Frame 2 - The bridge of Wu-fu 4th Road over the Love River.
Frame 3
Frame 8 - Waiting for the light to change.
Frame 9
Frame 10
Frame 11
Frame 12
Monday, December 30, 1996
Series IV, Roll 8 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Kaohsiung, Taiwan: street shooting
Frame 2 - The bridge of Wu-fu 4th Road over the Love River.
Frame 3
Frame 8 - Waiting for the light to change.
Frame 9
Frame 10
Frame 11
Frame 12
Frame 2 - The bridge of Wu-fu 4th Road over the Love River.
Frame 3
Frame 8 - Waiting for the light to change.
Frame 9
Frame 10
Frame 11
Frame 12
Sunday, December 29, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., S.F.
December 1996
There is nothing keeping me alive. There hasn’t been anything keeping me alive for two weeks. I’m still alive. I feel that I’ve entered a new period in my life where there is nothing to keep me alive, I can die at any time, but I won’t.
Opportunities have been many, I just haven’t taken any of them and I’m not sure why. I’m afraid that I may have chickened out, which is the last reason I thought would prevent me. I know I still can. I just have to figure out why not.
Maybe I should start accepting myself as an ordinary human being. What happened was that I reached a point of desperation, beyond which was the point of no return. Instead of plowing right through like I thought I would, I grabbed onto something - desperate lunge for the dead branch to keep me falling off the cliff. I started looking at the bright side of life, thinking that there might be something to live for, thinking that there is a way for me to make it through if I just tried.
How pathetic.
So.
There is no reason why I should be alive now and there is no reason keeping me alive. Yet I’m still here.
Why?
It looks like my problems and my life weren’t as simple as I had thought. It isn’t so easy to die after all. But I still can’t commit to living. It’s still in my mind that I can do it today, tomorrow, any time in the near future. But something is stopping me. I don’t know what. There is much more surging under the surface than I had ever imagined. What’s going on in this little mind of mine?
***********************************
I’ve started to be nice to the ‘rents. I’ve stopped harboring negative feelings towards everyone I encounter on the street. A long time ago Diem told me I was arrogant. Only now have I been able to accept that and begin dealing with that. I don’t like the idea of being arrogant and I don’t want to be. I guess I can’t deny that I’ve always been pretty condescending. It’s only a natural step to admit that I’m arrogant. How to deal with that?
I don’t even know where to begin to figure out what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to reach out. I don’t know how to accept help. I don’t know how to be vulnerable without having a complete breakdown. No one has ever been responsive to my problems, not even professionals. Look what happened then - got tossed into mental institutions. Psychiatrists patted themselves on the back for coming up with some diagnosis or explanation but didn’t do anything to treat it.
It has gotten harder and harder to reach out and speak out. I couldn’t tell my feelings to another person anymore. It has become second nature to take my feelings and quickly bury them under the surface. Anything I want to express about myself I do it with a blade.
I want to smash things, destroy my room, hurt myself, let go, cry, scream, drink myself stupid, throw shit out the window, but then I always step back into this world, this reality, with composure, with frankness, arrogance.
I can still enjoy things, there are things that still make me feel good, but do they outweigh the problems I’m having with existing, of simply being here?
Earlier this month, for the first time in a long while, I actually felt the air against my skin, not even wind, and appreciated it. It felt good. Life as a good thing. Being alive is a good thing, but it’s not so good when my insides have rotted through to nothingness.
I felt the air as I breathed it in and it felt good. It felt life; alive. And still I want to stop doing it. I’ve had asthma, I know what it’s like to not be able to breathe. I’m not taking it for granted.
***********************************
I am guided by God, totally open to definition, in whatever I choose to do. That’s not arrogance, I think it’s just fact. God’s presence makes itself apparent every once in a while. A sign is sent.
I was typing what could have easily been my last entry. I had a flash of inspiration and I was writing the whole truth about my existence, my understanding of myself and my role in the world around me. It became so obvious, and what I was writing was exactly how I wanted to express it.
Then Microsoft Word suddenly quit. It didn’t even try saving something like it usually does. It usually fails to save anything when it crashes, but at least there is something in the trash to indicate it tried to save something. This time, nothing.
And usually everything cuts out and the computer jams and I have to restart it. This time, it was just Word - I got a message box saying the program had unexpectedly quit. I clicked OK and cleared the desktop, but it was still active. Except for remnants of the dead Word screen, it was like the computer wasn’t even registering that the program had been running at all. I booted up Word again with no problem, like nothing had happened.
No indication that what I wrote about my existence existed at all. It was like I hit it right on the nose and that information, the way I put it, was too precious for me to keep. Yoink. There was no question about whether I should try to re-write it - it would be impossible. The best I can do now is re-visit the ideas doing my best not to butcher them.
Basically, I don’t know anything about myself anymore. I don’t know who I am or what comprises my identity. I have nothing grounding my being to which I can definitively say, “I am this”.
The world exists as the limit of our knowledge and the world exists only to the extent that we know. My world doesn’t exist because I have no idea what I am or what my knowledge is. I don’t have any knowledge that is concrete enough to say, “Yes, this is my world”. It’s like my friends and the people I meet, in and out of whose lives I pass with hardly any impact at all.
There are times when I walk down the street and no one gets out of my way, no matter how aggressively I’m walking. I’m always getting out of everyone else’s way. It’s as if I didn’t exist at all, and there are times I want to turn around and shout, “What?! I don’t exist?!” It’s crazy.
Then part of me is thinking, no, maybe I don’t exist. Not to them. Maybe I’m not there and they really don’t see me. It’s as if I’m a ghost or practicing to be one of my own conceptualized angels. Theoretically, if I didn’t get out of the way, they should be able to pass right through me, but that would never happen because of the limitations of my belief and knowledge. At the last split second, right at the contact point, at the point when they should pass right through me, I have a doubt, and with that one bit of doubt comes down a torrent of my firm belief in my physical existence here on earth and that gives me substance. The person will bump into me accidentally and he or she will say “sorry”.
Conversely, at the last split second, right at the contact point, I do not have the requisite doubt about my physical existence to experience the truth of my existence. I always say I doubt my physical existence, but at that moment of contact, the test, I don’t have the requisite doubt to pass through.
I’m stuck between those doubts. Because I doubt my existence being able to exceed my knowledge, my existence has substance in this world and I’m confined by it. But because I don’t have the requisite doubt to stop knowing the world as I see and feel it, I can’t escape the suggestion of my physical existence into which I’m confined. I’m in that twilight region between the daylight, where light illuminates the physical world and we don’t doubt what we see, and the nighttime where we can’t see what is there because it’s not illuminated. I can see the world, but I’m not really there, but I’m too much there to be in pure nighttime.
I have no identity in either daylight or nighttime. I don’t know what I am or where I stand in either. I have no knowledge of myself to project onto the world to give it or me substance. I don’t exist to people because of me, and they don’t exist to me because of me.
Reality depends on our subjective knowledge. Without that knowledge, there is no existence. There is more to existence than this three dimensional physical reality. There is a lot more going on. How do I know? Because this, what we’re living, is so insubstantial, it is nothing, we are just Plato’s shadows. If this is all there is, I’d really might as well be dead. So another paradox, either I don’t exist or else I may as well be dead. I’d rather be alive and not exist, than be not real and just as well be dead.
***********************************
If someone came up to me with a gun and told me to give up my wallet or else he or she was going to shoot me, I would say, “why should I do you a favor and give you my wallet? Shoot me and take it yourself”. That’s a reflection of my existence. If there was anything in this world onto which I could find a projection of myself, I might feel some concern when faced with someone about to blow my head off. I don’t exist enough to have any considerable concern about my forced demise. I don’t exist because I don’t care.
I have no idea what is going on in my mind. I’m not honest with myself. This is what my rumination started with, the one that disappeared. Nobody knows who I am because I haven’t painted an accurate picture of myself to anybody, and I don’t know who I am because I haven’t painted an accurate picture of myself to me, either. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know what’s going on in my head. I obviously can’t know what is real. All I know is that I have nothing in this world to ground myself or my existence.
There is nothing in the world that I can look at and identify some part of me. People can look at their friends and say, yes, this person or these people are a part of my existence; they are a part of affirming who I am. Families are classic examples; families that don’t get along, but stick to each other because they can’t do without each other.
Maybe that was what was behind that assignment in Professor Morris’s seminar in 1992, when he asked us to bring in an object that made us feel close to God. Stupid assignment, I thought. I didn’t bring anything in. I couldn’t bring myself to distill my relationship with God into some object. So I just mentioned a tree outside Spanish House that I passed every day, frequently wondering to myself what my relationship to that tree was. Tree. Me. Why?
There is no object on earth in which I feel some sort of my identity, something to affirm my existence, some relationship to God, the Real, the omnipresent and omniscient, God who is everything and who cannot not be anything. Nothing, as if I didn’t exist. I don’t exist and never will. If I was supposed to, I would already. That’s good enough proof for me. I have to live my life for right now, not for future possibilities. If someone protested and told me that I exist to them, that just means that they exist, not me.
***********************************
Is reincarnation linear through time, one lifetime succeeding another after another? You live a lifetime and you die and you get re-born in the chronological future - a few days later, a few months later, a few years later? Once I think about it, it doesn’t make sense anymore; why should linear time be universal law? I think any idea that reincarnation is linear through time is only a projection of our knowledge of our own linear lives and linear experience onto something much larger.
So if reincarnation isn’t linear through time, one can be re-born into the relative past or future. Hm, but this is problematic. If one is born into the relative past, is the future already written or can it be changed? Being born into the relative future doesn’t pose that big of a problem, but being born into the relative past is sticky because theoretically the “future” has already been done. Actually being born into the relative future can also be problematic because any point in the future is already history to some other point in the future.
OK, conundrum; rewind.
