Friday, December 31, 2010
The arena culture and New Year's Eve
Today is the perfect day to witness the arena culture in action. Blustery fresh wintry winds from the north in a day awash with sunlight and low humidity. Anticipation is in the air. New Year is coming. People are looking forward to the fireworks tonight. They will oomph and aagh when the very short-distance rockets light up the sky, polluting the air and wasting money. They will have their cheap brief transcendental moments and they will go home, drunk, empty but thinking they are happy. Such is the state of consciousness of most humans. You are, unfortunately, not one of them. They often get inspired by nature. That's why they travel. Those who don't have much money would go the library and checks out some book of photographs about nature and pretend they are there. They rarely get high on ideas since they lack the capacity to think deeply and to the ultimate. They prefer to let their priests and rabbis do the thinking for them and tell them what to think, and what to believe. A great majority would believe in a God and fancy they will go to heaven after they die. Shit, you cannot go on anymore. You are going home and dream yourself to sleep. You will dream of her, fantasizing that she is good and she is kind and she is not as stupid as them. But then you never know. Looks are deceptive. When it comes to truth, humans act really funny.
Arena Culture
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/opinion/31brooks.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=tha212
Dear all:
I also have similar observations. But I think the "arena" culture is not new. It's been with us since the beginning of human history. In the past, it was often infused with religious overtones or war activities. Now, as religious influence is waning because of the advent of scientific knowledge, and war is getting too destructive and horrific, the "arena" culture gets its sustenance from sports stadiums and rock concerts where the attendants get their transcendental moments. Transcendental "whooshings" that come from quiet contemplation and meditation are the province of the more sensitive and refined folks who are rare anyway. As always, we must ask what kind of people we are and where we stand in the crowd, if we are part of the crowd at all. Where we are affects what and how we see.
Further on this subject and getting more on a slippery terrain, I have the following speculations which are developed by me, but not necessarily original because true originality in ideas is truly rare.
The arena culture is possible because Man is a social and gregarious and yet self-conflicting animal (being). He guards his privacy but delights in occasional gathering with his fellow men where he could experience feelings of communion and kinship and solidarity. Man is also easily affected by colors and sounds. He is drawn to pageantry and music. Religious leaders, festivals organizers, and political movers know about this need of Man, this longing for transcendental moments. So they stage events full of colors (banners and flags) and sound and fury in order to drive the crowd to an altered state of consciousness in hopes of winning them over. Pentecost revival meetings, rock concerts, and political rallies (especially those organized by the Nazis) are of this nature: full of colors, sounds and fury.
And the crowd responds enthusiastically. Hitler was a superb showman. He moved the crowd. He knew what the audience wanted to hear. Alas, he didn't practice moderation. He was full of excesses and thus drove the world to WW II.
China does not practice restraint either (more about this in below).
On a different note, Man is also an animal that practices momentum, not
moderation. He likes excesses and extremes. He wants to push the envelop and to test the borders. He is curious where the true limitations lie. That is why
economic activities run in cycles of boom and bust. That also explains why
empires keep expanding to the point they cannot maintain themselves. Perhaps
that accounts when a nation is on the decline---as the U.S. is experiencing---the
process is inexorable and the country seems unable or unwilling to change course
(Obama is trying but he runs into stiff opposition of the selfish and pig-headed
Republicans).The reverse is also true. When a country is rising, it keeps on rising
until it exhausts its forces of momentum. China is enjoying the positive forces of
upward momentum, with signs of catastrophic consequences for the world due to
the character of the Chinese people: undue arrogance and relentless thirst of
assimilating other races in their path of expansion. The policy of assimilation has
worked beautifully for China for thousands of years, so why should thr Chinese abandon that policy now?
Nations tend to move like an aircraft carrier: slowly and time-consuming in
changing course. To survive, sometimes a nation must move like a speedboat:
swiftly and in accordance with changing currents. Vietnam is a nation that must
move swiftly to respond to the threat of being swallowed by China. We now badly
need a new crop of leaders who love Vietnam and their fellow Vietnamese
kinsfolks more than they love themselves, who know the feelings of tribalism and
who remember the sacrifices and heroism of our ancestors in their valiant fights against the expansionist-minded enemy from the North. Let's face the truth and reality: The Chinese are not our brother; they are our historical enemy.
Wissai
Dear all:
I also have similar observations. But I think the "arena" culture is not new. It's been with us since the beginning of human history. In the past, it was often infused with religious overtones or war activities. Now, as religious influence is waning because of the advent of scientific knowledge, and war is getting too destructive and horrific, the "arena" culture gets its sustenance from sports stadiums and rock concerts where the attendants get their transcendental moments. Transcendental "whooshings" that come from quiet contemplation and meditation are the province of the more sensitive and refined folks who are rare anyway. As always, we must ask what kind of people we are and where we stand in the crowd, if we are part of the crowd at all. Where we are affects what and how we see.
Further on this subject and getting more on a slippery terrain, I have the following speculations which are developed by me, but not necessarily original because true originality in ideas is truly rare.
The arena culture is possible because Man is a social and gregarious and yet self-conflicting animal (being). He guards his privacy but delights in occasional gathering with his fellow men where he could experience feelings of communion and kinship and solidarity. Man is also easily affected by colors and sounds. He is drawn to pageantry and music. Religious leaders, festivals organizers, and political movers know about this need of Man, this longing for transcendental moments. So they stage events full of colors (banners and flags) and sound and fury in order to drive the crowd to an altered state of consciousness in hopes of winning them over. Pentecost revival meetings, rock concerts, and political rallies (especially those organized by the Nazis) are of this nature: full of colors, sounds and fury.
And the crowd responds enthusiastically. Hitler was a superb showman. He moved the crowd. He knew what the audience wanted to hear. Alas, he didn't practice moderation. He was full of excesses and thus drove the world to WW II.
China does not practice restraint either (more about this in below).
On a different note, Man is also an animal that practices momentum, not
moderation. He likes excesses and extremes. He wants to push the envelop and to test the borders. He is curious where the true limitations lie. That is why
economic activities run in cycles of boom and bust. That also explains why
empires keep expanding to the point they cannot maintain themselves. Perhaps
that accounts when a nation is on the decline---as the U.S. is experiencing---the
process is inexorable and the country seems unable or unwilling to change course
(Obama is trying but he runs into stiff opposition of the selfish and pig-headed
Republicans).The reverse is also true. When a country is rising, it keeps on rising
until it exhausts its forces of momentum. China is enjoying the positive forces of
upward momentum, with signs of catastrophic consequences for the world due to
the character of the Chinese people: undue arrogance and relentless thirst of
assimilating other races in their path of expansion. The policy of assimilation has
worked beautifully for China for thousands of years, so why should thr Chinese abandon that policy now?
Nations tend to move like an aircraft carrier: slowly and time-consuming in
changing course. To survive, sometimes a nation must move like a speedboat:
swiftly and in accordance with changing currents. Vietnam is a nation that must
move swiftly to respond to the threat of being swallowed by China. We now badly
need a new crop of leaders who love Vietnam and their fellow Vietnamese
kinsfolks more than they love themselves, who know the feelings of tribalism and
who remember the sacrifices and heroism of our ancestors in their valiant fights against the expansionist-minded enemy from the North. Let's face the truth and reality: The Chinese are not our brother; they are our historical enemy.
Wissai
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Humans and little monkeys
Humans are the most interesting animals. They have a wide range of behavior, including self-deception and self-importance. What you should cultivate is the ability to view with amusement and to regard as a source of free entertainment whenever humans behave like monkeys, instead of getting annoyed and feeling superior. You look at the eyes of certain humans and you can see their simian character through and through. Their eyes dart around and scan the environment; they are always on guard to lie and cheat and pretend to be nice and friendly.
(to be continued)
(to be continued)
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Music and Poetry
Life is more than food and shelter
Sex and power.
Imagine life without music
Nor poetry,
No thee
Nor me.
How dreary
Such a life would be!
I read about Diem Xua of Trinh Cong Son today. I also read about Bui Giang's love for Kim Cuong. And I could not help thinking of you, of me, and of us. How once a beautiful love was sullied by your abrupt departure for sex and money and glory. How life would have turned out if you had stayed with me.
(to be continued)
Sex and power.
Imagine life without music
Nor poetry,
No thee
Nor me.
How dreary
Such a life would be!
I read about Diem Xua of Trinh Cong Son today. I also read about Bui Giang's love for Kim Cuong. And I could not help thinking of you, of me, and of us. How once a beautiful love was sullied by your abrupt departure for sex and money and glory. How life would have turned out if you had stayed with me.
(to be continued)
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Flashbacks
Here you are, not a veteran of any war or a witness of any grisly murder, yet your mind is full of flashbacks that only drastic actions would restore the tranquility. What you have here is a simple case of delayed cry for justice. There's nothing you could do right now but to live long and wait . Meanwhile work out, mentally and physically.
Beyond the quite ugly, jangly ruckuses involving a monkey and a less-than-real artist, most of the folks didn't know anything about you. Not that you really wanted them to know about you. You have lived for love and art. Now you are struggling to live with truth and reality. You have a tendency to imbue a search for peace and tranquility with a faux mysticism. You make it sound like nobody has heard of mysticism until you come along. What you have presented to us as mysticism is nothing more than an inarticulate expression of the wonder of human existence. What you should do is to transcend and transform your time and your life, and not to ape somebody else's words and deeds. You must find your own voice. You must not rehash what others have said. To live well and in peace is an art. So you must be an artist about life as well as about words. You don't go through life as if you were giving an operatic performance. You should go about your business in silence and diligence.
The more you think of the circumstances that gave rise to the ruckuses, the more you realize certain animals must be condemned and stayed away from for they are carriers of disease, literally and metaphorically.
The freaking and ignorant coward opened his mouth again. He nauseated you to no end. This time, however, you just went behind the bush and puked your guts out and turned your back on him and resumed your journey. Silence is strength. Love is the cure. Understanding is the first step. You understand what turns on an animal like him. You understand that it is no use to talk to a selfish, stubborn, ignorant coward like him. You only talk to those who care about and respect knowledge and truth.
Beyond the quite ugly, jangly ruckuses involving a monkey and a less-than-real artist, most of the folks didn't know anything about you. Not that you really wanted them to know about you. You have lived for love and art. Now you are struggling to live with truth and reality. You have a tendency to imbue a search for peace and tranquility with a faux mysticism. You make it sound like nobody has heard of mysticism until you come along. What you have presented to us as mysticism is nothing more than an inarticulate expression of the wonder of human existence. What you should do is to transcend and transform your time and your life, and not to ape somebody else's words and deeds. You must find your own voice. You must not rehash what others have said. To live well and in peace is an art. So you must be an artist about life as well as about words. You don't go through life as if you were giving an operatic performance. You should go about your business in silence and diligence.
The more you think of the circumstances that gave rise to the ruckuses, the more you realize certain animals must be condemned and stayed away from for they are carriers of disease, literally and metaphorically.
The freaking and ignorant coward opened his mouth again. He nauseated you to no end. This time, however, you just went behind the bush and puked your guts out and turned your back on him and resumed your journey. Silence is strength. Love is the cure. Understanding is the first step. You understand what turns on an animal like him. You understand that it is no use to talk to a selfish, stubborn, ignorant coward like him. You only talk to those who care about and respect knowledge and truth.
I wonder and wander in the wonders of others
The Growing Capacity to Focus and Direct while Dwelling in Chaos
Oh, if the soul only had to wonder at simple things. Are there any simple things in the face of growing wonder? I think not.
Things are layered, swirled, tumbled and twisted. Things rise, sparkle, dance and dim. Things delight and disturb, stimulate and soothe, confound and clarify.
We do not wonder in our sleep. Wonder wakes us up. But wonder needs the support of focus and direction.
Awake, our souls wonder at all these things: All our thoughts, all our feelings, all our intentions and all the stuff of our stories, our perceptions and our bodily sensations. Most of us automatically tune out most of what is going on in our souls, but as we grow our capacity to focus, we can direct more and more of the creative chaos we dwell in.
Can you smile an inner smile when you find yourself in a wondrous chaos? Can you choose one thing and direct your attention to it? And go deep into it? and deeper again? Can you direct your wonder so that your questions become illuminating, focused on the true, the beautiful, the good? Do you focus on the past, the present, the future, the very flow of time?
Our souls grow the capacity to dance between the forest and the tree.
Tonight recollect your soul's vast numbers of encounters and experiences of just today. Choose one experience or encounter and focus into it. If you are journaling, write down a question about this one thing and then begin to answer your question. Stay focused and maintain your direction into deep meaning. Be surprised.
Here's a sweet suggestion: If you love Christmas music, like I do, choose one carol or one song. Listen to it. Now focus on one phrase like "Angels we have heard on high," "Let heaven and nature sing," "Joyful and Triumphant," or "I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams." Now focus on this one phrase and direct your attention to what this means to you.
Focusing and directing warms your heart without sentimentalizing. Enjoy and grow your soul's capacity.
Dear all:
Those are the thoughts of somebody sent to me. While I acknowledged the sincerity and earnestness of the sentiments, I was not overwhelmed or moved by them for they were somehow platitudinous and prosaic to me. I realize it is crass and rude and plainly cruel to make light of somebody's spiritual musings, but in truth (or at least the version it makes sense to me) I trust, so goes I:
First and foremost, I am typing this, lying in bed, and on top of my head, without notes, without organizing my thoughts. I let my right index finger do the walking and the shining of my interior.
Second, please remember words are an imprecise tool, albeit useful, in communication because people tend to read their own experiences into the words used by others, and not trying to understand what the author really wanted to say. Very often, we are guilty of reading too quickly and couldn't wait to get up on a soapbox and pontificate what we want to say, which has little to do with what we just read. That's the tragedy and the farce of what is often passed up as comment and criticism. So, I am aware of my own faults, too. Boy, I am so self-conscious today on this post-Christmas Sunday. Without further ado, however, let me take a plunge into the murky water.
Christmas is meant to celebrate the birth of a man viewed by the believers as divine and who could and would and actually did many wondrous and miraculous things. I am not here to debate the validity of the theological assertions put forth by Christian theologians who are in the business of bending minds and influencing what gullible and logic-deprived folks how to think and believe. I would feel much better and think more highly of the theologians if they had said that Jesus of Nazareth was the incarnation of unconditional love and if they had stopped at that and gone no further. Anyway I am here to state that some folks around this time of the year get more spiritual than usual and thus pen their thoughts. The person whose message was pasted at the beginning of this email of mine was one of them. Since the style of writing seemed to suggest that it was a female, I would refer to that person as such.
She maintained that things were not simple and we needed to excercise the faculty called wonder and then she went on and on exhorting us to wonder and yet she kept referring to generalities and stock phrases which are true but still trite. She sounded like she was the first human who was given to introspection, which is not true.
To live is to make sense of the experience of living and assign it a meaning. I wish she had said that. Also, she could have said that not all meanings were the same. Some humans are in this world to get as much pleasure and power as they can; others want knowledge because the very existence of the universe and their own fascinate them; still others have a lingering feeling that they are made of finer and superior stuff than most of their fellow humans, and they constantly look for evidence to substantiate that feeling.
Wissai
Oh, if the soul only had to wonder at simple things. Are there any simple things in the face of growing wonder? I think not.
Things are layered, swirled, tumbled and twisted. Things rise, sparkle, dance and dim. Things delight and disturb, stimulate and soothe, confound and clarify.
We do not wonder in our sleep. Wonder wakes us up. But wonder needs the support of focus and direction.
Awake, our souls wonder at all these things: All our thoughts, all our feelings, all our intentions and all the stuff of our stories, our perceptions and our bodily sensations. Most of us automatically tune out most of what is going on in our souls, but as we grow our capacity to focus, we can direct more and more of the creative chaos we dwell in.
Can you smile an inner smile when you find yourself in a wondrous chaos? Can you choose one thing and direct your attention to it? And go deep into it? and deeper again? Can you direct your wonder so that your questions become illuminating, focused on the true, the beautiful, the good? Do you focus on the past, the present, the future, the very flow of time?
Our souls grow the capacity to dance between the forest and the tree.
Tonight recollect your soul's vast numbers of encounters and experiences of just today. Choose one experience or encounter and focus into it. If you are journaling, write down a question about this one thing and then begin to answer your question. Stay focused and maintain your direction into deep meaning. Be surprised.
Here's a sweet suggestion: If you love Christmas music, like I do, choose one carol or one song. Listen to it. Now focus on one phrase like "Angels we have heard on high," "Let heaven and nature sing," "Joyful and Triumphant," or "I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams." Now focus on this one phrase and direct your attention to what this means to you.
Focusing and directing warms your heart without sentimentalizing. Enjoy and grow your soul's capacity.
Dear all:
Those are the thoughts of somebody sent to me. While I acknowledged the sincerity and earnestness of the sentiments, I was not overwhelmed or moved by them for they were somehow platitudinous and prosaic to me. I realize it is crass and rude and plainly cruel to make light of somebody's spiritual musings, but in truth (or at least the version it makes sense to me) I trust, so goes I:
First and foremost, I am typing this, lying in bed, and on top of my head, without notes, without organizing my thoughts. I let my right index finger do the walking and the shining of my interior.
Second, please remember words are an imprecise tool, albeit useful, in communication because people tend to read their own experiences into the words used by others, and not trying to understand what the author really wanted to say. Very often, we are guilty of reading too quickly and couldn't wait to get up on a soapbox and pontificate what we want to say, which has little to do with what we just read. That's the tragedy and the farce of what is often passed up as comment and criticism. So, I am aware of my own faults, too. Boy, I am so self-conscious today on this post-Christmas Sunday. Without further ado, however, let me take a plunge into the murky water.
Christmas is meant to celebrate the birth of a man viewed by the believers as divine and who could and would and actually did many wondrous and miraculous things. I am not here to debate the validity of the theological assertions put forth by Christian theologians who are in the business of bending minds and influencing what gullible and logic-deprived folks how to think and believe. I would feel much better and think more highly of the theologians if they had said that Jesus of Nazareth was the incarnation of unconditional love and if they had stopped at that and gone no further. Anyway I am here to state that some folks around this time of the year get more spiritual than usual and thus pen their thoughts. The person whose message was pasted at the beginning of this email of mine was one of them. Since the style of writing seemed to suggest that it was a female, I would refer to that person as such.
She maintained that things were not simple and we needed to excercise the faculty called wonder and then she went on and on exhorting us to wonder and yet she kept referring to generalities and stock phrases which are true but still trite. She sounded like she was the first human who was given to introspection, which is not true.
