Here in this land of minimal Christian influence . . . with few white Europeans, a Christian migrant population is almost nil, a and government interference heeds religious expression in the public sphere.
And yet, in the spirit of neo-capitalist progressiveness, never is there a shortage of Santa Claus-esque marketing. Global Economic Crisis or not, the spirit of Christian Consumerism fills the shopping malls and department stores - with sales, gimmicks, and children begging for toys. Completely void of respect for Jesus’ birth, the bright red colors of the Coca Cola approved Saint Nick abounds the freeways and shop walls, with holiday muzak tunes classy restaurants, fake Christmas trees where palm trees grow, and even cardboard cut-outs of snowmen in a city that has never seen snow.
I could be speaking of Southern California in the above, but this is Christmas time in Shenzhen, China. The Spring Festival and Chinese New Year approach, but in an attempt to modernize, and, of course, get people to buy shit, here I witness some strange facsimile of a Western Christmas celebration, in the very city that all those ‘Made in China’ toys are made in.
It all seems so unnecessary. An expat American foreigner in China might have expected to be spared of this annual ritual, but that would have been naïve. It doesn’t matter if anybody goes to church, just like the States, it only matters that we buy presents. While more about souvenirs and cheap DVDs than a big turkey dinner with your family, the unnecessary caroling by primary school children rings somehow hollow. “We wis yoo a mewwy Kissmass!” in broken English accent. The missionaries here must wonder: how saved are these souls?
But its not all homesick Holiday cheer here; there are still at least two clear differences remaining between a Christmas in Los Angeles and Shen Dan in Shenzhen. One: without a politically correct media and substantial Jewish population, we are spared the required “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas.” There is no knowledge of Hanukkah in this town. No Menorah next to the reindeer ads. No scrounging for Hanukkah symbols in the name of equal time. Difference Number Two: Most regrettable of all, I still have to work on Christmas day. Yet, for a Jew familiar with the old-time tradition of eating Chinese food on December 25th when everything else is closed, it’s not so bad.
Ah well, the Chinese love to buy and receive gifts, and yet another cultural export amongst the hip hop videos and Hollywood movies is as good an opportunity as any. It always comes down to globalization in Shenzhen, and this bootlegged holiday is only one of many Western infiltrations into ancient Middle Kingdom culture. As long as it doesn’t detract too much from the domestic flavor of local flair, there are worse fates than Cathay. So off I go, to search the malls of Mixx City, bargain for knockoff namebrands in Dongman, dig for electronics in HuaQiangBei, and haggle down the yuan for that scarf on sale at the streetcorner on Buxin Road, and if anyone asks what Santa Claus has to do with Jesus, well, you should’ve known better than to not have expected that question. It’s not just that secular American holiday anymore, it’s a global shop day. Mewwy Kissmass.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
China Cultural Review: the Cathays, Pornography, and Bootleg DVDs
China, like any land worth being written about, is a land of contradiction. Simultaneously utterly conservative and yet rushing into modernization, the dinosauric Communist authority waddles far behind the rapid economic development. Somewhere in-between lies the social evolution of the average Middle Kingdom citizen.
Nowhere is this more apparent than the "Special Economic Zone" that began this headlong rush into neo-capitalist moderndom: Hong Kong's experimental sister-city Shenzhen. Founded by the great reformer Deng Xiaoping less than thirty years ago, the Southernmost city boasts a highest per-capita income than Beijing. A city where everyone is from somewhere else, here to make money, and quite a younger demographic. And they like to get off.
As any media analyst of the internet will tell you, as good a benchmark as any of a culture's shifts in attitudes is pornography.
How is media-sexuality represented in Shenzhen? Unlike nearby Hong Kong, with its still British western attitude and laws, there are no Penthouses for sale in the liquor stores of Shenzhen. There are few sex shops, admittedly, but they require immense digging to uncover. No "classy" Hustler Store. No hipster porn scene to shop at with your girlfriend. No erotica section of the bookstore, no backroom of the family video store.
Still, the oldest profession is barely obfuscated beneath the shadiest of massage parlors. Though most of them quite legitimate - the Chinese do like their spas - there is an obvious subtext to the ones with skimpy outfitted girls in shoddy neighborhoods. But prostitution and hand-jobs are not the subject of this writing.
A culture is as defined by its media as it is by its call girls. Yet China has some ways to go before they have a homegrown media of their own to be proud of. Hong Kong cinema aside, and the occasional internationally renowned mainland film by Zhang Yimou or Chen Kaige, the bloody history of this post-Communist nation has stilted the growth of an adequate film/tv/pornography industry.
Hence bootleg DVDs' immense popularity. On every street corner you will find openly sold in flat paper cases: Hollywood blockbusters still in theaters, American B-movies never released in the States, every season of your favorite show, Hong Kong action stars on display, and Japanese anime for the kids; all burnt at home, the studios not making a dime in residuals, and purchase at your own risk because it might not even play when you get home. But this is no problem when several movies over costs ten to thirty yuan, amounting to only a handful of dollars.
This neo-Capitalist attitude of movies on demand, legality be damned, certainly extends to porno as well as the mainstream. Purely for research purposes, this writer felt it necessary to purchase these street-corner illicets. The stack of boxes might innocent at first, but give the seller a second look and he may show you the secret stash underneath.
A random set of discs was purchased, the title in unreadable Chinese. Cute cartoon girls on the cover. Upon going home and inserting into the laptop, it was discovered that for only ten yuan - one dollar something - two discs were in possession a total of eight hours of hardcore animated pornography. Each film with completely random language selections; some with homemade Chinese subtitles, some even English dubbed and bootlegged from the American exports, and most only in untranslated Japanese. This other Asian culture, homegrown and unique, is known for their strange fetishes, and violent sexual images of school girls and dungeons and fantasy and tentacles and animated penises were all presented before the modest 14 inch laptop. Suffice to say, while perhaps not turned on, one can be very morbidly fascinated by these things.
And here in Shenzhen it is against the law to sell such. But, in the spirit of capitalism and modernism, the Chinese do not care. Powered by the dynamic spirit of human freedom, and the still-evolving media technologies of cheap DVD burning, the modern Chinese youth have broken free of past conditionings by society and state, and have joined the global culture. The globalist dream, extending to America's famous export of Hollywood, and Japanese porn as well.
Nowhere is this more apparent than the "Special Economic Zone" that began this headlong rush into neo-capitalist moderndom: Hong Kong's experimental sister-city Shenzhen. Founded by the great reformer Deng Xiaoping less than thirty years ago, the Southernmost city boasts a highest per-capita income than Beijing. A city where everyone is from somewhere else, here to make money, and quite a younger demographic. And they like to get off.
As any media analyst of the internet will tell you, as good a benchmark as any of a culture's shifts in attitudes is pornography.
How is media-sexuality represented in Shenzhen? Unlike nearby Hong Kong, with its still British western attitude and laws, there are no Penthouses for sale in the liquor stores of Shenzhen. There are few sex shops, admittedly, but they require immense digging to uncover. No "classy" Hustler Store. No hipster porn scene to shop at with your girlfriend. No erotica section of the bookstore, no backroom of the family video store.
Still, the oldest profession is barely obfuscated beneath the shadiest of massage parlors. Though most of them quite legitimate - the Chinese do like their spas - there is an obvious subtext to the ones with skimpy outfitted girls in shoddy neighborhoods. But prostitution and hand-jobs are not the subject of this writing.
A culture is as defined by its media as it is by its call girls. Yet China has some ways to go before they have a homegrown media of their own to be proud of. Hong Kong cinema aside, and the occasional internationally renowned mainland film by Zhang Yimou or Chen Kaige, the bloody history of this post-Communist nation has stilted the growth of an adequate film/tv/pornography industry.
Hence bootleg DVDs' immense popularity. On every street corner you will find openly sold in flat paper cases: Hollywood blockbusters still in theaters, American B-movies never released in the States, every season of your favorite show, Hong Kong action stars on display, and Japanese anime for the kids; all burnt at home, the studios not making a dime in residuals, and purchase at your own risk because it might not even play when you get home. But this is no problem when several movies over costs ten to thirty yuan, amounting to only a handful of dollars.
This neo-Capitalist attitude of movies on demand, legality be damned, certainly extends to porno as well as the mainstream. Purely for research purposes, this writer felt it necessary to purchase these street-corner illicets. The stack of boxes might innocent at first, but give the seller a second look and he may show you the secret stash underneath.
A random set of discs was purchased, the title in unreadable Chinese. Cute cartoon girls on the cover. Upon going home and inserting into the laptop, it was discovered that for only ten yuan - one dollar something - two discs were in possession a total of eight hours of hardcore animated pornography. Each film with completely random language selections; some with homemade Chinese subtitles, some even English dubbed and bootlegged from the American exports, and most only in untranslated Japanese. This other Asian culture, homegrown and unique, is known for their strange fetishes, and violent sexual images of school girls and dungeons and fantasy and tentacles and animated penises were all presented before the modest 14 inch laptop. Suffice to say, while perhaps not turned on, one can be very morbidly fascinated by these things.
And here in Shenzhen it is against the law to sell such. But, in the spirit of capitalism and modernism, the Chinese do not care. Powered by the dynamic spirit of human freedom, and the still-evolving media technologies of cheap DVD burning, the modern Chinese youth have broken free of past conditionings by society and state, and have joined the global culture. The globalist dream, extending to America's famous export of Hollywood, and Japanese porn as well.
Friday, November 7, 2008
God and HK
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
God doesn't care if I like mainland China or not. There have been no direct affairs into my life. Sometimes I have minor good luck, sometimes bad, but little happens that is interesting.
As the mainstream Christian/Western theology of Augustine states, God created this world and then let us alone. He doesn't care. He lets it be.
And this is why I don't care to write about Shenzhen. There is no divinity, good or bad. It just is.
Occasionally though, forces in the universe intervene, and you fall in love or have a rotten day or win money or get your shit stolen. Good or bad, you sense the supernatural.
That's why I like to travel. That's when I sense something. At home, wherever I happen to call "home" at the time" nothing ever happens.
So: fuck Shenzhen. Damn my life of walking to work and entertaining small children and minor drama. Oh, I could write about the mainland. I could write and write. About the slightly interesting people around me, the white and Asian alike. The Chinese work ethic than I can't live up to (the teachers here work far more hours for far less money and I don't know how they do it). The babies peeing in the streets like dogs. The beautiful smog. The lack of ADD diagnosis - a good thing - as all these loud brats here would be surely hooked on ritalin back in the dreary States. The vagueness of my curriculum. The mustering of energy.
And the evolution of the world, as predicted by Neal Stephenson (but sadly without the romantic flairs of an anarchic post-governmental structure, most likely) - our future as "Hi-Tech Third World." You know that's how it will be in America, and I assure its closer than ever here.
To those in the know: I swear I live in a bloody burbclave!
And yet there's a freedom here in not carrying my ID, my papers, never ever been carded by bars or by authorities; as opposed to communist America.
The lack of free media. The lack of porn. (As thoroughly documented and proven by the internet, all subsequent information technologies from Gutenberg up are to come with an exponential increase in pornographics. Yet the statist government blocks this natural progression) No porn here, and yet still those seedy massage parlors...
I need to get my own computer already, and do that proxy server thing I've heard about.
Anyways
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
But, I flatly refuse.
I came off the train way too early in the morning, after waiting in line at customs and buying expensive train ticket-cards. Hong Kong is basically its own country you see, with money to exchange and declaration lines to wade through. Its pricey there, in Hong Kong dollars.
So then I stepped out into the East Tsim Sha Tsui station, armed with tourist map and printed directions to the underground visa shop where I was to pay the Indian guy and get to stay in the country longer, and it was raining so bad.
Terrible downpour. The worst I'd experienced in years. This is tsunami land, and I'll probably experience worse yet soon, but dammit I was spoiled by California weather all those years.
I was drenched immediately. Rain like this is worse than being submerged fully clothed. Its sticky. It won't end. I'm fragile, I don't like.
So I had to buy an umbrella. Then I went to the Chungking Mansions and went to the travel company where you get to buy visas. There's something strange about it, but that's how it works if you live in Cathay and you're not from there.
Its Hong Kong, such diverse and international flair, and I waited in line behind the Africans and Hindis and Canadians. I like international towns. Again, Hong Kong is so different than the mainland.
And then it turned out that I didn't bring enough money. I was several hundred Hong Kong dollars short. And this was after exchanging every cent (yuan) I own. Apparently American passports are the priciest of all. I don't think being born in Israel helps either. And though its a six month visa, its only two months entry and I have to leave at least once a month, and that means every two months I have to do this all over again.
I had to go to a payphone, in the rain, and call my "boss" person. I didn't even know how to call long distance, I had to figure this all out asking random people. People speak English there though. So different. And, armed with no working cell phone here, I had to call a friend of a friend to borrow five hundred HK dollars from. Meet at a trainstop at 5:00 - hours and hours later - with no phone and hope it works out.
