11/28/2020

 it is cold, relatively speaking. it is feeling like it is nice to be under blankets... at the same time, i'm kind of suffering from abdominal issues. i think it's from some of the desserts i've eaten, which tend to be very agreeable going in, but not so agreeable coming out...

i'm in appreciation and awe of my wife, who went in early today, and just came back (it's past 12 am). she is such a dedicated worker. and she doesn't complain for all the little vicissitudes that are thrown her way. she just finds another way around obstacles...

*****

i finished reading beatrice and virgil. it was somewhat of a disturbing book, with a shocking ending. definitely not happy. but i suppose that that was the point. it was about the holocaust, and about all such unspeakable events (the horrors); it was about the possibility or impossibility to speak about such things, or live a normal life after such things... 

the "games for gustav" at the end were gruesome, and point at the absurdity of morality when all systems have broken down...

*****

it is actually now the next day. i fell asleep with my wife, who has been putting in a LOT of time at the store... i think my dreams are "safer" when i am with my wife (much of the time, even when i start off in the same bed, i wander off to the couch in the other room to sleep). that's the impression i have anyway...

i have to write at least 4 pages in my story by tomorrow for the writer's workshop. all week, i have been musing about it. all of these ideas have been bombarding my brain. there are a lot of critiques i have to address as well... the owl character in the story sounds too long-winded. to be honest, i didn't seriously think about the characters... that is, i didn't think about their voices, or even their specific perspectives, to be honest. they were just sounding boards for ideas, more or less. they gave me the alternative of presenting situations through dialogue, instead of simply describing things... this externalized the situation, and prevented it from being a purely solipsistic exercise. what's more, i think it actually highlights the complexity of the main character, because if these are projections of himself (imaginary friends), then it reveals that he has more within him than he lets on.

*****

in writing, and in minecraft, and in other things, there always comes a point when you have to decide whether you want to "own" your legacy, or if you will just cut your losses and run. i suppose this is true of people too. at times, there is a kind of self-hatred or loathing that abides in you if you aren't careful. there's this notion that this reality that you're living isn't the one you SHOULD or COULD be living... and that notion negates whatever you have already built. there is the myth that if you could only start over, things would be different. yes, and no. yes, temporarily, they could be different. but no, it's not as though you have escaped the problem. at some point, things either get difficult in the game, or project, or life, or whatever, and you are left with the same question. even if things don't get difficult, then there is still that internal dissatisfaction, augmented by witnessing perhaps other people's solutions, other people's lives. we always want better.

so... there comes a point where you decide to stick with it. for better or for worse.

i have an ugly world i have been working on in minecraft. it's ugly because there wasn't an essential plan to it. but there were sincere attempts to construct something worthwhile, and perhaps it isn't fair to simply walk away from it. maybe it's still possible to create something legitimately beautiful... again, it's a matter of owning the ugliness of oneself.

... oh well, i've got to get going on that story!

11/23/2020

it has been a while since i last wrote here... well, actually, i did write about that silly dream a couple of days ago... but anyway.

i think i kind of got stuck this weekend, at least in terms of my routines. in part it was because i had a stupid headache on saturday. but it was also because i was trying to work on my writing assignment for the writer's workshop that i'm participating in. i basically decided to use the assignment to break the inertia that i'd had with some of my writing projects, notably this "kappa noodle" story that's been haunting my head for so long. at first, i thought i did a decent job of it, and it felt pretty easy, pretty flow-y, writing it. but having heard it read, in retrospect, i realize how long-winded it sounded. a particular error on my part was having a character retell another story. there is nothing more boring than having characters TELL stories. but i guess, i guess a lot of what i like to write tends to be like that. explanations. i wish it were otherwise, but i guess that's me.

so, right now, i'm feeing kind of down on my writing, and my "writing style." it's something that i think people patiently endure when they read it, but it definitely isn't something to celebrate...

at the same time, i feel two influences: 1) this optimistic faith in the "flow," largely due to my participation in this writer's workshop; and 2) this drive to finish the damn thing. so i'm hoping that, through those two influences, i am able to "rid [this story] from my bones." (from the decemberists "engine driver"). hopefully, they will carry me through...

