Understanding

Understanding

Tửu phùng tri kỷ thiên bôi thiểu
Thoại bất đầu cơ bán cú đa
Dao tri hồ thượng nhất tôn tửu
Năng ức thiên nhai vạn lý nhân
                           Âu Dương Tự (in Sino-Vietnamese)
Cùng bạn biết mình muôn chén thiếu, 
Với ai khác ý nửa câu thừa
Trên mặt hồ một chung tiễn bạn
Nhớ tới người nơi vạn dặm xa
                 Vietnamese Translation
(A thousand of drinks together would not suffice in true friendship
But half a sentence spoken would be too much in lack of understanding
Sitting in the middle of the lake, this drink is for my friend
Who's now ten thousand miles far away)
                    Translated by Wissai

We are what 
We have lost 
              Alex Kuo

One becomes what one is
              Nietzsche

Several friends of mine have commented that my words have a jarring, jolting, terrible beauty about them. I replied if they really thought so, then perhaps they understood me. 

Okay, I didn't have the guts to tell them the reason I wrote the way I did was that I was scared, angry, and wounded. And Lonely. Yes, the one with a capital L. But that doesn't mean I don't have lady friends to talk to. I do. Tons. A lot. But I still feel lonely. That's my basic existential problem, besides not believing  in a Personalized God, the kind that has human attributes and to Whom one talks to and asks for help. Yes, that kind of God, not Spinoza's God. 

I am lonely because none of my lady friends understands me while I understand them perfectly. One-way understanding is getting old to me. 

Take the case of Sylvia, a Russian Jew in St. Petersburg,  who has been my friend for over 14 years. I knew her when my hair was not gray, when I was at my fighting weight of 157 lbs (I weigh 169 now), when I was a budding millionaire. I still know what turns her on and off, her likes and dislikes and why they are so. I know why she views politics is a dirty game, why she believes the world will end in fire and then ice, and why she loves animals more than humans. But, she, on the other hand, does not know my values and what keeps me going. She does not know no price is too high for owning yourself. To live like a slave, intellectually that is, is a terrible thing to do, but that's what at least 90% of humans are doing, in my conservative and humble estimation.

Or the bitch by the name of Leona in Liverpool. She was stupid and stingy, poor and portly, but she thought she was pretty and classy. Vanity, thy name is woman!

Or the strange, curious phenomenon of Harriet of Harrisburg,  She was formidably intelligent but uneducated, hot-tempered but forgiving, stingy and yet generous at the same time. She said she loved me, but threatened to kill me almost on a daily basis. When she died of a heart-attack, I got down on my knees and cried with relief because I no longer would have to go to bed with a loaded automatic under my pillow. 

But the root cause of my alienation, I suppose, was none other than Annette, the French woman of yore. I thought she was sweet and tender and generous to a fault. Because of her, I wrecked my mind to labor in French. I thought she loved me because I did love her with an intensity of a lad of nineteen. We went out for three years.Then the sky fell, disillusion arrived, and depression took root. It took me more than 30 years to get over the hurts and the pains. And when I did, Nietzsche's words came to mind, "what did not destroy me, would make me stronger". I did get stronger and have not got depressed since even though I lost many things which were dear to me.

Alex Kuo was right. We are defined by what we have lost. What remains is essentially who we really are. A man would know who really is when he has no money, no job, and no friends, when what he only has is his body and his mind and his honor. If he can bounce back, if he can get on his feet and fight against the forces of negativity and gravity while nobody believes that he can, then he would know what he is made. 

I have some money now, enough to see me maintain a middle class lifestyle until I hit 80. I don't foolishly flirt with insolvency anymore, although I still take risks. The other day a bitch asked to "borrow" $100,000 from me. I laughed and said, "Tell me, my dear, is your pussy covered with rubies and diamonds? I was stupid once, but not twice. Get the fuck out of here!" 

I am going to the gym in a few minutes. I am getting back to my fighting weight, one pound at a time. I still look good and sexy. And my mind is still sharp. I have stayed away from booze and drugs and even women. I am living a life of an ascetic. I observe, think, read and write everyday. I no longer give a fuck about what and how people think of me. As far as I am concerned, they can go to fucking Hell. They are lucky that I do not personally send them there. Most humans deserve to be exterminated like vermin. That's what I believe. That was what Hitler believed, too. 

