I look back at my life and wonder, 'what was that?' Was that worth living? Whatever. I was born and had to live it. Worth is subjective. It is what it was. Was it worth my while? Did I live up to my potential? How exactly did I spend my time here? What was I? What did it mean to be here?

I was nothing. I made myself nothing intentionally. That was my purpose, so I think I was reasonably successful, flatter myself not. What was the purpose of becoming nothing? Spiritual pursuit, I think it's safe to say. All is vanity. Even becoming nothing is vanity, but that's better, I think, than a foundation of vanity to build a life thinking it's something when it's really just vanity.

I'm just trying to make sense of the whole journey and the whole ego lens with which we go through our lives.

I was nothing very early on. Psychology is in the works here, but it eventually mixes in with the spiritual pursuit thing. Of course that feeling of being nothing starts with my parents in childhood, but that's not to blame them for anything since I have two brothers with the same upbringing who became something. We were all nothing to my parents to the extent that making money was more important to our parents. But since their making money became integral to my brothers' becoming something, the transition was natural.

And once the concept of suicide was introduced to me, I latched onto that as a formulation for my life and I never did get beyond that and only embellished the philosophy and rationale behind it as a goal. I was döömed. That was it. My life in a nutshell was about settling into a pattern of constantly sabotaging anything that people normally live for (I'ma call it identity), realizing it's all vanity.

Identity as vanity. My years of stripping away identity was trying to strip away the vanity. All those things I did along my journey that I tried to base my identity upon were just vanity, things to do. Look at me, I'm this or that and I feel pride about those things. Drummer, bassist, runner, cycling, cutter, alcoholic, English editor, all identities and matters of pride.

In the end because of my impulse to sabotage my life and identity partly by alienating everyone in my life, there was only me left. What use is there of an identity when there's no one there to show it to, to be it? Then I stopped being impressed by myself. There was only me left to tell me I sucked at all those things, and I did suck, and I did finally tell myself as much.

So what was this all worth? Just the fact of it? Maybe. The fact without vanity, without pretension or thinking there was any meaning to it. I was not known, no one knew me. Even being unknown or forgotten is folly and vanity thinking I was anything worth being unknown or forgotten! Not even that. That's a great freedom actually.

People try to be an identity, what they present to the world. People try to be somebody. If people can't be famous and remembered historically, they try to be someone and mean something to their friends and family. But it's all vanity. So you're remembered, people mention tales about you generations down. Tales that even inspire. Yay? Good for you? I don't get it. Just disappearing suits me fine. Which is why I suppose I think of myself as Buddhist (albeit different from how many Buddhists think of themselves, as an identity).

Or the alternate last sentence is: . . . disappearing suits me fine. And yet I have this blog.

2017

Years ago, I used to look ahead to the year 2017 because the numbers match my birthday and I'd calculate how old I would be and think there was no way I'd ever reach that age. And yet here we are.

In the normative view, what a waste and mess I've made of my life. I've done nothing with my life. What was there ever to make of my life? From a young age, suicide resonated. I've never considered living life a goal, much less a long life.

At every point in my life, any decision I made about my life precluded long-term considerations. Even simple things like airline mileage programs I saw no need or purpose. I just didn't ever expect to live that much longer into my future.

Owning property was never something I could even conceptualize. Starting a family? Settling down? Steady job? Not things that were ever serious considerations. That attitude pervaded my entire existence. That's just how I always lived it.

Obviously I don't subscribe to the normative view of how to live a life or I'd have lots of regrets and would be trying to "turn my life around". I don't disagree that it's been a waste and a mess, but . . . it was supposed to be. For me, the waste and mess of my life is a description, not a judgment.

And for the past six years I've really been doing pretty much absolutely nothing. Nothing of any benefit to anyone. Why am I still here? On the most fundamental level, I think it's because I can't truly grasp my own mortality, despite death constantly being on my mind and in my meditation and studies.

Intellectually I embrace the idea of death as a part of the cycle of life. Viscerally, I examine my physical self, my functioning, my conceptualization (mind) and I can't deny it with death. It's a fundamental flaw, the understanding of which may be my main pursuit of my life.

Something's going to have to happen at some point. "You can't run away from what waits for you" (Sixx A.M.). If my birth date suggests the year, then my birth year suggests a date as a goal. Not that I'm very good with goals.

There's really no purpose to this blog anymore. It's just habit. It's just that I have it.

All the reasons why I started it are now null and void. It was supposed to be a record, a last testament, but those things don't matter at all anymore.

I even tried to write an opinion post last month about religious extremists just being criminals and have nothing to do with religion, but even opinions don't matter anymore in a world where everyone can state opinions on the Internet like they mean anything. But millions of people disagreeing in comment sections is not a conversation. It's just idiotic.

So this is just a personal blog for myself. I'm not communicating to anyone, I'm not leaving a record of an invisible life for people who might be curious. There aren't any.

So the year turned. It's been 10 years since Deer Park. Nine years I've been in Taiwan doing nothing of any worth to anyone. Erased my identities. Continued with mindfulness practice. A lazy hermit-with-Internet-and-alcohol practice.

I finally started getting back to the gym in January. Still no cycling. Running on treadmill had been steadily getting back to where I was before I left for that trip to New Jersey; four miles without injury. From there, the idea was to keep working on strength and increasing distance and time.

I almost had a mishap, whereby I found and read a book about the "Pose method" of running. My first time trying out the concepts, I damn near re-injured my Achilles tendon, but fortunately it was nothing major and pain only lasted a week and I feel I'm good to continue with my planned regimen.

I'm not dismissing the Pose method, but it is particularly hard on the Achilles tendon, so with recent injuries, Pose needs to be approached slowly, with patience, and over a long period of time to develop appropriate strength.

The basic principle of Pose running is that running is optimized when developed as a technique, and not just an innate ability. Few other activities assume excellence can be attained without application and practice of technique, so the book says.

