 |
| 10:34 p.m. - The neighborhood park at the end of my alley. |
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| 11:07 p.m. - Guangfu S. Rd. near Zhongxiao E. Rd. |
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| 11:39 p.m. - Xinyi Rd. |
Friday, December 31, 2010
For some reason I got it in my mind to go out on my own on foot on New Year's Eve and catch the Taipei 101 fireworks. It was a stupid, meaningless thing to do and will not be repeated.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
I'm not going to rate this film, I'm just going to recommend, perhaps controversially, highly against seeing it. It may be a competent martial arts/action film, but it is also an unabashed piece of anti-foreign/pro-China propaganda.
Of course, if I'm calling it propaganda, then it must have some aim. That, I would argue, is to inflame Chinese nationalism by angering the Chinese people regarding historical injustices, and further, as China currently is on the rise to become a dominant world power again, to create a feeling of patriotic righteousness that they deserve this prosperity against any challenge or criticism by foreign countries.
It is in particular virulently anti-Japanese, but that feeling is spread out to the humiliation China suffered under the Western powers in the 19th and 20th centuries, present in the film, all who colluded to control and keep China in the service of their own national benefits.
Quite honestly, I see no problem with that. I've seen plenty of Chinese films that have addressed the victimization of modern China by Western powers and which have blasted Japan's wartime aggression and subsequent lack of contrition, even denial, regarding atrocities on the Chinese mainland.
The Chinese have all the right in the world to constantly re-hash this history, especially against the Japanese, and I totally support it. It shouldn't be forgotten, but this film, I think, takes it to a whole new level. As a Westerner, it's a scary level, because the Chinese are a scary people when they get nationalistic.
Current China continues to flout international conventions on human rights. China could be congratulated on having one of its citizens, Liu Xiaobo, awarded the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize, except he's under arrest by the Chinese government for promoting fundamental human rights. After the announcement was made, his wife was placed under house arrest and had her cellphones confiscated. The Great Firewall of China made it impossible for ordinary citizens to even hear the news. Nice going, China!
My visit to Tibet really opened my eyes to the atrocities the Chinese have committed there and I am convinced the cultural genocide the Chinese are accused of trying to commit is real. Tibetans are becoming marginalized in their own country and their sacred monasteries tourist sites. The Chinese are trying to undermine and destroy Tibetan Buddhist institutions and then have the gall to call the Nobel Peace Prize award to Liu Xiaobo "blasphemous".
I do believe Chinese civilization will become dominant again. I do think its struggles in its early modern era were largely intentionally caused by more modernized foreign powers who took advantage of the weak Qing Dynasty government. I reluctantly admit that Chinese civilization has been the most enduring, continuous human culture on Earth – a point that is alluded to in the movie.
China has the potential to rise to that level again, but the thought of this current Communist Dynasty leading the rise is pretty scary. And with even the U.S. kow-towing to and drooling at the economic opportunities presented by Chinese markets, there is no one who dares go up against this arrogant and authoritarian government.
That said, I don't think any Westerner needs to be subjected to this kind of propaganda just to enjoy a decent martial arts/action film. Donnie Yen is great in this film, but I would recommend Ip Man instead. And for anyone familiar with the pedigree of this film, I also recommend just sticking with Bruce Lee's "Fist of Fury" and the Jet Li re-make of that film, "Fist of Legend", from which one can see the pedigree of this film's title. If you haven't seen those films, I recommend seeing those instead.
In short, the Chen Zhen character was originated by Bruce Lee in "Fist of Fury", and Jet Li played the role in "Fist of Legend". Donnie Yen played the role in a 1995 Hong Kong TV series, and is reprising the role from that series in this film.
These comments on this film are actually a continuation of the above film. Both star Donnie Yen, both were filmed roughly at the same time – I think he filmed Ip Man 2 first – and released in 2010, and both are heavy-handed in the way they portray foreign subjugation and humiliation of China and Chinese people.
Actually, I rented this film because I was trusting it to be more even-handed, based on how good the first Ip Man movie was, and I wanted to make sure I could tell the difference. But watching this film, it was more of the same thing, except the Japanese are out of the picture, the Japanese having been atomic bombed and defeated in WWII and this film taking place in 1950.
The villain now, or continues to be, the British. Westerners. White people. Snarling, sneering, spitting, bellowing, arrogant, condescending, big-nosed White Devils. They are so one-dimensional that they are caricature.
Having been subjected to racism by white people growing up (thus learning how to be racist back at them in the process), I didn't mind this portrayal of the British. However, it was still hard to watch because of the impact of racism. It still felt real, these were accurate portrayals of the feelings racism, whether individual or national, evokes.
Times are different now (pull out the jumbo-size salt shaker, folks - future ed.), and even though racism in the U.S. still exists, it's not as prevalent, and U.S. society has diversified considerably so that people are much more aware of racial issues and sensitive to them, and are directly exposed to so many different cultures. And communities are much larger and stronger so that the impact of racism is more readily absorbed. There's more support, safety in numbers.
Back to the film, I had a hard time whether to label this another propaganda film and give it the short "don't see it" shrift I gave "Legend of the Fist". I don't want to do that because then I'm starting to cry wolf.
And it had all the elements I accused "Legend" of having that made it arguably propaganda and less so art (yes, I know I'm softening my stance by calling it "arguably propaganda", because I admit that it is arguable). But for me, what pushes a movie over the line is when there is a scene that is so unlikely, and has a clear propagandist message, that it distracts from the integrity of the film.
Now the portrayal of the British probably qualifies right there, because it is caricature and is distracting to the integrity of the film. It's unchallenging and is intended to inflame the passions of Chinese people over the injustices and humiliation they have suffered from the West.
But that's not enough, because it has no point. What's the use of anti-British propaganda now? England and China are nominally friends now. So for it to be propaganda now, there also needs to be a pro-China message, and this film has that, too, and it distracts from the integrity of the film.
The film is set in 1950. Ip Man has just arrived in Hong Kong and tries to set up a martial arts school, but encounters resistance from rival martial arts schools and he has to prove himself. That's the first half of the film, and the villain in the first half is Sammo Hung's character and the students of his school.
But the film morphs in the second half when we find Sammo Hung's school has been recruited to be workers for an event showcasing Western boxing. The go-between between their school and the British authorities is a spineless Chinese lackey who agrees to do the white devil's evil bidding, and convincing the Chinese to accept it. So in the second half of the film, Sammo Hung's character and Ip Man bury the hatchet and the villain becomes the British.
The distracting pro-China scene is when the lackey unpredictably goes against his British superiors and gets a backbone and eventually becomes a hero. In fact, even the students of Sammo Hung's school that the viewer despises for being cowardly and having no honor, also are included in the Chinese hero camp in the second half of the film. All the Chinese are heroes, just because they're Chinese.
The film does go too far for me and I consider it a propaganda film. However, an arguable element against that claim is the film ends with words of reconciliation by Ip Man himself, calling for respect between cultures, because Ip Man is a paragon of virtue (I'm not being sarcastic, it was established in the first film that is what he's supposed to be). It was thoroughly appropriate for Ip Man to say that at the end. Even though the film itself is a big diss of the British.
Oh, that's not the film's end. I've been waffling about whether to give this film a nominal fresh rating or a nominal rotten rating, but the film's last scene pushes the film down into a comfortable rotten rating. For "Ip Man 2", they were trying to get the rights from the Bruce Lee estate so that they could have a plotline that included him, but they couldn't get the rights.
But Ip Man's fame is known in popular culture to the extent it is now because he was Bruce Lee's teacher. I think the producers thought how can they tell Ip Man's story without even a mention of Bruce Lee? Donnie Yen already said he wouldn't do a third Ip Man movie. So they tagged on this dumb little scene when a young Bruce Lee is introduced to Ip Man, sporting well-known Bruce Lee mannerisms. All they were missing was a children's-size yellow and black track suit.
Rotten 5 out of 10 tomatoes.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Insomnia came back with a vengeance last week and is persisting. I'm trying not to let it bother me and those sleep drowning episodes kinda helped me realize that sometimes I can't get out of bed until I'm damn good and ready to get out of bed. And that's OK. So don't force myself. Hey! Are you even listening?! It's OK to just stay in bed all day. Sorry, I got distracted. Geez.
I'm regularly waking up about 2 hours after going to sleep, and then lying in bed in various states of consciousness or sleep for hours and hours. Sometimes just lying there, sometimes I'll play a CD on sleep timer, and if I'm still awake when the timer shuts the damn thing off, I'll get up and re-set it and listen to the rest of the CD.