To live is to make sense of the experience of living and assign it a meaning. I wish she had said that. Also, she could have said that not all meanings were the same. Some humans are in this world to get as much pleasure and power as they can; others want knowledge because the very existence of the universe and their own fascinate them; still others have a lingering feeling that they are made of finer and superior stuff than most of their fellow humans, and they constantly look for evidence to substantiate that feeling.
Wissai
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas 2010
Roberto's car battery conked out today. All the shops selling batteries were closed because of today was the Christmas Day. So he had to take a taxi. What a bummer! The sky was overcast and the air was cold. Day didn't start out right. All the repressed feelings came back. And of course he felt angry and uptight. He learned that he had to avoid the mistakes others and he himself had done. Most humans are simply animals when tested.
At the end of the day, he came out all right. Life can be really tough some day. Be flexible and amiable at all times. Our actions are the seeds of our destiny.
At the end of the day, he came out all right. Life can be really tough some day. Be flexible and amiable at all times. Our actions are the seeds of our destiny.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Strange Christmas Eve
This is getting to be the strangest Christmas Eve I ever experience. In about 16 hours, I am going to know the true nature of a person. I think I already know, but to be 100% sure, I have to wait for the extra 16 hours. I am getting wiser so I don't jump to the conclusion yet. I have patience.
Never mind the wait. The damage has been done. I move on to a new plane of consciousness. I just took a leisurely hot--I mean hot, not just warm-- enough bath that I almost got myself boiled. As I get older, I don't like taking the shower. Instead, I like to submerge myself in a bathtub, full of soapy hot water and let the accumulated tension melt away from my body.
I was back in bed, trying to catch up with some lost sleep. As I was visualizing vistas of peace and tranquility to trick my mind into a state where it could just let go so I could get my body recharged, the phone rang. I looked at it. It was my only friend in this wide world.
-Hi, asshole, I was trying to sleep.
-Sleep? At this hour? What happened? You were out late last night on a date?
-Silvio, stop talking in rhyme, you ain't no poet. I've had problems sleeping these days. Things are bothering me again.
-Roberto, listen, mi amigito, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop being so fucking sensitive. You've got to be strong and hard, and don't give a fuck. Just like me.
-I wish I could be like you.
-Very easy. All you need is a reorientation of attitude and act as if you got it. Fake it till you make it. The importance is to know what "it" is.
-So, tell me!
-Look at me, do I sulk and brood and be mired in misery like you? Of course not. Because I know how to live, know how to assess the world and the assholes in them. I don't give a rat's ass about most people because I know they are assholes who are also cowards, who lie and cheat and pretend to be nice and if I have a chance, I will get rid of them. I don't let them bother me to the point I lose sleep. I know their true nature. They are animals, Roberto. Animals! You are not. You are a superior being. You have a sense of honor and responsibility. You read. They don't. You keep improving your mind. They do not. They think having a college degree means they are "educated". Look at the way they talk. No logic and no solid facts. More importantly, you have love in your heart. They do not. They live just like animals, all concerned with themselves. Look at what and how they write on the Internet. All about nonsense and trivia while the House of Vietnam is on fire. I just don't know why you keep associating with animals like those and then you complain they bother you. Keep the fuck away from them!
-Good advice, my friend. Now will you just get the hell away so I can get some sleep. By the way, have a nice Christmas and a Happy New Year, too.
-Same to you. That was what I called you for.
Never mind the wait. The damage has been done. I move on to a new plane of consciousness. I just took a leisurely hot--I mean hot, not just warm-- enough bath that I almost got myself boiled. As I get older, I don't like taking the shower. Instead, I like to submerge myself in a bathtub, full of soapy hot water and let the accumulated tension melt away from my body.
I was back in bed, trying to catch up with some lost sleep. As I was visualizing vistas of peace and tranquility to trick my mind into a state where it could just let go so I could get my body recharged, the phone rang. I looked at it. It was my only friend in this wide world.
-Hi, asshole, I was trying to sleep.
-Sleep? At this hour? What happened? You were out late last night on a date?
-Silvio, stop talking in rhyme, you ain't no poet. I've had problems sleeping these days. Things are bothering me again.
-Roberto, listen, mi amigito, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop being so fucking sensitive. You've got to be strong and hard, and don't give a fuck. Just like me.
-I wish I could be like you.
-Very easy. All you need is a reorientation of attitude and act as if you got it. Fake it till you make it. The importance is to know what "it" is.
-So, tell me!
-Look at me, do I sulk and brood and be mired in misery like you? Of course not. Because I know how to live, know how to assess the world and the assholes in them. I don't give a rat's ass about most people because I know they are assholes who are also cowards, who lie and cheat and pretend to be nice and if I have a chance, I will get rid of them. I don't let them bother me to the point I lose sleep. I know their true nature. They are animals, Roberto. Animals! You are not. You are a superior being. You have a sense of honor and responsibility. You read. They don't. You keep improving your mind. They do not. They think having a college degree means they are "educated". Look at the way they talk. No logic and no solid facts. More importantly, you have love in your heart. They do not. They live just like animals, all concerned with themselves. Look at what and how they write on the Internet. All about nonsense and trivia while the House of Vietnam is on fire. I just don't know why you keep associating with animals like those and then you complain they bother you. Keep the fuck away from them!
-Good advice, my friend. Now will you just get the hell away so I can get some sleep. By the way, have a nice Christmas and a Happy New Year, too.
-Same to you. That was what I called you for.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Sensitivity
He took a pig to a concert. Of course, it didn't lie down still and enjoy the wondrous arrangement of sounds and words called melody and lyrics. It kept running around looking for food and trash on the ground. Humans behave no differently from pigs. The insensitive ones would not be moved by words and music. When they read, they hurry along and don't savor and ponder the meanings and the messages intended by the author. Instead they skim and skip and skate along the surface meanings that any idiot with a dictionary would have no problem of locating. Words are always of ultra importance to him. They are the reason he has not gone to the other side of life. They are the tools for him to make music, establish connection, and seek comfort and refuge when storms gather. If one must read, one must do so with due reverence to words. First, take a long bath to cleanse yourself of outside dirt. Then close your eyes and meditate for at least 15 minutes in order to clean your soul of the dirt within. Only then would you be ready to read his words and understand what he meant. In so many ways, his words are like a mirror. When an ugly monkey looks into a mirror, it should not expect an attractive angel looks back. A wise human always thinks before forming an opinion or hurling hurtful words at others. Of course one should not expect a monkey to be wise. If it were, it would not proudly call itself a monkey, would it? An adopted name tells the world, usually subconsciously, what one thinks of oneself, deep down.
Reality and Fantasy
Reality and Fantasy
Roberto woke up after a difficult night, checked his emails on the iPhone, and shuddered at the messages left for him. All the usual, boring bellyaching and misunderstanding. All those unaccomplished, insensitive, unperceptive folks out there read too much of themselves into his words. They acted in a self-important manner. They forgot they didn't mean much at all in that strange world of his. He lied and made up stories as he went along the process of indulging himself called writing. He knew he was not good enough to be a real writer. He was not even a wordsmith. He wrote because he was in pain. Simple but true and sad.
He turned on the porno DVD a friend of his just lent him. He watched it for a few minutes and he shut it down. All the gyrations and huffings and pantings just made him feel sad and think of Laura. She is ubiquitous. She is his curse. After she was gone, he turned to other women for comfort, to no avail. His writings have been rooted in the wish she would drop dead. His words hold the world tenously bearable enough for him to live on for another day. Everyday, he must artificially create a hunger to live just one more extra day, so he had the strength of not killing himself. This game he played with himself everyday was raw and lonely, but it was the only game he knew. Of course there were always words, a lot of them, that accompany the artificial hunger.
The numbers didn't mean much. They actually enhanced his feelings of loneliness. It's not the body count, a supporting evidence to a childish boast. Wives, girl-friends, admirers, one-night stands, but never paid companions. He was too vain and cheap to go through the last route. The numbers were there for him to see his search was futile.
He went to the bathroom to relieve himself. All the shit that had been accumulating weighed more than the mental anguish he was experiencing. On the way back, he paused and examined himself in the mirror. The face was still good, but the body was going to pot. The once washboard abdomen was getting a paunch. The body was losing definition. He was over his normal weight by 15 pounds. He made a mental note to change all that in the coming year.
He was back to his bed and reached for a pen. And he scribbled furiously. All the animals were so stupid. They didn't understand him at all, he said to himself. Then the phone rang. He looked at it. An unfamiliar number. He said, hello. His heart almost leaped out of his chest. The voice was unmistakeable even if he had not heard it for 38 years. "Is this Roberto Wissai?" He said very softly, almost inaudibly, "Hello, Laura."
Roberto woke up after a difficult night, checked his emails on the iPhone, and shuddered at the messages left for him. All the usual, boring bellyaching and misunderstanding. All those unaccomplished, insensitive, unperceptive folks out there read too much of themselves into his words. They acted in a self-important manner. They forgot they didn't mean much at all in that strange world of his. He lied and made up stories as he went along the process of indulging himself called writing. He knew he was not good enough to be a real writer. He was not even a wordsmith. He wrote because he was in pain. Simple but true and sad.
He turned on the porno DVD a friend of his just lent him. He watched it for a few minutes and he shut it down. All the gyrations and huffings and pantings just made him feel sad and think of Laura. She is ubiquitous. She is his curse. After she was gone, he turned to other women for comfort, to no avail. His writings have been rooted in the wish she would drop dead. His words hold the world tenously bearable enough for him to live on for another day. Everyday, he must artificially create a hunger to live just one more extra day, so he had the strength of not killing himself. This game he played with himself everyday was raw and lonely, but it was the only game he knew. Of course there were always words, a lot of them, that accompany the artificial hunger.
The numbers didn't mean much. They actually enhanced his feelings of loneliness. It's not the body count, a supporting evidence to a childish boast. Wives, girl-friends, admirers, one-night stands, but never paid companions. He was too vain and cheap to go through the last route. The numbers were there for him to see his search was futile.
He went to the bathroom to relieve himself. All the shit that had been accumulating weighed more than the mental anguish he was experiencing. On the way back, he paused and examined himself in the mirror. The face was still good, but the body was going to pot. The once washboard abdomen was getting a paunch. The body was losing definition. He was over his normal weight by 15 pounds. He made a mental note to change all that in the coming year.
He was back to his bed and reached for a pen. And he scribbled furiously. All the animals were so stupid. They didn't understand him at all, he said to himself. Then the phone rang. He looked at it. An unfamiliar number. He said, hello. His heart almost leaped out of his chest. The voice was unmistakeable even if he had not heard it for 38 years. "Is this Roberto Wissai?" He said very softly, almost inaudibly, "Hello, Laura."
Solitude and Loneliness
Everybody knows about the difference between solitude and loneliness. One is sought; the other is experiened and forced upon and keenly felt and a wish to escape from it.
You certainly have been lonely and in a bit of pain, but you soldier on because of pride and dignity. You will do anything for pride and dignity, including killing yourself, and maybe others as well. You are not to going to come across as weak and overly sentimental. You will get used to the new stituation. The collapse of the whole thing was so farcical that you shudder to think of millions of others who just cannot hack it. Everything is just a matter of letting it come and go. Nothing stays. Nothing is important. I laugh it off when people want to cling to an illusion that they mean something to somebody and that they are somehow important to the well-being of others while the simple truth is that we all die and the suffering of unmet expectation is not worth it. Nobody was born in this world to please us. Once you smelled the ugly odor of petulance and calculation, you felt nauseous and has to run away, far and fast.
You certainly have been lonely and in a bit of pain, but you soldier on because of pride and dignity. You will do anything for pride and dignity, including killing yourself, and maybe others as well. You are not to going to come across as weak and overly sentimental. You will get used to the new stituation. The collapse of the whole thing was so farcical that you shudder to think of millions of others who just cannot hack it. Everything is just a matter of letting it come and go. Nothing stays. Nothing is important. I laugh it off when people want to cling to an illusion that they mean something to somebody and that they are somehow important to the well-being of others while the simple truth is that we all die and the suffering of unmet expectation is not worth it. Nobody was born in this world to please us. Once you smelled the ugly odor of petulance and calculation, you felt nauseous and has to run away, far and fast.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
What did you learn?
1. You must keep your mouth shut as long as you can. Speak only when it's absolutely necessary.
2. You are absolutely smarter and more informed than most. Your interactions with others have proven that. Keep on improving your mind.
3. Trust nobody. No more confiding.
4. All humans are selfish. All talks and no actions. All have an inflated, unrealistic view of themselves. Most are cowardly and despicable. Most are simply no different from animals, from dogs and pigs. All are concerned with survival and screw higher concepts.
5. Keep busy. Be dignified. Don't lose your dignity.
6. Be strong. State your case quietly and concisely. Don't be verbose. Refrain from showing contempt to others. You know what it is like to be on the receiving end. Forgiveness is a myth. Most humans will stay angry and will strike back when opportunities arise. Stop making enemies.
2. You are absolutely smarter and more informed than most. Your interactions with others have proven that. Keep on improving your mind.
3. Trust nobody. No more confiding.
4. All humans are selfish. All talks and no actions. All have an inflated, unrealistic view of themselves. Most are cowardly and despicable. Most are simply no different from animals, from dogs and pigs. All are concerned with survival and screw higher concepts.
5. Keep busy. Be dignified. Don't lose your dignity.
6. Be strong. State your case quietly and concisely. Don't be verbose. Refrain from showing contempt to others. You know what it is like to be on the receiving end. Forgiveness is a myth. Most humans will stay angry and will strike back when opportunities arise. Stop making enemies.
Pride and Petulance
One should distinguish true pride from petulance. You have paid a very high price for your stupid pride which could be petulance in disguise. But it doesn't matter to you. You are who you are. But first things first. Here are the things on the do-list for the new year of 2011:
1. Health comes first: lose weight, get enough rest, do exercises and meditation. Be determined to live long until 105.
2. Must concentrate on making money. Screw the distractions. Nobody gives a damn about you. They all talk big and nice, but you know and they know they worry about their interests and egos first and foremost. They only use you to make them feel good about themselves. Remember deep down you are the only unselfish human you know. All others you have come across are selfish liars, all of them.
3. Must be able to read Chinese by 2012. That means you must learn at least 10 new words a day. A very easy goal. So stay with it.
4. Work on your personality. Be gentle and amiable. Talk less. Be wise and cautious. Stop confiding and being trusting. The lessons in December of 2010 must be remembered: no respect is the sign of no more love. You are the stronger and more desirable one, not the other way around. Be wary and cautious out there. The world is full of trickery.
As you are typing these, you remember all the gyrations of yore when you stupidly got tense and restless over those who turned out to be worse off than you are in personality and even achievements. Be cool. You will be a better judge of character if you stop being a dreamer. People like you are rare and vulnerable. Be careful.
1. Health comes first: lose weight, get enough rest, do exercises and meditation. Be determined to live long until 105.
2. Must concentrate on making money. Screw the distractions. Nobody gives a damn about you. They all talk big and nice, but you know and they know they worry about their interests and egos first and foremost. They only use you to make them feel good about themselves. Remember deep down you are the only unselfish human you know. All others you have come across are selfish liars, all of them.
3. Must be able to read Chinese by 2012. That means you must learn at least 10 new words a day. A very easy goal. So stay with it.
4. Work on your personality. Be gentle and amiable. Talk less. Be wise and cautious. Stop confiding and being trusting. The lessons in December of 2010 must be remembered: no respect is the sign of no more love. You are the stronger and more desirable one, not the other way around. Be wary and cautious out there. The world is full of trickery.
As you are typing these, you remember all the gyrations of yore when you stupidly got tense and restless over those who turned out to be worse off than you are in personality and even achievements. Be cool. You will be a better judge of character if you stop being a dreamer. People like you are rare and vulnerable. Be careful.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Stupidity, Ignorance, and Justification
Oh my goodness! You would not imagine how stupid and ignorant certain douche bags could be until they opened their mouths to opine and then to defend themselves when their opinions were questioned and criticized. What could you do with scumbags like those? Continue exposing their stupidity and ignorance? No, you give up and walk away and feel thankful that your own parents were not that stupid and insensitive. As you reiterate ad nauseam, respect facts and truths. Admit your mistakes and errors of thinking and show gratitude if somebody kindly shows where you were wrong. Don't grasp at straws and defend yourself, especially when you already know you were wrong and your kind critic was right. Stubborn justification and defense of your untenable positions just makes you look small and stupid. You have a reason to despise cowards. You have had a lingering suspicion that certain douche bags were also cowards, but you were not sure until they opened their mouths and tell others how smart and sensitive and funny they were. Cowards could not take pains. They would never admit they have made mistakes.
Time and Space Travel
When you were young and lazy and unfocused, you read a lot of Chinese bullshit stories in translation about men who could perform extraordinary feats involving space and time travel that defied laws of physics known at the time. Now it appears that theoretically at least those feats are feasible. Time is now understood as no longer a linear progression but can be manipulated. Ditto for space. Space and time are now regarded as interrelated. Man is an incredible animal. Whatever it can imagine, it can do. Man is only limited by the limitations and the poverty of his imagination.
Armed with this flimsy knowledge of this vastly complicated subject, your mind is now playing with itself. You are strangely calm and are imagining you are living back to the past so you can influence the present and the future. With this game, all the hurts and losses are bearable. At the same time you are not agitated as you used to be and now can handle whatever life is throwing at you, including death, because you know you were already dead a long time ago.
Armed with this flimsy knowledge of this vastly complicated subject, your mind is now playing with itself. You are strangely calm and are imagining you are living back to the past so you can influence the present and the future. With this game, all the hurts and losses are bearable. At the same time you are not agitated as you used to be and now can handle whatever life is throwing at you, including death, because you know you were already dead a long time ago.
Walk on by
Yes, she would cry from now on like Dionne Warwick as you walk on by. She had her chances, but she blew them. She thought or acted too highly of herself. Somehow you have a feeling that she must have known her true worth. That is the problem with mediocre folks who are not content with who they are. Instead of trying really hard as you do to improve their lots and their minds, they just talk. Watch out when they are angry. All those years of living in resentment and shame of their meager accomplishments would manifest in harsh and stupid language.
You are slowly regaining your peace. You are focusing on making money without being distracted from making small talks just to be polite. Life is getting shorter by the day. You have to keep on walking.