Actually, one that comes to mind is sitting meditation, although not excellence but ability perhaps. Practitioners are taught to apply methods and visualizations, blah, blah, blah, but it's a fine line between that and developing a technique.

I don't know if it was a coincidence in timing, but right when I was reading the book on Pose running, I also thought about applying technique to sitting meditation. It's a work in progress that I'm testing out. It may just be another method among the pantheon of existing taught methods.

I'm certainly not an "accomplished" meditator nor have I reached any level of alternate consciousness or understanding of consciousness.

I'm trying to figure out how to put 2012 into perspective. Without boring the fuck out of myself. 2012 was different from the two previous years, but the two years prior were a progression that culminated into the habit of 2012. 

January 2010 was when I stopped working (quit my job at the Post), and that is a defining constant of the past three years, but 2012 was the year I basically lost interest in doing any and everything, and pretty much every single day, with minor variations, was the same idea for the entire year.

The routine was characterized by complete social avoidance. I met up with a total of three people. I also avoid my neighbors who live in the rooms on this same floor. I'm friendly saying 'hi' when I happen to run into one of them, but that's it.

In fact, my daily routine neurotically involved avoiding them by getting out of the apartment in the late afternoon before they started coming home from whatever they did during the day, presumably work. I'd come back after 9 o'clock or so as if I was coming home from . . . something; like somewhere I had to be with something to do. I know, neurotic.

There was some cycling later in the year because of the bike GPS I found, which is different from previous years when either 2010 or 2011 I stopped being able to drag me and my bike out of the apartment. Otherwise, very little sunlight was seen. I don't get direct sunlight in my room.

I constantly tried to turn out the lights and get to bed at or before 3 a.m. That rarely happened. Mostly I was pleased if I could accomplish that by 4. But usually couldn't.

Getting up was an entirely different and varied affair, often depending on insomnia. And my complete lack of interest in wanting to do anything made hours lying in bed listening to music completely reasonable. Even enjoyable.

I guess one affirmative development this past year was not only maintaining quiet sitting for 45 minutes after getting up for most of the year, not every day, but also adding a second 45 minute session afterwards, mostly concentrating on internal energies, inspired by tantra and Dzogchen teachings, which I've apparently been absorbing and integrating for years without even knowing it.

Otherwise, as I've noted before, all of my previous interests that used to identify me were pretty much completely gone. Listening to music has been a singular enjoyment, and a lot of time was spent on things Korea. The possible future life resonance thing.

If I'd been more diligent or efficient in dying like I was supposed to sometime during these past few years, my theory being I was heading for South Korea in my next life, and having failed to accomplish that goal, metaphysical or psychic resonances of that life-to-be have started to inexplicably appear in this life, as I've previously noted that I'd never been particularly interested in Korea despite plenty of exposure to the people and culture.

As for this year, my goal is still the same. Whether I'll accomplish it or not, I have no idea. I'm not going to sweat it. I'm boring the fuck out of myself.

2010: It was an utter unnecessary year to live from most aspects.

The only aspect it was nominally fruitful was in my personal practice and minor revelations into my own mind. But that development just naturally progressively occurs every year of practice.

It's not a reason to have lived this past year, it doesn't justify it. But having lived it, it was what it was. It's a reason not to regret having lived the year, but had I not lived it, I wouldn't regret that, either. Same applies now.

This meme for 2010 confirms that it was a pretty pathetic year. Not that I'm complaining. I made it that way, after all, but it is a reflection of how pathetic my life has gotten:

1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?
"Never done before" implying something new, bold or ground-breaking, then nothing.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s Resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
New Year's resolutions are the dumbest thing ever. So no.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Brother and sister-in-law had a third child, but I'm prohibited by family privacy guidelines from revealing any information about it. I've probably said too much already. And saying they are "close" to me is a conceit. I've barely heard anything from them or about the new baby all year. I haven't made an effort either, so I'm not blaming them.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No. But my laptop is probably getting near. It's approaching 6 years old with a new hard drive that my brother installed in Summer 2009 that has extended its life this long.

5. What countries did you visit?
Countries I was in during 2010 include: U.S., Taiwan, China and Tibet. I did fly all the way around the world on my trip to the U.S. Going there, I flew to Singapore, then Frankfurt, and then to New York. Coming back I flew from New York to San Francisco, then Incheon, S. Korea, and back to Taipei.

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?
Closure (meaning success in what I want to do).

7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
None.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Making mix CDs for every year I've been alive. It's hardly an achievement, but it was interesting because it was a little like making an audio diary of my life. Otherwise it's fair to say there were no achievements this year.

9. What was your biggest failure?
August. Still alive. And maybe stopping going to drum practice rooms after deciding there was no more point to it.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Shin splints stopped my running season in May or June. Hardly a major injury. I'm a wimp about any repetitive stress injuries since I've had so many related to running or playing bass or drums before, so I baby myself whenever there's even a hint of the familiar pain.

11. What was the best thing someone bought you?
N/A. A meal, maybe.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
N/A.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
U.S. voters shifting Congressional power to Republicans.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Rent, food, alcohol. In that order.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
N/A.

16. What song will always remind you of 2010?
My music memory doesn't really work that way. If I like music, it's timeless.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
- Fatter or thinner? Same.

- Happier or sadder? Same.

- Richer or poorer? Same. Well, since I quit my job in January, logically I'm poorer, but I don't feel poorer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Gotten outside during daylight hours. Photography. I think I shot a record low amount of rolls of films, and I don't think I shot more than one roll of Lomo Fisheye.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Sitting in front of a computer.

20. How did you spend Christmas? Just another day.

21. Did you fall in love in 2010? No.

22. How many one night stands? None.

23. What was your favorite TV program? Food shows on TLC, documentaries on National Geographic and Discovery channels.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? No.

