five deadly everythings...

Dead Presidents

I have a headache. Got my biggest paycheque ever yesterday. Most of it will go towards my credit card, which is currently sleeping six feet deep in the hole. I did treat myself to the boxset of Firefly, though, which, however, was on sale, so there.

If you say prayers, say one for my dog, yes?

Perhaps I did something wrong today by telling someone the cold truth after they asked me to tell them the cold truth. That's always a lose/lose situation isn't it?

It's warm outside, which is nice, but also very creepy. People rejoice in nice weather without a thought towards how fucked up it is for the temp to be 19 degrees just two days away from Hallow's Eve. We have a pumpkin outside that will stay a pumpkin and never be a jack 'o lantern. Which, when you picture it, is much more unsettling.

So sleeepy.



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:54:00 p.m. | Permalink

Damn this house gets quiet

My dad is out of town so I find myself reluctantly performing the man-of-the-house tasks that I should be doing anyways. I took the trash out today, late at night because I had almost forgotten to, in the rain and puffing away at a cigarette for no other reason than the weather made it seem appropriate to be doing so. Every year I plan to leave a 24 of beer out for the garbage men as a Christmas gift. It seems like such a random, wonderful act that I never follow through with because at the last minute it always feels cheesy. That last thing I want is for my garbage man to think me cheesy. I also think of ordering a delivery of Swiss Chalet and having a gift for my delivery guy waiting on the porch. I'm on a face recognition basis with my Swiss Chalet delivery man. I don't know if that's endearing in a 1950s nods-and-smiles-to-the-milkman kind of way, or if that's just sad. I really need to learn how to cook.

It's almost 4am and I'm still awake. I'm working in just over an hour, and the chances of sleep at this point are pretty slim I guess. The insomnia is full and complete, not the nagging kind where you're dead tired but can't fall asleep -- I'm fully awake and energized and have no reason to be so. No caffeine in my system (my dog toppled my chai latte before I had even two sips of it), no naps today. My head is full of thoughts though and I guess that's it. Nothing specific, but I can't get my brain to shut up and stop wandering. I guess that's natural, but I'm used to being a bit more Zen. I've also been dreaming a lot lately, which is extremely anomalous. I don't dream and if at all they are usually nightmares. Lately, been having a lot of those nonsense dreams that are just like real life but a bit more whimsical, like a Wes Anderson film without the costumes.

Been running through On Beauty, which feels good because I can't remember the last time I actually finished a book. Or the last time I did so without having to force myself to. I'm not sure if the academic/campus setting of the book has me missing Univeristy, or has me really *not* missing Univeristy, but either way, I've got academics on the brain. My girlfriend came home today "speaking in school terms" and I love how alive people look when they're thinking. Some cats just spew things they've read and confuse this with having an opinion, but I love when people are interacting with the things they are reading. Even if they have nothing to add or refute, I like that sense of passion, of being genuinely excited about/interested in shit.

My bro gave me the best compliment the other day. He said to me, "I love the way you're going about things", in regards to decisions I've made and the path I've chosen to follow. It's good to hear because I've been really uncertain about things lately, which I guess is a side-effect of the depression bout I'm fighting, but still.

Everytime I think I'm getting better someone steps to me with all that negative energy and I swing down again. I'm very sensitive to other people's energy, it can make me standoffish, melancholy, rude, calm, etc. I hate being that way, but I'm a libra, which means I get all pissy when my balance is fucked with...and also means I fall back on saying stupid things like "but I'm a libra". I used to think us libras, what with our fancy scales and all, were the most functional of the signs. I couldn't understand why Ron hated libras. But I guess i see now...we are more balanced and shit, but when things in our cipher aren't balanced we polarize. I still remember that libra post in OKP when I found out I wasn't alone in this. We're depressed as hell. Laz, Maggy, I'm looking right at you fools.

Sorry for the long ranting, but I'm really just killing the hour of time before work. Twenty minutes to go before I hop in the shower.