To do this visa thing you have to stay overnight. You pay extra just to get in processed in one day. I mean, I couldn't even go back and forth if I wanted to but I had to get in by the next day. Thankfully, Indian dude was nice and let me pay partial. They say because of the Beijing Olympics it was even worse a few months ago, but I hope they make the rules easier soon. What's the harm in just letting me stay in your damn country?
Soaking wet and stressed from the bureaucracy, I now had six hours to kill. Fun times. I know no one in this city. I'm almost totally broke. Ah yes, and I mean that with no sarcasm, its a good feeling and it was the time to explore.
Fed by cheap Indian food, with the rain mercifully having let up, I wandered. I took out my tourist map and train cartograph and scribbled places of recommended spots. I epically window shopped at Nathan Road. I looked outside the museums, and found a public library (a public library! They don't have those in the communist mainland), and I peed and read magazines and checked my email.
I found Avenue of the Stars. Its a bootleg Hollywood starwalk, but actually nice. With a statue glorious of Bruce Lee; and starprints of such Hong Kong cinema stars as Wong Kar-Wai, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan. I think I may have recognized more names than the outdated 1940s stars on the LA Boulevard.
Kowloon park where the junkies bug you and the birds are beautiful. Harbor City mall where everything is far too expensive for me to have a chance of buying anything. Took the train to the other side, Central HK island, found North Point. And many other places that I can neither pronounce nor recall how to spell.
I love Asian cities. They're so ridiculously huge. While the biggest thing in America is probably Times Square, compact crowds to drive you mad, a proper Asian city seems to have dozens of Times Squares. I can only speak for Shenzhen, Hong Kong, and Osaka, but none of those are even the biggest cities of their respective countries. Everywhere is a downtown, multistory, gleaming lights, rotting future. I like this cyberpunk science fiction landscape.
Hong Kong is an amazing country. As said, its basically its own country. Sorta China, not Britain anymore, its own thing with its own money and travel rules. Ethnically diverse, helpful to English speakers, but still weird and Asian. I can eat food. I'm not stared at as the only white guy (or at least, less so). And a diversity of landscapes: mountains and beaches and inlands.
I say this everytime I visit a new city, and I always mean it, but I really want to move here. Its so expensive though. But how did all these other people make it? Like, how does that guy from New Jersey working at the fast food place afford rent and travel? I need sponsorship, or something. I need an in.
And so at 5:00 I went to the last stop of that line at Chai Wan or somesuch, and met this lady and borrowed money. I get paid on Monday and have much to de-lend. Then I went all the way north to Tai Po market to meet at the couchsurfing.com pad I was to stay at. I played some video games up there, searched the new area, met some Austrian chicks that were also staying, ate junk food and so on.
Next day was shorter. I had a good couchsurf, wrote a review, and parted ways with the other travellers, and made my way back to East Tsim Sha Tsui. I paid and I made it. Another near miss for Ray. But it always works out. Who knows how close to deportation I was. It would have sucked, because all my stuff is back at the apartment. Ahhh... these minor adventures... like that time waiting in line in Israel to make sure I wouldn't be drafted just for being there, and when I forgot my passport but they still let me out of Mexico, and when that British guy yelled at me at Heathrow for having a ripped up passport and said he didn't have to let me in (I still have that same passport, but I've glued it since then).
The bureaucracy isn't over yet. I didn't get a receipt. I am a special kind of idiot, although this, unlike the weather and the economy, can only be blamed on me and not God. So I've emailed and called back and forth to get a scanned jpg version of receipt, and I might get reimbursed, but I still have much stuff to work out.
And then I caught a cold. No doubt from the rain I wasn't used to. Last night I had the worst sleep ever. I couldn't breathe. All night in a cold sweat half-awake with interrupted fever dreams. I felt like that scene in Trainspotting. Should be a fun weekend now.
Oh yes. And the voting. I must say there is a part of me that's glad I'm not in America and not forced to be a news junkie. Doesn't seem real. Well, good for Obama. There's not much I feel inclined to say. He's a lesser evil but he's no Messiah. I'm not comfortable with it. But whatever, much has been written already.
I wish my land the best, but I just hope America can stay cynical. Its our greatest cultural strength.
I mean, if we can't hate the President, than just what's the point?
So... America and all that... but I'm not there...
God doesn't care if I like mainland China or not. There have been no direct affairs into my life. Sometimes I have minor good luck, sometimes bad, but little happens that is interesting.
As the mainstream Christian/Western theology of Augustine states, God created this world and then let us alone. He doesn't care. He lets it be.
And this is why I don't care to write about Shenzhen. There is no divinity, good or bad. It just is.
Occasionally though, forces in the universe intervene, and you fall in love or have a rotten day or win money or get your shit stolen. Good or bad, you sense the supernatural.
That's why I like to travel. That's when I sense something. At home, wherever I happen to call "home" at the time" nothing ever happens.
So: fuck Shenzhen. Damn my life of walking to work and entertaining small children and minor drama. Oh, I could write about the mainland. I could write and write. About the slightly interesting people around me, the white and Asian alike. The Chinese work ethic than I can't live up to (the teachers here work far more hours for far less money and I don't know how they do it). The babies peeing in the streets like dogs. The beautiful smog. The lack of ADD diagnosis - a good thing - as all these loud brats here would be surely hooked on ritalin back in the dreary States. The vagueness of my curriculum. The mustering of energy.
And the evolution of the world, as predicted by Neal Stephenson (but sadly without the romantic flairs of an anarchic post-governmental structure, most likely) - our future as "Hi-Tech Third World." You know that's how it will be in America, and I assure its closer than ever here.
To those in the know: I swear I live in a bloody burbclave!
And yet there's a freedom here in not carrying my ID, my papers, never ever been carded by bars or by authorities; as opposed to communist America.
The lack of free media. The lack of porn. (As thoroughly documented and proven by the internet, all subsequent information technologies from Gutenberg up are to come with an exponential increase in pornographics. Yet the statist government blocks this natural progression) No porn here, and yet still those seedy massage parlors...
I need to get my own computer already, and do that proxy server thing I've heard about.
Anyways
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
But, I flatly refuse.
I came off the train way too early in the morning, after waiting in line at customs and buying expensive train ticket-cards. Hong Kong is basically its own country you see, with money to exchange and declaration lines to wade through. Its pricey there, in Hong Kong dollars.
So then I stepped out into the East Tsim Sha Tsui station, armed with tourist map and printed directions to the underground visa shop where I was to pay the Indian guy and get to stay in the country longer, and it was raining so bad.
Terrible downpour. The worst I'd experienced in years. This is tsunami land, and I'll probably experience worse yet soon, but dammit I was spoiled by California weather all those years.
I was drenched immediately. Rain like this is worse than being submerged fully clothed. Its sticky. It won't end. I'm fragile, I don't like.
So I had to buy an umbrella. Then I went to the Chungking Mansions and went to the travel company where you get to buy visas. There's something strange about it, but that's how it works if you live in Cathay and you're not from there.
Its Hong Kong, such diverse and international flair, and I waited in line behind the Africans and Hindis and Canadians. I like international towns. Again, Hong Kong is so different than the mainland.
And then it turned out that I didn't bring enough money. I was several hundred Hong Kong dollars short. And this was after exchanging every cent (yuan) I own. Apparently American passports are the priciest of all. I don't think being born in Israel helps either. And though its a six month visa, its only two months entry and I have to leave at least once a month, and that means every two months I have to do this all over again.
I had to go to a payphone, in the rain, and call my "boss" person. I didn't even know how to call long distance, I had to figure this all out asking random people. People speak English there though. So different. And, armed with no working cell phone here, I had to call a friend of a friend to borrow five hundred HK dollars from. Meet at a trainstop at 5:00 - hours and hours later - with no phone and hope it works out.
To do this visa thing you have to stay overnight. You pay extra just to get in processed in one day. I mean, I couldn't even go back and forth if I wanted to but I had to get in by the next day. Thankfully, Indian dude was nice and let me pay partial. They say because of the Beijing Olympics it was even worse a few months ago, but I hope they make the rules easier soon. What's the harm in just letting me stay in your damn country?
Soaking wet and stressed from the bureaucracy, I now had six hours to kill. Fun times. I know no one in this city. I'm almost totally broke. Ah yes, and I mean that with no sarcasm, its a good feeling and it was the time to explore.
Fed by cheap Indian food, with the rain mercifully having let up, I wandered. I took out my tourist map and train cartograph and scribbled places of recommended spots. I epically window shopped at Nathan Road. I looked outside the museums, and found a public library (a public library! They don't have those in the communist mainland), and I peed and read magazines and checked my email.
I found Avenue of the Stars. Its a bootleg Hollywood starwalk, but actually nice. With a statue glorious of Bruce Lee; and starprints of such Hong Kong cinema stars as Wong Kar-Wai, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan. I think I may have recognized more names than the outdated 1940s stars on the LA Boulevard.
Kowloon park where the junkies bug you and the birds are beautiful. Harbor City mall where everything is far too expensive for me to have a chance of buying anything. Took the train to the other side, Central HK island, found North Point. And many other places that I can neither pronounce nor recall how to spell.
I love Asian cities. They're so ridiculously huge. While the biggest thing in America is probably Times Square, compact crowds to drive you mad, a proper Asian city seems to have dozens of Times Squares. I can only speak for Shenzhen, Hong Kong, and Osaka, but none of those are even the biggest cities of their respective countries. Everywhere is a downtown, multistory, gleaming lights, rotting future. I like this cyberpunk science fiction landscape.
Hong Kong is an amazing country. As said, its basically its own country. Sorta China, not Britain anymore, its own thing with its own money and travel rules. Ethnically diverse, helpful to English speakers, but still weird and Asian. I can eat food. I'm not stared at as the only white guy (or at least, less so). And a diversity of landscapes: mountains and beaches and inlands.
I say this everytime I visit a new city, and I always mean it, but I really want to move here. Its so expensive though. But how did all these other people make it? Like, how does that guy from New Jersey working at the fast food place afford rent and travel? I need sponsorship, or something. I need an in.
And so at 5:00 I went to the last stop of that line at Chai Wan or somesuch, and met this lady and borrowed money. I get paid on Monday and have much to de-lend. Then I went all the way north to Tai Po market to meet at the couchsurfing.com pad I was to stay at. I played some video games up there, searched the new area, met some Austrian chicks that were also staying, ate junk food and so on.
Next day was shorter. I had a good couchsurf, wrote a review, and parted ways with the other travellers, and made my way back to East Tsim Sha Tsui. I paid and I made it. Another near miss for Ray. But it always works out. Who knows how close to deportation I was. It would have sucked, because all my stuff is back at the apartment. Ahhh... these minor adventures... like that time waiting in line in Israel to make sure I wouldn't be drafted just for being there, and when I forgot my passport but they still let me out of Mexico, and when that British guy yelled at me at Heathrow for having a ripped up passport and said he didn't have to let me in (I still have that same passport, but I've glued it since then).
The bureaucracy isn't over yet. I didn't get a receipt. I am a special kind of idiot, although this, unlike the weather and the economy, can only be blamed on me and not God. So I've emailed and called back and forth to get a scanned jpg version of receipt, and I might get reimbursed, but I still have much stuff to work out.
And then I caught a cold. No doubt from the rain I wasn't used to. Last night I had the worst sleep ever. I couldn't breathe. All night in a cold sweat half-awake with interrupted fever dreams. I felt like that scene in Trainspotting. Should be a fun weekend now.
Oh yes. And the voting. I must say there is a part of me that's glad I'm not in America and not forced to be a news junkie. Doesn't seem real. Well, good for Obama. There's not much I feel inclined to say. He's a lesser evil but he's no Messiah. I'm not comfortable with it. But whatever, much has been written already.
I wish my land the best, but I just hope America can stay cynical. Its our greatest cultural strength.
I mean, if we can't hate the President, than just what's the point?
So... America and all that... but I'm not there...
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
what matters is all and naught and inbetween
There appears to be a microcosm of everyone's life sucking - at least in my family - and a "as above, so below" thing of the world sucking. And while my brother is a drug addict and my sister is crazy - and while the world's economy goes asunder and everyone's worried about the End of America - - - who bloody cares?? Its alright. Because its not that big a deal.
So I shall go dancing tonight in western downtown. I am lucky enough to have friends to drive me around. I shall fly to China on Friday and then perhaps life will be totally different. Meanwhile in time's other linear direction, yesterday I checked out Indianapolis and hung out with my Indiana family. Eh, not much to report. They are happy, they are sad, they are distant, and I argued a whole lot with my father. I love him so. Happy Rosh Hashana!
Yet, it is good to get these social obligations out of the way. No man may escape his genetic heritage. Though I think I get along best with the in-laws I'm not technically related to. And, as said, my brother is the biggest stoner in the world. He's not unique in that regard. He's just another kid in a world filled with loser bored kids who fuck and get high and do the bare minimum in slacker jobs and community college. Can't blame him. Only a product of his environment. Just do not be surprised. Eh, he'll be alright.
