The World

Oh but how hollow I have seen myself
And the mirror deceives as it gleams my reflections off the walls

But it is only me.
It is only me.

Darling, what that I have past the time where I had once loved.
And in this I have landed somewhere far away
Far far into the beyonds of plains that your minds-eye could never go beyond.

I have seen it!
I have captured it…

But where do you sleep now?
Is it not in the same way as you have before?
But then why do I struggle?
Why do I pine for something that does not exist?

My dear, my dear,

But you see that I am who I have always been!
That much I have seen, that much I must see.
For I am the madman that stalks,
and never leaves

Mother’s Bones

For two or four nights I walked alone
And in my walking I carried my mother’s bones.
She had passed away centuries ago,
But in our day and age
These were some lovely bones

I walked across mountains
But never seas
I trampled over vegetation
But never good mead

And where there was good rest, I asked for it
And the people they always, complimented my good bones.

Yes! I proclaimed, these were the finest bones a man has ever seen
Porcelain in quality, just a lovely sight for
Me.

But two nights past and I felt that I had come a long way
I dropped my mother’s bones and left for some other day.

When to make decisions

A note to self:

Think! What will the future me see about this that I do not see now?

That I want to act upon what things?
Minimizing regret, what I should do, ought to do –but there’s what’s hidden, what I will to do.
But is my will stubborn? And was this stubbornness knocked out of my two feet into humility? And was my stubbornness that bore me to the other side?
But then why do I fight?
Because man is becoming in all fighting.
But I do not fight for myself.
I fight for the goal.
The cause.
And that I should fight for it in all things I do or say –my striving.

That I should want humanity to look upon this decision one day and understand. That this is what must be done to arrive at anything.
That this process exactly, in vain, in spirit, in love, in hate, in dread, in fear! The worst bouts of fear! Be exactly what is willed and said.
That in essence, I cannot prepare for the decision I wish to make now, and that I can only have the ability to make the decision when I see my Dad, and within that time frame. Indeed that that is what can inform my decision, and that anything I make as a decision before that decision point is a weakness in my heart, and an unwillingness to compromise myself.
I must see the situation –then decide.

But the human would seek to erase what bothers him so quickly, to make it so that a decision is so arbitrarily made.
Is that what would compel all people nowadays? The illusion of decision, that is what I see, that people don’t see that all things are necessarily only within moment. But then we’re tricked by asynchrony. It would have us believe that things are happening as we are not there, and that we also by reflex are always capable and have the option of referencing “there.” There is no there, only here. And that a persistent data store would confuse you with a permanence that’s not there.

That’s not existent –you exist as you act, but are your actions really optionless? There is only so many options, but those options you must decide for yourself.
Based on this moment, this without any reference from the past: must I decide.

The Cold

To all I can see
I am unclean
bathing in waters
I shall never leave

Let the cold waters
run through my soul
and find fire within
does it douse it out — no.

Moving on fire
walking on ice
The simplest bridge
towards passion and vice

Told me your hour
was still yet to come
what have we done
but squandered our lonely —
bear with the pain I see, the ocean waves will never cease
And here I know what’s in my soul
It’s nothing I will ever be

So broken and shattered
I’m waiting for you
So making it past me
Is something I knew

And what’s more for me, the evening of death
And where do we stand in loneliness.

They never saw the painting

I speak, “Ten long nights I weathered storms, and in these storms I told my adventures that came.

The crowd they gathered, to hear my words. And how they looked with rapture, as my words would fill their passing days.

With each word more people came, until the whole street was filled, with those listening to my speech.

Alas, the hours past, and the time to reveal my masterpiece was upon me. I bit my lip, a nervousness compounded, this was my fate.

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A Chipped Mirror

I look in the mirror and see myself. Is this who I am and what I’ll always be? They say a man is only a man so much as they fight; have I done my fighting?

My CEO messages me over email, we’re reading books together. We have several email threads going, full of thoughts and ideals.

We throw our values at each other. Digesting and analyzing each others judgements, separating noise from signal, partials from Truth. We’re sparring, but only in thought-space.

I type out a lengthy reply to his statement on the state of the today’s society. We live in purgatory he says. But Isaac, what if the world was already saved? Can’t you see that we have nothing to worry about anymore?

Yet, despite this, I know he’s quite similar to me. Indeed that we’re even typing about these things to each other, isn’t that the greatest sign of our likeness? Yet somehow the smallest differences are the hardest to overcome.

I wonder if he has any fun. I wonder if deep down, his heart, his spirit, his self, something was torn away from him. Is it because he’s talented yet also idealistic that leads him to shoulder the burden of pain? That the self-reflective man lives in infinitely crueler life knowing he’s the only one to blame? Hindsight my dear, hindsight kills.

But am I not of the same character as him, largely Alone, facing shadows daily for… for what? For my ideals? For the world? For others? Or simply for killing time, boredom; the more talented a person, the quicker they grow bored, and boredom, boredom is the worst punishment.

He sends me a lengthy email in reply, and at once, I am disappointed at the tone. I read,

“If I am the Devil Incarnate, I am also God.
I feel I am neither.
If I am anything, I am just a servant of higher powers.”

A servant… and how I wanted to slap my companion! This kindred spirit of mine, lying down, submitting in pain, in sorrow, in someone else’s name!

Is it not our will that compels us to stand up? To continue on in service of ourselves despite ourselves? That we may laugh a bit more, that we may fight! To rally the call of absurdity, to see to it that we fight, despite not knowing why.

Stand up my friend. Stand up and fight! For did you not see a younger you in me? And did I not see an older me in you? But then isn’t it our destiny to continue on too?

So that is why I fear. That when I look in the mirror, perhaps that I be weary and beaten too. I hear the hidden echoes, “You will tire as I have too kid.”