Speaking of my brother, he's coming home for Christmas to surprise my parents. He's become so ephermeral that his mere presence can work as a gift (conscious too, he said he's doing this because he can't think of what else to get them). I can't think of anyone this would work with. Aside from my gf after a month in France, I can't really remember anyone celebrating my presence like that. Even after not seeing relatives for years it's all what ups and heyyys. No big deal. I saw Christianne's cousin the other day with whom we haven't chilled in a long time, and we hugged a genuine long-time-no-see kind of hug, but shit like that is it. I think a big part of it is change. You have to leave home in order to come back, and part of what's celebrated is the fact that you come home a different person, the master of a Quest with a capital Q. You gotta mythicize yourself...like my sister coming home with a British accent and saying she has to go to the loo. Or my brother coming home gay and with a long-term boyfriend. Or my cousin coming home hip with thick glasses and funky hair. Me? I'm still just me, living in the basement, leaving comic books all over the house and forgetting to take out the trash.

Oh shit, the first of my alarms just went off. The radio alarm I use to nudge myself out of deep sleep mode. In five minutes or so the siren wail should start, that incessant beeping I set a little too loud in order to throughly annoy myself into consciousness. I'm so glad I have this alarm clock with the dual setting. All my previous ones I had adjusted to and would sometimes sleep through. Or I would slap quiet and fall asleep again without knowing. I missed a lot of opens that way. Actually my ideal would to have one more alarm, a trifecta, a triatholon of sound I would have to navigate in order to stay asleep. I got the insomnia, sure, but when I sleep I fucking sleep.

I guess I should go get ready. Get an early start on things for once.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:32:00 a.m. | Permalink

The Autograph Man

Ah, this is my third time trying to write this entry. I feel like Nas on We Major, should I craft a nice entry full of witticisms and proper sentences, or should I just freestyle this shit? Should I talk about world events and get up on my soapbox, or should I have a staring contest with my navel and analyze myself until I'm nothing more than a million, separate, inconsequential and dysfunctional pieces?

The idea of a blog has seemed foreign to me lately. I'm sure I'll return to regularity, I always do, but writing in the 1st person as of late just seems ridiculous. Boring. I was reading over some of my poetry and just the thought of all that me me me-ness seems distasteful.

It's all cycles though. Every couple of months or so I pick something new and deem is useless, while placing all too much romantic importance on something else. I think that's why I'll never be more than an armchair activist. I constantly change my mind about which actions will actually bring about change, and in the end I'm really just one of those cats who once in awhile donates some money to the redcross, gives money to homeless people, and says "peace" to everyone and everything.

I bought my first right wing book the other day. Well, not so much a right wing book as it is a response to the counter cultural left wing, and why much of their "revoluionary" BS won't work. While I can say with confidence that I'm a left-winger, I can't say I disagree with the book. The Left needs a good shot in the arm, cuz right now we're just feeding into the same system and cycles we claim to wanna break down.

I don't have any answers though, just a lot a books on my reading list. Daily, I'm realising how young I am and how little I know.

I met Zadie Smith yesterday, and the face to face interaction has fanned the flames of infatuation. The press often portrays her as snobbish and stand-offish, and the print interviews I've read somewhat supported that, but hearing her responses live shed a lot of light on all that bullshit. It's funny how different a comment can sound when you hear the voice, see the face. She's actually quite funny and friendly, even when she's skewering the interviewer and audience. Far from cold or rude.

I got her to sign "On Beauty" and even got her to touch fists with me. She laughed at the gesture and pushed her knuckles awkwardly into mine, her rings and jangly wrist jewelry flicking my skin. She commented on me spelling Jef with one F, and even called out my name and thanked me after I had already walked away. The whole time I stood in front of her she was wide eyed and smiling. She seems genuinely confused and amused by her celebrity.

Jane interviewed me earlier this week for the assisstant manager position. Well, sort of. She said "I'm not even gonna bother interiewing you," and basically just let me ask questions for an hour and talk about my plans and expectations. I got a really good vibe from the conversation and am optimistic about things, but as always with all things, we'll see.