And I am no better, though THC is not preference, I was digging the midwest area for some psilocybin mushroom experience. I may not get another chance over in that communist country you understand (and they better not read this). But he sold me some acid, for a fair familial price, and just don't tell my dad.
I went to the woods and I await a night of dancing, one more hit hidden in my cigerette packet, and I guess I should draw something brilliant or write something obscene (does this count?), but instead I think I'll read some comics or something. Then go home and watch sitcoms. Contemplate the universe inbetween. The one-ness of the mundane.
Surely, if the mundane is divine than nothing is divine. Whether or not divinity is an abritrary linguistic emptiness of my own subjective judgment, or just maybe on the chance that divinity is objective reality. Lysergic acid diethylamide, show me the way!
And I wonder why I don't get anywhere? So so so, I'll read American Born Chinese and Hagbard Celine and stare at these library people. The adolescent black girls doing homework. The dumb teenage kid on Facebook next to me on the left. To my right, an old man looking at gay craigslist ads. I am nosy. Be careful when you sit next to me. I shall post it to all.
"What to do with oneself," I ponder . . .
No depression, but I will admit to a little bit of anxiety. Sexually, politically, socially, artistically, creatively, aesthetically; it is all the same:
LUV LUV LUV
like that song
I want to fall in love with everybody and I want the truth to be infinite and I want everybody to understand and then only then everybody would fall in love with me and if everbody shifted their reality tunnels with highway byway connections maybe we'd get along, but if we got along all those politicians would be out of the job, and my dad wouldn't get to hate those other people on that other side of the war, and we'd have nothing to talk about, and talking about shit when you disagree is kinda fun
ANYWAYS,
there is some kind of unspeakable truth under the surface. Can you not feel it. Do linguistics not fail us?
How can we connect?
Ignore me, I rant
///ray
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Riding the Synchronicity Wave
My last days in Long Beach weren't stressful, but they should have been. I didn't care, and took my time packing. When you pack to move, its not worth doing so unless you do it at the last minute. I mean, you need your computer. You need to wear your best clothes. Listen to music. Keep all your stuff for as long as you can hold on.
I was told we'd be leaving on the 12th, a Friday, but then J.D. turned it into the 10th, a Wednesday. Finally we left on the 11th, a Thursday. (There would be much obstacles to scheduling on this trip, and all I can ever to is to happily flow with it.) Fine compromise. Ominous day . . . 9/11.
My hair, unwashed. I rushed to finish my comics from the library - Y The Last Man and Alan Moore's Wildcats. I packed my books except for a pile to take on the road, and began my re-read Illuminatus (which I last re-read on the train to California three years ago). First I packed my media mail, two days before leaving. Tons of books and a few movies and cds; and also art and printed writings that I could fake as media mails. Heavy trip to the post office later, and I'm 150.00 poorer. Then at the last minute - before learning the last minute would be delayed a day - I shipped my clothes and computer and UPS wasn't the cheapest after all so it was another 200.00 post office to mail that shite. It all only just arrived at my mother's house recently.
I would have liked to have a party, but nobody wanted to come. Raven called me on the phone, and Jenn came down to Long Beach to visit. I said bye to Alex and Alan and Ramsey multiple times before leaving for real, and then one Thursday afternoon J.D. called me on my phone as he lay at my doorstep in a ridiculously tightly packed little Volvo.
And there was a cat! I didn't realize we'd be traveling with a cat the whole time. My allergies. Actually, Mia was a good cat and I got along well. Often times I find myself crashing at a friend's house with cats and I sneeze and such at first, horridly uncomfortable, but by the time I wake up I'm relatively cured. Some cats I can get used to, and Mia was indeed one of them. Even though she had to stay within the front seats the entire week-long trek, standing on my lap, meowing nicely, but few sicknesses.
We drove and drove and drove. 22 to 605 through Orange County (no LA-Hollywood pit stops unfortunately, no more goodbyes) to 10 through Riverside. Somewhere outside of Indio I had to use my food stamp EBT card to buy a hundred bucks worth of dry junk food, as it was my last chance within the state of California. And we switched off driving, and had to dig for local radio music and AM talk shows to sustain us. Funny story: first we had the portable CD player but we couldn't find batteries. Then when we found batteries we bloody couldn't find that CD player at all. J.D. is a DJ and had a million CDs and tons of music files on his computers/external hard drives, but no iPod/mp3 player. Although we could play from his laptop, and lovingly did (although it was burdensome on the passenger rider's lap), but then the plug-cigarette lighter didn't work and the laptop ran out of power too. Finally bought one at a Wal Mart in a small town in Texas (one of those super centers that take over the whole town, which I'd hate to shop at but its J.D.'s bag). Late into the trip, finally a music choice. J.D. played his four-hour mix, and I also enjoyed Infected Mushroom.
First state: Arizona. This route would introduce me to many new states. We went to J.D.'s dad and stepmom's beautiful home outside of Phoenix. It was cumfy at night, but in the day quite hot. An elegant house in the desert. Lots of lizards. Super-kind family who really wanted to feed the hell out of me.
Sometimes I'm uncomfortable around rich people. These people weren't that rich I suppose, but way more middle class than I'm used to and it really was a beautiful house. But lately I wasn't so uncomfortable around such people. In fact, the whole universe seemed on my side of late. Its hard to contextualize, but in certain regards there was no more anxiety, just a smooth riding of the synchronicity wave that brought me to Arizona in the first place. I had nice conversations with everyone, except maybe the bratty little sister, and they seemed to like me, and they even had cable TV which is a luxury I've missed for years now. Watched cartoons and the news mostly.
But the biggest obstacle of all: Hurricane Ike. Why must the very first time I ever stay in Texas I have to worry about hurricanes? Well these things always take longer than planned, though we planned as safely as possible, and decided to not even leave until late so we could specifically get there on Sunday when the storm might pass. Later we went to J.D.'s friend's place nearby, as I learned that almost all his friends are cat-people. Mia, who had a big problem not peeing on the road, got to use a litter box. It was cool to hang out for a bit around Phoenix but we didn't crash, and we checked the weather carefully, and then we began the long drawn-out drive to Texas.
Fourteen hours of endlessness. You hallucinate on the road. You truly do. J.D. dozed off next to me and I counted away the hours, one cigarette every :30, and begged for something decent to come on the radio. I became very grateful for decent reception of the plainest oldies station. Perspectives flattened, lights on billboards turned into cars. Clouds turned into trees. Sizes didn't make any sense. Four hours in and I had to wake my buddy up, tell him to drive.
In the morning we pulled into Fredericksburg, where cell phone reception was minimal, and drove through the small town desperate to communicate with Sarah to figure out how to get to her ranch. Somehow we made a connection, and she'd meet us in a corner, and then we waited a while and the cat walked around outside and then I met Sarah.
I don't really like nature. Its dull. Its a nice scenery to be sure, and then you're over it quick, and then I'm just bored. But I should embrace what I can, wherever I am, especially when letting go of control and going wherever I am taken. So the flow took me to a ranch in Fredericksburg and that's where I hung out the next two days. Sarah's parents were ridiculously nice, like many Middle America people on this trip (I'm so very not used to it), and fed the hell out of me. We all went hiking, and smoked cigarettes and other things, and observed the unique plants and animals and there was giant piles of cow shit everywhere. Sarah was nice, and I guess she used to be a raver chick back in her and J.D.'s college heyday but nowadays she seemed more nerdy and shy. Kind of an anime geek, and I can totally relate.
Fourteen hours of endlessness. You hallucinate on the road. You truly do. J.D. dozed off next to me and I counted away the hours, one cigarette every :30, and begged for something decent to come on the radio. I became very grateful for decent reception of the plainest oldies station. Perspectives flattened, lights on billboards turned into cars. Clouds turned into trees. Sizes didn't make any sense. Four hours in and I had to wake my buddy up, tell him to drive.
In the morning we pulled into Fredericksburg, where cell phone reception was minimal, and drove through the small town desperate to communicate with Sarah to figure out how to get to her ranch. Somehow we made a connection, and she'd meet us in a corner, and then we waited a while and the cat walked around outside and then I met Sarah.
I don't really like nature. Its dull. Its a nice scenery to be sure, and then you're over it quick, and then I'm just bored. But I should embrace what I can, wherever I am, especially when letting go of control and going wherever I am taken. So the flow took me to a ranch in Fredericksburg and that's where I hung out the next two days. Sarah's parents were ridiculously nice, like many Middle America people on this trip (I'm so very not used to it), and fed the hell out of me. We all went hiking, and smoked cigarettes and other things, and observed the unique plants and animals and there was giant piles of cow shit everywhere. Sarah was nice, and I guess she used to be a raver chick back in her and J.D.'s college heyday but nowadays she seemed more nerdy and shy. Kind of an anime geek, and I can totally relate.
We shot guns while drunk, my very virgin first, a .22 caliber rifle. We drove around the acrage in a beaten-up ol pickup truck which had a broken right door. I checked my email on their old computer, a priority. Observed the old Texan architecture. Ate fresh tomatoes. We watched Independence Day the first night while I was a bit altered-stated and I wouldn't shut up, deconstructing the hell out of it. J.D. went to his Grandma's the next day, and I switched up my luggage and stuff to her car.
I was kind of confused. Did Sarah live here? I wanted to go to Austin too. Turned out that Sarah was only here for the weekend and indeed lived in North Austin. After being fed homecooked meals yet again, we went down there. She drives really fast. Manual, something I still have yet to learn how to do.
J.D. had a ton of music stuff to do with his college buddies in Texas, and I was to crash at Sarah's place for the following two weeks. I depend so much on the kindness of acquaintances lately. To give me a floor and a roof, to buy me beers, to drive me around. Right now at this juncture in my life, though I very much make sure I make it up to people in gas money, I am quite a freeloader. But Karmic balance isn't about paying back the exact amount you were given to that particular individual, its about knowing that someday you'll do the same for someone else. That's why Raven lived with me for two months and didn't pay rent. That's why CouchSurfing is so great, to host and to surf (of which I've done exactly one time of both). That's why we all mooch off our parents and know that one day the next generation will do the same to us.
Anyways, the first night into a real city Sarah knew some friends going to a little redneck bar in North Austin, and I was invited along to play pool or whatever. Her friends were cool I suppose. One thing to note: while overall everywhere in America is pretty much the same there is one inherent difference between people in Austin and people in Hollywood. Sarah has a friend who's a professional drummer and toured with Poison recently. She was the one who mentioned it, and I hung out with the guy and he didn't name-drop at all. There is no question that if I was hanging out with musicians in Los Angeles they would casually bring up their amazing contacts within the first minute of conversation. There was definitely a different mindset here, though subtle, but to be appreciated.
Played pool, and I lost, as usual. Drank beers. Sarah got consecutively drunker. I met a black comedian there, and I got to talking to him, and he told me his dream to perform at the redneck bar: "I know its an all-white redneck bar, but I want all you guys to give me your best nigger jokes." Yeah, sometimes I love not being in the West Coast.
This guy really wanted to smoke out with us, and afterparty at Sarah's house, and after a few detours of waiting around in front of some ghetto house we all went to Sarah's and played guitars and chilled. I observed that bud in Texas is much crappier than in California. Dark and twiggy and rough, not the bright green smelly shit the Pacific Ocean accustoms one to. And that is 100% fine by me, because strong pot always freaks me out. It got later and later, and wasn't Sarah supposed to work in the morning? About 4:00 or 5:00 she kicked everyone out (except for me), and had to go to bed. "Isn't this a great introduction to Texas?" she boasted. To some degree, I suppose, but actually my whole life these last few years has nights like these in all sorts of cities, and honestly I wasn't that terribly impressed just yet.
I set up my stuff in guest room. Slightly awkward - Sarah sleeps naked and you have to go through her room to get to the bathroom at night. (Interjection: J.D. joked about me hooking up with her, and possibly staying in Texas indefinitely, and I sort of gave it serious thought. But, sleeping in the nude or not, she wasn't my type that way and we were just to be friends.) The next morning, hungover, Sarah called off work. She's a librarian by the way. It worked out for me at least, and now I got to have a guide for daytime Austin.
Woke up at noon and helped wash her car and went on some errands at the post office. She took me to a super-cool comic store. We went to a toy store near UT. Lots of cool stuff on Guadalupe near UT. Ate healthy Italian food. Neal Stephenson would be doing a book signing at a Book People the following week. Listened to Kimya Dawson and Connor Oberst and Tom Waits at the record store. The next day I discovered a truly amazing pad: Brave New Books; a conspiracy/9/11 Truther/Alex Jones/Ron Paul/Libertarian stronghold, and there was conversation there.And, oddly, there was no sign of Hurricane Ike damage. There would be all the way in Cincinnati, but nothing here. Just a cumfy breeze was commented upon. I rather dug Texas.