Why can’t the future, i.e. a relative history, be changed once a person is re-born into the chronological past? Actually, that could help explain the transmission of knowledge and human development. Isn’t it possible that the automobile was developed in this timeline because someone from the future with the technical knowledge to develop the components of the automobile was re-born into this timeline? In other timelines, perhaps the automobile wasn’t developed, perhaps something else was.
It’s all possible. Isn’t there some theory in physics that states all timelines that could possibly occur actually do occur. If so, then it works that any timeline can be affected by the knowledge/karmic transfer of someone from the future being re-born into the past. Likewise, someone from the past can be re-born into the future. Even more tricky, someone from the past from a different timeline can be re-born into the future into any timeline. That’s too tricky for me, I don’t even want to go there. The idea of being re-born into a world with a history vastly different from what I know is beyond my conception.
Rewind again, avoid the conundrum.
Perhaps Martin Luther King, Jr. was a ‘past’ re-incarnation of someone from the future, someone who already lived a different ‘history’ in which the Civil Rights Movement either didn’t happen at all or happened in a vastly different way. It could have been anybody at any time, but in this particular timeline, Martin Luther King, Jr. was born with seeds from his experience in some other future, completely unbeknownst to him, that affected what he did in this lifetime.
This history of the Civil Rights Movement, or any historical event for that matter, is not written in stone. Furthermore, the outcome of the Civil Rights Movement isn’t necessarily satisfactory. It did a lot, but it never achieved the equality it strove for. So it’s possible for someone from this timeline, at any point in the future, to be re-born into that time period and affect things differently. In some timeline, America got it right.
I’ve thought this before that it is possible to be re-born into the past, but not in a way as to be able to change history. I thought the major events of history are pretty much fixed, and any reincarnation into the past is restricted by those historical frameworks. You can be re-born into the Holocaust, perhaps as punishment in some level of hell, but you can’t do anything that changes history. I don’t think so. I think history can be changed by an individual’s reincarnation into the relative past.
Considering how many people there are, this theory is mind-boggling to the point of irrelevance. But it’s possible. And possibly relevant if you don’t look at it in the big picture.
How about a twist: say I’m driving along and there are two possible routes I can take to where I want to go. I arbitrarily choose one for whatever reason and I get into an accident and I’m killed. If I had taken the other route, I would have avoided the accident and would have survived. In an alternative reality, another branch of reality, I did take that route and continued to live a long productive life.
So when I died in the car crash, that ‘me’ got re-born somewhere. If reincarnation can cross alternate realities, can I be re-born into the timeline in which the other ‘me’ survived? It’s another conundrum, because considering the multiplicity of alternative realities in which I could have and therefore did die, is it possible for all of those ‘me’s to be re-born in the same timeline as different people, but who have a bizarre affinity for each other? Assuming they even meet. What a mess!
Forget it. It’s all useless theory. It doesn’t mean a thing.
There is nothing keeping me alive. There hasn’t been anything keeping me alive for two weeks. I’m still alive. I feel that I’ve entered a new period in my life where there is nothing to keep me alive, I can die at any time, but I won’t.
Opportunities have been many, I just haven’t taken any of them and I’m not sure why. I’m afraid that I may have chickened out, which is the last reason I thought would prevent me. I know I still can. I just have to figure out why not.
Maybe I should start accepting myself as an ordinary human being. What happened was that I reached a point of desperation, beyond which was the point of no return. Instead of plowing right through like I thought I would, I grabbed onto something - desperate lunge for the dead branch to keep me falling off the cliff. I started looking at the bright side of life, thinking that there might be something to live for, thinking that there is a way for me to make it through if I just tried.
How pathetic.
So.
There is no reason why I should be alive now and there is no reason keeping me alive. Yet I’m still here.
Why?
It looks like my problems and my life weren’t as simple as I had thought. It isn’t so easy to die after all. But I still can’t commit to living. It’s still in my mind that I can do it today, tomorrow, any time in the near future. But something is stopping me. I don’t know what. There is much more surging under the surface than I had ever imagined. What’s going on in this little mind of mine?
***********************************
I’ve started to be nice to the ‘rents. I’ve stopped harboring negative feelings towards everyone I encounter on the street. A long time ago Diem told me I was arrogant. Only now have I been able to accept that and begin dealing with that. I don’t like the idea of being arrogant and I don’t want to be. I guess I can’t deny that I’ve always been pretty condescending. It’s only a natural step to admit that I’m arrogant. How to deal with that?
I don’t even know where to begin to figure out what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to reach out. I don’t know how to accept help. I don’t know how to be vulnerable without having a complete breakdown. No one has ever been responsive to my problems, not even professionals. Look what happened then - got tossed into mental institutions. Psychiatrists patted themselves on the back for coming up with some diagnosis or explanation but didn’t do anything to treat it.
It has gotten harder and harder to reach out and speak out. I couldn’t tell my feelings to another person anymore. It has become second nature to take my feelings and quickly bury them under the surface. Anything I want to express about myself I do it with a blade.
I want to smash things, destroy my room, hurt myself, let go, cry, scream, drink myself stupid, throw shit out the window, but then I always step back into this world, this reality, with composure, with frankness, arrogance.
I can still enjoy things, there are things that still make me feel good, but do they outweigh the problems I’m having with existing, of simply being here?
Earlier this month, for the first time in a long while, I actually felt the air against my skin, not even wind, and appreciated it. It felt good. Life as a good thing. Being alive is a good thing, but it’s not so good when my insides have rotted through to nothingness.
I felt the air as I breathed it in and it felt good. It felt life; alive. And still I want to stop doing it. I’ve had asthma, I know what it’s like to not be able to breathe. I’m not taking it for granted.
***********************************
I am guided by God, totally open to definition, in whatever I choose to do. That’s not arrogance, I think it’s just fact. God’s presence makes itself apparent every once in a while. A sign is sent.
I was typing what could have easily been my last entry. I had a flash of inspiration and I was writing the whole truth about my existence, my understanding of myself and my role in the world around me. It became so obvious, and what I was writing was exactly how I wanted to express it.
Then Microsoft Word suddenly quit. It didn’t even try saving something like it usually does. It usually fails to save anything when it crashes, but at least there is something in the trash to indicate it tried to save something. This time, nothing.
And usually everything cuts out and the computer jams and I have to restart it. This time, it was just Word - I got a message box saying the program had unexpectedly quit. I clicked OK and cleared the desktop, but it was still active. Except for remnants of the dead Word screen, it was like the computer wasn’t even registering that the program had been running at all. I booted up Word again with no problem, like nothing had happened.
No indication that what I wrote about my existence existed at all. It was like I hit it right on the nose and that information, the way I put it, was too precious for me to keep. Yoink. There was no question about whether I should try to re-write it - it would be impossible. The best I can do now is re-visit the ideas doing my best not to butcher them.
Basically, I don’t know anything about myself anymore. I don’t know who I am or what comprises my identity. I have nothing grounding my being to which I can definitively say, “I am this”.
The world exists as the limit of our knowledge and the world exists only to the extent that we know. My world doesn’t exist because I have no idea what I am or what my knowledge is. I don’t have any knowledge that is concrete enough to say, “Yes, this is my world”. It’s like my friends and the people I meet, in and out of whose lives I pass with hardly any impact at all.
There are times when I walk down the street and no one gets out of my way, no matter how aggressively I’m walking. I’m always getting out of everyone else’s way. It’s as if I didn’t exist at all, and there are times I want to turn around and shout, “What?! I don’t exist?!” It’s crazy.
Then part of me is thinking, no, maybe I don’t exist. Not to them. Maybe I’m not there and they really don’t see me. It’s as if I’m a ghost or practicing to be one of my own conceptualized angels. Theoretically, if I didn’t get out of the way, they should be able to pass right through me, but that would never happen because of the limitations of my belief and knowledge. At the last split second, right at the contact point, at the point when they should pass right through me, I have a doubt, and with that one bit of doubt comes down a torrent of my firm belief in my physical existence here on earth and that gives me substance. The person will bump into me accidentally and he or she will say “sorry”.
Conversely, at the last split second, right at the contact point, I do not have the requisite doubt about my physical existence to experience the truth of my existence. I always say I doubt my physical existence, but at that moment of contact, the test, I don’t have the requisite doubt to pass through.
I’m stuck between those doubts. Because I doubt my existence being able to exceed my knowledge, my existence has substance in this world and I’m confined by it. But because I don’t have the requisite doubt to stop knowing the world as I see and feel it, I can’t escape the suggestion of my physical existence into which I’m confined. I’m in that twilight region between the daylight, where light illuminates the physical world and we don’t doubt what we see, and the nighttime where we can’t see what is there because it’s not illuminated. I can see the world, but I’m not really there, but I’m too much there to be in pure nighttime.
I have no identity in either daylight or nighttime. I don’t know what I am or where I stand in either. I have no knowledge of myself to project onto the world to give it or me substance. I don’t exist to people because of me, and they don’t exist to me because of me.
Reality depends on our subjective knowledge. Without that knowledge, there is no existence. There is more to existence than this three dimensional physical reality. There is a lot more going on. How do I know? Because this, what we’re living, is so insubstantial, it is nothing, we are just Plato’s shadows. If this is all there is, I’d really might as well be dead. So another paradox, either I don’t exist or else I may as well be dead. I’d rather be alive and not exist, than be not real and just as well be dead.
***********************************
If someone came up to me with a gun and told me to give up my wallet or else he or she was going to shoot me, I would say, “why should I do you a favor and give you my wallet? Shoot me and take it yourself”. That’s a reflection of my existence. If there was anything in this world onto which I could find a projection of myself, I might feel some concern when faced with someone about to blow my head off. I don’t exist enough to have any considerable concern about my forced demise. I don’t exist because I don’t care.