And he smiles. And I will slap that smile too. He is not done fighting, and neither of us are through. But just because I don’t believe, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

A Conversation with my Heart

–“Message her darling, it’s someone that you care about.”

Me: “But I’m quite concerned and scared.”

–“What for? Does the world revolve around pain?”

Me: “No, but lately I’ve been used to this Aloneness state.”

–“But darling! You can’t conjure up random friends such as me to protect your face! I too am just a figment of your brain.”

Me: “Comfort… is that still what I seek?”

–“I don’t see why you shouldn’t take a break…”

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A Conversation with my Soul

Me: “That I would be brave enough to say these things, tell me, is it in my nature?”

–“Should it be in your nature?”

Me: “That I was hoping you would tell me. I fell upon a dream yesterday that reminded me of the outcasts of yesteryears. That I would be condemned to insanity, isn’t that everyone’s greatest fear?

I speak to myself, but have no where to turn, who would dare enlighten me now? Is that not your final task?”

–“That you should seek your own enlightenment, this seems unenlightened to me.”

Me: “But I cast myself in doubt! Do you see how the people run? They can’t stomach me, or I have no ways to judge stomaching!

That I should speak to a wall would fare better for everyone! But then, how could I be so selfish as to speak to a wall!

Damned! I was damned upon birth! And in the end, I cannot even stomach myself!”

–“You laugh.”

Me: “If only underneath. If only under you my soul!

Do you pity me? But at once I see that you don’t. I fear the people –should I fear myself? Do I have no grounds to believe in anything else?

You’ve caught me spirit! I’ve no where to hide. But then why do you insist, to keep shining light? Does the night not ask for a chance? So that it too may dance?

I heard my shadow the other day. It would have me be gay!

But no, I live in nowadays, this language can’t stay. Too many books and hollow poems, have ruined my brain! That I could not shut off abnormality in speed, I’ve gone to love this me. But is this not the most foolish me, I’ve come to see?”

–“Then I would say you’re free.”

Me: “From who or what do you mean?”

–“…”

Me: “I see. Then I’m finally Alone and free.”

Revenge

Just the other day I left my gym bag in a stairwell. I was going to sleep there for the night, and I didn’t want to lug my gym bag around while I got shit-faced drunk in Koreatown (everyone has a right to alcohol) so I just left it in plain sight. I figured no one would touch it, but I even left my name and phone number incase.

Of course, I got back that night… and someone touched it. Worse yet, I could imagine them now assuming my identity –wearing the 12 pieces of underwear I had, 6 pairs of socks, a few of my favorite button downs, some neutral colored pants, and my external hard drive.

My fault for carrying the external hard drive. But still –we’re talking countless hours of future entertainment for my future self (not porn –sicko). There’s a lot of angsty journal writing and pictures on that drive. So whoever has it, please value the sanctity of my brain and don’t violate all my deepest, darkest memories. Or do and then make me into a meme. Either way, enjoy the clothes.

That was a rough night, knowing that humans could be so cruel. You see, people don’t care about you, and that’s a great first realization when you’re first growing up. It’s like getting the magical I don’t give a fuck card and tossing it at everyone because you realize they couldn’t care less.

But then later when you’re 40 and alone or some other trope cliche about never finding the love of your life, that’s when you realize… you wish someone did give a damn about you. Of course, not all those bad things about you, but come on, at least care about something. That would feel good, and I’ll even buy you flowers in exchange.

Well, there was no one giving me flowers this morning. But there was a semi-elderly looking woman that walked up to me in a proposed panic. She started talking about how her grandmother was having a heart attack in the hospital, how she needed to drive home, how she just happened to have no gas in her car, just happened to not have any money on her, and just happened to choose to talk to me.

Now let me get this straight –what if she is telling the truth? But don’t you see, that’s exactly what they want you to think! Don’t do it man! Fight the system! Power to the people! Fuck manners!

Anyways, I’m talking to this lady. She wants me to feel bad for her, she walked straight up to me. Why? Because I have the babiest baby face ever. And when you have that going for you and small hands well… it makes you look real innocent, real approachable, and real easy to take advantage of.

Ahem –thanks to you lady, all nice guys are forever jaded at their lives.

“Sir please, I’m putting my pride down… look I’m having a panic attack. I just –can you help me?”
“How can I help?” I raise my eyebrows.
“I just need some mon–”
“How much?”
“Sir, don’t distance yourself from me. Look, I’ll pay you back, I just need -”
“How much?”
She takes a step back, “$80.”
“I can’t help you,” I begin walking away.
She begins walking with me, “Oh but please sir, anything! Anything!”

I stop walking, it’s a long walk to campus… she’ll walk the whole way with me! She’ll actually walk the whole –fuck this. I reach into my left pocket where my makeshift wallet is (a piece of cardboard and a rubber band holding my debit card and some dollar bills) and take out the dollar bills.

I look at her, “Here,” and hand her about 4 dollars.
“Thank you sir, ” her voice is clear, apparently devoid of any panic from getting four dollars.
I nod my head and walk away.

I think about what just happened. I like homeless people more than that lady. At least they are straightforward. They ask for your money, and if you say no, they leave and ask someone else. It’s honest. Yet here was this lady, posing as someone who was really in need, in trouble, and it was all a con to her.

Yet at the same time I couldn’t fault her. It was a convincing show, and she did put away something to act like that. Maybe not pride, but that’s not something everyone would do.

A person from a group of six calls out to me.
“Hey! Hey you!” he’s holding an iPhone in his hand.
“Yah yah, I gotchu,” I say.
“Thanks man.”
I take a couple photos as they pose in front of the newly constructed building at UCLA on Westwood Boulevard.