25. What was the best book you read?
Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche. I read through most of it in Borders when I was still in New Jersey, but I finally bought it here and am giving it a proper read-through.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
K-pop. It's inexplicable and deserves its own post. But for credibility's sake, Taco gave me The Killers and Stereophonics who I found were great, and Yiti gave me a lot that was great, but in particular, Arcade Fire and Wilco.

27. What did you want and get?
New Tokyo Jihen CD. New Tokyo Jihen DVD of the show supporting the new CD. New Namie Amuro DVD. Midori sent me Tokyo Jihen's "Dynamite Out" DVD and Princess Princess's "Last Live" DVD from Japan. There's a pattern here, yo.

28. What did you want and not get?
A box of Velveeta macaroni and cheese. And Versus's first album in 10 years. I've been waiting for a trip back to the U.S. to buy it there, but that hasn't happened.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
Since I comment on most films I see, it looks like 2010's best viewing has to go to Beautiful Crazy.

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Just another day. Pretty damn old.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Succeeding in the August attempt.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?
Irrelevant. I stopped combing my hair.

33. What kept you sane?
Nothing. Just being sane. And morning sitting. Or "after waking up" sitting, rather.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Fancy? What does that mean? Appreciate? Admire? Want to do? Anyway, probably none. Although there are plenty who I wouldn't kick out of bed in the morning.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?
Finding clear evidence that the cultural genocide in Tibet being committed by China is real.

36. Who do you miss?
Sadie and Madoka, I guess. I unfriended Sadie on Facebook. Why? I'm a sucky friend, maybe? And my friendship with Madoka will likely never be what it was before.

37. Who was the best new person you met?
Yiti. If she's the best, that is so fucking sad. She has good taste in music, but is a pro-China yoga freak. She's like a yoga cult member.

38. What was the best thing you ate?
There was a dinner of Tibetan food in Tibet (that's notable because for most part we ate Chinese multi-course, banquet-style meals) that was memorable. Otherwise, my culinary experience in Taiwan is so skewed by the pickings here that I'm likely to say a chicken sandwich from Burger King. Chicken enchiladas at a Mexican place in Danshui also always hit the spot. If it weren't so far away, I'd go more often.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010?
Without meditating or reflecting on death as part of the life cycle on a regular basis and in a positive way, it's very possible that we are wasting valuable time appreciating how precious our lives and those of everyone around us are.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year: See Dec. 27 post.

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.

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.

So Bobby Burgess wrote on May 4, 2008:

top fears and doubts (unordered):

• i meet my father and find out he has no qualities i admire and strive toward. i've only met him a couple times. haven't talked to him since high school. a couple months ago he mailed me a check for $5000 and invited me to visit in nicaragua. i'm flying there in july.
• my not being career-minded will me leave me destitute in someone's garage, wasting away in a bathrobe watching game show reruns.
• i die before my mother.
• my teeth rot and fall out. my teeth are fine now, but sometimes i want extract them with pliers so they can never turn black and crumble. ugh.
• i break sarah's heart. i met sarah in georgia while at a training seminar for my job. she's gooey sweet with the cutest southern accent, but...
• i'm too insular, isolated. i sit around and think too much. i don't go out. i wander around alone, wondering about stuff, looking at clouds and ferns.
• i'm too american, too industrialized. this culture shapes me more than i realize. i invest in mutual funds. you know what that makes me? that makes me the man. i own a sliver of every major company. yes, i recycle and conserve electricity in my house, but i own all the corporations that rape this planet and exploit people's brain chemistry. i am a CEO of destruction. so i can grow my savings 8% to 10% a year.
• i exhausted my creative drive in my early 20s. i don't know. i used to take a hundred pictures a day, but a lone weed growing through a chain link fence isn't that profound to me anymore.
• sasha died thinking she made a mistake. sasha was my obstinate rottweiler puppy back home. she died from an abdominal infection after being spayed. heartstabbing, yes, but you have to accept that. i did. many months later. but i'm scared that when she was writhing in her death throes in the corner of the basement, she thought it was her fault, or that she did something wrong. you didn't do anything wrong, sash. it was just germs.
• i'm not having enough sex. my sex-having is probably average, but it could be above average. hot young sex! all the time! yeah!

Bouncing off his post:

• I know my father and I don't want to say he has no qualities I admire and strive towards, but I probably have to. He's effectively retired, but my mother forces him to do a little work at the office so he doesn't fall over dead. He's old and acts it and has ignored my entreaties to write down his story to keep his mind sharp in his old age, and because for god's sake no one knows it. His children sure don't, and when he goes, a lot of his value, meaning his life story stored in his brain, will also disappear like a hard drive crashing with nothing saved. I don't want the story for myself, but for 1) his memory; 2) his grandchildren, who should have access to this piece of their family history. My parents always pay my travel expenses when I visit, otherwise I likely wouldn't go.
• My not being career-minded has left me metaphorically destitute in someone's garage, watching game show re-runs, but I'm still more glad that I paid attention to the things I considered important to life, rather than being career-minded.
• My goal is to die before my mother, otherwise my life will have been a waste.
• My teeth rot and fall out. My teeth are fine now, but they shouldn't be. I don't take care of them. I realize how lucky I am to have healthy teeth, but even so, I know that won't last forever. Or even necessarily for much longer. I see the human condition in the metaphor of teeth.
• I'm not afraid of breaking anyone's heart. No one's interested in letting me handle theirs, but...
• I'm too insular, isolated. I sit around and think too much. I don't go out. I wander around alone, wondering about stuff, looking at clouds and ferns. And walking through the candy store.
• Maybe I'm not very "american". I don't invest, I pay off my credit card every month. I just read Maxed Out and I'm useless to the credit card company. But I treat them like a legitimate business so that they can go about their real business of making sure many "americans" are perpetually in debt. I don't have savings to speak of. Whenever I've saved something, I consequently quit my job and spent it. I'm thinking of doing that now again. I guess, here, "american" means "capitalist", which means screwing someone or getting screwed.
  
