The Summer's Rain

Souvenirs

2011-12-31T22:00:00.000-05:00

The chatter of the coffeeshop against the rain falling outside was a welcome change to the dreadful silence that filled his home. A ceramic tile used to lay above the kitchen sink, and on it was a simple sketch in muted colors of a tiny house. Beneath it, the caption read, "Home is where the heart is." For him, it used to be the house on Honeysuckle, and before that, NE 113th St. But where is it now?

"Home is where the heart is."

The truth is it lives in the past, in happier and stabler times free from the burdens of "the real world," and it lives in the beautiful realm of possibility that never came to be in his particular strand of reality. So he wanders alone in search of that that never was.

* * *

幸福

For the new year, I would like to jump out of my shadow, overcome Fear, and stumble upon (or into) Truth and Love. And regardless if the world should come to an end by the end of the year, I'd like to find myself with someone with whom I could share all that I have and all that I am so that neither of us would have to burn alone.

龍山寺

2011-12-28T23:52:00.001-05:00

He clasped his hands together and shut his eyes as his consciousness began to coalesce with the gentle chant and swirling smoke that filled the temple. In his mind's eye, he saw his music, his family, his Lieblingsmensch... and by the third bow, he felt the shadow loosening its dark clutches upon his heart. Even if he was not devout, it was comforting that someone, anyone, would listen to his burdens.

"I brought you here today so that you can see for yourself that the City isn't as glamorous as some people would like you to believe. It's good to interact with the upper class, but it's equally important to understand the less fortunate and the impoverished." And it was true, how could he even begin to understand the chromatic nature of humanity if he never experienced both sides of the spectrum? Thus, he began to see the logic behind the board games, the gambling... and the thievery. He paused to wonder, was he the product of his surroundings and conditions? Or were his fundamental beliefs pre-existent? Perhaps that was the beauty and fallacy of humanity, that Truth would always be perceived and filtered through the senses, that everyone's perception of Truth was destined, doomed, to be different. The impossibility of objectivity-

"Don't listen to him too much," they told him. But who was actually speaking? Was it the women? Or was it the vestiges Confucian values that had braved the test of time?

Don't smoke.

He's not going to smoke, just look at him, do you really think he's the type to do that?

There's the Shin Kong Mitsukoshi! Do you see it?

Of course he does, by now he's probably seen it a thousand times already! Why not show him something new, something that would give him insight into his culture?

They might not like what the man says or how he speaks, but judging his actions alone, they speak louder than any of what the women had said to him. More and more, it became apparent that the man was able to hear and listen without him having to say a single word. He recalled an excerpt from a poem he had read long ago:

Durch alle Töne tönet
Im bunten Erdentraum
Ein leiser Ton gezogen
Für den, der heimlich lauschet.

And so he silently pushed his ear to hear the soft peals of Truth (were they really there?) underneath the cacophony of people in discord, people reconciling personal beliefs with ancient ideals, and people patiently waiting for the ultimate End. But no matter how hard he tried, the sun would still set and retreat behind the rainy cityscape, hiding from the yelling that poisoned the hearts of the denizens of his beloved island. That was how he lulled himself to sleep every night, completely and utterly alone.

Organized Chaos

2011-12-19T01:59:00.001-05:00

It's not immediately obvious, but the LH is an inversion of the RH.
The individual notes do not matter as much as the sweeping gesture.

The recurring theme of organized chaos is one that I find to be especially compelling. In the early part of the 20th century, composers began to emphasize gestures in their writing rather than the individual notes themselves. As a result, the ear is robbed of a tonal basis, and the music presents itself in a new and foreign language. Though the pitches seem arbitrary, the level of detail that goes into the music is incredible, even when the gestures are not immediately obvious (e.g. Webern). So while the end result can sound chaotic, one still feels an underlying logic that separates it from random pitches randomly placed in time.

What makes the notion of organized chaos compelling is how well it marries two seemingly contradictory ideas, and how pervasive it is. It's not difficult to find parallels in life; in the case of the performer, it is a miracle that they can achieve any consistency at all in physically playing their instrument. The brain sends and receives electric signals to move specific muscles in a certain way, but the brain must filter out a lot of "noise" to process these signals (much like tuning a radio). Consistency, then, depends on sending a the same signal and consistently filtering it out the same way every time; the margin of error is tremendous! Amazingly, the consciousness is able to bypass all of this: "Hear the sound in your head and it will come out through your instrument."

On a slightly larger scale, reality itself may very well be made of organized chaos. Of all the possible realities for any point in time, the fact that (our perceived) reality chose the particular one that it did makes it virtually impossible to replicate. It's complex and difficult enough to recreate the exact conditions of any given moment since that moment is the result of the infinite scenarios leading up to it, which brings back the familiar tenet, "Everything is related to each other [...]"

But even amidst the complexity and chaos, humanity is still capable of finding warmth and beauty. The universe works in funny ways.

Le Somnambule

2011-12-08T00:09:00.001-05:00

His ear lies asleep by the ocean, flooded by the sound of the waves. Désordre. In dreams, he builds castles only to be consumed by the waters in between. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

La genèse du château.

"Quality!" she cries, "We work for quality!"
He stirs, but only to rest. And they murmur... requiescat in pace, requiem aeternam dona eis.
Meanwhile, he dreams of light, wie einst im Mai, im wunderschönen Monat Mai!

Barcarolle

2011-11-25T00:12:00.000-05:00

Ce qui brûle le cœur.

"You should be burning [by the time you get here], as someone who has undergone a tremendous amount of strain... You have to feel it!"

My heart is burning, I've learned never to settle again.

Changes in dream states

2011-11-14T04:56:00.000-05:00

Au bord de la civilisation, ou alors je me plais à penser.

The sun began to set as he reached the end of a road that took him to the edge of the sea. It truly was the edge of civilization, for the houses were few and scarce, and landscape was left untouched by men. The light cast extraordinary colors upon the Arctic waters. The 90-foot waves seemed oddly peaceful, and as he glided up and down the waters, he could see tiny lights from a village in the distance through the water in extraordinarily warm shades of orange and dark blue. The whole ocean glittered like a gem.

In the same manner that he used to maneuver the waves, he surfed the sand dunes in the middle of a desert. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Coincidentally, he managed to catch the surf competition that happened to be taking place; though he got off to a shaky start, he finished fantastically.

In the middle of a metropolis, the pedestrians that appeared became progressively more dangerous. Things were not what they appeared to be, he knew that the pens they carried were something much more insidious. He walked beside the violinist, everything would be fine as long as the violinist did not get hurt. Yet despite his best efforts with an intimidating voice, a one of them still managed to cut him.

Along the boardwalk midday, one of the bro's started reprimanding him, a futile attempt to whittle at his resolve. This one tried to use library fines to subdue him, but to no avail seeing as he had none. "If you ever get even a little bit of a fine..."

"Don't worry, I won't."

* * *

Happiness is a choice, and furthermore it is not mutually exclusive from progress. Happiness is determined by perspective, and perspective is a choice. This concept becomes painfully clear as dormant passions are called to life.

Friendship and collaboration. Friendship versus collaboration? Friendship as a collaboration. Friendship is a collaboration? Whatever the case, I can no longer follow someone who will not do the same for me. (And thank goodness I don't have to.)

A new wind lifts the fallen leaves off the ground, and the colors of the sunset matched those of the waters from a dream state far away.

Saturday Afternoon

2011-09-18T15:06:00.000-04:00

Café et chocolat chez le maestro.

How delightful!

La Vie comme une Chimère

2011-06-12T02:00:00.000-04:00

La route vers nulle part, sans fin.

The past three months had seen perhaps some of the most dramatic and violent shifts in temperament that he had ever experienced. Never before had he been carried to such great heights or sank so low in such a short amount of time. The effect was numbing. And as he slowly crawled back towards normalcy, the hourglass finally ran out. And thus, he was ejected from the river and deposited into the sea, which effectively eliminated any sense of direction he had to begin with. An electronic voice came on the PA, "Thank you and goodbye, tell us what you're doing but don't come again."

Evidently, a paradigm shift takes at least an entire month. At least, that's how long it took to reach equilibrium. And finally, things seem to be settling down as loose ends are tied up one by one. Though the future is not nearly as intimidating as it was a month ago, the weight of reality still hangs heavy in the air, not to clear until long past the DMA.

* * *

The cityscape was rotting. It didn't matter whether the moon was out or not since its rays would never reach the damp alleys. And yet, the people managed to find a way to survive.

He found himself in a restaurant. They say the dim lighting is supposed to create ambience. In reality the hole-in-the-wall restaurant simply did not have the means to fix their lights, so instead they used candles. He had been involved in grenade testing right before, and was frustrated that his grenades would not detonate either on time or impact. With his hands, he fiddled with one under the table and in a moment of frustration and impulse, he flung it into the other room... right as a girl opened the glass door. She was startled for a moment as she caught it, then started to run towards him with pleading eyes. But she only took two steps before she realized that there was no time, so she ran the other direction and shut the door behind her. Glass shards rained all around.

He sat there, overwhelmed by an intense guilt unlike any he had ever experienced in his life. For him, the sun would never shine as bright again.

A NYC Story

2011-03-11T20:27:00.007-05:00

The metro doors closed behind them as they sat together in the closest seat. The car moved into the dimly lit tunnel as she raised her dark eyes to his. And so the story began:

A man once wrote of a girl who made a deal with the devil. In exchange for extraordinary capabilities in music, she would live a loveless life. And so she won many competitions, but never grew close to any man, let alone love. And at the end of her illustrious career, she died alone, old and blind.

She looked back at him again, "If given the choice, would you choose love or music?"

For a minute, he lost himself. He had been looking at his small and fragile hands when it dawned on him that today would be a new day, the first day of the rest of his life. The protagonist would battle the instrument no more, and instead grip with the mighty paws of a lion and strike with relentless fingers that could, at the same time, caress with a tenderness that betrayed his gentle heart... He dwelt on that last thought for a brief moment.

"But I'd always thought that music was love."

They sat together in the silence of mutual understanding as the metro passed by several stops. Yet his mind continued to race.

I find myself stuck between two polarized forces at war.
(A gray area?)
(FUCK gray area. I find it to be most inhibiting.)
Why not view the situation as an opportunity?
For what?
To choose a fate that will either strengthen your mettle, or set you back a year yet again.
...Time has healed me, but why is the decision so difficult?
The burden of knowledge weighs heavy upon our hearts.
So, what now?

The doors opened as streams of passengers struggled to get in and out of the car. She smiled softly, "This is us." They walked out into the cold sunny day as the car continued through the dark tunnel.

A slight resurgence of Impressionism

2011-01-09T22:04:00.013-05:00

C'est vide.

The city had never looked so sad. The sun filled the sky and, unhindered by clouds, cast the city in a piercing glow. The surroundings were flooded with light, to the point where it was as though they could evaporate and disappear at any moment. He strained his eyes as he walked through the streets. A mood reverberated and echoed from the buildings around him, and suddenly, he found himself traversing some of the saddest days of his life. He sat in front of the piano and released the weeping essence that billowed from his soul. And after the sun set, the night sky was speckled with stars and the crescent moon loomed over the trees in the distance. How rich and beautiful, this empty world!

L'année en revue

2011-01-02T01:03:00.003-05:00

In his dream-state, he found himself surrounded by the pieces of his tragedy. And in a dramatic, yet silent, outburst, he cried and seethed and beseeched resolution. He traversed the rocky path by the trees all through the night, the stars obscured by the leaves and the fog. He was weak and weary, he had been traveling for great distances and the obstacles along the path had not been kind to him.

