2002 AUG 28 IT HAPPENS TODAY

Somewhere along the way, I was born. Somewhere along the way, I grew up. And somehow, someway, here I am. TWENTY-ONE has come too easy.

2002 AUG 19 SUNSHINE RADIO

Sometimes I feel like I could be in Hollywood, drifting away with the melodies of yesterday. The words that I would speak, the dialogue they would form would spin my head away from corporate atrocities. It's almost like a wish, a dream that I could feel, but I know I wouldn't let myself fall for the real deal. My imagination is bright, simmering with hope, but I have yesterday's tragedies with which I'm still trying to cope. I never lost it, and I never was found 'cause this golden heart, baby, has always been around.

And now for a public service announcement: You are not what you write.

2002 AUG 16 LIFE AS FICTION, PART I

When I was eight, I would lie in bed and stare at one particular brick on the ceiling and, with all my imagination, try to displace it. I always failed.

When I turned thirteen, I came to realize that such a task was impossible. But alas, it had become habit. The more I tried not to stare at the ceiling, the more insomnia set in. By the beginning of my fourteenth year, sleep deprivation had become an issue. I had trouble staying awake in class which caused my grades to plummet. My mother was not happy.

I was sent to reform school at age sixteen with hopes that it would straighten me out. For two years, I was put on a strict routine of waking up early and going to bed early. I tried to do the latter successfully, but was unable to. I would normally get about two hours of sleep a night, and then crawl away to a corner during lunch to rest my joints. In general, I was a sociable human being. I worked well with others and worked hard. I had no enemies and a few could even be considered good friends. But at the end of the day, I still lay lost, in my bed, empty of life and thought, still staring at the ceiling. I no longer tried to magically displace the bricks. Instead, I didn't try to do anything at all.

Halfway through my eighteenth year, I left the school and headed out to Manhattan. My uncle lived in a two bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side where he kept his dog happy with lots of caviar. He was a handsome, rich man but without a wife. As a pioneer in the field of chaotic dynamics, he had won scholarships and been awarded a significant amount of money. But he and I were a lot alike: alone and empty. We were both people who you'd like, who you'd think were normal, but when the end of the day came, we were both out of place. Our homes weren't our homes, and comfort was not our friend.

Then, on a cold day in November, I turned 19. A Tuesday, it was the day I met Marguerite. And as stories go, our lives were never the same again.

2002 AUG 15 WAKING THOUGHTS

Sometimes when you dream, and you think you're touching heaven, all you're doing is digging a larger hole to fall into when you're awake.

2002 AUG 14 EVERYTHING IS GOOD

i was pushing a shopping cart at a safeway and i hit some old lady and she got pissed off at me. i was like only eight or something but she didnt care and when she saw me again she yelled at my parents and told them i was a bad kid and that my parents were bad parents.

see, that wasnt cool at all.

last week i saw her at a whataburger swallowing down three or four whataburgers and whatachickens at once and she looked mean. i went up to her and shoved my tray in her chest and she was like what the fuck and i was like remember me and she had no idea who i was. i didnt want to really hurt her cause im not an animal or anything but i wanted to get back at her for calling my parents bad parents cause theyre not. so i took her soda and plopped it down her dress which made her get wet and start screaming cause it was cold and the ice was probably making her all weird and tingly and stuff.

she starting yelling at me and tried to slap me but im bigger now im not eight anymore so i ran and ran and ran far away. i dont think ill ever see her again but its ok because at the worst i know that shes never gonna mess with me again.

the next time i saw my mom i said mom i love you and the next time i saw my dad i said dad youre a good dad. i meant it too.

2002 AUG 12 GOOD VIBRATIONS

Smiling at strangers and having them smile back at you is a custom I adopted in the South. Maybe a hundred years ago in New York, it was like that. Not anymore. My smiles go unreciprocated. My hopes for those smiles fall flat on their faces, and I keep walking, sitting or whatever the hell I'm doing.

I'm not a stalker, a rapist or a molester. I dress nice but not suspiciously. I don't have an evil grin (at least not unless I'm fighting pixels), and my pant pockets are empty of knives and other assorted melee weapons. I'm a smilist, I believe. I'm okay like that.

