So I can't sleep.
I keep thinking that something unique and eerie will happen because of the summer solstice. Maybe I just want to see the sun rise and drink some green tea.
My friend Shally L. is living the life that I dream of every time I sit at my desk. She's a great source of inspiration. Really. Once I find a woman like her, life will unfold in unforeseen ways!
I figured out why old people have it made:
Get up early.
Read the paper.
Browse my library.
Organize random things.
Let the chicken thaw itself out while I file papers.
Run around the Irvine Lakes smiling at people and dogs.
Shower while the potatoes are boiling.
Crunch some numbers in the TI-83+
Squeeze one out with the Missus.
J.S. burnt a bunch of much-needed albums for me. I quickly transferred them onto the gum-stick sized ipod shufflex. Yes. SHUFFLEX.
As I jogged through the intelligent-design planned community everything started to fall into place in a metaphoric way that only you and I understand. All I had was my key, my music and my animal instinct. I didn't really know where I was going. I just needed to clear my head. They've been kinda arguing, but it's still an argument. The other day, she asked her who wore the pants. Who did the laundry. Who bought the strap-on.
Faced at an intersection and short of breath I made another right turn; looking for something familiar. People. Lakes. Water.
Maybe we're not ready for trains. We have the railways in place but a lot of it has to do with how people will react to it. The kids. The granpz. The yuppies. The hipsters. The cholos. The blondies. The paisas.
As funny as it might sound, I was scared. I saw a man with a cane but he wasn't using it to walk. He was bracing it and protecting his woman.
If I didn't smile, I nodded.
Shirt drenched in sweat.I'M RETIRED THIS IS AS DRESSED UP AS I GET.
I've lived eight cycles of tercets.
I've arrived, settled, understood, progressed.
Finals have culminated and the Humanities Department put me on check. Just like Ice T. Long Island, I've never really been there, but I know that people don't give a shit about your California lifestyle there. Eh what the hell maen?
This whole emo culture bullshit has been taken the wrong way. "I'm sensitive dude, I'm stuck in da moment maen. See, this girl digs me and like... yeah." If you understand anything then understand that spiritual revolutions are always conceptual.
This is the information age.
You immerse yourself in the everyday; the colloquial mess and flutter of empty moments and rapid thought-out words. We're not trying to read minds, just people.
I've understood that my culture only strives to give me what every dynamic culture has; learning from the past, planning for the future and living the in the present. It's a three-beat dance that keeps you sharp, agile and poised. We're not mind readers, but we do think a lot.
My life has been a series of small nomadic wars. This is the art of living through other people and it's the hardest thing I've ever done.
p.s. (It's a rant :)
Woke up to some early morning errands. Drove around the upper bay trying to find my way to the closest banking locale.
Work was fun as always because it's a great cardio workout and I enjoy what I do. I wish everyone could have the opportunity to wait tables at least once in their life.
We're solid on the new apartment and might move in tomorrow, or at the latest Wednesday of next week. I'm looking forward to have my own room again and do whatever I want without the worry of having to share confined space.
Albertson's has great fried chicken, even if it's bad for you. The French loaves are awesome too. Especially at 4pm when they're hot 'n fresh. It reminds me of the times when I worked at Panera bread and 6am shifts reminded me of the summer days at Grandma's house at the farm. She told us that the shrimp at the fishing hole by the river liked bits of tortillas as bait. Bread and tortillas are essentially the same thing, kinda. I hate typing in riddles.
I want to start my "California is Great" paper but maybe I'm waiting for inspiration to shine down on me. Any suggestions?
I'm not a cancer.
Wow, I feel like it's been eons and ages and things have died, resurrected and spawned new forms since I last fired away at the LJ. I've been living the life of a rogue waiter. Fighting social injustice and sticking to the man through my kickass work ethic.
A lot has been changing and sometimes I can't keep up with it. Ulysses set off on his voyage and found the love of his life. We often talked about compiling a book of our theories and antics and getting published before one of us dies.
