, I cherished the photo because it was real and not just a memory.  

That's why I'm so angry and upset with myself this entire Saturday and maybe for life... because somewhere, someplace, sometime ago the picture was misplaced.  Why would I move it?  Where would I move it to?  Why can't I remember where it is?  Why can't I find it?

I was running around crazy most of the morning.  It's the next morning, and I'm still pretty upset and pissed... and being passive aggressive, of course, I'm internalizing it.  Now it hurts... I'm really angry, upset, sad, pissed, but mostly sad. I'd give anything for that picture back... 

It was my memory of her.  

It was how I saw her than, how I will always see her.   That was who she will always be to me.  That was the photo that I was going to show her again... one day... someday.... Now I can't.

Stopping and asking for Direction...

Wanted: My first movie call out.  

I'm sorry.  I usually don't hate on movies.  I love 'em as an art, a production, a business, and as entertainment.  There is always something to love about film.  That doesn't mean every film gets an approval and recommendation.  Take for instance Wanted (2008).  It's a good film, but I wouldn't recommend it per se... I'd take into account what you're expecting from the movie.  I came in with a bit too much of expectations (over-hyped maybe?), so that has something to do with it.   

Yes, the movie is visually stimulating (and I'm not just referring to Angelina Jolie).  It's very awesome, and if you are familiar with the director's works you're not surprised.  I had no idea that Timur Bekmambetov was the director going into the movie, but afterwards, a quick www.imdb.com search later, it doesn't really surprise me.  Some movies from the Russian director are Night Watch (2004) and Day Watch (2006).  

Like these mentioned films (which I enjoyed), Wanted is very visual graphics wise, but lacks something which I'm now beginning to realize.  After the movie, I couldn't figure out what bothered me about the movie... was it the ending, the acting, what?  Reflecting on the director's style, I realize that Bekmambetov usually forces the the story along to the next action sequence... the story elements are underplayed... no not underplayed, wrong choice of words.  Hmm... the director doesn't give the audience much time to react to the emotional turmoil of the character... the scenes move quick to the next action graphics sequence(s), and so were rushed along to the next wooha scene.  

That is maybe why my most enjoyed scene would be the development of Angelina Jolie's character, Fox.  Angie's always been a powerful actor/actress, and she delivers in the movie.  I'm not shocked that she did, nor am I surprised by her decision to play this character, given the role leans towards the darker side.  The scene was slow, not much movement, lit by candlelight and the characters, Fox and Wesley, actually connecting.

Another powerful actor, Morgan Freeman, I thought would have delivered as well.  I can't understand the decision to under-utilize such talent.  I felt his character was lacking in depth.  To be fair, I think Mr. Freeman did his best with the material... there wasn't much material to work with I guess.  This I feel is the director pushing towards action and movement on screen - not so much talking heads (it is his movie, so it's his choice unfortunately).  

"It's weird hearing Morgan Freeman cuss isn't it?" - movie attendant after the movie.

I laughed all the way to the restrooms...  it's still hilarious.

I can comment on other actors, their performances and such, but I think those are best left to the viewer.  My beef is only with the direction.  

I'm not too familiar with the source material, but I'm sure there was plenty of depth there (or at least room for it)... not only was the depth sacrificed for the aforementioned visual effects, but it was also more unforgivably sacrificed for cheap laughs.  For example, ridiculous time was spent on retracing  Wesley Gibson's (James McAvoy) mundane life with his girlfriend, Cathy, and his best friend, Barry - who yes, we get it, are cheating on him behind his back.  These cheap laughs (inserted to lighten the intensity maybe) felt like it cheated the audience from character development.  

Arguably there is depth... there just isn't time to process it before moving on to something that explodes.  Unfortunate, because I would have like the movie much much more.  Watch it, enjoy it, but know that it could've been great.  That's what bothers me really.  I mean with such talent, and here I'm saying... it could have been great.  That's just how it goes with films and life; you can't win them all.  

P.S. 

James McAvoy is not the guy in Everwood (Lol!)  

Criss Pratt who plays the asshole best friend, Barry, is though.

Sometimes you're dealt the shitty hand... atleast you're still playing.

Talk about Life...

I was going to post on my other blog, Life. Love. Laughter, but it seems to fall under the Calcifer's House of "Fallen" Cards category. Ranting doesn't seem ranting is the best way to start the day. But you know what's worst?. Having to bury some dead bodies. Yeah... no joke.

I woke to chirping birds. New, because usually chirping birds mean go to sleep. Strange enough as it is, I decide to stay awake. I know, I know, but that's not the strange part.

About a month ago, I found a dead possum outside our house. It was dead and not playing dead on account of it's entrails being gutted and limbs ripped off. Regretfully honest discription.

This morning, my brother told me that there was a cat outside the house. Well, he told my mom, who told me, this was immediately after my morning constitutional, so good timing I suppose. She was like, "I can't handle this, you and your bro go handle it." Apparently, as my brother described to her another live kitten, poor starving thing, was munching on the dead carcass. O_O

...and you inevitably talk about Death.

So I go downstairs, and sure enough, this cute little bugger was munching on a dead carcass. Dead because there was only half the body. I can't help but think there's a connection. Maybe a secret possum/cat war. Perhaps there were other cats via for territory? The mystery that surrounds us...

I sorta whistled and shooed the kitten away, and it ran underneath Val, my BMW X5. It apparently stored a snack there, because it continued to munch away. Not quite sure what to do, I decided to go dig a hole in the back yard. Now I don't know if you ever tried digging a hole in the morning, I mean I was not brought up on a farm. My muscles were not warmed up; it was sad not being able to make a fist. So the hole digging failed.