***

i put off so much nowadays. i am only a skeleton held together by a frame of obligations.

***

i think my wife works miracles. i feel that she is so full of love, that she breathed me into being, and made me into something half-worth this life. me, on the other hand, with this perpetual chip on my shoulder, and leaky chamber in my heart, i have this cruelty imprinted upon me, perhaps by others, but which i perpetuate endlessly. i try to hide it, most of the time successfully, by a feigned kindness, a sense of obligation... but i lack the true breathing love that my wife embodies. i am so blessed to have her, to have been loved by her. otherwise, i would still have been haunted by my own self-hate, pursued by it as i have been relentlessly for decades of my life...

***

i don't really know what else to write about at the moment... i'm just pushing forward, like everyone else.

dream: 11/22/2020

 it is 3:40 am right now.

i had a dream earlier in the night. it was pretty nondescript and unmemorable at first... but as i was talking to my wife in her sleep (i was actually asleep in the other room, and crawled into bed, mumbling to her), for some reason, fragments trickled back into my consciousness...

i recall... catching the bus to some part of the city. i'm not sure what city, but like all cities, there were the empty dingy places. that's kind of where i was going. and for some reason, as i got off the bus, there was some sense of obligation or something. like someone was watching me. in fact, i kind of accompanied this old mexican guy who traveled in some powered wheelchair. he never spoke to me, but he kind of watched me... maybe i was a flight risk or something. in any case, i remember the horribly buckled sidewalks... and storefronts (mostly closed, as it was approaching dark) that had shuttered themselves in with rusty metal bars... it was about seven (in fact, it was seven) and i finally got to where i had intended: a bike store. only, just as i was walking up to the door, the worker- a young chinese man- said, "it's seven. we're closed. it's seven." and so, the whole point of my walk through the crappy city was gone. for some reason, after that, i was pushing some sort of shopping cart. i wanted to ditch the mexican guy, who was still waiting for me somewhere near the entrance. so i crossed the empty street and tried to go back on the other sidewalk. it was no less buckled and bumpy... in fact, i recall it being coned off or something, so i had to navigate my shopping cart carefully, weaving through these cones. i think the mexican guy saw me anyway, but it turned out to be too difficult to give me chase...

at some other phase of the dream, i passed a more important part of town. there were some cones, and some news people packed in some entrance. there were cameras there, the works. it looked like some press conference or something. and i saw these youngish people, some flighty people like i had met in college, with nothing better to do, all dressed up- seemed halloweenish, in fact. and they were excited because they were witnessing this press conference, which had something to do with some big event, some big announcement (it seemed related to the 'rona). but i ignored them, and plodded on through this empty night time city.

i arrived at a parking lot of some mcdonalds, where this woman sat. and then my old friend kendall appeared, and it turned out they were boyfriend-girlfriend. for some reason, i wasn't entirely happy to see kendall, even though i hadn't seen him (in real life, and in the dream) for many many years... i don't know if i was expecting him. but the city just seemed so dead, like a hollow dessicated version of itself- no life, no people, just empty rumors of things, and stores closing, and broken sidewalks... that it all seemed unhappy. and maybe for that reason, i, as part of this city, was unhappy too...

i think i have dim recollections of meeting some older woman, who was somehow a "kindred spirit." and the implication was that she wanted more from me, wanted something physical. but i couldn't oblige her, not only because i didn't feel particularly attracted to her, but because i knew i was tied to someone else. there was this sense within myself, this reproach or regret, that, again, there was something wrong with me. there were others- maybe most others- who would have taken this opportunity, and made, so to speak, the barren unhappy ground something fertile and life-giving. basically, this idea that intimacy could bring people to life. and by denying her this, i was making both of our lives a little bit emptier. but- as before- as always before- if "the stars weren't just right," then i wasn't going to do it... it's funny, but in real life, in my real relationship, there are compromises on my part (and no doubt my wife's) where we give beyond ourselves, and there is little "perfection." but it always seemed that the initial ground-breaking, so to speak, of any relationship, well, it required a ton of funding and planning, and a nice big ribbon, and a shiny pair of shears- the whole gamut, the whole works, before anyone even remotely thought of impacting the hardened soil with the tip of a spade...

