Dead, White, & Beautiful All Over

This wind reaches right through
Grabs me cold inside, and alive
This snow falls just like we do
Hastily, or swirling
Even falls up
All grace
As long as it waits, drifts
Only to be trampled underfoot

Already dead, just like that
Love the air, swirl
Spin just like the snow
Melt as soon as you touch
Fall in love with wind's caress
Cut though it may
Grab you cold inside, and alive

Can't live in the cloud and all four winds at once
Dead in all those moments past
Only snowflakes,
Dead so many times over
Could be so cold, graceful
Only to melt as soon as you touch
Only to be trampled underfoot
Only in this way so beautiful
Frozen, falling
Dying gracefully a million times.

In a bald mood?

What kind of title is that for a web page?

My head is full of those thoughts that I sometimes have articulated. They form, as usual, lines, stanza, accent and rhyme, indent here, italicize. But they're not new anymore. I know they never were, but this time my thoughts are old and even I have written them over and over in the same lines, till there's no paper left for all the scratching and the damn ink.

So I'm not going to write anything about them this time. I think I'd rather just listen to some music and let those thoughts run themselves out of breath. My mind is tired of it.

So this time, between the lines is where they'll stay, where I've always kept them. With no new lines to hide between, they've either got to stay back where they were, change, or die.

I have no goal in life.

There was something I wanted to do, once. I did it.

Now I live my life with a rough long-term plan.....

But's there's no goal at the end of that plan.

Fight Club again.

What should I do? Buy a car I guess? Nice apartment? Expensive clothes? Camera?

I said, "Now what do I do?"

He said, "I dunno, ......."

All you ever do anymore is make me sad.

And apologize.

I live in three worlds

They do not overlap

They cannot coexist

One is here.

One is there.

One is inside.

I am constantly

Destroying one

At the cost of another.

The First Person [In Third Person]

Time to wander on down again.
Walk out of that place and then

Seems like my first person narrative is working again.
It follows me whether I will it or not,
Keeping me from silence
While enforcing it on my face.

He babbles and burbles
Little splashes of pointless thought

Like paints....

Like the brook that runs at my side
Enforced landscaping, beautiful
Clogged because it somehow isn't right.

Take a little jump, he says
Marvel at the yellow there
Listen to the sound of your own footsteps.
Is that someone you know? Or over here?

You look stressed, friend
Nervous, tense, worried
Those words don't seem to catch the
Crossed up-posture, down to the knees
Bouncing foot, shaking pen, nodding head
Bent into yourself over notes and your classwork
What test makes you like this?
The test is probably the least of it.
And I know he's just like me.

Then there's the world.
Look at the people passing you around.
Wait, already here? How did I......
I phase between worlds
My imaginary world
And the real one

Little distinction between

Oh pretentious me.
There is no real world.
Exactly!

It's pretentious and impossible
Because
There're more than 6 billion separate worlds
Just wandering around the planet
How could any one of them be real?
There simply is no real world.

We just want to believe
there's something outside
We just know what's inside
Can't be real.

First person narrative seems to be working again.
Not sure I like his story when it's so bright

Who might he sound like today?
Try to steer him one way?

Yeah right.

He's the voice of a world I'm writing

Like some lost demigod

So old no one knows his name

Though not the only one,

He's Creator, all the same.

Holic

Here I am again
In this familiar place
I've never been to before.

I know it's all the same
As long as it's new.
How long will you be?

Someone put me on a path again.
It seems I've convinced myself my life is a circle.

So that same song keeps playing
That one from Never ago.
How do I know all your lyrics?

Know you?
I wrote you.
Years ago.

It's nice to meet you.

I am many things. I am:

Tired, don't want to sleep.
Hungry, don't want to eat,
but I will.
Stereotype, but I hate stereotypical people.
Not a believer in fate,
if it's affecting me.
Full of conflicting emotions.
An unknown.
Wasting time.
A boring person.
Happy, somehow,
and confused by that.
In need of a camera,
and other stuff I don't need.
Full of idle thoughts.
Not in any mood to talk.
Not a very talkative person.
Perhaps depressed?

How to Be Quiet

Tell yourself again that it's not real.
Because if you think you can defeat yourself,
you can.
Remember, you've done everything, right?
Nothing is real or new, there is no god.
Hope is something you have because people told you you should.
Belief is too cliche, so try not to believe in anything.
That's right, believe in nothing.
Hate yourself.
Be jealous of someone, tell yourself that you can do that, too.
Tell yourself you're not jealous.
Cultivate your "image."
Try to set a good example, because you should.
Don't sleep.
Go a little crazy and tell yourself that you're not.
Ignore some more things.
Hold your thoughts.
Write something deep.

