Something changed three weeks ago. I have it marked because I wrote about it but didn't post it, because I didn't know for sure.

OK, I was having persistent hiccups, and when I have those hiccups, I consider myself sick. I made that call a few months ago, and I know it's strange because it doesn't have quite the physical symptoms of an illness, but the psychic effect is one of an illness. But the illness also has a timer on it. I can be over 90% certain that within 48 hours, it will be over.

That's the background. I was sick. But I was also looking up symptoms for alcoholic liver disease and several pages completely matched what I was experiencing as being close to the final stages of alcoholic liver disease. I didn't have the final final stage symptoms, and I didn't have jaundice or yellowing of the skin, but I'm Asian, so who could tell, yo'm sayn'?

Anyway, I was convinced that this was the last tip of the edge before heading down that slippery slope. I was definitely going to die sometime soon. My plan had worked: if I wasn't able to die on my own accord, then alcohol would finish me off.

I went about for two days thoroughly convinced it was mission accomplished. I came to terms with it and was glad to have the finish line in sight. I started looking around my apartment and preparing to get rid of as much of the crap I've accumulated so that someone else didn't have to do it. They could just deal with the quality stuff.

Then suddenly everything just turned around. Just about overnight.

Not only did most of the symptoms go away, but the long-term things I've been feeling for the past year and a half or more also disappeared. Most notably was the lack of appetite. The ennui was also gone; I was no longer perfectly happy lying about listening to music all day. Intestinal problems were gone. Insomnia abated for a while, but now it's back, but I don't consider that a problem anymore.

But the appetite is the big thing. It was a bit of torment to not be hungry at all, and when I would convince myself I was hungry and get something to eat, I'd take a bite and immediately regret it, feeling immediately full and that finishing what I had would be miserable.

I don't know what the hell is going on. Since then I've rolled back on alcohol and I've been getting out and about more than I have in the past two years. I've started riding again, getting my road bike out of the apartment for an unprecedented three days in a row, only to be stopped by more than a week of rainy weather.

There's actually some overlap there. I started forcing myself to get out and farther away everyday before three weeks ago in an attempt to not drown in a full torpor. Getting on my road bike was a result of the aftermath. 

Rolling back on alcohol was planned since the incident. When I thought I was going to die, I wondered whether I could stop drinking if I tried, and I told myself 'probably not'. But if I was going to die, I didn't want to die feeling like crap, and I did realize that drinking made me feel like crap and I still pushed myself to drink ridiculous amounts.

So I eased off the drinking, although I still drink enough to put me at a level where doctors would say I'm at risk for long-term health risks. Long-term health risks? I've been drinking like this for over 20 years. The point is that I'm monitoring how I feel about it and if I don't feel like having a drink, I won't; or if I feel it'll make me feel like crap, I won't. There's just a point later on approaching bedtime when I'll let go and throw back a few.

I changed the url of this blog!

I'm not sure, but I think that means this blog as identified by the old url no longer exists. I think it now looks like a deleted blog. It may look like I deleted the blog. That's brilliant. I'm off the grid! It's not like I had regular or periodic visitors, but if I did, they're gone.

And I hated that old url. Pfft: suicideblog.blogspot. whatev.

This blog has also stagnated and gotten painfully boring. Mind you, I'm not saying that's going to change. But I was stuck and didn't know where to go, and with a new url I guess I could try to start anew.

Or not. Part of why I stopped posting is because I've mentally gotten to a place where it really doesn't matter anymore. I'm not the same person I was when I started this blog, and I just don't feel the need to have my thoughts "out there". I don't need to express anything. I don't need to plant a flag of my existence.

The initial idea was to just have the record, but even that's not important anymore. I did consider deleting the blog fer reals, but even deleting it wasn't important. Even deleting it felt like an ego attachment or that it was significant enough to delete.

I don't know if I'll continue, but maybe I will. I do look back to past entries to see what I was doing years ago, and I am in a totally different place now. And if it is just for the record, and the past record doesn't reflect the present, might as well try to say something about the present also just for the record.
 

These days, every day I tell myself tomorrow I'm going to do something different. I tell myself with conviction that I'm going to do something different. Every day I end up doing the same old nothing I did yesterday.

I'm still considering the effect Sadie has had by coming here. Really, there should be none. Really, there inevitably is.

So far we've been maintaining communications more frequently than before, but her way of communicating has become totally foreign to me. Before, we had normal email communications, albeit at times a lot of time would pass between them. Not abnormal.