Forgive me, my friend, for I have done wrong. I let myself be held by someone who I did not love and now I sit before you in sin.

But as he collapsed upon the rock in the clearing, a ray of moonlight burst through the clouds. Though the others may have estranged and forsaken him, he was suddenly inundated by a renewed sense of purpose that washed over him. And he whispered to the ears of a new world, "Behold, for I have been transfigured."

Un jour

For the New Year, I aim to branch out in all areas of life, and consequently to grow more cultured as an insightful thinker. I wish to nurture and maintain professional relationships with everyone I meet. And I hope to win first prize in a competition, and consistently deliver when called upon in performance.

And may the time which I am given not be wasted. I hope never to become anyone's magic 8-ball, or to spend time being boring or around individuals who are.

Tel jour, telle nuit!

2010-12-14T00:48:00.000-05:00

"I recant!" he proclaimed, but it was too late. He had vested too much of himself in others that no matter what incantations or mind control tactics he used upon himself, he always found himself at the same dead end. Despite protests from reason, he exhaled in defeat and surrendered himself to Time.

The voice of the man speaks, whose generosity is as sublime as his love.

"I forgive you."

The words were as profound as the music.

Knowledge is Power, Ignorance is Bliss

2010-11-08T19:32:00.001-05:00

In a brief moment of respite, he stopped to look back upon the path that had taken him three years to traverse. He strained his eyes, but still it proved difficult to see through the forest of the great crossroad that had transfigured his life forever. Fleeting shadows scattered upon the other paths that led away from his own. "I loved you once," he murmured before returning to the road. It was impossible to turn back now, for it was already dusk. And as he walked into the sunset, a gentle breeze rustled through the woods and whispered back, "The truth is, you were always loved, and you always have."

In the urban metropolis off in the distance, the windows of the buildings revealed the souls of its denizens within. Nobody looked out at the world, and instead turned away, in search of the answer that once filled them with purpose in a different time.

An Ambivalent Gesture

2010-11-06T03:16:00.002-04:00

A reflection of the past.

Two weeks have passed since the emergence of a new path down an old road. But that path has long since withered - I have always been indecisive, stranded in the middle of the crossroads.

The Road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Life administers its lessons in interesting ways.

* * *

Jane and her friend sat down beside him at the booth inside the restaurant. He and the other had not ordered yet, but it was unclear whether or not they ever would, or if they were even there to eat in the first place. After Jane and her friend took their seats, he began to feel very cramped, and the other seeing his obvious discomfort motioned for him to move under the table to the other side. But the gesture proved to be ambiguously ambivalent, since the motivation behind it seemed to take on multiple realities.

* * *

Division of time has never been easy, especially when compounded with higher stakes and diminishing resources. May we never to whore ourselves for egotistic attention or to those that seek it, no matter how elaborate the tactics they may use.

The Hollow Mind

2010-09-20T02:25:00.000-04:00

The current of time flows faster and faster. Suddenly, the rests don't feel as spacious as they once did, and now life is one long continuation from one movement to the next, attacca. I returned to the city from the mountains with shiny new tools in my arsenal, only to have them thrown out. He claimed that the two approaches toward sound production are not mutually exclusive, but with so little time left, what's one to do?

Live through the music. Music is a language. Play with conviction. They all make sense in theory, but with every attempt at expression shot down, what remains that can be conveyed to the audience?

"I found your playing to be apathetic, blunt, and even a bit rude." I'm not careful enough, evidently. But without the final product in mind, how can a sculptor even begin to think about polishing his slab of marble?

In the mountains, I freed myself of issues relating to tension, which resulted in a bigger sound, a greater ease of playing, and most of all, a much-needed boost of confidence. But here in the city, the tension has returned, along with the poor posture, and the collapsed "system." Tension isn't a physical issue, but rather the symptom of one that is psychological. With so many limitations, the dangers of erring to poor playing is too great, prompting the body to defend itself by assuming the fetal position as closely as possible.

And now, I'm balancing surface issues while drawing a complete blank for the one at the root of them all. And in defeat, I resort to dreams that no longer fall within my primary passion.

My good friend once told me, "When you listen to music, you listen not with your ears, but with your heart."

Aber mein Herz ist tot.

Re-Evaluate

2010-06-02T03:17:00.007-04:00

The sun shines bright against clear skies, warming the Earth. He looks up, the summer has finally arrived. But that begs the question, what happened to the other months in between?

There was a point in his life when the summer would storm in with all its thunderous glory, filling the air around him with a sense of purpose that had yet to be realized. But without his initial sanctuary, the summers in his new locale are not quite the same. The vernal squalls continue to roll over the land, but they no longer hold the same power over him as they once did. But perhaps it was not that the storms had suddenly lost their influence, but that he had already found (and exhausted) his purpose before they came. After all, even though he had survived the ceremonial trials, the ordeals they laid before him were far from over.

He wakes on a little rowboat in the middle of the ocean, armed with only a wooden paddle. With infinite stretches of blue in all directions, he paddles. At first, he enjoys the experience, taking in his surroundings and absorbing the serene essence of the water. He paddles out of instinct, but as the storm clouds gathered in the horizon, he begins to paddle out of panic. And as the tempest creeps closer and closer, the more his muscles begin to fatigue. If only he remembered that he kept a map and compass in his pocket, his outcome might have been more optimistic.

"You're wasting your time, you know?"

You're absolutely right, I really ought to stop doing that. Perhaps, once I figure out how to wake my torpid mind, I'll finally get around to it one of these days.

Toll

2010-03-29T02:12:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, an old lady had a heart attack. Her last words were to her children who had been bickering, "Because you all were fighting, no one bothered to watch the elevator, and now I have a heart attack." As she slowly walked down the street off into the distance, I knew that I would never see her again.

I awoke in tears, only to be ridiculed by the trombonist. Amidst the jocularity, there still existed an element of sympathy. I'd shed tears over a character from a book, but the message rings clear - how many problems could we avoid if only we would listen?

The art of listening is not easy, but its possibilities are endless. Wisdom and insight come at a price, and we pay for it in suffering. And so I gladly suffer, but let us not suffer needlessly.

Connection

2010-02-25T14:40:00.006-05:00

"The path of least resistance is a comfortable road. But you won't see any unicorns."

I recently attended a concert in which a world renowned artist performed all four of Chopin's Scherzi. In the fourth Scherzo, when the music turns dark and a lone voice sings in C# minor, I was no longer sitting on the balcony in the auditorium. For as long as the voice sang, nothing else in the world seemed to matter - it was just me, the performer, and the lone voice singing in C# minor that connected us together. And that sort of personal connection cannot be established by following the path of least resistance.

Resolutions

2010-02-14T03:00:00.006-05:00

Back during the great dénouement, amidst the black & white photographs and piles of sheet music, a seed from the fire that started over two years ago took root and germinated, albeit hesitantly as though it were unsure of its existence. It grew nonetheless, even when the clouds denied it sunlight. But eventually, without sufficient nourishment, it began to wither. And without a sufficient amount of will to survive, it died. The leaves fell, leaving behind a black skeleton, the only vestige that it ever made it onto Earth. Everything else remains unchanged and the question that loomed two years ago still looms today.

I feel as though I've lost a close friend.
How so?
He was killed by egoistic hedonism. It's hard for me to accept that he's actually dead.
What if he was never alive to begin with?
Am I still blind?
Are you sure you were the only one?
[pause] But it still hurts.
Don't worry, it's nothing that time can't heal. [exit]

In front of the piano, my teacher resurrected an essence that had been lost in the fray.

"This is about love. And when you deal with love, you cannot hold anything back."

For the New Year, I hope to win first prize in a competition, in addition to maturing more as a person and as a musician. And before I die, I want to know Love.

Pictures in a Reel (unable to turn in reverse)

2010-01-19T16:37:00.003-05:00

An empty pasta bowl sits on the table in the kitchen next to the window. The colors of the wooden floor and tabletops are intrinsically warm in color, but the light from the clouds mutes everything into shades of gray. In this kitchen, he sits alone and waits, a victim of the terrible silence that fills the room. A withered tree stands outside the house with curtain-less windows. All the necessities of standard welfare are there, but where did the essence go?

The kitchen had seen better days, when it was filled with life. Now, it does not beg for life or pray for death, but instead speaks of absence. It is only a matter of time before the bodies return, but there are some things that will never come back.

He casts his strongest summoning spells but retires to sickness in the end, wondering whether the passing sensation was naught but a dream, or whether this, like everything thing else, was just another flickering image in his perception of reality.

Recalled to Life

2009-10-10T00:52:00.003-04:00

"You know, I'm not working with you like this because of the competition or because of your recital. In fact, I think you're completely prepared for the competition already. I'm working with you like this because you're my student."

Accompanying 10/06/2009

2009-10-08T02:48:00.014-04:00

DS: What are these?
WLS: They’re test strips I made today, I’m thinking about making them into bookmarks
DS: What are they pictures of?
WLS: *smirk* My F-hole!
DS: …Excuse me?

* * *

I wonder how he'll feel once he finds out that I have not one, but two F-holes.

That which has been Broken

2009-08-31T02:25:00.000-04:00

Last night, I found my bird in a hallway with other runaway pets. It recognized me and flew onto my shoulder. My mother would have been ecstatic.

We all camped out in my room the last night we were together. I walked in to find our violist in the top right bunk, our violinist in the bottom left bunk, and our cellist in the top left bunk. We were all sprawled out on the mattresses for we had been robbed of fortitude from our daytime activities. Yet, (our violist) she smiles, for even presence alone can make a world of a difference. The four of us were together again, and that was all that really mattered. Even if our violist never lived on campus, and even if we had never spent a night like that in real life.

* * *

You act without knowing, basing your actions solely at the discretion of whim. Of course it will always feel "right," constantly living in the present (and only in the present) does that to you. From the outside, it does not reflect well upon the mind within. And yet, you appear to have found your own personal success. This is somehow unsettling. But things tend to have a funny way of working themselves out, the summer's last ember is slowly sputtering out.

Que será será.

如果

2009-08-09T00:57:00.009-04:00

Two weeks have passed since we awoke from the dream. Something has died, and now half the world rejoices while the other half mourns. As we grieve, we sink down and feed upon the dark art of necromancy. And suddenly, that which should have been dead long ago has been resurrected in an almost unrecognizable form. But we still know what it is, and we still know that it is there. And yet again, it tears us in two.

Right
down
the
middle

The trail of bread crumbs has been eaten by the birds. As the sun sets, there is no path leading back to the village. Yet nothing lies ahead. And now all we can see is forest. Until we learn to look up.

如果你能給我如果的事
The thing is, I can.
But now, I won't.
(And it hurts)

Interference

2009-08-05T21:16:00.000-04:00

"In all the little things you do, that even you yourself may not be aware of, people will notice."

As usual, her words prove to be true. And now, the problem seems to be that of balance more than anything else. And now, using her words as a tightrope, he walks between the flaming sea of transparency and the endless sea of oblivion. As with anything in life, there is a limit to all things good. Patience is one of them. I've done what I can, but I can take a hint. I will only ask once.

And, I will never lose to a drag bitch.

Returning from the dream turned out to be a rude awakening. And now I wander in limbo, catching the echos of voices from worlds far, far away. I remember the dream though, and in a couple of weeks, it will be time to awaken once more. By then, I'd like to be nurtured in an environment where to love one's Art is not a sin. But we all know that reality is not that kind.

In the end, however, there is no shame in being alone.

