...

As I go forth, I look back

The past was so much more limited and safe. Everything about the future excites me and fills me with fear. So I stay still, comfy in the static presence of the now. This is truly the lowest age of my life, because I yearn for nothing. It is a good thing the world moves along to its own beat. I wish I could hear that song; I love to whistle.

Perhaps the worst part of these days is that I sleep and do not dream.

If I see another div or span tag appear out of nowhere, I'll cut someone.

Fallen back in hate with the Internet

Yeah, I see you. Don't think you can hide in your obscure domain name. I've sat in this work-out bench that I call my computer chair for the better portion of this day, torturing my brain in the pursuit of understanding you once more. No amount of music that I love could soothe the swarming frustrations I felt just to figure out how web sites are designed. The familiarity is returning, but it is far too painful to fool myself into believing I can do this well. Hell, I just now realized what div tags do, after all this time. Still don't know how to manipulate them on my own, but I know they function less mysteriously than before. A part of me feels slightly dirty because I had to use a template to glean these kernels of knowledge. Anyway, I still loathe you, Internet.

Sweet revelations, bitter replies.

During my recent trip back to my hometown of San Diego, I attended my cousin's 18th birthday debut. At the party, which was a romantic event staged in a Spanish-style miniature villa in the Otay Lakes area of south San Diego, one of my aunts remarked that I looked like my uncle Jun. I've been growing out my hair to a lustrous style lately, thus the reference would be fitting considering this look is a slight homage to 80's glamor. However, after this compliment was paid, I quickly asked whether that description was a good thing or a bad thing. So maybe this estranged relative of mine once looked dashing in the 80's hey-day, but I could not help but immediately recall some negative image out of that statement. In my mom's side of the family, we have a highly diverse lineage, almost every family unit has followed the tracks to the American Dream except perhaps this uncle. On my dad's side, my surname lineage is squeeky clean, so I feel comfortable being the posterboy of black sheep badass for my Sacramento family. However, getting mentioned that way in conjunction with my other family left me with a stinging after-taste. That uncle, the last holder of my grandfather's name, has all but been disowned in some way by my own mom. In many ways, I am slightly on the same course, and that is a growing fear I can't live with. I am reckless and without a solid bearing that will dictate the next 20 years. These things I am very aware of, and I don't often care about the end results of my existence. I am just afraid that these nightmarish self-induced prophecies will come true just because I believe they will.

Parody of a Parody?

I watched this recently throughout a series of sporadic encounters with various guests during that day. Firstly, it was inspiring in a ridiculously similar way to my own life. Except I don't get to sing duets with Her #52 while battling my arch-nemesis twice. I think I may try vlogging on odd days when I feel the urge to be artistically productive. In this way, I can induct myself into the elusive world of cinema. Or maybe I should find a way to get a scanner set up and redesign my website enema. Dun Dun Dun.

Too many things to consider. Retropolitan, Slumberjack, LOG://MKII-CZ, Void, Zuda, painting, and mostly sleep. I will have to find out really soon how many days in a row I can stay awake.
Though I can't make one right now, I know a fairly intelligent decision will be to delete Facebook. Hopefully I won't have to remove Myspace. Less fake socializing is healthy, I think. NEED MORE BRAIN POWER.

I'll sleep when I'm dead

It's been a blur lately. I've begun the past couple of weeks with all-nighters; Sunday into Monday, Tuesday into Wednesday. Yesterday, I took a nap at 9pm and woke up around midnight. Knowing I can no longer afford to rest, I hunker'd down at this computer and typed out 7 pages of an overdue research paper. Not bad, though I've done better without the need for caffeine or pharmaceutical assistance. At that point, I was up. No turning back or lying down. I was able to actually catch the bus on time for a change. Called Alex at the RT station, hopped on the train, did the 16th street boogie, and had time to spare on the walk to campus. Today, I remembered to bring an oil paint pen with me, and somehow Fate cast a wicked smile in my direction.

One last thing

I'm a hater. Not an overt hater, just a cynical, critical, and highly jaded individual. And these features are fairly visible in my character. I hate on the majority of contemporary/pop music, guys with cute girls, korean-made sushi, even the institution of art that I am currently trying to claw my way into. Essentially, most things produced are related to modern society. What I don't hate on (too much) is science and those true factors in this universe that immediately validate our existence. That being said, I adore minimalism in art and the visible light spectrum. I figure, if one can see, they oughta appreciate the tangible beauty of reality. I would hate (and sincerely pity) blindness. Or the lack of any senses that contribute to empirical reasoning.