Then we went to famous 6th St where it was really hard to park. Right near the Congressional building (is it correct to label as 'Congressional building'?). I wonder how it is that this hipster Texan oasis just happened upon the Is there a link? So we hung around differing bars, watching blues music, and there were Miller Lite girls to give us more free booze. Truly, it was too much.
But I left too early. I didn't get to find MySpace friends. I didn't get to stalk Alex Jones. I didn't get to network with CouchSurfers. I did however, get to have my picture taken at the amazing Daniel Johnston mural of Jeremiah the theological frog, at the very last minute as J.D. whisked me off away. There was some drama between J.D. and Jessica, and he felt he had to go soon and whisk her off away.
It was unfortunate. Just as I was let loose on my own to wander the town by myself, taking the bus and reading Jodorowsky graphic novels, it wasn't meant to be. Expecting to stay for two weeks - and broke - I even applied online emailing my resume to a few places, just to work for a week, and one called me back! But I couldn't do it! So we repacked and said bye and had to go. I know I shall return one day. Austin is too cool not to.
We went all the way to the next town over (Belton or something it was called?), and then stayed the night there. Another of J.D.'s college friends, another cat-person, but it was great in that there was a quite a high novelty of intelligent conversation. His buddy Andrew had a lot to say on the subject of personal research into atheist philosophy and Judaism (even tried to bring me back into the fold), and his own direct experience of learning that secret society's invent their own history. I recommended he read Foucault's Pendulum. And, of course, all conspiracy theory researchers - and true philosophers - need to read Robert Anton Wilson.
There was much drinking and staying up late and even talk of suicide (why must the most intelligent people in the world be both depressed, and also college dropouts?). And I crashed early and J.D. crashed after me, and there was free food again, and then the real driving was to take place.He seemed impressed by me, a mere film school dropout, with my self-taught well-readness. People seem to think I'm smart for some reason. I don't know why.
J.D. was pulled over three times. He laughed it off, good for him, even as there was pot in the car and one time an open container (but a car that packed, nobody would search it and nobody did). I didn't get pulled over, just drove at cruise control 70mph. We ran out of gas at in the morning at a nowhere Arkansas hotel (hate to say I told you so but I told him to get gas the night before). I spent about 180.00 on gas, every other fillup. Drove through Bill Clinton's birthplace. Fretted over his cat not peeing. Went to Memphis' Beal street for waffles and such. J.D. went through Kentucky for the first time. Finally, my territory.
And then, after showing off the coolness of Louisville by highway, slowly but surely due North, 80 turns into 71, only a few more hours left, I thought it was early at midnight but actually I lost an hour in the timechange, and 1:00 AM there was the Cincinnati downtown beautiful cityscape. Home? I suppose I can call it that. And what did we find there?
Also, I learned that I am going to move to China soon.
I still haven't washed my hair.
I still haven't washed my hair.
----------------
August 29th, a Friday, Black Rock City:
It was good to see her though. There was minimal drama, and lots of love. But they had a lot to talk about and it wasn't for me to listen in too closely . . .
The next morning we stuffed into the Volvo, me driving and her on his lap. Went to Frisch's for breakfast. I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth when I told Jessica that she better treat J.D. right. I only wanted to be a friend, but this caused much doubt. Whateva
I got to my Mom's house, they had to go sign for a one-month apartment, and I was officially here!
Mom's house still had no power from the hurricane! Everywhere the streets are filled with rubble and tree branches. Who knew this city was so disastrous?
And its nice to visit Mom and my little little sister every once in a while, but its a bit hellish to be here indefinitely. Hugs around, then the novelty ends, and its constant bickering. Every morning I sleep at 4:00 and am waken up by arguing at 8:00. Nowhere to go but to walk to the library to read and to use the internet. When Mom works I can't use her car. Nobody wants to come here. Kenwood/Madeira drains my soul. Fuck it though, I won't let it succeed, and this is my philosophy right now.
But I don't care. I refuse to be depressed. Even among all the mosquitoes, I refuse to let it get me down. Its interesting, after the mystical experience described above I haven't felt that hollowness the way I used to everyday. The 3D world is screaming at me to fall into despair, because I am a loser and everything sucks, and I just cannot muster the reaction to take it seriously anymore. I may be surrounded by crazy immigrants I am related to, old friends are recovering junkies, I have no money, and yet the universe remains such a joke I find it so obvious that it will work out just fine.
Well, the first few nights out and everybody bought me beer. Hung out with my cousin, saw old friends (some recovering junkies), and had conversations at bars. Jeremy and Randolf's mansion. Randolf's music show. The beautiful Jen drove me around. I talked to her about children. Chloe doesn't want to communicate with me. Talked to Zac on the phone. Seeing Trevor was trippy. Seeing Joel is cool but sad. J.D. had a dj gig already and Jen took me to a little rave in downtown. Cousin Leah drove me around and wasn't feeling the party scene at all. I got a girl's phone number at the hipster bar in Northside (and what am I to do with it?). And so on and so forth. Guess I could write a more detailed play-by-play schedule of each little subadventure but I don't really feel like it.
Overall, Cincinnati is on the up-and-up. Just a microcosm of LA, and everybody hates it here just like there. But all cities in America are pretty much the same, I can assure you, and I've checked this very thoroughly. This is just as good a place as any. Just not for me, right now.
Many people I know are doing great. Some aren't. They are evolving. They are paranoid. The world seems to be coming under (must I repeat the news?), but that's no excuse to not do well.
Currently I am doing very little. I argue with my sister to use the computer. I ignore the chaos field of my family. And my credit score is very terrible, and I refuse to give a fuck.
I am re-reading Illuminatus! and the Invisibles concurrently and this no doubt contributes to my naive assurance of the world as illusion.
Do not worry that I am lost. I prefer being lost.
Feminist critique of his-story states that the male experience of orgasm has led us into this lifestyle of preparation-to-goal-to-resolution-to death, and then repeat the Jesus process all over again. But Alan Watts has a Zen perspective that maybe life is more like a dance, with no particular goal in mind but a flow all the way . . .
Do you see what I'm getting at?
Everything is pretty cool in the universe. There is nothing worth taking seriously.
It is all arbitrary. It is all fun.
We must all move to China every once in a while, and disconnect. And reconnect. And we'll all make it big if only we'd allow ourselves to. Its difficult, but its also easier than you may think.
Just smile, you're in hell, and you've finally figured out how to work it.
Does information lead to wisdom? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just stupid.
;)
I was having a mystical experience in the desert and I met a guy at a firepit. He told me he lived in China for a while. I asked him how he went about that . . . and if I could ever do the same. Needed contact information.
"Can we get this man a pen, so I can ship him to China? Seriously!"
September 19th, a Thursday, on the road in some godforsaken state that I don't recall:
Still haven't washed my hair since the mystical experience, but the playa dust now long dried out, and I'd been emailing some Chinese people about the possibility of teaching English in Shenzhen. Emailed my resume, sent my number, answered questions. And then I got an overseas phone call.
"Hello is this Ray He-ch-t?"
Talked for about a half-hour about the program. To teach small children. Don't need to know Mandarin or Cantonese. Not a lot of pay, but lower price of living. Room and board payed. The economy is doomed here and you know it; move to Asia.
Okay!
And the following week was a week of bureaucracy, of mailing my passport to a travel agency in San Francisco, getting visas, figuring out flight times, reimbursements and such, and finally its all confirmed.
Perhaps I shall live in Asia not just for the four-month semester but indefinitely, and nomadically travel and work where I can. Put the novelist thing on hold. Lean a bunch of languages. Pretend I'm Christopher Doyle (look him up), cuz it seemed to work for him finely.
So far this works out very well, because honestly I cannot bloody stand being at my Mom's house.
You ever get in that ambitious conversation while drunk/fucked up. "Yeah, let's do this!" And then you inevitably never get around to doing it. Well this time I got around to doing it . . .
And this is Riding the Synchronicity Wave, for I have let go of control in my life. I must allow whatever will be to just occur, and enjoy the ride. No expectations. No structure. No plans. Unless the universe wants to figure it out for me.
And if J.D. didn't cut our trip short I would still be in Texas and this may not have worked out.
See. The cosmos knows what its doing. The Buddha always provides.
Anyways, the first night in I tried to show J.D. that Cincinnati could be a cool city. The downtown lights were good for my argument. And then we went to Hamilton to go to Jessica's. Butler County, I assure you, is no kind of example for anything. Poor Jessica."Can we get this man a pen, so I can ship him to China? Seriously!"
September 19th, a Thursday, on the road in some godforsaken state that I don't recall:
Still haven't washed my hair since the mystical experience, but the playa dust now long dried out, and I'd been emailing some Chinese people about the possibility of teaching English in Shenzhen. Emailed my resume, sent my number, answered questions. And then I got an overseas phone call.
"Hello is this Ray He-ch-t?"
Talked for about a half-hour about the program. To teach small children. Don't need to know Mandarin or Cantonese. Not a lot of pay, but lower price of living. Room and board payed. The economy is doomed here and you know it; move to Asia.
Okay!
And the following week was a week of bureaucracy, of mailing my passport to a travel agency in San Francisco, getting visas, figuring out flight times, reimbursements and such, and finally its all confirmed.
Perhaps I shall live in Asia not just for the four-month semester but indefinitely, and nomadically travel and work where I can. Put the novelist thing on hold. Lean a bunch of languages. Pretend I'm Christopher Doyle (look him up), cuz it seemed to work for him finely.
So far this works out very well, because honestly I cannot bloody stand being at my Mom's house.
You ever get in that ambitious conversation while drunk/fucked up. "Yeah, let's do this!" And then you inevitably never get around to doing it. Well this time I got around to doing it . . .
And this is Riding the Synchronicity Wave, for I have let go of control in my life. I must allow whatever will be to just occur, and enjoy the ride. No expectations. No structure. No plans. Unless the universe wants to figure it out for me.
And if J.D. didn't cut our trip short I would still be in Texas and this may not have worked out.
See. The cosmos knows what its doing. The Buddha always provides.
----------------
It was good to see her though. There was minimal drama, and lots of love. But they had a lot to talk about and it wasn't for me to listen in too closely . . .
The next morning we stuffed into the Volvo, me driving and her on his lap. Went to Frisch's for breakfast. I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth when I told Jessica that she better treat J.D. right. I only wanted to be a friend, but this caused much doubt. Whateva
I got to my Mom's house, they had to go sign for a one-month apartment, and I was officially here!
Mom's house still had no power from the hurricane! Everywhere the streets are filled with rubble and tree branches. Who knew this city was so disastrous?
And its nice to visit Mom and my little little sister every once in a while, but its a bit hellish to be here indefinitely. Hugs around, then the novelty ends, and its constant bickering. Every morning I sleep at 4:00 and am waken up by arguing at 8:00. Nowhere to go but to walk to the library to read and to use the internet. When Mom works I can't use her car. Nobody wants to come here. Kenwood/Madeira drains my soul. Fuck it though, I won't let it succeed, and this is my philosophy right now.
But I don't care. I refuse to be depressed. Even among all the mosquitoes, I refuse to let it get me down. Its interesting, after the mystical experience described above I haven't felt that hollowness the way I used to everyday. The 3D world is screaming at me to fall into despair, because I am a loser and everything sucks, and I just cannot muster the reaction to take it seriously anymore. I may be surrounded by crazy immigrants I am related to, old friends are recovering junkies, I have no money, and yet the universe remains such a joke I find it so obvious that it will work out just fine.
Well, the first few nights out and everybody bought me beer. Hung out with my cousin, saw old friends (some recovering junkies), and had conversations at bars. Jeremy and Randolf's mansion. Randolf's music show. The beautiful Jen drove me around. I talked to her about children. Chloe doesn't want to communicate with me. Talked to Zac on the phone. Seeing Trevor was trippy. Seeing Joel is cool but sad. J.D. had a dj gig already and Jen took me to a little rave in downtown. Cousin Leah drove me around and wasn't feeling the party scene at all. I got a girl's phone number at the hipster bar in Northside (and what am I to do with it?). And so on and so forth. Guess I could write a more detailed play-by-play schedule of each little subadventure but I don't really feel like it.
Overall, Cincinnati is on the up-and-up. Just a microcosm of LA, and everybody hates it here just like there. But all cities in America are pretty much the same, I can assure you, and I've checked this very thoroughly. This is just as good a place as any. Just not for me, right now.
Many people I know are doing great. Some aren't. They are evolving. They are paranoid. The world seems to be coming under (must I repeat the news?), but that's no excuse to not do well.
Currently I am doing very little. I argue with my sister to use the computer. I ignore the chaos field of my family. And my credit score is very terrible, and I refuse to give a fuck.
I am re-reading Illuminatus! and the Invisibles concurrently and this no doubt contributes to my naive assurance of the world as illusion.
Do not worry that I am lost. I prefer being lost.
Feminist critique of his-story states that the male experience of orgasm has led us into this lifestyle of preparation-to-goal-to-resolution-to death, and then repeat the Jesus process all over again. But Alan Watts has a Zen perspective that maybe life is more like a dance, with no particular goal in mind but a flow all the way . . .
