subjugating ennui

I feel so sick I can hardly stand up (haven't been taking care of myself, as usual), but my mind's a mess so I'm writing this hoping to make sense of the insensible. Coming back from vacation and realizing tomorrow's another holiday leaves a deep sentiment of futility for some quixotic, unknown reason. Further realizing that tomorrow is just another day with nothing to look forward to, and I'm back to square one. And I thought a vacation would help.

It was a refreshing change of scenery, that's for sure. Too bad the scenery was crowded with other vacationers. It was nice to do nothing of importance; sleeping during the day when it was crowded, going night swimming when there was nobody around but the people I like to be around with, fiddling with the guitars and creating sweet melodies out of nothing, racing on the go-kart tracks and losing miserably to the others by crashing into barriers, playing futsal under the cool, glaring stare of the stadium lights. Just to name a few nothings.

But that's what holidays are for -- to lose oneself in the reassuring pretense that this is life, this wild and care-free world full of mindless diversions and endless gratification. A grandiose indulgence in luxury, living off the fat of the land. On that primrose path of contentment, I was the king of my world. How princely that feeling, how magnificent, how splendid, how unreal.

Alas, as with everything good, it had to end. When reality kicks in gear, you find yourself back where you came from. Like love, like life, like happiness, it ends. Is this it? Does life revolve around the miserable plodding of daily grind, intermittenly punctuated by moments of exultant delight?

I grow weary of this world and its vicious cycles of futility. Pain, pleasure, and back again. Love, hate, repeat. Live, die, and so on and so forth. All the tears we shed will be replaced by our children's, all the things we create will crumble to dust. We buy all the things we don't need so that future generations can emulate us. We run the show for the 15 minutes of our lives until the curtain is drawn for the next show on stage to come on.

I can (as I am doing now) bury myself in books as a form of escapism, to look the other way, to hide from the inevitable for as long as the illusion lasts. Or I can face the fucking music and stare harsh, cruel reality in the eye. I'm just not sure if there's a difference. The ambitions we have, the legacies we'll leave. For posterity? It all seems so fucking pointless to me.

PLAYLIST

Somebody Else -- Bleu

Shadow Stabbing -- Comfort Eagle

Ize Of The World -- The Strokes

Uninvited -- Alanis Morissette

Bullets -- Creed

*

...in my eyes

"I am Jack's smirking revenge.
I am Jack's cold sweat.
I am Jack's raging bile duct.
I am Jack's broken heart.
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise."
--The Narrator, Fight Club

no more soap...

"You are not your job.
You are not how much you have in the bank.
You are not the contents of your wallet.
You are not your fucking Khakis.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
You are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."
--Tyler Durden, Fight Club

i, robant

After more than a month trying to decipher your words, I finally understand. I finally realize what I am to you. I know my place in this world. It has fully dawned upon me my function, my raison d'etre; why I was created in the first place.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am -- as Philip K. Dick would describe it -- a robant. A robot servant, subject to every one of your capricious whims and desires. I will allay your fears. I will satiate your hunger for life. I will appease your emotional needs. I will satisfy your sexual cravings. I will fill the void that exists in your soul. I will be your lover, your best friend, your mentor, your slave, your father, your son. I will be anything you want. I will bend, but I will not break. I have done this countless of times, and I will do so again.

And after I have fulfilled my function, when I am of no use to you anymore, you can discard me. After all, that is what I am for. The son that you are missing, the boyfriend who has left you -- the moments when you need me, I am priceless. The moment you don't, I am useless. I will love you as though you are the greatest thing on earth. I will care for you like no human being can. I will accept your shortcomings and celebrate the wonder that is you. Only for as long as you need it.

My words mean nothing to you. My actions are simply automatic reflexes, subservient to your orders. I am at your beck and call, twenty-four/seven. I am your savior. I will protect you from the harsh realities of life. Say you will leave me, pretend you love me. Betray me; I will love you more for it. Bring me down to my knees; I am impervious to pain. Break my heart in two halves; I do not have one. Give me your empty promises; I live on such things. Present me with cruelty and I will provide you sustenance.