It occurred somewhere between 7:30am and 8:45am. I awoke and by the time the afternoon had arrived, a family party was in effect at my relative's house. My parents and aunts and uncles were going to leave for the airport to catch their P.I. flight. On the news, headlines were being made: across the globe on the dark side of the planet, the moon had filled to a deep, blood red. Cities were filled with growing chaos, fears of the end of days were rife. Everyone in the house was filled with the same feeling of dread. I asked my mom, "Are you guys still going to get on that flight?" She answered with a familiar annoyance, yet serious aggravation, "I don't know, ask your Dad." I find him, and immediately take him into the car and leave, saying, "I have to find out if this is for real." We drive several hours out of town, to a spot near the coast that I once saw. The sun was setting on the western coast, it's dusk glow bathing the foothilled horizon. I could vaguely make out the sudden appearance of buildings that dotted the hills, the mysterious translucence both awe-inspiring and creepy. Where did these buildings come from? There was nothing out here. I turn into the quiet lake that I once promised myself to come to for self-reflection. A lonely church next to a lonely lake. We step out, and I inspect the grounds. What was I looking for? I knew He did not live in this house anymore. There was nothing here for me. I started walking away, and another man appeared out of the woods outside the grounds. "Are you waiting here, too? Patience, child." He sounded vaguely like Christopher Walken and looked strikingly like what paintings depict of Thomas Jefferson. This event startled me, but the next moments would continue to stretch my consciousness. An old classmate appears next to me, looks down and grins. More lost, familiar faces come from the path beyond my car. Along with them, hundreds of people begin to congregate in the clearing next to the lake. Many sit down and converse, continuing where they must have once left off. I follow suit and sit down. I can only marvel at the scenery and crowd. The mysterious buildings in the distance shimmer a soothing blue in contrast to the darkening sky. I spot one face that shouldn't be there. Someone dead and gone from my past. Once I realized that, another shock came. Flanking me on both sides were Jaime and Ryan. They both sat down. I felt relief, but still an overwhelming amount of dumbfoundedness. How can this be? Is this it, Heaven has come to Earth? Those ghostly buildings must be for the last chosen. This is the Rapture. Did I escape the Wrath of God? What about everyone else? I could not help but break down and cry, my hands covering my eyes, the tears so warm and salty as they fell from my eyes. I could see each single drop hit the dirt, and I could only focus on the certain reality of those tears and nothing of my friends and the others around me. Ryan and Jaime picked me up, and proceeded to show me to the church. The inside of the church was a resort. Anything you could want to do was all infinitely and maddeningly housed within the house of the Lord. Yoga, crafts, buffets, tumbling, spas, libraries, anything. Everyone looked so content and blissful. I couldn't bear the thought of the end of the world, and could only leave as quickly as I came into the building. As I left the church, I fell to my knees, screaming at myself, God, and the world. Ryan and Jaime were quick to comfort me as I continued to break down. Jaime first said one thing that decimated the rest of my reality on the spot, "It's okay now, I know I've been gone a while, but now we'll be kickin it for the rest of eternity."
"You've been gone???"
Ryan added, "Yeah, don't you remember? He died two years ago..."
"WHAT?!"
I was fully delusional. As it sank in, I replied, "I must have been living my life so deluded... All this time, I always thought we had been hanging out with Jaime, too... Are you dead, too?"
"Yeah."
"Since when?"
"2010."

And then I woke up. The dream was so real. I could feel, see, hear every real moment. I had never experienced lucidity like this. The entire event was wholly believable to me. My parents were in fact leaving on a plane this same day. Maybe this concocted scenario had something to do with the conversations about God that I had with Van the day prior. Or the subconscious fears of the end of days at 2012. Or perhaps it has to do with the people who are leaving my life for extended periods of time, a form of surreal separation anxiety. I'm sure my recent experience of witnessing a partial lunar eclipse unseated some kind of hidden cosmic paranoia. The craziest part of this dream was that it was completely in the first person perspective. Usually, my dreams flow between first and third, in a fairly cinematic way. This time it was jarring, visceral even. I just hope this isn't some kind of portent.

