I have one New Year resolution only. Before I reveal what this is, I know I told someone that I would write about something about professing of love, but then again I feel inadequate to speak on such matters. Let my actions say something instead. However, my 2005 resolution is perhaps semi-insane. At first I thought I would like to commit the seven deadly sinis, just to discover the dark side of myself, but then I thought it was just plain insane. Instead, I want to try something impossible. Okay, not lose weight, that is beyond impossible, I'm talking something not as ridiculous as losing weight. Rather, my New Year's resolution is to be a perfect person.

Now before everyone starts laughing and saying that it is impossible, you all must give me the benefit of a doubt. Because within me, just as within all people, is the potential to be perfect. There is this potential within each person, because each person has the ability to envision what is perfect. Therefore everyone can dream of what is perfect. And as long as one can dream of perfection, one has a goal and ideal to reach, and approach. Therefore perfection is attainable.

If a person can dream of perfect, then what is perfect? This is where I outline my entire plan.

First I shall go to the gym more and lose weight, build up and eat less. Get a better hot body, especially one that can awe and impress hot chicks. By March, I should be in my ideal weight range. By June, I should have two chicks hanging on either arm. That's the grand plan.

Second, I shall seek more knowledge. I'd make it a point to visit Wikipedia once a day to look at the article of the day. I'd read HowStuffWorks. I'll try get a copy of the Britannica and begin somewhere. Areas of knowledge I'd try focus on are areas that involve meaning of life and spirituality. I'll let you know if I find the answer.

Third, I shall try to be more empathic towards others and follow my gut feeling. Be more intuitive and less logical. Understand that there is a randomness in all things and that not everything can be comprehended logically.

Fourth, I shall be more sophisticated, charming and mature in my actions and speech. I have to immerse myself in the arts and science, and be a cultured person. People must see me as a refined person, and I'll be a gentlemen, even those who think it's impossible for me. Impossible is nothing.

These are the first steps I shall take to being a perfect person. When I attain perfection... yeah, when I attain perfection. Till then, happy new year to all.

49 hours left to the new year.

There is some sort of weird countdown. Feels rather empty at the moment. I guess when nothing's happening, I really start thinking of a lot of things, and have loads of flashbacks. So far, the last I checked, I'm still alive and my pulse is still steady. I have begun partial hibernation, spending quite a lot of time asleep.

What is the logical conclusion of the end of it all?

I guess I'm an extremely logical guy. No, I don't think this means I can understand everything, but rather my methods of understanding something is purely by logic. I can't explain anything with anything immaterial and abstract. I guess I can't even attribute anything to any emotion at all. Perhaps in my world, there are no emotions, just nomenclature of actions.

Ah whatever. It's all plain weird and I can't make any sense of it. I need an epiphany.

Dudes and dudette, if you guys haven't seen me online in a while, I've been busy. Blame it all on uncle. Anyway out. Nothing much to say. I better write a book.

The Helix Nebula, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. Also known as the Eye of God.

Merry Christmas world. Merry Christmas.

As I type this, it's two days till Christmas. Nine days till the end of the year. I don't know why am I counting down to 2005. No, I'm not counting the days to the new year. Instead I'm counting the days left of the old year. There's a big difference. I guess now that I'm long overdue for my annual report for the year 2004.

I guess I would be happy to report that I've grown up a bit more this year. Sadly, I didn't grow much in stature, but rather I grow more in emotions, thoughts and experience. I've been talking about growing up with a friend, and he tells me that no one is ever completely all grown up. And the problem with growing up is looking back and realising what a fool you've been. I know I should look back and laugh at my stupid mistakes, and I have made my fair share of stupid mistakes and a bit more. But what really bothers me is that I'm still doomed to make stupid mistakes again and then when I grow up a little after that, I'll still realise what a fool I've been. So in today's timeframe, from a timeframe of the future, I guess I'm still a fool.

