There's an abundance of tragedy in day to day existence that screams with such distinction about the finiteness of our lives.

My fiancee's sister was walking along in LA with several of her co-workers when a driver who was engrossed in waving hello to one of his homies lost control of his vehicle and sped towards the pavement, killing two of her friends and putting a third in critical condition. This took place in LA, and fortunately they caught the little shithead. Turned out to be a 19 year old hispanic male, who's being tried as an adult can add manslaughter to his list of charges, an upgrade from vehicular manslaughter. He fled and even dragged one of the female victims along in his beaten up piece of shit ride. He'll be someones wife in jail soon I'm certain. And now his life is royally fucked beyond anything and that in itself is definitely an evil thing. Despite our tendency to demonize him, despise him and anything else just imagine in an eyeblink your life is shattered beyond repair. I don't think that the guy deliberately wanted to run over people unless he'd been playing GTA and was high as a kite.

And now she has to seek counseling. How strange it must feel to have come within an inch flirtation with death, knowing that people you know died instantly. She also has to dodge reporters to add stress to an already stressed out situation. Fortunately she didn't stick around for media morons to annoy and harass as she left the scene to contact people, phone 911, etc. She didn't stand around gawking by spode into quick action. I admire her for it, too. To top it off, she just got through a battle with Breast Cancer earliest in the year and won. Wow, two close encounters with death and she survived! Amazing...simply amazing.





Read about it here.

Labels: Art of Life

I WOKE UP with a slight hangover. My boy Noel dropped by and I was rather thrilled to see him, particularly because he was toting two cases of Samuel Adams...do you know Sam? He’s one of my bestest of friends. He’s always there for you when you need him, he’s not emotionally unavailable like so many so called friends are…whenever you have worries or fears he has this magical power to erase the pain away. He’s my therapist, my advisor, my personal consultant and he always makes ugly people look more attractive than they actually are.

I started advising Noel to start dating around proactively, since he’s gone through a relatively difficult breakup. He's quite resistant to the idea. He was thinking he was being intrusive because it was V-day, and I laughed..."Everyday's Valentines Day for my gal!" I said, and it was quite true. I think he’s still in the wallowing stage, which takes a hell of a long time to get through. I remember mine with my ex, it was horrendous….and that wasn’t even a good sane or healthy one! I guess there’s very good reason a guy must suffer the pains and tribulations of dating girls who turn out to be serious byiatches. It teaches you that beauty lasts about as long as a fart in the wind. My wallowing was so, I don’t know…an incomprehensible blur of lurid imagery. Drinking alone in dark uninteresting bars; waking up with unholy headaches and intolerable agonies, praying to the Almighty himself to purge you of that old familiar feeling, or simply trying to lose yourself in the thrill of the hunt. I was like a social predator in a way, seeking out my own Anabel Lee but finding next to nothing.

They say not to search for love, but whoever says that has never tasted it. Love is patient, but finding love takes incredible impatience, relentlessness, resourcefulness and great precision. It’s never easy like in the movies, and if it wasn’t as rare as a orchid in the desert then everyone would have it and being authorities in getting it now wouldn’t they? So next time you hear that annoying piece of un-wisdom just blast the idiot who tells it.
Anyways, Noel will be sauntering off to the Philippines right after me, I’m sure he’ll forget all about his woes of the heart here in shietcago. There’s plenty of sweet looking hunnies to be had over there. He kept asking me if I was ready to settle, and I chuckled…’Uh, haven’t I already?’ well I have. I can’t imagine myself being single, having to tirelessly pursue chicks who aren’t even half the woman my significant other is. My new passion, my new purpose is chasing my dreams. I’ve got the girl already, now I need to make my first million…no seriously, I do. I’ve got enough crazy shit going on in my brain to fill up Millennium Park.
So I joined one of those listing sites called Blog Catalog. Immediately upon being accepted I saw all of these so called bloggers who were actually money grubbers…you know, they get you to goto their blogs and beg you shamelessly to click on their ads. Fuck that shit! I don’t have one muthafucken ad on my blog, I don’t use Google ad sense, and I don’t care to either. I don’t envision visitors wanting to click on ads that lead to penis enlargement pills, valestra, Viagra, or buying cheap property on some island resort in the Bahamas.

Labels: Art of Life, art of love

I was watching Startrek the next generation, well not exactly watching rather it was just on while I was playing yahoo! chess. In this episode, Wharf wants to go and discover if he has any faith. He goes to a planet where a bunch of religious Klingons are getting in touch with their spiritual side.Then, Kayless a God-like figure to the Klingon empire comes before him. Wharf's skeptical at first, but after awhile becomes convinced. Later, Galron exposes Kayless as a fraud, and later its learned this Kayless character is a clone made from the blood of the original Kayless. They declare the Kayless clone the Emperor.

This story struck in me an idea. I should be Emperor, supreme chancellor, boss and what not. Because I represent an idea and like I learned in V for Vandetta you can't kill an idea. You can't touch, kiss, hurt, or kill an idea. You can't fuck with or silence an idea for that matter. Anotherwards I'd be invincible, just let me live inside your heart and soul and mind. Words are life after all.