The Score.

I'm the only one that ever reads this. The expected outcome is at least 30 minutes wasted perusing the inferred states of my mind over the years as verified by the backlog of entries. Oh well.

This is tentatively (and officially declared) the last year of undergraduate schooling in my life. Before the calendars change over to 2009, I will have commenced and finally liberated myself of nearly two decades of American academic institutions. However, this spring semester will be the most ball-grinding, protracted experience I'll ever have. Six classes, nineteen units. Medieval Art, Italian, sculpture, printmaking studio, art of china/japan, and an independent study. It's all there, ready for me to demolish: expectations, conventions, sanity. On top of that, a commission for a mural painting in the client's house. My greatest apprehensions and fears lie in the independant study and the art history courses. Last semester, I cruised through sixteen units/five classes, with par performance in the ethnicities and art history classes. AND I was blazed most of the time. Who would've thought the sweet chiba would actually do the opposite and keep my head above water, eh?

Okay, so, this is the score:

-a 10 page paper + several written assignments and tests for ART 105
-another 10 pager and exams for ART 117B
-in class sculpture works (although it is implied that we'll need to work on our pieces outside of ASL as well)
-about 11 prints for ART 145 (a combination of serigraphy, intaglio/engraving, and relief prints)
-six 80" drawings of a sequential narrative (Destiny/Soul) with a 36+ page graphic novella in support (file:\mk. II-CZ
-11x4' mural painting

You ready?

unplug

This is harder than I thought. School, work, everything in between. It all seems so hopeless at times; an endless race to meet other people's expectations, when I have none of my own. Actually, whenever I have expectations or aspirations, they're of the ego-feeding variety, when the ominous truth is that I will live and die unknown. It's funny that word came up, "unknown." In elementary school, I entered the school spelling bee and was tangled up on that word. U-N-K-O-W-N. That was the first immensely humiliating experience I can remember. It was almost traumatic, because I can never spell, "unknown" without second-guessing my ability to spell it correctly, especially considering I pride myself in my competence of the English language. Life is a humbling experience, a tormenting cycle of my consistent failures. It's always one poor decision here, a hasty transaction there, and the inevitable encounter with a great girl that either has a boyfriend (or girlfriend) or just. doesn't. want. me. However, what business do I have being content? I don't deserve such reward, nor would I appreciate it. I can barely tolerate routine, whether it be the daily grind, or saying, "I love you," at the end of a phone call. It's true, familiarity, predictability, breeds contempt. I need a permanent vacation.

Agenda- Requiem of 2006

Thanksgiving break: November 23-26th

Winter break: December 25th-January 26th

Next time I am for certain returning to San Diego: New Years

It is within any of these given time frames that I intend to take at least one drive to Southern California for a sabbatical. Possible destinations include San Diego, Chula Vista, National City, Pacific Beach, Irvine, Fullerton, and Mammoth Mountain. Although, the Thanksgiving break may not be such a great opportunity considering that the Nintendo Wii will have just been released less than a week prior. I may just have to camp it out at home and play the Wii until I gain insomnia.

Flip the switch.

Here we go. In one fell swoop (although it was technically a two month transition) I went from unemployed for over a year, surviving on a dwindling severance pay and expanding credit card debt as well as being a washed up community college super junior art major to being handed a flexible job at an art supply store, transferring to a university with a sufficient art program, and inheriting a job as the lab assistant for said university's graphic design department computer labs. It's not as overwhelming as I think it is, but the drastic change in behavior has been the oddest thing to cope with. At the height of this summer, I slept to nearly dawn and woke up at around noon. Just in time to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation on SpikeTv and shower before heading to Utrecht for work. Now I have to wake up at around seven in the morning to get to school, which is then followed immediately by work. The time I spend at home to myself has become rare opportunities for rest. As it stands, I spend at least one hour on the road every day to get to school and/or work. School every weekday, work every day. On top of that, I'm still a washed up artist, now I get to look forward to being a burnt out art student. Therefore, I have decided to reverse just about every routine, habit , and usual facet of mine. I can no longer allot time for art other than that which is relevant to my classes. I can no longer live nocturnally and prowl after dusk. I can no longer waste my life. I can no longer neglect my priorities.

Game Over. You Lose.

Continue?

Satisfying Dialogue.