... i must say, there is a kind of happiness to recounting dreams. it's not that the dreams themselves are happy. but it feels as though i am acknowledging the story of some piece of me. i don't know if it makes sense, or even if it is supposed to. but it's similar to when i listen to some student prattle on about some amusing detail in their life. i am impatient at times to get to work and make things productive, but i try not to cut them off, because i understand how vital it is for students to develop their voice, and to feel as though their feelings and lives are worth it... well, anyway, maybe recounting dreams is like that. like student stories, they probably don't make much sense, and don't amount to much, but that's not really the point. the point is to listen. and speak them out.

11/13/2020

today is sunday. yesterday, i took the kids over to ala moana. i wanted to get a book, or a couple of books, on color theory, and how to incorporate color into drawing. i'm thinking of transitioning into painting (water color) at some point, but prior to that, i'd like to get a better sense, or a better eye, for color. so that was basically my reason for going. my daughter wanted to fix her computer, so she wanted to take it to the windows store. and my son, i guess he just wanted to tag along and get some food.

... turns out i got what i wanted. i got a book on colour pencil drawing and another "theory" book on color and light. both seem really interesting, and i can't wait to get into them. my daughter didn't get what she wanted, because, well, the windows store is closed! permanently! wow, now that's serious. i knew the pandemic was causing havoc with a lot of businesses, but i would have thought that computers wouldn't be affected. i actually know a few people who worked at that store, and to think that they're out of a job? wow, that's serious...

we went to the food court. willow wanted to try a cheddar dog, that is, a hot dog with cheddar, fried in a batter mix, and coated with sugar. i know, it sounds kind of weird, but it actually tasted pretty good. aiden wanted a spicy ramen from bario ramen, this place we tried originally over at the waikiki yokocho. anyway, we were cracking up at the menu, because it mentions their "kilauea" special, which is the spiciest ramen that they make. there's a disclosure at the bottom that says: "we will not be held liable for die or illness." the japenglish part, the "die or illness" got us all laughing. in fact, i kept referring back to it: "i better watch out or i'm going to die. or illness." yeah, i guess you had to be there.

anyway, i got the same thing as my son. he likes things spicy, so he opted for the level just below "kilauea" (i wonder, did the warning only apply to the "kilauea"? what if we die or illness from a lower level of spiciness? just kidding.). i got the same thing. what was funny was that i scooped out the heaping pile of hot chili paste that they had dolopped on my ramen, and my son fished out every single bean sprout from his... the ramen was pretty good, just the right consistency... and the pork? it was perfect! i love it when the pork has the same soft wet consistency. it bums me out when i eat pork in ramen, and it is hard or dry or chewy. i think pork is perfect when it literally melts in your mouth...

*****

i have been meditating for 30 minutes every morning, and then doing the exercises given by adam mizner. i do some loosening up stuff, and then some standing meditation. it's pretty good so far. if nothing else, i've become painfully aware of my right shoulder, which has the humerus perpetually turned inward (maybe due to overdevelopment of my right pectoralis)... this turns the humeral head slightly, so that it keeps clicking into and out of joint. i think it's been loosening up somewhat, with regular exercise. it's my hope that it will be free and clear later on, so i can fajin through it.

*****

my daughter asked me what i thought about her dropping physics. she claims that she has no time for college applications because that physics class stresses her out so much... i kind of meandered in my speech/lecture to her, but ultimately, i told her that it was her call, and that i trusted her. i told her she was smart and responsible, and if she felt that she needed to drop the class, then she should just trust herself... i think at this stage, it's maybe my job to offer opinions, but ultimately she runs her own life...

*****

during my last drawing session, i returned to the idea of committing to an artistic piece, and finishing it completely... i was thinking about this specifically with regards to writing, which has always been a struggle for me. i mean, when i draw, i do commit to finishing; usually, it is a point where i feel it's sufficient... i don't capture everything in my drawing, just the essentials... but i was thinking that that feeling of closure (if not satisfaction) will always elude me if i follow this routine of just doing what needs to be done to be done with for that particular day...