Do you see what I'm getting at?
Everything is pretty cool in the universe. There is nothing worth taking seriously.
It is all arbitrary. It is all fun.
We must all move to China every once in a while, and disconnect. And reconnect. And we'll all make it big if only we'd allow ourselves to. Its difficult, but its also easier than you may think.
Just smile, you're in hell, and you've finally figured out how to work it.
Does information lead to wisdom? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just stupid.
;)
Thursday, September 4, 2008
)'(
BURNING MAN
(Yeah, I didn't even realize it until I got there, but this was the twenty-third year ...)
"The American Dream." What's the point? I guess that's what we set to find out.
Cliché'd philosophical ramblings aside, the journey was a lot of fun. As we know, the journey is usually the point, and the destination is moot. So, let us try to figure out this point, and along the way, learn the game ...
I'd planned all year. Time was crunching. I shopped at the last minute at Target. I packed up with Jessica and Ryan and Max, the latter two I had only just met. Jessica, an intelligent neuroscientist at UC Irvine and a true entheogen researcher. We met on MySpace. Her husband Ryan, who was more straightedge and didn't even particularly like this hippie culture. Max, a younger fun metalhead guy, cool, chill, and quite happy to get fucked up at any point. I partied with them in OC the night before and helped them pack their stuff into the Uhaul. The next day they picked me and my stuff up, and off we went. Hopefully they'd enjoy my presence for this fourteen-hour roadtrip. Up the California coast, the 5, east of San Francisco, into Nevada, with a stop in dead Reno - and I never liked casinos anyways - and I spent so much money on gas that I don't really have. And then finally the sluggish ride through the tiny city of
We waited in line until dawn and watched the
We met with our theme camp at 7:00 and Allante, who I'd only known online from the Yahoo group and already mailed my eighty bucks. Black Rock Bureau of Hospitality! In retrospect, the theme camp thing might not have been worth the trouble and money but at least I got to stay at a good location near the middle. We built our tents and Jessica and Ryan had a hexiurt structure thing; a big dome of aluminum foil-ish material. Then the Monday nine-hour whiteout started. It was the stuff of legends, worst dust storm in ten years from what I understand.
Mercifully, I finished my tent before the dust-storm got too bad. It was far worse than any I experienced last year. Still, I was set to experience this Burning Man thing for the second year and make a lot more of it than the previous more observational year. Done being a tourist, I demanded to be a citizen. I rode my bike to Center Camp, with goggles and bandana, and hung around. Mostly, I wanted to talk to girls. All this PUA research was finally to pay off ...
It seems that life, or at least my life, requires a choice of either sex or drugs. You can't have both indulgences. I'm just not that kind of rock star. While my friends really wanted to get mushrooms, and I unfortunately wasn't able to secure a deal from my guy in time, I didn't care for it. Last year I had a bad trip on mushrooms; it was just too confusing. My trips are usually a bit horrifying and very introspective, and I cannot relate to these people who find entheogens a partying experience. Plus, in order to talk to girls and be impressive, I must be in control of my faculties. I didn't even get that drunk, even amongst the endless parades of free alcohol. I paced myself carefully, only got smashed like once.
Must be in control of my faculties! As my training goes, I have learned that seduction is all about placing yourself higher on the social ladder than the girl, no matter how hot and amazing she might be. While there are an infinite amount of subtle methods: to be likable and witty and funny and touchy and attractive and confident - in the end it's simply all about maintaining an aura of higher social positioning. DHV: demonstrate higher value. And in order to strategize this sort of social intelligence - especially if you aren't one who does this naturally (i.e., me) - it's very necessary to be sober.
At Center Camp I met an Asian girl (actually half-Okinawan) named Kiku, and her white friend Jeanie. Struck up a conversation concerning her see-through dress, and got the address to her camp. Later it was nightfall, and I wandered over to the 7:00 and Hummer - not too far from me in a nice synchronicity - and I also met some cool Australians cats. There was another girl I talked to, and she mentioned she had a boyfriend, but invited me to hang out at her camp. I climbed up to their flagpole for a nice view with these guys, and talked about
It wasn't long until we got separated. One by one, we danced here and danced there. After the grueling dust-storm I was happy to see that people were ready to go out on Monday night, and already the art cars were bumping and the glow-stick outfits were bouncing. We drank at the tiki bar, and I played with a flame thrower, and we parked our bikes and walked to the Man in the middle. I was competing with Dave, last Ozzie left, for Kiku's attention, and felt a bit low self-esteemed for it. More alpha male than me, but I persevered and eventually he got too drunk and shifted his attention to Jeanie. Then they got lost and it was just me and Kiku. I put my arm around her and walked through the cold, and danced to 80s music, and late into the morning we went back to her camp. We talked for awhile. She confessed she was 38 and had an ex-husband. She certainly had a young soul though. Her tent was knocked over from the storm, but we sat in the sand and I leaned in and kissed her for a moment. She pulled me away and it turned out she had a boyfriend. Which she never mentioned before. But then she said we could kiss anyways. She said I was a good kisser.
It escalated and escalated. As often happens with me, girls don't want to have sex right away but they're willing to do everything up to that point. Kissing deeply, she led my hand into her breasts and I licked her nipples and I got so fucking hard and then she put her hands down my pants and I reciprocated and she had to keep assuring me that there would be no sex but she played with my balls and I stuck my two fingers deep in and searched for the clitoris with my thumb and there was moaning and eventually I stained her see-through dress. What a successful night. I couldn't believe this already occurred on my first day. It was exactly what I needed. I felt like a real human being. She invited me to her tent, and said again, "no sex," but I was already gotten off and just wanted to sleep alone in my own tent. It's difficult for me to sleep with someone else next to me, especially someone I don't know well, so I went back alone. I didn't even deal with my dusty sleeping bag, instead I slept in the desert cold at our camp's chill space on a couch.
The week continued with many more experiences. I shot my load the first day, figuratively and literally, but the there were still many sexual and spiritual and drug-induced experiences to make for a highly noveltous week. With my campmates I mostly turned away from getting smoked up, but there was so much pot and I do admit to several occasions of wandering confused. (But, as said, when high it's impossible to talk to girls and this was my central goal all along; so I didn't really enjoy all the free weed.) When I'm high I basically just feel stupid, and its kind of cool in that everything is extra weird, but overall this experience is not my preference. An interesting observation in sobriety experiments: I find that when I am the only sober one among stoners I am naturally drifted into the alpha male position of the group. Everyone suddenly is willing to listen to me and let me take charge. Not a bad ability. Lesson: just say no.
Art and art and art, wandering and wandering and wandering. So much to see and so much to neural-network. I saw giant robot hands. An art car dragon that really did breathe fire. I missed out on the
The best time was discovering the refreshing punk rock bar, shoddily built like a punk house squat and it felt just like home. I met a comic nerd there dressed like Captain
I barely ate, and barely slept, and woke up strangely forgetting where I was. Powered only by alcohol and an empty stomach, coupled by riding my bike constantly, I think I lost a bit of weight.
And I didn't write at all. I didn't take any pictures. (Friends didn't bring a camera either.) I lived in the moment the entire time, like I never had before, and it turned out to be sufficient to make a narrative art out of it after the fact.
Still, in many ways this Burn wasn't as good as last year's. It seemed more watered down. There were far more Rangers and cops - being that last year Paul Addis famously burnt down the man prematurely. Less sexually charged: there were no kissing booths this year. I missed that. I didn't stumble upon any orgy scenes. At least, I didn't stumble upon any straight orgies that is, but back at Comfort & Joy in the fairyland village area there was quite a surreal show to peak in. There seemed to be less art cars to hitchhike on this year, less fun to walk around alone at night on the playa.
But all in all, this was a better Burn because of me and my attitude. I allowed myself to fall in. I embraced the culture around me, to the fullest degree I could, and did my best to let go of the nonsense illusion of the "real world." Fuck the real world. This is more interesting. Novelty is all that matters. I don't think there's anywhere else I could experience more Tao. I fell in love a dozen times. I became part of something bigger. For a short while, I felt like I existed.
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Tuesday through Friday gave us four days in a row of beautiful perfect weather. Hot and heavy and cloudless in the sky, and cool midnights, and shivering cold by dawn.
So, after getting the inevitable dust storm out of the way on the first day, I was ready to explore. First I had to sweat the dust from me at the Project Steambath I discovered last year. Nudity on the playa betrays an interesting double-standard. There are plenty of creepy middle-aged guys who you don't really want to see naked, and I didn't want to be the nudist exhibitionist sort among them. But there are certain socially acceptable times, and I thought nothing of waiting in line outdoors in front of the sauna and getting a nice tan on my ass. Even tans are nice.
Many girls are topless (and rarely there are full nude girls, and it's a special treat when you can see ass; forgive my shallowness, but it's the truth), and you get numb to that pretty soon. Breasts don't have to be overtly sexual, it's just a relaxed state. I'm all for topless equality, it shouldn't be such a big deal. Its not like I went out of my way to see the Critical Tits parade (or the Critical Dicks one).
The steambath feels great once you sweat out all the toxins and step out into the cold, and finally feel clean. It doesn't take long to get dirty again though. And there's the Human Carcass wash, in which you wash others and others wash you, but state your "boundaries" first though.
Mandatory nakedness out of the way, by Tuesday night I was to hang out with the Australians again, at the Duck Bar at 9:00 and E where their DJ friend was playing awesome cuts. Kiku didn't come, but the hot Ozzie tall girl told me to make out with her male friend while drunkenly dancing, and I did and they took a picture. "But balance it out with a girl makeout," I said, and she made out with me quite a bit while drunkenly dancing and there's pictures of that too. (I counted afterwards, and I kissed four girls and one guy for the week. 80% straight ratio I can deal with.) There was a dirty slip n slide inwhich I dared another girl to jump on nude with me, and it was a bad idea as I was thoroughly muddied up afterwards in the dry night. Ha, fun times.
There was one day at the steambath where I got to talking to a tattooed girl named Rachel. It turned out she was an erotic masseuse, studying Tantra and "genital/anal manipulation massage." She told me to meet her at her camp later for a gift. And to bring plastic gloves for a prostate massage. I indeed met her there, and sat on the yoga mat and listened to her instructions. "It's not about judgment, it's not about whether you get hard or not. It's just about enjoying the moment." She hugged me and touched me all over until the nervousness went down. I closed my eyes and she directed my breathing. "Breathe slowly. In through your nose. Vibrate your vocal chords and breathe out through your mouth. Repeat four times." Then, "now breathe fast four times!" This pattern, as the oils rubbed all over my body, and fingers danced around my groin. My heartbeat slowed as I grew comfortable, and then my heartbeat went fast as my muscles clenched and Kundalini energy shot out, and I made a mess. It wasn't just another orgasm though, it was a Tantric meditation that buzzed through my whole body. For hours afterwards I felt like I was high, with a big smile on my face and unable to process conversation. I floated across the desert, in a fuzzy landscape, vaguely evolved for it. Again, this was no mere handjob prostitutional massage, this was somehow an important neurological exercise. I still feel grateful for it. What a gift I was given. And all free. I wonder how much she charges on her day job?
Ultimately, I was to experience no intercourse at
That same day I saw Daniel Pinchbeck at the Entheon site. He cut his hair short. It was a decent alarmist-type speech, though I am not without my disagreements. We all know that the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but in particular his McKenna-esque Singularity timewave acceleration theory had a tinge of optimism to it: that apparently the way that the Agricultural Revolution to the Industrial Revolution to the Information Revolution (that we are in now) is all speeding up. And perhaps the coming Wisdom Revolution will occur so quickly that we might even make it to the 2012 due date. Still, I don't believe the present is all doom and gloom. It's just my personal intuition, but I happen to believe that the challenges modern times bring to us - environmentally and politically and everything else - it's all part of what is supposed to occur and ultimately for our own good. It is both unnatural and natural at once. While you don't necessarily need psychedelics to see this, but psychedelics can certainly bring about a deeper understanding. At least with me. Certainly in Pinchbeck's experience. Anyways, I'm just uncomfortable with the whole 'humans are a virus' meme that is so prevalent in this culture. We are part of nature, we're doing everything right, we just don't know it yet.
In an amazing synchronicity I just happened upon Entheon while exploring, and didn't even know Pinchbeck was there. They did have an ayahuasca keg event listed, but that was just a joke. And on the way I bumped into this girl Schlig who I met her two other times before - and I assure you it is extremely rare to bump into anyone by accident at
The middle of the week was beautiful, but another record-breaking dust-storm was destined for Saturday. The day of the Man to be burnt. Another eight hours of whiteout, right after I was bathed and got all dirty again. I got lost at center camp, and couldn't see five feet in front of me. There was nothing to do but sleep in my uncomfortable tent, or find a chill space somewhere else to take advantage of. I looked for friend's camps and was stuck with Jeanie waiting it out for a bit, and then I watched a fashion show (one that stood out: a girl in a burqa stepped on stage and then revealed her tits and a dildo underneath to the audience's surprise), and then took a nap on the couch at Space Virgins. For the most part, the day sucked. That night, although, was probably the most amazing night of my life.