I was thinking of a means of packaging myself as an idea. I call it the Love Cult. Have you seen Eyes Wide Shut? It'd be like a cross between that masked sex society meets Fight Club, but instead of beating the living crap out of one another we'd have group orgies while enjoying such cable classics as Entourage, Rome, or Deadwood (get it, dead wood? lmfao) other ideas came to mind, like Fcuk Club, or Joy Fcuk club...but love's always a compelling word. This is my retirement pension idea. Joining is cheap, $19.95 a month. We divy this secret underground organization up into local chapters, meet in people's houses and have singles parties. One caveat is that only attractive peeps are allowed, fat and ugly people have to enter into a special group that has to train in our illustrious program thats really like The Biggest Loser meets Nip Tuck, we call it Loser Tuck or ur fcuked. I know this because Tyler knows this.

First on my secret agenda would be to forge a super elite council of leaders, my own Legion of Doom. Being the evil genius that I already am I would of course be the Lex Luthor of this prestigiously pimp possee...I am the James Bond of all Asians after all. I'd be in charge of the Asian chapter, while my second in command would lead the Latin group. Because my power will swell exponentially I would have to hire two drop dead gorgeous female assassins as my personal bodyguards, hire a gay asian male secretary so I could crack politically incorrect jokes like Ari on Entourage, and set up a captains chair like James T. Kirk's on the oldschool set for the Enterprise. Then I'd have a hot Korean actress doing belly dancing for me all day only taking breaks so I can do bodyshots off of her banging booty.

Damn, I hate it when I drink Redbull.

Labels: Art of Life

Hank swung by the condo for the very first time, along with his wife Magda and his two adorable daughter's Ciri and Eva. He's been working allot as manager at Walgreens in the northern burbs of the city, Glenview I believe.

We tore into a box of freshly bought Samuel Adams. My girlfriend was amazed that someone could keep up with me in terms of beer consumption. She even thought a 12 case was excessive. I promptly informed her that a mere 12 might not be sufficient for these two Super Saiyjins...and it wasn't really. However, his wife decided to end his drinking for the night.

He was telling me about his having visited a former friend of ours...well I can't ever rightfully call him a friend because I honestly despise this little fucktard. His name's Ken, and I honestly hate the bastard...for good reason too. I swear Hank can make me want to pull my hair out by the roots...you'd think someone has learned their lesson after years of constantly trying to warn them!

Ken's a mindless fool, a inconsolable inconsiderate prick, and the cheapest stingiest greediest bastard I've ever known. I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating but really, you couldn't even imagine what a unrepentant dumbshit this guy is. Well, just hearing about the diaper stain made me reel and put a nasty feeling of disgust in me. All of those memories of that scumbag resurfaced. Memories I'd rather have had erased via hypnosis or a lobotomy. I hope, and pray that Hank has learned his lesson from all of this. Deep down it silently infuriated me that he'd driven 6 hrs downstate to hang with a member of our former posse who was always a self serving sycophantic cretin and yet couldn't even call me up every so often. I always wondered was I so easily forgotten and overlooked even by those I'd always wanted to be a part of my mundane existence? It's not like I loved or even liked many of my so-called friends. Most of them were anything but interesting to me...even so, you might say that I sort of invested false hopes and misplaced loyalties in most of them. But Hank and I went through thick and thin, and many adventures shared together.

Back to Ken. Hank told me that when he went down there to Springfield (IL) that the guy not only hadn't changed at all, but he corrupted his once cool wife Nichole into being more like himself which is to say highly unlikable. He even shaved his head bald and became a damned Mormon! Not that I really give a damn if he converted into that religion, but it seemed insanely weird as to defy description. As if it could get any weirder, he lied to relatives saying that his son was the one getting baptized when it was really for himself. His attitude was inhospitable, and to put it bluntly intolerably rude to the core. Imagine you go to visit someone and they wouldn't even offer you tea or coffee, much less anything else...and when you asked they were so disgustingly ghetto as to penny pinch on the amount of say cream they'd insert into your coffee.

How strange he was, this Ken fool. And only Hank, bless his maddening soul was the only mortal in this world who could abide such a fag like Ken.

Don't get me wrong, I'm the least judgmental person around. I mean yeah I got standards and I disavow people who fall short of them but that's only being selective. Is that so wrong? Those standards are there to protect me, and those that I associate with as well. If they don't represent then they don't deserve to be a part of my life. I value quality, not quantity. Can't step up then step the fuck out of my life! Like the Govenator says in Eraser: You've just been erased.

Anyways, besides my deep dislike for Ken I found his strangeness compelling...something to write and document in my new novel. I've started the prologue, yeah that's how far I'd gotten...which is to say not very far indeed.

Goodnight, sweet dreams, amen.