"Normal" communications being something letter like. You write about something, they respond and bring up some other thing, you respond. Her communications are more often a barrage of scattershot, in-the-moment snippets that I can't even tell if I'm supposed to respond or not. A lot of questions I ask go unanswered. We do not communicate in the same way over long-distance.

It's not the connection like we had when together, either here or over nine years ago in San Francisco. But this all makes sense, because we're not supposed to be trying to "connect" any more than we just generally do. We had a moment, and it was a special moment, but certain fundamentals remain the same. Striving for some connection or even substance between us different from what we always have been is silly.

And as my lifestyle has sunk back into its morass (unfortunately not more ass (sorry, bad obvious joke)), it's gotten even worse, possibly even getting to my physical health. It's hard to tell because my physical health isn't supposed to be that good as I've been trying to sabotage it for years. More and more symptoms to match alcoholic liver disease.

And I find I'm not just cruising in a bearable, hazy ennui as I have been for the past two or three years. I'm starting to get tired of it, irritated by it, but still zero motivation or ambition to do anything. I still maintain that nothing is going to change without a next sincere attempt. A lot of indicators that I should be angling towards that.

So Sadie came and went. I'm still processing her visit. I'm not sure if I'm being too subtle about any subtexts, or not subtle enough. Or whether I should be subtle or not. There's a certain word without which you can't spell "subtext". Real subtle there.

She initially came to visit for three weeks and then extended her stay for another three weeks, sex weeks total, until she really needed to go back. That means she was having a good enough time after three weeks to extend as long as possible.

All in all, I think it was a brilliant visit. We had a lot of fun, lots of laughs and definite connection. On the other hand there were tensions that can be expected from six weeks of near daily exposure. There were things I wish I did better.

I suppose the thing I don't want to downplay is how well we connected. We got each other. Even in our worst moments, there was always movement towards or with each other, and rarely, if not none, where we encountered a negative situation or mindset and mentally or emotionally headed off in divergent directions.

And 97% of her visit wasn't even near those worst moments. Mostly it was brilliant, hilarious, unabashed, affectionate connection. We challenged each other, just about anything went, and it still mostly ended up hilarious. Not all, but mostly.

Some lines were crossed and quickly forgiven (I knew I'd pay for any gender stereotyping, even in jest), some lines weren't allowed to be crossed until control was established (she didn't get to see my apartment until her last day here, on the way to the airport).

On the other hand, I don't want to over-emphasize any meaning to this visit. It was assumed to be for a limited time only. In fact, I realized and brought up the discrepancy between my attitude about her visiting before she arrived and my behavior towards her after she was here.

Where did that previous attitude, basically warning her not to visit, go? She arrived and I welcomed her with open arms and spent as much time with her as possible and we talked openly about just about everything. It was for a limited time only. No strings attached.

I think the hardest time for us was when we discussed my not wanting to be here and not wanting to do anything. Communication did break down, although we still stuck together through it. But in that discussion, we didn't even have a common frame of reference or a common language.

I can't even convey what she was trying to convey, because we weren't even speaking the same language. To my ears, she sounded like someone trying to convince a gay person not to be gay. Or a Christian trying to convince someone of the absolute truth of Jesus. She totally refused to get these analogies, nor the significance that I was using analogies of intolerance. 

And she called me stubborn for refusing to even consider something that I feel I have to deal with every moment of my existence. That was pretty damn near offensive, but I sucked it up because I do love her. Always have.

That can't be understated. Even though in the nine years since I left San Francisco, our communications have been friendly and familiar at best with long periods of silence, we almost always had as great of a time together in S.F. as someone could have with someone with a boyfriend (her not me), and saying I've always loved her is easy now, if not a given, now that she doesn't have a boyfriend.

The only reason for the subtexts that easily unfolded between us is because I loved her all along. I wasn't like, "oh, yuck".

Still processing. As I'm sure she is, too. I think the reality of it may be that we affirmed we have a very loving friendship. But maybe not much of anything else will or should change. If we lived in the same city, things may turn out to be very different.

And it also shouldn't be ignored that we both likely sacrificed and endured a lot to make her visit a pleasant one for both of us. At the end of willingness to sacrifice and endure, it probably gets less pleasant.

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Sadie decided during her third week here that she will extend her stay. Now she's going to be here for another three weeks to the limit that she can stay (she has to go back to be at someone's wedding). Most importantly, she booked her stay for the next three weeks at a single airbnb, so no more moving around like in the first three weeks in what were essentially hostels or hotels.