11/12/2020

 i am still at school. i'm waiting for my 1:30 to show. actually, i WAS waiting for my 12:30 to show up, but he hasn't been coming on for a few days now. i'm actually pretty disgusted by it. i mean, i keep calling mom to remind her, and even after all this time, he doesn't show up regularly...

what it means for me, at the moment, is that i have a few spare moments to do some writing.

at the moment, it is raining pretty hard, even though the sun is shining bright. there's a smell in the air, the smell of rain... but it is a particular smell that summons in me vague memories of when i was young... i have images of the commute to japanese school, when we would have to ride our bikes through these neighborhoods in mililani to get from the elementary school over to the high school... these hills around the nob hill subdivision, with the sidewalk panels that would go click-clack when you rode your bikes over them... glimpses of residences through slat wood fences... and an image of a flower growing on crumbling concrete stairs, accompanied by this music which i later misrecognized as pachelbel's canon (i think there must have been a sesame street thing, just a wordless portion showing a similar flower slowly growing in the sunlight)... there are also vague images of the district park, of fields of grass that i didn't particularly want to be around, because it meant prolonged p.e., occasions for other kids to show their stuff, when all i wanted to do was find a book to read, or a place to dream...

anyways, those are some of the images that come to mind...

*****

the past couple of days, i've tried to be very regular and regimented. in the early morning (i try to get up around 4 or so), i meditate for half an hour, and then i go through my taijiquan routines. there are some loosening up exercises that i do, and then some standing postures that i attempt. i really am enjoying the course set up by adam mizner, and hope it produces in me some real results. i really would like to authentically fajin, for one thing, but it sounds like, to him, fajin is only just preprimer stuff...

*****

what are some of my thoughts... i guess i realize i've always been "missing out" on life. or perhaps i've never really been "missing out" on anything. because what life is there apart from the one you're living? we speak of different alternatives or different choices, but maybe it's all just like this view from a river- while you are being pulled on the currents. yes, you can see life, you can see other possibilities- but you can't necessarily be at all of those places. i mean, the current is pulling you too fast. maybe you could, if you really tried, if you really wanted to, but wouldn't you be missing out on other opportunities? and wouldn't you be using up your energy, your life, in the meantime?

i remember when i was younger, how i always felt so dissatisfied with my life. i always imagined that there was somewhere else, another "stream" where i was supposed to be. maybe it was another place, or another job... most of the time, it was proximity to some special person. yes, i always imagined that being coupled with someone would be salvific or something. like all of my concerns and problems would disappear... of course, i placed unrealistic expectations on what a relationship like that was supposed to be like, and probably as a result, it never materialized. i mean, how could anyone have satisfied those extreme demands?

anyway, i felt such a loathing within myself, because i always felt like i had "missed the boat." the only way i could hide- temporarily, of course- was to attempt to disappear within art. i felt that art- ironically, or paradoxically, without an audience- could save me because in the moment of performance, neither myself nor the other existed. there was simply the concentration upon "it."

... now that i'm older, i feel less and less dissatisfaction with my life. does that just come with getting older? i mean, i do feel yearnings, but i also feel- how should i put it- more solid? more content? i feel at times like this big fat mountain. the weight of my accretions, and my "settling" for a certain set of circumstances... well, maybe it's hard to feel much of anything nowadays. there's the longing for memories, even if, as i well realize, the past wasn't all that great. again, the past was haunted by that inescapable sense of loneliness and loathing... so which was worse? which is better? it's hard to say...

from my present perspective, i guess i would just like to have the capacity to appreciate my past. i guess i just want to feel like i could still feel the past living inside me, like a memory... most of the time, i fear i'm really dead inside, like a hunk of steel... there may be vibrations within me, echoes from some unknown past, but they only make vague shadow-sounds that i can no longer hear clearly... 

well, gotta get back to work, students are coming on now.