Allow to settle for several weeks.
Repeat.

When I look at the stars....

I just laugh to myself.
I really can't help it, but any night clear enough for me to still see the stars here in the city, it makes me so happy..... Such a simple, childish thing, and I don't do it on purpose. I just can't help but smile and look up at the sky these days. And walking to the office, seeing the northstar dead ahead, reluctanly, hesitatingly flickering speck that it is.
I saw a perfect, full, circular rainbow around a noonday sun the other day. The clouds were just perfect and when I looked up I saw a bit of color.... Sunglasses on, and it was magnificent. I actually stopped an idle, bored-looking teenage boy and showed him. Big smile, and if it didn't make his day, just showing him made mine.

The year mark is coming

But I'm so emotionless lately. I feel like something is worth being passionate about, but I don't know what it is. I get excited sometimes, but I've been moderating my emotions, regulating my passion to regulate my negative emotions to keep level.... for so long, it's like I'm just kindof
apathetic
But I guess that's what happens when you tell yourself everyday for years that nothing's worth getting that worked up about, that nothing really deserves anger in return, that frustration is weak, and that negativity is not what you want to share with the world. And I've spent the past year smiling and nodding and not understanding really, and being acquiescent. Romance is something to be careful of, you're a professional, you have to show them how to be, you can't act that way in front of these people or those. Sadness is a sin, and you should be hiding it away in a journal or a blog noone knows about.
Because that's what sin is, right? Sin is the bad things we can't avoid doing, the things we hide. Religions tell us not to do these things, and billions of people listen to that stuff, and what's the net result? Shame = sin = hiding. So my sadness, my introspection, my spirituality, my love, my creativity and my wild urges are all my sins. Somehow, those are the things I've come to be ashamed of.

And I'm very concerned with my personal development. Morals, humanity, habits, psyche, intellect. Some things I feel I've grown, some little things.... And I'm happy. But I know that in the past year, in the past 2 years, I haven't really changed a lot. The nucleus of Luc, (the "Lucleus" you might say,) is still pretty much the same guy he was in high school. He's just got a lot of cool accessories, now.
And I long for someone to acknowledge that nucleus. I long for someone to say that they know me, and that they like it. Long to hear that. And then I tell myself to be patient. ^^,

I had this wonderful remarkable religious thought recently, and I wrote a poem. That's given me a new notion to entertain for a while. Another thing to smile about.

memories get left abandoned
and when you wonder, 'what did we do?'
you feel blind and panicked.

we threw those memories away
you should be asking, 'what didn't we do?'
oh you bastard, you

throw down another glass
then drop your caution in a careless moment
lose your memory somewhere between the bathroom and the table
steal a few opportunities when the waiter's not looking
order a round of indecencies
throw away your money with the bill
throw up a few things you shouldn't have said

wake up and wonder,
'where the fuck did I put those memories this time?'

I love the colors

At night. Sodium, flourescent, red, blue, bathing the normally mundane scenes in our day-to-day. New shadows, new glares. Every 20 m a bath of orange glow, like a miniature sunset on the undersides of hundreds of fan-shaped ginko leaves. I guess what I really like is the fact that the overbearing sun isn't shining. And the way the moon, as coy as ever, greets me some nights waiting and grinning just at my front door.

My existence baffles me. I know that to percieve or to believe mean nothing to it.... what is it? This existence, not this life, nor this story, nor the monotony that plagues worldliness.

At times I look in my mind at the sky, at the far side of the galaxy, or at some person crying on the other side of the world, or a morning glory blooming on some distant island sunrise. And I feel exactly like falling to my knees on the grass under the stars. I want to scream at the Everything, "Take me! Take me back!" As though if I desired it so completely, bared my chest where my heart ties soul to flesh, I would be heard. By god, or nirvana, the angels, or the dao, or by what free will and belief can muster. And disintegrate. Dissolve every last thought and breath and cell down below the quarks, and exist simultaneously, completely, with everything, everyplace, everytime, again. And I guess, "that's what 'god' must feel like." I know it. Everything is like a deja vu, a dream in that shadows that haunts though you can't quite recall, like a memory so long ago that only tattered fragments of scenes remain, but the feeling is as vivid as ever.

