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

Walls and Bridges

Walls and Bridges

Don't be a wall
Stop acting tall
Be a bridge
Over the abyss

In the twilight of his life, he was striving for honesty and dignity, not necessarily out of a necessity of gaining respect from others, but to secure a respect from deep within himself for himself because he was painfully aware that a life without self-respect was not much of a life at all, not if he wanted to demonstrate that he was genuinely human, and not a dog or a pig in disguise. So when he expressed himself, he tried not to have forced expressions, non sequiturs, artificialities, and riddling obscurities. He tried to produce sentences that rang true, not false and hollow, since he realized that besides his deeds, his words told the world who he really was. He knew, like everything else, the world of words was split between the real and the phony.

He could be phony like most everybody else, but that would be too easy. Like the other day, a woman expressed an interest in him. He told her that he was not an usual guy like those she met in the past. How unusual, tell me, she challenged him. 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.

  Wissai
  Nov. 23, 2010

I've been warned about you

I've been warned about what an asshole you are, but I have given you the benefit of a doubt until now. Ironically enough, with a stupid desire to win and score points, you reveal your cheapness, crassness, and cowardice in your failure to admit reality for what it is. You have to twist somebody else's words to your benefit. A person like you no wonder has been an object of contempt of so many people. I should have seen your true character much sooner, but I was blind because I thought you had a sense of honor and justice. Little did I know you only want to win by whatever means, even if you have to lie and put words in your opponent's mouth.

Meanings of my words

Meanings of my words

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 banished; 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, laced with occasional flashes of lyricism.

Some of what I wrote creatively had a tenuous connection with reality, but more often than not, they were a product of wishful thinking and imagination. The polemical pieces and essays, however, were written to let off steam and to expose the ignorance, the shallowness of "thinking", and the lack of logic in the "reasoning" of certain individuals who are much better off to keep their mouths shut in order to spare this world of noise pollution and excessive nonsense. Unlike the products of their feeble, syphilitic minds, my non-creative pieces have a sparkling clarity of expressions and cogent reasoning, backed up by solid facts. If my interlocutors and critics whine and wail about non-existent nonsense of the defects of my pieces in order to deflect from the pathetic state of affairs of their own, my best course of action is to flick my wrist, shrug my shoulders and move on with my life. There is no point to hold a conversation with those who have neither courage nor decency to face reality and admit their errors. We can tell a lot about the character of a person by the way he argues with others. In case you wonder if I am aware of my own character, here's my self-analysis which I offer free of charge: undiplomatic, arrogant, boastful, caustic, corrosive, and eternally and elegiacally on the side of logic and truth as I see them.

Who are you, Roberto?

How do I describe thee?

Let me find the ways.
You and your words bring a collage of bright, contrasting images to mind.
A prideful, even to the point of arrogant, solitary, sorrowful, disdainful man. A professor, an artist, a poet, a dreamer, a philosopher, a lover of women yet no longer trusting of them although women of all ages, creeds, and color are drawn to you. You are a force to be reckoned with, a volcano about to erupt, a big stick of dynamite getting stuck in somebody's ass and ready to blow up. You are one of a kind, a wonder to wonder, a winter for winner, a summer for a slumber in the shade of a big oak tree in a sun-drenched, breezy, flowers-scented afternoon on the meadow high in the alpine country, a whisper by the river, and a scream by the stream. But most of all, you are a slave to a certain sentiment and a captive of a memory. You would not let go of the hurts, the haunting haughtiness of a woman. You no longer love her; you don't hate her either. But you always feel irritated and restless and annoyed and out of joint because of her scorn. Intellectually, you know she does not love you because she does not know your worth or she thinks your worth is not worth much. And that hurts. So you go to the library and embark on a program of self-improvement. You read. You think. And then you write. You write mostly about her and yourself. You write so the hurt may go away. But it does not. It will stay till the day you die. Occasionally, a witty remark from you makes a woman blush and smile. She wants to get to know you further. One thing leads to another and you get into the sack with her. For a few minutes, a few days, or maybe a few months, the old memory is held at bay, and then one early morning you wake up, it returns with full force and makes you, a grown man, cry. Tears form in your eyes and remind you that you have been cursed. You wish you had not met her, not fallen in love with her.

Last night you smiled when you saw a naysayer stuttered and stammered words of nonsense and inarticulate ignorance. You dismissed him with a flick of your wrist and a shrug of your shoulders and you walked slowly away, amused and slightly annoyed at the verbal game less than honest folks played with themselves.