Punish me. Hurt me. Abandon me. Kill me. I am He Who Walks On Water. I will die for your sins and be your martyr. I am merely a transitional period, a replacement, until you have what you've wanted all along, until you find greener pastures to walk on. Walk on, walk all over me. Do not despair; this is what I have been created for. And best of all, you are under no obligation whatsoever.

I am not capable of feeling sad nor disappointed. I do not mind being used or abused by you; in fact, I relish it. After all, that is my function. I am your personal superman. I am your weapon of mass distraction. I am your temporary reprieve. When you get back the son you lost, when you find the boyfriend you've always wanted, if a better offer came through for you, I will softly walk away. You can forget about me, I will leave when I have outstayed my welcome.

PLAYLIST

Under Control -- The Strokes

Everyday I Love You Less And Less -- Kaiser Chiefs

Why Does This Always Happen To Me -- Al Yankovic

Extraordinary Machine -- Fiona Apple

Love Fool -- The Cardigans

*

hairless monkey

Oh my God! I'm lucky I still have my eyebrows intact! Remember, kids: do NOT light up your cigarette with the stove if you lose your lighter. Especially when you have hair cream on to give that slick, shiny look. Your hair definitely won't look slick and shiny anymore. Trust me on this. The moment I heard the sudden whoosh of chemical combustion, I knew I was in trouble. The moment I breathed in the distinct scent of burnt hair, I knew something was amiss.

I can feel my eyebrows, they're still there. And my eyelashes, and my nose hair. And there is still hair on my head, thank God, my cute black curls are still there for millions of women to adore. Sadly, a few strands of hair at the tip of my forehead have turned white and shrivelled and I don't know what to do with them! Maybe I'll spray some cheap dye on them, yeah that'll work.

*Sigh*

PLAYLIST

Do You Want To -- Franz Ferdinand

Abra Cadaver -- The Hives

Helicopter -- Bloc Party

Farewell Ride -- Beck

Pedalpusher -- Stereophonics

*

6,587,288,673 and counting

There is a sign
On a door in Baghdad
"The Doctor’s Not In"
And never will be again

A whale, in its death throes,
Beckons people to see
And having been seen,
Dies

A mother missing her son
And, lifting his shirt to her face,
Cries

A love lost its way,
A lover shocked blind
Today

The stars our destination,
To new horizons, anywhere
But here

third time's the charm (ii)

I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait!

third time's the charm (i)

I can wait, I can wait, I can wait...

brave new world

"O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is!
O brave new world,
That has such people in't!"
--William Shakespeare's The Tempest

long lost ruminations of a nostalgic mind

I sit under a tree and reflect on my life. What is wrong with me today? What is wrong with me all throughout my life? Rhetorical questions that I cannot answer. I think of all the suffering children of the world, and I feel an infinite sadness for them. I have the sudden urge to do something about it. But what?

I look around, seeking desperately for an answer, as if they sprout from the ground. Instead, I am greeted by plastic facets of exasperation. Somehow, I am all too familiar with it. Yet, at the same time, it is frighteningly foreign to me. I try to look away, but the dismal looks linger in my mind. My conscience yearns to reach out to them, to leave myself vulnerable to their penetrating stares and deadly words of scorn, to soothe their hearts, to lull them into tranquil slumber and wake them up to blissful breakfasts and an unperturbed peace of mind.

But as I open my eyes to invite them into my arms, they are already gone. My attempt to embrace them with unbridled love is stopped short by their impatience and insecurities interred deep within their hearts. I have much to learn, I tell myself. I have tried my best for today, I tell myself. My dissatisfaction betrays these self-reassuring words, but I suddenly feel light-headed and not long after, I too, succumb to the inexorable pull of sleep. The skeletal limbs of the dauntingly large tree cast far and wide shadows across the ground on which I lie unconscious.

In my dream, I see streaks of lightning and feel a foreboding sense of danger. My heart begins to palpitate and my forehead drips of cold sweat and a throbbing headache. I see a humanoid figure in the distance, looming into view. First a pale dot, then slowly but surely, a blurry silhouette masked by shuffling smoke. He releases a cackling laughter and points a gaunt finger at me. I feel the urgency to get out of his way as quickly as possible, but my whole body refuses to budge. I lay there, panic-stricken and breathing uncontrollably. He stands so close to me, then bends down to have a closer look at my face. I smell his fetid, reeking breath and his bestial, puke-inducing stench. He smiles confidently, showing the full glory of his needle-like teeth. Then, once again, he lifts a finger; just as the tip of his finger touches the tip of my nose, my eyes pop open.