Other times, I relish in the absolute beauty of perception, sensuality, humanism. Like the giving of an honest smile, or a cool breeze laden with wet, or the sparkle on the wings of two dragonflies conjoined, skirting a sun beam, smoke curling from a wild blaze, or the moment of a toast with colleagues. I want to capture that exact moment of truth or beauty or brazen life, want to take hold and experience that exactly for as long as I can. As though, if I breathed deep enough, I could live forever in that moment along with all the other wonders. And I guess, "that's what 'death' must feel like." Wrapped in a series of instants, beautiful and terrible both, that comprise the roll of human life. And I know it, too. Know death like an old friend that remains beside you no matter how far away you are, like an old favorite song that you can't say why you can't get out of your head. I know I've died many times, and loved it.

I know I wouldn't have lived without it.

Thoughts rolling

An extension on the Cloud/Thought analogy.

And speaking of which, what if we could cloud-think, the way cloud computing works?
Maybe we kindof already do? I guess that's the idea behind a "brainstorming" session.
wow. lol

Anyways.

So, thinking about people recently, does it not seem at times as though similarities somehow naturally attract? As in, some parts of your life, of your mindset, or anything else you thought was relatively unique to you, are found in people you become close to. The, "No, really? omg, me too!" moment must be cliche because it's so damn common. I mean, it feels like similar people somehow just find each other, as though those similarities draw them to each other. Feels special to find some deeper connection to someone you never imagined. But on the flip side of that, it's hard not to feel jaded about people. And how special it is that an acquaintance I always felt inexplicably close to, that friend's grandmother also died when he was in High School? And it was a turning point for him? Is that why I always felt comfortable with this guy? Who the hell knows? Is that really that special, though? In retrospect, it seems less so. Stereotypical, almost.
Humanity, as beautiful as it is, is just that homogeneous.

My whole life seems like merely a collection of stereotypes. Perhaps that combination is relatively unique, but that doesn't make me feel any less like a formula, or any more special.

Starting to ask myself why I'm so damn pre-occupied with novelty, experience, and humanity.
I isolated one thing recently. It went like this:
SE) Why do I hate myself?
Id) Average.
SE) Why am I average?
Id) I'm not average.
Just not very special.
SE) Why am I not special?
Id) I suppose I am, to some people.
That counts.
SE) Why does that still bother me?
Id) I'm a walking stereotype.
Nothing about me is novel.
SE) Why does it matter if I'm novel or not?
Id) I'm just another body in a sea of 6 billion people.
SE) So, the only way to cure this feeling is to stand somehow above the waves?
Id) I guess that's what I mean, yeah.....
SE) That's called famous, not special. You're special. So, what, you want to be famous?
Id) Well.... I dunno about that. But yeah. Yeah, if that's what it is, I wanna be famous.
SE) (facepalm) Well, get famous already.

The Korean word for humanity literally translates to "Human Beauty," which I understood at first, but didn't immediately translate in my mind as "humanity." Maybe that reveals something about my psychological profile, and how it differs from the Korean mind.

I feel like doing drugs. That's pretty terrible, I guess. But it doesn't feel bad. Can't say why I feel like it? Probably just wanna do something new. Or maybe it's Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" video? I guess this means Id is winning lately.
Don't want to be a teacher anymore. Because being a bad boy like he wants to be is not compatible with being a teacher. I'd get in trouble and lose a teaching job. I think I'll just get some menial part-time job when I get back to the US. Always wanted to do that. Food Lion was awesomely mindless the one week I worked there.

I'm fucking numb.
Cloud's not a particularly passionate thing to be. Pretty passive. Ethereal. But that's accurate, for now.

Pick and Eat Me (again)

Why!?
Oh, Dream
You come to my window in the witching hour
Blow in on the cool air

Sit astride me
Tease from my defenseless mind:
Memories, desires, and fears;
Your playthings.

You dance all night, just
Keeping the reality of satisfaction of reality
from me.

Whipping about me my dreams,
My friendships
The scenes of my life,
The depth of unspoken thoughts

O! You cruel seductress, you tormentor!
Never allow me control
Nor climax

Faw! You'll destroy me, leading me on like this
But daylight is coming to interrupt
Your dance over my body,
Through my mind
With your fox-wicked smile

A final kiss, confusing
Escape suddenly, as you came
Leaving no note to haunt me
Only the curiousity of fading warmth
Gone after

one,

two,

three

breaths.
Something inside me groping, longing
after you again
Glutton for punishment, am I not?

But instead stand to face another,
Just as bittersweet
ethereal
cruel, and
foreign

Dream.