As Everything Evaporates in Blue

2009-07-27T10:52:00.003-04:00

He finds himself in a park. He is running, possibly away from something. But even in the empty park, he is tired. The sun has set, and now its remnants drench the world in blue. He finds an abandoned bus where he seeks refuge for the night. So many things happen in the twilight. Yet in the end, nothing has changed.

The mind still refuses to rest, ever aware of a nonexistent danger. And suddenly, worlds begin to merge, tossing the delicate balance that once existed between them into chaos.

Everything evaporates in blue. Though the sky is still dark, the night is no longer young.

Flickering

2009-05-15T03:51:00.008-04:00

He sifts through pictures, glancing at snapshots of different worlds that are often forgotten and gone. He lies in sanctuary, but the luxury is soon to be no more.* His mind drifts in and out of dreams constantly, but underneath it all, he knows that something greater within is on the verge of waking, and so he struggles, though in vain, desperately clinging onto vestiges of a world quickly dissipating.

The school had become an altogether different place now, and though the hallways were filled with students, the school was still empty. Down in the basement, the music was still crippled by broken methodologies (or lack thereof). For a second, he tried to shine light, but was then crushed by futility. Resurrection is not an ability bestowed upon humans - one cannot revive the dead. He walked away, not in disappointment or sorrow, but rather in joy - for he is finally free.

He smiles to himself, but faintly. Freedom comes at a price, for he is empty now. He sifts through pictures in what remains of his sanctuary, looking at ghosts, denizens of worlds long gone.

*Just as the Earth's tectonic plates move little by little, the cumulative effect gradually adds up until the it reaches a critical point at which the consequences become apparent. Though the process is gradual, the point of realization is instantaneous which often masks the progressive nature of change.

Farewell

2009-04-18T23:43:00.004-04:00

The first one hit me hard and took me completely by surprise. The context was absolutely unrealistic as we were trapped in a dark labyrinth in a dark cave filled with water. We were searching for something, but that no longer holds any importance. We'd reached a resting point, I turned to her, initially looking for guidance in navigating the labyrinth, but suddenly realized that I would never see her again. At least then, I was able to express just how much I'd miss her after she left before the tears came.

I distinctly remember standing in front of Brandt six months or so into the future. The trees had already turned to gold and the sun sat low, casting long shadows into the streets. We were in our autumn gear, which consisted of plaid scarves, earth-toned coats, and jeans. I, however, was wearing a black coat. The three of us stood just outside the patio for a great while before we finally accepted the fact that it was time to part ways. They were headed East, while I was headed back to the dorms. I gave each of the sisters a hug, but the tears came before I could say anything. "I'm really going to miss you guys," I choked. They stood and smiled while I tried to do the same. But I couldn't. And instead, I turned and waved behind me as I walked away so they wouldn't see me crying.

Dying Fairy Tales

2009-04-07T01:41:00.007-04:00

Only a few weeks remain before yet another chapter comes to a close. Yet somehow, though to a lesser extent than a year ago, an unresolved air still lingers and a bittersweet ending seems imminent. Though this chapter has been a pleasant one so far, filled with new characters and developments, I will be happy to bid a fond farewell to the denizens of a fading bastion. The fairy tale is disintegrating much like how the snow sublimates in the winter. In a couple of weeks, time shall sever the final link, completely eliminating, finally, its existence.

As the weather warms, dulling the edge off of the cold, I'm finally reminded why I love the summer.

The Story Continues

2009-03-10T04:18:00.006-04:00

He wakes from a dreamless slumber to the sound of silence. People scurry outside his door, he can hear them as they toil about. But really, nothing is happening, and the silence is deafening.

"Everything is related to to each other: parts are related to the whole, the whole is related to its parts, and the parts are related to each other."

Is this not universally applicable? I should think it is universally applicable, despite originally realizing the concept in a musical context. As he stares at the blank ceiling, he ponders how he wound up in his curious situation in the first place. Perhaps in reality, he is not so displaced, but rather just sleeps in the presence of those from another world not considered in the initial definition of "everything". How depressing, then, that these connections were naught but part of a dream! The problem, however, is that they felt so real, and because they did, it begs the question of what is real. Which recollections were parts of dreams and which ones for real? Suddenly, the distinction becomes unclear. But then again, maybe we're all just simply perceiving in a dreamless slumber.

He sits over at his desk and flips through a yellowed notebook. For a moment, he fails to recognize the artist in the old house by the sea with the clouds. But he remembers, for it has only been a year. He continues to write, but in an entirely different form. The truth is that the words inside the notebook acted together to create not a story but a sketch, an apparently problematic distinction when used in an academic setting. Nonetheless, he continues to write; this time, however, he writes in notes, not words. He does not intend to turn his story cyclical. Yet.

"Everything is related to each other: parts are related to the whole, the whole is related to its parts, and the parts are related to each other."

Paradoxes, etc.

2009-01-31T23:56:00.010-05:00

We were greeted by the bells bathed in sunlight. The afternoon was unusually warm for this time of year. We walked and explored, wandering through historic hotels and coffee shops.

I wait now, for the weather.

* * *

There once was a pianist who fell from grace. In panic, he retreated into a shell of false optimism. But perhaps he really was optimistic... only for a while at least, for as he drew further away from the light, he turned to ice and, immobilized, let loose demons within that ravage those who are still under the illusion.

In darkness, he seethes alone.

At this point, I feel compelled to remind him, and a couple others of his kind, that two can play the game. However, the game isn't really a game, but rather, a trivial act in an unwatched drama. It's very simple - all you have to do is pretend you don't see me, and I'll pretend that I don't see you. Believe me, the game really is as stupid as it sounds. But given the premises, it's also rather interesting.

沒關西啦,他們是另外一類的.

(Unfortunately?) I believe it.

Dreaming on a Theme of Pandemonium

2008-12-15T04:05:00.010-05:00

Every night, I always encounter the same people that I had left just days ago. Despite different environments, different situations, and even different locations, the people are always the same.

On the first night, we all gathered in a deserted building in the slums of a great city. We were in a room filled with electronic keyboards. Perhaps we were preparing for keyboard skills (after all, this building was once a music school.) There was water on the floor and the lights no longer worked but we still met as though we had class, as if school never let out, as if the winter never came, trapping us in a perpetual autumnal limbo. The shadows moved as though to let us know that we were not alone, to keep our guards up, to stay alert. And sure enough, there was a conflagration by the doorway. Under any other circumstance, we would all have fallen into a panicked frenzy, desperately trying to escape the flames. But at that point we only knew that there was a fire in the room (and perhaps the two shadows that started it) and that we would have to find another place to hold class.

On the second night, the four of us that had gone to retail therapy together after juries found ourselves in a city of fountains and towers at sunset. The sky was already a piercing shade of gold as we wandered in and out of buildings. As night fell, we found ourselves in one of the stone towers. Somehow, there was still a trace of unrest in the air.

Crossroads Revisited

2008-11-16T02:18:00.010-05:00

Just over year after choosing a path at the great Crossroad, the time has come to decide. The reality is, I've been straddling two paths up until now and if I continue to do so, I'll end up in the woods. How intimidating it is to be required to make a decision at age 19 that will ultimately affect the rest of my life. The willpower is there, but the challenge is to put the other factors in harmony with each other.

* * *

Once upon a time, Dr. V sought me out after I had gotten off stage after a catastrophic performance for which I had been completely unprepared. She took me by my hand and dragged me out from backstage down to the secluded area behind the stairwell. She looked at me in all her fully-clad black-&-purple velvet glory and smiled. "You have such wonderful musical intentions, but when it comes to the parts that really matter, you back off. You have so much potential in you, but why do you insist on hiding it? It's like you don't want to play well! What's keeping you?" I could only stare at her, for I was at a loss. "But...-" "Oh right, your insecurities." She grinned and then I understood. This was on October 14. But the truth is, I never had a concert on October 14.

* * *

Once upon a time, fate rested upon the vocalist. Today, I know not where it's gone.
"Open is key"

Yes, I can agree with that.

* * *

I must never forget that once upon a time, I believed more and more that I play one of the most beautiful instruments in the world.

Wading in the Water

2008-10-11T03:11:00.001-04:00

I did it.

I finally did it.

It finally happened.

But now what?

"I can see it happening! I can see her pushing me into the water!"

你到底在想什麼?
怎麼可以這樣對待朋友?

Other words followed, with more energy than I ever knew I had.

For I was no longer afraid of the water.

So I cornered her, and showered her with the destructive energy she had been so willing to provide just moments earlier. But in my moment of weakness, I saw that I had destroyed the wrong one.

And then I knew that it would never be the same between the two of us again.

Even now, I can see it happening - I can see them, taking advantage of her trust and snatching her purse as she enters the bus. I can see them pushing her into the water.

I can still see it happening.

Delightful Tangle

2008-09-08T02:00:00.001-04:00

Cupid's arrow fires in volley.

Fate is not necessarily a blessing.

Open is key.

Today I sat under clear skies, differentiating between sunspots and freckles while sipping Thai iced coffee. Or so the coffeeshop calls it. I listened amidst the cigarette smoke and the flies.

In the meantime, a mere teenager stands no chance against experienced eyes.

Also of note:

Today, I sat for 50 min. working through an environment reminiscent of the Hobbesian state of nature.

We are all programs living inside a computer

2008-07-28T18:06:00.005-04:00

Lost, the three of them rented a car for $0.01 per minute. No matter how he calculated the total cost, the numbers never seemed to add up right. His gut reaction was to suspect that they were being overcharged again. But then again, $100.80 a week is still pushing it.

The three were sent on a mission. While getting to the destination was easy, the return trip became a problem: they were stranded on a hill on the wrong side of the river. They were also pressed for time. They all quickly hopped into her silver car, but there was no bridge.

At this point, time was running out. She was injured and incapacitated. From the back, Justin yelled, "Just drive through the river! There's a shallow path that leads to the road on the other side!" And so they did. Sure enough, there was a road that seemed to emerge straight out from the river.

However, they had miscalculated the depth of the river and consequently began drifting with the current. By now, they had virtually no time left. He thought of a plan. "Justin! Help me!" but Justin was already out of the car. He looked back for only a second before he took off, "That's okay..." In desperation, he quickly put his feet in the water and navigated the car to shore.

He found himself back at school after the incident. Everyone was dressed in their school uniform, gathering in the Music Hall for an afternoon concert. He ran into Justin and together, they walked into the Hall. "Hey Justin, the next time I find myself in trouble, can you promise to help me? And be there for me?" Justin started walking a little faster, his expression the same as when he fled. "Maybe," he said rather hesitantly. "Maybe???" he asked. Obviously, this was not the answer he had expected. "Maybe." Justin confirmed before walking away into the auditorium.

He started wandering around the building, going up and down the stairs surrounding the auditorium. It had just occurred to him that he hadn't seen the girl yet that was with them on their mission. He began to grow desperate as his pace picked up into a run. She wasn't up in the balcony, nor was she in the auditorium. She wasn't on any of the stairs around the auditorium either. He eventually found himself in the basement outside the orchestra room. And suddenly, he knew.

"She has been deleted. The only way to save her is to find her before the two beams become one."

Recollections from the Future

2008-06-27T05:01:00.005-04:00

The three sat together in a hallway of their dorm as the other approached. The second-year sat with the first-years, and upon seeing the other, introduced him to the first-years. "He's gay." One made a face as a silence fell upon them. The other greeted the others curtly and, in a silent rage, joined them on the floor, savoring the calm before the school year. They attended activities and dinners together in the following days, and all was well.