I awake in a pool of sweat, swivelling my head from left to right to look out for the intruder only to find no one nowhere near me. I gather my thoughts and just as I rise from the ground, the sky reveals flashes of light and darkening clouds. Almost immediately, rain sprinkles down from the heavens above. I walk back to my apartment and relish the solitude of my own room. I wait a while before deciding to do anything, reconfiguring the notions and nuances in my head while snuck comfortably under my thick linen blanket. I stare into the empty wall and form my thoughts there.

* * * * *

Originally written on a Monday,
April 24, 2000, 6:36 A.M.

nostalgic ruminations of a long lost mind

I am tired. But more than that I am bored. It is difficult being a student; every once in awhile you find yourself with nothing to do. This is especially true during spells of vacation time without a vacation spot to go to. They should make vacations optional, on a demand basis, and subject to quotas. Imagine your classmate's face when he is told that he would have to forego the annual visit to his grandmother in some remote part of the world where people go to visit their grandmothers once a year, because the "Students Visiting Their Grandmothers Annually in a Remote Part of the World Somewhere" quota has been filled.

Hah! I would pay to see that. It wouldn't be funny if it happened to you, though. It'd be funny to me. Anyway, I have no plans to speak of whatsoever. Oh, I had plans; I had planned all kinds of things once I saved up enough (read: never gonna happen). Not anymore. My plans got screwed up because of the war in Iraq.

Well, because I broke up with my girlfriend of eight months anyway. But, in many ways, our relationship was a lot like the current war in Iraq. What started out as a pre-emptive strike of mistrust and misunderstanding, soon became a full-blown battle for moral supremacy when unexpected insurgencies of emotional baggage came into the scene. A Molotov cocktail of harsh words and lack of commitment was bad enough, but the arsenal of insecurities and personality clashes unleashed was just too much to bear.

Walking on eggshells in the minefield of sensitivity and throwing grenades of jealousy became par for the course. A well-aimed grudge missile here, a dose of unreasonable napalm there, and -- as far as the eye can see in every direction -- stockpiles of radioactive stubbornness littering the landscape.

I'm surprised that the war lasted as long as it did. One side was usually giving up while the other did not relent with its assault. The war dragged on even after there was nothing left to fight for. The casualties of feelings and emotions were immense; the only survivor: heartbreak.

And just like the ongoing Iraqi War, the positive results are minimal and the bad immensely difficult to deal with. The fallout will be felt for years to come. You can hardly tell the good guys from the bad guys; neither is willing to give in, and both are as brutal as humanly possible.

I believe I am still recovering from post traumatic shock. Doc, I can't feel anything from the heart down. My head's all messed up, I find myself staring at nothing all day, and the only way I'm coping is through chain-smoking and pacing around the house restlessly, waiting for something to happen. Doc, help me! Give me drugs, give me alcohol, I don't care; give me something to relieve the pain! I’m dying here, Doc! I am sorry, Doc, please don't blame me for being difficult. I am merely a soldier, fighting for a lost cause.

PLAYLIST

I'm Not Ok (I Promise) -- My Chemical Romance

Sex Is Not The Enemy -- Garbage

Shut You Out -- Millencolin

15 Minutes -- The Strokes

Goodbye My Lover -- James Blunt

*

new horizons

"We have always held the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon."
--Franklin D. Roosevelt


© Dan Durda

trenchant is the blade

When it rains, it pours. I thought losing someone was bad enough, but it seems my fears come in threes. Third time's the charm, as they say. As far as I can tell, I haven't hit the bottom yet. Sooner or later, maybe. We'll see.

Just the other day -- Sunday morning, if my memory serves me right -- I sat with my Dad reading the papers for one and a half hours with no words exchanged between the two of us. It's the usual routine, obviously, sitting across from each other face to face with no eye contact whatsoever. No indication that these two living beings are father and son. Perfect strangers, to an outsider looking in.