"Jump Little Children" : From the other side of the wall

The question is no longer:
Did someone notice?
That I exist

Someone is definitely watching
Me throw myself around this
Empty apartment

Empty for all the stuff it holds
Raving inside and searching for substance
Throwing myself from one line to the next.

There was a knock,
The briefest contact
An indication

I know you see me
As I spiral into mySelf
And settle a final stanza for the evening,
But
I wish that I could hear you say,
"Goodnight"

Drunken Mantra #3: In Seoul

wanna be

wanna be part

wanna be in that
wanna be in that groove

wanna be honest

wanna be a good guy,
don't wanna be a stereotype

wanna be special

wanna find something special

wanna be more than just human,
more than just this guy

ramblerambleramblereply email

a) YES! EMILY EMAILED ME!!!! ^_^
b) a story!? o.O (is intrigued) iwannareaditiwannareadit! lolz and it all started with Dante's inferno, eh? well, wherever it goes from there it'll be awesome, and I'd love to read it. I will make time, if you will send it. did I ever tell you about the universal epic plot: there's this book called "The Hero With a Thousand Faces" I haven't read it yet, but it's basically an anthropologist's take on the hero stories of ancient cultures and it breaks down like this: they're all the same story: a young man goes on a journey to save his people. I suppose the vague outline you gave me fits that, but it's just a vague outline, but it's interesting that there's an archtypical story, and you're writing into it as well (rambling) but I'm sure that it's be awesome with a capital M.......(waits for it)........ get it, capital M? lolz oh, and also, did you ever watch Escaflowne? it's like, the big sister of all "girl goes to other world" animes..... so, if you haven't seen it, don't watch it till your story's finished, cause it might influence/discourage you. but I recommend it nonetheless.
c)summer break rules. try not to get too bored, but this is your last one before UNCG, so live it up TO THE MAX! (like, this is dbz and you're going super-saien lv3 so we can do fusion TO THE MAX!) lolz, I'm crazy
d) love your spelling
e) why am I making this a numbered list? no, lettered? your a.d.d. is so email. me too!
f) you should totally go running in the rain, unless it's too cold. rainrunning is awesome
g)korea's still good, I'm seeing a lot more touristy stuff because my sister's here, which is cool. Korea has a long an rich and unique history. Students also are pretty good. my Taekwondo class though, final was this morning, freshmen taekwondo class, all beginners, and about 50% of them failed in my eyes. the leading professor though, he's more lenient than I am, so it's ok for them, I guess.
9) love interests? well, of course I have my interests, but it doesn't seem to be reciprocal..... T.T so dunn still doesn't have a korean girlfriend, but I enjoyed flirting with them. I read recently though that a prevailing attitude of purism pervades the korean conciousness, i.e, most of them would probably avoid getting involved with a foreigner, because they have a subconcious value for the purity of their korean bloodlines...... kinda messed up, right?
10)people are interrupting the writing of this email..... must...................... finish........................

... A.D.D........................ fight!!!!!!!.................. monkey!.....................argh!
11) long nonsense emails are the most entertaining kind! and phantom of the opera!!!! I've never seen that in a theater, I think, though I've seen plenty of other musicals, I just never caught that classic live, you know? that's cool, though. jer put up a fb status of how it was awesome and the actors were dedicated and stuff.
10,000) cold coffee isn't so bad, sometimes, you know? like when it's summerandyouatesomethingspicyandit'sunbearablyhotoutsidebutyou'retiredandneedsomecoffee? that's a good time for iced coffee.
10^5)emo... i'm getting emo lately tyoo.... just a little, it's ok. "Everyone's a little bit emo, sometimes......" (to the tune of "everyone's a little bit racist"... do you know that one? Avenue Q is an awesome musical)
3.142)and the news on my front.... well, the book of poems is almost full. and I've got some interesting ones in there. I put some of them on facebook sometimes. get jeremy or leah to show you if you like. and i'm becoming really cocky lately, it's pretty terrible. like, even more than I was back in the states there at lee brothers..... I'm ashamed.
...)leah! leah and i used to have good phone conversations. I need to get international coverage on my cell phone plan. and call people, like you and jer....emy, and leah.
that last one looked like a funky 3-eyed alien) i think I have some lovesick fangirls here in korea, there are a few foreign exchange students that have been coming to my morning english class (open attendance to all) who look at me in that sort of way.... and 2 or 3 of them and my sister and I are all going drinking tonight, lolz. (it was their idea, and in korean culture, this is what people do in this situation... if you want to become friendly with someone, you go out drinking with them) lolz, yeah, it's bad.
"alien)" looks kindof like a person, too....like, with a big nose) soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
yeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
A.D.D.
Exams this week. Fitness class final (knowing how to use the machines in the fitness room) starts in 8 minutes. and I have papers to grade, and only about 2 hours between this exam and party plans in which to grade.
this is barely an email anymore, it's like a blog...... hmmmmm(thinkingsounds) i think I'll post this (minus a few things) on a blog!
ok, going now.

also:
I feel like vomitting. or like taking a long, cold bath. or shower. or perhaps like exercising. my whole body is screaming at me from the inside out, wtf.
want to write more. want to fight.
Monkey!
Knife!
Fight!
in the woods onakoreanmountain!