I'm starting to view everything as a series of inter-connected facts that give everyday a new spirit and value.
These are the most exciting times of my life.
It's not about were I've been, but rather, where I'm going.
I'll see all of you soon.
I am sitting in my Ethnic Modernism class. Mark Goble, my professor, is nonchalantly covering up the moons of sweat in his armpits. Arms akibo can be a sign of insecurity. His articulate rhetoric however, distracts us from the armpits and it is appropriate and he plays it off well.
Instead of going to my first two classes today, I slept through my alarm clock; tossing and turning to the churning of my insides. I'm hungover. Not a severe case, but enought to make my mouth dry and intestines grind. I did manage to drive to campus however, but it was only to purchase my course books and the long-awaited Apple iBook. 3 bills I fished out on books this quarter, and I'm not going to read half of them. Not a smart business move at all. In a flurry of exciment and acid reflux from bad sushi, I began to organize all the stuff I bought. A seemingly simple organization (shevling books, opening casings, disposing waste) turned into a interior decorating ordeal of sorts: I moved my room around. Gave it a motha remix. It was a harder task than I anticipated, but it the end it was well worth it. I have class tomorrow as well. This time I won't miss it.
There's something about Spring in the Desert and the stillness in the air.
It's been a long time. I know.
All of our actions are dictated by two types of emotion: pleasure and fear. These two things control the basis of our existance. Think about what you did today. Sure, the proximate reason might be something along the lines of coerced responsibility, duty etc. Or it might quite simply have been impulsive choice. The ultimate reason though, falls on pleasure or fear. Take studying for example (this is around the time most of us are dreading finals and can't wait for that lengthy break). You study, not because you want to, but because you know there is certain consequence if you do not (you fail! oh my)or get not-so-good grades. Even though you really want to just sleep all day (oh how cold it is for socal this season) because this will you give your body and mind pleasure, the fear of getting shitty grades which in turn will disown you from your asian family, convinces you to study. So you stay up all night, smoking cigarettes and drinking cola and you kick ass on that Chem final-- Pleasure. Now, this pleasure is to higher degree than any of those other things you wanted to do instead of hitting the books (sleeping, chatting on AIM, golfing). Sometimes it's not always like that though. Sometimes you don't get something better, rewarding,enjoyable in the end. Sometimes you find yourself in a stalemate. Working at Arby's for 6 years, hoping to become assitant manager. You hate Arby's. Sure you get a free roast beef sandwich every now and then, but those 50 hours a week drain the fuck out of you. None of the customers appreciate your skills as a culinary artist. But you'd rather be stuck at that job than out on the streets, showing off your double-jointed fingers for quarters. Fear grabs you by the balls and says Gotcha! Because let's face it, despite the shitty job, shitty car, shitty apartment and shitty kids, you're surviving and that's what matters.
So next time you're making a choice, any choice, think to yourself... is this out of fear, or pleasure?
I cleaned my room again. Renewal. My attemp to put this in order. I wonder how long it will stay this way...
I'm starting to think that I got somekind of STD from that one girl.
Must get checked.
Jorge Cota Jr, my brother, is a preacher. My mother is very proud of him. He has a website
. Right now I'm listening to one of his audio series; it's about legalism in Christianity.
I must have had a great time Monday night because the next day I woke up with a managerie of bruises and a hangover that lasted 34 hours. The intense feeling of guilt (like I killed someone that night) mixed with migraines, compacted farts and trying to focus to schoolwork did not make E-man a cheerful kid. I'm strung out on caffeine pills and Jone's soda.
Tiempo de estudiar. Chale.
So I was looking through my old online journal from two years ago and came across this "poem" that I wrote:
I want a cold evening.
A soft indistinct television murmur
with you in my arms.
Then a blaring silence
and you in my arms.
-August 21, 2002-
Hah, my emo years. Good times.