• I exhausted my creative drive in my late-20s. That's arguable. But it's alright. What I've lost in creativity, I've replaced with appreciation, whether it be seeing things in movies other people don't see, or K-pop girl groups, or 30 Rock, or my 14,500 song strong iPod.
• Sesame died in Amina's care. And she did. And I don't even remember if it was Sesame. I had so many gerbils in college. When Amina told me, I just felt bad that I had put her in a position that she had to tell me my gerbils had died.
• I'm not having enough sex. Wait, I'm not having any sex. I'll never have sex again. And I probably won't. Deal!

Salma Hayek: I cannot marry him because of a terrible secret. Please don't ask me what it is.
Tina Fey: I won't. I don't want to know. Are you a man?
Salma Hayek: Really? That's your guess? A man? Do you want to see me naked?
Tina Fey: Kinda.

pt. 1

So what was 2008 in a nutshell, aside from yet another waste of a year?

It started in New Jersey with my last trip to the U.S., four weeks spending time with family and brother's in-law's family. Watching parents get old, nieces and nephews starting their own journeys. Touching sentimental smarmy scenes, but what life's about, I guess.

After I got back to Taiwan, I moved from my Xindian apartment back to Taipei in March on a lead provided by my estranged cousin. The move was a good one in every way but one, but the main reason was because I was running away from a problem.

The problem was a total asswipe of a white guy, an intolerable, obnoxious, bellowing meathead of a Brit football fan hoodlum who moved in next door. I couldn't find any better way to deal with that problem than to run away. I can't change the outside world, so I have to change myself, my situation. I have to relocate. I have the luxury to up and move and run away from my problem; not deal with it.

I joined a band and we started rehearsing in January. We started gigging in March. It's a cover band and we play bars and get paid, so it's semi-professional. In July, the bass player bought a restaurant and since then we've played most weekends there, exclusively.

It's a humiliating joke of a cover band, and I have no rapport with the other members, and if it weren't for the pay, I would have quit a long time ago. Quitting is always in the cards, but actually playing during gigs is alright and softens the drive to quit.

I started work in April as a copy editor at a local English-language newspaper. Not a bad job, I liked it and I could do it. I'm not bragging when I say that when I was the lead copy editor, fewer mistakes made it to print. Not none, but fewer.

And since I stopped being the fulltime copy editor, I've been appalled by some of the mistakes they've allowed go to print. Aside from the smaller non-AP style mistakes, they've had misspellings in headlines, and on the historic election issue, they even got the day of the week wrong on the front page. I didn't work on that issue because I had already switched to part-time, and then soon after that, in the middle of November, I switched to only working on weekends and emergencies.

The reason? I was running away from a problem. The problem? The newspaper re-hired a previous copy editor that I found offensive and obnoxious with a poor work attitude, and instead of working out the problem, I ran away from it. I don't know why the editor-in-chief re-hired her, he had problems with her before, and continues to have problems with her.

Why I can't stand her, I can't say. I just can't stand being in the same room with her. Her big fat face is a caricature of a witch, complete with hideous mole. Her breasts sag disgustingly over roles of belly fat, et. al.

Why this bile? I'm generally not one to attack someone's physical appearance. If someone's physical appearance makes me react less than ideally, I switch on meditations of the like: what if this was someone I love; there are people out there who love this person and would be hurt by my venom, I don't want to hurt those people; these are just circumstances and anyone can be affected by them; am I so perfect that no one is offended by my personality? Hell no.

I think it's karmic, and this is a copout and it's running away from engaging and dealing with a problem. I think in other lifetimes we were of various sorts and degrees of enemies, and not the family love-hate kind. This is of the Nazi-Jewish kind, KKK-African American kind. Unbridled, unapologetic and relentless.

But even if the karma carried over, we are not who we were then, and if I understand that, I should try to neutralize the karma by engaging her. And since we are not who we were then, we can work it out without the luggage that burdened us before. I didn't. And I have no intention of doing so.

So if we by chance meet again in another lifetime, it'll be the same, maybe it'll be her ostracizing me. Maybe she'll have a gun to my head, maybe I'll have a noose around her neck. And this is part of what it means to be caught in the suffering of cyclic existence, because I'm not willing to fix something in me I know is broken.

I'll continue working there on weekends and playing in the band until I decide to move from Taipei, which I think is imminent.

Sometimes I let my feelings almost catch up to me. Sometimes I think I should let them overtake and overwhelm me. Sometimes I wonder if that's going to happen during my trial period at the monastery, inshah'allah, anyway.

The suggestion is that it can't be pretty if it happens :\

I have to go to the monastery, I have to make this happen now, there is nothing left to pursue at this point in my life. Going to the monastery was the only living option as an alternative to killing myself, and since I failed miserably at that, this is what I have to do. I promised.

I wasted 11 years in San Franisco, blew all the relationships that I had, abandoned half of the people who meant something to me and got abandoned by the other half (all the same people, btw), fumbled all the opportunities that came my way, gave up, quitter, loser, moved back in with my parents, pathetic, I have nothing, no potential, no motivation, and a terrible haircut.

I don't know if I'm ready for the monastery. I felt so comfortable there when I was there last year, it was so right, it was so peaceful and I don't know if I deserve or if I'm ready for that. The community was so joyful and I still have these roiling rapids of issues careening through my psyche. I'm still looking backwards, looking over my shoulder, looking for what I want, looking for a line to grab onto, where did all my friends go? The friends who would have stood on the sand waving as I sank beneath the surf. Oh yeah.

The same "friends" who will wish me luck at the monastery. Not the ones who will ask me what the hell do I think I'm doing, and what the hell am I doing in New Jersey; to move back to wherever, move to wherever they are, I can stay with them until I get settled and until then they won't let me out of their sight. And not the one who will tell me to fuck whatever happened in past lives and tell me to marry her because, boy, were we meant for each other, spiritually at least.

why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i live in you?