Driver

In moments of desperation, I remember
Remember past
Remember lost
- or squandered loves

Remember passed
Remember loosed
- or frantic moments of desperation

Remember, remember
The people, companions, lovers,
Moments, moments
Opportunities, occasions, forays

Remember the feelings
Remember the life I loved, I left
Remember the reasons
Remember the relationship

Can't forget the desperation is driving
Memory after feeling after memory
- we pass
Moments and events in desperation's path

Desperation is a driver
A strong drive
Who takes us to many places

Sometimes we tell him where to go
Sometimes we can take the wheel
Sometimes he listens
Sometimes careens wildly through busy streets

Sometimes crashes us outright.

Little moves, Really

From some high place
I watch life:
Nature

The Earth and dead things
That sit unknowing,
Silent, still.

The tall life
Green,
Growing, moving
Little moves, really

Scurry from place to place
Sway
In this breeze or that

I like to just look down
Watch life

See all the little moves?
They're fascinating.
Swirls, miniscule and beautiful.

Am I afraid?
Maybe, to join
All that living...
Little moves, really.

Endlessly fascinating.
All that movement
(But, like the green)
Never seems to go anywhere.

Sometimes, I'd rather stand right in the middle of all of it,
like this building, watching all the
Little moves, really.
Inside me, all around
Life stirring

Rather play at dead
Than think of something to say.

Breathing,
Scurrying,
Playing,
Swaying,
All the
Little moves, really
The scenery never really changes,
Though the (social) climate seems to.

Setting the dead things apart
All comes down to the
Little moves, really.




Can it really be that different?

Ex-perience is the best teacher.

Deception:
Lying directly
And smoothing it over
With such a charming smile.

Aaah, L'amour.

Romance:
Fulfilling someone's dreams
Going along with them
Reading and playing their heart
Like music

Commitment:
Saying you'll stay
And doing it

Suspicion:
Reading into everything
Analyzing again and again
Silently draw your own conclusion
Let's call it "Rash-ionality"

Caring:
Listening, asking
Acting on another's needs.

Sarcasm:
Reaching into the
Depths of a situation
And tearing it's heart out
To snicker at the bleeding

Intercourse:
Complete lust
Entertwining with sensation
An object of great leverage
An indulgence

All my favorite tricks,
I learned them by watching you.

Please, read all that I am,
Because I want someone to know me
More than these words can.

I think it's a Cirrus.

A cloud is just a random collection of ethereal particles and dust and watervapor.
So here's my cloud at the moment:

"This airport terminal can't see
Everything you mean to me
I'm alive when I'm missing you........
And I sleep fine in my own room........"

If I could go back in time, I don't think I'd change anything, but then if I could do that, I might have already......
Time is simultaneous, we just insist on viewing it one facet at a time.

My id is the impertinent teenager that still wants to dress like a punk and yell in people's faces because I can't stand people and society and school. He loves the weeping Buddha in my bedroom and wearing black. He revels in dirty jokes, explores sensuality, and snickers at the misfortune of others.
My super-ego is the teacher, who wants to help people, who knows that there's reason to hope. He believes in romance, recites the moral virtues of Bushidou, exercises to stay healthy. He has a hero complex. He hates alcohol and lying.
My ego, well, that's "Luc." ^^ He wears an all black suit once a week, does parkour, shows off, laughs when people give him compliments. He reads philosophy. He writes journals, he keeps in touch with friends as he's able. He's manufactured his image well, and is constantly aware of it. He's got a swagger in his walk, a killing smile for any passing cute face, a detached, analytical nature, and seeks knowledge, trying to appear as a "living, breathing search engine." He's altruistic. He hosts parties, and draws eyes as the center of attention. He was voted "Most Inspiring Student Teacher."
I'm very much in touch with all 3 of them. Hard to ignore their conflicts, their constant bickering.