You are slowly regaining your peace. You are focusing on making money without being distracted from making small talks just to be polite. Life is getting shorter by the day. You have to keep on walking.
Monday, December 20, 2010
my old man
Corporal punishment was cruel and unfair. I could count by the fingers of my one hand the times I had to discipline my only child. And my recollection was that they were all very mild measures of punishment. I felt I had to do so in order to stop at once the intolerably unruly behavior. I didn't think the measures left any traumatic memories to him or me or anybody else. Compared to many, many other fathers, I was very gentle with my son.
Bukowski had a brutal childhood because of his father who also constantly abused his mother. It was remarkable that Bukowski turned out okay and lived until the age of 73 despite heavy drinking and whoring. He wrote stories, novels and poems. He published his first story when he was 24. His poetry was very raw, disarming, uncensored, and full of unprintable four letter words depicting sex organs and sex acts. Some poems were truly memorable. Over ten years ago, I was thunderstruck by the following lines and made them mine by changing and adding a few words:
"Three o'clock in the morning
I stopped and listened
Somewhere close by
A stone met a heart
The sound of hurt."
I received quite a lot of corporal punishment while growing up. As a consequence, I hate all figures of authority and despise with a passion those who hunger for power.
Wissai
16 years old and suffering from massive depression
i'd study very little
while writing stories late into the night
one summer night, staggered home drunk after being in the woods with the boys, found all my clothing--
shorts, shirts, shoes--and suitcase,
and pages of stories strewn around on the lawn and on the street
mother was waiting,
"Roberto, Roberto, don't go in...he'll kill you...he's read your stories..."
" i can whip his ass..."
"please, Roberto, take this...and find yourself a room."
but it worried him i wouldn't finish
high school and would get drafted
into the freaking war
so he asked my mother to get me back
one evening he walked in
with the pages of
one story of mine
and he said, "this is
a good story."
and gave them to me
and I read the story
it was about
a rich man
who had a fight with his wife
and his teenage son who threatened him with a knife
so he left the house
and went into town
for a cup of coffee
and observed
the waitress and the spoons
and folks and
the salt and pepper shakers
and the tables and chairs
and the customers
and then went back
to the back of the house
where he kept his horse in the stable
he talked to his horse and touched and caressed the horse who then suddenly kicked him in the head
and killed him.
somehow the story touched him
though when i wrote it i wanted him dead.
so i said, "okay, old man. you can have it."
and he took it
and walked out and closed the door.
that was as close as we ever got.
a year later he took a walk in the woods
and an old branch snapped off and hit him in the head
and he died shortly thereafter.
mother cried at the funeral but i didn't then.
Wissai
adapted from Charles Bukowski's "my old man"
Bukowski had a brutal childhood because of his father who also constantly abused his mother. It was remarkable that Bukowski turned out okay and lived until the age of 73 despite heavy drinking and whoring. He wrote stories, novels and poems. He published his first story when he was 24. His poetry was very raw, disarming, uncensored, and full of unprintable four letter words depicting sex organs and sex acts. Some poems were truly memorable. Over ten years ago, I was thunderstruck by the following lines and made them mine by changing and adding a few words:
"Three o'clock in the morning
I stopped and listened
Somewhere close by
A stone met a heart
The sound of hurt."
I received quite a lot of corporal punishment while growing up. As a consequence, I hate all figures of authority and despise with a passion those who hunger for power.
Wissai
16 years old and suffering from massive depression
i'd study very little
while writing stories late into the night
one summer night, staggered home drunk after being in the woods with the boys, found all my clothing--
shorts, shirts, shoes--and suitcase,
and pages of stories strewn around on the lawn and on the street
mother was waiting,
"Roberto, Roberto, don't go in...he'll kill you...he's read your stories..."
" i can whip his ass..."
"please, Roberto, take this...and find yourself a room."
but it worried him i wouldn't finish
high school and would get drafted
into the freaking war
so he asked my mother to get me back
one evening he walked in
with the pages of
one story of mine
and he said, "this is
a good story."
and gave them to me
and I read the story
it was about
a rich man
who had a fight with his wife
and his teenage son who threatened him with a knife
so he left the house
and went into town
for a cup of coffee
and observed
the waitress and the spoons
and folks and
the salt and pepper shakers
and the tables and chairs
and the customers
and then went back
to the back of the house
where he kept his horse in the stable
he talked to his horse and touched and caressed the horse who then suddenly kicked him in the head
and killed him.
somehow the story touched him
though when i wrote it i wanted him dead.
so i said, "okay, old man. you can have it."
and he took it
and walked out and closed the door.
that was as close as we ever got.
a year later he took a walk in the woods
and an old branch snapped off and hit him in the head
and he died shortly thereafter.
mother cried at the funeral but i didn't then.
Wissai
adapted from Charles Bukowski's "my old man"
Wisdom
Wisdom often involves silence when one feels angry. It would be even more wisdom if you could approach the one who makes you feel upset by softly saying, let's have a talk, why you are so harsh, so angry, calm down, we are friends, I care about you. But no, no, we would not do that. We get self-righteous and we want to get even. So we fling harsher words back with high vocality. We act like fools and we end up as losers. We forget vinegar traps no bees. Maybe things are what they are, for a reason. A man shows himself in all of his "splendor" and squalor when he is angry. Most men are stuck as predictable animals. Few have managed to transcend their animal heritage and behave like angels at all times. Those men are comfortable with themselves. They have no complexes. They have nothing to prove or to hide.
You were admittedly uncomfortable. That reflected in a pathetic dream. Dreams don't lie. They never do. The dream woke you up. You looked at the clock. You felt sad, but you soldiered on and you moved on. You would make it. You are learning an age-old lesson that selfishness is an ingrained trait. There were signs all along, each successive one was more pronounced than the preceding one: the conflicts with kinsfolks, selfishness about books, the keyboard, the lousy temper, the unjustified pride, the lack of ambition and drive, the poor reasoning skills, the lies, and the general lack of respect culminating in shouting and uttering words of
insults.
Be more taciturn and circumspect in dealing with monkeys and assholes.
You were admittedly uncomfortable. That reflected in a pathetic dream. Dreams don't lie. They never do. The dream woke you up. You looked at the clock. You felt sad, but you soldiered on and you moved on. You would make it. You are learning an age-old lesson that selfishness is an ingrained trait. There were signs all along, each successive one was more pronounced than the preceding one: the conflicts with kinsfolks, selfishness about books, the keyboard, the lousy temper, the unjustified pride, the lack of ambition and drive, the poor reasoning skills, the lies, and the general lack of respect culminating in shouting and uttering words of
insults.
Be more taciturn and circumspect in dealing with monkeys and assholes.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Giving up on ghosts
Giving up on ghosts
Once you realize that the ghosts look down on you and think you are not their equals, you wake up and the healing process begins. You are not bitter, but wiser and learns to improve yourself. A man has to be comfortable with who he is. You keep on learning while working on your mind and your personality. You started as a romantic fool and are now on your way to be a wise, charming, caring, understanding, popular old man who is loved and adored by women of all ages. Still, you wondered why you had feelings for the ghosts in the first place. It could be they acted as a catalyst to spur your own growth. It could also be that you thought they were decent, caring women, women with a heart.
You talked too much. You were too naive and trusting. You craved for acceptance and understanding. They were right about you. You were childish. Time to grow up. Be cool. Don't be cheap. Don't be sentimental either. Nobody is. So you are stupid if you are sentimental. Be cynical and untrusting and hard. Be on guard. Nobody is real. So you had better not be either. You must move away from writing about Proustian feelings of loss, regret, and ravages of bygone memories.
You are known to be forthright, disarming, uncensored, and a bit unhinged. You are now a bit wiser and chastened, but still never miss an opportunity to hurt and harm yourself with your big mouth. You love to swirl around the eddies of insanity. Yet you wisely said goodbye to her, a lazy, unambitious, all-talks-no-action, and yet unrealistic about her true worth, kind of woman who tends to say really stupid things when mad and angry. She tries to give an impressionthat she thinks she is somebody. But, she does not really think highly of herself. Not at all. She just talks so to make her feel good while stuffing food down her throat in front of the TV which is her true companion. A truly proud woman will never allow herself to be fat and dourly dressed. A truly proud and wise woman keeps her figure svelte and always looks stylish and acts charming. She never loses her temper. She acts and talks smart. She keeps her cool under pressure. She never says a word of sarcasm because she knows sarcasm is a cheap wit. Monkeys and dogs and even pigs know how to use sarcasm. She knows it is stupid and self-destructive to put others down. She knows how to handle herself. She has poise, grace, and class. Men adore her and take delight in her presence.
Once you realize that the ghosts look down on you and think you are not their equals, you wake up and the healing process begins. You are not bitter, but wiser and learns to improve yourself. A man has to be comfortable with who he is. You keep on learning while working on your mind and your personality. You started as a romantic fool and are now on your way to be a wise, charming, caring, understanding, popular old man who is loved and adored by women of all ages. Still, you wondered why you had feelings for the ghosts in the first place. It could be they acted as a catalyst to spur your own growth. It could also be that you thought they were decent, caring women, women with a heart.
You talked too much. You were too naive and trusting. You craved for acceptance and understanding. They were right about you. You were childish. Time to grow up. Be cool. Don't be cheap. Don't be sentimental either. Nobody is. So you are stupid if you are sentimental. Be cynical and untrusting and hard. Be on guard. Nobody is real. So you had better not be either. You must move away from writing about Proustian feelings of loss, regret, and ravages of bygone memories.
You are known to be forthright, disarming, uncensored, and a bit unhinged. You are now a bit wiser and chastened, but still never miss an opportunity to hurt and harm yourself with your big mouth. You love to swirl around the eddies of insanity. Yet you wisely said goodbye to her, a lazy, unambitious, all-talks-no-action, and yet unrealistic about her true worth, kind of woman who tends to say really stupid things when mad and angry. She tries to give an impressionthat she thinks she is somebody. But, she does not really think highly of herself. Not at all. She just talks so to make her feel good while stuffing food down her throat in front of the TV which is her true companion. A truly proud woman will never allow herself to be fat and dourly dressed. A truly proud and wise woman keeps her figure svelte and always looks stylish and acts charming. She never loses her temper. She acts and talks smart. She keeps her cool under pressure. She never says a word of sarcasm because she knows sarcasm is a cheap wit. Monkeys and dogs and even pigs know how to use sarcasm. She knows it is stupid and self-destructive to put others down. She knows how to handle herself. She has poise, grace, and class. Men adore her and take delight in her presence.
tossing and turning
tossing and turning
here I'm supposed to be a good poet
and I am tossing and turning
simply because some guy said I acted like a child
here I'm aware of Death like a big bad bull charging at me because I keep taunting it with risky behavior
and I am tossing and turning
here I am aware of wars and men die like dogs,corpses bloating, ants crawling over pale faces, and
flies buzzing and swarming
and I am tossing and turning
i open my eyes, moonlight faintly visible behind the curtain muted whistle of the train running by miles away
i brood on the dismissive, insulting words from stupid and ignorant folks.
And I emit an eerie laugh, sending a cat
scurrying for cover under the bed
it wails plaintive cries. I ignore its need for assurance.
i close my eyes once more, counting my breath, slowing down my heart rate, visualizing lying on a beach and waves of warm water washing over me, taking away all the hurts and disappointments
then a woman calls, asking if I want to be over her house on account of her not being able to sleep and she wants me to hold her and nothing more
i say, not right now, I'm too sleepy to drive, maybe some other time
you see, I'm too jaded for an easy lay, too hurt to believe in sweet words
i just now am concerned about getting decent amount of rest, eating right, doing some exercises, and staying away from all women for they only want money and a honey with soft heart so they can boss around
here I'm supposed to be a good poet
and I am tossing and turning
simply because some guy said I acted like a child
here I'm aware of Death like a big bad bull charging at me because I keep taunting it with risky behavior
and I am tossing and turning
here I am aware of wars and men die like dogs,corpses bloating, ants crawling over pale faces, and
flies buzzing and swarming
and I am tossing and turning
i open my eyes, moonlight faintly visible behind the curtain muted whistle of the train running by miles away
i brood on the dismissive, insulting words from stupid and ignorant folks.
And I emit an eerie laugh, sending a cat
scurrying for cover under the bed
it wails plaintive cries. I ignore its need for assurance.
i close my eyes once more, counting my breath, slowing down my heart rate, visualizing lying on a beach and waves of warm water washing over me, taking away all the hurts and disappointments
then a woman calls, asking if I want to be over her house on account of her not being able to sleep and she wants me to hold her and nothing more
i say, not right now, I'm too sleepy to drive, maybe some other time
you see, I'm too jaded for an easy lay, too hurt to believe in sweet words
i just now am concerned about getting decent amount of rest, eating right, doing some exercises, and staying away from all women for they only want money and a honey with soft heart so they can boss around
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Mime and Reality
Mime and Reality
I took up writing a few years ago as an aid in combating suicidal urges. As it turned out, a large number of people didn't like my particular style of writing. They pointed out that my essays and even so-called fictional pieces all focused on three topics: myself, my life, and my "profound" personal, meandering private thoughts. In response, I took a sabbatical for two days from writing and reflected on the accusation of self-absorption. And I concluded that my critics were right. One woman was especially harsh in her "criticism". She often screamed, shouted, screeched, and sometimes susurrated that my penchant of writing about myself was evident that I was suffering from a pathology of some kind. I replied to her that we were all sick, some were more than others. To live is to fight against infection, literally and metaphorically. And we all play doctors. It would be better and less jarring to everybody's sensibilities if we all learned to focus on our own maladies and pay less attention to somebody else's. That was why I chuckled, chortled, crackled, and cried out in exasperation when a certain very sick individual intimated that I was sick! Dumb and insensitive folks tend to look outward and have no conception of introspection. They don't have good vision, literally. A very ugly and short and fat woman had a gall and a gumption to self-declare that she ain't none of the above. She must have not been exposed to a mirror all her entire life. Humans have a tendency to think highly of themselves so they gathered all the crumbs and morsels of dignity and self-esteem they had their hands on and feel good about themselves. I suppose false pride is better than inferiority complex. A guy who, in my estimation and judgment and without any doubt on my part, is a liar and a phony and a braggart, actually thinks he is modest and truthful. I have played along with him in a farcical construction he called friendship.
The long drive across the country helped me refine my thinking of many issues. I recalled long ago a woman who professed to love me but called me childish. I laughed when she said that, but inside a flood of memories rushed back. True, raw romantic feelings are always childish to some extent. To love is to render oneself vulnerable, to go back in time and look for and recapture those childhood memories involving the primordial feelings of love and protection. To really love somebody is to re-enact a certain parent-child relationship. The woman missed the point. That was when I knew she didn't love anybody but herself. I am calm and serene but wistful and cynical. I need to focus on making money and taking of my health.
(to be continued)
I took up writing a few years ago as an aid in combating suicidal urges. As it turned out, a large number of people didn't like my particular style of writing. They pointed out that my essays and even so-called fictional pieces all focused on three topics: myself, my life, and my "profound" personal, meandering private thoughts. In response, I took a sabbatical for two days from writing and reflected on the accusation of self-absorption. And I concluded that my critics were right. One woman was especially harsh in her "criticism". She often screamed, shouted, screeched, and sometimes susurrated that my penchant of writing about myself was evident that I was suffering from a pathology of some kind. I replied to her that we were all sick, some were more than others. To live is to fight against infection, literally and metaphorically. And we all play doctors. It would be better and less jarring to everybody's sensibilities if we all learned to focus on our own maladies and pay less attention to somebody else's. That was why I chuckled, chortled, crackled, and cried out in exasperation when a certain very sick individual intimated that I was sick! Dumb and insensitive folks tend to look outward and have no conception of introspection. They don't have good vision, literally. A very ugly and short and fat woman had a gall and a gumption to self-declare that she ain't none of the above. She must have not been exposed to a mirror all her entire life. Humans have a tendency to think highly of themselves so they gathered all the crumbs and morsels of dignity and self-esteem they had their hands on and feel good about themselves. I suppose false pride is better than inferiority complex. A guy who, in my estimation and judgment and without any doubt on my part, is a liar and a phony and a braggart, actually thinks he is modest and truthful. I have played along with him in a farcical construction he called friendship.
The long drive across the country helped me refine my thinking of many issues. I recalled long ago a woman who professed to love me but called me childish. I laughed when she said that, but inside a flood of memories rushed back. True, raw romantic feelings are always childish to some extent. To love is to render oneself vulnerable, to go back in time and look for and recapture those childhood memories involving the primordial feelings of love and protection. To really love somebody is to re-enact a certain parent-child relationship. The woman missed the point. That was when I knew she didn't love anybody but herself. I am calm and serene but wistful and cynical. I need to focus on making money and taking of my health.
(to be continued)
Monday, December 13, 2010
Saying goodbye to Paradise
Tống biệt
Lá đào rơi rắc lối thiên thai,
Suối tiễn oanh đưa luống ngậm ngùi!
Nửa năm tiên cảnh,
Một bước trần ai,
Ước cũ duyên thừa có thế thôi!
Đá mòn, rêu nhạt,
Nước chảy, huê trôi,
Cái hạc bay lên vút tận trời!
Trời đất từ đây xa cách mãi.
Cửa động,
Đầu non,
Đường lối cũ,
Ngàn năm thơ thẩn bóng trăng chơi.
(1922)
Bản Dịch:
(Tiến sĩ Vũ Đình Đỉnh, USA)
Leaving Paradise
Peach petals were sprinkled along the Paradise path
As clear creeks and golden orioles all came to bid farewell!
Half a year of blissful life in Paradise,
One step of miserable existence on Earth,
Olden vow and little love were just that and no more!
Stones are cut, mosses turn brown,
Water runs deep, flowers float around,
And cranes fly high,
Disappearing into the blueish sky!
Now Heaven and Earth are again forever separated,
The grotto gate,
The mountain top,
The beaten path,
Reminiscences of a thousand years of
A moon-washed celestial stroll.
The above translation was done by a guy with a Ph. D., presumably from the U.S.
The below is my translation.
Saying goodbye to Paradise
A path in Paradise was peppered with peach flowers petals
As bubbling brooks and golden orioles gathered to bid lingering farewell!
Half a year in blissful Paradise,
One more step and I would be back to ordinary strife.
Former wishes and bygone loves were just that and nothing more.
Rounded stones and faded mosses,
Flowing water and floating flowers
And the crane took off to the sky!
Heaven and Earth from now on forever apart.
