December 2004 Archives

The immensity of the day lies on my shoulders but I am still unable to sleep. I pace round and round the apartment finding unneeded tasks that none the less require attending, such as the reshuffling of a stack of books, the puffing up of and already well plush pillow, symmetrically aligning magnets on the refrigerator side, or the taunting my cat’s tail. So many thoughts are running through my head but my mind won’t allow but a few seconds worth of concentration to any one. I decide to write but only manage a few lines which one day I may build on. The clock now flashes 3:30. I will have to get up for work soon. It will be my last day. I have been there three years and as of today I will be laid off. It is hard to imagine what life’s going to be like without a paycheck. I will need to find alternate means of self pampering because all of my little luxuries will be no more. I have no idea what I will be doing or where I will be working next. I, some what cowardly welcome the uncertain change, hoping that it is one for the better. Now all there is to do is wait to see what happens.

Pictures of my desk and office view on the last day.

"There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."

-Carl Jung

(thx, for the great quote K)

Life at times has a funny way of teaching lessons, especially those in the matter of love. Love, alike any lesson tends to include some form of pain, toil, and lost, which often results in people losing “faith” in it. At times I question what faith has to do with it, if anything. Love in my opinion is something you just blindly feel and faith is more of an analytical matter, a personal negotiation or heavenly happenstance. But, if faith is heavenly then so is love. I believe that loving is, our spirits ultimate desire of experience while incarnate. Is it not the closest aspect of Godhead we can experience? Yet, it seems that worldly/human nature at times makes us destroy the very thing we love. Perhaps, there is comfort in destroying the thing you fear may one day destroy a part of you. At times it can seem as if all there were ultimately left to our control is the often opted ability to walk away, dismiss and hopefully, one day forget. At times this motivation is based on personal misconstrued desperation and at others on very real hindering realities. Lastly it is faith, in our selves, an aspect of self-love that demands the either difficult act of walking away or provides the courage to keep a love alive.

Love is a difficult thing to keep alive since many of us at some point or another adopt the notion that love can only exist conditionally. Then find our selves trying to confine love to the constructs of theory for the rest of our lives, desperately seeking to formulate the impossible and measure the immeasurable in order to be better prepared for the unknown and placate to our insecurities. In our questioning confusion, our greatest capability becomes hindered by that of our biggest flaw, fear. Fear of the unknown always haunts the human spirit. It is fear that leads to jealousy, insecurities, lies, and the untimely, "letting-go". In our haste to seek out a momentary antidote to our dis-“illusions”, we forget the virtues of forgiveness, compassion and tolerance, making room for spite, revenge and surrender, never once over looking personal pride or the selfish antics of fear, a cycle that keeps so many of us looking back over our shoulders for a lifetime wondering; what if?

It’s also easy to become lost in the false moment with another. Within the context of a relationship, attachment, sometimes confused with love, supersedes the egotistic, at times beneficial, process of knowing when to walk away. I try to remember that they, love and attachment, are two very different & distinct aspects of a relationship. One is governed by the "us/we" mentality, constantly reinforced, because our self-identity at times can become, in part, "fused" (for the better) and at times, rather con-"fused" (for the worst) and forgets the "I", while lost in the "we".

Reflect and allow self-enlightment and awareness, guide you.

Ultimately:

Love.... frees you, unbinds, nurtures, is selfless, self sustaining, allows you to stand naked, speak the truth and requires nothing in return.

The Ego... makes us compare, doubt, question, demand, lie, exceed, expect, requires change, makes you ashamed (dresses you) but at the same time, it can also give one the strength to walk away and take care of him/her self.

Maybe one day, love might overcome our fears and what was lost, find its way home.

