I hope Autumn

Another morning, but today's morning is the first autumn morning of the year. Students are returning to school. The body aches a little more to stay in bed. I get up at 8, but it's still dark. The morning chill is a special sign. It means we're entering the dark period. It's a sign that everything can get cold, but that warmth is the greatest possibility. I always feel I might be reborn in the autumn season. Sometimes it turns out that I die. But every year, I feel hopeful, and this is the time perhaps most full of romance. If anything, there should be a few good love poems. If anything, there should be a longing, pure and crisp as the air, as nature finds its most poetic state, blushing and dying. This morning, I thank the maker for this reminder. Afterall, that's all we have. Signs to trigger the only flesh we have, memory. Quivering as the naked branches do, vitality is in the wind. Shivering, good morning.

Help

Thanks for all the...

Fighting

Okay Readers! Ready for another pep talk?!
Here it is!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Every single step forward blotches red with pain, because every step is the wrong step, and you've just fucked up for the 13th time in a row. You've said the wrong thing, You've done the wrong thing, You ARE the wrong thing. You don't have a damn thing to be proud of, and all you can do is feel sorry for yourself, and maybe cry yourself to sleep, because baby, ain't nobody calling your sweet ass for a warm cup of coffee.

yes, That's right. You are, at this very moment, a loser.
no favors, no help, no understanding glances of empathy.
just this: Fuck, You.

But you just give them a fuck you right back because at the end of the day the only person you have to answer to is yourself. You will not be a bitchy coward about your feelings, your dreams, and your thoughts. You will give yourself the ass kicking you deserve. No one else cares enough to give it to you, so you will proceed to look yourself in the mirror and see how pathetic you are, and you will yell at yourself.

And then you will leave the room and leave your self to sit by himself and think about what he just did. He will get his shit together, open the door, come back to you, and say, please sir, give me some more. And then, you'll feel like a goddamn person, again. And then, you'll sober up and apply to a few more jobs, scrutinize some more writing, and plan tomorrow's ass kicking.

and THAT, is how I feel right now.

Reading a book

Writing in this blog is like climbing atop a small steel cast children's ride outside the local bodega. I feel a little stupid most of the times, but when I'm really in the mood, I just want the world to know it.

I'm currently working on several books (reading! not writing.. Unfortunately).
Native Son
Moby Dick
Native Speaker
Freakonomics
Guns Germs and Steel
7 habits of highly effective people

I probably won't finish any of those books any time soon, but I'm almost done with Native Speaker, Chang Rae Lee. My friend said he sat down with the man once in an English Class. He didn't remember much about him. Nothing striking. Smart, suave, and soft, was how he described Mr. Lee.

Disappointing. Because I would like to talk to him about his book.

A book that seems to strain with its "problem" more than any other book I've read. It's a book about how difficult it is to write a book. Well, more accurately, it's a book about how difficult it is to write a character--and perhaps, it's a book about how writing a character close to home is like betrayal, spying, or worse, lying. And at one moment in the book, the main character talks about a hypothetical figure, a brother figure, a strong Asian man who's outspoken and confident. He also has an assignment to write profiles on a highly influential New York Politician, John Kwang. The main character struggles with painting pictures of the Korean Man. He ends up painting his own portrait as a sordid rant and tirade on his disfunctional and pathetic father and mother; he talks about his failing relationship with his wife, and his dead son. He sprinkles in some intimate details about New York.

Mr. Lee, is it so difficult? I mean, you write beautifully. Am I just missing the point? I have to say, I'm about 3/4 of the book done, and when I finish, I hope to have discovered some huge twist in this narrative of yours.

I'll tell you how it goes.

He once wrote:

"And I return to the simple task"

Rehab

Here's a story for you: In the May 29th 2006 Issue of Sports Illustrated, in the "LeadingOff" section, there's a two page photo of a horse in bandages, being held up in the air over rubber tubing. Countless straps cover the horse and there appears to be a hook hanging in the air keeping the horse suspended:

"Following more than five hours of surgery on Sunday to repair multiple fractures of the right hind leg suffered in the Preakness the day before, Barbaro was placed in a pool so that he wouldn't put pressure on the leg or reinjure himself by thrashing. A metal plate and 23 screws were used to put the shattered bones back together. Surgeons at the University of Pennsylvania's veterinary hospital said that horses so severely injured are usually destroyed."