Grotto gate,
Mountain top,
And the familiar path I walked
In a stroll that lasted a thousand of moonlit nights.
Translated by Wissai ( Ph.D. dropout) of Tong Biet by Tan Da.
Dec. 12, 2010
I always like Tan Da's poetry ever since I came across his words in high school. I had to translate this poem because I really liked it although it was very difficult to translate Tan Da's poetry because of the conciseness and suggestiveness of his expressions. Also, I decided to translate this poem because I didn't like the
translation of the other gentleman. I put the extra notation Ph.D. dropout in order to make fun of the gentleman's own unnecessary reference of his Ph.D. Anyway, one should not boast of holding an advanced degree when doing a translation, especially if the translation is not very good. To be fair to him, I borrowed quite a bit of his words when they were correct. I must say, however, my translation is far superior to his because I am a poet and he is not (presumably). Besides, his English is not good despite bragging of having a Ph. D.
Lá đào rơi rắc lối thiên thai,
Suối tiễn oanh đưa luống ngậm ngùi!
Nửa năm tiên cảnh,
Một bước trần ai,
Ước cũ duyên thừa có thế thôi!
Đá mòn, rêu nhạt,
Nước chảy, huê trôi,
Cái hạc bay lên vút tận trời!
Trời đất từ đây xa cách mãi.
Cửa động,
Đầu non,
Đường lối cũ,
Ngàn năm thơ thẩn bóng trăng chơi.
(1922)
Bản Dịch:
(Tiến sĩ Vũ Đình Đỉnh, USA)
Leaving Paradise
Peach petals were sprinkled along the Paradise path
As clear creeks and golden orioles all came to bid farewell!
Half a year of blissful life in Paradise,
One step of miserable existence on Earth,
Olden vow and little love were just that and no more!
Stones are cut, mosses turn brown,
Water runs deep, flowers float around,
And cranes fly high,
Disappearing into the blueish sky!
Now Heaven and Earth are again forever separated,
The grotto gate,
The mountain top,
The beaten path,
Reminiscences of a thousand years of
A moon-washed celestial stroll.
The above translation was done by a guy with a Ph. D., presumably from the U.S.
The below is my translation.
Saying goodbye to Paradise
A path in Paradise was peppered with peach flowers petals
As bubbling brooks and golden orioles gathered to bid lingering farewell!
Half a year in blissful Paradise,
One more step and I would be back to ordinary strife.
Former wishes and bygone loves were just that and nothing more.
Rounded stones and faded mosses,
Flowing water and floating flowers
And the crane took off to the sky!
Heaven and Earth from now on forever apart.
Grotto gate,
Mountain top,
And the familiar path I walked
In a stroll that lasted a thousand of moonlit nights.
Translated by Wissai ( Ph.D. dropout) of Tong Biet by Tan Da.
Dec. 12, 2010
I always like Tan Da's poetry ever since I came across his words in high school. I had to translate this poem because I really liked it although it was very difficult to translate Tan Da's poetry because of the conciseness and suggestiveness of his expressions. Also, I decided to translate this poem because I didn't like the
translation of the other gentleman. I put the extra notation Ph.D. dropout in order to make fun of the gentleman's own unnecessary reference of his Ph.D. Anyway, one should not boast of holding an advanced degree when doing a translation, especially if the translation is not very good. To be fair to him, I borrowed quite a bit of his words when they were correct. I must say, however, my translation is far superior to his because I am a poet and he is not (presumably). Besides, his English is not good despite bragging of having a Ph. D.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Introspection
Speak less and you will think more. Don't be impressed with yourself. All you have done is to create more envy among petty-minded assholes, as exemplified by the behavior of the Monkey. Go here. Avoid other places. Try to speak as little as possible. No regret, however, because your outspokenness triggered and unmasked the cowardliness and pettiness of several assholes who heretofore had hidden behind the facade of gentility. Most humans are assholes and cowards and scumbags and douche bags, please remember that. Concentrate on making money. Read Rumi.
Morris and Kurtweil and ideals
Sloth, greed, and fear
(one thesis of Ian Morris, among several, in his book. The two others are 1. The role of biology, sociology, and geography in shaping social developments, and 2. The measurement of social developments by means of energy capture, organization, war-making capacity, and information technology)
constitute a framework of explaining human behavior. Humans generally are lazy, greedy, and fearful. They tend to look for easier, more profitable, or safer ways to do things. Social development is cumulative, a matter of incremental steps that have to be taken in the right order. The cumulative pattern also explains why increases in social development keep speeding up: each innovation build on earlier one's and contribute to later ones, meaning the higher social development rises, the faster it can continue rising.
Yet the course of innovation never did run smooth. Innovation means change, bringing joy and pain in equal measures. It creates whole new cores when the advantages of backwardness empower those who had previously been marginal. Its growth depends on societies becoming larger, more complicated, and harder to manage; the higher it rises, the more threats to itself it creates. Hence the paradox: social development creates the very forces that undermine it. When these slip out of control---and particularly when a changing environment multiplies uncertainty---chaos, ruin, and collapse may follow.
Inventor and futurist Ray Kurzweil's concept of Singularity provokes as much mockery as admiration, and the odds are that he will be wrong much more often than he is right. But one of the things Kurzweil is surely correct about is that what he calls "criticism from incredulity," simple disbelief that anything so peculiar could happen, is no counterargument. As the Nobel Prize-winning chemist Richard Smalley likes to say, "When a scientist says something is possible, they're probably underestimating how long it will take. But if they say it's impossible, they're probably wrong." Humans are already taking baby steps toward some sort of Singularity, and governments and militarize are taking the prospect of a Singularity seriously enough to start planning for it.
Ideas are important. I've written about this. Ideas fascinate me. Who and what we are are determined by the ideas we encountered or formulated. Ideas are alloyed with facts and knowledge which in turn make up most of what we know and the basis of our education. What we know usually shapes our attitudes and determines our actions.
Wissai
(one thesis of Ian Morris, among several, in his book. The two others are 1. The role of biology, sociology, and geography in shaping social developments, and 2. The measurement of social developments by means of energy capture, organization, war-making capacity, and information technology)
constitute a framework of explaining human behavior. Humans generally are lazy, greedy, and fearful. They tend to look for easier, more profitable, or safer ways to do things. Social development is cumulative, a matter of incremental steps that have to be taken in the right order. The cumulative pattern also explains why increases in social development keep speeding up: each innovation build on earlier one's and contribute to later ones, meaning the higher social development rises, the faster it can continue rising.
Yet the course of innovation never did run smooth. Innovation means change, bringing joy and pain in equal measures. It creates whole new cores when the advantages of backwardness empower those who had previously been marginal. Its growth depends on societies becoming larger, more complicated, and harder to manage; the higher it rises, the more threats to itself it creates. Hence the paradox: social development creates the very forces that undermine it. When these slip out of control---and particularly when a changing environment multiplies uncertainty---chaos, ruin, and collapse may follow.
Inventor and futurist Ray Kurzweil's concept of Singularity provokes as much mockery as admiration, and the odds are that he will be wrong much more often than he is right. But one of the things Kurzweil is surely correct about is that what he calls "criticism from incredulity," simple disbelief that anything so peculiar could happen, is no counterargument. As the Nobel Prize-winning chemist Richard Smalley likes to say, "When a scientist says something is possible, they're probably underestimating how long it will take. But if they say it's impossible, they're probably wrong." Humans are already taking baby steps toward some sort of Singularity, and governments and militarize are taking the prospect of a Singularity seriously enough to start planning for it.
Ideas are important. I've written about this. Ideas fascinate me. Who and what we are are determined by the ideas we encountered or formulated. Ideas are alloyed with facts and knowledge which in turn make up most of what we know and the basis of our education. What we know usually shapes our attitudes and determines our actions.
Wissai
When Death so near...
When Death so near, why are you no seer?
The words I am about to express
They were once I caressed so I could impress.
But, no more, my love. No more.
Ever since you expectorated your frustrations and resentments with so much venom
that they caused me yawn with boredom.
I once thought there was a morsel, a crumb, a faint trace of nobility in you, but your words established without a shadow of a doubt that you were just a plain vixen, a virago, a shrew, an old, ugly, lonely bitch howling your frustrations away as the night wore on, even if the moon was not full and there were no winds to carry your loneliness to the valley beyond your mountain of solitude.
You were condemned to be by yourself. I have turned my back on you, and for good, since I couldn't cope with your crudeness and crassness.
I could not and would not put up with the barking and howling, the screaming and yelling.
You should have known words said in whispers carry more weight.
Tender, reasonable, calm words are always more effective than venomous, hurtful words dripping with cheap sarcasm.
I will be silent, not only to you, but to all canines and bitches and cowards and hypocrites like you.
My silence will speak of my contempt and my disappointment.
Soon, you will be gone from this planet. And many like you will follow you and return to the dirt and dust, with which you and they have so much in affinity.
Actually, I was very calm in writing these words.
No rancor.
No bitterness.
Just a recognition of reality for what it is, just recognizing you for who you are.
A new dawn of consciousness just arrived.
For me.
I have wasted too much of my time with the likes of you.
Wissai
The words I am about to express
They were once I caressed so I could impress.
But, no more, my love. No more.
Ever since you expectorated your frustrations and resentments with so much venom
that they caused me yawn with boredom.
I once thought there was a morsel, a crumb, a faint trace of nobility in you, but your words established without a shadow of a doubt that you were just a plain vixen, a virago, a shrew, an old, ugly, lonely bitch howling your frustrations away as the night wore on, even if the moon was not full and there were no winds to carry your loneliness to the valley beyond your mountain of solitude.
You were condemned to be by yourself. I have turned my back on you, and for good, since I couldn't cope with your crudeness and crassness.
I could not and would not put up with the barking and howling, the screaming and yelling.
You should have known words said in whispers carry more weight.
Tender, reasonable, calm words are always more effective than venomous, hurtful words dripping with cheap sarcasm.
I will be silent, not only to you, but to all canines and bitches and cowards and hypocrites like you.
My silence will speak of my contempt and my disappointment.
Soon, you will be gone from this planet. And many like you will follow you and return to the dirt and dust, with which you and they have so much in affinity.
Actually, I was very calm in writing these words.
No rancor.
No bitterness.
Just a recognition of reality for what it is, just recognizing you for who you are.
A new dawn of consciousness just arrived.
For me.
I have wasted too much of my time with the likes of you.
Wissai
Friday, December 10, 2010
National Prayer Day
National Day of Prayer(May 6)
was ruled unconstitutional by a federal judge on the Tax Day of April 15, 201o.
A Christian nation
Is a theological impossibility--unless you are an ambitious abbot with audacious, adamantine allure and dreams of greatness in the future--, and faith coerced is no faith at all, only tyranny. The Founding Fathers understood this. Why can't the GOP?
The idea of the separation of Church and State began, in fact, with Jesus. Once, when the crowds were with him and wanted to make him a king, he withdrew and hid. Before Pilate, Jesus was explicit: "My kingdom is not of this world," he said.
Later, Paul (Saul in his unconverted days) argues that God shows no partiality among nations or peoples, meaning nations cannot ask God to take sides.
But, of course, an ignoramus like Palin would not know nor buy into Paul's argument. The spectacle of an idiot, albeit attractive, like Palin commands a following of adoring fans, and a bunch of preachers mouthing off platitudes and nonsense on Sundays while always including pleas for monetary donations is a sad commentary on the spiritual sophistication in America, making it an attractive, fertile ground for religious hucksters and hustlers from all corners of the world. They come here to prey on the those who want to believe or rather to suspend the will of disbelief. We have Hara Krisnas, the Moonies, (Unification Church), Scientology, Wiccans, assorted Hindu hustlers with omnipresent honorific prefix "Swami", and our own Vietnamese meditation "master" Thich Nhat Hanh.
was ruled unconstitutional by a federal judge on the Tax Day of April 15, 201o.
A Christian nation
Is a theological impossibility--unless you are an ambitious abbot with audacious, adamantine allure and dreams of greatness in the future--, and faith coerced is no faith at all, only tyranny. The Founding Fathers understood this. Why can't the GOP?
The idea of the separation of Church and State began, in fact, with Jesus. Once, when the crowds were with him and wanted to make him a king, he withdrew and hid. Before Pilate, Jesus was explicit: "My kingdom is not of this world," he said.
Later, Paul (Saul in his unconverted days) argues that God shows no partiality among nations or peoples, meaning nations cannot ask God to take sides.
But, of course, an ignoramus like Palin would not know nor buy into Paul's argument. The spectacle of an idiot, albeit attractive, like Palin commands a following of adoring fans, and a bunch of preachers mouthing off platitudes and nonsense on Sundays while always including pleas for monetary donations is a sad commentary on the spiritual sophistication in America, making it an attractive, fertile ground for religious hucksters and hustlers from all corners of the world. They come here to prey on the those who want to believe or rather to suspend the will of disbelief. We have Hara Krisnas, the Moonies, (Unification Church), Scientology, Wiccans, assorted Hindu hustlers with omnipresent honorific prefix "Swami", and our own Vietnamese meditation "master" Thich Nhat Hanh.
Emotional Intelligence
Emotional Intelligence
EI is an organizing framework for categorizing abilities relating to understanding, managing and using feelings.
Components (facets) of EI:
Emotional literacy: knowledge and understanding of one's emotions and how they function.
Emotional fitness: trustworthiness and emotional hardiness and flexibility.
Emotional depth: emotional growth and intensity
Emotional alchemy: using emotions to discover creative opportunities.
What are emotions for?
E are powerful social signals. They send us quick, powerful, physical messages that allow us to respond to our environment. They also enable us to communicate voluntarily or involuntarily.
Classifications of E: 6 basic and distinguishable Es: happiness, sadness, surprise, anger, disgust, and fear.
As I copied the above words from a think book, I gained an insight as to why I was interested in the subject. While most humans---including the despicable, hypocritical, cowardly, insincere phonies that I know personally--- aim to evince emotional stability and maturity in order to gain love and respect, I focus on sincerity and authenticity in expressing my feelings because I am more interested in true knowledge not only about the physical processes on this planet and beyond, but also about the essence and character of those humans with whom I happen to interact. In other words, I don't wish to gain love and respect because I happen to be "nice" and "mature", but because I am real, reliable, and respectful of facts, truths, and logic. Of course, it is important to be "nice" and "mature" because one must show a modicum of respect and consideration in interacting/communicating with others, but very often what is seen as nice and mature breaks down under pressure and turns into ugly and phony. I've seen too many instances of this phenomenon; that's why I prefer to deal with people who seem to be bland and unexciting. The ones who appear to be nice and mature are the ones who put me on guard.
On the other hand, when one decides not to be nice and mature, and wants to show contempt, one wants to send a signal to others, a sort of warning prior to going to war. The problem is that most of us fail to realize that others may take the signal of contempt as an act of war, instead of a merely a pre-war gesture, and decide to retaliate in full force. Therefore, a wise man should always avoid all gestures of contempt. I am not a wise man, unfortunately, and thus am always happily and readily repaying all gestures of contempt with my own. Having written all the above, I sadly recognize that most problems I have in this world are out of my own making because of emotional immaturity. We get angry because we get ignored. We get infuriated because somebody showed us contempt. Meanwhile there are real sorrows, real heartaches from war, from trying to scrape together enough food for the supper. We must have perspectives where the priorities lie. We must learn not to take ourselves too seriously to the point of falling madly in love with ourselves since nobody else does. Everybody else is busy to take care of themselves, of trying to survive. They have no time for us. The problems we face are our own. We must learn to solve them on our own terms. We must deal with our sins and shortcomings, and the terrors of accidents and afflictions in our own ways. Nobody can live our lives for us although sometimes we wish there were such a person. Living can be a terrifying and lonely experience. But what am I babbling about? I am one of the most confused and terrified men on this planet. However, I have a quality that is best described as a whimsical reality that sometimes borders on and even ventures into the absurd.
It's very sad when you look into the personals section of a high-brow publication like the New York Review of Books and see accomplished people in their late 60s and beyond, advertising themselves in the hope of finding a friend in the twilight of their lives. If they have none at their age, it's a bit too late. I do realize the need for love and friendship has no age limitation, but that does not mean loneliness and the search to alleviate it is not a sad thing. And then we have an experience as worthy of discussion as loneliness: combat or anything close to it. Combat could be other than the military version. It could be financial or medical. Combat is not where you might die---although that does happen---it is where you get to survive another day and to keep on living. That's where the power of the revelation lies. You get to know if life is worth the combat you must put yourself through every day. I suppose suicide ensues when one decides the effort to put into combat is not worth the satisfaction one gets out of it. Some people do get tired from fighting.
But others never get tired of fighting, of combat if they hold fast to their conviction, to their hearts of hearts that what they are fighting is the noble cause, the test of the worth of their being and existence. For these people, the fight against the Chinese encroachment and incursion into Vietnam's territory is such a just and noble cause.
War brings out the best and the worst from all of us. It tells us who we are. Ladies and gentlemen, if tomorrow, China lands troops on the coast of Vietnam and its planes drop bombs and rockets on Vietnam's cities and military installations, will any of you bother to sign up to defend Vietnam if the VC issues a SOS and asks for the participation of all Vietnamese to defend the fatherland? Will any of you be willing to push aside the lessons of 1945 and just to focus on fighting the common and implacable and historical enemy, the Chinese?
EI is an organizing framework for categorizing abilities relating to understanding, managing and using feelings.
Components (facets) of EI:
Emotional literacy: knowledge and understanding of one's emotions and how they function.
Emotional fitness: trustworthiness and emotional hardiness and flexibility.
Emotional depth: emotional growth and intensity
Emotional alchemy: using emotions to discover creative opportunities.
What are emotions for?
E are powerful social signals. They send us quick, powerful, physical messages that allow us to respond to our environment. They also enable us to communicate voluntarily or involuntarily.
Classifications of E: 6 basic and distinguishable Es: happiness, sadness, surprise, anger, disgust, and fear.
As I copied the above words from a think book, I gained an insight as to why I was interested in the subject. While most humans---including the despicable, hypocritical, cowardly, insincere phonies that I know personally--- aim to evince emotional stability and maturity in order to gain love and respect, I focus on sincerity and authenticity in expressing my feelings because I am more interested in true knowledge not only about the physical processes on this planet and beyond, but also about the essence and character of those humans with whom I happen to interact. In other words, I don't wish to gain love and respect because I happen to be "nice" and "mature", but because I am real, reliable, and respectful of facts, truths, and logic. Of course, it is important to be "nice" and "mature" because one must show a modicum of respect and consideration in interacting/communicating with others, but very often what is seen as nice and mature breaks down under pressure and turns into ugly and phony. I've seen too many instances of this phenomenon; that's why I prefer to deal with people who seem to be bland and unexciting. The ones who appear to be nice and mature are the ones who put me on guard.
