dark out,  dark in?

it is early evening as i sit on the floor in the half-lotus, swaying slightly from side to side in time to the beat. emcees usually annoy more than amuse, but on this particular track, he actually complements the sound.

so the question: am i losing faith in myself?

i realize that recently i've been questioning myself in a negative way -- more, actually, that my commentary has been more toward looking for a solution than simply moving with a sense of purpose. i'm being more conscious of things than i would normally; looking for a clear path through a future that is invariably unpredictable.

...

she sits in the passenger seat next to her boyfriend, who is one of my oldest and closest friends. pausing momentarily from the exalted position as "radio consultant" for the trip, she takes a rather determined expression and gazes far away beyond the windshield, past the gales of cold rain and sleet that come in waves against the steel and fiberglass exterior of the car, only to be driven back by the acceleration of his foot on the pedal. i sit behind the driver's seat, listening to telepopmusik's "love can damage your health" in my headphones and absently touching the rain's rhythms from behind the glass window.

looking over at her, i think wistfully that she and he are perfect for each other: both loud, even bombastic at times, as if life itself finds them happily drunk from each other's company. at times like this, however, both are quiet; he is focused on keeping the car on a straight plow's course down the deluged highway, and she looks on as a vicarious embodiment of his effort plays periodically across her plain but at times absolutely delightful features. not the girl for me, but so perfectly his. naturally, she and i became fast friends.

suddenly she turns in her seat, carelessly brushing aside rogue strands of dirty blonde hair.

"so what do you want for the new year?" she tosses back to me, eyes shining amidst dark shadows, a strange smile playing across her slightly glossed, unlipsticked lips.

in absence of a real reply, i give a half-joking tone, answering her smile with a bored grin.

"a direction."

she laughs lightly at the opaque non-answer. i return the favor, asking her what she wants. she hides from serious questions for the rest of the day with the skill of an expert fencer.

...

a year later, i know the answers to her/my question, but there are still so many opportunities for exploration that i fear missing the one that was a perfect fit. at the same time, part of me craves the ability to reject society on its own terms -- to finish my college education and spit at my so-called "professors" from the podium at graduation time. to be able to look at my yuppie friends and tell them that their way of life isn't the only one. i can play your game, but i choose not to. i like them as people, but their lifestyles are incomprehensible to me... debt as an investment, fine... but debt as a lifestyle choice? no. being a slave chained to a cubicle is something i've done before, while they were still in school learning how to obey their professors, whose places would soon be taken by know-it-all bosses. i refuse to live a slave's life, regardless of how many perks there are.

but this on-my-terms lifestyle is so uncertain and time-consuming... and i have very little money [or time] to waste. on the verge of starting a consulting business of my own, i am torn between three forms of learning:

self-directed physical and intellectual training, my default mode. topics include nutrition, physiology, psychology, cognitive science, zen, martial art, drawing, interface design, computer programming, maybe neurophilosophy if i ever feel confident enough to spout tomes of nonsense like the traditional philosophers do.

externally controlled physicality, which basically means becoming a martial arts teacher and physical trainer/therapist. i am taught, and i imitate the traditional forms of the "masters" who came before for fear of disrupting customers' expectations of the fearsome street boy-turned-man that they imagine me to be.

externally controlled intellectualism, becoming a stereotypical rumpled philosophy major or a pocket-protected computer scientist or any other kind of -ist that requires years of formal training; submissive by necessity to external authority that imposes "educational standards". standards that coincidentally require the replacement of individual inquiry and curiosity with an institutionalized obsession with production, conformant to supposedly objective criteria. these rules, of course, just happen to coincide one-to-one with the rules of the white-collar factory that i came to know and love while working full-time as a web designer when i was nineteen.

torn i am, so i say. do i care? not really. but of course if i am torn, i am fearful of standing on a precipice and not jumping off for fear that the wax wings i have fashioned are not sufficiently well-crafted to grant me flight. looking down at the chasm below, up at the golden heat of the sun high above, and far across to the other side of the yawning pit where all is calm and quiet. i feel nothing as i look across. i know that i must jump, and i know that i may fall. if i stay on this ledge, i will most certainly die. if i jump and fly, even having gotten across, one day i will most certainly die. death comes in either case, it is only a matter of time.

the question, then, is this: what is the true source of my resistance? why do i not just jump and let the rest sort itself out?

i fear being carried along with the wind; i fear the persuasive power of others; i fear the smile that changes minds; i fear the machinations that allow the powerful to transcend and control. i fear being controlled and living in a comfortable box, having my favorite toys and time to enjoy them; i fear not feeling pain anymore and not realizing that life without pain is the anesthetized disinterest of cattle in a feed lot. the starbucks life is too easy, too normal, too meaningless. and yet it seems frighteningly real for those who live it. i know that life; it is death, incrementally timed by a gilded stopwatch.

i fear having power, being possessed by the illusion of control, watching others obey, and realizing that my revolution has done what all true revolutions must do: come full circle. the masochist becomes the sadist, the bottom becomes the top. truth never having been found, the pleasant lie of success is all that remains.