Labels: Art of Life

I suppose being startled at how fake, shallow or insincere many peeps seem nowadays shouldn't come as much of a shock treatment. It galvanized a part of me, and it caused me despair at times. I found 90% of what most people spoke or said to be predictable and meaningless drivel, programmed responses, reactionary reactions. They spent more time hiding what they wanted to say or struggled with this pseudo sense of half hearted manners. I saw that most people saw other people not as potential friends that could better their own lives but instead just this mentality of 'how can I take advantage of this person, how might they possibly benefit my existence?' and yeah I'm fully aware that everyone wants a piece of the pie...or have their own infomercial to con the working class into buying into their clever little pyramid schemes.

Person's I'd trusted always let me down, and I don't hold it against them very much...it's just who they are. Maybe they're simply too self involved, absorbed, whatever. I honestly don't give a flying fuck about their pathetic excuses or level of busy their lives may seem. If the desire is there then so is the action. Most of my boi's were these lazy bums with absolutely no ambitions, depth, substance...only corporate slaves and charlatans. They had nothing to teach me, or to bring to the proverbial table so to speak. I got sick of being some kinda demi-deity to them. Life wasn't a spectator sport, and I had no love of philosophy except for the sort that was applicable and didn't cause a brain meltdown.

I felt myself floating, rising up out of my own body, and I was in a strange mode of being. Here I was partying it up on New Years Eve, surrounded by bright and polished beings...some attractive, and some not so much...all of them seemed nice, doesn't everybody seem 'nice' nowadays? I briefly pondered whether any of them really gave two shits that I hosted a tight soiree with lotsa good food and vibes but then it didn't matter much. I didn't get so much as a single thanks, or even a phone call of appreciation....not that I required it. Hell I'd undoubtedly fall over myself if that actually transpired. Common sense isn't very common these days, and common courtesy is a concept that existed in the Victorian era. I powerdrank the night away, downing endless beer after beer.

My mind dwelt on my former friend Hank, who has two girls now and is married to a Polish chick he met several years ago at Excalibur, a rather trashy meat market in the tourist sector of Downtown Chicago. Of course I understand fatherhood must be agonizing and demanding. He's a manager at a Walgreens in Glenview, working his ass off like a Hebrew slave. Whenever he comes to mind all of our escapades and mishap adventures play into mind, and you forget how much you miss certain times in your life when persons you miss to death are no longer in your present timeline. Our crazy Mexican madman Antonio, aka Tony Balony as I'd always refer to him as. We were all the Fallen Angels, a term that stuck in Hank's head and caught on.

Of course we've all moved on from those wild glorious heydays....dare say matured and evolved. No longer dangerously reckless fools crashing through life like demons on a warpath. Still, I'd very much like to chronicle all of our craziness in a mini-drama of several postings. Sorta like a short-story, an excercise of the creative muscle. It seemed as one grows older, friendlessness sets in. Maybe I'm just too picky, have terribly high standards. I give my all, so I don't abide laxidasial no reciprocating fucktards in my life. They can all go rot in hell for all I give a damn!

I went to a interview in Evanston today, a charming quaint little township north of Chicago. From the Davis stop, I walked 1.7 miles to my destination, stopping into Border's for a cup of what they try to pass off as mocha. It tasted more along the lines of hot chocolate and flat domestic beer mixed together. I idly visualized myself screaming loudly to scare the shit out of these docile bookworms, so engrossed in reading whatever trash they were reading. I pulled out a old crumbling copy of Elizabeth Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. I'm not a big fan of the book, but I do marvel at it time to time...it amazes me about the level of intensity of passion two person's in love shared in the olden days...their style of writing, the depth of their hearts and souls...not like these souless greedy beings nowadays who are so...dull.

The place I interviewed at was an Eyecare chain, they have need of a webdesigner. The girl Maryland lead me to a crummy basement office below the store, and I kept trying to guess at her ethnicity...she was possibly mixed like me....she seemed like the ultra serious no nonsense type, very cold and detached. She wasn't exactly hideous but something about her personality made her less attractive than she was. I guess I shouldn't complain too much, but something about her annoyed me. She brought in some balding gay guy who was wearing earrings to partake in the interview. He openly admitted to not knowing shit about webdesign, but kept on asking me retarded questions like how did I design this or that site...very annoying questions. The girl was beginning to gyrate on my nerves too, questioning every little stupid innane detail...chill out bitch I'm not that desperate for this fucken job! I thought in the back of my mind that they'd better be paying a sexy ass wage if they want my ass aboard! I think the fag kept delaying me with useless questions because he just enjoyed the view...prob never seen such an asian prince such as I before.

Dinner was delicious, and my girlfriend went all and ordered us dinner from Reza's. Their Persian style whitefish is a very delicious entree....I love that restaurant.

Lightbulbs went out again, and I had to go borrow some from my OCD dad....waiting while he was using a magnifying glass to check the wattage of each bulb in his bulb collection. Something about this amused me and annoyed me at the same time. Damn ocd peeps are quite entertaining, and aggrivating.

At least it's warm out, and tommrow's supposed to be a heat wave of 54. Maybe that's not high to you but where I'm from when it reaches past 50 I'm at the beach working on my tan.

Labels: Art of Life