The insomnia bouts can last up to 8 hours, as it did last night, getting out of bed at 1 p.m. after initially waking up at 5:18 a.m., after going to sleep just before 3 a.m. I want to call the experience during the insomnia bouts interesting, but I really don't want to encourage them. Insomnia's still bad, m'kay?
There are dreams and since whatever sleep they occur in is so light, I remember them when I wake up, but they're totally meaningless and nonsensical. Even though I've put my micro-cassette recorder next to my pillow, the dreams are too incoherent for me to push record and recite any reflection or memory of the dreams.
Something about me being a back-up to a black cop and us going into a room after a suspect who is a big, black psychopath who becomes like a bull whenever he sees me and comes charging at me while the cop tries to fend him off. I'm scrambling to keep the cop between me and the goon and to get the hell out of the room. The cop gives me a weapon for protection – a grenade. Thanks a lot. Useless. I get out of the room just as I'm hearing shots fired and I don't stay to figure out what happened. The rest of that dream is trying to find my way out of the building, which is the Golden Gate University building in San Francisco, even though in the dream it looks nothing like it really does.
Something about a food gathering, which may have involved people from my first Mandarin language class in Taiwan. I've forgotten details that I remembered when I woke up, should've turned on the recorder. I do remember a huge Man vs. Food challenge type burger that was on the back of a . . . a flat-bed truck. Random.
But then I've also encountered something between waking and sleep, sort of a watery, metallic, plasma-like in-between. I've tried to see if it was lucid dreaming, but I don't think it was. I wasn't consciously navigating through a dream state, I was more conscious without knowing that I was in a dream-like state. Sometimes it would happen naturally and I would think I was lying there awake, but then I'd come to full consciousness and I'd be pretty sure that hadn't been quite awake. In fact, I knew I had been dreaming.
Sometimes I can induce it by sort of "falling asleep" during lying meditation, which is lying strictly in a specific pose – flat on back, arms at sides, hands facing down, head facing straight up, legs also straight out – and then going through the same mental processes as in sitting meditation.
This is very hard to do and not fall asleep, so I mostly do it in order to fall asleep. You know, I have insomnia so I might as well make the most of it and get some lying meditation in, but in doing so I manage to put myself to sleep. I love tricking my stupid brain.
There is one significant "dream" during one of these semi-conscious episodes. I was in the water. Then I realized I was in the water just off a shoreline, so I was in the ocean. The perspective was that of a camera just on the surface, sometimes above, sometimes going under – a little more under than above.
Then I realized this was my long-time-coming attempt #2, and if I was in the water, then I had already taken the sleeping pills and downed the bottle of alcohol, and I should've been clinging to an inflatable ring. Yup, it's here, and it all seemed very right, and I remembered the alcohol effect would be immediate, but I had about 20 minutes before the sleeping pills had any effect. And I thought, "To not leave a body, swim out as far as possible", over and over.
When I came out of it, for a few moments it didn't feel like I had been dreaming. It felt like I really had been there in the water and there was a huge disconnect between finding myself there in the water and everything else that came before it.
There was a threshold that I haven't been able to cross. I've traveled to shorelines, I've gotten to shorelines, I've been in the water, I've inflated the ring and held the pills, but I couldn't get past the threshold where I would've been in the position in that state.
And that threshold is the hardest thing, because everything before it is my life, all the things to which I'm accustomed and attached. To. And the reason I've never been successful is that attachment, and succeeding would mean letting go of myself.
If I could just transport myself across that threshold into the water, everything would be great and fine. But the whole point is that I cross that threshold on my own accord, according to a realization of my own understanding. And the whole point is that my mind achieve that will and destiny to do what's necessary to cross that threshold.
Hmph, there's a reason this has been one of my favorite songs ever since I heard it decades ago:
I fear that I may be too weak. But what then? And the answer to that gives me encouragement.
I'm regularly waking up about 2 hours after going to sleep, and then lying in bed in various states of consciousness or sleep for hours and hours. Sometimes just lying there, sometimes I'll play a CD on sleep timer, and if I'm still awake when the timer shuts the damn thing off, I'll get up and re-set it and listen to the rest of the CD.
The insomnia bouts can last up to 8 hours, as it did last night, getting out of bed at 1 p.m. after initially waking up at 5:18 a.m., after going to sleep just before 3 a.m. I want to call the experience during the insomnia bouts interesting, but I really don't want to encourage them. Insomnia's still bad, m'kay?
There are dreams and since whatever sleep they occur in is so light, I remember them when I wake up, but they're totally meaningless and nonsensical. Even though I've put my micro-cassette recorder next to my pillow, the dreams are too incoherent for me to push record and recite any reflection or memory of the dreams.
Something about me being a back-up to a black cop and us going into a room after a suspect who is a big, black psychopath who becomes like a bull whenever he sees me and comes charging at me while the cop tries to fend him off. I'm scrambling to keep the cop between me and the goon and to get the hell out of the room. The cop gives me a weapon for protection – a grenade. Thanks a lot. Useless. I get out of the room just as I'm hearing shots fired and I don't stay to figure out what happened. The rest of that dream is trying to find my way out of the building, which is the Golden Gate University building in San Francisco, even though in the dream it looks nothing like it really does.
Something about a food gathering, which may have involved people from my first Mandarin language class in Taiwan. I've forgotten details that I remembered when I woke up, should've turned on the recorder. I do remember a huge Man vs. Food challenge type burger that was on the back of a . . . a flat-bed truck. Random.
But then I've also encountered something between waking and sleep, sort of a watery, metallic, plasma-like in-between. I've tried to see if it was lucid dreaming, but I don't think it was. I wasn't consciously navigating through a dream state, I was more conscious without knowing that I was in a dream-like state. Sometimes it would happen naturally and I would think I was lying there awake, but then I'd come to full consciousness and I'd be pretty sure that hadn't been quite awake. In fact, I knew I had been dreaming.
Sometimes I can induce it by sort of "falling asleep" during lying meditation, which is lying strictly in a specific pose – flat on back, arms at sides, hands facing down, head facing straight up, legs also straight out – and then going through the same mental processes as in sitting meditation.
This is very hard to do and not fall asleep, so I mostly do it in order to fall asleep. You know, I have insomnia so I might as well make the most of it and get some lying meditation in, but in doing so I manage to put myself to sleep. I love tricking my stupid brain.
There is one significant "dream" during one of these semi-conscious episodes. I was in the water. Then I realized I was in the water just off a shoreline, so I was in the ocean. The perspective was that of a camera just on the surface, sometimes above, sometimes going under – a little more under than above.
Then I realized this was my long-time-coming attempt #2, and if I was in the water, then I had already taken the sleeping pills and downed the bottle of alcohol, and I should've been clinging to an inflatable ring. Yup, it's here, and it all seemed very right, and I remembered the alcohol effect would be immediate, but I had about 20 minutes before the sleeping pills had any effect. And I thought, "To not leave a body, swim out as far as possible", over and over.
When I came out of it, for a few moments it didn't feel like I had been dreaming. It felt like I really had been there in the water and there was a huge disconnect between finding myself there in the water and everything else that came before it.
There was a threshold that I haven't been able to cross. I've traveled to shorelines, I've gotten to shorelines, I've been in the water, I've inflated the ring and held the pills, but I couldn't get past the threshold where I would've been in the position in that state.
And that threshold is the hardest thing, because everything before it is my life, all the things to which I'm accustomed and attached. To. And the reason I've never been successful is that attachment, and succeeding would mean letting go of myself.
If I could just transport myself across that threshold into the water, everything would be great and fine. But the whole point is that I cross that threshold on my own accord, according to a realization of my own understanding. And the whole point is that my mind achieve that will and destiny to do what's necessary to cross that threshold.