Searching for something, my mind finally settled on a question I had to ask regarding a friend's immigration problem (he has been applying for citizenship and twice was rejected without any explanation, and he personally asked me to consult my Dad for help). After a brief discussion, we returned to our daily routine of ignoring (neglecting?) each other's existence.

After twenty busy minutes in the Business section, he noticed I was visibly upset that nothing could be done to help my friend out. So he tried to explain again how these things work, and after a little back and forth, I was resigned to the fact that my friend was literally on his own.

Sure I was disappointed I couldn't help my friend out, and I called him right after to give him the bad news, but I was doubly disappointed that this father-son duo only spoke when necessary. On a typical day, the only communication between us is when he asks me if I have school on that day. That's it.

I know I'm not what you expected me to be. I know it must be frustrating to wake up everyday and face up to the possibility (certainty?) that your son is a failure, a major disappointment beyond your power to control and make right. I realize it's difficult to trust me anymore now that I've let you down so many times before.

Even your friends have noticed. Your childhood friend who, unlike you, has the ability to show affection to his loved ones (but that is okay; I'm used to it and I know deep down, though you don't show it, it's there). Your childhood friend, whom I hadn't met for over a year and who lives in a country in many ways entirely different from our own, came up to me at our holiday retreat several weeks ago when he saw my disappointed face after being rejected by you again, and noted his observation.

"Your father doesn't trust you," he said, smiling as he said it. As though a cheerful and reassuring smile could lighten the weight off my shoulders. The look on my face was that obvious, Dad, but you never notice these things. You walked away, without ever once stopping to consider what your silent rebuffs do to me.

"There's nothing I can do," I said then, and shrugged. I felt like crying but I didn't show it (you've taught me well in that department, Dad, that much you can be proud of).

The smile on his face remained. "Study hard. Study hard and make him proud. Show to him that you can achieve what your sister has done, or even higher. And then, he will trust you."

Study hard, and then you will trust me. Tell me, Dad. Is that how you treat a son whose only mission in life is to have his father accept him for what he is? Whose sole purpose of being is to make you proud of him? I have made many mistakes, I admit. You must be very ashamed of me. If you do not wish to see me again, I will leave. But you have to tell me. You do such a good job of hiding your feelings I don't know what to think anymore. Just please don't treat me this way. Why have you forsaken me in your eyes, and in your heart, and in your mind?

I love you, Dad. I don't show it, but isn't that what you taught me to do? To never show my feelings, because it is a sign of weakness. You are the exact opposite of Mom in many ways, and yet these two opposing influences have shaped my life greater than anything else. I only want your acceptance and perhaps, if it's not too much to ask, to be best friends again like we were in the good old days. It wasn't that long ago -- I'm only 21 -- but it feels like an entire lifetime. And maybe it really is for me.

When it rains, it pours. I've always been under the impression that friends will help bail you out when you're down, not kick you in the guts for a chance. I don't think I'll be guilelessly deluded anymore. I believe it's a gargantuan task to write a nice letter of recommendation, or maybe I'm not worth the time. Whatever.

Oh, Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. And here I thought you were my friend. Little did I suspect your Machiavellian mind perceived me as an irredeemably useless, no-good piece of shit. What do you really think of me? Not that really I care, not anymore, but I thought you were my friend. That's all. It's rare to have a lecturer as a friend, and I was gullible enough to identify you as one.

It is, as you say, against your greater conscience to write me a nice letter of recommendation. That if you were an employer, you wouldn't want to work with me. Why is that, O Brutus of mine? Are you somehow threatened by my intellect? Are you intimidated by me, that I am smarter, stronger, and by far 'cooler' than you'll ever be? That if I were to realize my full potential, you would be nothing but a speck of dirt compared to me?

Yes, I am too full of myself. You personally informed me of that fact after I scored a distinction for the course you taught us. You cannot deny that I am brilliant, that much you know. Do you now deny that without me we would never have won the business competition? Do you now refuse to acknowledge that without me, our proposal would never have made it past the first stage?

I see it now. You were in it for yourself. I was in it because we had a great working relationship, and that it was exciting to enter the field of money-making with friends. Too bad it didn't work out that way, huh? You probably blame me for that too, since you can do no wrong. Point the finger, I don't care, but know this: it would have amounted to nothing if it wasn't for me.