From my point of view, it's been wonderful that she's here. Even if she wishes that I wanted something from life and wanted to live, I've drawn certain lines in the sand that if she were to cross wouldn't make any difference. What and who I am now is deeply ingrained and her hopes otherwise are unlikely to change them.

So we enjoy each others' company and intimacies and share just about everything, including every embarrassing thing from our pasts.

She moved to the airbnb today and I have a set of keys to the apartment, and I don't know why I'm not there now. She decided to stay another three weeks, and I should be taking advantage of and relishing each extra day that she's decided to be here. I'm slow like that.

Maybe just this first day, I wanted her to establish the apartment as her space. And perhaps insomnia being a fear and an issue, as I haven't been able to get much sleep anywhere but my own apartment. Although that hasn't stopped insomnia being an issue at home, either. Generally it's been good, but when it hits, it wipes me out and is a chronic fear.

Well that escalated quickly.

Sadie arrove. Her time in Taipei was planned to be three weeks. The first week was a lot of orientation and navigating Taipei and each others' intimacies. The second week had us ironing out some . . . inconsistencies?

Amongst our having fun spending time with each other, I met up with her one time with alcohol not quite having dissipated from my system, and she took issue with that and, from my point of view, projected some behaviors on me that to me were not at all inconsistent with how I just am. She brought it up as a problem and we discussed it.

If she has back issues with alcohol, I'm willing to accommodate them. But it is patronizing in a way. I don't think I ever show up perceived "drunk", but if I do show up with the smell of alcohol, I give her the option of postponing our meeting a couple hours until she's comfortable. I take no offense.

Personally, I don't give a shit. Generally I'll allocate a drying out period, but those times we met when she knew I had alcohol in my system were specific circumstances. If she wants me to dry out first, I have no problem with that. But under no circumstance, and I think she knows this, am I going to hide that constant drinking, if not alcoholism, call it alcoholism if you want, I don't care, is part of my being.

It seemed that the issue was big enough for her to state that she would be bailing and returning to San Francisco as planned on the 31st. That was a few days ago. I think now she's reconsidering. Makes little difference to me, truth to tell. If she goes home, that's fine, if she decides to extend, glad to have her around.

None of this is to suggest that there are any problems between us or in our friendship/acquaintance/relationship. I told her if she decided to visit, she should come with no expectations, and she has heeded that. She sometimes pushes me towards something she would prefer me to be, but she's very patient and accommodating when I gently suggest nothing of that sort is going to happen.

I do feel I'm too far gone, and any next step I take will be after a next attempt. But short of that, there's still nothing I want to do, and so far there is nothing life can offer that will make me want to "live out my life". That's not the point of my life, I believe.

It's not despondence, I feel vaguely liberated and free. Definitely not in the realm of enlightenment, but I do feel light being the way I am. Not weighed down by mundane concerns of job, making a living, creating a family and all that bullshit.

But there definitely is a path ahead.

We held hands. All the way back to her hostel from Danshui.

Sadie took the day off from work and she woke me up in the morning. I bought some time to get myself collected and suggested some things for her to do, to which she was amenable, basically exploring her surrounding area.

She said I was a good teacher, which I like to think I am. A disadvantage of knowing someone on the ground when visiting a foreign country is that when they guide you around, you miss the figuring out where to go on your own.

For me, when learning about a new place, I like to think navigation is an important part of the memory. So when she first arrived, I gave her a paper map orientation, which I assumed wouldn't stick, but I think it's useful for some people to get it in their mind to go between the map and the experience, and they start putting it all together themselves.

Having sent her solo on the MRT yesterday, I suggested that after she did the local exploring that we meet at Taipei Main Station at a certain exit at a certain time, which is generally how it's done in Taipei, and she took the challenge and we met up no problem (she was duly impressed at the effectiveness of using the MRT stations' numbered exits as meeting places).

We walked around and explored the Taipei Main Station area, which is the original downtown area of Taipei and seat of the national government, and is right next to Ximending where we were last night to help conceptualize how Taipei is oriented.

Afterwards, we headed north on the red MRT line with the idea of being at the end of the line in Danshui to watch the sunset and the off-possibility of catching sight of a comet that might possibly be visible.

We stopped in Xinbeitou on the way, about halfway to Danshui, and spent a pleasant afternoon in that area famous for hot springs, and she mentioned that she heard about the hot springs and had brought a bathing suit should that opportunity arise.

Then we headed up to Danshui, but unfortunately even though it was sunny in Taipei and Xinbeitou, by the time we got to the end of the line, the area was socked in by fog. I walked her through Danshui anyway and we settled in for dinner at Alleycats pizza for several hours (she humored my constant craving for western food even though she's eager to try all things local).