Hmph, there's a reason this has been one of my favorite songs ever since I heard it decades ago:
I'm woven in a fantasy, I can't believe the things I see
The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall
And with each passing day, I feel a little more like something dear was lost
It rises now before me, a dark and silent barrier
Between all I am, and all that I would ever want to be
It's just a travesty
Towering, marking off the boundaries my spirit would erase
To pass beyond is what I seek, I fear that I may be too weak
And those are few who've seen it through to glimpse the other side
The promised land is waiting, like a maiden that is soon to be a bride
The moment is a masterpiece, the weight of indecision's in the air
Standing there, the symbol and the sum of all that's me
It's just a travesty
Towering, blocking out the light and blinding me
I want to see
Gold and diamonds cast a spell, it's not for me I know it well
The riches that I seek are waiting on the other side
There's more than I can measure in the treasures of the love that I can find
And though it's always been with me, I must tear down the wall and let it be
All I am, and all that I was ever meant to be in harmony
Shining true, and smiling back at all who wait to cross
There is no loss
- The Wall (Livgren/Walsh)
I fear that I may be too weak. But what then? And the answer to that gives me encouragement.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
where I am (II: physical)
What the hell is wrong with my liver?! Nothing! That's what's wrong. How can there be nothing wrong with my liver? There must be something wrong with my liver. There was even a period not too long ago when I felt unusual lower back pains that may have indicated something was going wrong internally in that region, and if so, I knew exactly what it must be. But even that pain disappeared in due course.
I'm not bragging, I'm no Keith Moon, but come on, I drink a fifth of liquor every 2 friggin' days. Isn't that too much? And I've been drinking more or less like this nigh on 20 years.
But alas, I'm not counting on alcohol anymore to do my evil bidding in case I can't do so myself. I think I just have to accept it that I'm not genetically pre-disposed to die of liver failure or alcohol poisoning. Otherwise, maybe I'm too physically active/healthy from running and cycling and maybe mentally from mindfulness training.
It's possible. Physically, I could be much worse off than I am if I really wanted to, but for some reason I need to run or I need to ride. I need to test and push myself physically and that keeps me from becoming a blob sitting in front of a computer. Physically, at least. I by no means have six-pack abs, but I just don't like it when I feel a keg developing.
And mentally, I don't like losing control of my mental facilities. Even when I'm physically affected, I draw on internal energies, what I think are the basis of Qi Gong practices, to not let alcohol affect my mental state. My body knows when to stop and tells my mind it cannot take in anymore. Stop.
I may be an alcoholic by volume, but not by identity. Similar to depression, alcoholic is not part of my identity. It's also just a natural consequence of my circumstances, and this may be the strongest argument, through me, that me and my brothers were emotionally and mentally abused as children (via neglect).
I started drinking as soon as I got out of the house. As soon as I was in college, first year, I was asking older students to pick me up cases of wine when they went on alcohol runs.
Wine was fine for starters, all sorts of cheap Riunite if I recall correctly, but it got more difficult when I moved up to liquor, as you couldn't buy 80 proof liquor in Oberlin and a bunch of townships in that area of Ohio.
But once I got a car out there, I think after my sophomore year, I did find townships where they did. I think a town called LaGrange had a real liquor store and I went there on my own on my 21st birthday. 100 proof Yukon Jack, I remember. And 100 proof Southern Comfort. I got into 100 proofs at the time.
So what other inexplicable ailments have I had through the years?
- Within blog history, I've had rampant hiccups which could last up to 70 hours. I'm sure there's a psychological basis to them, but I don't know what that is. I think they started in my senior year of college.
- I've always had some unexplained skin sensitivity that may or may not still exist. Actually, I'm pretty sure it does. If I scratch my skin, it will welt up, and if I feel itchy all over and start to scratch, it gets seriously hideous. No idea what that is.
- I thought insomnia was just a Taiwan thing, but as I read through past records, I was an insomniac in San Francisco, too. Yay, me.
- Tendinitis. A repetitive stress injury that goes with the territory if you play bass or drums like I did. But only when I was in a band and competing with other instruments. It was particularly bad on bass because I really dug in with my right hand for the tone I wanted, and even my left (fretting) hand I treated like it was a part of what came out of the amp, and not just establishing the pitch of note.
- In high school I had nosebleeds that didn't stop. I don't think there were any events in college or afterwards, but in high school if I got a nosebleed, it wasn't just a matter of putting my head back until it stopped. I was basically lying forward, draining myself into a cup or a bucket or a sink for unusually long periods of time. I don't think anyone knows about this.
- When I was a kid I was asthmatic. There was no reason why, no trigger. My brother was allergic to ragweed and got asthma and his was relatively mild, but mine had no identifiable trigger and I had severe episodes. I remember one time being home from school alone (parents didn't take a day off from work for a sick child), and I literally couldn't turn my head without losing my breath and wheezing for dear life.
I don't remember how my asthma was during high school, I know I didn't run winter track because exertion in cold weather definitely led to asthmatic wheezing, but I do recall asthma returning late in college to the extent that I kept an inhaler on my night stand because I regularly woke up with asthma. It wasn't as severe by then, and drugstore inhalers were enough to keep it in check.
I got rid of asthma after college. After college, I was leaving for Japan for an indeterminate time, and when I was packing, I was mulling over whether to take my inhalers or not. For some reason I thought I wouldn't be able to get inhalers in Japan after I ran out, so I decided to leave them. I never got asthma again.
Now? It's just age. I'm old now. I didn't realize it back then, but even when I was contemplating the suicide option earlier, there were still options because I was physically more capable because of my age. I mean I'm not keeling over, but let's face it, the older you get, the older you get.
And it's vanity when you hit 21 and you think you're getting old. It's vanity when you hit 30 and you think you're getting old. From my experience, when you hit 30, you're just hitting your stride and you're looking at the best years of your life.
My "best years" of my life are behind me. If I don't have a wife, a career, a family . . . well, there still are options, but not ones I'm socially genetically pre-disposed towards. It's values. With the values my family pushed, my life is over. If I wasn't trapped by my family values, then I could be Ernest Hemingway. I could be the renegade, the bohemian, and enjoy whatever life I can soak the very essence of life out of. And then I could commit suicide.
But I'm not that. I don't have this drive to live, to break out of my own borders to quench a thirst for life. Life is ... whatever. Life is. Life is a cycle. Any one lifetime is no big thing, not to be attached to.
My parents, people, whoever may react to my disappearance in whatever way they do. So friggin' what? I disappeared partly because of what they were or were not to me. And it, I didn't matter. Or else they wouldn't have played so perfectly in my purpose. It's not that I wasn't looking for options or alternatives. I just didn't care to find them on my own.
I'm not bragging, I'm no Keith Moon, but come on, I drink a fifth of liquor every 2 friggin' days. Isn't that too much? And I've been drinking more or less like this nigh on 20 years.
But alas, I'm not counting on alcohol anymore to do my evil bidding in case I can't do so myself. I think I just have to accept it that I'm not genetically pre-disposed to die of liver failure or alcohol poisoning. Otherwise, maybe I'm too physically active/healthy from running and cycling and maybe mentally from mindfulness training.
It's possible. Physically, I could be much worse off than I am if I really wanted to, but for some reason I need to run or I need to ride. I need to test and push myself physically and that keeps me from becoming a blob sitting in front of a computer. Physically, at least. I by no means have six-pack abs, but I just don't like it when I feel a keg developing.
And mentally, I don't like losing control of my mental facilities. Even when I'm physically affected, I draw on internal energies, what I think are the basis of Qi Gong practices, to not let alcohol affect my mental state. My body knows when to stop and tells my mind it cannot take in anymore. Stop.
I may be an alcoholic by volume, but not by identity. Similar to depression, alcoholic is not part of my identity. It's also just a natural consequence of my circumstances, and this may be the strongest argument, through me, that me and my brothers were emotionally and mentally abused as children (via neglect).
I started drinking as soon as I got out of the house. As soon as I was in college, first year, I was asking older students to pick me up cases of wine when they went on alcohol runs.
Wine was fine for starters, all sorts of cheap Riunite if I recall correctly, but it got more difficult when I moved up to liquor, as you couldn't buy 80 proof liquor in Oberlin and a bunch of townships in that area of Ohio.
But once I got a car out there, I think after my sophomore year, I did find townships where they did. I think a town called LaGrange had a real liquor store and I went there on my own on my 21st birthday. 100 proof Yukon Jack, I remember. And 100 proof Southern Comfort. I got into 100 proofs at the time.
So what other inexplicable ailments have I had through the years?
- Within blog history, I've had rampant hiccups which could last up to 70 hours. I'm sure there's a psychological basis to them, but I don't know what that is. I think they started in my senior year of college.
- I've always had some unexplained skin sensitivity that may or may not still exist. Actually, I'm pretty sure it does. If I scratch my skin, it will welt up, and if I feel itchy all over and start to scratch, it gets seriously hideous. No idea what that is.
- I thought insomnia was just a Taiwan thing, but as I read through past records, I was an insomniac in San Francisco, too. Yay, me.
