You always make fun.

December 24, 2009

Having photobooth on your computer results in accidental records showing blurbs of periods of time in your life. It’s one of those things that forces you to remember, which I’d also argue is the sheer power of a lot of photographs. When I look at a photo, I’m forced to create an emotional bridge to understand what’s inside the image. Often, we can create emotional connections with photographs that we see taken from someone we don’t know, containing people or things that we don’t know. ¬†But there’s something really overwhelming, and delicate about trying to build that emotional bridge with pictures that have you and your friends in them. Especially when you’re shocked to find that photo of you makes you feel like you are looking at a strange– especially when the people in the photographs are people so incredibly far away from you now. I can’t tell whether it hurts or whether it feels good and sacred.

Today, I went through them, as a way to understand myself better, and to honor the people that have had a big impact in my life.

** These photos are very personal. If you want any of them taken down, I will be glad to do so. No disrespect intended.

We’ll look for something new when the air gets stale, pack our bags, and wake up in a room stained turquoise, glass bottles and smoke introduce themselves.

Talk to strangers, talk to strangers, talk to strangers, get numbers, get numbers, get numbers. Sleep over, sleep over, sleep over. Drink, drink, drink, smoke, smoke, smoke.

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I met you.

August 26, 2009

Remembering is far more absurd than forgetting. A memory of a certain person, their smell, their nervous twitches and the way they stared as you pretended not to notice; it serves as a bookmark. The bookmark in one of the many large & small books that will surely have chapter breaks, tension builders and dissappointing conclusions. Our books have those pages that we wish we could tear out, pages that make us question whether to keep reading. But just like a book, you can read a page, or a chapter over and over again, but the words will never change. The words, the letters are printed, immortalized on yellowish pieces of paper, and we’ll continue to stare even though the page won’t move, relocate, or alter it’s form.

I have books that I haven’t yet to read, but want to. I have too many of those. I buy them, and they sit on my shelf, anxiously waiting to be read, but I’ll put them off because they’re not the book that I’m in love with. They’re not the book that feels different each time I read it although it is exactly the same. They’re not the book that sits in my bag, damaged and weathered as it is, coffee stains and dog-ears staining the run throughs, marking those moments when I absolutely needed those pages to find a certain quote. Those quotes, I use here, and there, and hold in my pocket for random reflection and conversation.

I smoke cigarettes again. As good as it felt to be rid of them, it’s hard to deny that I feel even better when they poke my lungs like extra heartbeats. I felt good when I didn’t smoke, but I missed them so much. I missed how they felt in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, and the way they’d vanquish the petty worries that polluted my days. I missed having that crutch, that go-to thing that could add a little romance to mundane situations, add a little relaxation to my nerves on a rough day. I shouldn’t need to smoke, and it’s bad for me, but the long term, possibly fatal consequences, are minor in comparison to the joy they give me. The feeling of a cigarette on my lips, or knowing that I can escape the mundanities of work with that small break with my camels, was a reassurance that many would feel as fake, silly, or sophmoric. Everyone knows it’s bad for you, and that they aren’t a sign of any intelligent status, but we do them, because there is nothing else to do, and when we’re feeling unsure, the little breaths of joy are something we cannot let go.

When I listen to this song, I like to think how much it would mean to me, and to the people with me, if I had written it. Would it change the context? The meaning of the lyrics, or the beauty of the words? Well that’s nothing to worry about, because I can’t sing at all.

I Use Sarcasm Freely

May 5, 2009

We’re spinning fast; months seem like short, blurry streaks of color . Chains of conversations connected by six dollar cigarettes; I can’t help but think that all the idealistic romance of tobacco is ridiculous. The novel quality has dissipated, turning my lungs into overworked, underpaid workers in a factory. However, we don’t always learn and change from our mistakes and experiences, sometimes we just observe, absorb, and relish in the vivid memories that we hold close to our chests through the middle of the night, with our windows open, air unmoving. I think of my old friends sometimes, and why they are old. I think of my ex-girlfriends sometimes, and am reminded exactly why I’m passed that letter of the alphabet. We shouldn’t go backwards, we can never go backwards.