I wonder am I doomed to think? I seem to think of everything and anything. And more often than not, thinking is futile for reality. For those who know me, my understanding of things has not really increased by much, and I'm kinda just stuck thinking. And the rational mind cannot be seperated from the heart's emotions, because the more I think, the sadder I get. Realisation of the human condition is bound to lead to despair and hopelessness. I am so bothered by the fact that my own understanding is limited. I feel it is limited. Because I cannot understand more about what I think about. It's like the car that cannot climb out of the ditch. Not enough power, no capacity, no traction. It just can't be done. And it feels all so pointless. I know someone quoted The Phantom Tollbooth, "Just because you can't reach it, doesn't mean it's not worth looking for." But the fact remains, I can't reach it.

I have been thinking what the hell do I want? I have tried to answer this question myself for so long, and though I think I have an answer, somehow, I am still wrong. Mislead, deluded. My answers keep changing, and I somehow can't figure out what I want. I use to think that I just want to be happy. Then again, something happened that completely proved me wrong. Someone I know doesn't know what the hell he wants, and he admits it to me. And he was so unsure about the whole issue and situation, but for the love of god, faith of heaven, benevolence of fate and even the cynicism of me, he's happy as he is right now, even if he has something he doesn't know whether he wants it or not. There may be no corelation between happiness and wants. And again I have to rethink, reshape, reconstruct everything from the beginning again.

Have you ever felt so alone before? Not needed, not wanted, not loved? It's a feeling you'll never get used to, but you will live with it.

How do I conclude this year? 2004? What does it all mean at the end of the day? I can't conclude this year. Something is missing from my life. Some gaping hole that has been there for as long as I could remember, that I've gotten so used to that sometimes I don't realise it's there, but the hole is there. So what? People live with holes in their life, swiss cheese is characterised by the holes in the cheese. No, it's beyond that. A part lacking, a part never found. I struggle each day with my insecurities and I am fighting a losing battle. No one ever tells you how to defeat your own demons.

I can't find peace in myself, and it sure isn't coming from out there. The most terrible part of it all, is that I must find this peace, myself, alone. It's a cold and winding road, the path is dark and unknown, it twists and turns like a serpent, and to where it leads, nobody knows. And where the hell do I begin? What is the first step to finding happiness? I can't even start.

With 9 days left to go, I have finally selected 13 songs for my soundtrack of my life for the year 2004.

1. The Calling - Our Lives
2. Simple Plan - Don't Want To Think About You
3. Jet - Look What You've Done
4. American Hi-Fi - Flavor of The Week
5. Switchfoot - Meant To Live
6. The Killers - Mr Brightside
7. Goo Goo Dolls - Sympathy
8. Pet Shop Boys - Go West (cover)
9. Counting Crows - American Girls
10. John Mayer - Love Song For No One
11. Brand New - Soco Amaretto Lime
12. All American Rejects - Don't Leave Me
13. John Rezznik - I'm Still Here

It feels strange to bleed. As the crimson red life oozes out of its wound, it seeps and colours what would otherwise be grey. Blood, stuff of legends and powerful concoction of witches brews are the basis of most stories. And from a simple cut, the precious life fluid accumulates and drips onto the carpet, a stain etched into the very purity of the room. Blood is all that matters. Blood is thicker than water, yet it is split just as easily as open wounds cry red tears.

I watch in fascination at my own self-mutilation. A simple "Whoops!" and a twist of fate. The pain is there, but at the same time, I cease to notice it, and I begin to doubt it was ever there. Doesn't it hurt to bleed? Doesn't the body tell you through a series of negative feedback that cutting yourself equates to pain which is a bad feeling? I wonder, if I bleed, do I even feel hurt? Where has all the pain gone? If I don't feel any pain, but my mind tells me that there should be pain, what has happened? Have I somehow dulled out the pain in my mind? Upon anticipation of the wound, my mind has told my body that nothing is wrong, and no pain means it's a good thing? Have I forgotten how to feel hurt? Can one forget how to feel? How does one become insensitive and numb to the jarring reality of blood dripping through an open wound? Does this mean the mind has seperated from the body? I don't feel any pain where I should. I don't feel hurt where I should. The mind is bothering me. I am thinking. Failure of the mind to comprehend emotion leads to corruption of the mind and destruction of the body? Self-annihiliation? How would I even know whether any of my actions amount to self-annihiliation?

