if another person asks me if they've seen me on t.v., or if i'm related to so-and-so famous person, i just might trade everything in my real life for the lavish lifestyle of a starving actor.

there was a period during which, if we'd just met (or ran into each other after a long interval), the other person would tend to ask "are you a (fitness) trainer?" or "are you the physical therapist?"

that period seems to have given way to "are you on a reality show?" or "are you that guy from xyz primetime drama?"

sometimes life gives hints. starting to wonder if it's not best to ignore them completely and go about doing whatever you would have in any case.

thinking about how well the "ignore life's somewhat obvious hints" strategy has worked so far, the answer seems considerably less obvious...

"get the money out of the way now, so that you can get to what really matters."

note to self: do what really matters. if it is valuable to others, they might pay for it.

regardless, "getting money out of the way" is another way of making it easy to get lost running down detours... why wait for the midlife crisis? sitting in an expensive car, next to an expensive spouse, in front of an expensive house, the only thing missing is time. and by then, it's gone, spent in pursuit of "what-comes-before-happiness".

amazing to see so many people racing toward retirement, as if that's when their lives begin... as if the future were somehow real, or predictable, anywhere other than in their own minds.

a most amusing aspect of fiction parallels that of interface design: the more completely the writer generates a fictional world (the interface) as it encounters/envelops the reader's sense of reality, the less likely the reader (user) recognizes that the familiar world has been transformed. the transformation is seamless, natural and goes largely unnoticed. reality becomes story -- that is when fiction can attain impact as a transformative journey taken by both character(s) and reader.

concept: living for the moment x egotism x talent = stardom

miss any of those parts, and stardom will probably remain elusive.

a person who lives for the moment tends to focus on what matters most, not deferring pleasure or those things that are most personally meaningful.

a successful egoist in the world is the opposite of what most people think. the "jerk" is very highly aware of the opinions of others -- in regard to him or herself. this makes the jerk a good communicator of what he or she wants... which is quite often the opposite of what a "nice" person would communicate. self-sacrifice runs counter to the successful jerk's purpose, which is self-advancement. no king crowns himself (or keeps his head for long) unless he can keep a group of people happy. the group can be the members of his court, or the subjects in his kingdom. the jerk knows how to use his or her network as a springboard and stable platform for keeping power central to him or herself.

talent, and oftentimes, early success, are crucial to attain stardom. every now and then a person outworks everyone in their field. the problem there is that a talented newcomer who works hard will win when competing against an ordinary try-hard. the only reliable way for an ordinary person to attain breakaway success is to start out doing something different from everyone else. the challenge there is that the herd may not follow, even if the idea is good. success as an iconoclast is as much a matter of timing and luck as it is on the value of the idea itself. so most successful people use talent as a shortcut in order to enter an existing field and overtake the competition.

a person without one or more of these traits may not find high levels of success.

someone who constantly defers to the needs of others will often find him or herself trapped in the cycle of a "nice" person. that cycle is characterized by a person who is liked for being "selfless" or always donating their time and energy to someone else's needs and desires. the real downside is that if the person ever stops giving their time and energy away, they are often viewed as "selfish" by their former friends. the feared outcome of self-assertion is to be deserted by everyone who currently gives love and approval in exchange for submissive behavior. it's a literally self-defeating mentality, because life is short. more money can be made; time never returns. humans tend to overestimate their own worth and understimate the value of others. most people are not naturally prone to fits of spontaneous gratitude. these factors combine to create a picture unfavorable for success in the case of the "Nice" person. the word 'nice' here is used in a specific way, since in personal experience, most people who self-describe using that word seem to fall into the cycle described here. they maintain just enough ego to mount a self-righteous defense against any who point out their less-than-useful patterns of behavior. self-justification and social reinforcement (described below) are highly effective ways to keep from changing in practically any area of life, particularly in relation to self-perception.

lack of egotism can also be the opposite of what it seems. a person who lacks egotism can often care less about what others think than the egoist would. it's a strange paradox that self-acceptance can lead to positive change, or it can lead a person to stay where they are, comfortable and therefore not terribly motivated to adapt to the outside world. a massive ego provides fuel to always need, seek and demand approval from others -- if only to stay on top and dictate one's own terms. lack of ego removes the catalytic need for dominance of others that creates the drive toward ever-greater heights of self-glorification.

talent is a difficult and elusive attribute. it may not show for years; it may exist in a different discipline than the one that a person would assume based on "personality type". many people stereotype both themselves and others, thereby obscuring and suppressing any contradictory or unexpected traits. those traits, by their unexpected, unpredictable and thereby unique nature, may lead to success. the less traveled road is by nature wide open for those few who travel it. a person who stays within a typical comfort zone will quite likely miss out on his or her potential for the discovery of individual talent through creative randomness. undiscovered talent quite happily stays hidden until a change of perspective makes it apparent.