I became aware of its presence when I first walked into the 6 train at 59th and Lexington. It was neither wrapped in shinny festive patterned foil nor in the nerve breaking garbs of plain brownness. It sat there unaware of our curiosity to make its acquaintance. We all felt obligated to apologize in behalf of its thoughtless acquisition of spatial geography. It caused our unsteady gazes to shift from one another, and then back towards it again. Some pretended to read an article and every so often, peered over the paper to confirm that it was still present. A woman later walked in somewhere in midtown and despite a third party explanation and apology, decided to touch it. After a quick change of heart she immediately began recoiling her hand and wiping it along the seam of her light blue faded jean as if disgusted by her thoughtless action. I imagine that most of us were all displeased at her short lived burst of courage which no one cared to mimic. If only one of us would be brave enough to take the lead, walk up to it and make an introduction or claim new found ownership of this most accessible leave behind. None of us knew what to do. All we did was strap-hang and look at each other with bulging eyes, the likes of a lemur. Everyone was on “Red” alert. “What is it?”, asked the Jewish European man with the fuzzy fur hat who was becoming a nuisance as he continued to spew his uninvited conspiracy theories consisting of the word “bomb”, which we were all familiar with, especially since, it was the major headliner of pretty much every paper this morning. Everyone pretended not to hear him since it was easier to disregard him then, entertain his pessimistic approach to life. In truth curiosity was killing us all but none would beckon the calling. We sat and pretended not to be within its proximity. We played the games that people often do with one another when deeper feelings not meant to be confided exist between them. We wanted nothing to do with it and everything to know of it. Perhaps, we were all much more interested in it, then it in us. The only mutually shared aspect of the moment was our detachment to each other and the uncertainty of the journey.

I sort of identified with that unclaimed package, ready to explode, lost and unsure of where I was headed, at the whim of time at chance. How many hands would that unmarked box pass before it was found, discovered, explored, and settled? Silently, I sat yearning for my unwrapping, unclaimed, unburdened by the wear and tear of cherishing hands and solely aware of my contents.

Wow, who turned down the thermostat? The first snow is here, everything is white and my bolitas are freezing. I almost forgot how shitty it is when it’s so cold that your ears feel as if they were going to fall off. Waking up yesterday was definitely not easy. I must have had a 30 minute affair with the snooze button that morning. My plans to go take pictures at Central Park on my “day off”, were quickly interrupted by my boss who called to remind me that unfortunately, I needed to come in to help prepare for a meeting and that I had to go make an attempt to have a good time at my organization’s Christmas party. Man, I was so over it! The only cloths that I had out and readily available were for the most part urban and events like the X-mas party required something that would hug the ass and cup the goods. Not really me but its nice to show case every now and then. I discovered that my fitted cloths weren’t fitting all that well anymore. There was definitely a little more ass and snugness then I what I remembered. Nothing was fitting right and the clock was ticking. I finally decided on some corduroys and a sweater after, my little fashion show for the cat, which annoyingly waited for me to walk down the runway with anything on, so long as I held a bowl of kitty food in one hand. I made it to work an hour later then I expected and incidentally about an hour late to the party as well. The food was great. So were the three glasses of wine I downed which contributed to the happy-go-lucky attitude of the night. I got to shake a lot of hands, sport a politically correct smile for the Commissioner who always reintroduces herself to me, bite my tongue about my over all sentiments at getting laid off, received quasi-clinical suggestions regarding my dating habits from the physiologist at my table, got to watch all of the higher ups clutching their opposite melatonin leveled lovers (see objectified opposites do attract), and grinded as many of the “your-not-really-gay” choir girls as I could.

Yesterday, I hung out with my Japanese friends for a Shabu-Shabu type dinner party. I got tofued out! Shabu-Shabu is a Japanese favorite during the cold winter months. It brings friends around the dinner table for good conversation, a lot of great food and sake. We also watched the Triplets of Belvedere and so nothing got lost in translation, except of course for that small caption written in Japanese kanji on the bottle of the extremely hot and spicy pepper sauce. I must have looked sickly to everyone as I began to sweat profusely and eyes began to tear. Well you live and learn right? Guess it wasn’t “sushi” bad thing.