I have no idea what is going on in my mind. I’m not honest with myself. This is what my rumination started with, the one that disappeared. Nobody knows who I am because I haven’t painted an accurate picture of myself to anybody, and I don’t know who I am because I haven’t painted an accurate picture of myself to me, either. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know what’s going on in my head. I obviously can’t know what is real. All I know is that I have nothing in this world to ground myself or my existence.
There is nothing in the world that I can look at and identify some part of me. People can look at their friends and say, yes, this person or these people are a part of my existence; they are a part of affirming who I am. Families are classic examples; families that don’t get along, but stick to each other because they can’t do without each other.
Maybe that was what was behind that assignment in Professor Morris’s seminar in 1992, when he asked us to bring in an object that made us feel close to God. Stupid assignment, I thought. I didn’t bring anything in. I couldn’t bring myself to distill my relationship with God into some object. So I just mentioned a tree outside Spanish House that I passed every day, frequently wondering to myself what my relationship to that tree was. Tree. Me. Why?
There is no object on earth in which I feel some sort of my identity, something to affirm my existence, some relationship to God, the Real, the omnipresent and omniscient, God who is everything and who cannot not be anything. Nothing, as if I didn’t exist. I don’t exist and never will. If I was supposed to, I would already. That’s good enough proof for me. I have to live my life for right now, not for future possibilities. If someone protested and told me that I exist to them, that just means that they exist, not me.
***********************************
Is reincarnation linear through time, one lifetime succeeding another after another? You live a lifetime and you die and you get re-born in the chronological future - a few days later, a few months later, a few years later? Once I think about it, it doesn’t make sense anymore; why should linear time be universal law? I think any idea that reincarnation is linear through time is only a projection of our knowledge of our own linear lives and linear experience onto something much larger.
So if reincarnation isn’t linear through time, one can be re-born into the relative past or future. Hm, but this is problematic. If one is born into the relative past, is the future already written or can it be changed? Being born into the relative future doesn’t pose that big of a problem, but being born into the relative past is sticky because theoretically the “future” has already been done. Actually being born into the relative future can also be problematic because any point in the future is already history to some other point in the future.
OK, conundrum; rewind.
Why can’t the future, i.e. a relative history, be changed once a person is re-born into the chronological past? Actually, that could help explain the transmission of knowledge and human development. Isn’t it possible that the automobile was developed in this timeline because someone from the future with the technical knowledge to develop the components of the automobile was re-born into this timeline? In other timelines, perhaps the automobile wasn’t developed, perhaps something else was.
It’s all possible. Isn’t there some theory in physics that states all timelines that could possibly occur actually do occur. If so, then it works that any timeline can be affected by the knowledge/karmic transfer of someone from the future being re-born into the past. Likewise, someone from the past can be re-born into the future. Even more tricky, someone from the past from a different timeline can be re-born into the future into any timeline. That’s too tricky for me, I don’t even want to go there. The idea of being re-born into a world with a history vastly different from what I know is beyond my conception.
Rewind again, avoid the conundrum.
Perhaps Martin Luther King, Jr. was a ‘past’ re-incarnation of someone from the future, someone who already lived a different ‘history’ in which the Civil Rights Movement either didn’t happen at all or happened in a vastly different way. It could have been anybody at any time, but in this particular timeline, Martin Luther King, Jr. was born with seeds from his experience in some other future, completely unbeknownst to him, that affected what he did in this lifetime.
This history of the Civil Rights Movement, or any historical event for that matter, is not written in stone. Furthermore, the outcome of the Civil Rights Movement isn’t necessarily satisfactory. It did a lot, but it never achieved the equality it strove for. So it’s possible for someone from this timeline, at any point in the future, to be re-born into that time period and affect things differently. In some timeline, America got it right.
I’ve thought this before that it is possible to be re-born into the past, but not in a way as to be able to change history. I thought the major events of history are pretty much fixed, and any reincarnation into the past is restricted by those historical frameworks. You can be re-born into the Holocaust, perhaps as punishment in some level of hell, but you can’t do anything that changes history. I don’t think so. I think history can be changed by an individual’s reincarnation into the relative past.
Considering how many people there are, this theory is mind-boggling to the point of irrelevance. But it’s possible. And possibly relevant if you don’t look at it in the big picture.
How about a twist: say I’m driving along and there are two possible routes I can take to where I want to go. I arbitrarily choose one for whatever reason and I get into an accident and I’m killed. If I had taken the other route, I would have avoided the accident and would have survived. In an alternative reality, another branch of reality, I did take that route and continued to live a long productive life.
So when I died in the car crash, that ‘me’ got re-born somewhere. If reincarnation can cross alternate realities, can I be re-born into the timeline in which the other ‘me’ survived? It’s another conundrum, because considering the multiplicity of alternative realities in which I could have and therefore did die, is it possible for all of those ‘me’s to be re-born in the same timeline as different people, but who have a bizarre affinity for each other? Assuming they even meet. What a mess!
Forget it. It’s all useless theory. It doesn’t mean a thing.
Tuesday, December 24, 1996
Monday, December 23, 1996
Series IV, Roll 7 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Pacifica, CA:
Frame 22 - I think that "thing" is identifiable to Pacifica.
Frame 24 - I like the hazy mist of this shot. It makes me think of Vietnam for some reason, even though I've never been there.
Frame 22 - I think that "thing" is identifiable to Pacifica.
Frame 24 - I like the hazy mist of this shot. It makes me think of Vietnam for some reason, even though I've never been there.
Thursday, December 19, 1996
Series IV, Roll 7 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Aquatic Park area, San Francisco:
Frame 12
Frame 15 - I think I took this while on line to take the cable car from Aquatic Park to Powell Street. I didn't take the cable car very much at all while I was in the Bay Area, but I know I did at least once just for the hell of it. This must have been that time.
Frame 12
Frame 15 - I think I took this while on line to take the cable car from Aquatic Park to Powell Street. I didn't take the cable car very much at all while I was in the Bay Area, but I know I did at least once just for the hell of it. This must have been that time.
Friday, December 13, 1996
Series IV, Roll 6 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
El Camino Real, Colma, CA:
Frame 27 - broken hydrant?
Cypress Lawn Cemetery, Colma, CA:
Frame 31 - Come on, laugh, it's supposed to be funny.
Frame 33
Frame 27 - broken hydrant?
Cypress Lawn Cemetery, Colma, CA:
Frame 31 - Come on, laugh, it's supposed to be funny.
Frame 33
Saturday, December 07, 1996
Series IV, Roll 6 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Street Shooting on Market and Powell:
Frame 12 - I forget what was going on here. Use your imagination.
Frame 15 - telephoto zoom.
Frame 12 - I forget what was going on here. Use your imagination.
Frame 15 - telephoto zoom.
Saturday, November 30, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., S.F.
November 1996
Jen approached me during class break during a night class. I was sitting out on a table in the hall and she came up to me and we just started chatting. She’s originally from Long Island and she started going to law school in New York, but then she transferred out here.
She intrigues me. I’m still not sure what I think of her or whether I like her or not. I’m leaning towards the not, but she is a character. She plays bass. I don’t expect our acquaintance to last very long, she’s just not my type.
***********************************
Forget it. I’m conceding. My life is not going to get any better, and even if it did I can’t bring myself to convince myself that I would care. Everything is wrong and I’m just simply sick of it. Everything went wrong, every path I’ve taken has been wrong, the road that I’m on is wrong. I don’t like anything about me and my life, and any reason I can think of for staying is bullshit. Fear of death, fear of what comes next, fear of missing something? Enjoyment, music, living, breathing, seeing, photographing? This is pathetic.
My life is pathetic and living it is pathetic. I’ve been waiting so long for something to change. Not even something in my life, just me. I’ve been waiting for me to change and it just isn’t happening. I still don’t like myself. I don’t like how I am in this world. I don’t like anything I do. I don’t like being in this skin. I don’t like thinking my thoughts or seeing through my eyes. I don’t like eating, sleeping, showering, shitting, peeing, thinking, being. I don’t like this world. Everything I like about life and this world is ruined by human beings. I hate people, I hate my relations with people, I hate my interactions with people. That’s why I keep disappearing from people’s lives.
I used to worry about what’s going to happen to my stuff, what people around me are going to do, how they’re going to react, and what they’re going to have to go through. Fuck it. Why should I care? What about what I have to go through? Do they think suicide is fucking easy? Let them deal with it. It happens. Shit happens. Let them throw all of my shit away, send it back to the ‘rents. Whatever. That last barrier that has kept me alive is finally down. There is nothing to stop me now. Nothing that will change.
Tomorrow, why not?
***********************************
Damn! The feeling didn’t last. I hate missing a moment. I don’t think I’ll set these dates anymore. All they are anyway are time outs; buffer time to allow me to cool off. When I decide to die, it’ll be in one of those moments, but it will be real with no waiting for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. If I can’t do it right at the moment, then I’m obviously not going to do it. What I do know for sure is that it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a day worth living.
It was Pete’s birthday, and I thought it would be a nice gesture to go out with them after rehearsal. After rehearsal, I told them I had to deliver an amp to a friend, so I had to meet them at the bar later.
So I went to Jen’s to deliver her amp, she came along with me to the bar, and afterwards I drove her home and she asked me to come in. So I ended up at her place and was slightly drunk so I crashed at her place. But by then I pretty much knew what I thought of Jen and then left first thing in the morning.
I’ll stay in touch with Jen for a little while longer. She is fun and social. But I can’t say I’m impressed by much else about her. I can see her getting annoying after a while. But the main thing that sets things in stone between us is that she voted yes on Prop. 209, to ban affirmative action:
Paper for Jurisprudence class which I handed in the day after Election Day after it was known that 209 had passed:
“Recently, in two separate Southern cities, race riots were ignited when white police officers shot and killed black motorists. In the St. Petersburg, Florida incident, the mayor said that he was surprised that it had occurred and that he did not believe that St. Petersburg had a problem with racial tensions. Race riots, however, rarely are the result of a single, isolated, anomalous incident. They are usually catalyzed by a single event that serves as a flashpoint after years of racial tension, discrimination, and neglect. It is far more likely that the mayor’s lack of awareness of racial tensions is an example of precisely why the riot occurred at all.