Visualization meditation for anyone who condemns suicide:
Close your eyes until all you can see is just a crack of light. Concentrate on your breath as it enters your nose and exits. Follow ten breaths. Concentrate on your ears and notice everything you can hear. Maintain concentration for ten breaths. Concentrate on your mouth with your tongue gently pressed to the top of your mouth and the back of your upper teeth, and focus on your mouth's sensations for ten breaths. Likewise, do the same for your whole body (skinbag), and then for your mind and thoughts.

Now, visualize a dark space, a void. It's very quiet and calm. In the distance, visualize a person, just a speck, walking towards you. As the person gets closer, you discern it's a dude. When he's 10 paces away, visualize him as of Asian race, with a terrible haircut and an even worse blue dye job that has faded to a gross algae green. As he closes the distance, you notice in your visualization that he is holding a wet trout in his right hand, and as he comes up to you he smacks you across the side of the head with it.
End visualization meditation.

Thank you, I feel better now. Yes, keep moving forward towards monastery. Get to shave my head.

Identity Inventory
- I was born in a crossfire hurricane Ann Arbor, Michigan.
- I grew up in this town, New Jersey.
- I hated my parents until August 1996.
- I fought with my two older brothers constantly while growing up.
- Growing up, I followed my brothers' and their friends' lead and was into building plastic model kits of World War II aircraft and ships. People look at me funny when I can identify WWII aircraft.
- I think those same people got me into Astronomy. People ignore me when I muse what's going on in the night sky.
- I went to Oberlin College (studied East Asian religion and history).
- I have a law degree and a Masters of Law, neither of which I use.
- I used to be a runner, starting when I was 13 and stopping because of knee injury.
- I've been road cycling for 3 years, and I'm just starting mountain biking.
- I used to be a musician (rock). Bass, drums, guitar, and working knowledge of piano. I played string bass in pit orchestra and orchestra in high school. I was in a steel drum band in college.
- Music is the most important thing in life and most central to my identity, and I quit it. I was never really any good at it. But anyone who doesn't think of me as a musician may as well not know me (that's just about everybody now).
- I am philosophically suicidal. I won't know if I'm practically suicidal until I actually do it.
- Committing suicide is always in my future plans.
- Having it always planned in the future keeps me from doing it right now.
- I use suicide gestures to maintain an appreciation for life (although not living, obviously).
- I used to be a cutter, starting when I was 12 and stopping last year.
- I continued cutting even after the "need" was gone because it had become habit. I stopped because I got bored with it.
- I was suspended from high school (one week) and college (one semester) for cutting.
- I was committed twice during that semester.
- If you want to see me do it, just give me a razor. It's no big deal.
- Showing my scars is an act of intimacy.
- I may have been alcoholic, depending on definition. I cut way back last year because I got bored with being drunk all the time.
- List of all the women I've gone out with in reverse order: Josephine, Shiho, Joy, Amina, Luyen, Hiromi, Sakuko, Liz, Darcy, Sarah, Amanda, Nancy.
- Shiho should show up two other times in that list.
- Shiho is as close to a "high school sweetheart" as I had.
- Amanda has a famous older sister who won an Academy Award for best supporting actress in a Woody Allen film.
- I don't know who I lost my virginity to, it depends on how you define "sex" (yay Bill!).
- I got caught in bed with two of those girls by their parents (<- my deepest and darkest secret, this is my first ever disclosure of it and only casual sex and alcohol or drugs could get me to say any more about those incidents).
- List of all the men I've gone out with: ... ok, so I have no gay cred. Sue me.
- I don't do drugs, but I think I would be much better adjusted if I had done more drugs.
- My first of very few drug experiences was shrooms when I was a senior in high school. That night, I dove into a lit fireplace, apparently spoke in fluent Japanese, and people were afraid I was going to jump out a window.
- I took the shrooms because I was writing a paper on narcotics for Psychology class and felt like a hypocrite never having taken anything before.
- I feel I've wasted 10 years of my life in San Francisco.

I've dismantled my life. But I did a half-assed job about it. No matter.

When my brother was in high school, he used to disassemble his bike and put it back together for fun. He got to know bikes well enough that when he joined his college cycling team, he was their defacto mechanic.

In contrast, I failed to take apart my guitars to get to know them better. I was able to remove strings, remove the neck, and open up the control cavity. But I never took apart the machine heads or the pickups or the pots, never removed the bridge, or learned the wiring and electronics. I still can't adjust the action or intonation.

And that's pretty much the extent of what I've done with my life. I've made a nominal gesture of taking it apart, but not enough to understand any mechanics. I still have so much stuffis. This is just observational fact, not self-pity or regret, not intended to elicit any feeling.

And I still get pangs when I read about other people doing stuff, going to NoisePop shows or film festivals, and I want to be getting together with people and doing stuff. But I can't. Because I dismantled all of that, too, and I'm stuck examining the bits and pieces of desire and attachment, and work through them intellectually, emotionally, and viscerally; wondering if I really understand it.

And then I'm OK. Then I remember the path I'm on. Then I remember the scheme of things and that I gave all those things a try. I've tried living that way, and it was fine for then, but things have changed. It doesn't even matter that I've dismantled my past, present, and future, and saying that doesn't even include the doom and drama it might once have had.

Crap, what the hell was I talking about?

current soundtrack: ELO - "Out of the Blue"

Strange. I haven't been looking back at 2003.

Truth to tell, there's just not a whole lot to look at, and there should be even less, except for that curly-fry shaped branch of fate distracting what had been my path. As straight-forward as I may describe the monastery option, the actual path looks more like how the solid-rocket boosters of the Challenger went after it exploded. There, that's better – using a national tragedy to envision my life. Geez.