You push and pull others away and toward you.

Tact and Poise

Tact is the sign of emotional and social intelligence. Poise is an indication of emotional control and training which results in calmness and serenity under pressure. You speak in front of everybody as if you speak with yourself, an activity you do everyday. What you have learned about tact is the cultivation of respect for others and the suppression of your own ego. Always remember Buddha's teachings and you will have poise. Learn from mistakes and learn to forgive yourself.

Resilience, growth, and dignity

So you slowly wean yourself from being the town crier and the village idiot. You have come down from your high horse and are now quietly talking to yourself. The asshole resorted to a cheap shot and you were struck in the heart. So you reflected long and hard on the matter. Now this is where your home is. Be mindful of your words. They offer to others a glimpse to your interior, just as the words of others offer a look of their interior. Now you have looked into the interior of many assholes, you shudder in realizing how common and petty and animalistic those assholes are. They basically are animals yet they try to put on an air of dignity.

Obama's press conference about being shellacked by the midterm election results

I just watched the recorded press conference of Obama today in response to the midterm election results. I was favorably struck by his tone and choice of words in his answers to very tough questions of the press. The man has an agenda when he ran for the Presidency and he will not waver from it. He admitted many mistakes he had made, especially in compromising with the opposition to get his programs passed. I have a distinct impression that Obama went into politics in order to serve the people, to make a difference in their lives, and thus the country, and not to achieve personal wealth and glory. If wealth and glory come, they are incidental by-products, and not the main objectives. Not all politicians, especially those having the Republican label, view politics that way. I have a view that most Republican politicians get into politics to protect their interests and their ways of life and/or to seek glory and fame and of course power, not to do good as in the case of Obama, but to use it (power) to satisfy their selfish, narrow concerns. Two opposing world views and philosophies: altruism and selfishness.

Selfishness is not bad or unnatural by itself. In fact, it is very natural and necessary for one's survival. However, I am of a firm opinion that those humans who are too much concerned with their own interests and survival are not quite evolved and developed as human beings. To put it bluntly, they fail to transcend the animal heritage and thus remain stuck at the animalistic level. 

We look at the behavior of certain humans and we can safely see those who are selfish and those who are not. Those who are not, respond to a more powerful yearning: true love of others. In  fact, love of others is the only true love it is.

Further thoughts on role of government

Power tends to corrupt. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Distrust of government in its ability to protect the weak and the poor is the automatic response of those who manage to take care of themselves or to thrive in an environment where everybody is for himself. Humans are social animals. That means we live in groups, thus the issues of power, law and order, and allocation and use of resources have to be addressed. At one time in the past (and a very long time indeed) the weak and the poor were exploited by the strong and the wealthy. A very few have to resort on begging to survive. As humans evolved both in material well-being and morally (unfortunately, this only happens in the industrial West and few countries in the rest of the world), few enlightened thinkers advocated more rights (voting rights and labor laws to curb capitalist excesses) for the poor and the weak as well as for the society at large (environmental laws). Some governmental agencies were set up to make sure those laws were respected. The system works fine if the enforcers of the laws are not corrupt. How to minimize the possibility of corruption? Answers: education, especially moral education and a free press. Problems arising from abuses of power are interconnected and lies in the nature of man. However, a government is a necessity. Helping the poor and the weak is also a necessity so they have a chance to get ahead. If they wish to remain weak and poor is to be up to them. The secret is not to coddle them so they lose the motivation to improve themselves and bring down the competitiveness of the whole society against the competition of other societies. The West and countries like Japan, Australia, and New Zealand seem to do fine in this socialist-minded scheme of governance. The U.S., the last stronghold of unbridled capitalism, is making progress by fits and starts. Universal health care, as envisioned by Obama administration, is in the right direction. All refugees to the U.S., including the Viet boat people, at one time or another received some kind of help to get going. Most rose to the challenge, worked hard and joined the mainstream. Others, out of laziness or incompetency, remain stuck in poverty and live a life devoid of dignity because of reliance on social help to survive. The more better off members of society have a choice: to cut off all aid to the poor or to continue helping the poor. The Tea Party, simplistically put, opts for the former choice and refuse to pay more taxes. Unfortunately, the poor votes also. There lies the perpetual struggle between the have and the have-not. The solution is to find ways to convert the have into joining the rank of the have-not. However, in times of economic problems, the ranks of the have-not swell. 