I think one thing that all people should deal with is their state of being powerless. To accept the fact that they are not in control of everything. Each person should understand the limits of his own ability, which doesn't extend far from the self, inwardly and outwardly. One man can't change the world. He can try, he might get somewhere, but inevitable, one man cannot change the world. You might then argue that I'm wrong, and that one person can change the world. No, it's not about people who change the world but rather, ideas that change the world. Ideas, birthchild of every man, woman and child, shared among people, change people, inspire people and encourages people to change. For there is no change in the world, without first a change in ideas. Such is the ability of a man to affect what is around him. So this is to what extent a man can change his environment including his fellow man.

But I said a person has limited power outwardly and inwardly. Stoics believe that they can control their emotion such that they discard all emotion as useless and futile. But all ivory masks are due to break. There are moments we lose ourselves, things, actions and incidences that throw us away from ourselves and redefine who we are. And I crumble. Can I control how my heart beats or whether my blood flows? Even my body, which is my sanctuary doesn't obey me entirely. My heart beats and jumps like a wild stallion, ready to break free and live. How so does one believe one can control everything that happens in oneself? Scientists first and foremost do not believe we have total control over our bodies. How much of reality can one change?

I guess I am trying to address a universal problem. Everyone has a way to deal with their lack of power. Some accept it and live by it, others continue to try to extend their power. Everyone is bothered somehow by it. Is this what is meant to be human? To wonder and wish? Pinnochio wished he was a real boy. Even to wish something is to desire something and to desire something is to love something. And to love something? Where do I go from here?

Today, a friend is leaving for good. No, I can't even use that word, because I am not even sure whether we are friends. We just know each other. It's this one moment where you look back and realize that not everything is within your power and things never turn out the way you hope them to be. Like when the girl you love never loves you back. Like when a friend gets mad at you because of something you said. Like when everyone is busy with their own lives and you have nothing. Like when you're left alone. Like when bad things happen and you just can't make them good. Like when you've done something stupid and you cannot undo what you have done. Like when people call you names and don't give you the respect you deserve. Like when people don't like you just because you're different. Like when the whole world spins on, leaving you behind. Like when bad luck happens in avalanches and good luck happens in specks of dust. Like when people you know become people you don't know.

Someone told me that in my mind, I had a dual view of the world. For every good, there is a bad, for a right, there is a left and for supply and demand to shift in one direction, the converse must be true if directions were reversed. Maybe life is a spectrum of colours with no distinction? Or maybe even happiness is an absence of sadness? Such a definition is perhaps lacking.

When I cut myself, why do I bleed? I can't help it. And so I guess, I do surrender myself to the helplessness and ride on in the rollercoaster of life.

Regret is a very powerful word isn't it, Ivan?

Regret. Kinda like that feeling that you've done what you shouldn't do and you wish that life had a reset button so you can start over without making the same mistakes again? Guess what? You don't. So you're uberly screwed twice over in that hopeless road that you have embarked upon. Yet on the other hand, while we hate regretting, we fear to regret. Just like all those times you've held back when you think you might regret, or when you just did nothing because you figured that you might live to regret it. Maybe even fear of living to regret it and hoping that death takes away the shame and regret.

Regret is a powerful thing is it not? On one hand, we fear moving forward, and on the other hand, we are pained to look back. Frozen, stuck in this moment that we ourselves are powerless to get out of. Just like the U2 song. You've got to get yourself together, you're stuck in this moment, and you can't get out of it.

Anyway, you just got to get yourself together. I can't tell you how to do it, or what to feel or why. I just got to tell you that you gotta haul ass and make some decisions fast. You can always run, but you can never run far enough or fast enough. Take it from someone who tried.

If you ever wondered whether the self can be erased, you'll find out soon, but such drastic measures need not be tried. Just do it.