Sadie and I have great chemistry. We rarely ever have bad feelings about each other and our dynamics are generally playful, and we range from dead serious conversations about love, life, work, politics, etc., to cracking ourselves up so much that everyone around us looks at us.

Or perhaps another example of our interaction is that if we have nothing to say, we don't. We just look at each other in the eyes. We don't get uncomfortable or awkward. We just know we don't need to say anything. If it looks like we're getting awkward, we make a joke about it getting awkward, and then go right back doing it.

So perhaps I'd describe our dynamics as a mix of serious intensity and rip-roaring laughter. Which in itself creates a certain dynamic. And by the time we were leaving Alleycats, all I did was say something completely silly and arbitrary that had Sadie laughing hysterically and us suddenly holding hands.

It was generally comfortable all the way back down, both of us having a pretty clear idea where each other stands. Although personally the human contact was perplexing. Like when the Borg Queen attaches the human skin, complete with sensation, onto Data in "Star Trek: First Contact".

I put no emotional attachment to the sensation. It's the same with pain or unpleasant things. Like last night was pretty chilly in Ximending and Sadie asked me if I was cold, and I said yes, but it doesn't bother me. Perhaps for other people, they feel cold and they associate it with unpleasant and associate it with an emotional dislike reaction.

I don't do that last step of making a sensation emotional. A sensation of our physical bodies is in general to me just a sensation to be experienced, and not something on which to put an emotional attachment. Nothing whatsoever should be attached to is the philosophic path to enlightenment with which I agree.

A sensation of pain is not necessarily undesirable, sometimes to me it's fascinating and I'll explore it or meditate on it. A sensation of sensuous human touch is, to me, not something that leads to desire.

I'm not sure what the next few weeks will hold. A lot of unknowns. But I'm confident it will be a positive experience without compromising the general state my life is in, which is I just don't want to do anything. Even Sadie brings up things I could do and I try to remind her of the profundity of I just don't want to do anything. There is no desire here.

I am even aware of the implications of our holding hands so soon after her landing. I don't know where things are going to lead, but I have had the thought that Sadie didn't come all this way just to work and hang out.

So Sadie arrived Saturday night and I met her at the airport. She had booked a hotel room for that night, and I navigated her there.

After the one night at a hotel, her plan was to spend some time in hostels to gauge her experience in them here, or opt for short-term private living spaces that can be found online (called airbnb's). Working spaces are apparently an option for people around the globe who work over the internet.

She arrived without a hitch late Saturday. After we took a bus from the Taoyuan International Airport into Taipei, we walked the entire distance from Taipei's regional airport to her hotel, and everything was fine and dandy and great.

She had no expectations and she knew I was wary of her visit and my ability to interact socially, but interacting socially isn't really my problem. It's processing the social interaction.

On Sunday, I helped get her settled in at a hostel and we located a working space she had found online, and I got her oriented with transportation and the general area in which she was staying, which is around Shida, the first general area in which I stayed when I first arrived.

I got her oriented with the Heping East Road corridor and at the end of the day I gave her an easy task – get us back to the hostel from where we were in the Shida night market (I knew it would be easy for her to make sense of even if she made a mistake).

It wasn't meant to torment her, of course, but to be able to navigate independently. If she was right I'd tell her right away, if she was totally wrong I'd tell her right away, but if she was a little wrong and could figure out that it was wrong, I let her figure out it was wrong on her own, maybe pointing out a hint if there was something that would make things clear in her mind.

Today she tried out the working space but got there in the afternoon. We agreed to meet up in the early evening and get some dinner, and afterwards she could try to put some more hours of work in.

Having gotten her comfortable with her immediate surroundings, I suggested venturing further out and getting her to navigate the MRT. She had heard about the toilet bowl restaurant in Ximending and we decided it was a worthy novelty tourist experience, so we decided to go there, a short trip on MRT, and again I tasked her with getting us there, and she managed it just fine.

After we wandered around Ximending and she felt she should go back and try to work, I asked her if she thought she could make it back solo and she was confident and comfortable that she could, so I sent her on her way and hopped on a bus home.

Sadie arrived in town. Sadie from San Francisco. Sadie who I haven't seen in almost 9 years. Sadie the last person I saw in San Francisco. She hung out with me the night before I left, after my apartment was empty and all my stuff was sitting in a Ryder truck outside.

I think she asked me at some point back then if there wasn't anything she could've said that could have made me stay. I said no, but she could have, but it was just that the time was wrong.