On the other hand, when one decides not to be nice and mature, and wants to show contempt, one wants to send a signal to others, a sort of warning prior to going to war. The problem is that most of us fail to realize that others may take the signal of contempt as an act of war, instead of a merely a pre-war gesture, and decide to retaliate in full force. Therefore, a wise man should always avoid all gestures of contempt. I am not a wise man, unfortunately, and thus am always happily and readily repaying all gestures of contempt with my own. Having written all the above, I sadly recognize that most problems I have in this world are out of my own making because of emotional immaturity. We get angry because we get ignored. We get infuriated because somebody showed us contempt. Meanwhile there are real sorrows, real heartaches from war, from trying to scrape together enough food for the supper. We must have perspectives where the priorities lie. We must learn not to take ourselves too seriously to the point of falling madly in love with ourselves since nobody else does. Everybody else is busy to take care of themselves, of trying to survive. They have no time for us. The problems we face are our own. We must learn to solve them on our own terms. We must deal with our sins and shortcomings, and the terrors of accidents and afflictions in our own ways. Nobody can live our lives for us although sometimes we wish there were such a person. Living can be a terrifying and lonely experience. But what am I babbling about? I am one of the most confused and terrified men on this planet. However, I have a quality that is best described as a whimsical reality that sometimes borders on and even ventures into the absurd.
It's very sad when you look into the personals section of a high-brow publication like the New York Review of Books and see accomplished people in their late 60s and beyond, advertising themselves in the hope of finding a friend in the twilight of their lives. If they have none at their age, it's a bit too late. I do realize the need for love and friendship has no age limitation, but that does not mean loneliness and the search to alleviate it is not a sad thing. And then we have an experience as worthy of discussion as loneliness: combat or anything close to it. Combat could be other than the military version. It could be financial or medical. Combat is not where you might die---although that does happen---it is where you get to survive another day and to keep on living. That's where the power of the revelation lies. You get to know if life is worth the combat you must put yourself through every day. I suppose suicide ensues when one decides the effort to put into combat is not worth the satisfaction one gets out of it. Some people do get tired from fighting.
But others never get tired of fighting, of combat if they hold fast to their conviction, to their hearts of hearts that what they are fighting is the noble cause, the test of the worth of their being and existence. For these people, the fight against the Chinese encroachment and incursion into Vietnam's territory is such a just and noble cause.
War brings out the best and the worst from all of us. It tells us who we are. Ladies and gentlemen, if tomorrow, China lands troops on the coast of Vietnam and its planes drop bombs and rockets on Vietnam's cities and military installations, will any of you bother to sign up to defend Vietnam if the VC issues a SOS and asks for the participation of all Vietnamese to defend the fatherland? Will any of you be willing to push aside the lessons of 1945 and just to focus on fighting the common and implacable and historical enemy, the Chinese?
Words Redux
Words redux
Warning: Stop reading if your heart is weak and your soul is feeble. My words are meant to stop your heart and to disturb your soul. On the other hand, an old ugly, short, poor, crass, and crude vixen and virago of Jewish descent once accused me of lacking empathy solely on the basis of the tone and tenor of my words. I retorted that she was the last person on this planet I would want to hear a lecture about empathy. Empathy is not emotional incontinence. I do have the power of the imagination to conjure up a world outside of my experience and to map that understanding onto what I write. The following were my notes as I was drifting about in Eastern Caribbean in less than perfect weather. Some of them were rehashed of what I wrote earlier.
Often when I write, a warning from Mark Twain rings in my ears. " Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted. Persons attempting to find a moral in it will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." I write because I like to see my brain struggle with symbols called words, to negotiate a world full of ignoramuses and hypocrites, and to counterbalance the pain of mental anguish with the balm of humor. That's what I pompously and ponderously trying to tell myself and others.
Even though I have never actually seen wind, I know it is there because I see its impact, the consequences of its unseen hand. Wind is the movement of two different air pressure systems. Nature hates unbalance. It strives for equilibrium. Chemical reactions are just the process of reaching equilibrium. Orgasm is a chemical reaction of another name. The serenity you achieve after reaching orgasm is equilibrium achieved.
Although nobody has seen a fundamental particle with naked eyes, particle physicists have faith in its existence. They believe in what they see in the aftermath of the chemical reactions. Actually, it boggles the mind to see how certain individuals can go that far in trying to understand the physical composition of the elements and to probe into the interaction of the elements under certain conditions. Thanks to these individuals, the human race collectively makes progress and achieves some mastery over the physical environment. On the other hand, some humans are so hampered by the poverty of their imagination and the paucity of their mental prowess as well as by the inferiority complex of their very being that they flail and flop around in their miserable existence while waiting for death to arrive and put a merciful end to their useless lives. Meanwhile they take desperate, pot shots at those who manage to bring affronts to their perceived possession of dignity and worth, but they must have known deep in their hearts they have neither dignity nor worth, for they are humans only in name, and not in sensibilities or accomplishments for their lives are identical to those of animals: crass, crude, selfish, and utterly meaningless. I have a deep fear to be like them. This fear has caused me to try my best to reach for higher ground of morality and love and responsibility. I have been ridiculed and laughed by them as being stupid, naive, foolish, and grandiose, but the fear has helped me hold my head high and look at myself in the mirror without a shudder of shame---well, not too much a shudder anyway.
Ever since I joined a certain forum and have been exposed to the infantile mode of reasoning of several supposedly "educated" and intelligent individuals there, I was perplexed as to why such an unexpected behavior could happen. I thought educated people would display rationality when it comes to reasoning, but over and over again I witnessed a blatant disregard for facts, truths, and logic. My bewilderment was alleviated by a recent reading of an article in Newsweek magazine, Aug. 16, 2010, p. 24, where Sharon Begley showed why evolution may favor irrationality and why flaws of reasoning are ploys to be persuasive and win arguments, though not to truths.
Those individuals who resort to confirmation bias, are blind to counterexamples, and fall short of logic, naturally provoke contempt from me. I can't help it. To me, they are emotional cowards who can't face truths and logic. To me, they exemplify the limits of education and of reason itself. Some humans are simply not fit to call themselves humans. In them, the animal heritage is too overwhelming, especially if they are also selfish. In fact, selfishness is what drives them to such poor attempts at reasoning because they try to justify their selfish behavior and their lies. One does not argue well from positions of weakness. In the end, truths and logic always win out.
Take the emotional subject of romantic love, for instance. I take a position that if certain women don't love me because they don't know my worth or they do, but think my worth is not worth much. Of course, we can throw in other relevant factors such as incompatibility (personality, caste, and socioeconomic variables) and lack of sexual attractiveness. Faced with such rejection, a rational response for me is to walk away in silence and without rancor and bitterness, and to keep looking for other women who will find me desirable. If I cannot find any, I will have to accept reality for what it is and should not feel bad about myself, because after all, searching for a loving mate is a hit-and-miss affair. Many marriages are built on desperation and laziness in the search rather than true love. If I don't behave rationally when I encounter cases of rejection, I just degrade and debase myself. In other hands, if I fling hurtful words of wild accusation and sarcasm prior to slinking away, I just confirm further my worthlessness in the eyes of those who rejected me. That sounds banal and sensible enough, but very few people behave this way. Very often when we love somebody, we want---sometimes desperately---them to love us back. When that does not happen, we get sad then mad. We want to inflict pain on those who rejected us and caused us pain. That is not love; that is animalistic revenge. Some, if not most, humans fail to transcend their animal heritage.
I treasure authenticity more than others. To me, authenticity is a step along the way to qualities far more spacious, daring, and mysterious that existed before us and will exist after us. Of course, it goes without saying that authenticity has to be moderated with kindness, otherwise it is just an excuse for cruelty.
There is a hint and a flavor, and in some an odor, of paradox and irony in all of us. For a guy who is obsessed with death--a violent kind, I fantasize that I have some artistic sensibilities. For those who don't know, an exploration of art is a way of appreciating life. By instinct, I value and respect artists far more than merchants and politicians because the former are rarer and far more exquisite and tend to be fragile while the latter are too down to earth and crass and crude and power-hungry. We all want to be rich and powerful, but only a few of us think we are capable of artistic creation. As I drift in the Eastern Caribbean with my family for a week, I have been blissfully entertained by the singing duo of an Asian couple of Filipino descent. He plays the synthesizer and sings while she only sings. His singing is good, but the lady's voice reminds me of Karen Carpenter. For three nights now, as I pass them on the way to the dining room and back to my cabin when the dinner is over, the music they play and the songs she sings have brought me peace and rapture and a recognition of the power of music in influencing moods. I admire her greatly for imitating Karen Carpenter's voice so perfectly. It makes me feel that Karen is still alive and I am still a young man in late 1970's and early 1980's.
Today, the shipped docked in Nassau. I walked back from the Cabbage Beach to the ship, a distance of 12 kilometers, a bit over 7 miles, with a flip-flop on my feet and a bag full of books and beach towel on my back. I walked slowly and was in touch with the locomotion of my aging body. I took in the air, the sun, the poverty of the local residents who are descendants of black slaves. I passed through shacks with garbage strewn in the yard, an unkempt cemetery with graves partially broken up--stone crucifixes lying on the ground, and a pier lined up with stalls selling conch shells. I was quite surprised to see many female black cops. I was also taken aback by the accent of the residents, which is more American than British, and very different from that of the Jamaicans. Walking is very natural to me. I don't mind walking for hours if I have sufficient water. My father once walked for over 1,000 kilometers to visit his married elder sister. He did that in his mid 20s, sort of wanting to kill himself as he had no money on him. He begged for food along the way and slept wherever he could find a place to lie down. He told me fascinating stories about his encounters with the Montagnards who gave him gigantic corns to eat and how naked female Montagnards took a bath in the streams. By the time he met his sister, she barely recognized him. He promptly got sick and his sister had to nurse him back to health. I wonder if I inherited some of his death wish. Talking about my father inspired me of the following:
We didn't get much money, but plenty of rain.
I grew up in a large family,
Eight surviving kids, and one breadwinner.
Dad worked his ass off.
Too many mouths to feed and clothe.
Surprising that I had any education at all.
Mealtime was a very short-rime affair.
"Time to eat", shouted my Mom.
We all gathered quickly at a very long table.
A massive cooked rice container at the end.
Four skimpy plates of fish or meat, all very salty.
Four bowls of soup.
In less than 5 minutes, fish or meat, and soup were gone.
All was left was the rice.
We ate it with fish sauce.
I was always hungry as a kid.
I never ate to my heart's content until I grew up and had a decent job.
To this day, I still eat very quickly.
Habits die hard.
We didn't get much money, but plenty of rain.
I slept in the attic.
The roof leaked and nobody bothered to fix it.
When the monsoon season arrived, I put the bucket close to where I slept.
Sometimes, it rained a long time, and the bucket overflowed.
I often dream, even now, the termites-infested house collapsing from the rain.
I dream of lying in the rain, in the middle of a field, wet and cold.
Now I am dry and warm at night,
But I would trade all I have for
Being back with my parents and siblings
In a house full of rain.
I'm eating fancy food everyday on this cruise.
And every time I look at my son at mealtime,
I remember my parents and siblings
sitting at that long table a long, long time ago.
Wissai
Dec. 5-12, 2010
Warning: Stop reading if your heart is weak and your soul is feeble. My words are meant to stop your heart and to disturb your soul. On the other hand, an old ugly, short, poor, crass, and crude vixen and virago of Jewish descent once accused me of lacking empathy solely on the basis of the tone and tenor of my words. I retorted that she was the last person on this planet I would want to hear a lecture about empathy. Empathy is not emotional incontinence. I do have the power of the imagination to conjure up a world outside of my experience and to map that understanding onto what I write. The following were my notes as I was drifting about in Eastern Caribbean in less than perfect weather. Some of them were rehashed of what I wrote earlier.
Often when I write, a warning from Mark Twain rings in my ears. " Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted. Persons attempting to find a moral in it will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." I write because I like to see my brain struggle with symbols called words, to negotiate a world full of ignoramuses and hypocrites, and to counterbalance the pain of mental anguish with the balm of humor. That's what I pompously and ponderously trying to tell myself and others.
Even though I have never actually seen wind, I know it is there because I see its impact, the consequences of its unseen hand. Wind is the movement of two different air pressure systems. Nature hates unbalance. It strives for equilibrium. Chemical reactions are just the process of reaching equilibrium. Orgasm is a chemical reaction of another name. The serenity you achieve after reaching orgasm is equilibrium achieved.
Although nobody has seen a fundamental particle with naked eyes, particle physicists have faith in its existence. They believe in what they see in the aftermath of the chemical reactions. Actually, it boggles the mind to see how certain individuals can go that far in trying to understand the physical composition of the elements and to probe into the interaction of the elements under certain conditions. Thanks to these individuals, the human race collectively makes progress and achieves some mastery over the physical environment. On the other hand, some humans are so hampered by the poverty of their imagination and the paucity of their mental prowess as well as by the inferiority complex of their very being that they flail and flop around in their miserable existence while waiting for death to arrive and put a merciful end to their useless lives. Meanwhile they take desperate, pot shots at those who manage to bring affronts to their perceived possession of dignity and worth, but they must have known deep in their hearts they have neither dignity nor worth, for they are humans only in name, and not in sensibilities or accomplishments for their lives are identical to those of animals: crass, crude, selfish, and utterly meaningless. I have a deep fear to be like them. This fear has caused me to try my best to reach for higher ground of morality and love and responsibility. I have been ridiculed and laughed by them as being stupid, naive, foolish, and grandiose, but the fear has helped me hold my head high and look at myself in the mirror without a shudder of shame---well, not too much a shudder anyway.
Ever since I joined a certain forum and have been exposed to the infantile mode of reasoning of several supposedly "educated" and intelligent individuals there, I was perplexed as to why such an unexpected behavior could happen. I thought educated people would display rationality when it comes to reasoning, but over and over again I witnessed a blatant disregard for facts, truths, and logic. My bewilderment was alleviated by a recent reading of an article in Newsweek magazine, Aug. 16, 2010, p. 24, where Sharon Begley showed why evolution may favor irrationality and why flaws of reasoning are ploys to be persuasive and win arguments, though not to truths.
Those individuals who resort to confirmation bias, are blind to counterexamples, and fall short of logic, naturally provoke contempt from me. I can't help it. To me, they are emotional cowards who can't face truths and logic. To me, they exemplify the limits of education and of reason itself. Some humans are simply not fit to call themselves humans. In them, the animal heritage is too overwhelming, especially if they are also selfish. In fact, selfishness is what drives them to such poor attempts at reasoning because they try to justify their selfish behavior and their lies. One does not argue well from positions of weakness. In the end, truths and logic always win out.
Take the emotional subject of romantic love, for instance. I take a position that if certain women don't love me because they don't know my worth or they do, but think my worth is not worth much. Of course, we can throw in other relevant factors such as incompatibility (personality, caste, and socioeconomic variables) and lack of sexual attractiveness. Faced with such rejection, a rational response for me is to walk away in silence and without rancor and bitterness, and to keep looking for other women who will find me desirable. If I cannot find any, I will have to accept reality for what it is and should not feel bad about myself, because after all, searching for a loving mate is a hit-and-miss affair. Many marriages are built on desperation and laziness in the search rather than true love. If I don't behave rationally when I encounter cases of rejection, I just degrade and debase myself. In other hands, if I fling hurtful words of wild accusation and sarcasm prior to slinking away, I just confirm further my worthlessness in the eyes of those who rejected me. That sounds banal and sensible enough, but very few people behave this way. Very often when we love somebody, we want---sometimes desperately---them to love us back. When that does not happen, we get sad then mad. We want to inflict pain on those who rejected us and caused us pain. That is not love; that is animalistic revenge. Some, if not most, humans fail to transcend their animal heritage.
I treasure authenticity more than others. To me, authenticity is a step along the way to qualities far more spacious, daring, and mysterious that existed before us and will exist after us. Of course, it goes without saying that authenticity has to be moderated with kindness, otherwise it is just an excuse for cruelty.
There is a hint and a flavor, and in some an odor, of paradox and irony in all of us. For a guy who is obsessed with death--a violent kind, I fantasize that I have some artistic sensibilities. For those who don't know, an exploration of art is a way of appreciating life. By instinct, I value and respect artists far more than merchants and politicians because the former are rarer and far more exquisite and tend to be fragile while the latter are too down to earth and crass and crude and power-hungry. We all want to be rich and powerful, but only a few of us think we are capable of artistic creation. As I drift in the Eastern Caribbean with my family for a week, I have been blissfully entertained by the singing duo of an Asian couple of Filipino descent. He plays the synthesizer and sings while she only sings. His singing is good, but the lady's voice reminds me of Karen Carpenter. For three nights now, as I pass them on the way to the dining room and back to my cabin when the dinner is over, the music they play and the songs she sings have brought me peace and rapture and a recognition of the power of music in influencing moods. I admire her greatly for imitating Karen Carpenter's voice so perfectly. It makes me feel that Karen is still alive and I am still a young man in late 1970's and early 1980's.
Today, the shipped docked in Nassau. I walked back from the Cabbage Beach to the ship, a distance of 12 kilometers, a bit over 7 miles, with a flip-flop on my feet and a bag full of books and beach towel on my back. I walked slowly and was in touch with the locomotion of my aging body. I took in the air, the sun, the poverty of the local residents who are descendants of black slaves. I passed through shacks with garbage strewn in the yard, an unkempt cemetery with graves partially broken up--stone crucifixes lying on the ground, and a pier lined up with stalls selling conch shells. I was quite surprised to see many female black cops. I was also taken aback by the accent of the residents, which is more American than British, and very different from that of the Jamaicans. Walking is very natural to me. I don't mind walking for hours if I have sufficient water. My father once walked for over 1,000 kilometers to visit his married elder sister. He did that in his mid 20s, sort of wanting to kill himself as he had no money on him. He begged for food along the way and slept wherever he could find a place to lie down. He told me fascinating stories about his encounters with the Montagnards who gave him gigantic corns to eat and how naked female Montagnards took a bath in the streams. By the time he met his sister, she barely recognized him. He promptly got sick and his sister had to nurse him back to health. I wonder if I inherited some of his death wish. Talking about my father inspired me of the following:
We didn't get much money, but plenty of rain.