I want to "write a song the world can sing aloud." I think I've got a wonderful habit of singing out loud in public. Doesn't happen much in class. Maybe someone thinks I look like a musical. lol

I love watching people.

Does anyone else research in their free time? Most recent wiki-searches: "Ego Defense Mechanisms," "Black Day," "Dir en Grey," "Stratospheric sulfur aerosols (geoengineering)," "Kohlberg's stages of moral development."

I think what I've been wondering for a while is whether many people possess: 1)metacognizance; and 2)moral reasoning in universal ethical principles.

The way I used frames from a manga to backup dialogues in my "Bodyguard Studies" mid-term seems like it was inevitable. Like, not surprising, new, or innovative. And yet, people in the education field would eat that up and say that I was capturing student interest.

Irony #7

In the corner, alone
Huddled into himself, bent furiously over a pen

Half-Crazed, he scribbles his madness
on little scraps of paper.

Beauty
we find in his scrawling

Inspiration
we find in his nonsense

And call him: "poet"
And call his affliction: "the muse"

The Lines I Never Wrote

"Everything has been said before
There's nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same
You can ask for it by name....
got your lovey-dovey sad-and-lonely
Stick your STUPID SLOGAN in:
Everybody sing along."

"And now my time spent today -
fighting to remedy all my mistakes -
has brought more problems than before -
and still I try to find my way out of endless possibilities of doubt."

"Searching all my days just to find you
Im not sure who Im looking for
Ill know it
When I see you
Until then, Ill hide in my bedroom
Staying up all night just to write
A love song for no one"

"When the moon fell in love with the sun
All was golden in the sky
All was golden when the day met the night."

"My anchor to this city won't outweigh me."

"It's the loneliest feeling in the world
To find yourself standing up when everyone else is sitting down
To have everyone look at you and say,
What's the matter with him?

I know.
I know what it's like
To walk down an empty street
And hear the sound of your own footsteps
Shutters closed
Blinds Drawn
Doors locked Against you
And you aren't sure whether
you're walking towards something...
Or just,
walking away."

"Take me in your arms tonight
Let me know this crazy love
Will never die
As the stars fall from the sky
As buildings burn
And the oceans dry
This kiss will remain alive"

"If I had words to make a day for you
I'd sing you a morning golden and new
I'd make this day last for all time
Sing you a night rich in moonshine."

"I know I'll miss her later
Wish I could bend my love to hate her,
Wish I could be her creator
To twist her arms now.

She stares up at the stars, when
The stars fell from her hair then
I bent down to collect them,
And then she was gone.

I sleep just to dream her
Beg the night just to see her
That my only love should be her
Just to lie in her arms."

"There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;
There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;
And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.

There's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time."

"We're just ordinary people
We don't know which way to go
Cuz we're ordinary people
Maybe we should take it slow"

"One more night,
And one more time,
Thanks for the memories,
even though they weren't so great"

"Just like a match you strike to incinerate
The lives of everyone you know
And what's the worst, you take
From every heart you break,
And like a blade you stain
Well I've been holdin on tonight."

"And I want these words to make things right,
But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life"

"Make us poster boys for your scene
But we are not making an acceptance speech
I've found the safest place to keep all our old mistakes
Every dot com's refreshing for the journal updates."

Empty, Idle Thoughts.

I'm searching for something, but don't know what it is.
I'm always looking around, always thinking ahead,
Always waiting for that to happen,
But what is it?
Who is it?
And why am I disappointed?
I don't think I'm missing anything.
I feel like I'm living my life
But I know I'm also waiting for it to happen.

I'm really very self-centered.
How do I still not understand myself?
I insert thoughts in my student's heads.
I don't give much, but I'm always trying to take.
I dwindle away my life with empty, idle thoughts.

I contradict myself in a lot of ways.
"Don't say I'm handsome" is a lie.
Not caring about popularity is a lie.
Not running from anything is a lie.
Living fully is a lie.
Doing my best is a lie.
Being "ok" is a lie.
Saying I care about people is a lie.
Why do I act like this?

I'm a great actor.
Being a punk is a lie.
Not being cliche is a lie.
Luc Dunn is a hypocrite.

Fact of Life Attacks Again

I realized 2 things while I was walking to work this morning.

1:) I listen a lot, but I don't often reach out to talk to people. And the ones I love, when I wish I could talk to them more, I don't often do anything about it.

2:) People are mortal. I knew I was mortal, I'm gonna die. But my boss, my friends, well, I know they're gonna die, too.