Don't write me that document; I don't need it. I don't need you. This is your only way of getting back at me out of spite because of my superiority, your last chance to exercise what power you have over me, so I will allow you the opportunity. It would have been a nice gesture; it would have been a favor for a friend, that is all. It would have been nice to feel appreciated for my efforts, nothing more. For a moment there, being in the emotional turmoil that I was in, I was offended and a little hurt. Only because I believed friends help each other out, and I actually believed you were a friend. Not anymore.

When it rains, it pours. I thought we could make it together, you and me. I thought we could last forever, happy and free. Then everything got in the way. I will not say anything hurtful if I can help it, but I am hurt and angry too. I do not understand why it has to be this way. Maybe I will one day but I right now I am furious, and rightly so.

You were my pillar of strength, Jezs. If not completely dependable I knew at least that you were in love with me as I was with you. And that was enough for me. I ceased to live for myself; I began living for you. No matter how bad it got between us, you knew I would always take you back in my arms where you felt most secure. As it stands, the story of us is over. Nothing we say will matter anymore, nothing we do will change anything.

I am writing this because I have the time. I have the time because you are no longer with me. It is, by far, a poor substitute but this is all I have now. I no longer have someone to correct me when I am wrong, in the most tender way that only a lover could. I no longer have those small, fragile hands to hold onto when I am lost. I no longer have someone to help me stand tall when I fall through the cracks. I no longer have that precious smile to capture in my mind and keep me happy throughout the day. I no longer have that charming face to kiss and to behold. I can no longer breathe in my favorite smell, that redolent scent of your skin. I can no longer hear that dulcet intonation of your voice. I can no longer see the delightful, cloying, luscious thing that is you.

Time -- that is all I have, and even that will come in short supply soon enough. I don't think turning back time will change anything; maybe if I were to cut and splice the film such that it will loop over and over again, maybe we could stay in the world we made for each other, forever. How can something that consumed my entire existence amount to nothing? I keep asking myself that same question. Over and over again.

Think what you like. I am a sentimental fool, wrapped in a perpetual state of separation anxiety. I lost faith in love, and you planted a seed in my mind that when in full bloom was the sweetest experience I could ever have. Now it has withered and dried up. Now it is dead.

PLAYLIST

No Regrets -- Robbie Williams

You Don't Know Me -- Michael Bublé

Don't Get Lost In Heaven -- Gorillaz

Wish You Were Here -- Jamie Foxx

On A Plain -- Nirvana

*

stuff of legends

"I don't have to be what you want me to be; I'm free to be what I want."
--Muhammad Ali

two suns

Two people fighting, bickering about the past. Two passionate individuals endlessly tormenting each other over something ultimately meaningless, over nothing. Two miserable hotheads unwilling to give in, to realize the futility of this exercise. Fighting for scraps of meat that aren't even there, an ideal that doesn't even exist.

Why?

Two suns burning each other out, exhausting endless amounts of energy -- for what purpose? Two bodies tearing each other apart -- to what end? Two parties having a go at each other, baying for blood -- who wins? For something that started out so beautifully, why does it have to end so bitterly?

Why?

Why does it have to end at all? Stupid, the mistakes we make. Over and over again. There is no paradise on earth, only an illusion of it. God's sad, ironic smile. I should have known. I probably did know, but who can blame me for being spellbound by God's shimmering teeth that ultimately bit me in the ass? God's glittering promise of splendor and bounty for all -- all an illusion to stop us from dreaming. If only we see it for what it is.

God sank His teeth in me, crushing my spirit. My heart is bleeding, draining me of whatever vitality I had. That's okay, I'll pick up the pieces. I'll carry on. Yes, I know, I'm going mad. But that's the only way to go once you see past the illusion. I'll just be another deranged ol' sack of shit, like all the others who've seen beyond God's perfect smile. I don't care.

Perfect teeth and no heart. God doesn't need a heart, or else He'll break it. Watching over countless children starve and then die, watching over pointless people living their pointless lives doing pointless things and dying pointless deaths. Watching over this blessed union of infinite potential crumble to dust in the wind, evaporate into nothing. There is no paradise, there is no heaven. There is no need for such things.