After that paragraph I sat here for five minutes trying to think of something else to write about. Filming, graphic novel, dress shirts, Chris and the UN, Sifu Joey at the restaurant...cigarettes...stuff.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:13:00 p.m. | Permalink

Resolution: Broken

I feel like shit. There's really no poetic or clever way to say it, I just feel like utter, milky, painful, shit.

Christianne pointed out that the D tends to hit around my birthday and continues until the tail end of winter. I checked out my archives and found the following pieces of evidence from October 2003:

"yeah, I punched a wall the other night, and now there's a big crack in it, and my hand hurts. yech. and I thought I was doing so well...that's really depressing. maybe there's been no progress afterall...."

"Maybe I'll write a piece on Punch Drunk Love. It really spoke to both my rage and depression so exactly, and at the same time."

"I think I'll get drunk tomorrow. Yes, I do."

Not to mention that my notebook tends to fill up with poetry around this time of year.

In 2004 I made the (now broken) resolution to stop blogging about my issues with depression. I did, however, find this oh-so-subtle brush stroke:

"Anyways, the creative energies are good right now, but the "other" energies are not. I guess that goes hand in hand though."

So what the fuck? Am I really just a lametard who gets depressed because the trees are dying and it's cold outside? No, no, that's way too simple and there are too many exceptions. Not to mention the many more plausible and less romantic explanations for why I listen to too much Fiona Apple and smoke too many cigarettes. I've been to enough counselling appointments to know shit ain't that black and white.

But I do think this goes a long way to explain why I couldn't get my shit together at school. If my depression flares up every autumn, I of course shut down and retreat at the beginning of the school year (not a good foot to start out on), and then by New Year's time when I catch a second wind and get my overacheiver on, I've already dug such a deep academic hole for myself that I'm pretty much buried. Which leaves me barely passing, failing, or dropping courses left and right in order to salvage and save face.

Which reflects the way I currently can't focus on my current projects.

I'm saying. This post sucks. I remember now why I made that resolution.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:24:00 p.m. | Permalink

An excuse to blog about Mia Maestro

I saw Freddie Prinze Jr. on a late night talk show the other day. He was relating a story about his new neighbourhood and their reaction to his ethnicity (he described himself as being the only person on the street who isn't white). Freddie was jogging one day and one of his neighbours came storming out her house to yell at him about last night's garbage pickup. Freddie couldn't convince the lady that he didn't work for her and had nothing to do with her waste management.

Now, the interesting part of this is not the story itself, but the talk show host's reaction. Instead of touching on the racial commentary of Freddie's story (granted, I understand why the issue would be avoided), the host interpreted the story to be one of unrecognized celebrity. "Oh wow, I guess she'd never seen any of your movies? You'd think people would know who you are."

The point was, of course, not about being famous or not famous, but about being brown skinned in a rich white neighbourhood. I sometimes find myself in these same situations, where a story I tell or a point I make regarding race totally goes over someone's head, and I'm brought back to the reality of "Oh shit, a lot of people just don't get that shit." Some people live in different worlds, even if it's two houses down.

Freddie seemed to understand his story didn't come across the way he intended, and eventually dropped the issue. He did, however, close with the comment that "Hollywood is weird man. Sometimes I just wanna move back to Mexico...where people are Mexican and stuff." <---(i should point out that the comment was a well received, goofy joke, and not the diss that my dry blogging makes it read like.)

Anyways, I just want to give props to Freddie and the way he handled all that. Oh snap, I just gave props to Freddie Prinze Jr. On another note, how cool would it be to chill at movie premieres with Mia Maestro, Salma Hayek, and Jessica Alba hanging out and shooting the shit? (Oh, and I guess meeting Robert Rodriguez would be cool too.) I like the way those cats stick together and support each other. On yet another note, I also like they way they are all painfully sexy, thus creating in the universe tiny pockets of painful sexiness everytime they get together.

Secuestro Express, kids.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:38:00 p.m. | Permalink

"I ain't 50 Cent, but bitch it's ya birthday"

A lot of things have been fucking me up lately. Hip-hop's been fucking me up lately. It's the only thing in the world that inspires me the way it does, and yet it also holds the power to depress the shit out of me.