Last night, I smiled at this older Chinese man, around 45 years old, as I sat down to wait for a train at the Forest Hills stop. I'm not sure why he smiled back, but what baffled me was why he started treating me suddenly as if he'd known me for forever. He couldn't speak English well, that I could tell. He somehow, with his own smile, got me to board a train that I really didn't want to. (Of course, I didn't mind having to switch to trains or take one that would result in a farther walk, as I had been waiting for a train for way too long already. It was around midnight on a Sunday, after all.) He tried to give me directions which, unfortunately, were for me to take a totally wrong train and end up in the middle of nowhere in Brooklyn. But I smiled and nodded and made peace.

When he left, he smiled and said, "Bye-bye!" with great vigor. It was some sort of a small victory. To make friends with a stranger. Through a smile.

2002 AUG 07 NATURAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS

Drifting in and out of days; the hours add up fine, but the intervals are stretched out in an unorthodox fashion. Time becomes twisted, reflecting your existence in a house of mirrors, forcing past, present and future to entangle and lose identity. It gets cold, you shiver constantly and curse the fact you left your jacket at home. But then you realize, you don't even remember leaving home. In fact, you don't even know where you're at.

I wonder if that is what death feels like.

In exactly three weeks, I become of legal age. The downhill parade is preparing for showtime. Time is no longer my friend; it taunts me continuously, telling me secrets and lies about what my future holds. I half-heartedly listen, not knowing if the friend is a foe or if my imagination has gone wild.

Yeah, I miss my Matchbox cars.

2002 AUG 05 BACK TO BASICS

I find it very ironic that the very first time I do well in DPChallenge is when the topic is "The Corporate World" and its effect on society. And not only did I do well, I actually get first place—a week after coming in 198th out of 218. I'm quite glad.

The idea behind the photograph is simple: For all the joy and happiness it has brought, the rise and fall of the new economy has equally welcomed grief and sorrow. The man is supposed to symbolize the prime catalyst of this boom: the Wall Street analyst. At 3AM one night, while waiting for the subway, he realizes that, "Wow. This is it. This is my life." And that causes him to go into a state of sadness. Because after all, when the dust clears, his ability to do derivatives is as important as his ability to add 15 and 40 as long as it's done with a strong sense of ethics and integrity.

To thank: Josh Li for the camera, Alex Pan for being a model in the wee hours of the morning, John Han for the backpack and Langdon and Drew for an absolutely great website.

2002 AUG 02 THE SPOILED TEMPTRESS

Quoting the now mediafied—once the king and now the ringer for a rapper—Nas, "If I ruled the world..." there would be no war between nations. We would only take our heat out on certain contingencies at proper times; the punching bags being the Los Angeles Lakers, the New York Yankees, the Atlanta Braves and the Dallas Cowboys. The official musicians of the planet would be New Order, Kruder & Dorfmeister, Radiohead and S.E.S. (Yes, I realize that two Brit groups, one Austrian duo and a Korean triplet leaves out the American side of the things, but hey, shit happens.) "And people would listen to what I say instead of staring at my breasts!" Well, alright, that's for the women out there. I'm fair and all.

My hair gel would not cost $16, and the word "love" would be lost forever. Why? Because then you wouldn't be able to misuse it; you'd just know it when it was there. I would undoubdtedly recover the contents of the last three hard drives that died on me, including the hidden directories that contained top secret photography work. Korean and Japanese food, for once, would become affordable, and Japanese twins with pigtails would be around whenever you needed them. Real estate in New York and Tokyo would cost the same as in the great state of Texas.

And in the end, I'd learn a lesson that I should have learned long ago: Dreaming and wishing is the same to the human psyche as smoking is to your lungs. It's addictive, it's contagious and ultimately, it'll kill you.

2002 AUG 01 MIRACLES IN CHILDBIRTH

I must be one of the most special people on earth. I have abilities that no one else can compete with. I am, in short, amazing. Take, for example, my ability to sit in front of a computer with a project at hand for two days straight only to go completely numb and produce little to nothing in terms of content. It's mind-boggling, beyond the realm of science, only to be answered by something ethereal in description. Not to mention, I can "oversleep" thirteen hours at a time.

Maybe I'm not human. Maybe I'm a bear. Or something.

2002 JUL 31 ABSENTEE LIVING

You never seem to miss people until you realize
that they're living their lives without you.