A place for everything and everything in its place. Misplaced passion. Misplaced energy. Misplaced minds. Misplaced hearts?

They'll never see each again. Or maybe they will, but it will never be the same.

Why?

You did this, I did this. We did this.

Why?

Battling for nothing. And yet the hostility mounts.

Why?

Who wins in the end?

PLAYLIST

You're The Reason I'm Leaving -- Franz Ferdinand

Forever For Her (Is Over For Me) -- The White Stripes

Swallowed In The Sea -- Coldplay

Out Of My Hands -- Dave Matthews Band

All I'm Thinking About -- Bruce Springsteen

*

without you

Please take this pain away
I can't see you today
I'm lost

You know love is fleeting
Yet my heart's still beating
For yours

All the ways to fall
One way to stand tall
I'm wrong

This solitude is mine
I can't say I feel fine
So long

Pack your bags
You're leaving
Can't you see
I'm grieving. . .

Oh I don't want what I have
No one else now that you left
Go on

Now don't you think I lied
When I said I'm alright
Don't mourn

Save your tears for yourself
I'm not here I just left
Let go

All we were now such a waste
Close my eyes and see your face
Don't go

Pack your bags
You're leaving
Can't you see
I'm grieving. . .

Please take this pain away
I can't see you today
I'm lost

You know love is fleeting
Yet my heart's still beating
For yours

what dreams may come

"I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment I still have a dream."
--Martin Luther King, Jr.

the hollowness of being

Come one, come all. Into this state of depression. Quick! My time is almost up. I believe I'm burning into obscurity. Not that I mind; I've got nothing to say anyway. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and along the lines of that empty cliché, to comprehend how something so big and beautiful and so full of life at first glance can be so hollow and empty and fucked up now that I've stopped to think about it. Not that I wanted to stop, but I don't have a choice in the matter.

Please come back to me. Please leave me be. I don't want to be alone, so I'll stay in my mad, sad little world. Can you see? Alone we stand, together we fall. And when it rains, it pours to the point where I can't see anything in front of me. Everything's a blur, because all my plans have gone to heck. My world is a desk; I only wish I had the time to organize it. Now there's nothing to look forward to. I don't want to move, but there's no stopping me.

Between love and hate, there's a whole spectrum of emotions. For example: I hate Bush, and I love my Mom. Between the two, there's no comparison. But is Dubya capable of being compassionate? (I'm tempted to say no, but he does have a family.) And is my Mom capable of being an insufferable, over-zealous totalitarian? At times, the transition from one end of the spectrum to the other occurs at the speed of light that it leaves me blind.

I've concocted an hypothesis to explain this freakishly natural phenomenon: a wormhole connects the two ends. Coincidentally, if you view this one-dimensional plane schematically you will notice that it looks like a smile. As such, I have reasons to conclude that between love and hate is a very large smile. I call this The Smile Of Life (S.M.O.L.), or The Smile Of God (S.M.O.G.), depending on whether you're an agnostic or a believer.

Subrisum Ex Deus.

Your passion and your ennui, your smiles and your heartache, your benevolence and your belligerence, your laughter and your tears, your chuckles and your sneers, your happiness and your sadness, your pride and your shame, your comforts and your anxieties, your love and your hate; all part of a larger equation that is God's sad, ironic smile.

I am giving a seminar on this, entitled "Living S.M.O.L. And Breathing S.M.O.G. or How I Grew To Love The Hate" at the Akadamie Mathematique Of Philosophical Sound Research, Los Angeles, C.A. every Wednesday and Friday of next month. Entrance is free, but register your application now to avoid disappointment. Oh, and bring your own tissue.

It's funny, though. I couldn't manage to start loving Bush no matter how hard I tried. I would if I could, but I can't so I shan't. It's a new year, and he's still fucking up the world. To be fair, I would probably fuck the world up too if I was President of The United States of The Many 'Cuffs. Yeah, I know I'm a major disappointment. Sit me down; shut me up. I'll calm down, and I'll get along with you.

PLAYLIST

Lonely Day -- System Of A Down

Heart In A Cage -- The Strokes

The Ghost Of You -- My Chemical Romance

Blueside -- Rooney

Are We Waiting -- Green Day

*