She asked me recently if it was alright if she visited, and I distinctly, resoundingly didn't say yes.

She has a job where she telecommutes, and she realized she could telecommute from anywhere. So she realized she could travel to places and all she had to do was maintain the discipline to work a 40 hour work week and everything was cool and she could experience living in different places.

I didn't say it would be cool to visit me. I didn't say I wanted her to visit me. I did say she couldn't stay with me, as my apartment is inadequate for that. I did remind her of my current state of social isolation and that there were a lot of unknowns involving me suddenly interacting with people.

I did say that if she happened to decide to come to Taipei as a destination to do her work thing, I would make sure she landed on her feet to do her work thing, and that I would make myself available at every possibility to hang out with her and show her my Taipei.

I honestly didn't think she'd come here. All the signs I was giving should have been construed as warnings. I told her she could come but to have no expectations. And she came with no expectations.

She'll be here for three weeks figuring out her own living situation and work situation, and I'll make myself available for her to have a good experience.

She's an old friend now. I love her like I loved her back in San Francisco, and I'm sure she loves me like she loved me back in San Francisco, but we were only good friends then. Now we're old friends, with that much more comfort and weight to our interactions.

I think we'll generally have a great time. I think she'll generally have a great experience. But I really, really, really want to tell her at some point before she leaves that all I want from life now is to experience death, and bringing faith into the picture, to not come back at all (Buddhism is the faith, but the actual "faith" is in the unknowing whether it's a reasonable projection of what else there is beyond our physical lives and reality).

I really feel done with the human experience (for now, perhaps), and nothing is as disheartening as the idea of reincarnation and going through all of something like this again and hoping to be exposed to and re-learn all the stuff (due to karma) that was so inspiring before to get me on the path.

I read Lance Armstrong's "It's Not About the Bike" because I thought it would be an interesting read, taking into consideration his recent admission that he doped for all of his Tour de France wins.

His coming clean didn't really affect my thoughts about him much. Partly because I never thought much of him personally anyway. I followed those Tours de France and was thrilled at his performances, but he never interviewed well. Off the bike, he wasn't all that impressive or even likeable.

Reading the book also confirmed that his personality type is not one that I like. He was a typical jock, basically a selfish, arrogant asshole, which I think kinda goes with the territory at performing at the highest level of the elite.

I don't think it's something he'd deny. Call him a selfish, arrogant asshole and he'd admit he is because that's part of what gives him a competitive edge (but if you said it as an insult, rather than a descriptive, he just might punch you in the face).

So OK, fine, he doped, he cheated. But win or not, he completed seven Tours de France! Holy crap! You're already pretty elite if you can ride even a single stage of the Tour, I reckon. Any major leaguer can hit a baseball out of the park, but doping makes you do it more often. That's cheating.

In an event like the Tour de France, doping might improve performance, but it doesn't mean that you'll win, it doesn't mean that you'll even be able to complete it and it certainly doesn't mean that it's easy. It's already a superhuman feat, and that's part of why I'm still no less impressed by Armstrong's performance.

You can say he doesn't deserve those wins because he cheated, and I have no problem with that, but I also believe the allegations that doping was and is rampant in the sport.

Maybe he doesn't deserve those wins, but who knows who does? I'm curious as to why after Armstrong was stripped of his titles, they didn't go to the second place winners. But who knows? They may have been doping, too, but just didn't come under such intense and sustained scrutiny because they were second place and were not Lance Armstrong.

Doping in cycling and not getting caught is practically a sport in itself. And as often as Armstrong was tested and never tested positive, the USPS team was certainly the best at cheating (OK, maybe that's not quite so impressive).

But the book is mostly about the cancer, which is what prevented me from re-shelving the book in the library under fiction. Only the last part is about his comeback and covers only his first Tour de France win. That's the part where the reader can start reading in a subtext of doping between the lines.

When did they first start planning it? How did they put the whole system into place to not get caught? How did they convince the whole team to go along with it and risk their careers and reputations? Everything he describes about riding that Tour now has a doping subtext.

I had an interesting dream experience; a first for me, I think.

I had a "normal" type of sleep (as opposed to the abnormal, insomaniacal types of sleep I have), whereby I get a sufficient amount of good sleep, and upon waking I go through a period of waking and falling back to sleep multiple times, and having dreams in the shallow sleep periods.

Usually the dreams are unremarkable or I otherwise forget them very quickly after waking. But this time, it was like one, same dream that I kept waking up from and then fading back into. There was continuity, even though much of the contents of a dream are indescribable because too many things kept changing and it would be a disjunct mess to try to explain everything I remember.

