i want to remember this moment
of feeling that no matter what happens,
i will somehow find a door that leads to
the place i have been longing for so long.
i get a glimpse of it at times,
but right now i do not see it.
that does not mean it isn't there.
i cannot wait for it to come to me
and present itself
it is shy, scared, unsure and resistant,
but it does not deny its gravity,
its relationship and its existence.
i do wonder where i am now
will eventually lead me to where i should be
or should i build a bridge or jump over a stream
to get there?

a glimpse of

photographer: moses h.
where: venice
when: a hot day in august 2010

11:11pm- make a wish

during the past few days, i found myself again and had moments of clarity in which i remind myself again that nothing (but only death) can stop me. at the same time, there is a cloud of fear and loneliness that weigh on my chest, and it makes me stay awake at night and commands me to write.

to be continued....

i hold my honey and i store my bread
in little jars and cabinets of my will.
i label clearly, and each latch and lid
i bid, Be firm till i return from hell.
i am very hungry. i am incomplete.
and none can give me any word but Wait,
the puny light. i keep my eyes pointed in;
hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
drag out to their last dregs and i resume
on such legs as are left me, in such heart
as i can manage, remember to go home,
my taste will not have turned insensitive
to honey and bread old purity could love.

-g. brooks 'my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell'







high but caught
in the light
of darkness

me
in downtown los angeles
25. 6. 2010

where am i?









the real me


-photo by mi amiga favorita
in lamma

honestly speaking

i have not been able to update this blog
since i feel there is this hole in my head
where my imagination (used to) reside,
where my creativity was born.

that is the fucking truth
and how i honestly feel.

on a side note:
im working at the LA Pride parade this sunday(tomorrow).
please come by this weekend if you are in the city of angels.

something i thought about

"porque tambien somos lo que hemos perdido..."

rilke's words

currently very sleepy at the moment. will write my own words soon when i am more awake.



Fear of the Inexplicable

But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished
the existence of the individual; the relationship between
one human being and another has also been cramped by it,
as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of
endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the
bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone
that is responsible for human relationships repeating
themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and
unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new,unforeseeable
experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope.

But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes
nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation
to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively
from his own existence. For if we think of this existence of
the individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident
that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a
place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and
down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous
insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in
Poe's stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons
and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode.

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about
us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
We are set down in life as in the element to which we best
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be
distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors,
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us;
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we
arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us
that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now
still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust
and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those
ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into
princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps
everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless
that wants help from us.

-rilke

losing words

is like losing my voice
then my breath
and i shrink as the poison spreads

i cry
by the toilet
since when have public restroom stalls
become my
sanc.tuary?

learn not to care, learn how to be numb
puffing smoke and snorting snow
drink that last drop of sweat
that youve rightfully earned

stop and question- look for an answer, an explanation
i am caught in a web of contradictions
without a spider to devour me
nothing to stop the clock

...


-incomplete poem
written in hollywood

dancing photos of a street in seoul

a trip sparked by curiosity

seoul
sometime in may 2008

mooziq moozick muse-ik

guess who is visiting los angeles
andre tanneberger



..except i lost my phone as LA Nights came on

dancing homesickness

stbp (soon to be posted)...

pre-post: in middle school i wrote an essay about homesickness. i was inspired by seeing an aged person in the park, and i described how homesickness feels to me and what that means. this post is also inspired by briefly interacting with an aged person
who handed me a bowl of udon. i smile at this connection and lift my right eyebrow with curiosity.

dancing food for thought

in ballet
at the end of class
there is something called "reverence"
this means a bow or curtsy, and it's to give thanks and pay respect
to the teacher as well as the accompanist (and the energy in the room).

as my daily ritual
after a cold, spiritless day of non-stop work past midnight
i come home, and i have my "reverence" moment
on the wooden floor of my living room
to give thanks to the joy dance brings me
and to remember (many things-)

soon "reverence" will be throughout the day
not just before bed
oh until then

p.s. coincidentally, i recently read an article written by david foster wallace published in the new yorker, and he defines "reverence" as this:

This was the year, at five or six, that I learned the meaning of “reverence,” which, as I understand it, is the natural attitude to take toward magical, unverifiable phenomena, the same way that “respect” and “obedience” describe the attitude one takes toward observable physical phenomena, such as gravity or money.


Ah-ha! I love making connections with ghosts.
written by me
1/28/2010
in torrance

As tu deja aime et Ma memoire sale