- Tendinitis. A repetitive stress injury that goes with the territory if you play bass or drums like I did. But only when I was in a band and competing with other instruments. It was particularly bad on bass because I really dug in with my right hand for the tone I wanted, and even my left (fretting) hand I treated like it was a part of what came out of the amp, and not just establishing the pitch of note.
- In high school I had nosebleeds that didn't stop. I don't think there were any events in college or afterwards, but in high school if I got a nosebleed, it wasn't just a matter of putting my head back until it stopped. I was basically lying forward, draining myself into a cup or a bucket or a sink for unusually long periods of time. I don't think anyone knows about this.
- When I was a kid I was asthmatic. There was no reason why, no trigger. My brother was allergic to ragweed and got asthma and his was relatively mild, but mine had no identifiable trigger and I had severe episodes. I remember one time being home from school alone (parents didn't take a day off from work for a sick child), and I literally couldn't turn my head without losing my breath and wheezing for dear life.
I don't remember how my asthma was during high school, I know I didn't run winter track because exertion in cold weather definitely led to asthmatic wheezing, but I do recall asthma returning late in college to the extent that I kept an inhaler on my night stand because I regularly woke up with asthma. It wasn't as severe by then, and drugstore inhalers were enough to keep it in check.
I got rid of asthma after college. After college, I was leaving for Japan for an indeterminate time, and when I was packing, I was mulling over whether to take my inhalers or not. For some reason I thought I wouldn't be able to get inhalers in Japan after I ran out, so I decided to leave them. I never got asthma again.
Now? It's just age. I'm old now. I didn't realize it back then, but even when I was contemplating the suicide option earlier, there were still options because I was physically more capable because of my age. I mean I'm not keeling over, but let's face it, the older you get, the older you get.
And it's vanity when you hit 21 and you think you're getting old. It's vanity when you hit 30 and you think you're getting old. From my experience, when you hit 30, you're just hitting your stride and you're looking at the best years of your life.
My "best years" of my life are behind me. If I don't have a wife, a career, a family . . . well, there still are options, but not ones I'm socially genetically pre-disposed towards. It's values. With the values my family pushed, my life is over. If I wasn't trapped by my family values, then I could be Ernest Hemingway. I could be the renegade, the bohemian, and enjoy whatever life I can soak the very essence of life out of. And then I could commit suicide.
But I'm not that. I don't have this drive to live, to break out of my own borders to quench a thirst for life. Life is ... whatever. Life is. Life is a cycle. Any one lifetime is no big thing, not to be attached to.
My parents, people, whoever may react to my disappearance in whatever way they do. So friggin' what? I disappeared partly because of what they were or were not to me. And it, I didn't matter. Or else they wouldn't have played so perfectly in my purpose. It's not that I wasn't looking for options or alternatives. I just didn't care to find them on my own.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
where I am (I: Isolation)
This is where I've landed my life. What I mentioned before as the result of decisions I've made, the experiences I've had and how I've processed them, the attitude with which I've lived my life, blah, blah, blah, naturally landed me where I am now.
I guess the biggest thing is the utter isolation, no friends, no loved ones, no family, no confidants, few acquaintances. I chase people away, I run away and hide myself. There is no one I consider a friend. I'm a notorious "unfriender" on Facebook. It hasn't always been this way.
Madoka's a mystery. Our relationship started losing steam actually quite a long while ago; towards the beginning of this blog it turns out. I always trusted that it was a momentary skid and it would recover to its former intimacy. It hasn't. It fell into years of no contact, then a recent re-kindling of contact, but no connection.
Then in response to her inquiry into what I described as my "next bold move" (cue Ani DiFranco), I told her what was up in as clear a way as possible without using the word "suicide" (I'll go into that soon and let you decide for yourself (whoops, nope, looks like that email got deleted)), and I got no reaction, no request for clarification, ignored.
Then she went silent again for the past several months, and I thought that was the end of that, but then she emailed recently and I just have no motivation to respond. It was a totally superficial email – hi, how are you? this is what I'm doing, this is what the next few weeks look like.
Sadie was my last friend in San Francisco. We fell out of touch for several years for some reason, then found each other again in email and Facebook contact, and then she told me she had Hepatitis C and might need a liver transplant. I responded with as much support and empathy as I could conjure, which apparently didn't impress and I never heard back from her. End.
Those were the last friendships that could be considered to have been anything. The people I know in Taiwan don't mean anything and are nothing. I can count 5 people right off who always say "Let's get together", but when it comes time to get together, nothing happens. All talk.
Edit: To be fair, an old French classmate who has returned to Taiwan is an exception, as is my old Mandarin teacher, with whom I've started to meet again for language exchange.
There's a ring of extended family who are useless to me and nothing. I'm polite to them, I get along with them, I even love my aunt and uncle, but I project nothing about anything underneath the politeness and formality.
The undercurrent in all this is that I have no more need for human relations. There's nothing anyone could do for me and I have nothing to ask of them. They show no interest in me, and I have no motivation to beg interest.
The idea of a romantic relationship is so gone out of my reality that I don't think of the people around me as romantic people, as people desiring and searching for romantic contact. It's simple fact that no one could possibly find anything attractive in me.
The most recent thing was Hyun Ae, and I read back what I wrote about her, and I'm willing to admit that I was in love with her. I did fall in love with her and enjoyed her presence and company like no one since perhaps Amina. But I would never have gotten into a relationship with her even if she reciprocated, and there were signs of possible reciprocation. But part of what I loved about her was her inaccessibility, and if she did become accessible, I would not have pursued that.
And here's the disclosure: I haven't gone out with anyone since Josephine. We broke up in November 1998. 12 years. More than an entire decade of my life. In my entire working history, in my entire band history, in the entire time most people have known me, I couldn't be associated romantically with someone else.
Can you even imagine that? It's not human to not be in a relationship for that length of time. That's not supposed to happen to a reasonably social being, which I was, without any major hangups or defects, which I was. At some point, someone to whom I send out signals should respond positively, or someone will send signals towards me to which I would respond.
This is not a drought. It's not natural and it's a personal fact. And karmically, it's one that I welcome. Romantic relationships are done. I don't even know what they are anymore and I hope that gets carried over karmically into my next life. No interest.
And where I am is no mistake, either. Isolated here in Taipei where no one has access to me. I run through scenarios in my mind of how things might unfold if I happened to disappear, and it could take months before it becomes clear that something's wrong.
My landlord would be the first to notice, and he would send out inquiries to my cousin, and she would ask her father, and he would ask my mother, but no one would have access to any information, no one would be able to do anything or get any concrete information and it would just get passed off for more weeks of people wondering, waiting to see if I turn up.
Months. You disappear and it's months before bells are ringing loud enough that anyone really tries to do anything or find out some actual information.
More later on where I am now. And where I've been.
I guess the biggest thing is the utter isolation, no friends, no loved ones, no family, no confidants, few acquaintances. I chase people away, I run away and hide myself. There is no one I consider a friend. I'm a notorious "unfriender" on Facebook. It hasn't always been this way.
Madoka's a mystery. Our relationship started losing steam actually quite a long while ago; towards the beginning of this blog it turns out. I always trusted that it was a momentary skid and it would recover to its former intimacy. It hasn't. It fell into years of no contact, then a recent re-kindling of contact, but no connection.
Then in response to her inquiry into what I described as my "next bold move" (cue Ani DiFranco), I told her what was up in as clear a way as possible without using the word "suicide" (I'll go into that soon and let you decide for yourself (whoops, nope, looks like that email got deleted)), and I got no reaction, no request for clarification, ignored.
Then she went silent again for the past several months, and I thought that was the end of that, but then she emailed recently and I just have no motivation to respond. It was a totally superficial email – hi, how are you? this is what I'm doing, this is what the next few weeks look like.
Sadie was my last friend in San Francisco. We fell out of touch for several years for some reason, then found each other again in email and Facebook contact, and then she told me she had Hepatitis C and might need a liver transplant. I responded with as much support and empathy as I could conjure, which apparently didn't impress and I never heard back from her. End.
Those were the last friendships that could be considered to have been anything. The people I know in Taiwan don't mean anything and are nothing. I can count 5 people right off who always say "Let's get together", but when it comes time to get together, nothing happens. All talk.
Edit: To be fair, an old French classmate who has returned to Taiwan is an exception, as is my old Mandarin teacher, with whom I've started to meet again for language exchange.