The setting was a constant; a small-knit community like a village or school campus. I didn't know most of the people and most of the people were white, which may be strange since I usually don't note the race of people in dreams (they were all very nice and non-threatening).

And for me, whatever was happening, I had this feeling everyone knew what was going on and there were things they were (supposed to be) doing, but I had no clue whatsoever and was constantly trying to figure out who these people were and what they were doing.

I know that may reflect my psyche in this physical perceived reality, but in the dream it was literal. Like an alien plopped on a college campus and has no idea what college is about and trying to figure out why everyone is going about doing what they're doing.

Another constant was that early on in the dream, I had won something and received a certificate. It was some photo thing, but the certificate I received was some arts and crafts thing with my picture on it, and had nothing to do with any photo I took. There was a name for it, but I don't remember it, and it was apparently a big deal because in all periods of the dream, people would walk up and congratulate me.

A lot of the dream, the plot as it were, was trying to figure out that award and why it was such a big deal.

Like I said, the dream was constantly shape-shifting and it'd be nonsensical to describe everything. One notable scene was when I had a dream within the dream.

There was a room, and it was my brother's room and he was there and we had some interaction. At some point he lies down on his bed to take a nap. I go off to another part of the dream, but then I come back and he's still asleep, so I decide to take a nap since he implicitly welcomed me to (I'm uncharacteristically not socially avoidant as I currently am in this physical perceived reality). He has a roommate, but there are three beds, so it's no problem.

So I'm lying on the bed and the roommate comes back and there's a vibe of "what the hell are you doing on my bed?". I don't say anything, assuming everything's cool, then he just accepts it and starts putting stuff on the bed and that's when I look up and notice there are only two beds, and I'm on his.

I get up and want to apologize saying that I had a dream and there were three beds in the dream, so I thought it was alright, but decided not to because of how crazy that would've sounded. That's all I'll say about that even though the scene continues but shape-shifts into something else, including more misunderstanding between this stranger and my brother.

Another section I noted because it involved some woman that involved . . . some woman. I noted it just because of the woman aspect, tapping into the biological fact of human reality. I forget the lead up, but I think it had something to do with the award and something being written down by me or someone else in relation to it.

But then a woman who was there looked at it and discovered it was a code and she was able to break it. It was kind of like a bunch of words, but then if you read just the first letter of each word they make up a sentence. I tried to look at it but didn't see it.

But she said it was a message and that it was time for me to "get together" with Noel. Or Noelle, I suppose is a woman's name. The implication was a relationship, but the woman is a bit of a mystery since I think I had met her before, but she was in another village or another part of the campus. She wasn't easily accessible.

Finally, the last section is notable because I ended up at my uncle's place and it was nearing midnight and I was about to go out and he was under the impression I was leaving that night and he didn't know when we'd see each other again (themes from reality), but I hadn't prepared to leave so I would probably come back and leave in the morning.

And I don't feel like I was lucid dreaming at that point, but I remember thinking "this is the end of the dream, this is the end of the episode". All that up to that point was fiction, and now the credits were about to roll.

I think there was a brief feeling of defiance that this was a dream and I wasn't staying in it for the fucking credits and I do remember forcing myself out of the dream and waking up. I don't know why I didn't try to go back in, but I got up for good. Maybe because sometimes you have to know when it's over.

I don't think I can get through another year like 2012, but lord knows I'll try.

I'm not doing anything, and I'm doing it well. Happy enough that if I died today, I'd die happy.

I frequently counter being neurotic by telling myself, "What the fuck do I care what anyone else thinks?". It pretty much always works whenever I can recall it.

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.

Good lord, that last post was completely wrong. It just shows how primitive my worldview has become. It's more likely just a projection of my own mental state in the guise of sophomoric philosophilosizing.

If one must consider people's motivations for doing what they do, they're no doubt countless. While being simplistic, where is "Because I enjoy it" or "Because the sum benefits of it outweigh the inconveniences and annoyances and even the tragedies" in my thinking?

That said, it also re-affirms the feeling of dissipation of the relevance of my existence. These are just idiotic thoughts I have for most part now.

Looks like after 10 years, this year is the year I've posted the least. Kinda makes sense. Not sure what else there is to say. But it's not like there's nothing left to say. I'm still a thinking, breathing, metabolizing entity. I'm not dead yet. On some levels at least.