I've had both of these realizations before, but today, there was a new spin on them. They were fresh again. Specifically, I thought not "What if," but "What are we gonna say about him when he's dead?" Not "He might die," but "What am I gonna do, gonna say, how am I going to change, when he dies?"

To me, mortality is a pretty good reason to be honest. I mean, I try really hard, and I can usually avoid lying. I can dodge the truth, but I generally try to be straightforward. Trying to also be positive generally means that I don't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings when I'm honest.

But morality is not the point, here.

Mortality is. It's not really a question of if, or how, but who first, and when? I'm satisfied with my life, but everybody else? Will they be satisfied? Will they go in peace? Will they be satisfied with me?

Can't get it out of my head. "What would he say to me if he were dying in my arms? What am I gonna say or do when he's gone?"

I can't really ever convince myself that it's worth it.

Fuck it, you know?
I'm so sick of trying and caring.
I'd much rather give 60%, and get by,
than actually try.
So I'm probably not going anywhere special.
I'm not special, so it's not surprising.

Maybe I'm just mad because I don't think anyone cares.
I mean, I'd rather throw my anger and my rejection and my frustration in everyone's face. I'd rather tear myself down, rather throw it all away. I'd rather toss it like sand to the wind than keep trying to make something out of it, keep trying to make it look nice. This life.
Life is boring and predictable.
My world is empty and fruitless.
My mind is wicked.

But really, I think the world is beautiful.
I think my life is worth living.
I think it's worth sharing.
I think it's worth dedicating myself completely to something.
But it's easier to follow foolish precedents, and wink with both my eyes,
Than to think.
I think it's worth it, but the more I think about it, the less I think of it.
But inside, I believe in me, and my world, and my life, and my mind, and beauty, and love, and teaching, and poetry, and philosophy, and parkour.
I believe it's worth sharing.
I just can't, sometimes. Can't make myself do it.

"Her," what a strange concept.
The one in my mind I can really be with, live with, breathe with.
But she's never just one person anymore.
"Her:" just a concept.
And I keep trying to fit different people into that dream.
Isn't it foolish to keep doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results?
Isn't it foolish to keep dreaming of that one I can never seem to find?
But I believe in my foolishness.
My foolish precedents are more beautiful, more serene, more fulfilling
Than my thoughts.


"I'm so lonely"
What the hell have I done?
This type of thinking could do me in.

I feel like lots of crazy.
Like impulsivenesses

There are waves of excitement that swell up and make me feel like doing something and I know that this is just frustration, but I don't know where it camefrom.Maybe myinabilitytocommunicate? Maybe love? Maybe teaching? I mean, what the hell, I'm not a frustrated person, I'm not angry or upset about anything.
Comes and goes, comes and goes, swell and crash, dissipate
repeat
swell and crash, dissipate
repeat
I feel like screaming and like breaking something. And I feel like kissing someone, holding someone, being held back, leaning in to gaze into your eyes so close I can smell the fresh scent of whatever it is you use on your hair.
And I feel like saying "fuck you" and I get these random impulses to throwmyself facefirst intosomething hardorsharpanddangerous-looking.
I feel like running as fast as I can away from this place, but more importantly, towards nothing.
I feel like singing, and I want to sing all kinds of things like Manson, Anti-Flag, Fall-Out Boy, Armstrong, Man of La Mancha
I feel like ignoring people, but I do that anyway. I feel like messaging a bunch of people, and stalking them on facebook or cyworld or whatever.
I want to write and paint and tear it all up again, maybe I'll throw this computer out my window when I'm finished typing this.
Swell, crash, dissipate swellcrashdissipateswellcrashdissipateswellcrashdissipate
withdraw from everyone
All this crazy, and I don't knwo where it comes from or what I'm supposed to do with it but I'm so tired of ignoring it, of keeping it all in, of listening to it and myself, of shaking and being so polite and listening to boring conversations and meeting new people.
I want to just lay on my back on the roof until the stars come out and I fall asleep. Why can't I get on the roof here?
I love my apartment.
I wanna scream really loud from the top of it, and then jump off, and see someone's face as they watch me fly.....
I'm so fed up, wtf is this?

This Is What Happens When People Try to Learn Me

I'm something....
Piece of sh---...

On first glance:
handsome and cocky

Average,
& not quite funny

Out of place,
A bit too happy

Kindof shy,
Scared into formality

Typical outcast,
Trys to seem trendy

Dramatic,
& kindof a hippy.

What do you look like?

I act like I can read people,
But it's just advanced stereotype.
I know what looks like
& How to imitate the hype.