“In her essay, “The Obliging Shell: An Informal Essay on Formal Equal Opportunity,” Patricia Williams discusses the rhetorical ways that race is (not) dealt with in the law and society. Although equal treatment is the proclaimed goal and ideal for society, the law uses the concept and language of ‘equality’ to either maintain or ignore the reality of continuing inequality. Liberalism, which may claim to be an instrument of equal opportunity and equal treatment through positive law and personal rights, fails to perform those functions in a dynamic where past racial inequality and its continuing repercussions are inadequately redressed.
“The effectuation of the principles of liberalism is necessarily biased and curtailed, even when the word of law is remedied, when a society was based and then developed on principles of racial inequality. Williams argues that racial omission was a literal part of the original intent of the Founding Fathers (Williams, p. 10). The Constitutional omission of other races was not based on mere ignorance or oversight, but was assumed and incorporated into the structure of law. There was no question that “all men created equal” meant white men. The American consciousness of race was defined by the assumed inferiority and underclass status of blacks.
“Through most of this country’s history and development, blacks had little, if any, effective recourse to the law. It was not until the 1950's and 1960's that the Supreme Court realized the slippery nature of the word “equality” when it found Plessy’s “separate but equal” doctrine, which had been enforced for over fifty years, untenable. By that time, the U.S. had completed its westward expansion, underwent the industrial revolution, and was well into modernization.
“Affirmative action plans were an attempt to affirmatively re-place blacks, women, and other minorities into the law and to uplift and equalize their position in society. Affirmative action was also an affirmation of historical inequality and a recognition that true equality under the function of liberalism was only possible if those inequalities were remedied and redressed. “Action” meant that something had to actively be done. Equality was not possible through passive, indirect action; by merely altering the rules and to start treating people equally.
“Yet less than fifty years later, affirmative action is under attack and the Supreme Court has once again revealed the elusive nature of equality and the shifting dynamic of race analysis. Williams discusses the Supreme Court’s decision in City of Richmond v. J.A. Croson, 109 S.Ct. 706 (1989) to demonstrate the Supreme Court’s manipulation of language and logic to accomplish a holding which is no less than astonishing and has the potential of undermining affirmative action in its entirety.
“Very simply, the Court found that there was no evidence of racial discrimination just because a city has a population of more the 50% African Americans and awards less than 1% of municipal contracts to minority-owned businesses. The Court accomplished this holding by using a host of adjectives to diminish the relevance of facts and statistical data and “conjured mythic dangers” to diminish the Court’s role and ability to deal with racial issues in general (Williams, p. 1-2).
“The Court used the narrowest possible interpretation of “equality” to guide their decision. It referred to the Constitutional ideal of “equality” where race is “irrelevant to personal opportunity and achievement” (Croson at 727). The Court’s interpretation of the Constitutional ideal of “equality” is now correct, regardless of the intent of the Framers, but it conveniently forgets that the intent of the Framers had a direct social and historical impact that was maintained for almost 200 years. The fallacy of the Court is in its faith that the effects of almost 200 years of injustice and inequality can be reversed and remedied in thirty years of affirmative action and the subsequent removal of race from the consideration of the law.
“Equality, even with thirty years of affirmative action, has never been reached. It has only revealed how pervasive and ingrained racism is into the fabric of the U.S. social structure. The Supreme Court has held that the government and the courts are not responsible for remedying societal discrimination; only for governmental discrimination. Unfortunately, the effects of the original Constitutional omission of African Americans has directly contributed to societal discrimination. Instead of taking responsibility for the effects of past discrimination by upholding affirmative action as a way of acknowledging the continuing existence of racism and inequality while continuing to proclaim the Constitutional goal of true equality, the Court has chosen to adhere to the Constitutional proclamation of equality and ignore any effects from the past.
“The position that the Court has chosen in the Croson opinion is a positivist one. They interpreted the word “equality” strictly and narrowly and decided that any program based on race which is not remedial of actual, provable, intended discrimination is contrary to the Constitution proclamation of equality. The disparity in a group comprising half the population of Richmond getting less than 1% of municipal contracts, absent proof of intent to discriminate, means absolutely nothing in the eyes of the law.
“The Court chose to emphasize what was not there (proof of intent to discriminate), rather than what was there (a statistic that Justice O’Connor once might have called ‘prima facie evidence of discrimination’). Williams compares this technique with the Parol Evidence Rule which seeks to exclude, as “extrinsic”, evidence that is not probative of the meaning of a document or the intent of the writers.
“The Croson Court’s analysis used what would be the first level of the Parol Evidence Rule, the “fully integrated” document which limits the document to its plain meaning. However, the Court uses a negative as the basic document: the lack of hard proof in the Constitution that there was an intent to discriminate. The Court excluded all other evidence which changes the meaning of that lack of intent to discriminate and concluded that there was no intent to discriminate.
“What the Court effectively excluded was the experience of African Americans in Richmond. There was no racism in the awarding of municipal contracts in the city of Richmond, Virginia. The Court treats race as it always has been treated in the United States. It subordinates it and then uses that subordination as a reason for ignoring it. As Williams puts it, “when segregation was eradicated from the American lexicon, its omission led many to actually believe that racism therefore no longer existed” (Williams, p. 9). That is precisely the position the Supreme Court takes in prescribing its narrow view of equality. It is a flawed view, however, that affirmative action has already delivered the equal treatment that it promised.
“The rules may be color-blind, but people are not” (Williams, p. 10). Societal discrimination is directly related to how the government and courts have treated race and how they continue to treat race. It is not enough to change the rules and proclaim equality has been achieved. In any human race where white males are given a substantial lead of generations of advantage over and at the expense of women and people of color, there cannot be equality. Attainment of the liberalist notion of equality is not fully possible until the generations of societal discrimination has been adequately addressed and redressed.
“Race needs to be recognized by the law so long as society recognizes race. It is the law’s responsibility to recognize race because it is the law that has made women and people of color to “compose and literally define both this society’s underclass and its most underserved population” (Williams, p. 1). If the law chooses to ignore race under the Constitutional proclamation of equality, equality may eventually be achieved, but it will take a considerably much longer time, and an even longer time for the law to figure out why race riots occur.”
Jen’s smart, but she’s offensively clueless as to the issues. Or she’s a Republican.
***********************************
I must say. As much as I care to emphasize the similarities in various religions and spiritual beliefs and reconcile them in unifying way, I must reject the proposition that each person has only one lifetime - one period of responsible moral choice - which is irrevocably decisive in determining a person’s eternal fate without appeal. I reject the belief that our time on earth, from birth to death, is all there is and all that matters on Judgment Day, however that concept is interpreted.
It is exorbitantly egotistical to put that much importance on each of our individual lives. That is more of an expression of human psychology, the need for self-affirmation. I don’t think God, however that is interpreted, has a vested interest in the good or evil of each individual soul that ever experienced the random accident of birth on this planet.
I doubt that "God" is so vain as to handpick which people, freshly raised from the dead, will go to heaven and which will go to hell. I won’t even entertain the idea of God as being anthropomorphic, as a being that makes rational, logical moral decisions, in the manner of human beings, as to where a soul goes. Those are human projections of themselves onto the concept of God. Humans are limited by their knowledge and being to understand the nature of God, so they naturally project human attributes onto God. Such projections are suspect.
What lifetimes are subject to judgment? Only human lifetimes? Who lived the first human lifetime? Was it the first soul that could be said to have evolved out from being considered ape? Or after Neanderthal? Or after human morality developed the concepts of good and evil? Morality is really quite arbitrary when God is couched in such simplistic terms.
At the time of any given formulation of what is good and what is evil, there has been limits on human knowledge. Morality has only been able to be informed by the knowledge and information available at the time. There are now things that we don’t know and haven’t even considered. What happens to morality when we have a better understanding of metaphysics and multiple dimensions. Time goes on, discoveries are made and new knowledge is added. Concepts of good and evil, as far as human beings can define them, are malleable and the standards change.
Delineating a single human lifetime as the moral basis to judge that soul seems arbitrary. It doesn’t make sense. Human character is shaped by circumstance, so once we start asking “what if...” and “what about...”, we start seeing that it is not only arbitrary, but wholly unfair. People are born into advantages and disadvantages, they vary and their experience differs. So how can there be only one moral yardstick to judge their character?
It assumes that everyone is given equal moral choice. People are not given equal moral choice because the advantages or disadvantages people are born into defines what moral choices are available. The delineation of a single human lifetime as the basis for judgment was probably just a projection of a dominant hegemony that didn’t realize that the life of a soul transcends any single lifetime.
The counter-argument to this would be that none of this is relevant and each one of us is alive, and to the extent that we are aware, we are responsible for our own moral behavior. Any complaint as to the definition of a human lifetime or to the uncharted boundaries of human epistemology is irrelevant. Fair enough. But then I would then hold that a “single human lifetime” means any series of human lifetimes, cycles of rebirths, occupied by the “same person”. I don’t know what the “same person” means, but it has something to do with what gets carried over from lifetime to lifetime. The soul.
***********************************
God is not a being who will be making the big decision of who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. Rather, Judgment is a process that involves the nature of “God” that is within us all. God is that process. God as a part of each one of us, that which gets passed on from lifetime to lifetime. Anyone who believes God is an external agent is afraid of being accountable for oneself. Judgment Day involves a deep introspection and realization of our own natures and the “big decision” is an inherent part of that.