We went to Gavin's Culture Shock Festival to check out some amateur poetry. Good shit, and I'm grateful for Ro because I'm tired of bringing heads to shit like this (not just poetry, but you know, "shit like this") and worrying about whether or not they're bored, dealing with them muttering "whack" or some other haterism every two seconds.

But we also got to see Shane do his thing, and Shane is far from an amateur. This is what I'm talking about, that inspiration. All of sudden I remembered why I'm into shit like this, why I believe in words and writing and community and "the arts". And why hip-hop matters.

I won't go into why I get depressed, because I'm trying to stay away from that negative energy, but let's just say that my time in the scene has really jaded me. I respect a hustle but when something is *just* a hustle then there's no fucking soul to it, there's no point. And more than that, too many cats are just way too cool for anyone's good. It gets tiresome.

Positive heads like Gavin, even though we're not that tight, keep me going in life. Not just talking hip-hop, but in general. I like seeing young people taking positive actions to make positive change. Who believe in inspiration and are somehow able to transcend all this bullshit and still stay positive. There are heroes all around us, young, old, real, fictional, we just need to keep our eyes open.

But keeping my eyes open has been hard lately. It's something about autumn, I dunno, but it's coming man and I'm fighting my hardest. I'm starting to sleep my ten hours again, getting out of the bed in the morning is getting tougher and tougher, I'm starting to feel anxiety again everytime the phone rings or I get an email...or when the phone doesn't ring and my inbox stays quiet and still. Either or, everything is getting to me.

And yes, I'm taking my vitamins, doing my fucking best to get some exercise, eat right, meditate, be social (thanks to Soliguin for coming down the other day). But still. I've got one eye searching for a way out or a shadow to hide in until...

But fuck all that, let's just talk about the real world. I'm feeling lost lately, not sure where I'm headed in life. I took that promotion for those who don't know, and sure it took a lot of pride to do so but I really think it was for the best. I need the money to bounce out of this city, I could use some "managerial experience" on my resume, and really, even if I got another industry job that just might suck even more marrow from my bones. Perhaps it's best I retreat from the industry for a bit and just work on my writing. Which let's be honest, needs the work.

My Lola passed away last week. She was the last standing among my grandparents. My dad's doing a good job of keeping it together, he scrong, but I can tell he's beating himself up over not taking that earlier flight to the Philippines. He knew this would be the last time to see her alive and he missed it because he opted to take the November flight instead of the October one, because her birthday is in November and he thought it would be cool to show up and throw her a party. He's saying shit like "people come and go" like it's all gravy, but if I know anything about my dad it's when he's hurting.

My gf made a comment about how pride runs through our family, and yes I've inherited it like a misshapen nose. It's there, you can see it and touch it and yes it's ugly. I mean, pride is a good thing but only to a certain extent, and now, 24 years young/old, I'm still trynna figure out where to draw that line.

John said to me awhile ago "I think it's time you grew up", in regards to the promotion. And I'm realizing now a lot of growing up is learning when to swallow your pride. And it's not that I don't ever swallow my pride, it's that I do it at the wrong times. I often fight for shit that doesn't matter, while at other times I acquiesce to things I should never ever be complacent with.

I'm learning, I'm growing, I'm a year fucking older and a millimeter or so balder. I've got wrinkles to spare and my worry lines speak of a life filled with cynicism and laughing. I'm doubling over with contradictions, but who isn't, and man, there are many more ridiculous entries like this to come.

I apologize to those I've failed; friends, partners, teachers (oh the teachers)...family. I've done right by a lot of people but I do admit my shortcomings. I'm working on it, as I know all of you are. We're all fucked up together, just some of you are more fly with it than others. live and learn.

oh, and i'm sorry for being such an introvert/loner. And oh, infinite thanks to those who understand and love me anyways.

happy birthday to me.

i mean peace
when i say it,

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:55:00 p.m. | Permalink