Made in Japan, Outsourced Globally

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Hmm... nostalgic. I don't think I remember finding all 75 bands, but it is quite a fun challenge.

-- David Lynch, The Air is on Fire (exhibit at the Cartier Foundation in Paris 2006)

THERAPY

I went to a psychiatrist once. I was doing something that had become a pattern in my life, and I thought, Well, I should go talk to a psychiatrist. When I got into the room, I asked him, "Do you think that this process could, in any way, damage my creativity?" And he said, "Well, David, I have to be honest: it could." And I shook his hand and left.
-- David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish - Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity

I went into Chop Suey (a local shop that carries used & unique artsy-fartsy books), looking for Banksy. I left the store, minus the Banksy book (although am still contemplating if it is coffee table-worthy since I last saw it in a hip-hop shop in NY), and plus a David Lynch book.

I didn't necessarily know what the book was about, but after leafing through random pages, excerpts like the ones above made me laugh out loud in the store. It was imminent that I needed to buy the book.

The Air is on Fire was absolutely brilliant. A series of disturbing multimedia exhibits on canvas, headache-conjuring black + white films, and an unforgettable wall paper of dissected poultry and fish on the way to the bathroom. An enigmatic brilliance of dissonance and discomfort.

I devoured the book in two sittings. I leaf through it randomly for inspiration sometimes.

Fireflies remind me of summer.

As I jog down to the neighborhood park, I catch the scent.
An earthy, distinct smell.

The nanosecond is packed with the strong, poignant burst of firefly particles.
The air is filled with the bitter-sweet foolishness of youth.

Life of a firefly is surprisingly dim, living as a juvenile larvae most of its life underground or on tree barks.
Then it becomes a 2 week debutant, encouraged by its natural urge to mate. A mad debauchery that dictates its life course, which it probably doesn't even comprehend.

The images conjure contradictory feelings of pity and jealousy.
The poor creature expends its light and energy for that single moment of pleasure. A flashy climax. Lights dim. Curtains close. Then death awaits its atrophied shell.
The last thing it feels is euphoria and assurance that it passed on its legacy to a new life.

The thought fills the back of my throat with a dry, pungent flavor.
Like acidic tannin in a bottle of red that is too young, it leaves its bitter rinds on the palate.
It makes me gag.

I jog away, trying to break free from the spell of summer.
Fireflies - they remind me of summer.

I insert Jay Chou into my CD player. The sky dims and I am back in Europe, caught in the traffic jam around the Arc de Triomphe. Clement laughs (flashing his perfect teeth), and we both burst into laughter. I visit Paris (the city), only to listen to Taiwanese rap through the romantic Parisian scenery. A mismatch that leaves a memorable imprint on my first Paris trip.

I slip back further, and I am walking through the steamy streets of Lan Kwai Fong in Hong Kong. Paris (my Ozzie chum) and I were having a beer on the terrace, and we headed down to the bottom of the hill to catch a cab. We see an abnormal amount of Chinese girls with cameras... and we follow their line of sight... to see Jay Chou... and a crew of lights & cameras. It turns out to be a filming of a Jay Chou music video, and Paris and I almost walked right into it. Needless to say, we are giggling like school girls at the sight of the Taiwanese pop star eating at our usual corner eatery.

Nostalgia is a funny thing - it was my uplifting of the day.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Since Drake & Jam did not come up-country this past weekend, I stole this from Drake's blog. It's the least he can do. We may not have traveled as far and wide as Matt, but we can at least do a little jig... in Austin, Split, and on a cruise boat in Belize.

p.s. - Matt reminds me of my Polish/accordion-playin'/GTA-obsessed ex-roommate Andrew. I wonder how he's doing these days.

fantasies are fulfilled. But lately I wonder if they are merely forced closures on the faded tales of the yesteryears.

I am with people I was never meant to be with. The "seems to be too good to be true" situations arouse a sense of guilty pleasure - without the guilt because, after all, a dream is only a dream, verdad?