There's a ring of extended family who are useless to me and nothing. I'm polite to them, I get along with them, I even love my aunt and uncle, but I project nothing about anything underneath the politeness and formality.
The undercurrent in all this is that I have no more need for human relations. There's nothing anyone could do for me and I have nothing to ask of them. They show no interest in me, and I have no motivation to beg interest.
The idea of a romantic relationship is so gone out of my reality that I don't think of the people around me as romantic people, as people desiring and searching for romantic contact. It's simple fact that no one could possibly find anything attractive in me.
The most recent thing was Hyun Ae, and I read back what I wrote about her, and I'm willing to admit that I was in love with her. I did fall in love with her and enjoyed her presence and company like no one since perhaps Amina. But I would never have gotten into a relationship with her even if she reciprocated, and there were signs of possible reciprocation. But part of what I loved about her was her inaccessibility, and if she did become accessible, I would not have pursued that.
And here's the disclosure: I haven't gone out with anyone since Josephine. We broke up in November 1998. 12 years. More than an entire decade of my life. In my entire working history, in my entire band history, in the entire time most people have known me, I couldn't be associated romantically with someone else.
Can you even imagine that? It's not human to not be in a relationship for that length of time. That's not supposed to happen to a reasonably social being, which I was, without any major hangups or defects, which I was. At some point, someone to whom I send out signals should respond positively, or someone will send signals towards me to which I would respond.
This is not a drought. It's not natural and it's a personal fact. And karmically, it's one that I welcome. Romantic relationships are done. I don't even know what they are anymore and I hope that gets carried over karmically into my next life. No interest.
And where I am is no mistake, either. Isolated here in Taipei where no one has access to me. I run through scenarios in my mind of how things might unfold if I happened to disappear, and it could take months before it becomes clear that something's wrong.
My landlord would be the first to notice, and he would send out inquiries to my cousin, and she would ask her father, and he would ask my mother, but no one would have access to any information, no one would be able to do anything or get any concrete information and it would just get passed off for more weeks of people wondering, waiting to see if I turn up.
Months. You disappear and it's months before bells are ringing loud enough that anyone really tries to do anything or find out some actual information.
More later on where I am now. And where I've been.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sitting at home in the dark. Nice weather outside the past two days, although chilly once the sun goes down. In my room, I have swapped out my floor fan for my space heater, but it hasn't gotten so uncomfortable that I've turned it on yet, just wearing more layers when it turns chilly. Nevertheless, entering the dark days of winter; but having reached them, don't care to make it through.
Disturbed sleep was disturbed this morning by an unexpected early morning phone call from my parents asking if I could meet them for lunch at 11:00 (this is a day after I woke up at 7 to meet them at 9), before they headed out of Taipei with their tour group in the afternoon. I thought we had parted ways yesterday and wouldn't see them again before they left to go back to the States on Wednesday. Maybe the last time I'd see them?
Nope, one more time. One last time? There's always gotta be a one last time, just we don't know when. It probably crosses my mind a little more often than most folk, just cause I'm nuts like this. It was a painless enough, even pleasant lunch and we parted ways again with awkward half hugs. What if it was the last time? No smarm. Not a touching, tear-jerking scene. Just "bye".
I took my time going home. Stopped off at a music store in the MRT station since I rode my bike to the nearest MRT station and took the subway to meet the parents. I bought the latest Namie Amuro live DVD.
I don't understand how I've gotten into some pop music since coming to Taiwan. No Taiwanese pop, I still hate Western pop. The only J-pop act I like is Namie Amuro, but I've liked individual songs by other pop singers. And the rash of K-pop girl groups I've gotten rabidly into is still totally inexplicable.
I insist it's because the basic songs are very good, and that's what I'm listening for, but for some reason I'm not repulsed by the pop sheen, which is usually the case. I sure hope it's not a middle-age man crisis and subconsciously lusting after girls half my age. After all, I'm not getting into boy bands. That would be ... odd. Actually, I'm pretty damn sure that's not it, it's gross, it was gross in "American Beauty".
And I still can't stand even the girl groups in Taiwanese and J-pop, so it is something specific about the K-pop writers and producers that's doing it for me. Maybe it's fate, and even though nothing about Korean culture has resonated with me in the past, this is part of a transformation, preparing me for what I'm expecting will be a re-birth in South Korea. What? Who? Where?
But I took my time going home. I even got off the MRT a stop before where my bike was locked. I even had my camera and snapped a few frames for the first time since travels two months ago...
...sleep deprived, I don't remember a whole lot after I got home, but likely much of the next 18 or more hours had something to do with my bed. Having no reason to get out of it probably a contributing factor. The cold also a factor.
Disturbed sleep was disturbed this morning by an unexpected early morning phone call from my parents asking if I could meet them for lunch at 11:00 (this is a day after I woke up at 7 to meet them at 9), before they headed out of Taipei with their tour group in the afternoon. I thought we had parted ways yesterday and wouldn't see them again before they left to go back to the States on Wednesday. Maybe the last time I'd see them?
Nope, one more time. One last time? There's always gotta be a one last time, just we don't know when. It probably crosses my mind a little more often than most folk, just cause I'm nuts like this. It was a painless enough, even pleasant lunch and we parted ways again with awkward half hugs. What if it was the last time? No smarm. Not a touching, tear-jerking scene. Just "bye".
I took my time going home. Stopped off at a music store in the MRT station since I rode my bike to the nearest MRT station and took the subway to meet the parents. I bought the latest Namie Amuro live DVD.
I don't understand how I've gotten into some pop music since coming to Taiwan. No Taiwanese pop, I still hate Western pop. The only J-pop act I like is Namie Amuro, but I've liked individual songs by other pop singers. And the rash of K-pop girl groups I've gotten rabidly into is still totally inexplicable.
I insist it's because the basic songs are very good, and that's what I'm listening for, but for some reason I'm not repulsed by the pop sheen, which is usually the case. I sure hope it's not a middle-age man crisis and subconsciously lusting after girls half my age. After all, I'm not getting into boy bands. That would be ... odd. Actually, I'm pretty damn sure that's not it, it's gross, it was gross in "American Beauty".
And I still can't stand even the girl groups in Taiwanese and J-pop, so it is something specific about the K-pop writers and producers that's doing it for me. Maybe it's fate, and even though nothing about Korean culture has resonated with me in the past, this is part of a transformation, preparing me for what I'm expecting will be a re-birth in South Korea. What? Who? Where?
But I took my time going home. I even got off the MRT a stop before where my bike was locked. I even had my camera and snapped a few frames for the first time since travels two months ago...
...sleep deprived, I don't remember a whole lot after I got home, but likely much of the next 18 or more hours had something to do with my bed. Having no reason to get out of it probably a contributing factor. The cold also a factor.
 |
| From Nat'l Taiwan University Hospital guesthouse where my parents have been staying. Nikon N70, Ilford XP2 Super, last roll of film photography. |
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| Vacant city block south of The Living Mall and Civic Blvd. The smokestack is from the old tobacco factory, I think. |
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| FRIDAY, DECEMBER 17, 8:47 p.m. - Walking home from the library. |
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I'm trying to ignore that as I was drowning in sleep just days ago, my sleep has become an angry ocean of unpredictability and drowning in sleep is mashing up against bouts of inexplicable insomnia now, leading to inevitable bouts of fatigue and ennui.
And maybe drowning in sleep, which ironically may be contributing to or causing the insomnia, isn't quite that bad to the extent that I'm preferring many days to just lie in bed listening to music instead of getting up and, you know, doing something. Anything.
It's depressive behavior, I know, and only one of many clear signs of clinical depression, if there were anyone to see the signs. However, I still deny that I'm a depressed person. Depression is not a part of my identity, it doesn't identify me.
These signs of depression, this depressive behavior is the natural consequences of how I've lived my life, the decisions I've made, the directions I've taken, and the experiences I've had. Just about anyone who would have lived my life would be clinically depressed, so no surprises there.
And a quick internet self-diagnosis: Loss of interest in daily activities, check; persistent sadness or feeling of emptiness, qualifiable but for this purpose, check; sleep disturbances, check, check, big, black, and bouncing friggin' check; significant weight loss or gain, nope; loss of concentration, a qualfiable nope; fatigue, qualifiable nope; suicidal thoughts or behavior, I'll give that a qualifiable check.