I’m not aware of the concept of a Judgment Day anywhere in Buddhism. At least not termed or conceptualized as it is in Western traditions. It may be incorporated, but not explicitly. Anyway, borrowing the term, I do believe in it to some extent. I haven’t quite finished formulating the mechanics of it.
I mentioned already that I don’t believe in the one lifetime theory upon which all human action is to be morally judged. So I don’t believe that you live your life, get buried or burned, and are kept in stasis until Judgment Day comes when all people will be resurrected and returned to life for judgment. That’s a little sadistic. I do, however, view the concept of resurrection as the Buddhist analog of remembering all of one’s past lifetime; a critical component of enlightenment.
I think resurrection means the returning to life of all past lives through remembrance of those lives, and it is on the moral behavior of all those lives that a soul, born and reborn through many lifetimes, will be “judged”. The mechanics part that I’m still not sure about yet is that in Buddhism, the remembrance of all past lives is a precursor to enlightenment, but according to Western eschatology, bad people go to Hell, i.e., they don’t attain enlightenment. How can you get to the threshold of enlightenment and then be judged as not attaining it. If it’s a given that once you reach the threshold of enlightenment, the remembrance and judgment, you will be enlightened, then what’s the point of judgment? The judgment already occurred.
Further, those who have reached enlightenment have supposedly remembered their past lives. Does that mean they have already experienced Judgment Day; i.e., their past lives have been resurrected? That necessarily changes the very nature of the Western eschaton. That would be seriously impairing the Western doctrine in favor of Buddhism.
It’s the God-nature within us that does the judging. Upon remembrance of past lives, the individual can recognize and distinguish between good and bad. I think by the nature of Judgment Day, there is no chance of deception or subjective biasing. There is an objective measure of “good” and “evil” that is beyond any of us. Truth is truth on Judgment Day and each individual can see for him and herself whether they go to “heaven” or “hell”.
I have no idea on what basis judgment will be dispensed, but I do think it is the individual that does his or her own judging and to the extent that the judgment is based on their God-nature, God is “sitting in judgment”. That’s all.
I haven’t done much figuring the different levels of heaven and hell. That comes to mind when I remember that living on earth is one level of hell. The “life is suffering” maxim represents that.
***********************************
I have no more justifications or rationales for dying. There never were any. I don’t need any. I simply do not want to live this life anymore. I don’t want to be here. The unbearableness of being. It has nothing to do with parents or family, or life, or what I’m doing, or what I have to do, or being human. In some ways I don’t feel like I’ve ever been here, I don’t feel that I belong here. I don’t want anyone to understand and don’t care if anyone does or doesn’t.
I’ve got another day set, even though I said I wouldn’t set them anymore. Force of habit. It’s how I get by day to day, week to week. It gives me something to look forward to, something immediate to strive for, even if my feelings have shown a pattern of changing before I actually do anything. Setting dates by which I want to die gives me a reason not to do it today, right now. I need to know that my current feelings can have a foreseeable end.
Am I prepared to kill myself right now? Most moments are pretty bad, but occasionally a not-so-bad one surfaces. Or at least a neutral one. It rained this past weekend, and I could have done it at any time. If that mood persists next weekend, I would think I’m ready to go through with it. After all, what is my life anymore? What has it come to? What is it made of anymore? Certainly not living material.
People kill themselves when something happens or changes that finally makes them snap. I’m the opposite. I’m going to kill myself because nothing is happening or changing. It’s a little frustrating knowing the feeling probably won’t last. But of course all I need is one time when it does. And I should note that every time I survive, there’s no real release, everything is still building up as it always has.
I know a lot of this feeling has to do with school stress. I have a 20 page paper on Islamic Law due at the beginning of December on the same day that I have a 5 page paper due in Jurisprudence. In the meantime I have to facilitate a discussion on post-modernism in Jurisprudence class on the same day that I have to present one of the essays on Law and Literature.
And I think to myself that I can get by. In the pinch, I can make it through all the presentations and papers and then exams on top of that. I can get the work done. But then I look beyond that and look for what’s there. So what if I can get through this month of concentrated stress and achieve yet another catharsis in my education? So what? Look at next February, what’s there? I’ll be getting through all this just for the sake of getting through all this. Nothing’s going to change, nothing’s going to be accomplished. It’s not about survival. It’s about what I really want. It’s about whether I really want to be playing this wretched game anymore.
Then there’s bullshit going on with the band, and finding the one person I liked in law school voted yes on 209 and that she really isn’t all that cool. It’s been so hard to meet people, I meet someone, look what I get. I get Jen. It’s been so hard to get into a band, I get into one, look what I get. I get these bozos. Great life. I’m wasting four years of my life, I still don’t have any marketable skills, and I’m 27 and I still have never held down a real job. Wish I had family, wish I had friends, wish I had someplace warm to spend.
I have to justify nothing. I don’t need to make anyone understand. The presumption will be that I was a nut that cracked under pressure, a basket case, emotionally depressed and disturbed, history of mental problems. That’s what people will look for first and read into whatever I write. Fine. Patterns of psychosis and delusional behavior, fits of depression and paranoia. Anti-social, a loner, suicidal. Troubled family background, poor upbringing, neglect, possible emotional abuse.
Preconceptions of what was wrong with me will be read into whatever rationale or justification I come up with. He concealed a dark double-life that he never showed and no one knew about. Good grief. The psychological mechanisms he employed to justify his suicide and to conceal or displace his psychosis were very complex. Here we have an example of an individual who may have been emotionally neglected, obviously depressed and suicidal, but complex and self-aware enough to detach himself in order to analyze his feelings from an almost objective voice. Of course, that objective voice was a perpetuation of his psychosis and may even be symptomatic of schizophrenia. Good grief. Fine, let them say what they must.
***********************************
In the sea of love, there are no shores, and there is nothing to do but drown. Rumi. When you fall in love with someone, you just know it. At each step, you fall in love again and again, more and more. You can never lie. If at any point you lie, you are not in the sea. If both are true to themselves and fall in love and let it be known, then there is no escape, and all you can do is drown. And if you resist, worse - if you succeed in resisting, you will die.
***********************************
Now it’s just getting curious. Why am I still alive? I tell myself I can kill myself at any moment, but then why not right now? What’s stopping me right now? I haven’t the slightest and I find that very, very curious.
I can’t imagine a better time and better circumstances in which to go ahead and do it. I have no pending obligations, I’m not in a moment of high stress, which allows me to clearer about it, and I want to do it. I’m calm and I’m in a moment of relative peace. The night is clear and the moon is close to full.
I still feel that my existence is a joke and it won’t make any difference however much longer I live. Nothing is going to change and my existence is not going to get any more bearable. What will next Spring bring? Only more of the same. There is an amorphous possibility of some change, but that’s not why I’m alive, it’s not good enough of a reason, it’s no reason at all, it’s just a lame excuse - to live just for the possibility change? That’s not living. To stay alive to strive for creature comforts which I know are fleeting? No thanks.
I know that theoretically suicide is not the only option. I could find and join an appropriate religious community. I doubt I’ll find anything perfect to match my beliefs, at least in this country, but it may be the proper environment in which I can live with my conscience and accept my existence. Do I not have the strength? Do I have the desire but not the commitment? What am I? What am I doing here? On the other hand, said community might also end up annoying the hell out of me.
There is a part of me that tells me that suicide is the proper path for me in this life, or that it’s at least an acceptable component in a series of lifetimes. If I don’t kill myself, I’m going against something, the way it’s supposed to be, something primeval.
I have not lived my life in a worthy manner. I leave no legacy or last words. When I die I will die alone, and unknown. I will have no ritual except to the sea and the stars, the wind, the sand, and the four directions. I will die never having touched another person, never having known another person’s heart. I hope that I have been good and that I have lived true to myself, and that I may be forgiven for the harms I’ve caused others.
Jen approached me during class break during a night class. I was sitting out on a table in the hall and she came up to me and we just started chatting. She’s originally from Long Island and she started going to law school in New York, but then she transferred out here.
She intrigues me. I’m still not sure what I think of her or whether I like her or not. I’m leaning towards the not, but she is a character. She plays bass. I don’t expect our acquaintance to last very long, she’s just not my type.
***********************************
Forget it. I’m conceding. My life is not going to get any better, and even if it did I can’t bring myself to convince myself that I would care. Everything is wrong and I’m just simply sick of it. Everything went wrong, every path I’ve taken has been wrong, the road that I’m on is wrong. I don’t like anything about me and my life, and any reason I can think of for staying is bullshit. Fear of death, fear of what comes next, fear of missing something? Enjoyment, music, living, breathing, seeing, photographing? This is pathetic.
My life is pathetic and living it is pathetic. I’ve been waiting so long for something to change. Not even something in my life, just me. I’ve been waiting for me to change and it just isn’t happening. I still don’t like myself. I don’t like how I am in this world. I don’t like anything I do. I don’t like being in this skin. I don’t like thinking my thoughts or seeing through my eyes. I don’t like eating, sleeping, showering, shitting, peeing, thinking, being. I don’t like this world. Everything I like about life and this world is ruined by human beings. I hate people, I hate my relations with people, I hate my interactions with people. That’s why I keep disappearing from people’s lives.
I used to worry about what’s going to happen to my stuff, what people around me are going to do, how they’re going to react, and what they’re going to have to go through. Fuck it. Why should I care? What about what I have to go through? Do they think suicide is fucking easy? Let them deal with it. It happens. Shit happens. Let them throw all of my shit away, send it back to the ‘rents. Whatever. That last barrier that has kept me alive is finally down. There is nothing to stop me now. Nothing that will change.
Tomorrow, why not?
***********************************
Damn! The feeling didn’t last. I hate missing a moment. I don’t think I’ll set these dates anymore. All they are anyway are time outs; buffer time to allow me to cool off. When I decide to die, it’ll be in one of those moments, but it will be real with no waiting for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. If I can’t do it right at the moment, then I’m obviously not going to do it. What I do know for sure is that it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a day worth living.