At the same time I feel my existence, or the relevance of my existence dissipating. Both. There's no point in saying anything. And there is no point in saying anything. But as long as I'm still here, might as well say whatever there is left, right?

I still go about my days. And they're not bereft of meaning worth communicating, although I might doubt the value of what I might communicate.

A ten year old blog, well, well, well.

Obviously there are likely things I posted through the years that I'd be embarrassed about now or might need to qualify or even consider outright wrong. Or not. I can't think of anything offhand that I think I was completely wrong about. Whatever.

Wrap things up? I don't know.

Maybe for starters, for the past two years at least, I've been doing basically the same thing every day. And every day I go out, I look at the people and I wonder "why are they doing what they are doing?", I try to imagine what their motivation is.

Oftentimes I imagine the answer is "because it's their programming". What they do is what they're programmed to do, and they're just running the program. Another possibly more condescending answer is "they don't know why and they don't ask, they don't know what else there is". Another answer is "*belch* why not?".

I'm not satisfied with any of these answers, except maybe the last. I've said this before, but I don't know why people do what they do, nor why I should adopt their motivation to do something, anything.

Life of Pi (Taiwan, 2012)

I have to say it straight out. Having just read the book recently and now seeing the film, the film is better than the book. I can't really fault the book, though, because the nature of the novel lends itself perfectly for a visual experience through film.

Many things described in the book require more imagination than I have to visualize them just reading the book. In the film, I don't have to put that effort into it and I can realize what the author was trying to describe.

It's hardly an action movie, but there is visceral motion in the story that Ang Lee makes the audience feel that couldn't be conveyed in just words in a novel, I thought. And Ang Lee's digital teams' visuals are absolutely stunning.

Finally, as I mentioned, in the book a character mentions it's a story that will "make you believe in God", and I didn't think the book delivered on that. The movie does. Perhaps not in a literal sense, but in a conceptual sense.

There's that big, albeit subtle, turn-around scene when it's like, "oh, that's what he means. Yea". I'm scientifically oriented at heart, and a running theme of this blog is to keep that orientation in check. Science is amazing in how it describes reality, but it is only amazing because it limits itself so strictly.

It doesn't investigate what it can't find evidence for. Scientific reality I accept. But I also accept a reality that science can't touch. And the question is, do you prefer a reality that is only scientifically describable, or a reality that has elements that science can't describe?

It is an intense film. I wouldn't preclude reading the book for all the detail that is fleshed out, although a lot of the stuff left out in the film was definitely not necessary in the film. I can't say if my appreciation is greater having read the book, and of course at this point I can't watch the film not having read the book.

I think I'm going to give this film 10 out of 10 tomatoes. 9 at the lowest.



Skyfall (2012, UK)

Oh, good grief, it's a James Bond film. Either you like James Bond films or you don't. They all have flaws or are hard-boiled or whatever.

Daniel Craig continues with the hard, gritty, no-nonsense James Bond that you're not necessarily supposed to like. And the franchise now is part of the 21st century action film genre where if you deliver big bangs for the buck, you've succeeded.

And that's what this film is. A visual amusement park ride of an action movie. It's hardly high cinema, has a lot of flaws, but it's a James Bond film. Nominal fresh 7 out of 10 tomatoes. It's no where near a total fail, but leaves a little to be desired.

I've read a bunch of rock autobiographies lately. I mentioned Ozzy's about a year ago. These autobiographies are like reading history for me; people who have contributed to the music background of my life and hearing their perspective in kind of their own voice. Aside from Ozzy, I've read Keith Richards' "Life", Sting's "Broken Music" and I'm currently reading Steven Tyler's "Does the Noise in My Head Bother You?".

Keith's book renewed interest in the Rolling Stones for me. I was fine with the Rolling Stones until the Tattoo You album, after which I think I felt the Stones lost their relevance and I thereafter didn't pay attention to them even when critics were reporting a "return to form" after the 80s ended. Growing up, I liked all the Stones repertoire played on radio and I bought a bunch of LPs from the 70s and wasn't blown away. A lot of filler on the albums, I thought. Looking back I probably just bought the wrong albums.

If you buy a band's great albums, you can then accept their lesser output. But if you buy their so-so albums first, you don't get the momentum to discover their best albums. So I bought Goats Head Soup, It's Only Rock and Roll, Some Girls, Love You Live and of course Tattoo you and Emotional Rescue which were released when I was old enough to be buying albums. I didn't buy Exiles on Main Street, Beggar's Banquet, Let It Bleed or Sticky Fingers. Anyone familiar with the Rolling Stones catalog can probably look at that list and see I missed the great, classic albums and understand why I failed to appreciate them through the rot of their 80s output, a period characterized by public feuding between Mick and Keith. Privately, they rarely even recorded in the studio at the same time, if ever.