The sandstorms have a tendency to go away once it gets dark. It can be windy, but without the heat the dust won't rise to overwhelm the air. The Man was to burn late, but finally it was time to go out and see something! I lost track of my campmates but I wanted to have a companion to hang out with. So I went to Kiku and Jeanie's tent again to see if they were there. Honestly, Kiku didn't seem to want to hang out with me lately but whatever. I joined Jeanie, platonically, and we rode out to the deep playa. An army of art cars and overlapping musics joined us. I parked my bike in front of the Joyism car as a landmark, and this proved to be a bad idea as six hours later I ended up losing my bike. I found it the next day, in the light, in a particularly special Burning Man miracle, but it was a long walk home in the meantime.
While at a bar on an art car I got to talking to a guy, and I spontaneously asked him if he could get me any acid. "Yeah, just ask my friend there!" he said. I got to talking to his friend, and he wanted to trade, and all I had was my minicomic and a promise that if he travels to
He ripped a little square from a brown and yellow blot thing, and I put it on my tongue. I lost Jeanie in the crowd, and 45 minutes late the fireworks started. I heard the firedancers were pissed off though; they didn't get to do their act because of the storm-induced scheduling complicatons. And slowly, the world started getting weird. The Man burnt up and I stepped into the giant crowds for a closer look. When the structure fell down the crowds started running closer, past the firefighters, and circled the scene. Slowly the char got smaller and smaller and only the committed stayed around, dancing naked in tribal fashion. It was the culmination of the week, and in the microcosm of my existence while the brain danced to lysergic acids, it seemed the culmination of my entire life.
Is Burning Man the best place to trip out on drugs? Most people seem to agree. All day long I overhear people talking about mushrooms and acid and Ecstasy. I guess E makes sense, but I had an uncomfortable time last year on psilocybin. And as said, I don't even like pot. Yet the majority of the population seems to adore being drugged out in the sensory overload of glowstick nightlife, and good for them, but I can't really relate.
I almost always have bad trips. It comes so naturally to me. Perhaps I shouldn't be allowed to do drugs, I don't have the psychological capabilities to deal with what goes on in my mind. It's too much a barrage of self-conscious self-loathing. I feel like an awkward child, and want to die. There are no regrets, mind you, and I always learn something important about myself. But the honest fact remains: it's very difficult for me. It's educational, but it's not fun. Luckily though, I couldn't have asked for a more supportive environment.
I talked to a girl tripping on mushrooms, a McKenna researcher named "Particle," and we smiled and hugged. She told me to do what I want to do and it's always the right thing. There was lots of nudity about, but I stayed in my shorts, afraid of being too weird. The night was cold but the fire warmed me. I fell in love with one beautiful girl in particular, a blonde Cali named Kayla with Sanskrit tattoos, someone I saw at the human carcass wash, someone so gorgeously out of my league, and yet she remembered me. I was worried about coming across as a leering creep, but this amazing Goddess hugged me tight. I was surrounded by love. I was so lucky. If a loser like me can be loved, then anything is possible.
And gay guys hit on me, and I appreciated the attention but didn't follow them to their camp. I stayed alone in front of the burning pile for hours and hours. I closed my eyes and watched the music dance to RGB pixels behind my eyes. I stared at the sand and watched the shadows bend. I contemplated metaprogramming, and the wires in my brain criss-crossing into more productive routes, and realized that I can do anything if only I'd allow myself to. It was only one hit of LSD, and if I took two or more perhaps I wouldn't be able to converse be cognitive. It was surely confusing, and surely a major introspective trip, and I'm glad I wasn't too far out there. The fire charred me and I couldn't feel it, but I lost one of my socks, which was worse than losing both socks. I was destined to walk the 4 miles home, cold and shivering. Surrounded by love and beauty and confusion and hallucinogenic scenery, I finally been through a minor religious experience.
But the most amazing thing I saw was the stars. All this crazy overwhelming shit surrounding me at every angle, yet I only needed to look up to see the brilliant artwork of God. I've done so much entheogen research in this past year, ayahuasca and DMT and Salvia Divinorum and a fourth of psyilocybin mushrooms, and yet still I must say that the most vivid hallucinations I've ever experienced were looking up at the stars at
It was the culmination of so much. How perfect to have this experience right as the Man went down. Still, the question always remains after a psychedelic trip: what do I do now? Should I "tune in and drop out?" (Currently reading Leary's book by the way, Chaos and Cyberculture.) Should I incorporate the experience into art? Is it possible that my brain will evolve for it? Or is it just good clean fun and nothing else? More questions: is spirituality objectively real, or is it just bullshit? I have certainly met my fair share of spiritual poseurs, but a few here and there seem to know what they're talking about. Obviously, I need to stock up some more acid experiences and figure this out, obviously I'm nowhere near any kind of truth, but I suspect that I'm going in the right general direction ...
And on the way back, stopping from fire to fire to fire on the cold walk to my tent, I talked to a guy who said he could get me a job in
On the way out, I saw some hitchhikers and felt an enormous sense of jealousy. To be able to live life by your wits, and just mooch off the people around you, and separate yourself from the nonsense of the real world. Man, that's living. Most people at Burning Man aren't really purist hippies though, most of them are thirty-something professionals with the money to afford the trip and the art. Which is fine, and those that work hard deserve to play hard, but still I find myself so envious of those that can completely separate themselves from the illusionary world and just live life for the moment. I wish I was deeper in this culture. I was far more 'in there' than the previous year, but I wish I was a veteran counter-culturalist who has nothing to do with paychecks and rent. Why can't I just be a poet philosopher, and have friends that agree, and have never known anything else?
I can't complain though. I got to experience an alien culture. I've been all over the world, from Asia to Europe to the
Thursday, August 21, 2008
travels
On Friday I had to wake up early to drive Alan to the bus stop in Downtown LA so he could go visit his family for the week. His car now drivable, for me, with him out of town, I thought of the places I could go ... I danced around the possibility of seeking about the East LA for chemical experience purchases. Opiates for happiness, or amphetamines for productivity. I suppose it’s an easy conclusion to draw that this is not good idea, but why do I not deserve a few hours of happiness every once in a while? And, more importantly, I need the energy to stay up for a few days and catch up on my self-imposed writing projects. My self-imposed deadline is coming up, and I’m self-imposed stressed.
I don’t really know what I’m doing with this sort of thing, so after driving around aimlessly and failing to eye a drug dealer I soon gave up, and drove to Echo Park for coffee. I called Raven, and met her in Hollywood for an empty breakfast. I wasn’t going to buy anything at a restaurant when I had an EBT card offering free food. Hung out with her and boyfriend Brian for a while. He’s cool enough. Talked about conspiracy theories and psychedelics. Evidently, they can’t get me any acid and Brian doesn’t believe in David Icke.
The day before I met up with Raven briefly at the WOW art gallery show. It was a loud video game-themed show show, bizarre and 8-bit and somewhat fun, even though there was a long line for my friends. I got in a bit early though, when James St. James noticed me. But it was too crowded and partying for meeting anyone and having a conversation, not even worth the time for gay minor celebrities. Outside in the front with the smokers was nice, but it was one-way in or out, so to meet the interesting cats it wasn’t worth the finalized risk until late at night.
It was far nicer to hang out with Raven in the daytime. I love driving her around Hollywood and talking about nothing. That’s friendship. I gave her a ride back to the art gallery, and I talked to James St. James about New York for a bit. I took Raven to Staples on an errand. I talked about old video games with some guy. But I had to go eventually, and I gave Raven my heart-wrenching goodbyes. I’m going to move soon and probably won’t see her for many months, if not years, and it might be an end. But then again, I know we have a deep connection and I have the strong impression that we will keep in touch forever. I’ve made very few real friends during my time in California, but this girl is one of the best.
While in the city trying to figure out what to do, I suddenly got a spontaneous text from Nancy. She asked me to go to San Diego with her. I was thrown off. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but it was somewhat good timing because I’m leaving soon and won’t get another chance to see her. I thought about going to the gym this weekend, and catch up on reading and do some damn writing, But fuck all that productive nonsense. When life offers you minor adventures, I concluded, you should do it.
I went back to Long Beach and showered and watched cartoons, and then Nancy called me and picked me up. It had been a while, and she was as cute as ever. We drove a few hours through Orange County into San Diego County and eventually in La Jolla we met up with her boyfriend Chris at California Pizza Kitchen. And I spent money I shouldn’t have. I happen to think Chris is a complete douche and very much wrong for her, but I try to be hospitable and not mention it. He’s the enemy of my Indigo people, a law student who only plays video games and has no creative taste in anything. I hate when girls date lower than them. She could do so much better. And also, it’s extremely awkward with our history. I mean, I’ve seen her naked. Does he know this? I ain’t telling him, and I’ll be Platonic friends with her, but I do find it weird when Nancy wants me to hang out with him. Well, we bought hair dye spontaneously and she wanted me to dye her hair (why wouldn’t her boyfriend help?). But I wanted to do other things while in San Diego. I promised we’d do it early tomorrow. Chris’s small apartment was in downtown SD small, and his roommate had the cutest Welsh Corgi. And, douche that Chris is, he hates the dog and doesn’t feel close to it all. I liked the dog a lot. And I had to go.
I called Jessica, Ohio friend that lives here, and she was happy to pick me up. Her crowd is far more interesting than the horde of rich Asian UCSD students Nancy hangs out with. Jessica was late, and San Diego has far too many highways, but when she finally found the place and picked me up we had a lot of good conversation. She’s going through a lot of spiritual experiences lately, and while I’m skeptical I am very curious to know more. Mostly her one-ness of the universe has revolved around the smokable nibbana of Salvia Divinorum. Jessica, and her very cool boyfriend J.D., are always happy to smoke me up. I really looked forward to the new experience. At their apartment in North Park there were a few people over, drinking and playing J.D.’s mixes, and it was quite fun. I don’t like pot so much, but J.D. gave me some crystallized hash and it was a good high. An interesting body buzz, and for the most part my mind was still sharp. I can’t stand being confused and stupid, but I’m open trying everything and its rude not to accept when offered, and this one wasn’t bad.
Later that night arrived a girl named Joy. She was also from Cincinnati but I never knew her before. Moderately cute, but a bit heavier than I’d prefer, but definitely much the hottest girl at the party who wasn’t taken. The night carried on with conversation and further synchronicities. Highly amazing perfection: I knew that Jessica was moving back to Ohio but I didn’t realize J.D. was going on a roadtrip next month to follow suit. And he mentioned going to Austin. “Really?” I was planning on hitchhiking to Texas on the way to Cincinnati as well. “New Orleans next,” I said. “Really?!” He was going the same route too, and a week after me in mid-September! J.D. he invited me to join him on the road. I was overwhelmed. Sometimes in the lowest point in your life it can be so perfect the way the Buddha provides. I’ve only known J.D. a short time, and I’m very fond of him, and this kindness is completely overwhelming. And he appreciates simply having a companion on this long American trek. Couldn’t be more perfect.
So, me and Joy grew closer as the night progressed. As suggested to me by my recent attraction research - I teased her, I acted cool, I was touchy against her skin, I played up my social status, and late into the night we found ourselves sitting on the stairs outside smoking cigarettes when I put my hand around her shoulder and made a move. I wasn’t so cool though, I was horridly nervous and shakey. She told me to relax. Our mouths melted together. I’ve been on a terribly lonely spell, and admit to not having actually kissed a girl in six months time (and it’s been longer since sex). I needed this so bad. We went inside and laid on the too-small couch and made out for hours. I love the taste of cigarette ash on lips. I got very hard, and she could feel it through my tight pants. “I’m so turned on by you,” she whispered. There were others in the room, so things could only progress so much, but without undressing and as subtle as possible she put her hand down my pants. Amazing, amazing night. I put my hands under her clothes and felt the crack of her ass and nipples under her bra and then all the way to down her scratchy wet slit. I bit her neck and left a mark, and she did the same to me. She nobly tried to pump me to orgasm. I love the feeling of fingernails all over my bare crotch. I love nudging my teeth against lip. The feel of skin against skin is the essential human connectivity and it’s a shame it doesn’t occur more often. But, all too often it can be so weird and uncomfortable if the conditions aren’t perfect. Hard as stone as I was, I just couldn’t get off with other people in the room. I was way too nervous.
Around 6:00 AM she had to leave with her friends. I regret so much. I could have very easily gotten laid, but I didn’t even ask to go to her place. I just assumed I should stay at Jessica’s. Plus, and this was a valid point, I very much wanted to smoke Salvia the next day. But dammit, I should have just lived in the moment and not thought about the future. It was already obvious that I would be very late to meet with Nancy the next day. Time didn’t matter. I should have pushed harder to somehow find some privacy with Joy. Well, I did get her phone number, and I did call the next day, but to no avail. Ah well, I am grateful for all the love I have been given, and have no right to ask for any more.