But that's kind of it; how my path blew up under me and reality flew apart at the seams. For once in a good way. And looking back, it all seems so hazy, less concrete, less defined by definites and absolutes. The idea of the monastery brought me back to a home with a vengeance and grounded me. It completed an arc of a storyline. Even though I still don't know how the story ends.

Music has been a constant in my life, a passion to pursue if I were interested in continuing living a material life. Otherwise, it's just a distraction, something to do.

Suicide has also been a constant, and a logical, ironic end to the story. Having an ironic end is always very attractive.

But this thing, and I don't know what to call it, has also been a constant. Calling it religion is too simplistic. Calling it an ongoing existential inquiry into the nature of being is too hokey. But it presented itself and resonated, and I pursued it and read about it, and it developed from a crude, cursory practice in a dorm room, sitting on laundry as a cushion, with a stick of incense stuck in a tin container for some anise liqueur, filled with sand that I stole from the local Oberlin golf course, next to the cemetery.

It was always a solo practice and I never talked about it. It was personal. I balanced what I read about monastic practice with what I felt made sense. I never blindly did something because it was written down somewhere as the thing to do if you were to be this or that. From the start I was uncomfortable with calling myself "Buddhist". I did, however, get caught up in thinking Zen=Buddhism. And in some ways it is, in others it isn't.

Through the years the idea of entering a monastery faded, but I continued my personal practice; always aware of and looking for signs, even when they stopped appearing; sporadically sitting, but everywhere I lived since college I know I had some set up, so I don't think I ever spent too long away from it.

So when the monastic option reared its pretty shaved head in 2003, all of this that had been in the background through the years washed over and washed reality out. And I couldn't even begin to describe what that is. It's like painting a masterpiece of a painting and then smearing it all up with both hands and told to describe that in detail.

What I said, not a whole lot to look at, because there's not much there. And even that doesn't describe it.

After three not-so-great days of pre-Deer Park thinking/mindset, thought upon thought progressed as I walked in the rain to the Lower Haight, until I got to: 

The sources of these negative thoughts aren't the problem. what I've done with my life and the directions I've taken to whatever inevitable conclusion are not the problem. the negative thoughts themselves are the problem. Things got better immediately after that. 

Or is that something I've known all along? 

But it's true, the thoughts and mindset I've been in have just been rehashing the same old crap I've gone over and over ad nauseum and leads no where: What I'm doing or not doing with my life; what expectations I'm not living up to; the little I've done in my life and the little worth it adds up to; feeling guilty about not having the problems everyone else is going through; feeling guilty about not feeling problems everyone has and not doing anything to help other people like Madoka and her friends do (actually they have the problems and do things that help other people, so fuck me even harder). Hm, maybe that's why I haven't called her back like I said I would. 

But really, I've run all that through my movie projector, and none of that matters. Not in a nihilistic way, but the negative weight of those thoughts aren't because of the substance of those thoughts. The negative weight is just from negativity – maybe it's S.A.D., maybe it's the holiday season, maybe it's the not being able to maintain friends, maybe it's the stress of shopping for a new bike, maybe it's the suicide chip in my head – but skim the fat of negativity off the surface and the thoughts turn out to be not-so-oppressive. 

A lot of people probably can't separate the negativity from the thoughts – if the thoughts are there and they are negative, then you can't have the thoughts without the negativity. Period. As long as I can, lucky me, might as well run that program.

just for the record:
I know that if I killed myself, there would be a considerable impact on certain people. I know my worth to the people around me, and yes I would still go ahead and do it if that was my choice, and I would leave it to them to deal with it and move on. I think of all the times before I could have done it, and I imagine the sorrow or shock it would have caused, and then I think of now, October 2003; life would have gone on.

I don't think many people would be too surprised by the news. Most people know at least something is up, if only because of my arms. No one asks anymore, I don't really hide it anymore. Anyone who is completely surprised didn't know me at all and don't really matter maybe. For everyone else, the shock of the news would be somewhat abstract. They hear the news, they're shocked, they're saddened, maybe shaken, but it's abstract; there's no fundamental impact or shift to their lives.

Ritu was my boss, but we were chummy and hung out after work a lot. When she killed herself, it was a shock and a surprise. I always imagined myself as being able to keep emotionally detached from things like that, but you can't prepare yourself for something like that. It's impossible to imagine what it feels like when someone dies. And having gone through it, I can't even bring myself back to feel that feeling again.

I had spoken to her on the phone just days before and she sounded upbeat and was looking forward to returning to the firm. I got the news from one of the attorneys that was close to her. She knew we were kinda close and was putting it to me to tell the rest of the team. I immediately got into responsibility mode and sucked it up and accepted what I had to do. Then I went back to my cube to send an email for the team to meet up, and as soon as I got there, I lost it. My cube neighbor had to take me outside and it took 15 minutes sitting on the curb before I could collect myself to even tell her what happened.

So there was the immediate impact and shock, but quite honestly, in the big picture, her suicide was fairly abstract to me. She had already dismissed herself from the firm, she was back home in New York getting treated, I was already re-assigned to another team, we were as chummy as a boss and an underling could be in the year we knew each other, but we weren't great friends. There was no material change in my life, except knowing that Ritu was gone. I don't consider the future possibility of meeting up again a material change. Losing that is too bad, but the future is always uncertain, so I don't consider it material.

Do I miss her? Yes. Do I wish she were still around? Yes. Would she have enriched my life? Probably. Do I hold it against her that she left? No. I also missed my chance in the days she was spiraling out of control to proactively help her. I kept my distance. I don't blame myself, but I can't blame her either then. I made my choice, she made hers. If society condemns her, it should condemn me and all of us who were close to her.

My role in the lives of all the people around me is at some level of abstraction. There is no one in my life who would experience a material change in their lives because of my leaving. I'm not saying there would be no or minimal impact, I'm just saying that it would be abstract and temporary. It would be news to receive, react to, process, but then move on.