I grew up in a large family,
Eight surviving kids, and one breadwinner.
Dad worked his ass off.
Too many mouths to feed and clothe.
Surprising that I had any education at all.
Mealtime was a very short-rime affair.
"Time to eat", shouted my Mom.
We all gathered quickly at a very long table.
A massive cooked rice container at the end.
Four skimpy plates of fish or meat, all very salty.
Four bowls of soup.
In less than 5 minutes, fish or meat, and soup were gone.
All was left was the rice.
We ate it with fish sauce.
I was always hungry as a kid.
I never ate to my heart's content until I grew up and had a decent job.
To this day, I still eat very quickly.
Habits die hard.
We didn't get much money, but plenty of rain.
I slept in the attic.
The roof leaked and nobody bothered to fix it.
When the monsoon season arrived, I put the bucket close to where I slept.
Sometimes, it rained a long time, and the bucket overflowed.
I often dream, even now, the termites-infested house collapsing from the rain.
I dream of lying in the rain, in the middle of a field, wet and cold.
Now I am dry and warm at night,
But I would trade all I have for
Being back with my parents and siblings
In a house full of rain.
I'm eating fancy food everyday on this cruise.
And every time I look at my son at mealtime,
I remember my parents and siblings
sitting at that long table a long, long time ago.
Wissai
Dec. 5-12, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
The smile, the mind, and the body
You asked me about her, what makes me remember about her, after all these years. What can I say? The smile, the mind, and the body, especially the skin. Even if I continue scraping the bottom of the barrel of depravity and crawling along the tunnel of loneliness, I won't forget her. She is my curse and in some ways my blessing. The memory of her disdain for me compels and impels me to move forward, to improve my mind. I have to prove to her and to myself that I do possess some potential and I will eventually surpass her. Maybe I did already.
She has a dimpled smile
A mind for poetry, but a body for sin
Yêu em như biết yêu lần đầu
Yêu em nhiều để yêu thương dài lâu
Da em trắng, anh không cần ánh sáng
Má em hồng, anh mơ tưởng mùa đông
Nụ cười xuân, làm tim anh bay bổng
Theo thời gian kéo dài cõi lang thang.
I love you like I never loved anybody before
I love you a lot so I can love you forever more
Your skin so white, I need no light
Your ruddy cheeks make me dream of the winter sun
My heart takes off to the sky with your smile in the spring
Forever hangs in the air with the time passing
I wrote the above two nights ago. All this dreamy, romantic reminiscing was shattered by the nightmare I just had a few hours ago. I dreamed that she was
talking about me in really condescending tone. I was sad and mad when I woke
up. That and the dark, stormy night I had last Thanksgiving really forced me to
take stock of my life now and assess whether it really has any meanings that I
heretofore have fancied it does.
First, one thing I am absolutely sure now is that I am a loner, in every sense of the
world. I feel alone and I am alone. I trust and love no woman now. They are selfish
to the core, at least those that I know. They all talk and act nice, but in reality they all love money and security and don't really give a fig about me. Not really.
Second, if I have to unburden myself, these pages are the place I should go to. I am now suffering from delayed reactions to the words and actions of some
assholes and nitwits and cowards and sons of bitches. The more I think of them, the more I want to get on a plane. But I am tired now and quite sick of continuing
complicating my life because of the siren calls of my ego. At least those bastards revealed their true colors. They helped me see clearly that beneath the human appearances and some education, they are really filthy animals, unworthy of my
attention and my time. Now I know why Hitler really felt. So, you see the wisest course of action a man can have when provoked is to walk away in silence. Doing so reveals nothing of your state of mind. All the stupid noise one makes is toreveal one's thinking unnecessarily. Strike back fast and strong and in silence, without warning, that is what my only friend in this world, Silvio, always says.
Third, my mind is not that easy to understand, contrary to what the assholes, nitwits, cowards, and sons of bitches think. I don't even understand it sometimes,
so how can they? That's why I couldn't help laughing when some fucker is so stupid and presumptuous enough to put forward some comments about the state of my mind. Really, tell me, can we understand what's going on in the black box of
a highly developed and evolved human, the one like me? Be honest, now. We cannot. The more there are signs of inconsistency and strangeness, the more we should be alerted that we are dealing with a rarity, a work in progress, a mind in
conflict with itself.
Now, I don't wish to go on listing all the rhymes and reasons I need to take stock
of my life. Suffice to say it is a mess. My sister just called me and said of all th
women that went through my life, MF was the worst. I already knew that. I wanted to forget the bitch. I didn't want to think of the fucking bitch at all, so I cut the
conversation short. I am going to be drifting somewhere in the Eastern Caribbean with my son tomorrow and I didn't want to be disturbed by any bad memories. I am going to pack really light. A few minutes ago, the train passed through the area
I was staying. The whistling and the rumbling was okay with me, but they drove my son crazy. He threatened to move far from the noise, the nuisance distraction. In fact, he wanted to move to China. I said, good luck, I hope your Chinese is getting good. He retorted, don't you worry. Maybe they don't have trains in China, I slyly
added. He gave me a dirty look and stormed out of the house. That was typical behavior of my son. Intellectually quite smart, but downright a spoiled child in
many ways. During this trip, I hope he will run into some girl that catches his fancy. He is a social retard. He doesn't know how to talk to people, let alone girls. I don't know either. His mother always remarked that why I had to keep talking about myself. I said, because I am the most interesting person I know. You
married me, didn't you? She gave me a ready-made riposte, I was young and stupid. I was going to grace her with a sarcastic repartee, but I bit my tongue. I never won arguing with women, so I just walked away and stewed. However, I was too stupid not to fall in love over and over again. I supposed that I had a big romantic heart! Plus, somehow I fancied that women were attracted to me. At least
until the Thanksgiving Day Fiasco. Now I am on the run, so to speak. I didn't tell my son what happened during that dark, stormy night. He would fall into pieces. I did tell Silvio and my worries of the aftermath. Silvio said, "Roberto, listen, stupid ass! Do you know how many unsolved murders and killings in this country? Tons. Talk with any cop, any detective when their guard is down. They'll tell you. Just go
on living as normal. If you get caught, so what? An
eye for an eye. Justice served. Besides, you're getting old anyway. Time for you to go." I screamed, shut the fuck up, you're a real pal, you know that? Silvio is my best friend, actually, the only real friend I have, but he can be a real ass, a real pain in the you-know-what.
I didn't tell my ex-landlady that I was out of town and would be incomunicado for
almost two weeks. She usually calls me now and then to check on me even though I don't stay in the apartment she owns anymore. When she calls, she always prefaces with a plaintive, mournfoul preamble that I don't care about her and seem to forget her already. I have a strong feeling that she likes me and wants to "seduce" me even though I'm not a spring chicken anymore. I'm 65 years old! And she is even older than me! She isn't ugly or repulsive-looking or anything like that. It helps that she has money. However, she is quite crass and uncultivated. I am not that desperate. Not yet. I am holding out for somebody really special, like Grace Kelly of yore, or a real bombshell like Raquel Welch in er prime. I know I am common and predictable, you don't have to tell me. Did I tell you that I was a gentleman but not a saint? Some lady told me that I had an erroneous perception of myself. She advised me, no, emphatically told me, that I rush out to get a big mirror and have a good look at myself and then I would realize that I am simply a scoundrel. Guess what? I took up on her adamantine advice. And voilà , what I saw in the mirror was a devilishly handsome elderly fellow and that was me! I was naturally pleased. I called my son over and asked for a second opinion. He took a look and said: " Dad, I hope I will look half as good as you when I get your age." So, I guessed that the lady had a vision problem or was just simply a crazy, jealous old hag, a virago, a vixen, or simply
was an ugly, old, short, fat, impoverished, sharp and tart-tongued bitch. She
apparently took my self-effacing words at face value and thought that I had no girl-friends, but my wife and my son both know where the truth lies. That's the problem with stupid people. They cannot tell the difference between truth and fiction. But I should not blame them, really, because very often my words come straight from the Twilight Zone where reality and fantasy collide and dreams and wishes never subside.
The ship I am cruising with my son Brian is leaving Galveston behind and is
heading east, towards Key West and beyond. Brian is happy to be on a cruise. He is restless and is and out of the cabin constantly. I'm writing all these words
primarily for my benefit. Again, I would suppose some idiot would think I write for her pig-like eyes because she couldn't conceive nor envision that the words one
writes don't have to be directed by a desire for readership. Many times, the author is just having fun with himself or simply venting. That's what monologues or talking with oneself means. The ugly simpleton assumes the writer needs an audience. Apparently she never heard of the concept and practice of a journal or catharsis.
When Sylvia Plath wrote the poem "Daddy" prior to sticking her head in the gas
oven, she had no intention for her deceased father or anybody else to read the
poem. She was in pain and she was fumbling and struggle to find a way to lighten
herself and to lessen her pain. She didn't feel better. So, she killed herself. As simple as that. It was what it was.
As I said before, the comments one has on the words of others, especially when one is too stupid and incoherent to express oneself, especially in a creative, fictional manner tell more about her than the target of her "comments". But I was and am very glad she revealed her true color. From the very beginning, I sensed something not quite right about the woman, something pathological, something nasty, something cheap. Her latest outburst and I hope her last and final, reminded me of my own reactions when Janie revealed her true devious, manipulative character. I didn't say anything nasty and hurtful. I walked away in silence. Ever since, Janie is rarely on my mind. It would be cheap and contemptible of me to have the last word and to lash out in anger. If somebody wants to be left alone without any doubt, we must respect his or her wishes. Harsh words spoken in anger reveal one's true character. True love is always gentle and caring and healing. I know. Despite all the pains and disappointments Brian has brought, I always speak to him with gentleness and love because I care for his feelings. I would rather feel hurt than causing him hurt. He does not come out and says it, but he knows that I forgive him for all his immature outbursts because I love him. In love, actions always speak louder than words. There must be a lot in me because ladies of all ages have flicked to me like bees come to flowers. I am in many ways, a bright, fragrant flower in full bloom. Oops, here comes the bees. I need to stop writing in order to give them a proper welcome.
(to be continued)
She has a dimpled smile
A mind for poetry, but a body for sin
Yêu em như biết yêu lần đầu
Yêu em nhiều để yêu thương dài lâu
Da em trắng, anh không cần ánh sáng
Má em hồng, anh mơ tưởng mùa đông
Nụ cười xuân, làm tim anh bay bổng
Theo thời gian kéo dài cõi lang thang.
I love you like I never loved anybody before
I love you a lot so I can love you forever more
Your skin so white, I need no light
Your ruddy cheeks make me dream of the winter sun
My heart takes off to the sky with your smile in the spring
Forever hangs in the air with the time passing
I wrote the above two nights ago. All this dreamy, romantic reminiscing was shattered by the nightmare I just had a few hours ago. I dreamed that she was
talking about me in really condescending tone. I was sad and mad when I woke
up. That and the dark, stormy night I had last Thanksgiving really forced me to
take stock of my life now and assess whether it really has any meanings that I
heretofore have fancied it does.
First, one thing I am absolutely sure now is that I am a loner, in every sense of the
world. I feel alone and I am alone. I trust and love no woman now. They are selfish
to the core, at least those that I know. They all talk and act nice, but in reality they all love money and security and don't really give a fig about me. Not really.
Second, if I have to unburden myself, these pages are the place I should go to. I am now suffering from delayed reactions to the words and actions of some
assholes and nitwits and cowards and sons of bitches. The more I think of them, the more I want to get on a plane. But I am tired now and quite sick of continuing
complicating my life because of the siren calls of my ego. At least those bastards revealed their true colors. They helped me see clearly that beneath the human appearances and some education, they are really filthy animals, unworthy of my
attention and my time. Now I know why Hitler really felt. So, you see the wisest course of action a man can have when provoked is to walk away in silence. Doing so reveals nothing of your state of mind. All the stupid noise one makes is toreveal one's thinking unnecessarily. Strike back fast and strong and in silence, without warning, that is what my only friend in this world, Silvio, always says.
Third, my mind is not that easy to understand, contrary to what the assholes, nitwits, cowards, and sons of bitches think. I don't even understand it sometimes,
so how can they? That's why I couldn't help laughing when some fucker is so stupid and presumptuous enough to put forward some comments about the state of my mind. Really, tell me, can we understand what's going on in the black box of
a highly developed and evolved human, the one like me? Be honest, now. We cannot. The more there are signs of inconsistency and strangeness, the more we should be alerted that we are dealing with a rarity, a work in progress, a mind in
conflict with itself.
Now, I don't wish to go on listing all the rhymes and reasons I need to take stock
of my life. Suffice to say it is a mess. My sister just called me and said of all th
women that went through my life, MF was the worst. I already knew that. I wanted to forget the bitch. I didn't want to think of the fucking bitch at all, so I cut the
conversation short. I am going to be drifting somewhere in the Eastern Caribbean with my son tomorrow and I didn't want to be disturbed by any bad memories. I am going to pack really light. A few minutes ago, the train passed through the area
I was staying. The whistling and the rumbling was okay with me, but they drove my son crazy. He threatened to move far from the noise, the nuisance distraction. In fact, he wanted to move to China. I said, good luck, I hope your Chinese is getting good. He retorted, don't you worry. Maybe they don't have trains in China, I slyly
added. He gave me a dirty look and stormed out of the house. That was typical behavior of my son. Intellectually quite smart, but downright a spoiled child in
many ways. During this trip, I hope he will run into some girl that catches his fancy. He is a social retard. He doesn't know how to talk to people, let alone girls. I don't know either. His mother always remarked that why I had to keep talking about myself. I said, because I am the most interesting person I know. You
married me, didn't you? She gave me a ready-made riposte, I was young and stupid. I was going to grace her with a sarcastic repartee, but I bit my tongue. I never won arguing with women, so I just walked away and stewed. However, I was too stupid not to fall in love over and over again. I supposed that I had a big romantic heart! Plus, somehow I fancied that women were attracted to me. At least
until the Thanksgiving Day Fiasco. Now I am on the run, so to speak. I didn't tell my son what happened during that dark, stormy night. He would fall into pieces. I did tell Silvio and my worries of the aftermath. Silvio said, "Roberto, listen, stupid ass! Do you know how many unsolved murders and killings in this country? Tons. Talk with any cop, any detective when their guard is down. They'll tell you. Just go
on living as normal. If you get caught, so what? An
eye for an eye. Justice served. Besides, you're getting old anyway. Time for you to go." I screamed, shut the fuck up, you're a real pal, you know that? Silvio is my best friend, actually, the only real friend I have, but he can be a real ass, a real pain in the you-know-what.
I didn't tell my ex-landlady that I was out of town and would be incomunicado for
almost two weeks. She usually calls me now and then to check on me even though I don't stay in the apartment she owns anymore. When she calls, she always prefaces with a plaintive, mournfoul preamble that I don't care about her and seem to forget her already. I have a strong feeling that she likes me and wants to "seduce" me even though I'm not a spring chicken anymore. I'm 65 years old! And she is even older than me! She isn't ugly or repulsive-looking or anything like that. It helps that she has money. However, she is quite crass and uncultivated. I am not that desperate. Not yet. I am holding out for somebody really special, like Grace Kelly of yore, or a real bombshell like Raquel Welch in er prime. I know I am common and predictable, you don't have to tell me. Did I tell you that I was a gentleman but not a saint? Some lady told me that I had an erroneous perception of myself. She advised me, no, emphatically told me, that I rush out to get a big mirror and have a good look at myself and then I would realize that I am simply a scoundrel. Guess what? I took up on her adamantine advice. And voilà , what I saw in the mirror was a devilishly handsome elderly fellow and that was me! I was naturally pleased. I called my son over and asked for a second opinion. He took a look and said: " Dad, I hope I will look half as good as you when I get your age." So, I guessed that the lady had a vision problem or was just simply a crazy, jealous old hag, a virago, a vixen, or simply
was an ugly, old, short, fat, impoverished, sharp and tart-tongued bitch. She
apparently took my self-effacing words at face value and thought that I had no girl-friends, but my wife and my son both know where the truth lies. That's the problem with stupid people. They cannot tell the difference between truth and fiction. But I should not blame them, really, because very often my words come straight from the Twilight Zone where reality and fantasy collide and dreams and wishes never subside.
The ship I am cruising with my son Brian is leaving Galveston behind and is
heading east, towards Key West and beyond. Brian is happy to be on a cruise. He is restless and is and out of the cabin constantly. I'm writing all these words
primarily for my benefit. Again, I would suppose some idiot would think I write for her pig-like eyes because she couldn't conceive nor envision that the words one
writes don't have to be directed by a desire for readership. Many times, the author is just having fun with himself or simply venting. That's what monologues or talking with oneself means. The ugly simpleton assumes the writer needs an audience. Apparently she never heard of the concept and practice of a journal or catharsis.
When Sylvia Plath wrote the poem "Daddy" prior to sticking her head in the gas
oven, she had no intention for her deceased father or anybody else to read the
poem. She was in pain and she was fumbling and struggle to find a way to lighten
herself and to lessen her pain. She didn't feel better. So, she killed herself. As simple as that. It was what it was.
As I said before, the comments one has on the words of others, especially when one is too stupid and incoherent to express oneself, especially in a creative, fictional manner tell more about her than the target of her "comments". But I was and am very glad she revealed her true color. From the very beginning, I sensed something not quite right about the woman, something pathological, something nasty, something cheap. Her latest outburst and I hope her last and final, reminded me of my own reactions when Janie revealed her true devious, manipulative character. I didn't say anything nasty and hurtful. I walked away in silence. Ever since, Janie is rarely on my mind. It would be cheap and contemptible of me to have the last word and to lash out in anger. If somebody wants to be left alone without any doubt, we must respect his or her wishes. Harsh words spoken in anger reveal one's true character. True love is always gentle and caring and healing. I know. Despite all the pains and disappointments Brian has brought, I always speak to him with gentleness and love because I care for his feelings. I would rather feel hurt than causing him hurt. He does not come out and says it, but he knows that I forgive him for all his immature outbursts because I love him. In love, actions always speak louder than words. There must be a lot in me because ladies of all ages have flicked to me like bees come to flowers. I am in many ways, a bright, fragrant flower in full bloom. Oops, here comes the bees. I need to stop writing in order to give them a proper welcome.
