It’s pretty painful for me to lose a thought before I can write about it. I’m sure one would have a hard time believing all the brilliant things that come into my mind when I’m away from paper and pen. Sometimes they come to me while I am working and therefore I can’t even take my phone out and text them to myself. Thoughts are often fleeting like the seeds of a dandelion when I make a wish. Unlike misery, beautiful thoughts are difficult for me to retain. And to make matters worse I believe I may have lost a little bit of trust in the page. I sense that our relationship has become somewhat estranged. I’ve been meditating about the past more often. I’ve been involved in several conversations that have ended with me rambling on about my past. Perhaps I’ve been trying to replace my craft with an actual person. Instead of using human beings as my muse to create more art I’ve started to join them in all of their social activities and verbal communication. This could mean no good for a writer.
I feel my life getting better. My goals are beginning to become more visible. So I suppose that’s why I’ve fallen off the scene as an artist. I haven’t been to a reading in months and old manuscripts remain unfinished. I think about the ever-growing conflict between my artistic ambitions and my professional endeavors. I liken it to the war between my own carnal lust and my spiritual well-being. Everything is sacrifice. Everything is balance. Money, sex, heaven, peace, climax, rage, passion, judgment, poverty, shame, success, failure, depression, cultural death…and I oscillate between these themes of life as if I still haven’t got a clue. For I know where I want to go but at times I become confused as to how to get there. I can sense myself getting closer but one can never be too certain. At the moment life is still very perplexing, however, I am adjusting to it. I do sincerely love my life and I cherish all those who love me. Life, as ill-defined as it is, is so good. I’m blessed, I’m alive, and I will never be destroyed.
December 20, 2011
I was sitting there in my favorite Chinese food restaurant being judged every second. Snide comments were made on my choice of entrée, my sense of humor, and how loud I blew my food. It got so bad that I lost my appetite. I was so annoyed by the woman who sat across from me that I honestly considered throwing my won ton soup in her face. It had the potential to end up like a bad episode of the show Blind Date but I kept my composure. I made solid conversation with her until it was time for me to go. I walked her to her car and told her to take it easy and wished her good luck in life. After that first date I never returned her texts or called her again.
It’s fascinating because I spent a whole portion of my adult life thinking I deserved to marry some high-class chick who went to private school her whole life and never lived in the ghetto. I used to think that’s what I was striving for. In retrospect I have never been more wrong in my life. I have always had serious problems with people who are condescending in nature. It doesn’t matter how pretty or accomplished a woman is, if she has a nasty attitude I don’t want to be around her.
I still can’t believe that woman. As educated and successful as she was in the end she was socially retarded. She has no idea how to treat a human-being. And though I haven’t kept in touch with her I can bet that she is still very lonely. It’s ironic that a person could put all of their energy into establishing a career and lose their ability to have positive interactions with everyday people. If that’s the price that one has to pay to make it to the top then I am completely ok with struggling down here in the hood. I guess it could be a lot worse.
November 23, 2011
My hot water heater keeps blowing out and I ain’t gone lie, I’m way too educated to be this broke. To be such a well read man and still have to resort to taking a cold shower is almost unbearable. When it gets really hot or really cold ants march through my kitchen in full force as if they don’t know I have a Master’s Degree. Sometimes they make it into my room and bite my flesh at night like they don’t see my degrees on the wall. It’s all so pitiful.
Not that I’m trying to solicit pity but a little respect would be nice. My living conditions are so substandard that I am honestly considering moving into a library. That would really be amazing. Occasionally I dream about going to sleep reading a book while using another book as a pillow. A dozen dictionaries would be my blanket and my lady. I would be enraptured by words in every state of being. Then I suppose a hot shower wouldn’t matter as much. Nothing ever matters when one is lost in literature.
So many of us have lost our way. We have allowed the academics to lead us astray. For in life you can’t find the answers in the back of the book. All of the important information isn’t in bold print either. So much time has been wasted and I have learned to cherish everything that can’t be applied. Imagine a little boy with all the book smarts in the world but no common sense. Now try to imagine him being successful. Can you do it?
October 7, 2011
I never know how I’m feeling until I start writing, which goes to show how truly numb I have become. What good are feelings anyway? There is always something to be depressed about and there is always something to be happy about, it’s up to each individual person to decide which end of the spectrum they would rather live on….Well isn’t it?
It’s amazing to me how mankind can spend billions of dollars probing outer space and analyzing rocks from the moon when we know so little about what happens in our own heads. People master the art of suppressing their own emotions in order to thrive in a culture that fails to acknowledge the human spirit. Everyone wants to stand upright, get a high quality education from a prestigious school, make a lot of money, get married, and die wealthy. The whole notion that there is a formula to success always struck me as being preposterous. After all how can one develop a formula for something as ill-defined as success?
Success is happiness; therefore it can mean a million different things to a million different people. The man who walks down the street mumbling to himself while pushing a shopping cart may be experiencing complete internal bliss while the wealthy man with a mansion on the hill may be suicidal. A major problem with western society is we value the worst ideals. How can we thrive as a people if we place the pursuit of capital above the pursuit of love?
A few years ago I read a book entitled; Bombay-London-New-York by Kumar. The book is a kind of literary autobiography that also speaks on the Indian Diaspora. During one nostalgic passage Kumar writes about the good old days in the Indian country when—and I’m paraphrasing here—, “A man could look forward to dying in the same house that he was born in.” I can’t exactly tell you why but to me that is peace, that is fulfillment, and that is success. I can’t imagine anything better than to be able to have it all end where it all began with your grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and children all around you. When it is my turn to perish I want to go out surrounded by love so that all of my descendants will be assured that capital is ultimately irrelevant, and then hopefully they wouldn’t be tempted to die for something that doesn’t really matter.