For some people, I anticipate a huge emotional reaction, great sorrow, flatter myself not, and maybe it would last a long time, maybe it would create a hole in their lives, maybe they would never fully get over it and they'd be sad every time they thought of it. But none of those people are here in my life, direct, non-abstract.

The people who are here in direct contact in my life aren't close. They are abstract, very much like my relationship with Ritu. They'd feel the shock and have to go through their emotional response, but no material change in their lives. There's no one I hang out with regularly. They're all at arms length. And whenever we do hang out, it's nothing deep or meaningful; often annoying or aggravating.

These people don't even know me, so any lingering feelings, I'm sorry, are their own responsibility. I'm not responsible for them, just as they are not responsible for whatever led me to my decision. You can say that they're the ones who have to deal with the fallout, but gimme a break, I'm the one who's dead. Shut up. I don't think it's over when I die, and it is with apprehension that I find out what's next.

I don't want to diminish how my parents will feel, I expect that they will be devastated, but our relationship is still at some level of abstraction. They don't know me or anything that's going on in my life, and they don't play an active role in it. I hated them for most of my life, and we're only cordial now because I unilaterally decided it should be so.

None of the issues were ever addressed, allowing them to be complacent about them. I won't bring them up now to try to get to some resolution, because the war ended up as a no-win stand-off, and I have no reason to believe that bringing them up anew would not just lead to that same uncomfortable and tense stand-off.

I decided to cut my losses and heal in my own way, and this is it. I'm still suicidal as I've always been (or think I am or act like I am, after all I'm still alive), but I gave them years of feeling that I was behaving like a real son. I have conversations with them instead of making our phone calls strained, with me giving one word answers and little information. Years of visits where I wasn't cold and stiff, letting them know I was only there out of my feeling of obligation, returning my feeling that they only raised us out of obligation and social expectations.

And it's real. I didn't do that out of spite, to make it even worse for them when I die, gimme a break. In my old age, I give it to them that they did an OK job raising us, they didn't do a bad job. All families have issues. That doesn't diminish the abstract nature of our current relationship.

And I know that the "no material change" yardstick doesn't apply to parents or brothers. Raising me and growing up with each other are enough for my death to create a definite material change in their lives. But for my direct life now, our family bond is of blood, and of cold comfort and little solace to my soul. They can figure out the rest for themselves, I think they love me enough to do so.

There are many people who think I'm a special person, but I'm not special to anyone. By special, I mean that they want to know me and they want me to know them. I had a class of people who I was considering separately, people who aren't in my physical life, but were deep in my heart. But I just found out that my feeling of closeness with one of them was my own creation and not based in reality. I assumed it with her, and probably with the others, too. I don't doubt the love or the importance, but I no longer believe they are any less abstract than the people physically around me. Distance prevails to enhance the abstraction.

I have no partner or spouse, no kids or pets, no one I'm responsible for or co-existent with, no co-workers, roommates, or bandmates, no one is relying on me for anything, no best friend forever, no "best friend" for that matter. Again, I'm not saying I have or will have no impact, but these are the facts.

I've been having trouble with discipline and focusing. Sitting and focusing my mind and concentrating had gotten really hard and frustrating. 

There's a risk in being inundated with religious reading because of the whole "institutionalized religion" thing, and I'm anti-institution. Getting filled to the brim with external written sources risks drowning out listening to my own heart. The problem is that there is a lot my own heart can't tell me. It's hard to delineate what to take on faith, and then where to draw the line. 

At the same time, I'm writing all this stuff about suicide; my comments on the responses to that Craigs List suicide note, and there are like 30 of them that I've saved. It's not a slam-dunk issue for me, I still mull over it and the morality that people stick on it. I wonder if it's the right thing to do, even though deep in my gut I feel it's not a wrong thing to do for me. My mind becomes a swamp. 

Then I think of Peter Gabriel's lyrics, "When things get so big, I don't trust them at all/You want some control, you got to keep it small" (DIY). 

Simplify. The very core of my belief is that the very essence or nature of phenomenal reality is void. All things must pass. They change, impermanent, and then gone. None of this is Real. You can choose to think all of this is real and treat it that way, there's nothing wrong with that. But once you choose to be done with that, you're not in Kansas anymore. 

I believe that the phenomenal world is a function of the law of cause and effect, which is integral to the cycle of re-birth. I also believe that it is possible to pierce the veil of the illusion of the phenomenal world to either escape the cycle of re-birth, or to continue in it with that understanding. 

I believe that disciplining and focusing one's mind through concentrated sitting is key to piercing the veil. I also believe that critical thought, more so than, but including, right thought, right actions, and right words, is just as key. I believe that progress along the path is just as much an emotional process as it is an intellectual process, if not more so. I believe keeping an open channel and open mind is crucial to receiving and reading the signs. 

Simplify. 

I don't believe in human morality except as a symbolic social phenomena. I believe that attempting to transmute all experience towards the positive is crucial. Even suicide, whether on the giving or receiving end. I believe in non-corporeal guidance, but I don't yet believe, or maybe I just don't understand the worship of non-corporeal entities. 

I think anything that is muddying up the works is shite.

So it's halfway through September, seven months I've been unemployed, one month more than planned. I've stopped thinking that I'm waiting to hear from the monastics about monastic opportunities, but it's still in my mind that I'm due to hear from them shortly. What has changed in the last month?

I still do not want to return to the status quo of living a normal life. Getting a job is not in my plans. Moving to Tucson or Portland is not in my plans. Not being in San Francisco come the end of daylight savings is still in my plans.

I think my mad existential rantings and posts have been exchanged with religion-inspired posts. I've seriously curbed my drinking and I've switched my sleeping hours to something more "normal" and disciplined. Regular reading, sitting, contemplating, generally less mad.