---

it seems that society thrives on (or preys on) the fundamental human (and animal) fear of death -- intrapersonal, interpersonal, and within the larger field of existence. a person wants to feel good and in control; he/she wants the love and approval of others; as we all wake up after sleeping each night, so we come to expect this ad infinitum. the concept of non-existence is ungraspable for a mind that knows only its own illusion of continual personhood.

strange, then, to realize that so many "philosophies" peddled by the popular culture actually exist to maintain the status quo. "live in the moment", "become more conscious" (of your 'self'), "attain your special greatness in ten easy steps"...

what if survival itself were not actually virtuous? knowing that all things do end, perhaps the formula above leads to zero on both sides, regardless of the numbers entered.

what then?


audio: se7en . digital bounce

gerard reyes (insidemyhead), will santos (randominity), teresa (girlsareweird), ernie (littleyellowdifferent), cami chan (igotlasereyes), dan (mister danio's neighborhood), rabi (wockerjabby), carrie ellis, jaycine, jason oh, josh (josh's swank condo), eliza ootsuka (aimless bitchin in the soul kitchen), ms. kitten roar.

i remember... and appreciate...

In the midst of a year-plus whirling in creative worlds of an entirely imaginary sort, the trade is in disconnection from external memories of past selves. Slowly the recollections return from their resting places, sand through the sieve of conscious awareness, sometimes rude, never polite, always real, often raw...

...the cues can be so subtle as to graze over them and miss the bright flash of color or sound of a word -- not even the form that the letters make -- that resonates into a blossoming inward toward that deeper region of how it was, then.

An entire year of the child condensed into ten seconds, impressions decompressing into a maze of dimensions through which all feelings soak, and hold, and penetrate. The child is felt, seen, heard, transformed in reverse to find whatever the reversion portends for the one who is brought back.

In the present time, eyes turn outward again, seeing empty walls and wondering where the child is, now. Knowing that having been is not so different from being. The stream simply flows down an unknown path, and is never the same twice.

Suddenly I understand the meaning of the saying, "father dies, son dies, grandson dies" in response to the question "what is true happiness?"

What happens when the pages turn, out of order?

Flying over the timeline recreates the past as though there were some hidden plan to reach the present.

Although that to some extent is true, there also seem to be a few parts still missing.

As always, though, the path is dark from the present onward. There is nothing set in stone until the indeterminate point in the future where the unbroken path simply ceases to be.

Fascinating how alternate futures can be laid ahead as though illuminated by an infallible certainty that feels more true than reality itself... of course, the strength of dreams is confounded by the intrinsic weakness of a perfect ideal: the future is always an illusion based on incomplete information and substantiated by the ghostly grasp of free will. Free will is also highly determined by past experience and its accumulation of perceptual preferences in conceptualizing the present.

Back to step 2. Step three was obsolete before it could be fully realized... perhaps the foresight of failure is better than the full-blooded experience of it. Maybe it's a sign of a mind that has finally begun to simulate accurately... the odd part is that even the most whimsically prototyped plans -- no more tangible than draftsman's ink sketched on pages crumpled and quickly discarded -- contain the sting of a sculptor's interrupted wish to mould perfect forms from imperfect materials. The years of struggle to reach Step 1 quickly fall away when confronted by the possibilities, difficulties and uncertainties that await... if only prediction could be felt as strongly, without, as the sensations that flow from the hallucinations of night, within, unabashed and unseen by any but the dreamer.

Singing while playing guitar allows the fingers to move more freely.

As sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, so is gossip the lowest form of social control.

I've noticed a common trait among charismatic people recently.

There is a certain capacity to make a promise.