I am going to circle back to where I started. The bottom line is I go for enlightened governmental intervention to uplift the poor and the weak. Such is also the philosophy of most Democrats. Everything starts with the education of the heart: love and compassion, respect of laws, and avoidance of abuses of power.

Wissai

Roberto's Dialogues

The following is one of those recorded conversations Roberto had with his bosom buddy, Silvio (yes, with an i after s, not y, as some self-appointed "scholar" is prone of spelling although he has implied that he "knows" Italian). The dialogues lack the elegance, philosophical depth, and literary quality found in Plato's Dialogues. In fact, they are the antithesis of Plato's, but the scrivener of the conversations is brazen enough to plan to have them self-published around Ramadan next year. Without further ado, let's see what Roberto and Silvio talked about.

Roberto: Hey, yo, some dude called me narrow-minded and unsophisticated in my observations and reasoning. Do you think the "gentleman" was right in his assessment?

Silvio: Unsophisticated, yes, but I'm not sure about narrow-minded since it doesn't go well with observations and reasoning. But he was being charitable. He could have said you were ignorant, uninformed, sophistical, hypocritical, cowardly, mendacious, unreliable, pompous, and self-important son of a bitch. Just because you got some graduate training, you fancy yourself that you are an intellectual, but frankly, outside of your area of expertise and general animal cunning, you don't know jack shit about anything. I am the only friend you have. And we've had many conversations. I know you! Now tell me, did you say anything back to him?

Roberto: As I told you, I've "changed" since I had a chance encounter with a charming, gracious movie star. The encounter forced me to go through a process of self-examination and I came up with a conclusion that I needed to emulate his wonderful disposition and personality. So I just sucked it up. I did chuckle, chortle, crackle, and roll over the floor from laughing. Then I went to a bathroom, had a big dump, and also threw up.

Silvio: Please spare me of the graphic description of your malodorous activities in the bathroom. I read last night that you disputed the assertion of another gentleman who said that the World Series of Poker Tournament, Main Event $10,000 entry fee, open to all interested players from all the world only returned 12% of the collected purse as prizes. Do you have additional info to back up your disagreement since you pride yourself as a lover of facts, unlike so many dudes who love to make half-assed statements?

Roberto: I certainly do. The total prize pool is $68.8 million (out of $73.2 entry fees collected, so you could see the payout far exceeds 12% alleged by the gentleman), the final 9 players  alone will be paid $27.54 million. The first 730 (estimated) players get paid out of a total 7,319 players. ESPN will pre-empt SportsCenter on Nov.9 to televise its two-hour coverage of the final table. Also, the network will broadcast all the action from the final table live---without showing the hole cards---on its ESPN3 broadband network. The event has been enjoying surging popularity since 2003 when an accountant named Chris Moneymaker (real name) parlayed $55 (or so) initial investment to win the first prize.


Wissai

Lady's calf muscles and other ruminations

I looked at a lady's calf muscles and a flood of stupid, innocent memories rushed back. The awakening of romantic feelings when I was an awkward, assertive adolescent versus the wariness of the current cynical codger. How time flies, but the memories linger on. I had a sardonic, bitter smile on my face. I turned my face and went back to my textbook, trying to fight against ignorance in my old age. Too many bitter lessons. Too many bad memories. Too many lies. Too many disappointments. Words. Nothing but words. We are all selfish. We don't care enough. We don't really love others, at least not as much as we love ourselves.

I saw Obama's press conference today about the improved picture of jobs creation. Again he gave a superb performance. He didn't gloat. He didn't take the credit. He took the high road. So far the only thing the guy disappointed me was that he lied about not hearing his pastor Wright mouthing off anti-white rhetoric during the 20 years he was sitting in the pews. At any rate, Obama has something I do need to emulate: poise and apparent lack of pettiness. There's one redeeming aspect of my personality. I do recognize the good parts of people around me and try to incorporate them so I can improve myself. That does not mean I am a humble son of a bitch. Far from it, but I have learned to curb my aggressiveness and to be pleasant and gracious. Last night, some guy (not the first person who ever did that. I constantly get similar comment) said that I had a refreshing sense of humor and he liked that. I humbly acknowledged his observation and moved on with my newly adopted persona patterned after that of the movie star I have been harping on recently. At this late stage in my life, I belatedly recognize and admit the importance of grace and dignity in social intercourse. So I dress better, enunciate my words, speak only when absolutely necessary, state my disagreement quietly and briefly, and refrain from using big words when having a conversation with a nitwit or a disagreeable person. I look around me and try to find people who are more accomplished, more caring, more understanding so I can get inspiration from. I try to stay from selfish, rationalizing animals, especially the so-called "educated" ones. I know I am superior to them and made of better and finer stuff than them, but feeling superior to them does not do me any good. That only makes me smug and complacent. They are what they are. I stop hectoring them to have a heart. They have heard enough from me. Shrill hectoring from me just makes me look self-righteous and ugly. I now focus on people who are superior to me so I can work on improving myself while constantly reminding myself that although women keep saying that I am cute and funny and that they love me, those are only words. Past bitter memories have anchored me and prevented me from foolishly believing what they said. Meanwhile I continue working on my mind and my body as I want to see how long I can be an object of adoration from women.