The other came wandering down the same hallway again days later, and by chance ran into one of the first-years. "527, is this where you live?" He nodded. "You know, I lived here last year." He walked away, but he could still feel the light-blue essence emanating from the room.

* * *

Father used to live in the outskirts of the Forbidden City. He told his stories as he remembered what life used to be before it became a tourist attraction. The night was young but, strangely, well-lit. Lightning filled the sky as we watched the tourists marching up and down the steps, again and again.

A Lost Craft in a New Wind

2008-06-26T04:38:00.004-04:00

We play (music) because we love.
We do in search of happiness.

How complicated it is to live knowing that perfection and objectivity are unattainable.

* * *

The waves of something new wash unto the seashore, carrying the old magic off into the distance. He stands at the edge, looking. Perhaps he bids farewell, it's hard to say for the heavens are both smiling and frowning down on him.

It's time to fly. But where?

It Festers

2008-05-16T01:41:00.005-04:00

It festers. I can feel it. It rots inside, turning sour every second. The life you left has scattered and gone now. Yet, the flies become kings and the kings become flies.

You never told me anything. It was never natural.

* * *

She sits in her room against the window in the sun, observing. She observes life as it happens and even partakes in it every now and then. But in the end, after the sun has set, she continues to sit. Life is naught but a 15.4" monitor screen.

She spins. But she does not know that she spins, for all she sees are others rotating around her. She closes her eyes and smiles a little, basking in this newfound sensation she has made for herself. This is all she can bask about; she knows this but does not acknowledge it, holding onto the remnants of a nonexistent glory as she falls.

* * *

He cannot see. Someone had put a blindfold over his eyes while he slept and now he swings his blade at enemies he cannot see. Sometimes, his blade finds a recipient; but friend or foe he does not know. Rather he cannot know until he learns to see.

I wait

2008-05-13T03:39:00.007-04:00

The night you left in search of expectations and excitement, I waited.

Even now, I'm still waiting.

Although you came back the next day, I'm not convinced that you ever returned.

But I'm still waiting,
hoping that you'll come back someday.

Like the Petals in the Wind

2008-05-03T02:34:00.005-04:00

The wind blows and we are all swept into Oblivion. After all, such minor details carry no weight in the big picture.

What happened?

We were once a flower, but now we lie in pieces, subject to the forces of nature. There was never any trust between the parts. Given that the parts are related to the whole, the whole is related to its parts, and the parts are related to each other, it's not hard to see why we've fallen.

Perhaps nature will be kind, allowing us to stumble upon the unity of effect. Then will we finally mature and understand what it means to be whole. There exist higher ideals than the temporary/destructive pleasures.

* * *

He stands alone on a hill, gazing into the stars. Behind him, a village is a burning. The people had been warring with the Unknown but have now begun to fall. Jovial denizens once dwelled in the village, but then a Grand Tempest rolled over the plains and sent Tedium, Ennui, Lust, and Paranoia to lay waste upon it. The afflicted denizens did not die, however they were no longer alive. He was fortunate; he had found the light before it disappeared behind the clouds. But he was not unscathed.

To his left, there is a forest shrouded in mystery. It emanates a strange energy, yet there is no light. Rather it is dark, yet somehow inviting. It calms him, yet robs him from the inside.

To his right, there is a portico that leads into a different plane of existence altogether. As he walks down the path, he expends his entire of spectrum of emotions, including ones that he never knew he had. At the end of the path, on the edge of Existence, there is a cafe. The lone barista concocts a drink for him. He drinks the concoction in preparation for the unknown, for he knows that he knows nothing.

A dense fog covers the terrain directly in front of him. It is cold and chills him to the point where hope is nearly lost. But as the last ember was about to die, the fog began to clear. A crystal orb floats suspended in front of him. He is filled with Wonder as he sets about his work.

"Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes."
-Ovid, Metamorphoses, VIII, 188

I Remember

2008-04-19T02:21:00.002-04:00

The first time I ever fell in love, I listened to the Faure Piano Quartet in C minor over and over. Today, I was finally able to resurrect a vestige of the Essence in front of the Steinway. The blue sensation lingered in the air, fed by the resonance of the strings.

But then it shattered. The shadows of the mediocre burst in from out. How they do enjoy crushing pretty things.

Falling

2008-04-01T19:31:00.000-04:00

We were once beautiful. The light shined upon us, suppressing the darker shades of our nature. But then the sun set. And now, we wander in the dark, guided by only the stars and moon. Occasionally, we run into those that have found the light. But that only happens once in a blue moon. Fortune rarely looks kindly upon the likes of us. We were once beautiful, but then we fell apart. But don't worry. I will glue you back together. God willing.

* * *

The canals that were once filled with water turned to blood and gave the city a heart attack. The few that recognized the End fled quickly, while the other denizens merely sat around, wondering what was going on as the city descended into its death throes.

2008-03-29T03:44:00.002-04:00

As everything descended into ruin around him, he suddenly awoke to find himself right where he started. He had been sleeping for nearly seven months now. And even now, he still labors to keep his eyes open. He tries to rise, but merely stumbles around for a moment before collapsing down on the ground. The great Crossroad still lies before him.

* * *

Grace & Elegance
Form & Style

I used to think that these alone would be enough. Life is tricky.

Regression

2008-03-09T22:01:00.002-04:00

He collapses in defeat, completely powerless and exhausted. He looks up through the sky and into the universe, after all that's all he can really do. And then they came at him with sticks and stones. His house was burning.

At 33%

2008-03-01T16:03:00.004-05:00

He had been poisoned, and had inadvertently gone astray from his original path. Now, he wanders in the woods stuck somewhere in between, existing only at 33%. His mind has cleared, but the venom still courses through.

* * *

We walked up a river under the sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

At the cafeteria, we were now being charged for the apples that we had taken for granted in the past. The green ones were 14 cents while the red ones cost 16.

I was sorting through mail, though I knew none of it would be for me.

Taking in the Darker Pleasures of Life

2008-02-27T12:51:00.003-05:00

He sits at the water's edge, pondering all that he had gone through since embarking on his path. Shadows have devoured the light of his innocence.

* * *

In a world where dying meant dreaming, there was a river in Old England, called the Edward River. Beside the river ran a channel of good brew. The river ran underneath a bridge, and beneath the bridge, past one of the river's edges was a tunnel of stone that ran straight through to the other side. In the cave dwelled the King clothed in red and his Prince. He told us about the brew and he questioned our motives for passing. We were exhausted by the difficulty of the situation, and one of the girls could not make it. A female specter descended upon us with flowing black hair and took the girl with her. The last we could see was black hair fading into the darkness. The girl had begun to Dream.

We eventually reached a hill made of green hexagons. Each consisted of two halves, one that was dark and one that was light. Each half had a word written on it. We knew it was an ominous obstacle, but before we could begin, soldiers from centuries past waged war right before our eyes.

Back at AHS, he invited me to a concert on a Thursday at 9PM. Instead, I invited him to one of mine.

In Dr. V's office, there was now an additional room with two upright Yamaha's. The lights were still dimly red, to the point where the room was barely illuminated at all. Dr. V came in with one of her older students and shooed me out.

While we exited the H.Lounge en masse, you suddenly fell behind, and headed back down the stairwell. And while I tried to inquire, you simply kept walking. It wasn't until CS looked down that you told us not only who you were meeting, but also that you've gone on good ones before.

Tetris

2008-02-26T00:18:00.002-05:00

"Everything is related to everything: parts are related to the whole, the whole is related to its parts, and the parts are related to each other."

He read this line aloud in his head over and over again, thinking not only about music, but of life as well, how everything was related to everthing, how every action had a reaction, and how every reaction had a consequence, and how everything seemed to be a chain reaction off of everything else. His mind became tangled and he bowed his head down in defeat.

Today, he stepped on ice. He stuck his foot out gingerly, and tapped the surface before slowly releasing his weight upon it. And there he stood for a split second, before the ice failed beneath him. He clung onto the edge and worked himself back up. But there was now a hole on the surface of the frozen lake. He turned back and looked upon the lake and sat down, wondering when the Spring would ever come.

Into the Fog

2008-02-16T23:48:00.005-05:00

He runs into the fog...

And he trips, stumbles, and falls. Demons prod him in his mind, conjuring thoughts that are not his. This confuses him, as he's no longer sure what he actually thinks and what he does not.

A girl walked out from the fog, saw him on the ground, and, thinking that he was dead, prodded him with a stick. He opened his eyes in a rage that was not his. He smiled a smile devoid of happiness and continued along the path. The fog was clearing, but the demons had not yet departed.

* * *

There was a house somewhere in a coastal neighborhood. The sky was sullen, obscured by heavy clouds. Outside the house, there was a tree with thin branches but no leaves. We were shopping, for the special store had not yet closed. It would be the only time that we'd find it open. There was a piano somewhere inside, but it did not play. As we had our lesson, a pipe had burst somewhere, and there was water, but we could not see it. The room looked like a wooden attic; nothing was finished, yet everything seemed chaotic. Was there music?

There was a pursuit, but it didn't last long. Time stretched on and on, just as I faded back, one minute before reality began.

* * *

He lives in a box. A colorful box in shades of gray. He is blind, only to himself. Hindsight 20/20? Perhaps, we have not yet progressed far enough ahead.

Float

2008-02-08T00:46:00.000-05:00

The sun shines bright despite the cold regaining its clasp upon the earth. We run and frolic during the day, and we amuse ourselves at night.

* * *

His eyes are closed, yet he is Looking. Where did everyone go? What does he see? Is there anything at all?

"Trust me," he whispers, "I will not fail."

and the rest is Jazz

2008-02-04T23:35:00.003-05:00

He stands at the water's edge, wondering whether to swim or sink. Or whether to wet his feet at all. As he steps out to be embraced by the water, he prays fervently that his feet do not get cold.

The river is kind to him. He is neither swimming nor sinking; he simply floats, caught between the light and the current. The water caresses him, but his mind wanders as he stares up into the sky. The sun shines down, but it has yet to penetrate the depths of the river. His mind is far off in the distance, but his feet have not yet succumbed to the cold.

He dreams now of support. He dreams in color. In his mind, he is not alone.

He's floating down the river, his eyes gently shut, his body soaking up the sun. He dreams of one, as he sinks deeper and deeper. His feet begin slowly growing numb from the shadows of the cold.

Awe

2008-01-30T02:45:00.000-05:00

Today, she sat at the piano and played. Her hands, no larger than mine, seemed to fly across the keyboard. She took my hand and showed me her own composition.

I was frozen in a state of awe.

* * *

He practices his sketches, but somehow, they've historically never turned out quite right. Perhaps he is jinxed, forever doomed to fail? But he continues to sketch nonetheless, hoping that just this once, he will succeed. So he practices, taking care of every shade, stroke, and line.

Lost

2008-01-29T01:42:00.000-05:00

I am lost in your empty eyes, you have me constantly wondering if there's anything in them at all. And no matter how much I want to convince myself that there is, in fact, a fire, a spark, an emotion, I am not convinced.

Who is drifting here? Perhaps we participate, but as invisible beings, existing at the fringe of existence itself.

Feel with me here. Do not be afraid of hurt.

Let us experience and participate.

Regression

2008-01-26T02:39:00.000-05:00

It came in an instant and out of nowhere
but I was standing over at a table when all of a sudden
you were there
with me
in an embrace

For a couple of seconds, I felt your warmth
I remembered the October Days
and suddenly, all was good
before we suddenly drifted back to reality
where I found myself alone in my room
thinking that I had missed my class.