It was Pete’s birthday, and I thought it would be a nice gesture to go out with them after rehearsal. After rehearsal, I told them I had to deliver an amp to a friend, so I had to meet them at the bar later.
So I went to Jen’s to deliver her amp, she came along with me to the bar, and afterwards I drove her home and she asked me to come in. So I ended up at her place and was slightly drunk so I crashed at her place. But by then I pretty much knew what I thought of Jen and then left first thing in the morning.
I’ll stay in touch with Jen for a little while longer. She is fun and social. But I can’t say I’m impressed by much else about her. I can see her getting annoying after a while. But the main thing that sets things in stone between us is that she voted yes on Prop. 209, to ban affirmative action:
Paper for Jurisprudence class which I handed in the day after Election Day after it was known that 209 had passed:
“Recently, in two separate Southern cities, race riots were ignited when white police officers shot and killed black motorists. In the St. Petersburg, Florida incident, the mayor said that he was surprised that it had occurred and that he did not believe that St. Petersburg had a problem with racial tensions. Race riots, however, rarely are the result of a single, isolated, anomalous incident. They are usually catalyzed by a single event that serves as a flashpoint after years of racial tension, discrimination, and neglect. It is far more likely that the mayor’s lack of awareness of racial tensions is an example of precisely why the riot occurred at all.
“In her essay, “The Obliging Shell: An Informal Essay on Formal Equal Opportunity,” Patricia Williams discusses the rhetorical ways that race is (not) dealt with in the law and society. Although equal treatment is the proclaimed goal and ideal for society, the law uses the concept and language of ‘equality’ to either maintain or ignore the reality of continuing inequality. Liberalism, which may claim to be an instrument of equal opportunity and equal treatment through positive law and personal rights, fails to perform those functions in a dynamic where past racial inequality and its continuing repercussions are inadequately redressed.
“The effectuation of the principles of liberalism is necessarily biased and curtailed, even when the word of law is remedied, when a society was based and then developed on principles of racial inequality. Williams argues that racial omission was a literal part of the original intent of the Founding Fathers (Williams, p. 10). The Constitutional omission of other races was not based on mere ignorance or oversight, but was assumed and incorporated into the structure of law. There was no question that “all men created equal” meant white men. The American consciousness of race was defined by the assumed inferiority and underclass status of blacks.
“Through most of this country’s history and development, blacks had little, if any, effective recourse to the law. It was not until the 1950's and 1960's that the Supreme Court realized the slippery nature of the word “equality” when it found Plessy’s “separate but equal” doctrine, which had been enforced for over fifty years, untenable. By that time, the U.S. had completed its westward expansion, underwent the industrial revolution, and was well into modernization.
“Affirmative action plans were an attempt to affirmatively re-place blacks, women, and other minorities into the law and to uplift and equalize their position in society. Affirmative action was also an affirmation of historical inequality and a recognition that true equality under the function of liberalism was only possible if those inequalities were remedied and redressed. “Action” meant that something had to actively be done. Equality was not possible through passive, indirect action; by merely altering the rules and to start treating people equally.
“Yet less than fifty years later, affirmative action is under attack and the Supreme Court has once again revealed the elusive nature of equality and the shifting dynamic of race analysis. Williams discusses the Supreme Court’s decision in City of Richmond v. J.A. Croson, 109 S.Ct. 706 (1989) to demonstrate the Supreme Court’s manipulation of language and logic to accomplish a holding which is no less than astonishing and has the potential of undermining affirmative action in its entirety.
“Very simply, the Court found that there was no evidence of racial discrimination just because a city has a population of more the 50% African Americans and awards less than 1% of municipal contracts to minority-owned businesses. The Court accomplished this holding by using a host of adjectives to diminish the relevance of facts and statistical data and “conjured mythic dangers” to diminish the Court’s role and ability to deal with racial issues in general (Williams, p. 1-2).
“The Court used the narrowest possible interpretation of “equality” to guide their decision. It referred to the Constitutional ideal of “equality” where race is “irrelevant to personal opportunity and achievement” (Croson at 727). The Court’s interpretation of the Constitutional ideal of “equality” is now correct, regardless of the intent of the Framers, but it conveniently forgets that the intent of the Framers had a direct social and historical impact that was maintained for almost 200 years. The fallacy of the Court is in its faith that the effects of almost 200 years of injustice and inequality can be reversed and remedied in thirty years of affirmative action and the subsequent removal of race from the consideration of the law.
“Equality, even with thirty years of affirmative action, has never been reached. It has only revealed how pervasive and ingrained racism is into the fabric of the U.S. social structure. The Supreme Court has held that the government and the courts are not responsible for remedying societal discrimination; only for governmental discrimination. Unfortunately, the effects of the original Constitutional omission of African Americans has directly contributed to societal discrimination. Instead of taking responsibility for the effects of past discrimination by upholding affirmative action as a way of acknowledging the continuing existence of racism and inequality while continuing to proclaim the Constitutional goal of true equality, the Court has chosen to adhere to the Constitutional proclamation of equality and ignore any effects from the past.
“The position that the Court has chosen in the Croson opinion is a positivist one. They interpreted the word “equality” strictly and narrowly and decided that any program based on race which is not remedial of actual, provable, intended discrimination is contrary to the Constitution proclamation of equality. The disparity in a group comprising half the population of Richmond getting less than 1% of municipal contracts, absent proof of intent to discriminate, means absolutely nothing in the eyes of the law.
“The Court chose to emphasize what was not there (proof of intent to discriminate), rather than what was there (a statistic that Justice O’Connor once might have called ‘prima facie evidence of discrimination’). Williams compares this technique with the Parol Evidence Rule which seeks to exclude, as “extrinsic”, evidence that is not probative of the meaning of a document or the intent of the writers.
“The Croson Court’s analysis used what would be the first level of the Parol Evidence Rule, the “fully integrated” document which limits the document to its plain meaning. However, the Court uses a negative as the basic document: the lack of hard proof in the Constitution that there was an intent to discriminate. The Court excluded all other evidence which changes the meaning of that lack of intent to discriminate and concluded that there was no intent to discriminate.
“What the Court effectively excluded was the experience of African Americans in Richmond. There was no racism in the awarding of municipal contracts in the city of Richmond, Virginia. The Court treats race as it always has been treated in the United States. It subordinates it and then uses that subordination as a reason for ignoring it. As Williams puts it, “when segregation was eradicated from the American lexicon, its omission led many to actually believe that racism therefore no longer existed” (Williams, p. 9). That is precisely the position the Supreme Court takes in prescribing its narrow view of equality. It is a flawed view, however, that affirmative action has already delivered the equal treatment that it promised.
“The rules may be color-blind, but people are not” (Williams, p. 10). Societal discrimination is directly related to how the government and courts have treated race and how they continue to treat race. It is not enough to change the rules and proclaim equality has been achieved. In any human race where white males are given a substantial lead of generations of advantage over and at the expense of women and people of color, there cannot be equality. Attainment of the liberalist notion of equality is not fully possible until the generations of societal discrimination has been adequately addressed and redressed.
“Race needs to be recognized by the law so long as society recognizes race. It is the law’s responsibility to recognize race because it is the law that has made women and people of color to “compose and literally define both this society’s underclass and its most underserved population” (Williams, p. 1). If the law chooses to ignore race under the Constitutional proclamation of equality, equality may eventually be achieved, but it will take a considerably much longer time, and an even longer time for the law to figure out why race riots occur.”
Jen’s smart, but she’s offensively clueless as to the issues. Or she’s a Republican.
***********************************
I must say. As much as I care to emphasize the similarities in various religions and spiritual beliefs and reconcile them in unifying way, I must reject the proposition that each person has only one lifetime - one period of responsible moral choice - which is irrevocably decisive in determining a person’s eternal fate without appeal. I reject the belief that our time on earth, from birth to death, is all there is and all that matters on Judgment Day, however that concept is interpreted.
It is exorbitantly egotistical to put that much importance on each of our individual lives. That is more of an expression of human psychology, the need for self-affirmation. I don’t think God, however that is interpreted, has a vested interest in the good or evil of each individual soul that ever experienced the random accident of birth on this planet.
I doubt that "God" is so vain as to handpick which people, freshly raised from the dead, will go to heaven and which will go to hell. I won’t even entertain the idea of God as being anthropomorphic, as a being that makes rational, logical moral decisions, in the manner of human beings, as to where a soul goes. Those are human projections of themselves onto the concept of God. Humans are limited by their knowledge and being to understand the nature of God, so they naturally project human attributes onto God. Such projections are suspect.
What lifetimes are subject to judgment? Only human lifetimes? Who lived the first human lifetime? Was it the first soul that could be said to have evolved out from being considered ape? Or after Neanderthal? Or after human morality developed the concepts of good and evil? Morality is really quite arbitrary when God is couched in such simplistic terms.
At the time of any given formulation of what is good and what is evil, there has been limits on human knowledge. Morality has only been able to be informed by the knowledge and information available at the time. There are now things that we don’t know and haven’t even considered. What happens to morality when we have a better understanding of metaphysics and multiple dimensions. Time goes on, discoveries are made and new knowledge is added. Concepts of good and evil, as far as human beings can define them, are malleable and the standards change.
Delineating a single human lifetime as the moral basis to judge that soul seems arbitrary. It doesn’t make sense. Human character is shaped by circumstance, so once we start asking “what if...” and “what about...”, we start seeing that it is not only arbitrary, but wholly unfair. People are born into advantages and disadvantages, they vary and their experience differs. So how can there be only one moral yardstick to judge their character?