The girl I sleep with at night keeps me warm with her nails against my back and the sweet smell of her hair, yet I still sit on my porch staring off to space. The hours I put in front of a screen, in my head, print out onto card stock. The smell is incredible. It’s important to keep our pencils sharp and are pens full of ink. In a matter of time, you’ll see the environment is not what’s trapping you. That’s impossible! The mountains move to slow to catch you. You’ve forgotten how to tie your shoes and blame it on the store you bought them from. You’ve forgotten how to read and blame it on the book. You’ve forgotten the words to your favorite song and blame it on your speakers.

Rappers are good with words because they use them as weapons. Let’s make bombs out of words and fragments, and build cities with commas.


March 9, 2009

In order to establish an accomodating way in order to live my life, I’ve spent a lot of time making mistakes, and creating success. It is only now, that I can confidently say that I truly believe that the majority of things that happen in a lifetime are no longer problems to be solved, but processes to be enjoyed. This enjoyment does not necessarily need to be polished and colorful in the classic sense of joy, but to be fully accepted, appreciated, and interpreted in a way that can reinforce growth and power.

I used to be convinced that I was merely part of a structure that was immovable; that I had to make my way down a certain route, whether I liked it or not. All of this work would be done in order to get to a desired destination, to achieve a desired result. However, if history, or if my personal experiences have shown any truth at all, it’s that the flow of time and the happening of events are more or less spontaneous and indifferent to our personal wants. To accept that we are constantly in the moment, that we are constantly departing while arriving, means that the beauty¬† and fulfilment lies in the absorption of the moment. As i am fully aware of the cliche and blurry vagueness this phrase embodies, I don’t think it is discredited at all. Instead of a single goal or destination, each day can be filled with an infinite number of small victories, while still being fully present in the situation that surrounds me every second.

People are going to make choices that benefit them the most, even when they are your best friends or significant others. Tragedies will happen when we least expect them, and sometimes we go through an entire educational career path to find that we are completely lost, and misguided. The solution, for me, is not to make sure I make the perfect, sunniest directions to arrive, but instead, to acquire small victories in every second and find beauty in both the mundane and the significant. Making strange choices, rolling with the flow of time that is the most organic mental sophistication that still remains a mystery to the drones that roll along without asking the questions that life begs. More importantly, it is not about asking the questions, but finding answers in everything.


January 7, 2009

I’m late on a New Year’s post. In fact, there has a been a huge absence of writing here, resulting from a generous mix of confusion, hesitation, business, and laziness. 2008. What a whirlwhind. I’m going to try to summarize it, using a list. Because lists are simple. Lists are black and white. Lists are easy. And if I know anything, I know nothing in the last year has been easy. So from beginning to end:

