i am already a corpse at your feet

Although it stands to reason that a samurai should be mindful of the Way of the Samurai, it would seem that we are
all negligent. Consequently, if someone were to ask, "What is the true meaning of the Way of the Samurai?" the
person who would be able to answer promptly is rare. This is because it has not been established in one's mind
beforehand. From this, one's unmindfulness of the Way can be known.

Negligence is an extreme thing.

The Way of the Samurai is found in death. When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not
particularly difficult. Be determined and advance. To say that dying without reaching one's aim is to die a dog's death
is the frivolous way of sophisticates. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one's
aim.

We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim
and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaming one's aim is a dog's death
and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart
right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he pains freedom in the
Way.

His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.

- the hagakure

i found your smile within my frown

my weekend as a list:

1. vietnamese coffee
2. blue smoke
3. rolling papers
4. 15 minutes of dick
5. wet mouth
6. accidental stingray death
7. sand
8. sand
9. sand
10. red seaweed
11. death of an army
12. a.m. enlightenment
13. italian breakfast
14. dog collar
15. machine gun waltz

if you were a bird, i would free you from your pet store cage

my little friend molly gaudry is questioning her vocation over at her blog.

i feel her pain. i am capable of empathy at times.

she thinks money is going to help her.

i don't know if it will or not.

during my 32 year existence I have had big swings when it comes to money.

i grew up what would be considered lower to lower middle class depending on my age/location.

around age 16 i was homeless for weeks on end due to a dysfunctional family.

i have been to jail a couple times.

for some reason i was really good with computers. some of us are born with it holmes.

as a result i have made 120k in a year without really doing much physical work.

then came the drug addiction, the failed marriage, the house in foreclosure, the repossessed car, the depression and constant suicidal thoughts.

been on welfare a few times, even had to attend a month long class on "getting employed"

(i ended up liking the class because it was composed of all single young women plus me)

now i am back in the 6 figure range.

i am riding the high horse and to be honest it doesn't really matter.

molly's post made me think quite a bit about money and the elusive happiness.

money is money. i've been poor and won't lie. money feels good. waking up with money in your pocket creates a peacefulness.

knowing i can go to disneyland when i want feels good.

it shouldn't but it does.

all my favorite memories occurred regardless of the existence of money though.

it really wasn't a factor in my happiness.

the time i hit that transient lady in the head with an accidental throw of a rock, running straight through a wooden fence to escape a squad car (i was too big to jump over it and willed myself through), watching the stars as i slept homeless in a small man made fort in a public park, all the interesting people i've met traveling, fishing on the clackamas river, smoking a cigar in the portland rain, the countless smog created red sunsets, that feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar, the birth of my son, and i could go on and on.

money ain't shit. live life.

that's what i'm saying.

i will drown you child

have you ever had one of those days when you just feel good?

this isn't one of them.

i'm joking it is.

i like to laugh a lot.

do you like to laugh?

you should laugh a lot too.

i mean how can you not laugh when you contemplate the fact we are all going to die a solitary death?

the rich
&
the poor
&
the smug
&
the earnest
&
the struggling poet
&
the opulent insurance salesman
&
your dog
&
your children
&
the ocean
&
the sun
&
the cosmos
&
whatever the fuck is past the cosmos human beings cannot comprehend.

all of us are going to die utterly alone.

laugh with me.

it's all we can do.

the fish winked as i gutted it in the field

sometimes i blow bubbles on the weekend

i go to the circle with the fountain where children play

i blow the bubbles and feel alone

each bubble a prison of my breath

drifting away

some bubbles crash at my feet

others make it 10 or 20 feet into the agnostic hands

of a gleeful child

the few rise up to the blue sky

out of my sight

but i know they will not escape rupture

each bubble i create reminds me i am not a bubble

but a god of bubbles

and gods are alone

by definition

if you are ever in southern california

and want to blow bubbles with me

shoot me an email

and we can act like gods together

my heart is made from sparrow bones and wrapped in shiny tin foil so you'll think it glows

here is a super emo poem i wrote thinking about sam pink's writing:

sometimes when you leave i pretend i am a huge dragon with a scar over my breast and i fly out the window into the restless night looking for something to destroy until i realize there is nothing valuable to destroy with my dragon fire and perch myself on top of a mountain to watch the city lights sparkle in my moon cast shadow.