Because I would need a lot of space for a reply on the chatterbox, I decided to post here instead.

First of all, a quick update on my life. My finals are over and it just snowed briefly just now. After dinner, we saw it was snowing outside, and went out to enjoy the fact that snow was actually falling. Well it was raining when we left the dorm, but it snowed after we came back. I stood there, enjoying the snow for about 3 minutes, looking at the nice white snowflakes falling down around me. Then the wind blew and I could feel my fingers freezing. No, wait, correction, I couldn't feel my fingers freezing.

Anyway, devineX, I'd love to take a picture, except that I'm lacking a camera. I think I need a drill. Now I just have to get a drill from somewhere to make sufficient holes in my uber-system which still kicks Ivan's ass even though mine was built 3 months ago compared to his which wasn't even built by him a couple days ago.

So dudette. Here's the main body of my "sarcastic reply". But hey, don't blame me, I speak truth.

Now, beautiful? Hmm... this adjective remains sketchy. Well, safe to say, beauty is only skin deep, and I'm sure egotism goes right through. And intelligent? Hah! This one I'm pretty sure you're wrong. Intelligent? You really want to describe yourself as that? You really want to call yourself intelligent? Who are you comparing yourself to? Ivan? Haha... man, don't make me laugh. Charming? Dudette, your charms are, well... hmm... I can't find a word for it. And of course funny, this is one adjective I could describe you with. You are not funny, funny. Rather you are funny, weird. That sort of funny. That's how funny you are. Ever heard of the word schadenfreude? That's your sort of funny. And your charisma is like your charm... nonexistent. Finally we come to the last adjective you used to describe yourself. Young. Honestly, young also means immature. It also means juvenile and childish. I take it you're describing yourself as that?

So please, dudette, refrain from describing yourself as you are not. I can easily suggest some adjectives. Let's see. Mean. Violent. Evil. Delusional. Wicked. Sadistic. Vengeful. Sarcastic (not sardonic). Anyway, what are you doing advertising on my chatterbox? You hoping to pick up some guy there? You can't be that desperate, can you? I'll sacrifice myself for the rest of the guys if you want a guy to go out with you so badly. Don't take this wrongly, but hey, I'm doing the rest of brotherhood a favour!

All men are brothers, peace out.

This is interesting. I ordered 15 90mm fans for my computer and glued 8 of them together in a 2 by 4 array of fans and left it at the side of my computer. It's been blowing since, and I left the windows open. Now, when idle, my hard disk temperature is 14 degrees Celsius, my Radeon X800 pro is at 17 degrees and my motherboard is at 5 degrees and my CPU is at 31 degrees.

I smell overclock potential.

A long time ago, I decidedly wrote out three New Year Resolutions that I have resolved to fulfill. Needless to say, there are two weeks left to the year and I have not accomplished any one of these resolutions. So if Christmas is as miraculous as it goes, and if miracles do actually happen to me (Note: There is a distinction here, I make miracles for others, miracles just don't happen to me) I'll somehow achieve all these miraculously on Christmas morning.

First of all, I resolved to write a better blog. I wonder how this went. Seriously guys, people who have been reading. You need to leave some sort of comment on whether the quality of this blog has improved, is it interesting to read and how could I make this better? I need feedback!! So until I have some positive feedback from some objective and fair external observer, this resolution to write a better blog remains unfulfilled.

Second, I resolved to be a nicer person. I don't know. Guys? Am I nicer? I definitely know I haven't been nice to cats and dumb animals. I kept insulting Ivan, and when Ivan asked me how to cook a cat, I provided him with directions on how to barbeque Virgenia's cat. (Erick, don't have any sick thoughts here!) So, yeah I haven't been much of a nicer person, I have been plotting how to eat one of the pigeons in Washington Square Park.

Third, well... this brings most sadness to my heart. Why? Mainly because I pity all those girls out there who could not recognise such a great guy when they meet him. Yeah, so they don't throw themselves at my feet. And I guess it's their loss. Really.