The violations I make in the dream space are more sophisticated and more egregious than in a physical realm. It is the righting of a wrong I made in the past. I wake up feeling like a clean slate, laundering away the mental sins.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

My dreams are often like cheap suspense novels. Some pursuit and urgency sets the pace of the story. In a moment of trouble, we hide in the corner, disguised as a couple. Locking lips, just to deceive enemy eyes. The chance act becomes a reality, and there is an air of organic feelings being exchanged. It is not an excitement of lust; but emotions of "sorry" and "I understand" are conveyed in the contact. It is a slow release of suffering as one emerges from a deep end for a breath of air.

The awakening leaves me delirious in a limbo of imagination and reality. All I know is that there is a sense of peace in knowing that there was a happy ending. A closure in the parallel universe.

I would have normally brushed it aside as a silly dream. But 1 in 3 dreams lately are giving me incredible sensations of peace. I cannot help but wonder if my counterparts are feeling such euphoria - the energies colliding on the same plane in the parallel universe.

A lot of weekends are not worth mentioning, but I keep on thinking back to a recent weekend in New York with my Colombiano amigo - Omar. Not only is he an awesome guide of NY (he knows it like the back of his hand, and his love for the City is second to none), but he is also a perpetrator of "all things unique."

He mentioned that he volunteers on Sundays to cycle around New York with kids and was wondering if I wanted to join. The answer was obvious, and we were awake as much as we could be at 9 on a Sunday morning (well, I was nursing a hangover and scraping out a raspy voice from singing on a rooftop the night before).

Hilarity ensued when we had to figure out how to get me to the bike recycling shop. After two bus rides, one missed subway, and few jogs around Queens, we arrived at the shop. I was turning all shades of green and blue, but all's well if you can fake it, right?

There's not much that can top the faces of kids who learn how to change gears on their 5-speed, climb up an incline, being chased by yellow cabbies... and do it all without stopping. There's also something about seeing awe-struck expressions of kids when they ride by Ground Zero. A fathers told his story of how he drove by the World Trade Tower hours before the crash. A realization that they are in the presence of a place of emotion and universally recognized site of humanity's tragedy.

One of the most important lessons learned is building the confidence in riding safely through the City. Hopefully, many of these kids will adopt the habits of biking to school and work in the future. For now, they ride the loaner Fuji bikes from the recycle shops. But they will soon want a bike of their own, and they will learn to take care of it.

As for me? I am going to get a nice and cushy spandex if I am going to take up cycling for real. 'Nuff said.

Alright so this is a song about anyone, it could be anyone.
You're just doing your own thing and some one comes out the blue,
They're like,
"Alright"
What ya saying,
"Yeah can I take your digits?"
And you're like, "no not in a million years, you're nasty
please leave me alone."

Cut to the pub on a lads night out,
Man at the bar cos it was his shout,
Clocks this bird and she looks OK,
Caught him looking and she walks his way,
"Alright darling, you gonna buy us a drink then?"
"Err no, but I was thinking of buying one for your friend..."

She's got no taste hand on his waist, tries to pull away but her lips on his face,
"If you insist I'll have a white wine spritzer"
"Sorry love, but you ain't a pretty picture."

Can't knock em out, can't walk away,
Try desperately to think of the politest way to say,
Just get out my face, just leave me alone,
And no you can't have my number,
"Why?"
Because I've lost my phone.

Oh yeah, actually yeah I'm pregnant, having a baby in like 6 months so no, yeah, yeah..."

I recognise this guy's way of thinking...
As he comes over her face starts sinking,
She's like,"Oh here we go.."
It's a routine check that she already knows, she's thinking they're all the same.
"Yeah you alright baby? You look alright still, yeah what's your name?"
She looks in her bag, takes out a fag, tries to get away from the guy on a blag, can't find a light,
"Here use mine"
"You see the thing is I just don't have the time."

Go away now, let me go,
Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?
Go away now I've made myself clear,
Nah it's not gonna happen,
Not in a a million years.

Can't knock em out, can't walk away,
Try desperately to think of the politest way to say,
Just get out my face, just leave me alone,
And no you can't have my number,
"Why?"
Because I've lost my phone.

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper

While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion
Poor people gonna rise up
And get their sharePoor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs

I wonder how many "second lives" we get. If I adhered to the old adage about a cat's nine lives, I am probably half-way through. I feel as if I am walking around with blinders and need to wake up. I say it's time for a revolution...

There are times when it feels like everything is moving too fast. These things tend to freak me out, and I end up just stopping dead in my tracks.