when you are looking at your painted nails i pretend to drug your food with a small handful of my hairs and wait excitedly while you eat your poisoned cereal where the hairs will sit at the bottom of your stomach and combine and grow into a large glass jar filled with wet flies until the pressure cracks open the jar spilling the flies into your stomach juice where they will dissolve into your consciousness and show up randomly at awkward times during your wet dreams and nightmares.

when you are in the shower i watch you from the doorway and pretend my soul is the shower water spilling warmly over your naked body and each droplet is my mouth and my hands and my dick trying to suffocate you with my wetness until you exit the shower and wipe me away with an old towel and drop it to the floor where i dissipate into the sun warmed carpet.

on occassion i forget to pretend and panic until my skin feels like it is going to explode off my bone and my mind begins to echo until it is collapsing and my throat closes so no scream or gasp can escape and i am fettered and trapped inside myself as my being implodes.

mostly when you are around i feel empty and pretend to be happy because i do not want you to stop smiling and when you aren't around i feel sick but i pretend i feel empty because emptiness does not frighten me.

regardless if you are here i pretend to not to pretend because it has been such length since i have felt comfortable within the confines of my own mind i do not remember how to be genuine any more.

i like to pretend because it is all i know.

in the next life i hope i am a tape worm attached to your colon so i can swallow all your shit and feel purposeful

my weekend in terms of negative/positive emotional responses:

friday: a very pretty asian girl greeted me with "i love your glasses" as i exited the bus.

saturday: a different asian girl told me she liked my glasses at the mall.

sunday: harassed by NO on Prop 8 picket girl. She said something about my glasses being sexy or me being sexy. I don't really remember. I don't take compliments well and kind of black out when i get them.

so that was the positive emotional experiences.

there was only one negative and it was the first to start the weekend off.

i was riding the bus from work on my way to cash my check near my house when a girl got on the bus. the girl had jet black hair and very pale skin and she sat down directly across from me. she was pretty i think. it is hard to gauge pretty i guess. she was pretty to me.

i took note of her eyelashes outlined against the sun shining through the window behind her. the eyelashes looked really long. i thought "girls love those long lashes. i wonder if they are fake or real?"

so i guess i thought about that for the entire bus ride which was only about 5 minutes. we both got off at tustin and chapman stop, she in front of me.

the check cashing place was over in a mexican neighborhood. it is not the nicest neighborhood but nothing bad really. some drug deals, rowdy kids, quiet illegals. nothing big. i guess you could consider it "bad" in terms of orange county.

we both cut through the back parking lot of a non-descriptive dentist building, orange as a city is rife with these small brown buildings adorned with white generic signs promising different simple slogans.

the pretty girl turned around, gave me the "don[t rape me smile", looked at her feet the entire time, and scurried in the opposite direction like she had just made some grave error and needed to be back immediately.

i thought it was kind of weird. i walked for a few minutes, turned around, witnessed the girl in tow, thought "am i really that fucking scary looking?"

one event compared to three and the one event is what affected me the most. the girl thought i was going to rape her or kidnap her or something.

what the fuck.. i mean i know i am kind of scary or odd looking. i have gotten it since childhood, people giving me double-takes.

i am wearing bright neon-pink sunglasses i bought at "forever 21" or some other horrible estrogen rich playground for young women.

do i really look like i am going to rape some one? really?

i never found out if her eyelashes were real or fake. i kind of felt stupid for most of my relationship with her and never got the guts to ask a harmless question.