* * *

Dear False Majesty,
You have become naught but a shadow lurking in only the darkest corners of history. Farewell.

* * *

He lies now in an open meadow in the middle of the night as the stars illuminate the grass around him. Books lay strewn in the general viscinity. Yet, he does not seem to notice. For now, he looks into the sky, searching. He searches for adventure, mystery, and keys to his deepest desires. Yet all he can do is look into the sky, searching for an it that isn't there.

Checkpoint

2007-12-21T02:03:00.000-05:00

A fog had enshrouded the world as we all fell into a state of chaos. Although the sun had yet to set, the sky had fallen apart, and the golden plates that once made up a great flying fortress came crashing to the ground.

And yet, there were still people poisoning technology that had yet to sell.

* * *

He found himself back where he started and as he stared into the distance, he Remembered. He remembered what it was like to explore, he remembered how it felt to be pushed, and most importantly, he remembered what it meant to be Inspired.

The fog had covered the city.

And yet, the light was still bright.

Story and some sketches

2007-12-17T00:36:00.000-05:00

He sits at his table in the corner of his room, lit only by a single lamp. The light is tinted yellow, but is warm nonetheless. Night had fallen and he slumped in his chair, weary after a day filled with amusing confusion. He was tired. After a while, he delicately reached for his notebook, picked up a pencil, and began to write as he drifted off into an alternate reality, where suddenly, he could speak without being looked upon as crazy.

* * *

Dear MWRT,
You may be special, but you are no more than any other. No good can ever come out of narcissistic self-righteousness. The weight you wish to carry in your words is disgusting. Same in your actions. Every time you resort to violence, you show how weak your are, unable to find any other alternative to resolve your conflicts. If you will not mature, then may you be destroyed by your pride. May your victories amount to nothing, your displays of power all for naught. And then may you finally open your eyes to see all the destruction you had caused and how we had all been much too accomodating.

* * *

Dear miss,
Please leave me alone. I can't seem to live a day without having to deal with you anymore. Initially, when we were friends, it was ok, but now it seems we're only friends for 20 minutes at most before you succumb to your baser tendencies. And that is too much.

You may be sincere, but it really doesn't show sometimes. I feel I should remind you of the proverb that actions speak louder than words. At the status quo, your words do not seem to match your actions. Think about that. I know you can.

I feel I should also remind you that I am not dependent upon you. I am not obligated to dedicate myself to you, it doesn't work that way; we both know that. Therefore, when you start insulting me, remember that I am not obligated to tolerate that. So keep that in mind before you start attacking my insecurities, which you seem to have come to know rather well. I am not the one going through withdrawal.

* * *

Dear broken "artist,"
Although you have not yet truly fallen, if you do not change your mindset now, you are absolutely doomed to fall. I am not kidding, nor am I saying this to harrass you; I have better things to do with my time. You are invisible. You carry no essence. Your emotional capacity is severely undeveloped. But because of one person's opinion, you seem to have overlooked everything. But I do not care about that.

You have hurt me by attacking someone I truly admire. I ask you, do you have someone that you admire? Do you have someone you look up to? I would doubt it, seeing as you have no trouble hating those of others. What upsets me more is your logic, which is much more revealing than you may think. You hate him because "so many people look up to him"? Have the masses gone mad? Have "we" no reason? Who are you to say that we are incapable of thinking for ourselves when you can hardly do so yourself? I was not the one to bow down to the Queen when she degenerated and slowly went insane. You probably never realized that she did since you were always caught up with yourself and the things that amused you.

* * *

Dear Queen of All that is False,
I look forward to never having to see your face ever again. Your reign here is done. You have done enough damage, and it is high time that you left. You refused to listen, nor give to others. You misled a broken artist, a lost boy, a lost soul, and tried to ride my coat tails. All because you could not understand. Even I wasn't so base as to let my weaker self manifest and slander. Unfortunately, you've made your mark. You will not be forgotten, but do not fear, I will see to it that the truth be told, destroying all that had once been False.

* * *

Do not tread upon that which you should not.
Respect that which you should.
Have grounds to that which you argue
And may righteousness be your guide.
Do not let emotion carry you away
Nor let your heart succumb to slander
Do not falter.

In the chaos of life, doing so is filled with challenges, especially when surrounded by those who have not yet or refuse to mature. But surely, as you gain wisdom, you shall always find success.

* * *

He stopped and closed his notebook and turned off the light. He was tired. But finally, he could let his restless heart find some form of peace.

Where have all the flowers gone?

2007-11-25T01:04:00.000-05:00

The chaos has run rampant. No one is willing or brave enough to see. There is a problem that no one is willing to acknowledge. For that reason I am alone. But I am not actually alone.

* * *

He's running now. When all of a sudden, he crashes into something. Another free soul. They get along immediately and form a bond that's hard to break. They're both searching for something, and now they finally have the support they need.

* * *

I miss you. I miss your desire to explore, your need for adventure and excitement. But what happened? You're so far away.

I miss you. I miss your nicer personality traits, and I miss being able to enjoy being around you. What happened? It appears that you have disappeared.

* * *

People break. Now, the only thing to do is to act rationally and logically by working puzzle by puzzle, letter by letter, word by word, number by number, day by day, generating, accepting, and rejecting. The hours pass quickly.

Here's to a memory.

Fly

2007-11-04T01:14:00.001-04:00

Music has quite literally invaded my wall, acting as an escape, drawing in the darkness of the mind, and freeing the soul of all that had made it broken. At last, we fly.

Today, we recall; we recall the events of 03/29/2007 and 10/03/2007 and we remember all that had once been lost and we remember to keep and treasure. The queen of all that is false has moved on to prey upon the others and the dark cloud manifested once again.

The Tale of the Queen of All that is False
The Queen of All that is False came to be by accident. She did not intend to Exist for that was not her purpose. But she found herself in a world where all was true, covered by a layer of lies. Yet, it was beautiful. She looked around and became enthralled by all that she saw. Without thinking, she then looked within and saw nothing. Perhaps she was unable to see. Perhaps she saw too clearly. She had no Essence. And thus, she began to create, clawing at the layer of lies of everything around her, gathering the shavings, and forging them into a False Essence, for she had no Essence. And with her work, she became one. For a few precious seconds, she felt whole.

And she lived, feeding others the fruits of her False Essence. But they too were false. Her craft had improved significantly, drawing all who were around her into a trance, seduced by her False skill. She fed off the Essences of all who were pure and whole. And when she exhausted that supply, she fed off the Essences of all who were striving to be pure and whole. And because all who were around her were in a trance, no one objected. Yet, she continued to feel empty, for the nature of her Essence was false. She did not expect one to pierce her with her own craft. In fact, she did not expect ever to fall. She had no direction, and yet she was self-righteous. The world was to bend to her; as long as she had Essences upon which to prey, she would be happy. But she was blind to her dependence and thus took her sustenance for granted. And when she was pierced, she became broken and furious. She wallows in a puddle of False tears, for she has no real emotions. She could see, and yet everything about her vision was wrong. But because she thought she could see, she became fully convinced that she could and filled herself with False fury.

And now she stands, merely in a False image, cared for few, loved by none, drowning in a darkness that is very real, bleeding from her False actions.

The Dark Cloud
He had been flying when the cloud had descended upon the Cross, suffocating its denizens. And when it lifted, a shadow had remained, waiting for the opportunity to manifest. Suddenly, the boy was brought back down to earth, for he could no longer fly, though he had not exhausted his Passions. And thus, he poured his Passion upon a figure of gold. He was doomed from the instant he laid his eyes upon the figure of gold. The shadow infected him and broke him. The cloud that had previously descended began to form within his body, crushing his essence. And yet, the other denizens who knew the dark power so well did nothing, leaving him immobilized and stagnant on the ground, forsaken.

Little did they know that he had not been truly forsaken, for the power of Passions should never be underestimated. Yet the other denizens, who knew not of or had no Passions, could not understand why that was so and were thus confused. In their confusion, they felt fear, fear of being left behind again in their powerless and passionless state. Thus, they estranged him.

But he did not break. For all he ever really wanted was peace.

Highs of the Highs and Lows of the Lows

2007-10-29T01:42:00.001-04:00

Thus we characterize the events of the past two weeks. A roller coaster, coasting through great heights, yet plummeting to great depths while winding intricately in between. And yet the entire time, a dark blanket had been cast upon the roller coaster. Even if the cart coasted high, there still would be no light.

* * *

He has been cut by Self-Doubt. He has no idea where he is, or even how his surroundings appear. His adversary is strong, but as he is nearly overwhelmed, an Angel stepped down and in one blow took Self-Doubt down. He points to the boy and opens him.

He opens his eyes and suddenly realizes that he has become immersed into that which is called Music. But already, he rusts, for in the back of his mind, there are other, even more malicious adversaries out to destroy his Essence. For now, they have subsided.

* * *

You and I are Enigmas, for you have been cursed with a blessing, while I have been blessed with a curse. Together, we wander and wonder.

* * *

The concept of being able to see has taken on a completely new dimension.

Falling Apart

2007-10-22T00:59:00.000-04:00

This morning I woke up in a slight depression, witnessing something superficially insignificant, but whose attitudes and symbolism and deeper meaning were everything. All that was Light and worth living for had lost to the rapist. Yet, it was acceptable; I felt defeated, only capable of witnessing all that had taken place.

Yet the message, distorted due to the conversion into reality, resounded for two seconds before getting lost to the flow of daily routine. There was no significance there.

* * *

He lies in a pool of his own dark emotions, fishing desperately for the hook of light to lift him out. He does not remember how he fell into the pool, or even why he ended up there in the first place. But it all seems irrelevant now. He is now subject solely to the events of the day. His personal Essence fades, devoured by the pool of dark emotions. Yet he continues to hope and struggle, even when doing so pushes the light hook further and further away.

"My doubt can never be self-righteous, I will not whore myself to fear."

* * *

"I have two horses saddled, I will take you at the first sight of infatuation."
-Niklausse, Tales of Hoffmann

Hoffmann had a Muse to save him and also to love when all others failed. In all his suffering he was not alone.

Do Muses like Hoffmann's truly exist? It forces one to consider the existence of a personal Muse and where the source of personal creativity originates. Personal art no longer has form nor structure, it has degraded to merely a jumble of mixed emotions that should not have existed in the first place.

And so they depart

2007-10-18T04:08:00.000-04:00

Though they slowly disappear one by one, never entirely overlapping, it feels as though a significant part of daily routine has been interrupted, leaving a lovely little crevasse in life. Exchanging color for productivity is not an entirely bad concept in and of itself, for the real challenge has yet to come (and believe me, it approaches quickly).

* * *

He runs now down the intersecting paths of academics and introspect. Yet, he finds nothing, other than that he always finds himself behind. He looks ahead and sees yet another great Crossroad. He looks behind and sees very little. He looks within and suddenly no longer knows what he sees.

* * *

The ice storm has passed leaving everything covered with a pristine layer of ice. Yet it oppresses what lies beneath, killing off what once used to be but failed. But the sun will still shine and there will always be the potential for a better tomorrow. Even through the ice, the light of Hope somehow always seems to shine through.

Back in the Otherworld

2007-10-13T20:04:00.000-04:00

In a field of green bathed in light, we sat under a tree. The air was pleasantly warm, loved by the occasional zephyr. Together, we talked as we did once upon a time, and then I knew. I was at peace.

Sometimes in music, I solely capture the essence. And once in a blue moon, I become so absorbed that for a split second, I am a part of the essence. In that split second, I know. I am at peace.