Weird. Weird that after 15 years I'm not addicted to or dependent on alcohol. Weird that madness is my own mind game to turn on and off at will. Although there are always the underlying reasons to turn it on or off. I've stopped cutting completely and don't even think about it. Weird that all of these developments reinforce and still point me to the exact same conclusion.

This reality is not real. I'm not real. I don't need to be here.

Two Out of Three Ain't Bad
Whew!

I've never been good with deadlines, they tend to make me crazy. Now I can take things at my own pace and figure out execution.

There's no drama here really. There's not supposed to be any drama. The drama and the emotions only come out unreasonably, only in the present moment, but in the context of the three dimensions of past, present, future, it really is unreasonable.

The past record points to one conclusion, and after 20 years of being the way I am, I think I've done rather well. I hope no one I respect would fault me now. I mean really, I've been writing about this over and over again and nothing has really changed, and I go back to what I've written and it all makes perfect sense to me.

The future can only be built on the past, and again, from what I've been building, it all makes perfect sense, too. I know no one will agree with me on this, but in regards to the future as well, this end is quite reasonable and logical considering. I would go so far as to say it's affirmative.

Always, always, always the nagging point is the present. Past and future notwithstanding, the present controls, the present is the being, without the cooperation of the present, nothing gets executed. Past and future are reasoned, present is emotional, the wildcard. Oh, I just had a deja vu about writing this posting.

All of life is fleeting, but what is more fleeting than the present? The past is done, the future is unknown, but the present is here and then it's gone. Whatever reason can be extracted from the concepts of past and future can be more real than the simple and base reactive of the present. And for me, the past and future considerations are far more real than the present as pertaining to my life.

The present needs to be controlled. There are living solutions, I don't see this as a matter of no way out or no other options. But it's just what makes sense, whether I like it or not. And I don't really like it, but the past and future compel. It's just right.

who wants to live forever:
I guess I don't know how to live in the moment. Memories are my worst enemy. Focus on a year ago. Focus on five years ago. Focus on ten years ago. Focus on 15 years ago. Focus on the reality of certain moments still retained in my memory. Feel the reality like on a Star Trek holodeck in three dimensions. But they aren't real anymore. They are memory, and the recall on a holodeck doesn't make them any more real.

One year ago I was working. The recall is very clear, the cube, the flourescent lights, the team falling apart, still the appreciation for boss-lady. But I was emptied already a year ago. It didn't mean a thing.

Five years ago I had already lost myself in a wretched relationship that would be over within months. The violence and violations were soul-shattering. I would have been better off if she had took my knife and cut me up. That would have been far more preferable. But the images I hold are mostly the fond ones, the reasons why I loved her.

Ten years ago I spent a wretched summer with the love of my life. After two years of a perfect friendship, we went out for a year and fucked it all up.

Fifteen years ago, I was preparing to go back to college after being suspended for a semester for "psychiatric re-evaluation" and getting a clean bill of mental health, hehe. The night I was packing up to head out to Oberlin, my brother didn't like the look of me. Without telling me, he went to my parents and told them he was going with me and he needed money for the flight back. He drove the whole way. I call him "Bob". His name is "Rob".

I swear there were good moments, great moments through all this. It was the people. Always the people. As recently as Meghan with her sympathetic empathy. Madoka and the absolute, unconditional love, framed in an incomplete circle. I could go on, but I won't because it would take pages and pages. The names. Diem Nguyen, Hiromi Mizuno, Luyen, Josephine Chen, Pasha, Dilshan, Mark, Shiho Nakai!, Nobuko, Lisa SooHoo, Amina Chaudhri, Myung Soo Seuck, Tria Chew, Bangkok, Golden Gate University, Geneva, Tokyo, Taipei . . . San Francisco.

But I project myself into my past realities, things that happened, and they are still all past. I haven't held onto a single thing to turn in my hands and look at from all angles and smile and say "yes".

I've already passed the three month mark of this six month period I've arbitrarily given myself; unemployed. I have less than three months left ticking on the clock, or at least that is my mindset, before I have to decide exactly how I'm going to avoid spending another Winter in the Bay Area.

It's different this time. It makes sense this time. I don't need to do anything anymore. I've proven I could hold a job and support myself. And now? I don't want another job, certainly not another office job, similar but different desk, similar but different computer, similar but different copy machines, similar but different office supplies, similar but different office people. Why? Do I want to be one of those clockwatchers? Do I want to be one of those people who just floats through life? I can't do that. I don't know why.

But it's not like there's something else I want to do, that I'm ambitious about, that I care about. So I'm more like one of those people who try to break out of the normative matrix of life, only to find nothing there.

But that's only one way to look at it, one way people might look at me. The truth is that there always has been nothing there, and that's what I've been striving for all these years, to get to that realization.

I remember reading the book The Outsiders when I was a kid, and I was blown away by the way S.E. Hinton ended the book the same way the book started. Then one of the seminal of books of my life was Illusions by Richard Bach, and that book also used that same storytelling technique, wrapping the end with the beginning in a nice narrative circle.

I feel that I've been floating and skipping over pages turning in my life and I'm going to find that the last words of the story are the same as the first words.

My conclusion was stated on the first page, but it took going through the entire story to reach the same conclusion again on the last page, but with a deeper understanding of it, having gone through the story. It all finally makes sense.

Personally, I wish I had gotten here of my own accord, according to my own decisions and realizations, and not by the turns of fate dealt out to me. I'm not in bands because no one has wanted me since Fiction. I'm not in a relationship because anyone I've been interested hasn't reciprocated. And anyone who showed interest in me were complete idiots. OK, they weren't complete idiots, that's harsh. They were complete idiots to me. OK, they weren't even that, nobody has shown interest in me.

My life has been drained, all the important elements deserted, and even though it's what I've wanted, it hasn't been my doing. I wasn't the agent of my doing, I was just the vessel.

And worst of all about babbling on about all this:

I'm fucking sober!!