Her: Do you have t-squares bigger than this?
Me: Yeah, over here.
Her: Ohhh, okay. Twelve dollars?? Thats too much.
Me: Huh? T-squares aren't cheap.
Her: Oh, no, I mean I can't be spending that much. I already spent $26 on lunch today.
Me: Daaamn. You didn't spend $26 on lunch for yourself, did you?
Her: Yeah! And it sucks because it wasn't even happy hour!
Me: Where?
Her: Tokyo Fros.
Me: I suppose thats alright, now is one of the last chances to get smashed in the semester before midterms hit.
Her: Oh, I wasn't smashed. I just had a couple of beers.

Testes the size of a Jupiter moon.

At the height of this afternoon, in the swirling commotion of the bustling University Union at Sac State, I plugged in headphones, wacom tablet mouse, opened the CD tray and popped in a disc into my laptop. I played Diablo 2 while sharing a table with an older lady and hot girls studied and everyone else stressed out. Bowazon, bitches.

Crushed: a revelation that I am lacking.

The first week of school is almost over. It is sensory overload out here. I am burnt out. The walkway in front of Mariposa and Kadema is teeming with so many beautiful women that my eyes have worn themselves out over the course of two days. Even worse, is that most of these gorgeous girls come into Utrecht right afterward. I've been missing out on this kind of attraction for far too long. It's hard coping with my dumbfounded awe. Although, I think working at Utrecht is helping; working retail forces me to interact with strangers, smiling, and saying, "Hello" and, "Have a good day" constantly is putting me into a social mode I have not experienced in ages. This combined first week and work at Utrecht has got me. I quickly fell in love on Wednesday. She walked in at the height of our back-to-school sale rush, a 5'6" blonde muse in a green sundress. I said hi, and eagerly attempted to aid Her shopping spree. She told me She'd figure things out because Her syllabus had a course materials list. I paced the floor helping other cute girls. Most of the girls would concede that they needed my help, and I gladly did. Whenever I finished assisting a customer, I would pace around, and ask Her again if She would like my help. More customers began to suffocate the store; both registers were in non-stop point of sale for Christine and Malia. In time, some of my classmates for Drawing came in, and I practically shopped for one of them. I asked Her again if she was doing alright and finding her materials. She declined my help once more. A cute girl from my Color class asked me where some of the acrylics we needed were, and I grabbed them for her. I asked Her once more, and was again declined. It was then the closing hour, and I checked up on Her. She finally said She was ready for my help. After picking out items for Her, we began to chat, and I was soon enraptured by Her. Her raspy voice, Her sass and spunk. I couldn't get enough, although our time was getting short. Inevitably, I was unable to work up the courage to even ask Her name. I'm sure She would've given it to me, at the very least. My only hope is that one day this semester I can bump into Her in front of Mariposa Hall.

RESTART.

I thought it was game over, but its now back to square one. Although this square one isn't exactly starting from scratch or with a cleaned slate. Figuratively speaking, I died about a year ago, but I've just been reincarnated, back for redemption. ROD vs. EDUCATION 2. This is the main even title bout rematch, and I'm hungering for blood. Here we go again.

Every now and then, I get a flaring pain in my right wrist. This has nothing to do with your perception of me masturbating too much, because my wrist is all jacked from some unknown injury I must have had. I suspect it was one of the times I bit it real bad while snowboarding a while back, because a bit of the tibia or fibia juts out of the outside of my wrist. Normally, it just makes push-ups and any kind of flat palm pushing a pain, but now.. the flares are happening much more frequently. It's been a week and a day or so between what I'm thinking is an inflamed wrist tendon. Maybe theres a pattern here, because it's been a week between nights of being tanked. It sucks.

Such contradictions in life. I seem to be extremely unlucky. Yet, I am extremely fortunate. I guess thats the compromise. As hard as I may try to prevail, I never really do. And as much as I act as a failure, I am able to keep it together. Even a simple gesture of affection gets me nowhere, and risking my life driving drunk turns out to be a success. I think I'm going to have to do all the bad things more often since I get better results.

Disclaimer:
I am full of bullshit, a hypocrite. No person on this planet should be able to claim otherwise. Whatever I've said in the past, does not fully correspond to who I am now; I am a wholly different lump of perspective in this here-and-now than in the then-and-gone.