The promise itself can be quite vague or inconsequential. The way that the promise is given, though, is as a gift, thereby allowing the giver to create a sense of initiating and fulfilling the obligation in the same moment -- without necessarily having done anything at all.

A strange talent, if it could be called that.

Recently, there seems to be an impasse; a sense of almost "negative wanting"... in the sense that one aspect exists along a linear progression of daily momentum. Another aspect, however, seems to have entirely different intentions.

Not exactly a contest of wills inside one person, the sense is more of the same intention being experimentally guided by two hands that seem largely unaware of one another, yet always at odds regarding how to proceed.

One part wants to become regimented; early to bed, early to rise, keeping a strict regimen of journaling, calendaring and milestone-setting. The other part wants to sleep whenever, awake whenever (as long as the sleep is adequate), keep an intentionally long leash on new ideas in order to allow for exploration and the full consideration of all possible paths.

To militaristically tame, romantically indulge, or become a "modern person" by going nearly mad trying to do both at the same time... this is the fork in the road. I have very few role models for options one or three. The second, however, tends to result in rich, deep yet short lives. It also may be the case that longevity is overrated. Not a decision to make on a whim.

Or perhaps that is the only way to decide... after all, the conscious mind is expert at thinking, and fundamentally inadequate when it comes to the doing. Yet, there are still other methods. Self-motivation as measured by competition against others is one of them.

The issue surrounding competition is simple: knowing when to stop. Knowing when to stop entails planning to the end. The real question, then, is: how can the entire path be presumed known from the outset? If external pressure (competition, in this case) is required to keep the fire burning strong and bright, at what point is the goal itself overtaken by the desire to succeed beyond all competitors?

The ego is fire in a world of petrified forests, dried woods, and brittle grasses; the match is lit by intention. How many have ignited mindless, destructive wildfires by the simple, naive desire to stay warm, safe and alive?

Somewhere in or near the shower today, the memory of a person seemed to stand out and offer something more. The thought quickly became a simple theory of self-obsession.

Basically: a person prone to over-thinking finds him/herself in a difficult situation. "I have to figure this out," the person says. This begins the cycle. Thinking becomes rumination, and over time, the process of rumination begins to take on a certitude of its own. The thoughts become increasingly complex, growing into belief systems, an ideology. Meanwhile, the outside world and time spent actively doing begins to diminish as thinking takes center stage.

And if other people are providing less and less feedback, who is doing all the talking? The self -- the person who is "figuring" everything out. Over time, that person's self-perception continues to amplify its own importance while, paradoxically, the rest of the world cares less and less. The self-obsessed person becomes God-like in his or her own mirror-image, while simultaneously becoming more and more isolated from the feedback that would alert the person to the injurious nature of over-thinking and a self-centered mentality.

Strange how having to deal with certain parts of other people can bring awareness to aspects of the self that otherwise would have remained hidden. Learning can come from the most unexpected places.

Fish.

Wriggling, scales shimmering just below the waves. Sustenance, life.

High above the reflective liquid surface, slightly ruffled by the early summer sky's occasional bluster, wings rode the updrafts and sidestepped heavier gusts, easily gliding along the airstream high in the sky. Looking down below, the iridescent side-to-side motion of slender fins belonging to schools of sleek-bodied creatures beckoned irresistibly.

An errant gust distracted the hungry winged pilot from the impending feast, a hard stinging slap across a feathered cheek. Then another, as the sky became clouded almost as suddenly as the wind began to rise, humidity creating an unnatural stillness and sauna-like trapping of heat. The sudden atmospheric imbalance turned each successive gust into a rude shove, the waves below becoming choppy and beginning to heave as the body of water became an agonized rise and fall, pushing itself up to increasingly precarious, white-crested heights only to crash back upon itself, folding wave upon towering wave.

Flying higher to escape the waves only led to increased exposure to the unpredictable flows of air, once placid-winds stirred into a howling frenzy, blinding, pushing, pulling. The sky became a salty, stinging mixture of mist thrown up from the sea and rain pouring down from lightning-laced clouds. Drowning at high altitude, there was no escape from the elemental forces tearing at the eyes and clawing past feathers to skin and hollowed bones.