The next afternoon I awoke on the couch, alone, gross, and uncomfortable. I hadn’t been sleeping good lately. We hung around, and they made breakfast, and flies buzzed, but I skipped eating. If I was to trip out, best to do so on an empty stomach. It was time to sit comfortably, focus, and J.D. prepared me a rather intense hit, and I smoked two stinky puffs on the bong, and the world went inward.
Salvia is like an evil ego version of DMT. You trip very hard and very fast, but unfortunately you are still in your body. For me at least, it wasn’t like dimetheltrytamine when I was flying somewhere else disconnected from this reality. I was still inside myself, and it felt so disgusting. My tight pants were dirty and sticky and rotten, and I wanted to throw them off (luckily I didn’t; I wasn’t wearing underwear). I immediately started seeing things reproducing into a kind of scales. The whole universe flipped into geometricities. I saw McDonalds logos. Red and scaley. I could open my eyes and see these strange humans staring at me (it was only them), and I forgot where I was. Salvia is weird in that you forget you did it, and I assumed that I was freaking out on simple pot high and felt very stupid for it. I was struck with an immediate horror of self-consciousness, as I struggled not to embarrass myself. I was terrified that everyone would laugh at me. I was terrified that I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t handle it. I mean, nobody cares and this was indeed a totally nurturing environment, but I have this problem with letting go. I didn’t fall in enough. I wished so much that I prepared better. When I realized what was happening, I hid under the covers. I sat in the lotus position. I thought maybe I was supposed to have some kind of Zen enlightenment, and prayed for it, but I didn’t come close. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the pixel-digital pattern forming before me, but it was so intense and horrifying that I could only find myself counting down until it was over with. I told myself to count to a hundred and just wait it out. I only counted to fifteen. Jessica came and held my hand as my skull fell down and I breathed heavily. It’s very important to have someone hold your hand and tell you its going to be okay in these situations. I appreciate it so much. Eventually I found the courage to open my eyes and my heartbeat finally slowed down, and I at last was back in some semblance of normal reality.
So what do I do with this knowledge? The world is made out of geometric patterns. I kind of already knew it, but now I have experienced it. So now what? I desperately need to do this again under more ideal conditions. Do an hour of yoga firsthand. Shower first. Be in a nature environment, even nude if necessary, and connect to the trees as opposed a connection with computers. My mind was buzzing quick, and my knees were jumping, and I struggled to verbalize these feelings. I thought I’d simply go on a trip for fifteen minutes and be on my way somewhere else by mid-afternoon, but instead it was necessary to follow up with at least an hour of conversation. I was very late in meeting up with Nancy. There was much philosophy to go over. And meanwhile, the illusionary real world beckoned.
Hugs and rides and hash brown breakfast later, I got a ride back to downtown SD. It was so boring at Chris’s. I was required to stay with them for the duration, but I wish that I got my own ride and could have spent the majority of the time with more like-minded people. It was fun to dye Nancy’s hair though, a dark red that barely came out over her jet black Asian hair. There was half a bottle left, so we went ahead decided to dye my hair too. At least now my grey hairs are gone (of which I probably gained many during the Salvia experience). I showered, and Chris wouldn’t lend me any clean jeans, and then we went to the most boring mall in the world. We ate at Cheesecake factory to meet with her UCSD friends. I didn’t fit in, but I tried to be hospitable. I certainly need to be less judgmental, and patronizing with the occasional bourgeoisie straights couldn’t hurt. Again, I spent money that I shouldn’t have.
Afterwards we all went to a Korean karaoke club, which was a bit more fun. It was an authentic karaoke bar, like the one I went to in Japan years ago, where you rent out a room with your friends and the television screen plays discorporate footage from Asian TV dramas. Really, I prefer karaoke when its about pretending you’re a star with strangers at a bar. Though they didn’t have a good selection, I looked up a few and sang Let it Be, and Anarchy in the UK, and some others. I flirted with Nancy, my only friend there, and she made fun of my singing, and meanwhile Chris’s eyes burned me with resentment ...
Raven called me halfway through. She was freaking out while high and needed me to assure her that she wasn’t being mind-controlled by the government. Social control is much more prevalent and dangerous, I told her, and the primate political patterns that filter our worldview are far more deep than any technologies the Cryptocratic authority structure could ever muster. Social deconditioning is the only solution, I argued. But even still, never ever let them get to you. Never let fear take you over. And I talked some more, about my own Salvia experience, and Andy Warhol, and art, and love, and why we’re so weird, and it was a great conversation. I was saved from these other people for a whole half-hour. Please, call me any time when you’re in a schizophrenic nightmare and I’m happy to listen.
On the late drive back Nancy and Chris were arguing. It was all over petty nothingness, but the obvious subtext is that they were fighting over me and my presence. Awkwardness took a new level while I hid in the back seat. I hated being there. I wished Nancy would ditch him and we could go somewhere else. I still don’t understand what mindgames Nancy was playing by inviting me to hang out with her boyfriend in the first place. If only I could be anywhere else. Back at their place I heard mutterings of hatred in the night emanating from their room, and I couldn’t hear the details and didn’t want to know. I played video games, played with the dog, and had another uncomfortable night’s sleep.
Woke up early. I offered to drive. Nancy was supposed to drop me off Long Beach first, but the timing was off. She was to have lunch with her family far away, near West Covina or somewhere. So instead it was worked out that we should go all the way out there and I’d wait around while she ate and just go to Long Beach later. (If you knew Southern California, you’d realize how ridiculous all this driving is.) Made it just in time, and I hung out at an Asian neighborhood for a few hours. I had some coffee at Burger King. I read some Sartre. I listened to my iPod. Raven called me again. I was bored, and sat next to a tree to read, and eventually I fell asleep. Foreshadowing my inevitable future, I slept outside for an hour until I was kicked out by a security guard. I was so tired.
Finally we went back to Long Beach. Nancy was open to hanging out for a while, and we watched Youtube movies on my computer. I introduced her to Ramsey and then Jenn came over. It was the first time I saw Jenn since I wrote her a very nasty suicide email, but anyways she seemed cool. Writing mean letters is my literary specialty. Nancy was tired, and asked to take a twenty minute nap in my room. When I went to wake her up, all confident from my making out night on Friday, I sat next to her and put my arm on her and lied there and felt her beautiful breath. It was so perfect. She awoke. I went in for a kiss. And she turned away and softly said, “no.” I shouldn’t have done that. I tried again. Still no. I truly shouldn’t have done that.
She should be mad at me. I don’t get it. I don’t understand anything. I wish she would either love me or hate me, but I don’t know how to handle a perpetual lukewarm friendship. Still she wanted to hang out. All four of us walked to a coffee shop and had tea and talked about such subjects as urine-powered automobiles. Eventually Nancy left, on the long drive alone back to the Valley. We hugged. I probably won’t see her again for a very long time, if ever.
I relaxed for awhile, and promised to hang out with Edward later this Sunday, so we drove Alan’s car to Cypress. Ramsey and Jenn came. I had to give Edward notes on his novel-in-process that I’d been hoarding for a while, and met up with him at his grandma’s place, and I bought a pint of cheap whiskey. The best kind to buy. I was sick of hanging out the coffee shop in Cypress all the time, so we parked at Home Depot and walked around dreary Orange County. We were lit up by moonlight. Talked about literature, and the future, and theology, and argued over whether Vonnegut or P.K. Dick is better. Edward is the only other real friend I’ve made in California. Just like Raven, he’s from somewhere else. I got really drunk. I probably won’t see him for a long time either. I have absolute assurance that we will keep in touch forever.
Ramsey drove on the way back, as I was fucking plastered. I was supposed to write that night. I have so much to do, but I was all fucked and just went to sleep. Had to wake up early for a three-day office gig from this temp agency the next day. I slept little, another sweaty night, and powered by coffee I commenced to drive to Torrance. This job sucked so much. Quite a hellish experience, it turned out to be nothing but stuffing envelopes for nine hours straight. But I listened to my iPod, and read magazines, and read the new Wonder Woman too. Perhaps that’s why I was the slowest one there. The two other kids there were the perfect envelope-stuffing trained monkeys. I went to Wal Mart on break to buy Burning Man supplies, which turned out to be a terrible idea and didn’t buy anything. How I despise Wal Mart. I also learned that Weinerschnitzel is a bad place for vegetarians to eat. The next few work days at home were spent forsaking the productive to watch Netflix movies: I watched Juno and Persopolis, of which I liked the latter a lot more.
The next day they took me aside and asked my why I was going so slow. 16,000 envelopes to stuff over three days and I did far less than my third. The other two kids there were such perfect worker bees. Sit still and stuff stuff stuff and they don’t seem to have brains at all. The next day I was told not even to come in. At least I get paid for two days, but I could have used that other third day of pay. I do not understand the world. I do not understand how to be a productive member of this shit. I seem not to have a survival instinct. I try so hard, but not hard enough evidently, and it never works. If only I could fully disconnect from this game. There’s a whole psychedelic creative universe out there, I’ve seen it, and yet we are told to go to school and go to work and that’s all there is.
Now I have to organize what to do with my life. I have to pack up my room. I have to mail everything I own. I have to prepare for Burning Man. I have to get camping supplies. I have to finish my novel, and some other scripts, and to draw as well. I have to bloody get ready to move to the other side of the country in two weeks. I’ve done none of this. Nothing. I have so much to do, and most of the time I do nothing. The story of my life.
I suppose it’s been interesting times lately, but I cannot help but feel hollow on occasion. I like to travel, but rarely do I seem to ever make it to any destination. Hence I wander. And still I travel.
I don’t really know what I’m doing with this sort of thing, so after driving around aimlessly and failing to eye a drug dealer I soon gave up, and drove to Echo Park for coffee. I called Raven, and met her in Hollywood for an empty breakfast. I wasn’t going to buy anything at a restaurant when I had an EBT card offering free food. Hung out with her and boyfriend Brian for a while. He’s cool enough. Talked about conspiracy theories and psychedelics. Evidently, they can’t get me any acid and Brian doesn’t believe in David Icke.
The day before I met up with Raven briefly at the WOW art gallery show. It was a loud video game-themed show show, bizarre and 8-bit and somewhat fun, even though there was a long line for my friends. I got in a bit early though, when James St. James noticed me. But it was too crowded and partying for meeting anyone and having a conversation, not even worth the time for gay minor celebrities. Outside in the front with the smokers was nice, but it was one-way in or out, so to meet the interesting cats it wasn’t worth the finalized risk until late at night.
It was far nicer to hang out with Raven in the daytime. I love driving her around Hollywood and talking about nothing. That’s friendship. I gave her a ride back to the art gallery, and I talked to James St. James about New York for a bit. I took Raven to Staples on an errand. I talked about old video games with some guy. But I had to go eventually, and I gave Raven my heart-wrenching goodbyes. I’m going to move soon and probably won’t see her for many months, if not years, and it might be an end. But then again, I know we have a deep connection and I have the strong impression that we will keep in touch forever. I’ve made very few real friends during my time in California, but this girl is one of the best.
While in the city trying to figure out what to do, I suddenly got a spontaneous text from Nancy. She asked me to go to San Diego with her. I was thrown off. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but it was somewhat good timing because I’m leaving soon and won’t get another chance to see her. I thought about going to the gym this weekend, and catch up on reading and do some damn writing, But fuck all that productive nonsense. When life offers you minor adventures, I concluded, you should do it.
I went back to Long Beach and showered and watched cartoons, and then Nancy called me and picked me up. It had been a while, and she was as cute as ever. We drove a few hours through Orange County into San Diego County and eventually in La Jolla we met up with her boyfriend Chris at California Pizza Kitchen. And I spent money I shouldn’t have. I happen to think Chris is a complete douche and very much wrong for her, but I try to be hospitable and not mention it. He’s the enemy of my Indigo people, a law student who only plays video games and has no creative taste in anything. I hate when girls date lower than them. She could do so much better. And also, it’s extremely awkward with our history. I mean, I’ve seen her naked. Does he know this? I ain’t telling him, and I’ll be Platonic friends with her, but I do find it weird when Nancy wants me to hang out with him. Well, we bought hair dye spontaneously and she wanted me to dye her hair (why wouldn’t her boyfriend help?). But I wanted to do other things while in San Diego. I promised we’d do it early tomorrow. Chris’s small apartment was in downtown SD small, and his roommate had the cutest Welsh Corgi. And, douche that Chris is, he hates the dog and doesn’t feel close to it all. I liked the dog a lot. And I had to go.