It assumes that everyone is given equal moral choice. People are not given equal moral choice because the advantages or disadvantages people are born into defines what moral choices are available. The delineation of a single human lifetime as the basis for judgment was probably just a projection of a dominant hegemony that didn’t realize that the life of a soul transcends any single lifetime.
The counter-argument to this would be that none of this is relevant and each one of us is alive, and to the extent that we are aware, we are responsible for our own moral behavior. Any complaint as to the definition of a human lifetime or to the uncharted boundaries of human epistemology is irrelevant. Fair enough. But then I would then hold that a “single human lifetime” means any series of human lifetimes, cycles of rebirths, occupied by the “same person”. I don’t know what the “same person” means, but it has something to do with what gets carried over from lifetime to lifetime. The soul.
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God is not a being who will be making the big decision of who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. Rather, Judgment is a process that involves the nature of “God” that is within us all. God is that process. God as a part of each one of us, that which gets passed on from lifetime to lifetime. Anyone who believes God is an external agent is afraid of being accountable for oneself. Judgment Day involves a deep introspection and realization of our own natures and the “big decision” is an inherent part of that.
I’m not aware of the concept of a Judgment Day anywhere in Buddhism. At least not termed or conceptualized as it is in Western traditions. It may be incorporated, but not explicitly. Anyway, borrowing the term, I do believe in it to some extent. I haven’t quite finished formulating the mechanics of it.
I mentioned already that I don’t believe in the one lifetime theory upon which all human action is to be morally judged. So I don’t believe that you live your life, get buried or burned, and are kept in stasis until Judgment Day comes when all people will be resurrected and returned to life for judgment. That’s a little sadistic. I do, however, view the concept of resurrection as the Buddhist analog of remembering all of one’s past lifetime; a critical component of enlightenment.
I think resurrection means the returning to life of all past lives through remembrance of those lives, and it is on the moral behavior of all those lives that a soul, born and reborn through many lifetimes, will be “judged”. The mechanics part that I’m still not sure about yet is that in Buddhism, the remembrance of all past lives is a precursor to enlightenment, but according to Western eschatology, bad people go to Hell, i.e., they don’t attain enlightenment. How can you get to the threshold of enlightenment and then be judged as not attaining it. If it’s a given that once you reach the threshold of enlightenment, the remembrance and judgment, you will be enlightened, then what’s the point of judgment? The judgment already occurred.
Further, those who have reached enlightenment have supposedly remembered their past lives. Does that mean they have already experienced Judgment Day; i.e., their past lives have been resurrected? That necessarily changes the very nature of the Western eschaton. That would be seriously impairing the Western doctrine in favor of Buddhism.
It’s the God-nature within us that does the judging. Upon remembrance of past lives, the individual can recognize and distinguish between good and bad. I think by the nature of Judgment Day, there is no chance of deception or subjective biasing. There is an objective measure of “good” and “evil” that is beyond any of us. Truth is truth on Judgment Day and each individual can see for him and herself whether they go to “heaven” or “hell”.
I have no idea on what basis judgment will be dispensed, but I do think it is the individual that does his or her own judging and to the extent that the judgment is based on their God-nature, God is “sitting in judgment”. That’s all.
I haven’t done much figuring the different levels of heaven and hell. That comes to mind when I remember that living on earth is one level of hell. The “life is suffering” maxim represents that.
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I have no more justifications or rationales for dying. There never were any. I don’t need any. I simply do not want to live this life anymore. I don’t want to be here. The unbearableness of being. It has nothing to do with parents or family, or life, or what I’m doing, or what I have to do, or being human. In some ways I don’t feel like I’ve ever been here, I don’t feel that I belong here. I don’t want anyone to understand and don’t care if anyone does or doesn’t.
I’ve got another day set, even though I said I wouldn’t set them anymore. Force of habit. It’s how I get by day to day, week to week. It gives me something to look forward to, something immediate to strive for, even if my feelings have shown a pattern of changing before I actually do anything. Setting dates by which I want to die gives me a reason not to do it today, right now. I need to know that my current feelings can have a foreseeable end.
Am I prepared to kill myself right now? Most moments are pretty bad, but occasionally a not-so-bad one surfaces. Or at least a neutral one. It rained this past weekend, and I could have done it at any time. If that mood persists next weekend, I would think I’m ready to go through with it. After all, what is my life anymore? What has it come to? What is it made of anymore? Certainly not living material.
People kill themselves when something happens or changes that finally makes them snap. I’m the opposite. I’m going to kill myself because nothing is happening or changing. It’s a little frustrating knowing the feeling probably won’t last. But of course all I need is one time when it does. And I should note that every time I survive, there’s no real release, everything is still building up as it always has.
I know a lot of this feeling has to do with school stress. I have a 20 page paper on Islamic Law due at the beginning of December on the same day that I have a 5 page paper due in Jurisprudence. In the meantime I have to facilitate a discussion on post-modernism in Jurisprudence class on the same day that I have to present one of the essays on Law and Literature.
And I think to myself that I can get by. In the pinch, I can make it through all the presentations and papers and then exams on top of that. I can get the work done. But then I look beyond that and look for what’s there. So what if I can get through this month of concentrated stress and achieve yet another catharsis in my education? So what? Look at next February, what’s there? I’ll be getting through all this just for the sake of getting through all this. Nothing’s going to change, nothing’s going to be accomplished. It’s not about survival. It’s about what I really want. It’s about whether I really want to be playing this wretched game anymore.
Then there’s bullshit going on with the band, and finding the one person I liked in law school voted yes on 209 and that she really isn’t all that cool. It’s been so hard to meet people, I meet someone, look what I get. I get Jen. It’s been so hard to get into a band, I get into one, look what I get. I get these bozos. Great life. I’m wasting four years of my life, I still don’t have any marketable skills, and I’m 27 and I still have never held down a real job. Wish I had family, wish I had friends, wish I had someplace warm to spend.
I have to justify nothing. I don’t need to make anyone understand. The presumption will be that I was a nut that cracked under pressure, a basket case, emotionally depressed and disturbed, history of mental problems. That’s what people will look for first and read into whatever I write. Fine. Patterns of psychosis and delusional behavior, fits of depression and paranoia. Anti-social, a loner, suicidal. Troubled family background, poor upbringing, neglect, possible emotional abuse.
Preconceptions of what was wrong with me will be read into whatever rationale or justification I come up with. He concealed a dark double-life that he never showed and no one knew about. Good grief. The psychological mechanisms he employed to justify his suicide and to conceal or displace his psychosis were very complex. Here we have an example of an individual who may have been emotionally neglected, obviously depressed and suicidal, but complex and self-aware enough to detach himself in order to analyze his feelings from an almost objective voice. Of course, that objective voice was a perpetuation of his psychosis and may even be symptomatic of schizophrenia. Good grief. Fine, let them say what they must.
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In the sea of love, there are no shores, and there is nothing to do but drown. Rumi. When you fall in love with someone, you just know it. At each step, you fall in love again and again, more and more. You can never lie. If at any point you lie, you are not in the sea. If both are true to themselves and fall in love and let it be known, then there is no escape, and all you can do is drown. And if you resist, worse - if you succeed in resisting, you will die.
***********************************
Now it’s just getting curious. Why am I still alive? I tell myself I can kill myself at any moment, but then why not right now? What’s stopping me right now? I haven’t the slightest and I find that very, very curious.
I can’t imagine a better time and better circumstances in which to go ahead and do it. I have no pending obligations, I’m not in a moment of high stress, which allows me to clearer about it, and I want to do it. I’m calm and I’m in a moment of relative peace. The night is clear and the moon is close to full.
I still feel that my existence is a joke and it won’t make any difference however much longer I live. Nothing is going to change and my existence is not going to get any more bearable. What will next Spring bring? Only more of the same. There is an amorphous possibility of some change, but that’s not why I’m alive, it’s not good enough of a reason, it’s no reason at all, it’s just a lame excuse - to live just for the possibility change? That’s not living. To stay alive to strive for creature comforts which I know are fleeting? No thanks.
I know that theoretically suicide is not the only option. I could find and join an appropriate religious community. I doubt I’ll find anything perfect to match my beliefs, at least in this country, but it may be the proper environment in which I can live with my conscience and accept my existence. Do I not have the strength? Do I have the desire but not the commitment? What am I? What am I doing here? On the other hand, said community might also end up annoying the hell out of me.
There is a part of me that tells me that suicide is the proper path for me in this life, or that it’s at least an acceptable component in a series of lifetimes. If I don’t kill myself, I’m going against something, the way it’s supposed to be, something primeval.
I have not lived my life in a worthy manner. I leave no legacy or last words. When I die I will die alone, and unknown. I will have no ritual except to the sea and the stars, the wind, the sand, and the four directions. I will die never having touched another person, never having known another person’s heart. I hope that I have been good and that I have lived true to myself, and that I may be forgiven for the harms I’ve caused others.
Sunday, November 10, 1996
Series IV, Roll 5 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Veteran's Day Parade, Market Street, San Francisco:
Frame 33
Frame 34
Frame 36
Frame 33
Frame 34
Frame 36
Friday, November 08, 1996
Series IV, Roll 5 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Ocean Beach, San Francisco:
Frame 22 - Ship sailing into San Francisco Bay.
Frame 23 - Cliff House and kite.
Frame 25 - Serenity. Shot with a telephoto zoom. When looking at a roll of negatives, trying to figure out which camera I used, I look for shots like this which tell me this must have been the K2 with a 70-210mm lens.
Frame 22 - Ship sailing into San Francisco Bay.
Frame 23 - Cliff House and kite.
Frame 25 - Serenity. Shot with a telephoto zoom. When looking at a roll of negatives, trying to figure out which camera I used, I look for shots like this which tell me this must have been the K2 with a 70-210mm lens.