I've been going around taking a lot of pictures lately, thanks to Josh letting me borrow his Nikon Coolpix 995 while he sells his soul to corporate slavery at Salomon Smith Barney. In 25 days, I've taken 1,347 pictures, much of which are horrible and pointless. One thing I've noticed is that I enjoy taking candid shots of people. Nothing racy, but just the look on people's faces like when they're waiting to cross the street: that look of intense concentration, of life and death and thinking, "What am I going to have for dinner?"

What I never really gave thought to is the fact that it goes both ways. Often, I've found myself going blind because someone was taking pictures next to me. People I don't know, will never know and don't really care to know. But when that child in the photograph is older, he'll look at the head behind his and wonder, "Why does he have that grimace on his face?" And maybe he'll figure out that it was because his mother had molested my eyes. Perhaps he'll even understand that thirty years down the road, someone else will ask the same of him.

It's all very funny in a Lion King-esque circle of life way that we all experience the same things in life. Sometimes, though, because we're so busy thinking about our own selves, we don't realize that we're doing the same to others. Sometimes, it's something even simpler: like living in the absence of someone you once knew well.

2002 JUL 30 THE EASTER BUNNY MEETS A MARTIAN

(Originally written on April 10, 1995 for Mrs. Fawcett's Pre-AP English class)

"Wooow!" I said when I saw a spaceship land on my frontyard.

"I am from Mars," a weird thing said. "Who are you, you stupid, fat bunny?"

"Ahh-aaah-ahh I dunno," I mumbled out. "I'm the easter bunny."

"The e-what you stupid, fat, froggy-like wanna-be kangaroo!" it said tauntingly.

"For your information, I am a well-respected bunny on this planet. I hope you can treat me the way you would treat your king," I told him flat out.

"Excuse me, but do you know that I am the Martian king?" it said proudly.

"Heh, heh. Then what the heck are you doing here?" I screamed in his face.

"I am looking for good luck," the Martian said as if he was helpless.

"By chance do you know that a rabbit's foot is considered precious luck on this planet?" I asked him.

"Well then give it to me," he said like a robot.

"Go to sleep if you want it, or you'll have to fight me" I yelled at him. "Now get out of my way. I got to give that little ratty Clinton's daughter her lousy egg."

"You will have to get through me to get out of here alive," the Martian said.

"You want a leg? Huh? Well then go get Clinton's foot. He is faster than a cheetah the way he runs away from those Whitewater charges. You should be able to go to Mars by walking with those legs for goodness' sake. Now get the heck out of my way!" I screamed in his greenish little face.

"Okay! If you're gonna be that mean to me I shall have to get Clinton's foot." He told me like he was giving up.

"Oh yea, by the way, take this air freshener with you. You don't wanna die because of foot odor after coming all this far," I told him as I gave him a can of lemon Pledge.

This has been satirical commentary from the mind of a thirteen year old.

2002 JUL 25 THE OLD MAN AND THE CITY

The irony about living in the center of the universe, of over-populated cosmopolita and plastic realities, is that you can achieve a level of solitude unmatched by even the deep, barren forests of the Amazon. Life here is as simple or complex as you want it to be. Time runs past these streets, clad in the newest and most expensive Nike sneakers. Space crumbles, jumbles, and reshapes itself into an obelisk, constantly jutting itself upward. And you, in peaceful glory, can watch it all happen, sitting on the sidewalks of 73 Spring Street.

2002 JUL 23 ANOTHER MODERN INCONSISTENCY

It's so easy to miss something in a conversation: A nudge, a slight twitch of the eye or a word spoken softer than others. And within those, there's a secret message. It's some sort of political subliminality: Keeping it real all the while keeping it a methodical, calculated distance away from controversy.

Unfortunately, there are men and women around this world who excel at missing these verbal red herrings, thus leading to mass confusion and hysteria. It's what destroyed Carthage, started the First World War, got Bush elected—and it's what made me fall in love.

2002 JUL 19 TWENTY-SOMETHING AND LOST AS FUCK

Alright, so suck it in and spit it out; heal yourself and tell me the truth, because I'm getting annoyed. Can you just tell me the truth? It can't be that hard, can it?

So, it all seemed fine at the beginning. Hi, I'm me, and you? Yes, you're you. Nice to meet you. This means we have a relationship of sorts now, yes? Nice. Glad to know that. Glad we can move on!