And this is not at all mentioning the fact that if I went to a therapist and expressed any sort of suicidal thoughts, I'd get a big "depressed" stamp on my forehead, pro forma. But I don't think that's accurate. I could go to a therapist and be declared depressed and put on a regimen of anti-depressants, it's all the same to me.
And the difference is between what is natural and obvious in the material, normative world and the way I am and interpret things. On one hand, my parents have all the reason in the world to be "concerned" and if and when I do commit suicide, it will all be evident and make sense to all.
But if that's the whole story on my suicide, that really would be pitiful and should be disregarded. Not that my suicide shouldn't be disregarded by others, but it shouldn't be disregarded by me. For me it's part of my journey, it's a huge step, it's my exploration and my faith. Like when Indiana Jones takes that big leap of faith in the 3rd movie.
This depressive behavior is separate from my identity and I go through the motions of depressive behavior, but it's only the natural consequences of a set of causes and conditions of this life lived, whoever lived or lives this life. These causes and conditions may seem to outline the arc of my life story, but they don't define who I am on a basic level.
On a basic level, as a human being, I'm a spiritual being on a journey. And on a spiritual journey, it's not worth it to be depressed. The journey is full of wonder and discovery. And not in a "good" way, just a descriptive way. It's not worth it to not be "happy", it's not worth it to be bogged down by the things by which people get bogged down.
I really hope I'm close to the end of my life, and I'm finding reasons to not mind extending things into January, same old story, but I'm still confident that this is the end game. I'm not looking for something to take off or miraculously enter my life to give it meaning or change anything to make me "want to live". Jai guru deva om. Nothing's gonna change my world, and that's perfectly fine with me.
And maybe drowning in sleep, which ironically may be contributing to or causing the insomnia, isn't quite that bad to the extent that I'm preferring many days to just lie in bed listening to music instead of getting up and, you know, doing something. Anything.
It's depressive behavior, I know, and only one of many clear signs of clinical depression, if there were anyone to see the signs. However, I still deny that I'm a depressed person. Depression is not a part of my identity, it doesn't identify me.
These signs of depression, this depressive behavior is the natural consequences of how I've lived my life, the decisions I've made, the directions I've taken, and the experiences I've had. Just about anyone who would have lived my life would be clinically depressed, so no surprises there.
And a quick internet self-diagnosis: Loss of interest in daily activities, check; persistent sadness or feeling of emptiness, qualifiable but for this purpose, check; sleep disturbances, check, check, big, black, and bouncing friggin' check; significant weight loss or gain, nope; loss of concentration, a qualfiable nope; fatigue, qualifiable nope; suicidal thoughts or behavior, I'll give that a qualifiable check.
And this is not at all mentioning the fact that if I went to a therapist and expressed any sort of suicidal thoughts, I'd get a big "depressed" stamp on my forehead, pro forma. But I don't think that's accurate. I could go to a therapist and be declared depressed and put on a regimen of anti-depressants, it's all the same to me.
And the difference is between what is natural and obvious in the material, normative world and the way I am and interpret things. On one hand, my parents have all the reason in the world to be "concerned" and if and when I do commit suicide, it will all be evident and make sense to all.
But if that's the whole story on my suicide, that really would be pitiful and should be disregarded. Not that my suicide shouldn't be disregarded by others, but it shouldn't be disregarded by me. For me it's part of my journey, it's a huge step, it's my exploration and my faith. Like when Indiana Jones takes that big leap of faith in the 3rd movie.
This depressive behavior is separate from my identity and I go through the motions of depressive behavior, but it's only the natural consequences of a set of causes and conditions of this life lived, whoever lived or lives this life. These causes and conditions may seem to outline the arc of my life story, but they don't define who I am on a basic level.
On a basic level, as a human being, I'm a spiritual being on a journey. And on a spiritual journey, it's not worth it to be depressed. The journey is full of wonder and discovery. And not in a "good" way, just a descriptive way. It's not worth it to not be "happy", it's not worth it to be bogged down by the things by which people get bogged down.
I really hope I'm close to the end of my life, and I'm finding reasons to not mind extending things into January, same old story, but I'm still confident that this is the end game. I'm not looking for something to take off or miraculously enter my life to give it meaning or change anything to make me "want to live". Jai guru deva om. Nothing's gonna change my world, and that's perfectly fine with me.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Rating: 8.5 out of 10 fresh tomatoes
This is a great suspense/murder mystery directed by Bong Joon-Ho, who also did The Host (Korean: "Monster") several years ago. "The Host" was a hit in South Korea, and to me it was notable because it was a monster movie, but it showed a lot of intelligence and depth of emotion in the plot and characters.
This story is about a mother and her mentally challenged son. When a local teenage girl is found murdered, he becomes the prime suspect based on circumstantial evidence and is arrested. Convinced that her son is incapable of committing such a crime, his mother sets out to find the real killer.
Bong Joon-Ho is masterful in setting up plot points and manipulating information and doling it out to the viewer. He doesn't make it easy to figure the mystery out, and his pacing and progression deeper and deeper into the different layers of the film is really intelligent and thought out.
The irony is when the mystery is revealed, it's in the most simple, straight-forward way possible from a technical storytelling perspective. It's almost unsatisfying, but there are more layers to the film than solving the mystery that adds to the emotion and creepiness. It's a film I want to gush about to people who've seen it – the parallels, the reprises, the opening scene! – but don't want to give anything away to anyone who hasn't seen it, and I'm sure other people would point things out that would amaze me that I didn't notice.
Perhaps at the heart of this film is the title – mother. What mothers wouldn't do for their child, but they end up fucking them up anyway. Mothers are controversial characters in works of art and expression throughout the ages.
Even my own mother fucked her children up in so many ways, but do any of us think she was trying to? That she was a bad mother? No! Fucking up your children is part of the territory when it comes to motherhood. As a mother, you can do no right, but you will still always be the most important person in a child's life. (I don't think my mother was a bad mother, I think of my parents as bad parents – it was a team effort).
This film may not make you want to appreciate your mother more, it may not make you want you to be a little more forgiving or understanding. But if you're in a position of contemplating becoming a mother, you may want to think twice. This is a great piece of film, definitely worth seeing.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
I was drowning, so to speak, back there for a few days. My ideal time to go to sleep to get a full rest – and at this point a guarantee against insomnia – is about 5 in the morning. If I go to sleep at or around 5 in the morning, I'll get a full 8, 9, 10 hours of sleep. 10 hours of sleep!? Who, aside from one of my exes, needs 10 hours of sleep?!!
Drowning in sleep, unable to get up and out of bed and stay out. Waking up in mid-afternoon means no day left. All there is left is killing the evening, hopefully getting out for something to eat at some point, then sitting in front of the computer surfing YouTube videos, and I can do that for hours into the wee hours of morning you have no idea.
Well, if you're reading me, you likely do. I'm wasting what little of my life is left. Par for the course. Story of my life. If I had a lot of my life left, I'm sure I'd find a way to waste that, too.
Last night I forced myself off the computer, lights out, CD player on timer for 30 minutes at just past 3 o'clock. I did hear the CD player shut off, but I did fall asleep soon after and woke up just past 9, a good and godly reasonable time to wake up. Drifted a little but then came to still in the 9 o'clock hour – which is unlike when I'm drowning, where I may wake and look at the clock at 10:30, "drift a little" and then look at the clock again at 11:45. Then do it again and it's 1:35. Etc.
I guess nothing's gonna make what I'm once again projecting to be the last days of my life not a waste of time. That's not the point, though. Ending this life, going through that door is the point.
Morning sitting, or post-waking-up sitting rather, has largely been dedicated to that point. Schluffing off my immortality – this uncanny ability I have to selfishly stay alive while being or doing nothing of value to anyone – while trying not to be cavalier about my mortality.
It's also been a protracted effort into getting into that meditative state. A mental place. I read a while back about some scientists taking brain readings of Tibetan monks going into meditation, and there were discernible changes in the monks' brain activity. When I sit, I'm a little wishy-washy about what I think of it.
Most of the time thoughts and words wander and scatter and there's always some mental activity going on, I don't know if I'd call it a "meditative state", but I also do think that if you engage in this practice of sitting on a cushion for 45 minutes with one or both legs thrown across each other, you do go into a meditative state.
It's very difficult to do that otherwise, it's too boring. I don't think I could just sit in a chair without getting into the position, and do nothing for 45 minutes. So this sitting is not just doing nothing.