But given the time,
Any look can go through.
Your reality shines within,
And shows in what you do.
Can two, ?
Kindred spirits
Hope to find,
Looking past character schemas in their mind?

You met me
At a very strange time

What can this be?
Who do you see?
You have me figured,
You know what I am.

But I haven't decided,
Keeping my identity open.

People

Everywhere you go,
People are People.
The Sky is the Sky.

I think one of the most important personal reasons that I travel is so that I can better understand people. What better way to understand differences than to take in and appreciate as many as possible? But I think I'm doing pretty well, anyways.
Who else wanders the streets of a city unknown to them, and sees how the history, the social structures, the everyday life, and the language influence each other? Who else thinks about those things while they're busy being a complete tourist? I mean, I know I'm a tourist here, and I'm not trying to hide it (beyond avoiding being annoying,) but I'd like to think I'm not just a tourist. I hate shoobies. (Thanks, "Rocket Power," that idea needed a name.) So I try damn hard to really not to be a shoobie.

So, when you have done all those things, what next? Do you just make a new list?
But shit, that last one seemed full of impossible dreams.....
And here I am again. I feel like I've done everything I wanted to do with my life.
"I said, 'What now?'
He said, 'I dunno, get married.'"

Smile

Real beauty lies
Just behind your eyes
As a smile, real,
though in disguise.

Thus, your spirit
Upon mine, impress
Your full, unhindered
Happiness.
It's love you hide
behind shyness
But a heart like yours
Is easily undressed
And mine's the same,
I must confess
This kind openness
You simply can't
Redress.

When our eyes meet,
Smile with me
Show your spirit
Openly
Bare yourself,
Your nudity
Pure, unadulterated
Your beauty,
that lies
Just behind, under
Inside your eyes
In the form of a smile
Though in disguise.

Taxi Driver

Would you take a kindness, a Pity on me?
And drive me from my waking dreams
To a place where I can die for a while?

Because I'm too alive right now,
And I've forgotten what it means

Forgotten the night,
My life

And how to breathe

Existentialism and Self-Loathing in Korea

What do you you do when nothing feels real anymore?
The music you loved is fake.
The love you felt evaporates.
The life you led is empty.
They said, "you bleed just to know you're alive"
But would that prove anything?

I'm bleeding, but no one's going to see it.
And if I see it, that doesn't mean anything.
Bleeding a life dry that feels lost
That feels like clockwork
Doesn't feel like life
So I'll bleed it out,
Til I reach some break
Til there's nothing left but who I am.
Til I gasp for breath at the cost of every superficial
Fake, unreal, unknown, unfathomable
Smirking, charming, mockery that is my face.

Am I even ready for that?
I'm not sure what I'd do if I knew who I was,
Knew that the rest of the world was real,
Knew that they could really see me.

Useless rambling.
If you exist, and they do too,
That doesn't mean that it's possible
Doesn't mean there's more to me
Than the smiling face of a fortunate man.

Why do you hate him?

Isn't this ego and id?
This is what we do, right?
I mean,
Everyone else that lives, that breathes,
That's real,
Does this too, right?

And I wonder how many other people
Are really self-aware
Are really concious, the way I feel now.
And how could I know,
When this is the only part we can never see?

Why do you hate him?
What do you do when he feels artificial?
How can I be real?

Rebekah Ueshiba

As I follow you,
A melody awakens in me
A fresh, new ring
But as old as I've ever known.

Your truth echoes
In my own
They resonate
Like as the same

But I will not claim that
Say only that it seems
Truth feels
As Truth sounds

I will not say it is the only
Or say right and wrong,
Nor lead others to follow us:
Evil and Death lie that way

You write your own truth, I say
So we have, and see our truths in each other
And smile of companionship
Then stoop together, pensive

A new idea confronts us together
Our kinship confronts us
Because it hints
Hints that some deep, unknown current
Has carried us together

Wandering in a broad, plane wilderness,
I suddenly find myself on a rare path,
All this time I wandered alone
Making my own way
By accident, have I found this scarce path?
Or was I brought.....?
By an unfelt, subtle slope
Of the very land I have pioneered?

I call my truth ろうにん
How can it meet with another pilgrim?

I'm starting this

And basically the only reason,

Is that I like to write
And I don't think it's art, really
But I want to put it down, somewhere

Some of us have this
Compulsive
Recording habit

Have to write about this,
Have to take a picture of that,
Have to tell so-and-so all about it
And communication is
Only half of it.

The irony I've found:
The only place I ever really write
Or live
Is between the lines.