Roberto Wissai, one of a kind, one tries to be shy,

Ignorance and Rationalization

I do try to be like DA, the movie star I happened to meet the other day, who impressed me greatly with his charms and poise and sympathetic nature. As a consequence, I didn't rise to the bait hanging in front of me recently by a guy whom everybody has warned me against. I ignored his ignorance as well as his blatant and pathetic accusations of me and sophistical (not sophisticated) defense of himself. As I often say, our comments tell the world more of ourselves than the object at hand. Like trees and grass and bugs crawling on the ground, assholes and motherfuckers do have the right to be here, although I don't know for what purposes other than to contrast with heroes and people with character.

Encounter with a movie star

I recently had a very pleasant encounter with a movie star. He is in his 40's and has appeared in several movies. He currently is going through a well-publicized divorce. His two sisters are also well-known actresses. The amazing thing about him was that he took the time to answer all my nosy questions with grace and patience. His diction was wonderful. He disclosed that he first got paid as an actor when he was 17. He is going to direct an upcoming episode of CSI. When I told him I was into poetry writing, he was very sympathetic. The long and short of this account of my chance encounter with this wonderful man is that because he was such a classy, charming, sympathetic person, he forced me to take stock of my own abrasive personality and I came to a conclusion that I had to be as pleasant and charming as he was. I am normally not a star-struck person, but this relatively young man made such an impression on me that I asked for his autograph and I had a picture taken with him and stored it in my iPhone.

Halloween

I read about Roman orgies that were practiced about two thousand years ago. I suppose they could not be any wilder than drunken, sex-filled celebrations that happen every year at the end of October in America. Each year, as America descends deeper in the decline, the orgiastic celebrations get more out of bounds as if Americans want to drown their sorrows in seeing how far down the path of depravity they can go.

I just came back from a Halloween party and I was deeply concerned for America. Even at midnight, the line to the nightclub was long. Despite the atmospheric temperature being in mid-40's, people dressed in "costumes" that left nothing to the imagination about the strategic assets of the human anatomy. There was a look of eager and yet insouciant expectation on the faces of the party goers that they were going to get drunk, do some drugs, and come home with a sex partner. Both men and women showed off their physical attributes. There was a charge of sexual tension in the air. I didn't have any "costume" on. I had my normal informal dress clothes. My friend Kenny --my landlord's son--dressed as Julius Caesar, invited me to the party. He had a pair of tickets. Imagine that! We had to buy tickets in advance just to have the privilege to get inside the door! After standing in line for 45 minutes, we finally got inside the club. I was hit by the pulsating loud music and a mixture of cigarette smoke,  human odor, and assorted aroma of deodorants and perfumes and aftershaves. Men and women ground their bodies against each other. Many retired to the side kissing and groping each other. Kenny was dancing with his "lady" friend who seemed to get lost in the music. I was bored and had no desire to score. I came over to Kenny, tapped  on his shoulder, and told him I would try my luck somewhere else. I felt relieved and regained my sanity once I got outside to the fresh air. My frayed senses thanked me. I got back to my car. The soft rock Spanish music calmed me. I felt old.

Wissai

Upon reading an internal, now disclosed, recorded talks of Le^ Duan, General Secretary of VCP

I keep thinking about the significance of this historical document. While I realize we all can read English, I still would like to point out the following points gleaned from the document since they seem to support several positions of mine which I have not been to reiterate whenever I have a chance. In addition, some facts/assertions in the document contradict popular perceptions.