Oh, you can't go out tonight? Okay. Had no idea you lived so far away. Alright, next time I'll think about doing it earlier. Earlier's better, anyway. We could go eat, chill, do whatever and whatnot. Shimmy shimmy to the Brooklyn Bridge and yell out to the sea. But yeah, later.

Oof, this is becoming a period piece. How long has it been since I met you that faithful afternoon? Unplanned, surprising and filled with glee! Well, alright, so it wasn't the bloody Disneyland parade, but yeah, it was nice and quiet and almost beautiful. (I hope that went both ways.) Something like that.

You know, I think I know what it is. You think this is for real. You really, really do! I'm sorry, dear, but it's a joke. Well, alright, it's not a joke, but it's not meant to be taken so seriously. I mean, we're kids. We have time. Everything we do now is so ephemeral. It's, it's a simple sweetness; kind of like being six years old and thinking Santa Claus really exists. (Although, I never fell for that trick!)

Seriously, this is simpler than it seems. Everything in life is simpler than it seems. You seem like a cool person, but I don't love you. I love my parents, my siblings and I love Cadbury's Flake. But I don't love you. How could I? You never gave me a chance.

I'm leaving now. I tried, but I don't think I failed. It's more like you did; and now, the ball's in your court. Do what you want. I'll be here, somewhere. I won't exactly be waiting, but I won't be stubborn and unaccepting. I'm a nice guy. And revolutions are part of life. See you around.

2002 JUL 14 THE BASTILLE FELL, AND YOU FELL IN LOVE

This morning at 4:30AM, I found myself walking the streets of the West Village, wary but alert, taking random snapshots of the crisp night. It's funny how the area has come to define itself: On the surface, filled with storefonts of the independent stylists of our generation, while underneath the epitome of the crass commercialist nature of the cold, metal 20th century capitalism. It never ends; as well as it never should.

I turned onto Sixth Avenue via Prince Street only to find myself amidst a mini-park of sorts in front of a large, ominous apartment building. Outside, benches lay barren in the humid chill of the Manhattan summer. All of the benches, except one: There was an awkward sort of love in the air at that very moment. Two people—strangers? lovers? neighbours or opposites?—who knows and who cares, for a moment was being shared. And that, my friend, is something you never meddle with.

The woman, lonely and in her mid-30s, had a face that made the night shiver with sadness; her eyes deep and dark, her lips soft and wet; her heart filled with the liquid joys of a millisecond of happiness. The man, rugged and strong, a bit battered by the world and undoubtedly stung a few times to the heart by softness turned hard.

The connection between them: What looked like, from my distored angle, a bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka being gulped down to drown out the day's worries. Drunk alone, it would have been suicide. A call for sickness, of near dementia. But together, it became an experience to be savored. A negative utopian fairy tale that Winston Smith would have been proud of; of the chance that once upon a crystal moon, sharing your sorrow with someone else can be most beautiful thing in the world.

And sometimes, you can even fall in love. Sometimes.

2002 JUL 12 DO YOU TRUST YOUR BINARIES?

So, I'm not quite Johnny Mnemonic. It seems I only have the ability to recall impressions of what I've seen or heard. Almost never is it verbatim. And even those impressions become vague as time passes.

I lack the ability to cement the foundations of a process. I cannot remember day by day, the actions I take and the thoughts I have. What: I cannot remember your name? But I do remember your face. Weren't you there at that thing where that guy who had that thing did that thing? Yeah! Wait, no. That presents no solution; it only burdens my mind more with thoughts of loss.

But don't worry, I'm not taking my ability to vaguely remember for granted. Optical disks and memory chips can store concrete memories, what happened, when it happened, how it happened. But it fails completely to tell me how I felt as it happened. Only I can explain that, only I can feel that. And so, this is where we part:

Everything that is important to my next day's existence, I have in my brain, in my mind. It is—it must be ingrained in the cores of my neurons. Everything else is a peripheral thought and need, one that, if scraped away by some unfortunate disaster, will not affect how I live my life.

So, do I trust my binaries? No, not really. From this moment on, it's not a question of keeping up in pace with the mechanical. But rather, it's an issue of knowing when to think for yourself and remember that the important things in life are never measured in ones and zeroes.