...

sure is a whole lot of fear, for someone who doesn't care. of course, i don't care because i've learned not to, i've trained myself not to. which makes interacting with certain types of people a bit of wicked fun... but i love my peeples, more or less.

so what is left?

i wonder if it is the struggle itself that i live for.

in which case, it's time to jump.

audio: cool hand flex . must feel

interesting...

and then it seems like eighty percent of everything i do is wrong. so what if i'm right? people are the ones who create right and wrong... mob rule seems to be the only real kind.

so why do people pretend that truth matters? do open-minded people actually exist? i'm starting to doubt it... i'm not open-minded, which is why i study so much. i dislike ignorance, but i dislike staying ignorant even more. it seems that if a person has other people telling him that he knows the truth, even if this is obviously not the case, he will believe what he is told instead.

sometimes the world really scares me... because i remember times when i was told things that were obviously wrong, but i believed them anyway. even more frightening is that although i have rejected that way of thinking, it just makes more obvious the extent to which people disregard critical thought in favor of like-minded opinions. and yet, no one calls themselves close-minded -- it's always someone else's problem. i am alone because my friends use each other as props, each leaning on the other to form matchstick castles fastened together by social class and unchallenged assumptions, both about themselves and the world around them.

i haven't felt such a strong and sudden sense of discouragement in a long time... but it feels like there's nothing to do about it. i don't know what stones there are left to uncover that don't have poisonous snakes lying beneath them. nothing like seeing the world reflected in my friend's eyes and realizing that those eyes also belong to the people who i trust the least. realizing that i have heard these words before, and having predicted that they would be said again this time, but still finding myself unable to change the outcome. and not knowing where to go from here, if struggling to live this way is worth it at all. too much failure... why persist if there is nothing to gain? if there is truly balance in the world, and for every bad there is good, then there must be equal amounts of each. if that is the case, what is the point of any of it?

all i see clouds, all i hear is wind. all i feel is pain, all i touch is dust.
time starts to run faster now, and i have less and less.
i could reset the clock, if only there was a reason why.

judo dreams

the beige tatami mats gave their rough yet springy texture beneath my bare feet as we closed the distance, hands outstretched and ready. he stood opposite me in a semi-crouch, the opening in his gi top revealing a brawny chest that shone with sweat. it had been a long workout, but we were just getting started.

i glanced over at the only other person in the small dojo hall. he sat impassively at the sidelines, a large russian boulder with flinty grey eyes. stout and bearish in stature, he was about my age but with many more years of experience as a grappler. this is just a practice session, i reminded myself, feeling a peculiar exhilaration: the beginner's jitters that i always feel when stepping into an unfamiliar world. from a traditional stand-up art to one that focuses primarily on grappling was like the difference between swimming on land and diving into the ocean.

it is this very difference that draws me to grappling arts, from mixed martial arts competitions to my own experiences against larger men. in a fight, the smaller fighter lacks reach and often power against a larger opponent, thus necessitating strong groundfighting skills to get a hopefully-quick submission or crucial break.

quick shuffling steps, low center of gravity, fingers tense, hands searching for a grip. we clash, grasping sleeves, elbows, pushing one side and shoving the other. kuzushi, break his balance, keep him from breaking mine. suddenly he switches stance, simultaneously wrenching my shoulder high and shifting his hips into mine, taking my balance as his own. the feeling of being swept into the air is instantaneous, thrilling, and ludicrously speedy as my free hand automatically moves to slap the mat and diffuse the force of the throw. he holds onto my arm and guides me to the mat, almost gently to be sure that i don't land in an awkward fashion. acceleration of 9.8 meters per second squared as i hurtle to the earth, gravity suddenly a punishing force. a whoosh escapes from beneath me and inside of me as i expel the air from my lungs, tightening every muscle to protect against the collision with the floor.

he lets go of my hand and rushes in for the finishing move. we wrestle for position as he tries to move to full mount. i struggle to keep pace; he is smooth, fast and moves deceptively. finally he crashes downward from a standing position with all of his weight, manuevuring past my outstretched legs.

stalemate. i have him in the guard position, legs wrapped tight around his midsection, one arm outstretched and grasping his collar. my legs are strong and my heels are locked together behind his kidneys. he's not going anywhere, at least not without a fight.

he slaps the mat, laughs to the big russian watching intently by the sidelines, and says to me, "not bad. you're not such a beginner after all." my eyebrows raise involuntarily as i realize that my mind was calm, but my body had long since gone into semi-spastic do-or-die overdrive. legs slowly release their death-grip around his midsection and i rasp, "..."

all three of us laugh.

fade to black as i lose consciousness and




wake up.

...

it's in my blood. too much time spent away from a dojo. i've got to get back to it. advantage? i'm stronger and smarter now than i've ever been.

should be interesting this time around, maybe moreso than last time.

audio: aaliyah . hot like fire