1. China, at least Mao, planned to move Chinese people into Lao, Thailand, and presumably into Vietnam as well. 
2. LD urged his comrades to prepare for a long war against China.
3. War of aggression against South Vietnam was conceived and instigated by North Vietnam, not egged on by China. Mao didn't want to confront the U.S.
4. NVN didn't ask for Chinese troops with weapons into Vietnam, but China did anyway along with building roads leading to Vietnam and beyond.
5. LD's passionate speech about courage and freedom.
6. The timing of the release of the document.
7. There are 6.7 billion humans on this planet, out of those 1.3 billion are Chinese. Vietnam lives next door to China and has only 90 million inhabitants. Vietnam has land, timber, minerals, deep harbors, and strategic islands that China has long coveted. Vietnam is weak and disunited right now and thus offers a tempting target for the expansionist-minded Chinese. Human conflicts are ultimately solved by military means. Those who are victorious dictate the terms to settle the conflicts. Might makes right. It has been so since time immemorial. To think differently and predominantly in pacific terms is an indication of willful disregard of history. 

Wissai

Midterm Election(s) of 2010

I find the sports and game of politics in the U.S enormously interesting. Many selfish, right-wing, uninformed, deficient in reasoning skills, and plainly stupid are complaining that Obama is governing from the left. What do they expect from a guy with his background? (white mother was an anthropologist who married a fellow black student from Kenya and then an Indonesian. He chose to be a community organizer upon graduation from Harvard Law School where he was the editor of Harvard Law Review). His only problem, in my estimation, is that he does not do enough ego stroking. He does not meet often Republican leaders in Congress for small chats. He didn't send letter of thanks to a donor who so far has given $30,000 to his campaign and causes. Last but not least, he has managed to alienate the independents and some of his base by compromising too much with the selfish interest groups in order to get his programs passed into laws.

What his detractors, especially the rabid, narrow-minded, myopic followers of the Tea Party, fail to realize that he is the best hope for America to arrest the decline and to revitalize the country. I have yet found a single program of his that I disagree with in principle. Remember, the role of government is to assist and protect the weak and the disadvantaged. The rich and the privileged can always take care of themselves. In addition, his programs are designed to strengthen America and to help all Americans for the long term, not just to help rich Republican cronies like Bush Lite's policies did while ignoring the interest of all Americans.

EDP

Somebody coyly sent me a missive inquiring if I was an EDP based on my writings,  without clarifying what EDP meant. I replied that I only appeared to be an EDP, but in reality I was very sensitive and intuitive and full of ESP. I further stated since the person didn't disclose his/gender I could not tell if his/her inquiry was done under the influence of PMS or LSD or plain Mary Jane.

The last 11years of my life have been enormously exciting. I have been accused of indulging in narcissism, grandiosity, delusions, and monomania. I am glad my accusers have not been crass enough to suggest that I am into onanism or SM or necrophilia. In actuality, I have been a very shy person. All the bravado and braggadocio are just the cover-ups for my acute sense of vulnerability and hypersensitivity.

But enough talk about myself. Let's talk about you. Are you excited about today's midterm elections in America? Are you amused with the game of politics, of an idiot like Sarah Palin who commands the attention and adoration of a significant segment of the American adult population? Are you a firm believer in higher power, in God or just in yourself and the occasional flickering, fickle decency and humanity and kindness of some people, contrasted with the selfishness, cruelty, and cowardice of most people? In short, do you believe in the power and magic of love, as opposed to the corrosive forces of hate and indifference?

I concluded recently that while logic can convince, only emotion can motivate. That's why all forms of propaganda---political or commercial or even religious--- always appeal to the heart, and not the mind. Man is an emotional being, much more so than he realizes.

I'd better go, there are matters that require my attention. As usual, the Spanish language music has put me in this chatty, garrulous, social mood. I wish I knew the language much better so I could comprehend fully the lyrics. Whenever I listen to music in a language other than that of my mother tongue, I feel strangely happy and serene instead of my usual morose self.

Wissai

Message

Silvio: Tell me why you posted that couplet in Vietnamese?
Roberto: I wanted to send a message to the asshole that I could express myself in that difficult game of wordplay in Vietnamese. The son of a bitch was so stupid in believing my self-effacing statement that I could not write Vietnamese worth a damn. Look, if I can express myself in writing in three foreign languages, that means that I certainly can do so in my mother tongue, a language I spoke, read, and heard for the first 22 years of my life. If I don't normally write in Vietnamese because it is a choice of mine, not because I cannot do it. Anybody who really thinks I cannot write Vietnamese is really stupid, dumb, and moronic. Now I have used the couplet to express my contempt for the asshole, that should shut him up for a while and get the stupid and silly notion out of his stupid mind that I, a poet and an essayist, am incapable of writing anything trenchant and biting in Vietnamese which could cause a deep wound in that thick skull of his. How I really despise the asshole!