But now, a tempest wreaks havoc within. Emotions run rampant, destroying what little personal essence there was to begin with. And thus, I crumble. I am only human.

Yet, I feel. And thus, I hope. I am only human.

To Be Crushed - to create the Essence

2007-10-05T03:49:00.000-04:00

And once again, he finds himself lost and stranded, inferior to something illogically superior?

And yet he tells no one.

A Tempest ravages within his heart, tearing apart all that Was, but giving birth to something new. Chaos shall reign, but within this chaos a new, wonderful, but painful Emotion emerges.

There is beauty in Despair. Inferiority is not an option.

The Present - the light against the storm

2007-10-03T02:11:00.000-04:00

A cloud has descended upon WG, and within it stirs a transcendant poison turning even the lightest of heart into stone. And yet, there are still those clinging desperately to the light, unaware that they too are slowly consumed by the cloud. Yet fortune still shines through.

Today, he soared above the clouds, breezing past nearly all obstacles. Below, the rain poured the weight of the world upon the denizens below. It was as if he were surfing, separated from all the unhappiness and chaos, but also from the denizens below. But even if he did fall, he would never be the same. In the minds of the denizens, the cloud would always be there, raining upon them the weight of the world; and even after the cloud disappears, the shadow will always remain an indelible scar across the sky. Yet, he continues on simply soaring high above, where only the few, the curious, the open, and the brave will go.

Music can only go so far to compensate for the Human Experience. Although the puzzle pieces are now carved correctly, the colors don't match. The 05/13-14 concept strikes again.

Peace

2007-09-30T05:07:00.001-04:00

The trip back home took way too little time, and before I knew it, I was back at the piano, right back where I was when I ended yet began with D major. Suddenly, everything was so easy, the curved fingers, the extended reach, the tone all came together wonderfully in time for dinner.

And after that, I was back. But not before stopping by some of the museum shops in the Upper States first. Desolation reigned amidst a city of plenty.

* * *

It was as if the sky had decided to blow all the clouds far far away, leaving only the piercing rays from the sun and blue skies. The wind blew strong as we seemed to sail through the streets, amidst the traffic, and by the trees.

The brick houses, the wind, the mild but deep scent of history in the air, all coalesced into one great, yet subtle sensation.

"Peace," he thought to himself as his lips betrayed a subtle smile.

Beauty and Peace.

Making and Breaking

2007-09-28T04:30:00.000-04:00

One day, in front of the Steinway, my teacher created an essence for me. But it shattered a few hours later in a whirlwind of disappointment.

* * *

I have been plagued by your essence. It haunts me, sticking most intimately to my mind, constantly feeding me questions with no answers. And as crazy as it may sound, I think I like your essence. Moreso than the container in which you store it.

It's probably there.
I wouldn't doubt it.

But every now and then, you let a little bit of it slip. And that little bit is enough, just enough to haunt me, to stick most intimately to my mind, and to feed me constantly with questions that have no answers.

* * *

I stand now at the base of a mountain staring straight up. The sun sets behind me as the desolation slowly encroaches upon me. Everything is a very warm shade of red.

Deja vu?

No. Almost, but not quite. But it should be treated as such nonetheless.

Truth like Fire

2007-09-25T02:42:00.001-04:00

Truth ravages the populace like fire. The lightning struck and illuminated on Saturday, and what started as a small flame is now gaining power as it begins burning through the vast stretches. The fire has begun and there is no rain or water to put it out.

I suppose this fire is doing more good than bad at this point. The seeds from the pinecones are finally dropping and the stagnant soil is replenished with life. Thus, the life cycle can begin again. What a coincidence that this new life cycle coincided so perfectly with the 新生. Perhaps, there is something important linking the two together (one is an offspring of the other?)

At this point, time has trudged on into the distance, leaving behind a swath of warped time. Nothing is constant anymore. However, this is supposed to be a simple obstacle since, being blessed with some of the higher intellectual powers, we are able to adapt. And slowly, I do. Very, slowly.

As for travel, I've been all over, from a class field trip, into a pirate ship cruise, into the Great Blue, into a 360 staircase/ladder maze environment, and even against a giant shark. But yet, everything is still so ephemeral; it illuminates for a split second and then it's gone. Perhaps, the portal is still adapting to it's new location. The connection is getting stronger, and this is always good.

As for life, it's funny how so many seemingly different concepts are so intimately tied to one another. To dance, to express, and even to play video games suddenly clicked. And now, I might have a chance.

Warming the Fire

2007-09-18T02:22:00.000-04:00

The clock strikes midnight and the crowd goes wild. And hence, Chaos flows through the corridor.

Yet I still made it. And after I passed on my well-wishes, I was enveloped in Warmth. Though it was brief, it was enough to (re?)awaken a source of emotional energy from within.

But yet I still wonder
if I'll ever find a constant source of Warmth?

Through the Gates of No Return and into a Realm of the Unknown

2007-09-03T17:53:00.000-04:00

As strangers in a foreign world, we must resign ourselves to its customs. To our great fortune, they are very liberal and provide us with great personal liberty to explore, expand, and grow.

I stand before a great crossroad. The faded sign stands before them all, dubbing them each with a Name. "The Path of Art", "The Path of the Hedonists", "The Path to Glory". . . The list goes on. I am told that there may be hidden paths into this dark, yet enchanting realm. I am also told that these paths are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

The liberties provided to us are not without a purpose. We explore these paths to find better understand not only our surroundings, but our own nature as well. We expand to accomodate the higher standards that should have been imposed. Ultimately, we grow to be prepared when we finally reach the destination at the end of the Path(s).

I have chosen the Path of Art; the Path to Glory was blocked by impassable obstacles. Somehow, I still get the feeling that I'll run into it somehow. Thus far, I've oftentimes found myself running into the Path of the Hedonists as well. Fireflies light the Path as the last rays of a sun of the past fade away.

The past three days were bathed in a lonely light. The belligerent nature of the light is fading, leaving an empty light in its stead. And suddenly, I saw. But before long, the three days had passed and suddenly, smoke filled the air and everything became congested yet again.

Now I sit, filled with questions and deadlines, knowing that I should have more questions and deadlines, and wondering how I'll get and achieve all the questions and deadlines.

Let us step back into Reality for a few minutes

2007-08-17T00:53:00.000-04:00

Where has time gone? Two months ago, it trudged in front of me, but now it trudges backstage yet working its magic center stage. The clock has begun to tick once again. But something's different. The ticks no longer resonate, creating the blissful illusion that time has once again slowed down.

I stand now before the Door of no Return, feeling the deep warmth emanating from the cracks.

The door closes behind me as the last threads of a world past cling on for dear life, filled with good intentions, but hindering the 新生 nonetheless.

And thus, I Became.

I have become accustomed to the Darkness

2007-07-10T02:45:00.001-04:00

The Sun shines down through the ceiling as mother and I are shopping at the mall. Except she leaves and shops on her own as I run into a person I know for pizza. Suddenly, we are a part of something else, and find ourselves among classmates in a slightly dilapidated apartment. As I walk among the different rooms, everyone is doing something different. There is a tension in the air. But somehow, I find myself stumbling upon my friend from three years back with another person. It seems he has finally found love. Perhaps, he was kind enough to share; it is unclear. But it was an anticlimax, but under better circumstances, things might have been different.

Up above, we were summoned to gather down below, and as we descended, one of them asked me to hold his hand while descending the concrete staircase. I am better accustomed to the darkness and can find my way more easily. And thus, I led him in slow motion as we descended some steps and leapt down others.

I have become accustomed to the darkness?
Have I become accustomed to the darkness?

Like a wisp of steam that escapes the tea cup

2007-07-07T03:15:00.001-04:00

On a boat in a river, we played a game. Rather, you guys were playing a game and I, despite all your athletic advantages, suddenly happened to dominate, filling me with a happiness not felt in a period of time that, perhaps, should not have been. I had descended from outer space. Or so I think. Whatever the Truth may be, it was not of this world.

On this ship, there was a little restaurant/bar type of area filled with decorative lights where I would sit with my family; and though we haven't spoken in five years, we spoke as though it really did make us happy. Even the air seemed to glow with a warmth that hadn't been felt since the light of a year past shattered into tiny little pieces, forever lost to the dark void of time.

Even as reality rained down, this happiness still existed for a few tender moments before dissipating into a world that never was. You see, we were never friends (I barely even knew you, only that you existed), and the happiness was only the vestige of a past that I never quite achieved.

Challenge Cycle

2007-07-05T02:02:00.000-04:00

Perhaps the conception that I seemed to have all throughout my final year in secondary school about the minds of others was not completely without basis. Everyone starts out pure. Then slowly, one by one, they lose it a little bit at a time. Knowledge is not necessarily the corrupting agent, but rather the temporary pleasure from others. And for this temporary pleasure, they are willing to forsake Vision.

Being one with limited vision, I had minimal to lose. Who could have guessed it would all end like this? The irony is dazzling.

I wouldn't be surprised if those to whom I had given my blessings turned out no different from the others. But that is a rather pessimistic and cynical perspective. I shall wish them well and believe that they will break this blinding Challenge Cycle, and show that it was we who were the anomaly and not they.

Final Rest

2007-07-01T18:31:00.000-04:00

As time continues on its relentless path, I sit and watch as it trudges by. The sun shines down upon the Earth as everything seems to come to a standstill. Yet, this cannot be since time trudges on in front of me.

At the status quo, everything seems unreal. Last night, I was at Sam's Club, when I saw a familiar face that turned out to be another familiar face. Then I saw two Korean sisters, one of them showed me an eerie Korean film on magic.

The room was lit solely by one candle as she knelt in front of the bed, almost penitently. But her eyes were fixed upon something unseen straight in front of her. She focused and as she did, a dark mass seemed to appear slowly on the bed. As the dark mass began to take shape, it became evident that it was the same person.

The city seemed foreign, yet familiar. And though I'd never seen it before, I still knew that as we reached the red metal structure under construction, we were almost there.

Now, the sun continues to shine but the seeds of a new art have yet to germinate. There is no water.

A Morbid Year

2007-06-16T03:21:00.000-04:00

If the school year could be summed up in a single word, it would be: dead

Life in death is very interesting to say the least. Loneliness and separation are two dominant characteristics of this new life. But they themselves are not actually dead, they only paint the color of death. By death, I do not mean the cessation of life, but rather the absence of life (something close to desolation). I should probably put life in quotation marks since the meaning it carries in this context is different from its regular meaning. In this situation, it means something much closer to people and the collective minds.

And because life was dead, the year seemed to drag on, yet pass by rapidly. Living in desolation was an unfortunate necessity. I say unfortunate because the timing of this phase was rather inconvenient. Some things regressed in this environment while others progressed. It's like a disease; while you suffer from symptoms, you eventually develop immunity. And this immunity is a necessary defense.

My life was not as close to art or academics as I would have wished; everything is more detached in desolation. Something happened halfway through the year and I was pulled back into the mainstream, but only halfway. So in a sense, I existed; but it was only an image. Perhaps the tamashii didn't quite make it back yet and so everything felt numb. I could still perceive certain pains, but I could no longer feel the necessary ones.

Thus, I fell.

Instead of crossing the finish line with great enthusiasm that was worthy of celebration, I coasted along contrary to my dear teacher's advice. And thus, everything seemed anticlimactic. I've crossed a stage and shook hands and received awards for things in the past so the finish line was no different, except for the fact that I was wearing a robe.

Now, in the interregnum, I bask my final rest, separated prematurely by all that once briefly and intermittently was, but joined with all that will become. I have faith in the latter to accomplish great things, to succeed, and most importantly to become good people.