Yeah right, how more delusional could I be? I'm practically hopeless. When some uncle asked me, "Hey do you got a girlfriend yet? Even Chris Henry got a girlfriend!" And I go, "WTF? Who is Chris Henry?" And well... hmm... I still don't know who Chris Henry is, but even Chris Henry could have gotten a girlfriend, and I'm still chopped liver that is fast going bad, I guess I remain pretty much demoralised for now.

So out of three New Year Resolutions for 2004, I have successfully accomplished none. And trust me, it's not for a lack of trying.

Anyway, so the year concludes?

Btw, any hot girl wanna go out on a date with me?

I've added a second gallery for some of my sister's pictures of her in Manchester. Quality might suck, but bear with me. I'll repost pictures soon enough when I have the mood.

While I was visiting my college's gym, I was struck by the capacity of the gym, and how fast it can fill up on any afternoon on any day of the week. I estimate about 20 threadmills, 20 powerwalkers, 20 cycling machines and 4 step machines. And that's only the aerobics section. And that's in just one gym. My college has two gyms, namely the Palladium (I just found out from a visit to the New York Merchantile Exchange that Palladium was actually a metal) and Cole's (Just the name of some dude).

I was just minding my own business, walking some fat off, and I decided to check out the gym just to see what's it like. It struck me that the idea of a gym is rather very much absurd. Does anyone know how a gym makes money? Really? They sell gym memberships, but hope you don't come so that the machines remain brand new. And they guilt you into paying your yearly expensive membership by showing well-toned bodies, hot chicks and muscular studs because you keep wanting a body like that, but in the words of White Goodman (Ben Stiller) in Dodgeball, "You don't hate yourself enough to do something about it." So you'll pay your yearly gym membership, show up once or twice just to justify your expensive gym membership and accumulate that gut.

But the true absurdity of the gym lies inside those mirrored walls among the weights and machines. I've seen people wince in pain and grit their teeth as they lift weights that are beyond their capacity. There was this one dude who looked like he shat* in his pants! Wait, that's not just it, they even lift weights and tone muscles in places that they KNOW that they are never gonna use, except to flex and show off. I'm pretty serious, after all, today's society is one where we don't need to do any heavy lifting. The heaviest thing ANY of these people are gonna pick up is the bill of their gym membership. Besides, if you need muscles for any job, say construction, you'll get those muscles without going to the gym. When was the last time you saw a construction worker with a gym membership?

Because of that, the gym happens to be one of the most absurd places where excess energy is just wasted lifting 90 pounds repeatedly while grunting and grimacing. Rather than cleaning the house, or build something, all that time and energy is wasted in the gym with that repetitive motion just to tone muscle.

I'm not even talking about those gym nuts who have been in the gym so long that they've lost their necks!

Anyway, the real reason why everyone wants to go to the gym? It's because of sex. Good, strong and well-toned bodies are good for attracting the opposite sex. Workout in the gym from Monday to Friday, then on Friday night and Saturday night, head out to the clubs to show off your hard work and washboard abs. Well, I guess one thing you can't help is being ugly, so might as well be ugly with a nice body. But it seems ridiculous working out so hard, going through all that effort just to pick up chicks right? Right?

Wait, what am I talking about? If that's how I need to pick up chicks, then so be it! Screw the nice character, good personality, humour and all that stuff that chicks claim to like. All I need is a hot body.

* - Although I did say sometime a long time ago, I would never use a vulgar word like sh*t in my blog without some form of censorship, shat doesn't seem to be vulgar. I know some people use the word sh*tted, but shat seems to be a more efficient word. And it sounds rather funny and not as vulgar.

A foreign student in a foreign country. Nothing seems familiar anymore. The way of life as I have known it, has been replaced by this strange machination of intricate workings based on completely different physics and ideas. Way of life. What is the way of life? Sounds almost like some Buddhist Zen monk question, where they would expound on the grand scheme of things and enlightenment and the achievement of nirvana. No, nothing grand, nothing meant for Buddha himself, but for the average trivial student. I am an average mediocre student lost in the waves of life.