(to be continued)
Saturday, November 27, 2010
It was a dark, stormy night
Did I say it was a dark, stormy night? Only it was not. Not yet anyway. It was early in the day, on a cold, dreary, overcast Thanksgiving Day, with strong winds coming down from Canada, blasting through the treeless plains unimpeded, gusting up to 40 miles an hour, and threatening to bring with them sleet and wet snow in any minute now. And I was lying in bed, debating with myself whether I should get up and go out to hustle for a few bucks to keep my body and soul together. A man is nothing but a despicable bum if he cannot support himself, no matter how much he knows from spending time reading serious matters in a public library and how he can converse in at least four languages. In the end, he must eat and have a place to have a bath and sleep. For that he needs money. As simple as that. It is what it is. There is no use to run away from reality. Just like there is no hope in looking for love in the wrong places, wishing to find traces of a love long gone. As I said before, people don't love you because either they don't know your worth or think your worth is not worth much. Either way, you are f...ed if you are dreaming of an impossible dream. Earlier, just before I woke up, I had had a terrifying dream. I dreamed that I somehow urinated in a lecture hall while a distinguished guest speaker was giving a speech about the necessity of dealing with reality. I got caught in the middle of the flagrant act, with the stream of my body waste as evidence. My photo was broadcast all over the country and there was a warrant for my arrest, with a warning that I was considered unarmed but offensive. I woke up with a startle, drenched with perspiration, and relieved that I was merely dreaming. As I dragged myself to the bathroom, I pondered on the Freudian implications of my dream, especially about private sins and public posturing. I would think that I stumbled upon some truth when I postulated that public adoration was nothing if a man would not feel comfortable with himself and respect himself. A man must respect himself, first and foremost. If others respect him also, so much the better; if not, he has two choices: he can reciprocate by showing his own contempt either by words or deeds or he can take a high road and stay silent. A man cannot respect himself if he cannot support himself and is ugly and fat and mendacious and dishonest and sophistical and selfish and unpatriotic. A man cannot respect himself when he conducts himself like a jackass instead of like a gentleman.
First things first, I went to the bathroom, answering the calls of nature, and taking a long leisurely bath while contemplating what I should do with my time on this miserable, cold, lonely Thanksgiving Day. As I dreamily drifted in and out of consciousness in the sinfully warm bath water, a voice kept echoing in the back of my head: "Get up, lazy bum, where's your pride? Go make some money. Don't be lazy. Don't fall for misery."
I was now driving towards my favorite destination, the Bellagio, which is Italian for beautiful lake. And the casino does have a beautiful man-made lake where every night there is a water show of the fountain engineered to emit strong jets of water high in the air in sync with music. The dancing fountain, as it is billed and advertised, is a popular draw with tourists.
I always love Las Vegas (The Meadows), an ironic name for a mostly barren, pebbles strewn desert valley ringed around by mountains. The Mormons used to live here for a while and before that, Native Americans. There is nothing in the valley, but on the western edge, there is a spring and some vegetation where humans could eke a living if they care to. But we all know, since the 1930's, thanks to the bright ideas of Bugsy, a mobster, who had a vision to turn this desert valley into a Mecca for gamblers, the town lives off gambling and tourism and prostitution. Tourists come to town for drinks and sins. They come to gamble, have sex with prostitutes, see some shows, eat at fine restaurants, and go back home after blowing a few thousands. Some blew more than a few thousands and couldn't go back home and were forced to stay, taking up odd jobs to survive. A few end up as homeless and live in a network of underground flood-controlled tunnels and culverts.
As I said, I love Vegas. It's more than a feeling of "I love going there". It's a sensation of excitement and adventure and flirtation with danger, with financial ruin. It's like a relief and joy of playing with Russian roulette and come out alive and breathing.
I am going to spend 5 hours on the road to get there. I will listen to tapes of music and to radio. I will do a lot of daydreaming and thinking. I will come out of this Thanksgiving weekend a few hundred bucks, maybe a thousand, ahead. That was what I was telling myself. But as we all know, dreams don't always come true.
First, I had a flat tire in Kingman, Arizona. That mishap delayed me for two hours and set me back for $110 since the old tire was pretty old anyway and I was not comfortable with the business of repairing tire with puncture. I considered myself very lucky that the tire store was open for business on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe the owner was a Buddhist or a Muslim. He could be a Jain or a Jehovah witness or a plain Jew. Anyway, last year, I had a bad experience of having a repaired tire got a slow leak and ended up in the middle of nowhere for almost five hours before a tow truck towed my car to the nearest tire dealer. I had to spend a lot of money for the motel, towing services, and a brand new tire, not to mention I almost died of thirst, worry, and exhaustion from waiting for the tow truck. You probably wonder why I didn't have a spare tire with me. I did, but I didn't know how to get that measly little tire out of its storage space of my Sienna. There are many things in life for which I feel inadequate.
So, the day didn't start out well. I began questioning myself, wondering if I would be better off staying in the comforts of my apartment, reading a book instead of being on the road in this miserable weather.
I got to Vegas around three in the afternoon. During the drive, the winds were still brisk, but thankfully there was no precipitation although the sky was of an uniform gray color. I checked into a motel near downtown. It was not a fleabag, but neither of a deluxe accommodation like Bellagio. I refused to pay $200 a night just for a place to sleep and take a shower. I would rather spend $50 a night at some motel and give $150 to some needy homeless guy. That way my money would be better used and I feel better about myself. Why should I make some wealthy corporation more wealthy by patronizing their facilities? The problem with this world is that most humans love status and symbols and pampering. If I need pampering, I would rather be pampered by a beautiful, caring, honest, and sexy woman. But I digress. I got to my room which was on the ground floor, washed my face with warm water and then spread a bath towel on the floor and proceeded to do some Yoga stretching exercises and meditation. I meant to say I closed my eyes while doing the exercises while visualizing my blood coursing through the veins of the affected muscles, carrying with them all the toxic, noxious by products of my cardiovascular system and deposit them in my urine and solid waste to be expelled out. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Soon I experienced a serenity and peacefulness and went into a deep nap for about 30 minutes. When I opened my eyes, it was already 4pm and I was ready to do combat.
I walked into the casino and headed straight to the poker room. I never play any house games where the casino has an edge in terms of probability of winning. The moment I walk into any casino, I shut out from my mind the glamor, the excitement, the noise, the color, the beautiful decor, and the beautiful cocktail waitresses and lady guests, in short, everything that dulls my judgment that the casino is a dangerous place designed to take money from me by appealing to the human attraction to beauty and greed. Those who get hooked to gambling are those who want to win some more when they are ahead and can't quit when they are behind because they want to desperately get their money back. In addition, the casinos hook them by offering free drinks and sometimes free rooms and meals. But we all know those free offers are not free because very often the guests end up paying hundreds of times over by gambling losses. Poker, in contrast to all other house games, is a game of skills played not against the house (casino) but with other guests. Although luck plays a factor in poker and in the short term, the game is essentially a game of skills over the long term because over the long term good and bad lucks neutralize each other. But exactly what a short term or long term is, it is very subjective and subject to random statistical distribution of cards. One can get very lucky for hours, even days. And one can get unlucky for weeks and months on end. What matters is the ability to keep one's wits together when the cards are running back. Well, that Thanksgiving Day was exactly what happened to me. I got very unlucky hand and after hand. My opponents got lucky on me and outdrew me. Whatever they needed to beat me, they got it, even if I held superior cards to begin with. I soon found myself in the red for $900. That left exactly one grand left in my pocket for the weekend. And I just got in town and didn't pass the night yet. Dejected and depressed and deflated, I staggered across the overpass walkway to Caesar's Palace to try my luck there.
I was seated at a table where there was a strikingly beautiful Asian woman player in early 30's. She sat across from me. At first I didn't pay much attention to her. I was concentrating in getting my money back. And I did. My cards held up and I steadily built up a mountain of chips. I got back my $900 and was ahead for about $1,200 when she asked for a seat change and moved next to me when the gentleman who was sitting there, got up and left. She began talking to me and praised my poker skills. I was flattered by her attention. Remember, she was beautiful and Asian (I learned she was Thai) and had white teeth and dressed tastefully. I was a gentleman but not a saint. I was pleased to catch a whiff of perfume when she leaned over and whispered into my ears some nice words of compliments. She was not a bad player. She held her own. She played conservatively and cautiously and built up a modest win. She asked me about my marital status (I lied) and where I lived (I told her the truth) and what I did for a living (I fibbed again). She told me that she lived in Los Angeles and was in town for medical equipment sales conference.
As the evening dragged on, it became crystal clear to me that the lady had an interest in me. And to be honest, I had more than a mild interest in her, but I wanted to be honest. I told her that I was not an usual guy like those she had met in the past. How unusual, tell me, she challenged me. To start, I tend to say it as it is. I talk about myself, a lot, in fact, all the time. I don't buy gifts and presents and I don't expect any. I am not that interested in sex either. I am a boring guy. I don't party. I don't drink nor smoke. I just talk, eat, sleep, try to make some money, read, and talk some more. She protested, I don't get it. Why do you devalue yourself? I think you are funny and highly interesting. I want to get to know you. You do? Yes, I do. I want to smash through the wall you erected around yourself; I want to be a bridge to connect your abyss and mine.
Wow! her short but intense speech did it. I bought it because she seemed so damn sensitive and intelligent. Although we just met, she seemed to understand me a great deal. I was flattered because I was vain and egotistical. I thought all women, if given time and some intelligence and sensitivity, would find me charming and attractive. By this time, I was ahead by almost two grand and I wanted to quit, not only for the night but the whole weekend. I won more than I set out to do. I wanted to go back my humble motel, spend the night, and drive back to Phoenix the following morning. That was when she dropped a bombshell as I was gathering my chips and about to leave. She asked me if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her in her room in the Augustus Tower! When I seemed to be hesitating, she threw me a seductive smile and a hook: "Are you afraid of me? I'm not going to eat you or tear you apart." I said "Fine. Why not."
I cashed my chips and thus had almost $4000 in my pocket. She cashed her chips and together we walked to the elevator. A bunch of questions were swirling inside my head. She didn't come across as a prostitute. She was beautiful and attractive and could easily go out with any man, so why me? Although I was far from being ugly, but I was not what you called well-dressed and I already made it clear to her that I was tight with my money. Was I being lucky or was the lady just being really friendly? Either way, I would soon find out.
Her room was way up on the 25th floor. She made small talks during the ride. I didn't say much because I was nervous. Things like this had never happened to me before. I had a sheltered life. I was only a reader and a talker and nothing more. Her room number was 2502, a very lucky number if you played baccarat. I took it as a good omen. She opened the door and I followed her. The lights were already on. She asked me what I wanted to have with my coffee. "Plain, with two sugars, please", said I. As she was preparing the coffee, I nervously glanced around the room. I noticed that there was no sign of luggage anywhere and the room didn't look like it was lived in. Then I heard the door opened. I turned around and saw an Asian dude with a menacing expression barging into the room, holding a gun. My heart sank and knew then I had been had. She stepped right behind me while her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was, was barking orders that I surrendered my wallet, my watch, and keys to my car. I was speechless and dumbfounded and tried to think fast to survive. I finally said I would be happy to comply with his commands. He ordered me to raise my hands while she went through my pockets and took my possessions. She even frisked me to make sure that I didn't carry weapons. I was glad she was cocksure and confident and not really a professional for she didn't look into my boots. I had with me a switchblade in my right boot. I was hyper-ventilating although I was trying really hard to stay calm. My knees were shaking. She was going through my wallet, extracting the money, and a bank card. She asked for the password. When I was hesitating, the thug said: "The password or your life. Also, tell her where you parked your car. If she couldn't withdraw the money or find your car, you'll be a dead man." I gave her the information and she dashed out of the room.
After she left the room, I said in a plaintive, pleading voice, "May I get my hands down, please, I am very tired and scared. You have the gun, please take whatever you want, and please don't hurt me."
"Okay, you can put your hands down. Now tell me, you really thought that she would go to bed with you? You stupid or what?" he sneered and smiled contemptuously.
"Sir, you got it all wrong. She invited me up here for a cup of coffee. That was all." I tried to explain to him.
"A cup of coffee! How funny! Just shut up!" He barked orders at me once more.
He then sat down in a chair, with the gun, a Glock, resting on his lap, and looked at me in full contempt. I continued standing and felt dizzy and was sweating and debating what I should do because I was getting very angry with the bastard for calling me stupid and ordering me to shut up. All my life I have a deep hatred for bosses and for those who acted in a bossy manner to me. I hate those who abuse power and dare to call me stupid. I hate cops, too. I hate all figures of authority. In some ways I am a hater. I am only a lover of women and flattery. And now what I was getting myself into? I am not really intelligent but I am far from being stupid, and I do have an ego and a fiery temper coupled with a death wish. And the asshole crossed the line when he ordered to me shut up and acted really contemptuously towards me. I looked at his eyes and I shuddered because I saw that he really wanted to kill me after his woman called him about the car. I was glad I gave her the wrong floor of the garage. Actually I just blurted about Floor Number 3 out of habit because that was where I usually parked, but today was being a holiday and all and the garage was packed. I had to park on Floor 5, on the roof. I just remember that. I was going to give him the correct floor but I changed my mind when I saw his eyes. About five minutes had elapsed. That meant I had about ten to fifteen minutes to act before she called him with the bad news that she couldn't find the white Sienna Toyata anywhere on Floor 3. I no longer shuddered for real because I was no longer vacillating between fighting back or giving in. So I summoned all my acting skills and I tried to shudder and look really scared and sick. I acted as if I was about to throw up and I did try to wet my pants. I pointed out to him about my wet condition and in an embarrassing voice asked for permission to use the bathroom. He nodded his head in disgust and I rushed to the bathroom, closed the door, promptly stuck a finger in my throat and tried to retch. I succeeded. Then I retrieved the switchblade from my right boot and put it in my right jacket pocket. I came out of the bathroom, stinking of vomit and looking sick. He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and contempt and boredom. I was mad but strangely calm. I had watched many action movies and read many thriller novels. I lurched towards him and opened my mouth, saying " Sir, sir..." but acting like I was about to throw up on him. He got out of the seat and momentarily took his eyes off me. Like lightning, I kicked his hand, the gun flew off into a corner. I pulled out my swtichbade and in one smooth motion the blade was opened and I made a sweeping motion around his neck (I had practiced this move many times under the guidance of a Mexican friend of mine who was an expert in knife fighting). The blade found the target. The crimson jet of blood erupted from his neck. He held his left hand to his neck and staggered towards the gun, but I slashed him again right under the chin, very hard. He opened his mouth and blood rushed out. He looked really pale and very scared and he was swaying, barely able to stand up, both his hands were holding onto the wounds, his hands and arms and shirt were drenched with blood. I closed in, stabbed in the eyes, one-two motion. He tried to speak but all he could do was to make some inaudible gurgling sounds. I kicked at his knees. He collapsed weakly on the floor, his legs twitching. I bent down and finished him by plunging the knife into his heart. When I pulled the knife out, he was gone. I went to the corner, picked up the gun and went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was blood on my jacket. I took it off and dumped it on the floor, went back to the lifeless body, searched for the cellphone, found it and also took his wallet. And I rushed out of the room.
I told myself to stay calm. I was aware that there were surveillance cameras in the casino floor and maybe in the hallways of the hotel, too. I was holding his cellphone in my hand. It rang when I reached the third floor of the garage. I let it ring. I scanned the floor and spotted her walking in the east side of the floor, her phone pressed to her ear, her back against me, and still stupidly looking for the white Sienna Toyota, her right arm extended with my remote car key controller in her hand, while her handbag was dangling in her arm. I swiftly ran towards her. My left arm around her, pulling her close to me, and I calmly but sternly said while pressing my body hard against her and steered her to the corner: "Sorry, your boyfriend is sick. He's still in the bathroom. Be quiet and you will live." We walked as if we were a couple deeply in love. I took a quick glance behind me. Nobody was in sight. I pushed her behind a big pickup truck, pressed my left hand on her mouth, my right hand on her hair and with one quick, strong, rotary motion, I broke her neck. I then took my walletand her purse from her handbag and walked quickly to the staircase. Once I got there, I ran the stairs, not too quickly to arouse any suspicion. I got into my car and drove off slowly away.
I got back to the motel, picked up my suitcase, and drove back to Phoenix. By the time I got near Boulder, snow came down in earnest and strong gusty winds caused my Sienna to sway. The time was around midnight. The visibility was bad and I was debating if I should check into a motel for the night. As I was deliberating, I saw the flashing lights behind me and some loud peeps. I sighed and wondered how the cops responded so quickly. And how in the world they knew it was I who was the perp. I stopped my car and I was at peace with myself. I was not nervous. I was willing to bear the consequences for my actions. I did what I what to do, given the circumstances. If the same situation arises, I would do exactly the same thing. The only difference is that I would no longer fancy that I am irresistible to women. No sir, not anymore. I've learned my lesson. The knock on the glass on the driver side brought me back to the hard reality. I rolled down the window. A middle-aged black cop asked for my insurance papers and driver ID. Then he told me he stopped me because the tail lights of my car went out. I profusely apologized and said that I didn't know of the malfunction and I would have them fixed the first thing tomorrow morning. He said:
"You'd better do that. Where are you heading anyway?"
"Phoenix, sir".
"Phoenix! In this weather? Without the tail lights. Are you crazy? If I were you, I would check into a motel."
Vastly relieved, I replied "Yes, sir, I will."
He gave me back the insurance papers and the driver ID. He didn't give me any ticket. He said before turning back to his vehicle: "Fix the lights."