11/10/2020

i am here at work this chilly morning (chilly for hawaii, that is). my morning session student hasn't shown up for about a week now. i don't really blame the student at all. he was in quarantine at a hotel for a couple of weeks, and after moving home, discovered that he doesn't have any internet. so until that is taken care of, we can't meet. what that means for me is that i can come in and sort of relax. i mean, there are a lot of other things to do to prep for the face to face students that will be coming in (soon), but i've kind of taken care of a lot of that, so...

my feelings regarding politics oscillates. i was elated and relieved that biden won, but i feel a sense of dread when it comes to the way that trump and his gop sycophants are refusing to accept the results of the election. what will it take to make them leave? and what will it take to make them feel remorse or shame? i feel that they need to feel that. the hatred... it's a non-negotiable. they have to realize the mistake they made. or, as i've mentioned, generations later, when grandchildren look over the facebook records, they will see this black spot on their family tree, this instance of true shame. i mean, it is literally like germany; we should shun those who supported the nazis, because it was a shameful thing. the only difference here is that, at the moment, at least, we turned trump into a loser, before he took us into a world-wide war...

*****

i need to write a 4 page assignment for my writing workshop. i'm kind of excited, but kind of anxious about it. i have a lot of fun in the workshop. it encourages a lot of spontaneity in writing, which i tend to lack. i mean, i've been trying to encourage that free-floating spontaneous voice inside me by doing a lot of little exercises... now, after i do my blog, i have a 10 minute "true" free write, which becomes a kind of dump for my thoughts (often lascivious and unspeakable), and then i spend 10 minute sessions writing based on alternating visual and word prompts (i use these sites called random picture generator and random word generator). and finally, i try to write for 30 minutes on a more prolonged project... it's been fun, i suppose. i still struggle with turning these efforts into more "purposive" writing, that is, writing that leads to a completed project... but i don't know, maybe if i get more confidence in my "voice," it will be easy to do that...

anyway, for this 4 page project... i was thinking of associating a few things. my mom, when i was young, used to force us to get our ears cleaned by her. she used this thing called a mimikuri (it's funny, when i google it now, there is no reference to the cleaning instrument that i was used to... instead, it's turned into a loan word for "mimicry"). the mimikuri is this thin wooden instrument, with a tapered shaft that ends in a little hook or scoop. you're supposed to stick it in your ear to dig out all of the accumulated ear wax and crap inside of your ear. i know, definitely not medically approved. but it was something my mom would force us to do. we would have to lie down with our heads in her lap, and then she would gradually dig out whatever was in our ears, and put the leavings on her knee right in front of our faces. so we could see what came out. usually, it was just some powdery stuff. but sometimes we would see monstrous strings of skin, like shavings off of a pvc pipe. or there would be hard chunks of dark, transclucent material, like a carbuncle... a mixture of blood and pus and ear wax.

i was thinking of associating this with an image i've been struggling with... this notion of the deep sea. and the image of the five chinese brothers, and how one brother (the first) could swallow the sea... and how there was a beggar boy who drowned when the first chinese brother let loose the sea upon him. i have been struggling with that as an image to capture my relationship with my brother... and there was this idea of the treasures on the sea floor being laid open and bare for the world to see, and how it was similar to what my mother did to my ears... but i could go a lot of ways with the whole mimikuri thing. for one thing, i could talk about how my brother punctured my ear drum once. i had been digging my ear with the mimikuri (when we got to be a certain age, we would do it ourselves... by then, we were addicted...). my brother was doing some sort of martial arts pretend shit, and he knocked the hand holding the mimikuri so that it went straight into my head... there was the sudden loss of sound. i'd thought that the mimikuri had penetrated into my brain, and ran halfway up the stairs in utter terror... yes, i could tell that story, and its aftereffects, like how i started to believe in the chinese meridian system, because simultaneous with my subsequent ear infection and the gradual reconstruction and healing of my ear drum, there was a rotting of the nail of my 4th finger...

i could go that way. or i could talk about how my father unearthed my tongue...

anyway, i will see what i can do for that assignment...

oh well, time's running short. it's about 7:30, and some of my earliest students come in about this time.