Similarly, there is Bob Harris in Lost in Translation. He finds himself in a strange new land, a strange new language and nothing to actually hold on to. The world is getting smaller is a lie. Because when we feel alone, even distance does become infinite, and the voice on the telephone is but a spectre of a memory. Trying to make sense of it all just ends up getting lost in the midst of it all. Too much to take it, too much to lose, too much to accept.

Maybe then, when we grasp onto the remnants of what seems familiar, do we feel at least in any way closer to home. And it may not even be something we like, maybe even something we hate, that we remember from back home that makes it all the more bearable to be so damn different from everyone else.

How can I find the answers I seek by looking so far away in a land that has nothing to do with me, in a place that I've only heard of a couple of times before, in a world so foreign? Maybe that's where I'm beginning, by the slow erasure of what I used to know, and sort of losing myself, until I've lost it all, then I would find out what remains behind.

Thought for the day:

A consumer who's looking for professional goods is called a prosumer, because I guess confessional is already taken.

First Revision

Lo, lo! Hail keeper of the light,
Doth ye see that man yonder?
He behelds the sea upon yonder cliff,
With all its greatness and wonder.

Nay, my good gentleman,
Pray doth tell me what ye seen,
There may be a man there,
But then he could not have been.

He bestrides the heights like a colossus,
A tall gentleman of seemly being,
Upon second glance, his pride seemth fallen,
Or was it a ghost I've been seeing?

Settle down, doth not speak of spirits!
What will be forgotten, will be forgot,
There was no man out there today,
No man of our sort.

I'll shew him to ye, clear as day,
Upon this very grassy spot he stood,
Alone and troubled he did seem to be,
Did he jump? Oh he could!

Aye no man would leap so willing,
Unless his own demons were pursuing,
His broken shell would have lain yonder,
Come now, methinks ye have been dreaming.

We must tell someone and let it be known,
A man's life could be in mortal peril,
Is not our duty to save fellow man,
Or perish to meet our own devil?

Come now, there's been no man,
For nobody would take his life so regardlessly,
A man who doth not values his life and his family,
Only such a man could be a nobody.

Mayhaps ye may be right, the sun is too high,
May have been a speck in my eye,
No man has been lost today,
There is no reason to cry.

I was watching Spiderman 2 this evening. If anything, I don't want to be like Spiderman. Firstly, it's because I'm not hero material. Maybe if anything, I am the anti-hero. I wear glasses, I'm pretty much sedate and I am a coward. Dodge bullets or stop a train? Nah, at the first sign of trouble, I'll run. I'm a pacifist, not by principles, but rather, by nature. Nature never intended me to exert more physical activity than climb stairs, much less throw a punch.

"With great power comes great responsibility." No I cannot live by a mantra like that. My idea of life? Do what is necessary, nothing more. I live for myself, and I am not as selfless as to live for someone else much less an entire city. I'm just as lazy as the epitome of laziness. Really.

One thing I know I cannot do is to live a double life. No masks or hidden identities. There would then be too much inner conflict. I can't lie to myself and lie to the world, and if I were ever Spiderman, I'll either pretend I never had such powers, or just do what I can with it. Which probably involves using my awesome webswinging powers to grab the remote control for the television off the shelf.

Superman has Lois Lane, Spiderman has Mary-Jane, Batman has Catwoman, me? No one I think. I think I have lamented to enough people about this. Dude, if you really felt like rapturing out of your body, I'll tell you what I feel like doing. I feel like uploading myself onto the Internet and making infinite replicas of myself. That counts as a rapture too. No I don't care anymore. With reference to my last post, I think that my existence is more ephemeral that I actually thought it was. It's no more as much as footprints in the sand, but more of footprints on the ocean. You'll never know of the guy that was.

I know why I don't have super powers, no matter how much I need them. Mainly because I don't deserve superpowers, because I'm just me. But also because I don't need superpowers to do what I do.