And lately I've been pushing the boundary even more, trying to find something like that meditative state that Tibetan monks go into, just in case the meditative state I do go into is not enough. In my mental imaging, it's a physical space, black-on-black. Outside of it it's all black, the boundary is black, and inside of it is black. And only breathing can take me through the portal through the boundary.
But I don't know if I'm succeeding, and I don't want to take credit for succeeding and feeling all proud of myself for reaching this state when I'm not, so the boundary is black velvet, and I'm going through the portal, but the black velvet is still a barrier there. It should disappear naturally without me knowing it if I'm doing this right. Until then, it's just a practice, and there's no goal involved.
Drowning in sleep, unable to get up and out of bed and stay out. Waking up in mid-afternoon means no day left. All there is left is killing the evening, hopefully getting out for something to eat at some point, then sitting in front of the computer surfing YouTube videos, and I can do that for hours into the wee hours of morning you have no idea.
Well, if you're reading me, you likely do. I'm wasting what little of my life is left. Par for the course. Story of my life. If I had a lot of my life left, I'm sure I'd find a way to waste that, too.
Last night I forced myself off the computer, lights out, CD player on timer for 30 minutes at just past 3 o'clock. I did hear the CD player shut off, but I did fall asleep soon after and woke up just past 9, a good and godly reasonable time to wake up. Drifted a little but then came to still in the 9 o'clock hour – which is unlike when I'm drowning, where I may wake and look at the clock at 10:30, "drift a little" and then look at the clock again at 11:45. Then do it again and it's 1:35. Etc.
I guess nothing's gonna make what I'm once again projecting to be the last days of my life not a waste of time. That's not the point, though. Ending this life, going through that door is the point.
Morning sitting, or post-waking-up sitting rather, has largely been dedicated to that point. Schluffing off my immortality – this uncanny ability I have to selfishly stay alive while being or doing nothing of value to anyone – while trying not to be cavalier about my mortality.
It's also been a protracted effort into getting into that meditative state. A mental place. I read a while back about some scientists taking brain readings of Tibetan monks going into meditation, and there were discernible changes in the monks' brain activity. When I sit, I'm a little wishy-washy about what I think of it.
Most of the time thoughts and words wander and scatter and there's always some mental activity going on, I don't know if I'd call it a "meditative state", but I also do think that if you engage in this practice of sitting on a cushion for 45 minutes with one or both legs thrown across each other, you do go into a meditative state.
It's very difficult to do that otherwise, it's too boring. I don't think I could just sit in a chair without getting into the position, and do nothing for 45 minutes. So this sitting is not just doing nothing.
And lately I've been pushing the boundary even more, trying to find something like that meditative state that Tibetan monks go into, just in case the meditative state I do go into is not enough. In my mental imaging, it's a physical space, black-on-black. Outside of it it's all black, the boundary is black, and inside of it is black. And only breathing can take me through the portal through the boundary.
But I don't know if I'm succeeding, and I don't want to take credit for succeeding and feeling all proud of myself for reaching this state when I'm not, so the boundary is black velvet, and I'm going through the portal, but the black velvet is still a barrier there. It should disappear naturally without me knowing it if I'm doing this right. Until then, it's just a practice, and there's no goal involved.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
After getting through that long stretch of bad weather just fine, I was hoping I was over my S.A.D. I didn't even count how long we had bad weather, which is what I started to do during my first two years in Taiwan. I had a little daily weather diary so I had evidence to point to of how bad Taipei's weather was.
But Taipei is not Seattle, it's not the norm. I'm guessing it only happens during La Niña years. I can live with that. I did live with that in San Francisco, but it was El Niño over there that brought the bad winters.
But after this stretch of rain and gloom, we had off-and-on days, enough good weather that I've taken my bike out several times. Not to go on extended rides, but just to sprint through a 20-mile course along the riverside bikeways near my home. Just to maintain, likely in vain, some modicum of fitness.
Then today, it was *boom* gloom and doom day. S.A.D., that tightening, gripping feeling around the base of my neck. Probably no small factor for this reaction was that I agreed to fill in a shift at the newspaper today. It's true. It probably wouldn't have been bad if I could just huddle under the covers all day with my "huggie" pillow listening to music, the only thing that brings me solace these days. Am I the picture of depressive or what?
Eva didn't ask me if I could work any shifts next week, so that's a good sign that I won't have to go through the pre-work, social-phobic anxiety like today. I'm fine once I get into a situation. I'm fine once I sober up and can stop wondering if people can smell alcohol. But prior to it, I'm a mess. Well, my version of a mess, which I think looks pretty much the same as I always am.
And I have to meet up with my Mandarin teacher tomorrow for the first time since spring for language exchange. My language study is effectively on hold, but she needs to keep working on English because she's applying for some academic program and needs to improve her English.
And it looked like I was going to meet up with Alex and Ginny for the first time in months, since I lashed out at them for not being real friends. And they aren't. They're acquaintances who call me every few months to come out for drinks and all we do is sit around drinking beer awkwardly asking superficial questions to figure out what each other has been doing for the past several months when there has been no contact.
It got boring, and they have to prove they really want to be friends or else I can't be bothered. Oh, and Alex had pushed our acquaintanceship by asking a huge favor which should only be asked of someone you treat like a real friend. It was rude. That's why I lashed out and dissed her for a while. I unfriended Ginny on Facebook but then she re-requested being friends. When I unfriend someone and they ask to be friended again, they have complete immunity and I won't ever unfriend them again. Just one of my nutty rules for myself.
I think I'd rather just stay in bed all day.
But Taipei is not Seattle, it's not the norm. I'm guessing it only happens during La Niña years. I can live with that. I did live with that in San Francisco, but it was El Niño over there that brought the bad winters.
But after this stretch of rain and gloom, we had off-and-on days, enough good weather that I've taken my bike out several times. Not to go on extended rides, but just to sprint through a 20-mile course along the riverside bikeways near my home. Just to maintain, likely in vain, some modicum of fitness.
Then today, it was *boom* gloom and doom day. S.A.D., that tightening, gripping feeling around the base of my neck. Probably no small factor for this reaction was that I agreed to fill in a shift at the newspaper today. It's true. It probably wouldn't have been bad if I could just huddle under the covers all day with my "huggie" pillow listening to music, the only thing that brings me solace these days. Am I the picture of depressive or what?
Eva didn't ask me if I could work any shifts next week, so that's a good sign that I won't have to go through the pre-work, social-phobic anxiety like today. I'm fine once I get into a situation. I'm fine once I sober up and can stop wondering if people can smell alcohol. But prior to it, I'm a mess. Well, my version of a mess, which I think looks pretty much the same as I always am.
And I have to meet up with my Mandarin teacher tomorrow for the first time since spring for language exchange. My language study is effectively on hold, but she needs to keep working on English because she's applying for some academic program and needs to improve her English.
And it looked like I was going to meet up with Alex and Ginny for the first time in months, since I lashed out at them for not being real friends. And they aren't. They're acquaintances who call me every few months to come out for drinks and all we do is sit around drinking beer awkwardly asking superficial questions to figure out what each other has been doing for the past several months when there has been no contact.
It got boring, and they have to prove they really want to be friends or else I can't be bothered. Oh, and Alex had pushed our acquaintanceship by asking a huge favor which should only be asked of someone you treat like a real friend. It was rude. That's why I lashed out and dissed her for a while. I unfriended Ginny on Facebook but then she re-requested being friends. When I unfriend someone and they ask to be friended again, they have complete immunity and I won't ever unfriend them again. Just one of my nutty rules for myself.
I think I'd rather just stay in bed all day.
Friday, December 03, 2010
This is it. It better be it. December 2010. The finish line. I entertain the idea of pushing the date a month further into January 2011 in order to create the greatest amount of time between the fact and the realization by people that something's not right.
I can't believe I've even gotten here from the August attempt. There was that mourning period of failure, then the Tibet trip announcement, then the Tibet trip. Then the parents' visit, and the Taiwan east coast trip to mitigate waiting for the parents' visit, and now waiting for the parents' December visit.
The wait is hard, the day-by-day is hard. I seriously think if not for this waiting, I would have made a second attempt already. Maybe even today. That would have been good. The "something's wrong" for other people, insignificant people, really, would be my "something's right".
The day-by-day hard is twisting my head around the lovely thought of ending my life and the explosion of loving life and all the little things that make life on this planet such a unique and wonderful thing.
And my parents continue to ruin it by calling more frequently since that fortune teller told them something was seriously wrong. Their inane phonecalls. While they were here expressing concern, I tried to tell them flat out that even if there was something wrong, they shouldn't worry about it because they were not the people who could do anything about it. They are unqualified to do anything positive in my life. They are disqualified.