  • January to June : Living my last months in San Francisco. My first, semi-professional run at an actual career winds down. During the year or so I worked at Cinder Block Inc. I was able to get a nice body of work that would fully push my freelance status into effect. I am proud of a lot of the work I did there, and a lot of the skills I was able to work on and learn. This includes: Color seperation, basic screen printing practice and theory, designing with production in mind, client communication, professionalism, Illustration styles, digital illustration, mixed media, and the under-estimated art of RESEARCHING. I was making more money than I had ever had before, but I was not really savvy enough to save or invest any of it.
  • Outside of work, I was struggling to enjoy the last run of time with my friends in San Francisco, while knowing that it would soon come to an end. It took me awhile to tell everyone. I learned what it felt like to have a family away from my real family, a home away from home. Today, I still think about those trips to Reno, getting high and playing NBA hang time, or the endless rides on the 38 Limited Bus. I remember when the weather showed the sun, all the skirts and sunglasses came out, it was absolute heaven.
  • I rekindled a romance with an ex-girlfriend. To see if we really were meant to be with each other, to see if we could actually stand each other. It was all so hopeful, and there was so much pressure riding on it to work. It didn’t work, for a lot of different reasons, and realizing this would prove tough, frustrating, and sad.
  • July to August : I traveled. Manila, Mandaluyang, Boracay, Philippines. Bangkok, Thailand. Cafes with buckets of beer and acoustic sessions. Going clubbing with a stranger-turned friend that couldn’t speak English. Riding an elephant, going sailing, eating the best food of my life, immense culture shock. Intense family bonding, I feel like we made up for lost time.
  • I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The tail-end of 2008 moved fast, and blurry, and there was no mercy. It was about living in the moment, sober or intoxicated. It was about crossing the lines to know where they are. It was about first dates, and getting to know somebody new, and so, so different from what I’m used to. It was too many cigarettes, too much whiskey, being too high and sluggish, being too hungry and eating too much. It was my triumphant return to school, and I killed it, and took names. It was about refusing to get a job and working from home drawing pictures for companies and designing business cards and brochures and shirts. Winter of 2008 was about Living LARGE and fast.
  • I’m having shirts mailed to me. It’s Christmas time. I’m having checks mailed to me. I’m climbing the mountains of Corganville, never missing a Lakers game. I’m going to the hidden caverns in the park, and throwing paper airplanes off the hills. I’m owning at puzzle fighter, and living by the diamond.
  • I learned a lot about myself in 2008. I learned about who I want to be, and who I don’t want to be. Who I want to be with, and who I want to stay away from.
  • I’m going to write up a sketch, so I don’t forget: 540, Geary, 38, CB. The LODGE, the R.A.P.E., Airplanes, Islands, Animals. Lawr, Sister leaves, I miss her. Heart breaks, heart makes. Puzzle fights, Volcanoes, Rips, and Camels. Whiskey, Games, Friends, Close, Close, Close! Crew, Crush, Photobooths, Living in the Moment. Meeting Abraham Lincoln, Gummie Bear Bubbas, Phil’s too smart, B’s too nice, Everyone’s too scared. Porch talks, Coffee Bean, Tea Lattes. Art Shows, camera, back SLIDE.

I’m thankful. 2009, will be 2000-Fine. This will be about REaffirmation, REcommitting, and getting back on. I always thought I’d be different. I have to be. I have no choice. None of this bullshit about blaming the city, the people, the money, the equipment. There are absolutely, positively, no limits.

PS Go Lakers.

Open the door.

November 15, 2008


November 15, 2008

There were five minutes tonight where I was sitting in my car, waiting for my ex-girlfriend to leave my friends, so I could finally join them. Twenty one years of life, two years on my own, a handful of experiences that have tested the true capacity of my emotional intelligence, and there I was, anxious, sitting in my car, hiding like a nervous little child. I wish I could say that I didn’t care about it; I wish I could say that I walked over there and treated everything normally, and equally, like someone who was mature and unafraid of social confrontation, but I can’t say that. I sat in my car, KEARTH101 playing, from the presets of my moms car, waiting for it all to pass.

For the rest of the night, the thought and image of my waiting around in the parking lot drifted in and out of mind. I thought of possible explanations, logical reasons or justifications for my actions, or what exactly I was feeling. These thoughts occured in between polished segments of speech and verbal playfullness with the people around me. I think the fear I felt was a fear of the unknown, the possible scenario of being a variable in a completely spontaneous, unstable, possibly fake politeness or interaction with a person that has shared more invaluable, intimate moments with me than anybody else on this planet. Whether or not she thinks about me, or cares about me, loathes me, hates me, we would be forced to pretend that there was ever anything between us. There was a slim chance that she could publicly and openly sneer at me or shout obsceneties but the chances were unlikely. I knew that much about her. But what disgusted me was the chance that we would openly act fake towards each other, a thin layer of veneer blocking the rough truth. We’re always trying to figure out ways to avoid truth. But the biggest mind-boggling quality of individuals, is that we always know the truth about our own feelings, but refuse to accept them. As if we have a cancerous part of our body that we hope will go away if we don’t visit the doctor.