It's no literary masterpiece. Actually, it's a total mess with the timeline scattered and many stories and anecdotes placed haphazardly out of context, but that's not the point. What makes it a great read is that it's Keith Fucking Richards, and if real rock and roll or the Rolling Stones are anywhere in your background, it's kind of a must-read. The thing is over 600 pages and if I end up back in the States, I'll probably buy it and read it again with their musical catalog cued up for when relevant songs and albums come up.

I didn't expect much from Sting's autobiography and I wasn't disappointed. The Police are legendary, but I was never impressed by Sting's personality or arrogance. I gave it to him that he was a brilliant songwriter, one of the great pioneer rock bassists who deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Paul McCartney, and I credited him to be of above average intelligence.

I expected the book to be pretentious and full of himself. It was written after he was only 50 years old and no where near the end of his career nor when he was old enough to have the reflection or levity to be some definitive life statement. But the most surprising aspect of his book was how poorly written it was and the shocking use of high school-grade metaphor.

I think he even (pretentiously) admits that he was trying to be a writer, drawing on his own life as the source material for a literary work. And it's for most part, really, really boring. I figured out too late that most of the first half of the book should be mercilessly skimmed and ignored. Inconsequential anecdotes from some random person's early life (not unlike this blog, but I'm neither famous nor getting paid for this pure vanity project).

The only interesting part of the book for me is when he talks about the formation and early days of the Police and that back story, and that takes up a good part of the book, and then the story suddenly ends with the U.S. tour of Outlandos d'Amour, their first album. The bulk of the Police years are not mentioned, which indicates he had nothing to add to what had already been plumbed through the media through the years.

That book is the worst of the bunch for me, but I'm not a Sting fan. Just as he once emphasized, after an interviewer referred to "Police songs", that they weren't Police songs but his songs played by the Police, I'm a Police fan, not a Sting fan.

The only thing that made an impression on me was the idea that he is not a happy person. Fame and fortune hasn't brought him happiness and he admits that at the center of his being is an unhappy person that was probably formed in his early life. It doesn't change just by superficial success. If the inconsequential anecdotes of his early life are of any worth, I'd glean that his lifelong unhappiness was caused, perhaps innocently, by his parents, as well as modern, post-war life and economies. As a person, I also appreciate that certain depth to him and can hardly fault him that.

Steven Tyler's autobiography is easily the best and most entertaining of the bunch. Unlike Keith's book, it sounds like Tyler's voice, whereas if you hear Keith talk, the book sounds like nothing what would come out of his mouth. He doesn't talk as coherently as the voice in the book, and the book isn't all that coherent. 

But befitting the primary driving creative force of Aerosmith, Tyler is also a great writer and communicator of his ideas. He's funny and candid, doesn't hide his pubescent boy sense of humor that only a rock star is allowed to carry on the rest of his life, and tells it like it was, the good, the bad and the horny.

I'm not a huge Aerosmith fan. I liked their hits, thought a lot of their albums were filler, and like the Stones I ignored them after the 80s rot settled in with guitarists Joe Perry and Brad Whitford leaving the band for a few years. Unlike the Stones, I did notice when they came back with distinctive and worthy hits, but like the Stones I also considered them irrelevant in my youthful perspective, compared to new music that was coming out (alt rock which led to 90s rock and indie rock).

I was moved by Richards's book and I am being moved by Tyler's. Although Richards' perhaps more so because of the span of the legend of the Rolling Stones. There's a joie de vivre in a rampant, decadent rock and roll life, one that I may have dreamed about as a teenager; one that in retrospect I would never have wanted nor been able to handle. But I recognized that spark of what drives you when that spark is music. I guess I didn't want it enough. I didn't work hard enough at it. And though music remains the last love of my life now, inexplicably in superficial, corporate manufactured K-pop, I'm glad I have the bedrock of appreciation of something real.

Steven Tyler, on the other hand, I'm appreciating him as a human being. Someone down-to-earth, passionate and honest with himself, even regarding all his faults in his rock and roll past and lifestyle. I don't know how to explain it. He is a spiritual person and is in contact with the unseen life energy that gives our world meaning. Not enlightened in the sense of transcending it in recognition of a completely different "reality", he is still very much in contact with the perceptual world, but he sees the channel, the bridge.

He comes across to me as an exceptional human being.