11/8/2020

yesterday, they called the election for biden. and by "they", i mean a majority of the media outlets, which is pretty official. i mean, it won't be for a few more days (?) until the election is certified by all the states, but at this point, it's pretty official.

i'm happy, of course. or should i say relieved. i'm disturbed that trump still got 70 million votes. that means that 70 million people in america believe in his racist, sexist policies... or at least, they are okay with them, as a tradeoff for tax breaks or anti-abortion policies or anti-immigration policies... which, i can't decide, may be even worse. there is this call for reconciliation, for healing and mediation, and i'm all for that. but at the same time, i don't think there is a "middle ground" with these people. i think that they have to face up and fess up to the evil that they supported. the way i see it: your children and grandchildren will see all of your pro-trump facebook posts... aren't you going to be ashamed that you supported such a hateful man? history, and your family, they will look upon you as some dark stain. happy with that? no? then start asking for forgiveness. from god, first of all (not the trump god, or the god of your evangelical christian church, which is actually a front for gop talking points, but the true god, the one that walks the silences, and is just and is love). from your family... and then from the world.

okay, there was my rant.

in terms of what's next, politically... we need to support the two senate races in georgia. right now, the gop still has control of the senate, which means that they will continue in their role of being a barrier to getting anything done. so we need to flip the senate as well...

*****

i read 3 more short stories by amy hempel. the first i read this cycle was actually very long. it was called "tumble home," and it was very moving to me. i hadn't been able to really access or appreciate most of her work. i thought it was trying to be too clever or something. but this one sort of got to me. it was about a woman who (although it's not clearly stated) is in some sort of asylum, due to some unidentified mental problems... and she is writing a letter to a famous painter whom she had tea with for one hour once long ago... the painter is sort of an idealized love interest for her... and the letter is sort of a confessional, a disclosing of her life and her inner workings...

*****

what have i been thinking about?

i keep recalling people in my life. their transitional roles... and how so many of them have moved on and developed and changed in their lives, and i was never a part of it. and maybe i feel sad that i didn't share in their lives, that i wasn't there. it's sort of an arrogance on my part, i suppose. i have always felt a fear of being irrelevant, and maybe like the narcissist in chief we have, i would like a hand in everything (of course, not pussies, like him)... what i mean is, i would like to have had people think well of me, think i was somehow important. even though i am not, and was not... i suppose it's arrogant in the sense that, i imagine, most people just want humbler things, like just getting by, or being normal. i want those things too, i want an easy path, but at the same time, i want to be seen as important, even if it is not in an overt way (cause i couldn't handle that), but in a hidden way... like the invaluable servant or something... like arthur for batman. only a bit more glamorous... cause i would have wanted SOME recognition...

i keep repeating this... but i think i have this need to be considered important because i am so afraid of disappearing. why am i afraid of that? that's where i came from. i was in my brother's shadow, and i didn't exist. i think i was someone back then, and maybe i was kind. i think i was a good older brother to my sister... but i wasn't anyone. i didn't have a self. i was kind of like this harmless thing, this "nice guy," who people didn't see because i couldn't see or recognize myself... it was only later that i discovered i was solid... and i think afterwards, i had such a dread of turning back into what i was, that liminal half-hearted thing (which, in many respects, i probably still am), that i claimed the sun for myself. i wanted to swallow it, and have it burn within me forever. that, or at least have its spotlight trained on me, in some small respect (still borrowing some shade from my brother)...

"look at me. i'm still here."

*****

there is again the myth of the disappearing. but in my world it is never true disappearing. it is the disappearing that hopes for the world to miss it, and therefore redeem it. it is the "didja miss me?" play. and when i see myself doing it, i think it's so pathetic. true disappearing is a death... and even in that, there is this sneaky ploy... i think of manga arcs where the protagonist disappears for a time, and then reappears, a stronger, more experienced character, after having suffered some trials, or having undergone some deadly training, or something... there is always that hope... that when you return "from the dead," you will be more relevant, more effective, more beautiful, more loved... so it is the same thing.

there is no coming back from the true death. and if there is, it is usually a diminution of the self. that's how it is in the real world...

so again, that is a strategy of the self. to stage its own death so that we are delighted in its resurrection...

*****

i just want everything to be itself. in its own skin. and me okay with that.