I called Jessica, Ohio friend that lives here, and she was happy to pick me up. Her crowd is far more interesting than the horde of rich Asian UCSD students Nancy hangs out with. Jessica was late, and San Diego has far too many highways, but when she finally found the place and picked me up we had a lot of good conversation. She’s going through a lot of spiritual experiences lately, and while I’m skeptical I am very curious to know more. Mostly her one-ness of the universe has revolved around the smokable nibbana of Salvia Divinorum. Jessica, and her very cool boyfriend J.D., are always happy to smoke me up. I really looked forward to the new experience. At their apartment in North Park there were a few people over, drinking and playing J.D.’s mixes, and it was quite fun. I don’t like pot so much, but J.D. gave me some crystallized hash and it was a good high. An interesting body buzz, and for the most part my mind was still sharp. I can’t stand being confused and stupid, but I’m open trying everything and its rude not to accept when offered, and this one wasn’t bad.
Later that night arrived a girl named Joy. She was also from Cincinnati but I never knew her before. Moderately cute, but a bit heavier than I’d prefer, but definitely much the hottest girl at the party who wasn’t taken. The night carried on with conversation and further synchronicities. Highly amazing perfection: I knew that Jessica was moving back to Ohio but I didn’t realize J.D. was going on a roadtrip next month to follow suit. And he mentioned going to Austin. “Really?” I was planning on hitchhiking to Texas on the way to Cincinnati as well. “New Orleans next,” I said. “Really?!” He was going the same route too, and a week after me in mid-September! J.D. he invited me to join him on the road. I was overwhelmed. Sometimes in the lowest point in your life it can be so perfect the way the Buddha provides. I’ve only known J.D. a short time, and I’m very fond of him, and this kindness is completely overwhelming. And he appreciates simply having a companion on this long American trek. Couldn’t be more perfect.
So, me and Joy grew closer as the night progressed. As suggested to me by my recent attraction research - I teased her, I acted cool, I was touchy against her skin, I played up my social status, and late into the night we found ourselves sitting on the stairs outside smoking cigarettes when I put my hand around her shoulder and made a move. I wasn’t so cool though, I was horridly nervous and shakey. She told me to relax. Our mouths melted together. I’ve been on a terribly lonely spell, and admit to not having actually kissed a girl in six months time (and it’s been longer since sex). I needed this so bad. We went inside and laid on the too-small couch and made out for hours. I love the taste of cigarette ash on lips. I got very hard, and she could feel it through my tight pants. “I’m so turned on by you,” she whispered. There were others in the room, so things could only progress so much, but without undressing and as subtle as possible she put her hand down my pants. Amazing, amazing night. I put my hands under her clothes and felt the crack of her ass and nipples under her bra and then all the way to down her scratchy wet slit. I bit her neck and left a mark, and she did the same to me. She nobly tried to pump me to orgasm. I love the feeling of fingernails all over my bare crotch. I love nudging my teeth against lip. The feel of skin against skin is the essential human connectivity and it’s a shame it doesn’t occur more often. But, all too often it can be so weird and uncomfortable if the conditions aren’t perfect. Hard as stone as I was, I just couldn’t get off with other people in the room. I was way too nervous.
Around 6:00 AM she had to leave with her friends. I regret so much. I could have very easily gotten laid, but I didn’t even ask to go to her place. I just assumed I should stay at Jessica’s. Plus, and this was a valid point, I very much wanted to smoke Salvia the next day. But dammit, I should have just lived in the moment and not thought about the future. It was already obvious that I would be very late to meet with Nancy the next day. Time didn’t matter. I should have pushed harder to somehow find some privacy with Joy. Well, I did get her phone number, and I did call the next day, but to no avail. Ah well, I am grateful for all the love I have been given, and have no right to ask for any more.
The next afternoon I awoke on the couch, alone, gross, and uncomfortable. I hadn’t been sleeping good lately. We hung around, and they made breakfast, and flies buzzed, but I skipped eating. If I was to trip out, best to do so on an empty stomach. It was time to sit comfortably, focus, and J.D. prepared me a rather intense hit, and I smoked two stinky puffs on the bong, and the world went inward.
Salvia is like an evil ego version of DMT. You trip very hard and very fast, but unfortunately you are still in your body. For me at least, it wasn’t like dimetheltrytamine when I was flying somewhere else disconnected from this reality. I was still inside myself, and it felt so disgusting. My tight pants were dirty and sticky and rotten, and I wanted to throw them off (luckily I didn’t; I wasn’t wearing underwear). I immediately started seeing things reproducing into a kind of scales. The whole universe flipped into geometricities. I saw McDonalds logos. Red and scaley. I could open my eyes and see these strange humans staring at me (it was only them), and I forgot where I was. Salvia is weird in that you forget you did it, and I assumed that I was freaking out on simple pot high and felt very stupid for it. I was struck with an immediate horror of self-consciousness, as I struggled not to embarrass myself. I was terrified that everyone would laugh at me. I was terrified that I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t handle it. I mean, nobody cares and this was indeed a totally nurturing environment, but I have this problem with letting go. I didn’t fall in enough. I wished so much that I prepared better. When I realized what was happening, I hid under the covers. I sat in the lotus position. I thought maybe I was supposed to have some kind of Zen enlightenment, and prayed for it, but I didn’t come close. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the pixel-digital pattern forming before me, but it was so intense and horrifying that I could only find myself counting down until it was over with. I told myself to count to a hundred and just wait it out. I only counted to fifteen. Jessica came and held my hand as my skull fell down and I breathed heavily. It’s very important to have someone hold your hand and tell you its going to be okay in these situations. I appreciate it so much. Eventually I found the courage to open my eyes and my heartbeat finally slowed down, and I at last was back in some semblance of normal reality.
So what do I do with this knowledge? The world is made out of geometric patterns. I kind of already knew it, but now I have experienced it. So now what? I desperately need to do this again under more ideal conditions. Do an hour of yoga firsthand. Shower first. Be in a nature environment, even nude if necessary, and connect to the trees as opposed a connection with computers. My mind was buzzing quick, and my knees were jumping, and I struggled to verbalize these feelings. I thought I’d simply go on a trip for fifteen minutes and be on my way somewhere else by mid-afternoon, but instead it was necessary to follow up with at least an hour of conversation. I was very late in meeting up with Nancy. There was much philosophy to go over. And meanwhile, the illusionary real world beckoned.
Hugs and rides and hash brown breakfast later, I got a ride back to downtown SD. It was so boring at Chris’s. I was required to stay with them for the duration, but I wish that I got my own ride and could have spent the majority of the time with more like-minded people. It was fun to dye Nancy’s hair though, a dark red that barely came out over her jet black Asian hair. There was half a bottle left, so we went ahead decided to dye my hair too. At least now my grey hairs are gone (of which I probably gained many during the Salvia experience). I showered, and Chris wouldn’t lend me any clean jeans, and then we went to the most boring mall in the world. We ate at Cheesecake factory to meet with her UCSD friends. I didn’t fit in, but I tried to be hospitable. I certainly need to be less judgmental, and patronizing with the occasional bourgeoisie straights couldn’t hurt. Again, I spent money that I shouldn’t have.
Afterwards we all went to a Korean karaoke club, which was a bit more fun. It was an authentic karaoke bar, like the one I went to in Japan years ago, where you rent out a room with your friends and the television screen plays discorporate footage from Asian TV dramas. Really, I prefer karaoke when its about pretending you’re a star with strangers at a bar. Though they didn’t have a good selection, I looked up a few and sang Let it Be, and Anarchy in the UK, and some others. I flirted with Nancy, my only friend there, and she made fun of my singing, and meanwhile Chris’s eyes burned me with resentment ...
Raven called me halfway through. She was freaking out while high and needed me to assure her that she wasn’t being mind-controlled by the government. Social control is much more prevalent and dangerous, I told her, and the primate political patterns that filter our worldview are far more deep than any technologies the Cryptocratic authority structure could ever muster. Social deconditioning is the only solution, I argued. But even still, never ever let them get to you. Never let fear take you over. And I talked some more, about my own Salvia experience, and Andy Warhol, and art, and love, and why we’re so weird, and it was a great conversation. I was saved from these other people for a whole half-hour. Please, call me any time when you’re in a schizophrenic nightmare and I’m happy to listen.
On the late drive back Nancy and Chris were arguing. It was all over petty nothingness, but the obvious subtext is that they were fighting over me and my presence. Awkwardness took a new level while I hid in the back seat. I hated being there. I wished Nancy would ditch him and we could go somewhere else. I still don’t understand what mindgames Nancy was playing by inviting me to hang out with her boyfriend in the first place. If only I could be anywhere else. Back at their place I heard mutterings of hatred in the night emanating from their room, and I couldn’t hear the details and didn’t want to know. I played video games, played with the dog, and had another uncomfortable night’s sleep.
Woke up early. I offered to drive. Nancy was supposed to drop me off Long Beach first, but the timing was off. She was to have lunch with her family far away, near West Covina or somewhere. So instead it was worked out that we should go all the way out there and I’d wait around while she ate and just go to Long Beach later. (If you knew Southern California, you’d realize how ridiculous all this driving is.) Made it just in time, and I hung out at an Asian neighborhood for a few hours. I had some coffee at Burger King. I read some Sartre. I listened to my iPod. Raven called me again. I was bored, and sat next to a tree to read, and eventually I fell asleep. Foreshadowing my inevitable future, I slept outside for an hour until I was kicked out by a security guard. I was so tired.
Finally we went back to Long Beach. Nancy was open to hanging out for a while, and we watched Youtube movies on my computer. I introduced her to Ramsey and then Jenn came over. It was the first time I saw Jenn since I wrote her a very nasty suicide email, but anyways she seemed cool. Writing mean letters is my literary specialty. Nancy was tired, and asked to take a twenty minute nap in my room. When I went to wake her up, all confident from my making out night on Friday, I sat next to her and put my arm on her and lied there and felt her beautiful breath. It was so perfect. She awoke. I went in for a kiss. And she turned away and softly said, “no.” I shouldn’t have done that. I tried again. Still no. I truly shouldn’t have done that.
She should be mad at me. I don’t get it. I don’t understand anything. I wish she would either love me or hate me, but I don’t know how to handle a perpetual lukewarm friendship. Still she wanted to hang out. All four of us walked to a coffee shop and had tea and talked about such subjects as urine-powered automobiles. Eventually Nancy left, on the long drive alone back to the Valley. We hugged. I probably won’t see her again for a very long time, if ever.
I relaxed for awhile, and promised to hang out with Edward later this Sunday, so we drove Alan’s car to Cypress. Ramsey and Jenn came. I had to give Edward notes on his novel-in-process that I’d been hoarding for a while, and met up with him at his grandma’s place, and I bought a pint of cheap whiskey. The best kind to buy. I was sick of hanging out the coffee shop in Cypress all the time, so we parked at Home Depot and walked around dreary Orange County. We were lit up by moonlight. Talked about literature, and the future, and theology, and argued over whether Vonnegut or P.K. Dick is better. Edward is the only other real friend I’ve made in California. Just like Raven, he’s from somewhere else. I got really drunk. I probably won’t see him for a long time either. I have absolute assurance that we will keep in touch forever.
Ramsey drove on the way back, as I was fucking plastered. I was supposed to write that night. I have so much to do, but I was all fucked and just went to sleep. Had to wake up early for a three-day office gig from this temp agency the next day. I slept little, another sweaty night, and powered by coffee I commenced to drive to Torrance. This job sucked so much. Quite a hellish experience, it turned out to be nothing but stuffing envelopes for nine hours straight. But I listened to my iPod, and read magazines, and read the new Wonder Woman too. Perhaps that’s why I was the slowest one there. The two other kids there were the perfect envelope-stuffing trained monkeys. I went to Wal Mart on break to buy Burning Man supplies, which turned out to be a terrible idea and didn’t buy anything. How I despise Wal Mart. I also learned that Weinerschnitzel is a bad place for vegetarians to eat. The next few work days at home were spent forsaking the productive to watch Netflix movies: I watched Juno and Persopolis, of which I liked the latter a lot more.
The next day they took me aside and asked my why I was going so slow. 16,000 envelopes to stuff over three days and I did far less than my third. The other two kids there were such perfect worker bees. Sit still and stuff stuff stuff and they don’t seem to have brains at all. The next day I was told not even to come in. At least I get paid for two days, but I could have used that other third day of pay. I do not understand the world. I do not understand how to be a productive member of this shit. I seem not to have a survival instinct. I try so hard, but not hard enough evidently, and it never works. If only I could fully disconnect from this game. There’s a whole psychedelic creative universe out there, I’ve seen it, and yet we are told to go to school and go to work and that’s all there is.
Now I have to organize what to do with my life. I have to pack up my room. I have to mail everything I own. I have to prepare for Burning Man. I have to get camping supplies. I have to finish my novel, and some other scripts, and to draw as well. I have to bloody get ready to move to the other side of the country in two weeks. I’ve done none of this. Nothing. I have so much to do, and most of the time I do nothing. The story of my life.
I suppose it’s been interesting times lately, but I cannot help but feel hollow on occasion. I like to travel, but rarely do I seem to ever make it to any destination. Hence I wander. And still I travel.
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