The worst thing they could do is think they can have a positive effect, but as delusional as they are, as parents, they think they know it all, they think they know me, they think they can help. They don't and they can't.
Not long ago they kept ending phone calls with "...as long as you are happy", after which I noted they never asked if I was happy. And since then, they have, but they are not people I'm going to ruminate about happiness because they have no idea what happiness is. What they think is happiness is actually, to me, suffering in the profoundest sense.
Saying that, it also occurs to me that they have spent most of my life unintentionally making me unhappy, in effect guaranteeing that I would be unhappy. When I wanted to find a job during summer vacation while in high school, they said "Don't work, study". Thus robbing me of real life experience to engage in the world. Did I study by not working? No.
When I started getting into music as a teenager, they said, "If you want to do music, that's fine, but you have to be like Michael Jackson".
And then when I explored the monastic path, they said, "If you want to be a monk, that's fine, but you have to be like the Dalai Lama" (this didn't have any real effect on me because I was an adult and I could see their idiocy for what it was. I just mention it to point out their adherence to idiocy).
But when it came to law school, they said, "It doesn't matter if you go to the worst law school or get the lowest grades, just go to law school".
And law school is always a reminder that after college I went to Japan to try to find my way, and they stymied that to the best of their ability. There are so many things that if they hadn't done, I would be what they want me to be now, which is "happy".
They were rotten parents. It was unintentional, but all they had to do was look a little deeper into life than making money. They still don't. And I may still sound bitter about them. But there was that unilateral truce that I declared in August 1996, and I abide by it. But to some extent, when there's no closure, you have North and South Korea, you have an armistice, you have a cease-fire, but you don't have a peace treaty.
Their inane phonecalls now only serve to infuriate me to some extent. But actually they just bore me. They bore me by their sheer lack of knowledge of me, they bore me by their futile attempts to "help". They bore me because the obvious is right in front of their faces and still choose to ignore it.
I dig deep for compassion for them. I don't have to dig deep to believe my suicide will be good for them. To me, that's obvious, easy; and a terrible reason for suicide, but fortunately, it's not my reason. My reason is my own path, not theirs. If they can take something good out of it, good, fine, I'm glad. If they don't, c'est la vie. I didn't expect them to with their mundane, normative way of living this extraordinary life. But I hope.
I twist my head around the lovely things in life, the things that I'm currently loving. But even in that regard, I'm just an observer. Life is still just a spectator sport, and I don't need to be here for all the wonderfulness to go on, even with the negativity, the haters and the shit.
I can't believe I've even gotten here from the August attempt. There was that mourning period of failure, then the Tibet trip announcement, then the Tibet trip. Then the parents' visit, and the Taiwan east coast trip to mitigate waiting for the parents' visit, and now waiting for the parents' December visit.
The wait is hard, the day-by-day is hard. I seriously think if not for this waiting, I would have made a second attempt already. Maybe even today. That would have been good. The "something's wrong" for other people, insignificant people, really, would be my "something's right".
The day-by-day hard is twisting my head around the lovely thought of ending my life and the explosion of loving life and all the little things that make life on this planet such a unique and wonderful thing.
And my parents continue to ruin it by calling more frequently since that fortune teller told them something was seriously wrong. Their inane phonecalls. While they were here expressing concern, I tried to tell them flat out that even if there was something wrong, they shouldn't worry about it because they were not the people who could do anything about it. They are unqualified to do anything positive in my life. They are disqualified.
The worst thing they could do is think they can have a positive effect, but as delusional as they are, as parents, they think they know it all, they think they know me, they think they can help. They don't and they can't.
Not long ago they kept ending phone calls with "...as long as you are happy", after which I noted they never asked if I was happy. And since then, they have, but they are not people I'm going to ruminate about happiness because they have no idea what happiness is. What they think is happiness is actually, to me, suffering in the profoundest sense.
Saying that, it also occurs to me that they have spent most of my life unintentionally making me unhappy, in effect guaranteeing that I would be unhappy. When I wanted to find a job during summer vacation while in high school, they said "Don't work, study". Thus robbing me of real life experience to engage in the world. Did I study by not working? No.
When I started getting into music as a teenager, they said, "If you want to do music, that's fine, but you have to be like Michael Jackson".
And then when I explored the monastic path, they said, "If you want to be a monk, that's fine, but you have to be like the Dalai Lama" (this didn't have any real effect on me because I was an adult and I could see their idiocy for what it was. I just mention it to point out their adherence to idiocy).
But when it came to law school, they said, "It doesn't matter if you go to the worst law school or get the lowest grades, just go to law school".
And law school is always a reminder that after college I went to Japan to try to find my way, and they stymied that to the best of their ability. There are so many things that if they hadn't done, I would be what they want me to be now, which is "happy".
They were rotten parents. It was unintentional, but all they had to do was look a little deeper into life than making money. They still don't. And I may still sound bitter about them. But there was that unilateral truce that I declared in August 1996, and I abide by it. But to some extent, when there's no closure, you have North and South Korea, you have an armistice, you have a cease-fire, but you don't have a peace treaty.
Their inane phonecalls now only serve to infuriate me to some extent. But actually they just bore me. They bore me by their sheer lack of knowledge of me, they bore me by their futile attempts to "help". They bore me because the obvious is right in front of their faces and still choose to ignore it.
I dig deep for compassion for them. I don't have to dig deep to believe my suicide will be good for them. To me, that's obvious, easy; and a terrible reason for suicide, but fortunately, it's not my reason. My reason is my own path, not theirs. If they can take something good out of it, good, fine, I'm glad. If they don't, c'est la vie. I didn't expect them to with their mundane, normative way of living this extraordinary life. But I hope.
I twist my head around the lovely things in life, the things that I'm currently loving. But even in that regard, I'm just an observer. Life is still just a spectator sport, and I don't need to be here for all the wonderfulness to go on, even with the negativity, the haters and the shit.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
I'm really surprised and happy the DVD for part 2 of this movie came out so quickly after part 1, which was the last movie I rented and commented on.
To recap, the Nodame Cantabile story began as a Japanese manga and through its popularity was expanded into anime and live-action series. These movies are supposed to serve as the finale for the live-action series, but an effort is made for them to be a stand alone story without previous knowledge of the TV series plotline.
It helps that I saw part 1 so recently, and I gave that film a low fresh rating, but maybe it's because of that momentum that I really enjoyed this film. I thought this film stands on the shoulders of part 1, which introduced the style and quirks of the presentation, and surpasses it.
The first film establishes the setting and the characters, and as I mentioned in my comments about that film, was mostly Chiaki's story, and predicted this film would more address Nodame's journey after her experience in the first film. And it does just that, still tracing her ups and downs with both music and her relationship with Chiaki.
The film is lively and fun, but also has drama and depth and sweetness. Actress Juri Ueno in the title role is phenomenal and the director doesn't hold back on close-ups of her, taking advantage of her incredible range of expressions and emotions that she can morph in a matter of seconds. She's so good that she can even express hiding her emotions, where you see her face and have no idea what she's thinking or feeling.
The director draws on what must be shots and clips from the TV series to give a sense of the depth of the relationship between the people, especially Chiaki and Nodame.
And this is a movie about classical musicians and of course you have to have classical music performance sections, but to not alienate non-fans of classical music, historical background, interpretation and insight of the pieces are narrated over the performance sections. I'm no aficionado of classical music, but I listen to it, have a lot of it on my iPod, and found the information very helpful in my appreciation for classical music.
I have to take back what I said about the first film, whereby Japanese actors play European characters. In fact, the actors are caricaturing Europeans, and I dare say making fun of them. It took a while, but it did finally dawn on me. The character of the maestro is particularly interesting because the actor makes his Japanese sound like a foreigner with inflections in all the wrong exaggerated places. Perhaps a response to all of Hollywood's "Ah-sooooo, numba won son". Fuck Hollywood.
It's not a perfect film, it can't be. Obviously something is missing if you haven't followed the TV series, and all the threads can't be tied up, even in a 4-hour finale. There are references that are meaningful to a prior fan, but are just random to a fresh viewer.
And the mystery student upstairs is so thoroughly unnecessary that I'm not giving anything away by mentioning that character. I can imagine an audience that would find this film thoroughly annoying, but I thoroughly enjoyed and give it a fresh 8.5 out of 10 tomatoes.
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