I decided I would collect the carcass, while my brother can dig the hole. It was very surreal. I found myself
apologizing to a dead carcass. I brought it out back to my brother who tells me there's another one on the sidewalk! O_O

I double back hesitantly to search for the other carcass, and sure enough it was there on the sidewalk in front of the house. Except, it was a kitten that looked similar to the cute one munchin' on the half missing carcass earlier. They must have all been related because even the half carcass one had the same fur color as the kittens. Strange relations. Maybe it was like a possum mafia hit – or some other neighborhood cat wanting to off this entire family of cats.

Back to the story... I'm saying, I'm sorry and trying to not touch the carcasses luckily there was a dustpan, similar to those used by movie theater employees who have to clean up the fallen popcorn, but different, because these weren't fallen popcorn, they were fallen souls.

Carrying both carcasses with me out back in this dustpan thing, I was apologizing for using this trash-collecting instrument to carry their bodies in... sad honest truth. To my brother's efforts and accomplishment on the hole, I commend. I failed at the hoe digging, but I did put the bodies in and buried them together. That's what my brother said to do, and I agreed. Buried together is much better than buried alone... if you are going with the whole burial route.

I said a few words for these poor souls. Apologizing for not knowing them in life, and if whether I played an unknowing part in their death that too I must apologize. I said I did not know what they did to deserve such a fate, and that I hope their souls find rest in the afterlife. I mentioned the poor starving kitten, said it probably wasn't his fault that he was sooo... hungry, and that I will buy cat food and leave it out so that the kitty can eat
and not resort to cannibalism anymore. I concluded my ceremony thus, and now I'm inevitably in a reflective mood.

Think about Death... and you inevitably think about Life.

This one was two days past...

One of those …uughh… days. Woke up feeling ….uughh…

Particular reason? Who knows? Preliminary self-diagnosis suggests it has something with that high pedestal where upon I’ve envisioned my life expectations and goals coalescing in one glorious self-actualizing moment.  Take a moment, dissect that, think about it. K

Sometimes it sucks being a Playboy. :P 

What it means to be a Playboy: A Brief Synopsis

Playboys need more sleep. More than the average boy. Our hours are unorthodox; we wake 9-10 hours after we go to sleep. We’re known for bouts of insomnia. So we don’t sleep some weekends. The sleep we lose, we always make up, if not by sleeping than by taking it out on our entourage. Yes, we always have an entourage, be it one or many, real or virtual. These days, one’s entourage is only a phone call away. It’s a personal choice from Playboy to Playboy – I just like flying solo more often than not. Besides – a real Playboy doesn’t need wingmen – we’re pretty adept at playing the many roles required to woo and be wooed.

There’s plenty more observations I can give about the trade.  There’s plenty of depth still. There are many rumors still to address, but that’s for another blog for another time.

Obviously this Playboy didn’t get enough sleep… uughh…

An empty bottle, some paper, and a pen.

There she was.

Entering the cool refuge escaping the heat, half starved, blurry-eyed, tired, and slightly relieved, I saw her.  A welcoming smile.  Words escape me, and I'm ushered off to my seat.  Too late, I'll never get that opportunity again.

Said the Passive Aggressive

"Shit I get things done.  Ask him to get one thing done... he's got a ten year plan."

Go ahead, playa, brush it off...

You tell yourself... if you want it bad enough, nothing's gonna to stop you from getting what you want.  Question is: but what do you ever want bad enough that you can't come up with one excuse or another to dismiss it?

Showtime: Californication

DAUGHTER: "When does it stop hurting?"

FATHER: "If you're lucky, it never does."

Looking through the looking glass.

He sat there, intentionally positioned with his back towards the world.  The reflection in the window shows the entire world behind him.  He sees himself, eye contact, however brief, and he penetrates the glass.  Below him, in the streets, were cars.  Exotic, expensive, luxurious cars.  He wishes... he envisions... soon, soon.  

"I just need $10,000.00 disposable to start." ~ J.H.

+o+o+o+

"You and me both."

"Yeah, those were the good ol' days.  I miss you feeding me." 

"The projector was awesome."

+0+0+0+

Are we ever going to get there?

There: The space between 'what was' and 'what could be.'

I was there once.  Usually, when you're there... you have no clue where you are.  It's when you moved on that you realize just where you were.  You were there... in that moment, you were there.  

It's not regret.  No not that.  It's not even nostalgia.  It's the moment, when you're caught up.  For some, time freezes.  For others it speeds uncontrollably.  It's fluid and static.  The fleeting 'There', for once you think you have arrived... you find you're not 'There' anymore....

There is the dream.

Excerpt from my journal: The Denver Layover 

(you're in for a treat... part of my working memoir...enjoi)

Flight 409 NY to Denver

I'm confused with thoughts of insecurities... self doubt.  It's not something I can escape.  I've tried many times over... I keep looking to the future... as if tomorrow will shine better... anew day, anew dawn, where behind I leave my pain.

She sits beside me.  Her thoughts, her world.  Long lashes. Smooth tan skin.  Fit.  Her hair in a slight pony tail.  

It never stops does it?  We as a being look to the future... my mind splinters between the here and now and the yet to be.  The "what if?" is drawing me away from this tangible world.  I grow dissatisfied with the man in the mirror.  I see the boy looking back.  His hopes.  His dreams.  Will he be disappointed?  Have I compromised so much... too much?

I feel the pressures of time.  As a child I dreamt BIG.  There was no other option... "Go BIG or go home."  Reality too cruel for a soul longing for peace.  I dreamt of Castles in the Sky... I dreamt of abstract notions like Truths, and Love.

I cannot seem to find it in my heart anymore... grief stricken.  My mind has already disengaged and the notion becomes nothing more than that... a notion... a child's dream.  Autopilot.  

Just give me a reason.  I need a cause.  

Can the boy grow up ?  No one grows up...

The stories just get more and more elaborate.