I'm looking at my destiny. It is a blank manuscript. A long parchment of paper. Shall I write of superheroes? Shall I write of heroes? Shall I write of anything even worth remembering? I write and I write, and I write into the night, and my pen scribbles on and on, and the ink dries and blots and sploches, but it doesn't matter; I write regardless. I write on and I just f*cking write. I don't give a damn what I'm writing about anymore. Words, sentences, incoherence, symbols, Wingdings, punctuation all mixed up so that it looks more like a mess. I write, and when I come to the end of the parchment, I know it's the end. I write the last words and as I write the ink also runs out. I place down the pen, and look at what I've written. No, drawn. No, scribbled. No. It has become nothing. Just like it was before I've started. As the ink dries, I roll it all up, and toss it to the raging fires of life.

I'm pissed. You can't dictate what I can do! You can't blackmail me! You can't do any of that! It's unfair! It's beyond unfair! I'm not going to let you!

Maybe it will snow tonight. Who knows? Who can even predict the weather? The weatherman? I've been sitting up waiting for snowy showers. Somehow I am disappointed by a prediction. No, wait, it's not even a prediction. It's a hope.

I strike a match and watch it burn. There is this red glow on the wood and I stare at it. Fire and brimstone. Three witches tell the future, three Fates control life and death, three wise men search for a king. The match slowly burns, and I used my thumb and finger to squeeze the life out of the match.

Do you know that life is perversed? I write an email to you, entitled nightmares. I have nightmares of my own. And it's not enough for nightmares to stay nightmares, but even so, nightmares do come true. How the hell do nightmares come true? At least yours don't, but what am I suppose to do when my nightmares come true? How do I wake up, when I'm already awake?

Atlas carried the world on his shoulders. Then one day, Hercules came up to him and asked Atlas to help him get some golden apples. Atlas then asked Hercules to carry the world for him while he goes and gets the apples. Atlas came back with the apples, and watched Hercules carry it. Atlas didn't want to carry the world on his shoulders. He let Hercules carry the world. Hercules then asked Atlas to carry the world for a short moment, because he needed to adjust his lion coat. Atlas agreed. Hercules gave the world back and took the apples and ran. Atlas was tricked to carry the world forever. I always asked myself the question, why doesn't Atlas put the world down?

I want to go down to the Met to look at the paintings. It's the closest thing I can do to escaping the age that I live in.

Dude, I wonder if you are reading this, I haven't heard from you in a while. Let's go for a drive, we're long overdued for one. We always had one about this time, in my BMW, cruising down the road to nowhere. Yeah, I still remember and I still appreciate. Pump the radio up, tankful of gas, I wish we could have gone on a highway to nowhere and beyond.

Spiderman has villains he could always fight. Similarly I have my demons that I always lose to. Maybe I am the villain?

Perhaps. Maybe. Whatever. I. Don't. Care. Because. I. Can't.

Yoda said something about don't try, just do. I'm doing. But I don't think it can be done. But I still do it anyway. I need to find my Yoda.

You better email me quick. There might not be enough time. It's long overdued. Weeks in fact. No wait. It's months.

New York is the city for the young and the poor. There are enough homeless in the streets and at home. It all falls apart just when it just gets better. I wanna go running, even though it's like 1am. Maybe go and jump into the Hudson river, because I can't think of anything saner to do.

I was thinking that a blog is meant to elicit response in its audience. Just like how a Kansas State University columnist would give the finger to his alma mater, there is perhaps more joy, not in the finger gesture, but rather the response of indignation and shock that such gestures would even be shown.

Bad example. But I was thinking about how perhaps this blog is a cry for attention and my way of shouting out to the world, "Pay some attention to me or else!" Or else what? I have no idea. I'll take over the world and own all your rears? I'll become suicidal martyr? I'll become f*cked up? Or what else can I do?

Maybe a response would be somewhat like, a brief reassurance that someone notices that I'm around. But am I? Really? Does my existence make ripples in the fabric of reality? Or am I just a figment of everyone else's imagination?

Damn, I hate it when arguments go this way.