The absence of the fact made a shotgun blast ring in my ears. I suddenly felt the horse was not being suspended against the force of gravity, but instead held up from fate, put together despite history, and saved from a cruel society.

Barbaro, the horse, is recovering and making good progress today.

Listening Session

Today: 하나하면 너와나
(FIFTH ALBUM)

Closed my e y e s and relaxed, listened to the tracks from A to Z, from 1 to 3, and meditated on the structure of the track listing, each song's significance to the rest of the album, the overall msg of the album, meaning of it, if any exists. Tried to focus on the lyrics and the instrumentals, how the two connected, the context surrounding the production of the album, Shine's imminent departure, the growing strength of the other Movement members. Of course, I was pretty lost in terms of many of the references and lyrics, the Korean is too quick and playful for me to get it all. But there was one moment where JK yells out, Move something! I enjoyed getting that Talib Kweli reference.

A good moment of clarity. Haven't made time for it in a while.
Tiger uppercut!

Your world disgusts me

I open the fridge this morning and as is the case most of the times, there's nothing good to eat, but the fridge is packed. I pick out a plastic cup of yogurt, hopeful that it might be regular, and not lowfat.

"Light n' Fit" -- Dannon Peach Yogurt. Terrible.

The worst moment, though, is as I decide without thought to visit my MySpace page, I shovel a small load of yogurt into my mouth and, there she is. A huge picture of some bikini clad girl advertising whoknowswhat pops out. The sensation is like nothing I've vomited before. The lowfat yogurt, the turquoise bikini blond, the saccharine smile, the plastic pose.

I can't go on.
This is the end!

Still Life

I always loved how baseball seemed to move at the same pace throughout the whole game.

What keeps changing is the atmosphere. The mood. When a team starts to rally, looks a little more focused, feels a bit more confident. Maybe it's a home game, and the stadium is vibrant. The crowd is a loud roar. The pace of the game is kept at bay by the pitcher and the batter. They take their time. They look at each other and think deeply about one thing: victory. Then in an instant everyone moves, even the man who's farthest from the action flinches. And it's over. Back to plate, to the mound.

I always loved how people would say, baseball is boring, it's a game about statistics. The boring game, the quiet storm.

Hey!

Far from figuring out what makes my life work, I am constantly baffled by the challenges that lie before me.

Honest.

The biggest blocks in my heart and mind preventing me from feeling at ease with myself and the world are huge and complicated, inexplicable and probably impossible to solve or change.

Oooh, suddenly that self-help book I half-way read is coming back to me: "Recognize what you can change, and what you cannot." Wise words, my friend. Funny how some generic advice can gel with personal experience... I've always believed in the universality of human experience, but also the uniqueness of individual expression. Self help book, meet Sol Park?

Anyway, my point was to explain to you, reader, that the main struggles in my life are massive and living complexities that no one could possibly hope to explain to me or resolve for me. And it isn't even that the challenges before me are unchangeable, necessarily, just that there are too many of them, and they are too large, for me to possible face them all.

Of course, they face me. They face me no matter where I turn.

I think those ads are funny, the ones that go, "Are you overweight? Depressed? Funny feeling in your stomach? Then we've got the product for you!" I think that if you took out the punchline, then it might actually be more valuable.

Do you feel you have potential for great things?
Do you feel you'll never reach that potential?
Maybe you feel it's too late.
Maybe you're fooling yourself and in actuality
you're nothing but a average person.
Maybe feeling like a normal person feels also like defeat?
Maybe all your life you've been lead to believe
that special is the way to be.
Is there no where you can turn to, to find a different perspective?
Can you not speak to anyone?
Are you alone?
Are other people just assholes?
Does no one see what you see?
Is everyone else pretty much blind,
in search of trivial things,
superficial?

Okay. I Understand.