I nodded my head emphatically and thanked him and I drove slowly away, feeling like a million dollars and utterly ecstatic. I did check into a motel in Boulder. I couldn't sleep. I clicked ont the TV. There was no news yet. Naturally I was worreid about my fingerprints in the hotel room and on the bodies. But on the other hand, there was nothing I could do to undo the situation. I just had to move on. I tried to watch a late night movie, but couldn't concentrate. My ears were tuned to outside noise, preparing for a knock on the door. I was wonderful if anybody saw me with the woman in the garage. Naturally some playrers might recall that seeing me and her playing in the Caesar's, but her body was at Bellagio's garage. That helped the situation a bit. I didn't know under what name the hotel room was checked under. That was typically of me. I never thought many moves ahead. I tended to react to the situation. The more I thought of the situatiaon, the more restless and nervous I got. Then impulsively I called a woman in Georgia who professed a deep love for me and was holding out and waiting for me for 15 years. I told her what had transpired. Her reaction was not what I had expected at all. She was sarcastic and gave me so many cheap shots over the phone that I wondered if she really loved me. I had a feeling that she was very angry that I had agreed to go up to the room of that Thai woman for "a cup of coffee". I hung up the phone and asked myself if I should pay her a visit really soon, like tomorrow. As I tossed and turned in bed, I no longer felt ecstatic. I felt lonely and annoyed and very much on guard. I felt I had made another big mistake in my calling her, in trusting her. Mayaybe the Asian dude was right. Maybe I was really stupid. Anyway, I felt strongly that I had overreached and overstretched my luck by placing that call to the bitch in Georgia. For the first time all day, I felt the voice in the back of my head early this morning was the voice of the Devil. The bastard tricked me and wanted to destroy me. I would prove him wrong, but my life now was going to be more complicated. What could I say? For years, I had bragged that I was a complicated guy. Now it would be a test if I could cope with the complication and the implication this dark, stormy night had brought to me.
Wissai
First things first, I went to the bathroom, answering the calls of nature, and taking a long leisurely bath while contemplating what I should do with my time on this miserable, cold, lonely Thanksgiving Day. As I dreamily drifted in and out of consciousness in the sinfully warm bath water, a voice kept echoing in the back of my head: "Get up, lazy bum, where's your pride? Go make some money. Don't be lazy. Don't fall for misery."
I was now driving towards my favorite destination, the Bellagio, which is Italian for beautiful lake. And the casino does have a beautiful man-made lake where every night there is a water show of the fountain engineered to emit strong jets of water high in the air in sync with music. The dancing fountain, as it is billed and advertised, is a popular draw with tourists.
I always love Las Vegas (The Meadows), an ironic name for a mostly barren, pebbles strewn desert valley ringed around by mountains. The Mormons used to live here for a while and before that, Native Americans. There is nothing in the valley, but on the western edge, there is a spring and some vegetation where humans could eke a living if they care to. But we all know, since the 1930's, thanks to the bright ideas of Bugsy, a mobster, who had a vision to turn this desert valley into a Mecca for gamblers, the town lives off gambling and tourism and prostitution. Tourists come to town for drinks and sins. They come to gamble, have sex with prostitutes, see some shows, eat at fine restaurants, and go back home after blowing a few thousands. Some blew more than a few thousands and couldn't go back home and were forced to stay, taking up odd jobs to survive. A few end up as homeless and live in a network of underground flood-controlled tunnels and culverts.
As I said, I love Vegas. It's more than a feeling of "I love going there". It's a sensation of excitement and adventure and flirtation with danger, with financial ruin. It's like a relief and joy of playing with Russian roulette and come out alive and breathing.
I am going to spend 5 hours on the road to get there. I will listen to tapes of music and to radio. I will do a lot of daydreaming and thinking. I will come out of this Thanksgiving weekend a few hundred bucks, maybe a thousand, ahead. That was what I was telling myself. But as we all know, dreams don't always come true.
First, I had a flat tire in Kingman, Arizona. That mishap delayed me for two hours and set me back for $110 since the old tire was pretty old anyway and I was not comfortable with the business of repairing tire with puncture. I considered myself very lucky that the tire store was open for business on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe the owner was a Buddhist or a Muslim. He could be a Jain or a Jehovah witness or a plain Jew. Anyway, last year, I had a bad experience of having a repaired tire got a slow leak and ended up in the middle of nowhere for almost five hours before a tow truck towed my car to the nearest tire dealer. I had to spend a lot of money for the motel, towing services, and a brand new tire, not to mention I almost died of thirst, worry, and exhaustion from waiting for the tow truck. You probably wonder why I didn't have a spare tire with me. I did, but I didn't know how to get that measly little tire out of its storage space of my Sienna. There are many things in life for which I feel inadequate.
So, the day didn't start out well. I began questioning myself, wondering if I would be better off staying in the comforts of my apartment, reading a book instead of being on the road in this miserable weather.
I got to Vegas around three in the afternoon. During the drive, the winds were still brisk, but thankfully there was no precipitation although the sky was of an uniform gray color. I checked into a motel near downtown. It was not a fleabag, but neither of a deluxe accommodation like Bellagio. I refused to pay $200 a night just for a place to sleep and take a shower. I would rather spend $50 a night at some motel and give $150 to some needy homeless guy. That way my money would be better used and I feel better about myself. Why should I make some wealthy corporation more wealthy by patronizing their facilities? The problem with this world is that most humans love status and symbols and pampering. If I need pampering, I would rather be pampered by a beautiful, caring, honest, and sexy woman. But I digress. I got to my room which was on the ground floor, washed my face with warm water and then spread a bath towel on the floor and proceeded to do some Yoga stretching exercises and meditation. I meant to say I closed my eyes while doing the exercises while visualizing my blood coursing through the veins of the affected muscles, carrying with them all the toxic, noxious by products of my cardiovascular system and deposit them in my urine and solid waste to be expelled out. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Soon I experienced a serenity and peacefulness and went into a deep nap for about 30 minutes. When I opened my eyes, it was already 4pm and I was ready to do combat.
I walked into the casino and headed straight to the poker room. I never play any house games where the casino has an edge in terms of probability of winning. The moment I walk into any casino, I shut out from my mind the glamor, the excitement, the noise, the color, the beautiful decor, and the beautiful cocktail waitresses and lady guests, in short, everything that dulls my judgment that the casino is a dangerous place designed to take money from me by appealing to the human attraction to beauty and greed. Those who get hooked to gambling are those who want to win some more when they are ahead and can't quit when they are behind because they want to desperately get their money back. In addition, the casinos hook them by offering free drinks and sometimes free rooms and meals. But we all know those free offers are not free because very often the guests end up paying hundreds of times over by gambling losses. Poker, in contrast to all other house games, is a game of skills played not against the house (casino) but with other guests. Although luck plays a factor in poker and in the short term, the game is essentially a game of skills over the long term because over the long term good and bad lucks neutralize each other. But exactly what a short term or long term is, it is very subjective and subject to random statistical distribution of cards. One can get very lucky for hours, even days. And one can get unlucky for weeks and months on end. What matters is the ability to keep one's wits together when the cards are running back. Well, that Thanksgiving Day was exactly what happened to me. I got very unlucky hand and after hand. My opponents got lucky on me and outdrew me. Whatever they needed to beat me, they got it, even if I held superior cards to begin with. I soon found myself in the red for $900. That left exactly one grand left in my pocket for the weekend. And I just got in town and didn't pass the night yet. Dejected and depressed and deflated, I staggered across the overpass walkway to Caesar's Palace to try my luck there.
I was seated at a table where there was a strikingly beautiful Asian woman player in early 30's. She sat across from me. At first I didn't pay much attention to her. I was concentrating in getting my money back. And I did. My cards held up and I steadily built up a mountain of chips. I got back my $900 and was ahead for about $1,200 when she asked for a seat change and moved next to me when the gentleman who was sitting there, got up and left. She began talking to me and praised my poker skills. I was flattered by her attention. Remember, she was beautiful and Asian (I learned she was Thai) and had white teeth and dressed tastefully. I was a gentleman but not a saint. I was pleased to catch a whiff of perfume when she leaned over and whispered into my ears some nice words of compliments. She was not a bad player. She held her own. She played conservatively and cautiously and built up a modest win. She asked me about my marital status (I lied) and where I lived (I told her the truth) and what I did for a living (I fibbed again). She told me that she lived in Los Angeles and was in town for medical equipment sales conference.
As the evening dragged on, it became crystal clear to me that the lady had an interest in me. And to be honest, I had more than a mild interest in her, but I wanted to be honest. I told her that I was not an usual guy like those she had met in the past. How unusual, tell me, she challenged me. To start, I tend to say it as it is. I talk about myself, a lot, in fact, all the time. I don't buy gifts and presents and I don't expect any. I am not that interested in sex either. I am a boring guy. I don't party. I don't drink nor smoke. I just talk, eat, sleep, try to make some money, read, and talk some more. She protested, I don't get it. Why do you devalue yourself? I think you are funny and highly interesting. I want to get to know you. You do? Yes, I do. I want to smash through the wall you erected around yourself; I want to be a bridge to connect your abyss and mine.
Wow! her short but intense speech did it. I bought it because she seemed so damn sensitive and intelligent. Although we just met, she seemed to understand me a great deal. I was flattered because I was vain and egotistical. I thought all women, if given time and some intelligence and sensitivity, would find me charming and attractive. By this time, I was ahead by almost two grand and I wanted to quit, not only for the night but the whole weekend. I won more than I set out to do. I wanted to go back my humble motel, spend the night, and drive back to Phoenix the following morning. That was when she dropped a bombshell as I was gathering my chips and about to leave. She asked me if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her in her room in the Augustus Tower! When I seemed to be hesitating, she threw me a seductive smile and a hook: "Are you afraid of me? I'm not going to eat you or tear you apart." I said "Fine. Why not."
I cashed my chips and thus had almost $4000 in my pocket. She cashed her chips and together we walked to the elevator. A bunch of questions were swirling inside my head. She didn't come across as a prostitute. She was beautiful and attractive and could easily go out with any man, so why me? Although I was far from being ugly, but I was not what you called well-dressed and I already made it clear to her that I was tight with my money. Was I being lucky or was the lady just being really friendly? Either way, I would soon find out.
Her room was way up on the 25th floor. She made small talks during the ride. I didn't say much because I was nervous. Things like this had never happened to me before. I had a sheltered life. I was only a reader and a talker and nothing more. Her room number was 2502, a very lucky number if you played baccarat. I took it as a good omen. She opened the door and I followed her. The lights were already on. She asked me what I wanted to have with my coffee. "Plain, with two sugars, please", said I. As she was preparing the coffee, I nervously glanced around the room. I noticed that there was no sign of luggage anywhere and the room didn't look like it was lived in. Then I heard the door opened. I turned around and saw an Asian dude with a menacing expression barging into the room, holding a gun. My heart sank and knew then I had been had. She stepped right behind me while her boyfriend or whatever the hell he was, was barking orders that I surrendered my wallet, my watch, and keys to my car. I was speechless and dumbfounded and tried to think fast to survive. I finally said I would be happy to comply with his commands. He ordered me to raise my hands while she went through my pockets and took my possessions. She even frisked me to make sure that I didn't carry weapons. I was glad she was cocksure and confident and not really a professional for she didn't look into my boots. I had with me a switchblade in my right boot. I was hyper-ventilating although I was trying really hard to stay calm. My knees were shaking. She was going through my wallet, extracting the money, and a bank card. She asked for the password. When I was hesitating, the thug said: "The password or your life. Also, tell her where you parked your car. If she couldn't withdraw the money or find your car, you'll be a dead man." I gave her the information and she dashed out of the room.
After she left the room, I said in a plaintive, pleading voice, "May I get my hands down, please, I am very tired and scared. You have the gun, please take whatever you want, and please don't hurt me."
"Okay, you can put your hands down. Now tell me, you really thought that she would go to bed with you? You stupid or what?" he sneered and smiled contemptuously.
"Sir, you got it all wrong. She invited me up here for a cup of coffee. That was all." I tried to explain to him.
"A cup of coffee! How funny! Just shut up!" He barked orders at me once more.
He then sat down in a chair, with the gun, a Glock, resting on his lap, and looked at me in full contempt. I continued standing and felt dizzy and was sweating and debating what I should do because I was getting very angry with the bastard for calling me stupid and ordering me to shut up. All my life I have a deep hatred for bosses and for those who acted in a bossy manner to me. I hate those who abuse power and dare to call me stupid. I hate cops, too. I hate all figures of authority. In some ways I am a hater. I am only a lover of women and flattery. And now what I was getting myself into? I am not really intelligent but I am far from being stupid, and I do have an ego and a fiery temper coupled with a death wish. And the asshole crossed the line when he ordered to me shut up and acted really contemptuously towards me. I looked at his eyes and I shuddered because I saw that he really wanted to kill me after his woman called him about the car. I was glad I gave her the wrong floor of the garage. Actually I just blurted about Floor Number 3 out of habit because that was where I usually parked, but today was being a holiday and all and the garage was packed. I had to park on Floor 5, on the roof. I just remember that. I was going to give him the correct floor but I changed my mind when I saw his eyes. About five minutes had elapsed. That meant I had about ten to fifteen minutes to act before she called him with the bad news that she couldn't find the white Sienna Toyata anywhere on Floor 3. I no longer shuddered for real because I was no longer vacillating between fighting back or giving in. So I summoned all my acting skills and I tried to shudder and look really scared and sick. I acted as if I was about to throw up and I did try to wet my pants. I pointed out to him about my wet condition and in an embarrassing voice asked for permission to use the bathroom. He nodded his head in disgust and I rushed to the bathroom, closed the door, promptly stuck a finger in my throat and tried to retch. I succeeded. Then I retrieved the switchblade from my right boot and put it in my right jacket pocket. I came out of the bathroom, stinking of vomit and looking sick. He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and contempt and boredom. I was mad but strangely calm. I had watched many action movies and read many thriller novels. I lurched towards him and opened my mouth, saying " Sir, sir..." but acting like I was about to throw up on him. He got out of the seat and momentarily took his eyes off me. Like lightning, I kicked his hand, the gun flew off into a corner. I pulled out my swtichbade and in one smooth motion the blade was opened and I made a sweeping motion around his neck (I had practiced this move many times under the guidance of a Mexican friend of mine who was an expert in knife fighting). The blade found the target. The crimson jet of blood erupted from his neck. He held his left hand to his neck and staggered towards the gun, but I slashed him again right under the chin, very hard. He opened his mouth and blood rushed out. He looked really pale and very scared and he was swaying, barely able to stand up, both his hands were holding onto the wounds, his hands and arms and shirt were drenched with blood. I closed in, stabbed in the eyes, one-two motion. He tried to speak but all he could do was to make some inaudible gurgling sounds. I kicked at his knees. He collapsed weakly on the floor, his legs twitching. I bent down and finished him by plunging the knife into his heart. When I pulled the knife out, he was gone. I went to the corner, picked up the gun and went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was blood on my jacket. I took it off and dumped it on the floor, went back to the lifeless body, searched for the cellphone, found it and also took his wallet. And I rushed out of the room.
I told myself to stay calm. I was aware that there were surveillance cameras in the casino floor and maybe in the hallways of the hotel, too. I was holding his cellphone in my hand. It rang when I reached the third floor of the garage. I let it ring. I scanned the floor and spotted her walking in the east side of the floor, her phone pressed to her ear, her back against me, and still stupidly looking for the white Sienna Toyota, her right arm extended with my remote car key controller in her hand, while her handbag was dangling in her arm. I swiftly ran towards her. My left arm around her, pulling her close to me, and I calmly but sternly said while pressing my body hard against her and steered her to the corner: "Sorry, your boyfriend is sick. He's still in the bathroom. Be quiet and you will live." We walked as if we were a couple deeply in love. I took a quick glance behind me. Nobody was in sight. I pushed her behind a big pickup truck, pressed my left hand on her mouth, my right hand on her hair and with one quick, strong, rotary motion, I broke her neck. I then took my walletand her purse from her handbag and walked quickly to the staircase. Once I got there, I ran the stairs, not too quickly to arouse any suspicion. I got into my car and drove off slowly away.
I got back to the motel, picked up my suitcase, and drove back to Phoenix. By the time I got near Boulder, snow came down in earnest and strong gusty winds caused my Sienna to sway. The time was around midnight. The visibility was bad and I was debating if I should check into a motel for the night. As I was deliberating, I saw the flashing lights behind me and some loud peeps. I sighed and wondered how the cops responded so quickly. And how in the world they knew it was I who was the perp. I stopped my car and I was at peace with myself. I was not nervous. I was willing to bear the consequences for my actions. I did what I what to do, given the circumstances. If the same situation arises, I would do exactly the same thing. The only difference is that I would no longer fancy that I am irresistible to women. No sir, not anymore. I've learned my lesson. The knock on the glass on the driver side brought me back to the hard reality. I rolled down the window. A middle-aged black cop asked for my insurance papers and driver ID. Then he told me he stopped me because the tail lights of my car went out. I profusely apologized and said that I didn't know of the malfunction and I would have them fixed the first thing tomorrow morning. He said:
"You'd better do that. Where are you heading anyway?"
"Phoenix, sir".
"Phoenix! In this weather? Without the tail lights. Are you crazy? If I were you, I would check into a motel."
Vastly relieved, I replied "Yes, sir, I will."
He gave me back the insurance papers and the driver ID. He didn't give me any ticket. He said before turning back to his vehicle: "Fix the lights."
I nodded my head emphatically and thanked him and I drove slowly away, feeling like a million dollars and utterly ecstatic. I did check into a motel in Boulder. I couldn't sleep. I clicked ont the TV. There was no news yet. Naturally I was worreid about my fingerprints in the hotel room and on the bodies. But on the other hand, there was nothing I could do to undo the situation. I just had to move on. I tried to watch a late night movie, but couldn't concentrate. My ears were tuned to outside noise, preparing for a knock on the door. I was wonderful if anybody saw me with the woman in the garage. Naturally some playrers might recall that seeing me and her playing in the Caesar's, but her body was at Bellagio's garage. That helped the situation a bit. I didn't know under what name the hotel room was checked under. That was typically of me. I never thought many moves ahead. I tended to react to the situation. The more I thought of the situatiaon, the more restless and nervous I got. Then impulsively I called a woman in Georgia who professed a deep love for me and was holding out and waiting for me for 15 years. I told her what had transpired. Her reaction was not what I had expected at all. She was sarcastic and gave me so many cheap shots over the phone that I wondered if she really loved me. I had a feeling that she was very angry that I had agreed to go up to the room of that Thai woman for "a cup of coffee". I hung up the phone and asked myself if I should pay her a visit really soon, like tomorrow. As I tossed and turned in bed, I no longer felt ecstatic. I felt lonely and annoyed and very much on guard. I felt I had made another big mistake in my calling her, in trusting her. Mayaybe the Asian dude was right. Maybe I was really stupid. Anyway, I felt strongly that I had overreached and overstretched my luck by placing that call to the bitch in Georgia. For the first time all day, I felt the voice in the back of my head early this morning was the voice of the Devil. The bastard tricked me and wanted to destroy me. I would prove him wrong, but my life now was going to be more complicated. What could I say? For years, I had bragged that I was a complicated guy. Now it would be a test if I could cope with the complication and the implication this dark, stormy night had brought to me.
Wissai
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