Of course, I am being self-indulgent and hyperbolic. That's the problem and beauty of writing to yourself. The manner, not the medium, is the message. If you read me or Henry Miller or of course, Phạm Công Thiên, literally, you would miss the point.  We three love words and we love to hear ourselves talk. Our message is not really the meaning of our words, but the manner of which the words are used. You must get past the prose and go to the poetry. I don't bluff nor lie, however, unlike some assholes I know. I have a problem with people aping Nietzsche (as Phạm Công Thiên did) and blasting Socrates without giving a clear (just like Nietzsche himself did) reason why. I always wonder what was wrong with Socrates. 

Life is getting clearer as I am getting closer to my finish line in this life on this planet Earth:

1. Am I happy now? Am I at peace with myself?
Yes and yes, despite the impressions I have given by my words. I was not lying. I was just playing games.
2. Am I financially secure to have a comfortable retirement?
Yes, despite blowing a lot of money. I learned a lot about myself and, more importantly, others who meant a lot to me, after teetering on the edge of financial abyss. I learned who really loved me and who only stayed with me because of money. 
3. What do I live for? 
Knowledge and literary creations, not power. Power is for animals and assholes who have inferiority complex, deep down. 
4. What do I think of humans?
Not much. Most are scumbags and assholes whose deaths mean absolutely nothing to me. I am getting misanthropic with each passing day. 
5. What were three biggest lessons I recently learned?
a. Social animals love power, sometimes unwittingly. 
b. Keep my big mouth shut and keep on listening. If I have to speak, speak only what people want to hear, not what I want to say. Be cool.
c. Don't underestimate human ignorance, stupidity, and obstinance. They have a stupid kind of Pride. They don't know what true Pride is. 

Das Leben

von Johann Gottfried Herder

Ein Traum, ein Traum ist unser Leben
Auf Erden hier.
Wie Schatten auf den Wogen schweben 
Und schwinden wir.
Und messen unsere trägen Tritte
Nach Raum und Zeit.
Und sind (und wissen's nicht) in Mitte 
Der Ewigkeit.

(Life

A dream, a dream is our life

here on earth.

Like shadows on the billows

we float and vanish.

And measure our slothful steps 

by space and time.

And are (and know it not) in the midst 

of eternity

The funny thing is that I may be stupid in thinking that I finally know something about humans. Let me put my understanding as follows: most humans are weak, stupid, ignorant, fearful, superstitious, and self-righteous. They are vastly inferior to me in intellectual and emotional honesty. I learn nothing from them, except not to be like them. About 10% of them have something in them that I can emulate. I know I am unique and different and I have suffered for stupidly interacting with certain assholes and motherfuckers. I wish I had the power to exterminate them one by one, by my own hands. But then without interacting with them, I would not have known how depraved they could be. Empirical knowledge is vastly superior than  ivory tower theorizing. As much as I know in theory that humans have the capacity to lie, to cheat, to make up stories, and generally to have no shame in trying to win with whatever means possible, that knowledge is always theoretical and does not have much import until I actually run into assholes and scumbags and motherfuckers who behave worse than I theorize. 

Unlike other bashful souls, my words are full of social commentary and have plenty of messages in their teeth. They don't provide uplift to the human spirit, nor do they show humanity the right way to conduct and breathe. I am just a mere neurotic scoundrel who happens to love words and fancy that he can express himself in an alien tongue with some degree of grace and y vividness. 

Yesterday I met an eye surgeon at a poker table who took a shine on me. He said he was impressed with my book knowledge and my humanity. He didn't reveal his occupation until at the end of the conversation when he handed me his business card and asked for my phone number. It seems to me that only educated people recognize my worth. About 15 years ago, a cognitive scientist (college profefssor) was very taken by my ability to express myself orally in English and he said so. He further remarked that I spoke English far better than his native born students. Today an old friend of 67 years of age disclosed to me that he is dying of prostate cancer. Life is precious only when we are are about to lose it. He told me about fear of dying and panic attacks. I hope I won't be like him when I meet my demise. I am trying hard not to get my ego involved with assholes and motherfuckers. The best way is to have nothing to do with them. I already know their true colors, their animalistic nature. And as I said before, if I could, I would do something, but now the only course of action for me is to to avoid and to wait. 

The more I live, the more misanthropic I become. I find humans worse off than dogs. Humans are treacherous and ungrateful, unlike dogs. In the twilight if my life, I realize I was dumb and stupid for harboring a torrid, burning longing for Big Face. Now I am just indifferent to her since I no longer find her worthy of my enduring affection. 

(To be continued)