May the shadows of apathy, self-pity, narcissism, hypocrisy, narrow vision, and the other evils never find you, and may the light of righteousness always guide you.

There. You have my blessing. Perhaps, it will mean something this time.

Change

2007-06-02T03:27:00.000-04:00

It rained both yesterday and today. However, this rain seems different from the years past; it carries sadness, and sometimes even spite. I suppose this is karma, and I accept it given that it is. To have my muse carry such (negative?) weight was completely unexpected, but it could be worse.

Carelessness seems to be the new infection; its symptoms are often unpleasant.

And if there is anything else I dislike, it'd probably be:
- Self-induced misery (and the subsequent whining/complaining)
- Apathy (especially to all the wrong things)
- Hypocrisy (especially when it wins)

As of late, the golden attraction from months past seemed to have manifested once again, but much less than before. Coincidentally, I began to wear my golden necklace today as well. Perhaps, I will settle for real gold and pursue a life of flair, fire, and glory. If I'm lucky, maybe there will be some prestige as well.

The near-perfect birth of a new beginning

2007-05-29T03:29:00.000-04:00

The Genesis of a new self is supposed to feel wonderfully refreshing. But then something went wrong in the delivery and instead of feeling refreshed, everything (including happiness) feels like it's being sustained by an essence that does not exist. This feeling is quite similar to deficit spending. Oh how quickly the guilt and impurities overwhelm.

Under normal circumstances, this new being would have been a miscarriage, but the relative emotional intensity of the surroundings kept it alive.

How do people deal with being unwhole?

Dream and again

2007-05-23T01:02:00.000-04:00

On a rainy day, she died in her car and though she was severely wounded, her car was unlocked and I drove her and her car away, turning right onto the road to the hospital. But she was probably dead already. This was a learning hospital, whose main purpose is to provide for those who do not yet have. I was scheduled to work soon.

It seems the self that I had suppressed so hard over a year ago has broken free of the binds I had placed. Havoc must not commence.

Tonight, it does not feel that the end is near.

An Excerpt from a Dream

2007-05-10T22:40:00.000-04:00

Dear All,

I'm having the worst break ever thanks to you. The "road trip" was
terrible and you haven't talked to me since. Now I'm miserable (and it's
your fault).

*etc.*

So i hope ur all having a great time there

Br

And with that came the response, "Because I totally don't have AP's, classes, finals, or recitals to worry about either."

Dead Music

2007-04-14T03:27:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the Dead Society, as we sit down one night and play some music, of sound that was poison to my tamashii, without feel, nor passion. The music was dead.

But why?

The notes were beautifully executed, each with alarming alacrity and accuracy. But there was just something missing. The vibes, the words, the mindset were all just wrong. Where was the love? Where were the emotions? How did this confusion, this obsession, this artificial dilemma come about?

Why even bother? Is it because your parents made you? In hopes that someday you'll become a superstar? Or perhaps they wanted to see if you had something inside you so precious and valuable that not even all the money in the world could buy. But the crucial topic of interest at this point is whether we're simply playing notes or making music. Making music seems to be very similar to school/academics. It can be good or bad; it just depends on how high you set your standards. High standards are hard to achieve, but may be useful in the long run. On the other hand, low standards are easy to achieve and provide temporary comfort, but may be detrimental in the long run.

But where am I going in this stream-of-consciousness? Dead music is bad. The death virus that infected the music is contagious and can infect other tamashii's and make copies of itself from there. That cannot happen for a passion for music.

Through a scripted drama, I felt the necessary emotions that formed the basis of actual music. In life, they drew them away, filling the resulting cavity with apathy. Welcome to the dead society, where suddenly things are neither real nor unreal, where whatever the case may be, everything is important, especially the cravings for instant gratification of the mind's eye.

Welcome to the Dead Society, Stage II. We are spiraling already, but we have yet to hit the bottom. What prestige we had is cancelled by the virus.

Welcome to the Dead Society; where everything is real, and nothing is real.

My teacher was right after all; I do have something that really matters, even if I don't hit the right notes when I'm supposed to.

Three Sketches

2007-03-29T01:27:00.000-04:00

She covers her eyes with a layer of mud, as she lies back in her throne of false assumptions, basking in nonexistant glory. But in the mind's eye, she sees it all: her triumphant mind, her superior assets, her artistic squeals. And everyone bows down, offering things that just can't compare. But it doesn't matter, it's not important. In fact, nothing is important.

Inside, she files her emotions, but ultimately flings them upon her desk. It's not important. But now she knows that there is something missing. But that doesn't matter. It's not important either.

She walks outside to greet the masses, with only a single balloon, containing a single thought. But this thought was no longer a thought, as the masses fell to their knees. She was right, and that was all that really mattered.

Like a grub in the ground, gnawing on the foundations of those reaching for the light.

She speaks. And every time a word is formed, she stuffs it like a turkey on Thanksgiving, filling it with a sense of priority. Suddenly, everything matters.

To relax her mind, she bathes, in a bath of bubbles. She likes being surrounded by bubbles. It gives her protection, comfort, and even strength, even if a single human breath can take it all away. But she doesn't realize that. Her eyes are glazed by the essence of bubbles, and suddenly everything is a bubble. She slumps a little more as she absorbs the essence. She shuts her eyes. They will never open again, for now her essence has become one with what she treasures most. She is gone, to a different plane of existence. Nonetheless, they see her. A cloud of bubbles in the air, subject, now, to Mother nature.

She clings onto the sewage, where she lies now, in her final moments, before an unknown, yet unusually strong force pulls her away, tormenting her in an eternal tempest. Mama P will not be with you forever. Nor will she cling back onto you, as she too is slave to another particularly strong figure, the Bitch Goddess*.

In the morning, she wakes, and walks outside to meet her lovers, who have all spent the night attempting to woo her to bed. Their attempts were in vain, but yet, she fills all of their hearts with false hope. She pierces their eyes with words, sugar-coated with false compassion. And though they bleed, they don't even know. Eventually, she puts them all on one treadmill and sits at the front. She watches in amusement as they all struggle towards a target they will never reach.

She delicately picks up a cup from a table beside her and delicately takes a sip. Narcissism is a deadly poison. A slave to herself, she watches with pride at the delight she gave herself.

A soft and delicate laugh escapes her, and travels through the night. It might not have been there at all, for all the ears that once were have all been killed on the treadmill. Those that Knew knew what not to do and were instead suckled by the night.

*Refer to Andrew Carnegie.

Two Days

2007-03-28T02:43:00.000-04:00

A blade upon my heart. The innocent were beheaded in a most gruesome manner, with the blade falling vertically, slowly working its way across in many perforations, boca arriba (face up). But with what little power he had left, he used it all, and then it was gone. The blade was gone.

In a city of Rain, you told me, "Stay right there, it's perfect, just wait one second!" But in an instant it all disappeared, as the masses came filing out and flooded the space, contaminating the Essence. You were my lens, but time was unforgiving. As I turned away from the window and looked upon the gray, I saw fascination, autumn, and light draining away, carried by the masses.

The Long Winter Journey

2007-03-12T01:58:00.000-04:00

Gold Chocobos are very hard to breed, did you know that? Fang Mark said this in a discussion on the various colored chocobo as we approached the mountain.

There was trouble somewhere. Spring was coming, yet the heat was already somewhat oppressive. And yet, the snow was still there as we traversed the path. Through the mountains, however, the snow was all the way up to the waist.

It was a very long journey.

Ending in a gap of consciousness

2007-03-07T20:07:00.000-05:00

In a house with Chinese grad students, teaching science, there were many oddities, and they weren't necessarily good and made one feel rather uncomfortable. There was a camera, constantly watching.

But suddenly, something happened outside, and bodies in dark blue, plastic body bags started piling in. There was a mass casualty accident somewhere out there. The house was no longer a house, and rather resembled that somewhat of a church. And as I came upon a room, warmed by the glow of candles, illuminated by the sun, I saw her mother and her sister. But I did not see her. Since the accident, my mind had already begun pondering death and as I came to understand the situation, I broke down. I did not see her. I saw a box of wood, and I saw lots of people. I saw candles. I remembered her beauty and kindness and warmth. As I approached her mother, I cried. For the first time in many years, I cried, saying, "I'm so sorry."

Even as my mind drifted into a state of consciousness, I cried.

On another Adventure

2007-02-26T00:22:00.000-05:00

You are no longer there, which is evident in today's activities.

I was at the library, looking at the media on the 3rd floor (all look the same). Lots of things happen here.

In the Forest of Mystery, the ground was filled with flowers that were pale-yellow in color. I was almost flying, spring time was here. Then suddenly, as though in a maze, I pass through puzzles and find myself in a large church-like building (monastery?)

Someone had died and was having a memorial service that sunny day. 黑社會 - I had been assigned. Navigating to the meeting room was challenging as the hallways were transformed into a maze by strategically using semi-permeable guards (knights). The sanctuary was bathed in light, while the hallways were lined with red brick, lit either from the outside, or by torches. The meeting room was small, and filled almost completely with Chinese-speaking people. For some reason, I felt more comfortable with English. I gave up my assignment, no matter how hard they had pushed it onto me.

Then the phone rang, and it all disappeared.

Falling Apart

2007-02-20T19:27:00.000-05:00

We walked as the sun began to set, and ran into a group of girls. We found ourselves in a garage and you went away to talk to the leader of the group, which lasted for quite some time, and the whole time, I was there right beside you.

And as they left, disappearing into the darkness, you told me, how attractive she was, in the most ludicrous manner, and how she was a homosexual.

And right then, I found myself in an English group, with Caitlin H. protesting/asking why "lesbians are always hott." A little later, at mansion-like dining room/library, I realized what was actually going on, and for the first time in my life, for about 5 min., I was lucid. The strangest thing was that the other people knew as well.

I found myself walking home, the day I saw the sun and the moon in the same sky. Amidst the construction, there was a pile of gravel, onto which I climbed. There were two others.

In Spanish, my cellphone was in my backpack, and it rang. Although it was set on vibrate, it was very loud, drawing the attention of the entire class (including the teacher). My grade dropped significantly as she marked something on the class list, with a disapproving look on her face.

Before the New Year

2007-02-18T01:50:00.000-05:00

In a city by the Sea that was adored by the Sun, there was a group of people destined to fight, to shoot, and to die. They gathered at a great big house, supported by pillars of white. There were 100 of them, bordering a central depression in the shape of an ellipse. And as the opposition ran around the perimeter, the pillars burst into flame and collapsed, always keeping the opposition on the move. 00(0014400)^.5 was the curse that brought them down.

The Italian restaurant was good, and ironically, it was owned by a Japanese man.

I was told to go die today

2007-02-14T00:43:00.000-05:00

I was told to go die today, as a wave of shallow and base instinct struck me in a staggering blow. Fortunately, I was not so naive as to take this spear straight into my body, and instead, I avoided it. I sent a laser straight back and pierced him straight through, as Reason crumbled and baseness exposed. Right then, I saw Mr. Ewan reincarnated, but he forgot, that no matter how base the ignorant forces are, the light will can always pierce through, rendering all forces futile.

And with that, I accomplished my initial goal. I am independent now, undaunted by the shallow forces, wallowing within themselves.

A Dark Scratch

2007-01-31T21:53:00.000-05:00

In a world similar to that of Termina, there were twelve stages, but it seemed someone else had passed through them already and that I was erasing their memory and filling it with my own.