Lost in the darkness and suffocated by the chaos surrounding all, there came a moment of stillness. All struggle ceased; there was no more fighting to be done. Within the random barrage of tortuous particles and insatiable furies, a rhythmic sensation of soundless calm washed over and within. At the end of all things, at the moment when there was no more life to be wrung out from the wretched creature caught in the jaws of inexplicable circumstance, falling from the sky became an unexpected relief, a descent into long-awaited sleep...

... and just as soon as it came, the winds themselves died down, lightning succumbing to sun's light thinly veiled behind bright clouds, and seas returning to their playful lapping and bounding toward the shore. Still falling, the battered flier fell exhausted toward the once-more placid shimmering surfaces, seemingly diving for fish as they hovered unawares once a few miters below...

---

If this life is little more than a series of dreams interrupted by sleep, how then, to catch glimpse of the real? I wonder how silly that question is, really.

"Remember: when people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong."

Neil Gaiman

"five minutes left for any orders that don't include alcohol!"

unexpectedly devoid of the ordinary last-minute bustle and rustle, late afternoon atmosphere clearly lacked the qualities that would otherwise breathe life into the open, empty space. dust left unstirred by absent footsteps found solidarity in quiet corners. early summer sun's heat reflected and filtered through amber-tinted, politely bullet-resistant windows.

a strong push turns the tall, narrow doors, hinges creaking announcement of the visitor's arrival, multiple latches clicking their disapproval in stainless steel reinforced locks. the door reluctantly churns open.

pausing at a waist-height counter cluttered with scraped-away remnants of various posted notices and other adhesive debris, overused pens stand at an angle, leaning out to invite the writer to mistake their form for function while hiding their long dried-out tips in shallow holders. forethought rewarded, momentary scribbling using a pen retrieved from a deep hip pocket is briefly interrupted by the rasping last call for service.

the sarcastic tone of a voice entering middle-age after a youth spent in loud pubs and clubs communicates a direct opposition to the presentation afforded by the once-crisply starched uniform. beckoning to the flat electronic measuring scale, parcels are weighed and amounts entered. "yes please". "no, thank you".

the intentionally excessive politeness becomes the slightest kind of game, soon replaced by the offer of a faux-haughty gesture. extra options? gosh no, darling, no need to ask. our time is running out here. almost time for drinks... no more taking orders, time to start giving them, to start the evening off right, you see...

she arches an eyebrow and cracks a smile, interpreting the impromptu sign language and offering her own verbalized substitute. from strangers to co-conspirators in less than three minutes.

as the transaction draws to a close, more excessive "thank-you"'s and "enjoy your holiday"'s has her smiling covertly; a look of recognition and perhaps hidden gratitude. the tall narrow doors creak on their hinges, allowing early summer sun to momentarily stream in, along with a fresh breeze to stir a moment of animation into the otherwise still, slightly musty arena.

---

so many people seem trapped in their roles. and yet, we all seem to understand how to break them, if only we can be led to the right moment. it doesn't happen consciously; the smile creeps up on it's own. reality becomes ours when the decision is made to see it as the consensual illusion that can enable play rather than seriousness. of course, that is the danger of realizing that we are all actors. the power of illusion often is the same impetus that drives the creation of social control. what happens, then, if the impetus toward action is placed within the character, rather than driven by the given circumstances?

Achievement.

Not a single event. Actually, a cycle.

To have a goal is the first step. Next, reach it by taking smaller steps along the way, working backwards from the ultimate moment of success, reaching back in time to the present. The bold entrance to a process comprised of simple actions... planned all the way to the end.

The strange part about achievement, though, is that it rarely actually is the end. Most of the time, it's only a stepping-stone to something else.

Which begs the question: is there such a thing as achievement, really? Or only, escalation of complexity?

And of course, the subtext of the question is another question: what's the point?

The movement of the sun defines the days, and yet, the day is only one... if humans perceived time as an unbroken series of moments, I wonder what impact that realization would have on the living of life itself. A nagging thought, recently.

"[this country] touts itself as the land of the free, but the number one freedom that you and I have is the freedom to enter into a subservient role in the workplace. Once you exercise this freedom you've lost all control over what you do, what is produced, and how it is produced. And in the end, the product doesn't belong to you. The only way you can avoid bosses and jobs is if you don't care about making a living. Which leads to the second freedom: the freedom to starve. ”
— Tom Morello