Later that night

I went to a house party. I had a lot of fun. 98 percent of the crowd was over the age of 24 which meant there was no drama, gossiping, or an over abundance pre-Madonna egos gone bitter/threatened. The worst part of the night was when I got there and the host asked me to please leave and return with some beer. I already felt uncomfortable walking into a room full of strangers and now the red hue on my face must have matched that of my Northface jacket. Apparently it was a rule that wasn’t passed down to me before arrival. I had to save face so left and returned with a twelve pack, which was greeted by the apology of the tipsy b-day boy. It was a good hour or two and 3 drinks later that I made enough acquaintances to walk around the room while sporting a sincere smile which I maintained for the rest of the night.

I am really getting tired of these on going issues on race. I have some pretty set sentiments on this issue and so I would like to sum it up in a nut shell:

Notions of race are not based on any known truths, except for the ones we choose to make up. Race is nonexistent. All people despite national, cultural, or ethnic makeup could potentially share phenotypical similarities.

Despite these basic truths, the differences along the lines of race continue to be the most oppressive form of social construction.

(If you want to read more. I broke it down some more below.)

Do you remember when the mere mention of Christmas would be enough to send a shockwave of butterflies to your stomach and evoke the scent of cinnamon, gingerbread and peppermint? How about the building up of suspense as the presents piled up under the tree? Quite honestly the last seven years have equated into little more for me then the seldom seen please-forgive-my-tragic-side gift from a few ex-lovers. Which come seldom and spaced far, far, apart. I don’t know but I feel as if all the Christmas magic ran out. The last ten years have been a downward spiral of holiday spirit. This sucks! Is Santa dead, plastered in some quick-fix wall at a project complex in Harlem? We have converted Christmas into the affirmation of family, by process of consumption. Meaning that if you lack family, lover(s) or enough money to buy ten percent of gizmodo.com’s toys you have just silently bared witness to your being cheated out of the best of all Christian holidays. What ever am I going to do? The Cuban connection is down in Miami, no one is getting a taste of the goods, my layoff is right around the corner and Nikita has no line of credit. Shit! I got scrooged by the Grinch without lube! Ho, Ho, H-Ouch!

In my search for the perfect Zen Christmas I went out to mini-mansion central in Brooklyn’s, Dyker Heights. These guys really know how to party. With an estimated One hundred thousand yearly visitors all piled up bumper to bumper, rubbernecking their gasoline’s worth of X-mas, this small quasi-opulent community is definitely on Santa’s good-list or way behind in their electric bills. This small neighborhood boosts giant nutcrackers, an entire choir of angels, robotic reindeers, scary looking elves, and millions of lights. It’s a must-go! Especially if you want to lose yourself in fantasizing what a jolly old time you could have if you owned half the net worth of some of these very fortunate souls.

After that, it was off to the "world famous" Junior's Restaurant for a quick bite and of course, cheesecake.

O.K. get into this.

So, the other day, I am on the N line on my way home. I had a long day and really didn’t want to deal with anyone. I look up and I see this massive man across from me staring really hard in my direction. The train had just stopped so I over looked it and figured that he’s just looking behind me at people on the platform. The train starts moving but the mother fucker’s still grilling me. Now I’m thinking, O.K. this is definitely the man in everyone’s worst going to prison nightmare. (And. Shame on you who consider it a good dream!) So anyway, where was I? Yeah, this guy was is in my face and looked like a ravenous beast about to go for the kill. All of the sudden, the veins in his huge bald shaven black head cringe and he then manages some twisted attempt at a smile. And I’m thinking O.K. this guy’s nickname is probably “Cookie” and mom thought me never to talk to strangers especially when such a large conflict of interest exists. Then, by some Godly intervention his stop appears and he is forced to burst his queer bubble. However, I can see his refection in the window and this cabron is standing on the platform, now staring at the back of my head, waiting for the archangel of fashion and manicures to perform a miracle or something! ARRRHHH!

I was so relieved when the train doors closed and we began moving.

But, boys and girls the story does not end there.

At the gym today, between the up and down repetitions of my dumbbell set, guess who? Cookie! He was standing there gleaming in approval of the miracle granted by the metrosexual archangel after probably lighting a scented candle and chanting a Madonna tune three times while twisting imaginary cone tits. Great! I just got a three year contract at this place. I wonder when his expires.

This is my pet box turtle.