I came upon a bar/cafe sort of cabin, where I met my casual interviewer. Like my previous interview, it went well and again, my interviewer was a lot friendlier than I had initially anticipated. Although the room wasn't well lit, it was cozy. I went through the back door to the basement which resembled that of the house on the corner of Jensen Ave. where I found the game.

I went to put my rupees in the bank. I had 400, just enough to reach the limit. Afterwards, the teller lady begins talking to me, but in my haste, I chose the wrong choice of speech (I told the truth, I think) and everything became dark.

First, the lady herself turned very dark (not a brown kind of dark, but an actual black-purple dark). The sky turned to night as the lady began to fall apart. A black splotch had begun to appear behind her, as though someone had impaled or shot her and blood had splattered from the back.

This darkness was still there, even in Spanish class, and as I woke, I found myself in a memory with my mother and though I knew she was dead, I still could not comprehend.

A Sugar-Coated Poison

2007-01-23T00:42:00.000-05:00

I once ate a sugar coated poison; it tasted sweet in my mouth, but soon began breaking apart into it's caustic components soon after. It was a catalyst, drawing the good and breaking them down into caustic components as well.

I was sick. It hurt too, but I didn't really feel it until I noticed.

The sugar coating still has me in circles, for it came out of nowhere, and yet continues to lure others into a false sense of security. There is poison in this sugar coated pill, and it is harmful.

A Paradox

2007-01-21T20:24:00.000-05:00

The Young and the Old, the Old and the Young, have all become one. There is a hole now, in the orchestra, in which some think they are above the others. It's so ironic, since most of them are down, where no light hits the ground. But they seem happy, so the peace shall not be disturbed.

The world is turned upside-down, when the two protons become one. The Strong force, they say, is what keeps them together: two bodies whose electrical properties are supposed to repel. We have become one great body. How ironic, the potential found in the young ones, those who are ignorant, is higher than those who are older, and supposedly more experienced. I believe in you, young ones, and pray never lose your spark and penchant for knowing. You will go far in life.

Up above, we will flourish, delving into the light and exploring Meaning. We will contemplate and yet we will Live. The black hole, covered in cellophane, does not intimidate me, nor will I be tempted by its reflections.

I go to a good school. I used to think I went to a bad school, but what was bad back then was just another lesson in disguise. I go to a very good school, providing me with so many opportunities to delve and open. I only wish I could have Seen everything earlier.

The sky is clear, opening its beauty to all those willing to See. So See, everyone, See; there is so much more out there than what meets the common eye.

See.

Gold

2007-01-14T00:36:00.000-05:00

I find myself attracted to gold now. Before it was light, and now it is gold. But still, it's all just wrong wrong wrong.

The sun was setting, casting the land in a cover of red. I found myself in a house foreign to me, but there we were, all of us, playing SSBM. There was a bed, and lots of pillows and I was on the bed. There was a door to the left of the TV and as the gold entered, it chose, out of all of us, to plant itself next to me on the bed. And that made me very happy.

We all ended up staying the night, although that was only implied as the night never came and in an instant it was the next day. There was something about ninjas and hidden danger that never manifested, but that's besides the point. The next day was cloudy and humid, much like a warm summer day right before a storm. We were all sitting inside this strange house and I was using the computer when all of a sudden a lady (Mom?) comes in with two large bags of groceries and informs me that my sister is dead. It was so sudden that I just sat there in disbelief. "My sister is dead. She died while I was here."

Today, I told myself that I would shine for and to be like gold. But in a daze, I forgot my initial purpose and while I was safe the first time, I fell apart the second. Close but no cigar. In two weeks, perhaps I can redeem myself, but the chances are unlikely and even if I do, the effect probably won't be as significant.

So close, yet so far away.

Is this Hell?

2006-12-26T16:59:00.000-05:00

I found myself in an atmosphere that knew no light, but an immense cover of gray. The skies were perpetually covered in one giant layer of cloud, occasionally casting fog upon the earth as well.

We were driving toward Nowhere. The cars were packed full on the highway as if we were all running from some sort of plague. To my left were tall buildings with a blue that had died long ago. I exited the car and went toward the buildings.

There was a river and I found myself in a European style neighborhood with short 3-story buildings of brick. It was a little brighter here, but gray nonetheless. The buildings were arranged in an orderly, yet chaotic manner. These were tomhouses, connected together. As I went around (I was running, for some reason), they were all the same. It seemed like I was looking for something and I almost got lost. Eventually, I was inside the labrynth and managed to find a massive, but very dark room, lit by giant Christmas trees. The light was very, very dim, but just bright enough to know that the carpet was of a very dark shade of red. Somehow, it seemed like an auditorium, for little kids to dance the Nutcracker Ballet, but there was no one.

Next, I wound up in a hotel, but again, everything was in an orderly chaos. The pool wasn't working (there was no water in it), but people were still there in their bathing suits nonetheless. I dived in, thinking that there was actually water, but it was in the shallow end and it didn't hurt at all, hitting the damp floor. There was a game of hockey, all my friends were there. I joined in, but during halftime, I lost my hockey stick so I tried finding another one, but there were none. Instead, I found this blue stick device that looked like it could hurt others pretty badly, but the ref said it was ok anyway.

But eventually that was finished. J. Fuller was in there somehow too with candy. It was nighttime now and the environment was illuminated only by a couple of streetlamps. I entered a building that was completely dark except for a door that was illuminated solely by the rays of light that escaped through the slits where the door didn't fit quite right. I entered to find the Music faculty in the overlit auditorium. It was golden, bathed in light, but there were still elements in the atmosphere that still didn't seem quite right.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, I emptied my pockets with Daniel and found that I had many checks that I had yet to cash. I was loaded (e.g. $139, $70, $20).

Today, the devil came to visit. He played with my mind temporarily but then he left. But not before making me even more ignorant.

I fear I may have broken Mother's fingers.

I remember now

2006-12-22T15:34:00.000-05:00

It's been a year since I remembered; it was resurrected last night.

Lava flowed down this road as the earth began to bleed, giving genesis to a volcano at the top of the hill. The sky was orange and red. There was no time.

Before long, a fault had formed in the middle of the road. Everything was so rushed as everyone tried to gather all their valuables while thinking of the best plan for survival. But it was too late.

Earlier today, a memory of the night before popped into my mind. The Brahms Piano Concerto in D minor (3rd mov.) appeared shortly after and together they coalesced to form a sensation like none other. It was almost as if I had found the world in which I lived during the summer, but it went away before I could fully contemplate it.

General lethargy has taken over my mind. The future does not bode well.

Into the Desolation

2006-11-08T21:00:00.000-05:00

I am lost in the woods, unable to find my way back to the village of Lights. The glimmers I see now and then are the same as before, yet different, not necessarily for the good, for apathy and neglect seem to have found their way into what made them pure.

Purity is lost. The light is fading, a tempest is coming, but unlike before I have no idea where to go. I did not reattach myself to the foundation on which I tumbled, and it seems I've finally made the right decision. The Heavens are far away now, and my foundation gone, decomposing into the soil beneath. I am becoming Infected now. I have Seen and I have fallen, I look up at the stars, reminiscing about what once was. That's all I am able to do now, as the disease spreads through my body, destroying all that once Was, and all that could have Been.

In my dreams, I've started to see people again. Once, at the conclusion of my dream, I somehow wound up marching with the band, partnered up with Jim. Given the significant height difference, I was unable to play the instrument that required two with him. And he looked back, and laughed. Yesterday, I dreamt that it was raining, and in the rain, someone looked at me and walked away. And in the dream that followed, I found myself with two people analyzing. And so I told them my dream in hopes of finding an answer, but I woke up before Jacob could tell me what it meant. And as the dream began to fade, all I could think about was the dream of which I spoke, in blue, filled with rain.

Somewhere in there, I found myself at school, testing out the newly installed security devices. And I triggered it off, and so a very unhappy Mrs. H came over and searched my backpack. Mr. D happened to come by and snatched my lunch and proceeded to look through it right outside the MC. He took out an apple (not apple slices like I usually bring, a whole, greenish-reddish apple), gave me an approving look and a thumbs up, and proceeded to eat my apple, walking away back to his classroom. He was not looking down at the ground.

As of late, it seems that I have reverted to everything I had tried so hard to avoid. My voice has become like that of JMFR, my attitude no less offending than Jim's. And I can't help but to wonder what happened to everything I cherished so dear. It seems the only thing that is of value is my humble ability to play piano, and even then, it's filled with flaws. Everything is so dry now, with little to no emotion embedded within. Perhaps, what I had lost I had given away and in the excitement of it all, neglecting to see this far into the future. No one takes me seriously anymore, I am just the dirty, stuttering, crazy kid whose presence seems to loom everywhere, like a flea stuck in your fur. But it's not that bad. I once lived on the attention and flattery of others and begged with a blindfold over my eyes in the social system that is school (society). But nevermore.

Perhaps, it is only necessary to have distance in order to See. It's understandable why that would be so. But for now, I will tread on the paths of others no more.

To do:

Go to a cafe on a clear night, and just sit outside looking at the stars while enjoying a nice cup of coffee
At 3AM, just walk around the city, taking in the surroundings
On a warm, rainy day, go outside barefoot and let the rain fall
On a peaceful summer day, lay out under a tree and watch the clouds float by
In the fall, jump into a pile of leaves
In the winter, make a snowman, sing carols to neighbors, and at night, go around smiling at the beautiful Christmas lights all around
One agitated summer day, go on a road trip, savoring the last bit of freedom.

I am no one anymore. Nothing. Everything I tried to get people to believe just don't really work. I am no one, just someone who tried to make others happy, loving them all but never receiving as much in return. All that I gave was true, but most what I got was superficial. But I still loved it nonetheless, and moments like, "Does Jim have beef with you? 'Cuz if he does, then he's got beef with me too!" or "Here, I'll walk with you" made me immensely happy, enough to sustain me through the rest of my day. There were only two who were true out of all that I encountered. If only they all knew what the silence in our conversations meant, and how much I really appreciated them even now, perhaps it wouldn't be this way.

I guess it's time to move on then, maybe eventually I'll be able to find my way back to the village of Lights. One day, I will find a cure for my Infection, undergo a catharsis, and will finally find the light that I have searched so long to find.

The Year of Judgement

2006-10-28T23:39:00.000-04:00

I am slightly lost
The water is up to my neck
I hope it doesn't rise much more.

As for tomorrow, I can only hope for the best.
I've done what I can and now I rely on fortune and God

Estranged

2006-10-08T23:58:00.000-04:00

Fortune does not seem to be very high right now. Although it has had its peaks. I have seen ecstasy, and I seen the world from below. Maybe now, I can begin to See.

I feel like I'm missing something again. I cannot afford to let this hinder what needs to happen in the coming months.

In which I might be getting recalled to Life

2006-09-25T21:00:00.000-04:00

The academic life

It's good.

Into the Other World

2006-09-23T01:13:00.000-04:00

I have begun to walk away from "reality," away from all those who have chosen to shut their eyes to the rest of the world. I will not allow this to happen, especially not to me, for I seek something greater than what is real.

The path towards Truth is bright.

But it is a lonely road.

I walk the lonely road, for there is no shame in being alone.

In the face of a barrage of words

2006-09-18T00:13:00.000-04:00

Once again, I find myself subject to some hypocrisy.

Some of it was ridiculous, to the point that it was almost laughable had the situation not been so grave.

However, I cannot tolerate this type of misunderstanding. It's really unfortunate that there isn't anything I can do about it.

I will not be prey to the senior angst that too many kids seem to go through this time of year.