Friday, November 01, 1996
North Beach/Chinatown, San Francisco
Series IV, Roll 4 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 34 - Candid portrait of a stranger
Frame 34 - Candid portrait of a stranger
Thursday, October 31, 1996
Sunday, October 20, 1996
Golden Gate National Cemetery, San Bruno, CA
Series IV, Roll 4 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 16
Frame 19 - Again with the long zoom. All of the shots taken with the K2 during this period was with the 70-210mm lens, so 70mm is as short as it gets in any of these shots! I didn't get a matching Tokina 28-70mm lens until a little later when I started realizing the limitations of the long lens.
Frame 16
Frame 19 - Again with the long zoom. All of the shots taken with the K2 during this period was with the 70-210mm lens, so 70mm is as short as it gets in any of these shots! I didn't get a matching Tokina 28-70mm lens until a little later when I started realizing the limitations of the long lens.
Thursday, October 17, 1996
Downtown San Francisco
Series IV, Roll 4 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 8 - Mission Street, shot from an upper balcony at school. I doubt I intended it to be blurry, but I like it better than if it was in focus.
Frame 8 - Mission Street, shot from an upper balcony at school. I doubt I intended it to be blurry, but I like it better than if it was in focus.
Saturday, October 12, 1996
Fleet Week
Series IV, Roll 4 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 4 - Blue Angels and Bay Bridge. Telephoto zoom lens.
Frame 6 - Decent subject matter, terrible photo. Telephoto zoom lenses shouldn't be an excuse not to get close to a subject. I had recently acquired the 70-210mm lens, along with the K2, and I was going a little crazy with it; thought it was the greatest thing for a coward photographer. But you lose all depth of field and composition is iffy at best. Long lenses should only be used if you absolutely can't get close to the subject.
Frame 4 - Blue Angels and Bay Bridge. Telephoto zoom lens.
Frame 6 - Decent subject matter, terrible photo. Telephoto zoom lenses shouldn't be an excuse not to get close to a subject. I had recently acquired the 70-210mm lens, along with the K2, and I was going a little crazy with it; thought it was the greatest thing for a coward photographer. But you lose all depth of field and composition is iffy at best. Long lenses should only be used if you absolutely can't get close to the subject.
Tuesday, October 08, 1996
Wednesday, October 02, 1996
Saturday, September 28, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
Second day in a row I dreamed of Amina. I can’t describe the dream at all. The moods and scenery were too elusive and abstract. Amina was on a stage and she was being made an example of a woman who had transgressed something cultural. She hadn’t really, she was just playing the part. The punishment entailed having all of her hair shaved off. All of it. However, when her head was done, she looked like she did when she got her hair cut short in the Summer of 1993. When she was getting another part of her body shaved, I could see that she was pregnant. Very pregnant.
I’m going to drop my “Jurisprudence” class. I thought it would be about the philosophy of law as traced through the historical development of the U.S. legal system. I thought we’d be studying patterns and developments in the law as reflected through actual decisions and what they meant and what historical events affected them.
Instead we’re reading esoteric, pseudo-academic, ivory tower essays which have no discernable relation to reality or practical law. Useless. Instead of studying and learning the philosophy behind our legal system, I sit in class thinking, “who cares?!”.
I’m not going to put up with this anymore. My masochistic days are over. I’m not going to suffer through this class just to prove I’m not a quitter. Dropping the class won’t mean that I’m a quitter, it means I’m smart and know what’s good for me, and I’m much more reasonable about what I’m willing to put with.
Besides, I’ve just gotten to the point where I’m thinking I don’t want to kill myself. Or rather I’m realizing that I simply won’t, no matter how I feel about it. I don’t need this class to push me towards it again and tempt me to want to do it. I still hope I will do it, but I want to make sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.
I wonder if this is really being healthy or if all this is a continuing manifestation of my suicidal psychosis. I wonder if I’m ill and this is all just a delusional part of the illness. I can’t go second guessing myself, though. I’m hurting and I’m aware of my past, but I’ve always been certain of my rationality and I recognize that what I call rational is different from everyone else’s. That doesn’t make me ill. Different doesn’t mean ill in this day and age.
I’m going to drop my “Jurisprudence” class. I thought it would be about the philosophy of law as traced through the historical development of the U.S. legal system. I thought we’d be studying patterns and developments in the law as reflected through actual decisions and what they meant and what historical events affected them.
Instead we’re reading esoteric, pseudo-academic, ivory tower essays which have no discernable relation to reality or practical law. Useless. Instead of studying and learning the philosophy behind our legal system, I sit in class thinking, “who cares?!”.
I’m not going to put up with this anymore. My masochistic days are over. I’m not going to suffer through this class just to prove I’m not a quitter. Dropping the class won’t mean that I’m a quitter, it means I’m smart and know what’s good for me, and I’m much more reasonable about what I’m willing to put with.
Besides, I’ve just gotten to the point where I’m thinking I don’t want to kill myself. Or rather I’m realizing that I simply won’t, no matter how I feel about it. I don’t need this class to push me towards it again and tempt me to want to do it. I still hope I will do it, but I want to make sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.
I wonder if this is really being healthy or if all this is a continuing manifestation of my suicidal psychosis. I wonder if I’m ill and this is all just a delusional part of the illness. I can’t go second guessing myself, though. I’m hurting and I’m aware of my past, but I’ve always been certain of my rationality and I recognize that what I call rational is different from everyone else’s. That doesn’t make me ill. Different doesn’t mean ill in this day and age.
Friday, September 27, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
I was in a room with large windows and it looked like I was on a college campus. The room was cluttered and lit by fluorescent light. It was a cloudy evening and there were a lot of people outside walking to wherever they needed to be. I was practicing lead guitar, playing my red Peavey along with a Roger Waters CD - the one with Eric Clapton. The dream switched and I was “upstairs” in a kitchen that resembled the kitchen at 22 Cambridge Place in Englewood Cliffs. The windows were the same. I continued to practice, ignoring the person behind me, Amina, who was doing something like washing dishes. Generally, what happened next was that she finished what she was doing and came over. Waleed was there somewhere. I think we exchanged words, we were very close and finally it was too much and we unwillingly kissed, I don’t remember if she was crying. We kept kissing, trying to resist and I woke up. I gasped her name.
I’ve selectively forgotten all the reasons why I should hate Amina; the things she did. I know now I still love her and that we never closed and I will continue loving her until we do. I doubt we ever will. That dream. It was more my fantasy than an expression of reality.
I can’t imagine crying for or about Amina. I really don’t feel much of anything anymore. I don’t know if that’s because of Amina. I don’t get attracted to people anymore. I do still find people attractive, but I have no desire to get to know people better or let them know me. I don’t get attracted to anyone to the extent that I would put effort into spending time or getting to know them better. There is nothing in people for me to be attracted to.
I’ve selectively forgotten all the reasons why I should hate Amina; the things she did. I know now I still love her and that we never closed and I will continue loving her until we do. I doubt we ever will. That dream. It was more my fantasy than an expression of reality.
I can’t imagine crying for or about Amina. I really don’t feel much of anything anymore. I don’t know if that’s because of Amina. I don’t get attracted to people anymore. I do still find people attractive, but I have no desire to get to know people better or let them know me. I don’t get attracted to anyone to the extent that I would put effort into spending time or getting to know them better. There is nothing in people for me to be attracted to.
Wednesday, September 25, 1996
Finishing off a Roll of Film
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 30 (Ilford XP2) - Daly City BART Station.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 31 (Ilford XP2) - Golden Gate University, rear stairwell.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 34 (Ilford XP2) - Muni Terminus, Steuart and Mission.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 35 (Ilford XP2) - Bay Bridge.
Saturday, September 21, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
None of the actual scenery in the dream was from conscious memory. It was a sunny Winter day after a heavy snowfall in New Jersey or New York. I was driving with Liz in her car. I don’t remember any of the dialogue. We drove up a road that went up a hill with frozen lakes on either side. A skyline, which may have been New York, was behind us. At the top, we turned right and then right again into an area that was like a parking lot or a rest area. Lots of cars were there and people were milling about.
The dream shifted and there were metal stairs leading down from the parking area and it felt like New York City, still Winter. The next part I don’t remember so well. I lagged behind going down the stairs, I think I was doing something with my camera, so Liz had gone off. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a man about whom I don’t remember anything except that he was old and we struck up a conversation. In retrospect, he reminds me of Tony. Eventually he let me take pictures of him which I did. That’s all I remember along with having to change film, XP2, and taking pictures without a lens, just the body of the camera.
I went to New Jersey in August. Things have changed. I actually felt comfortable there. I walked around a lot. I went down Palisades Avenue to Dwight Englewood and then to Englewood. I went through Flat Rock Brook where I always used to go for solace and to get away. Everything seemed a lot smaller than I remember, starting with the sidewalks. Compared with hikes in California, Flat Rock Brook was puny. I went down to the Hudson River Boat Basin and walked along one of my old running paths on top of the Palisades. Not much of a run.
Everything was suddenly so detached. That is why it was so comfortable being there. It meant nothing that I grew up there and the familiarity of the landscape didn’t unnerve me or haunt me as it did in other times that I had returned. It felt like it was all behind me. Finally.
It was the same thing with being at the parents’ house. And strange about the parents, they really didn’t affect me much at all. Part of me just didn’t care anymore; most important, I felt that they couldn’t touch me anymore. They were no longer a threat. They didn’t have any control over my life anymore. Even their insidious suggestions, hints, and moralizing about my future had no affect over me. It was liberating.
Whereas before, I felt threatened by how they intended to control my life, now I could ignore it, laugh at it if I wanted to. The result was that I could tolerate them, even be civil and patient with them. As far as I’m concerned, I’m untouchable. They cannot touch my life anymore. They can do or say whatever they want, it’s my choice to ignore or walk away from them. I even allowed them to do nice things for me and I let myself appreciate it.
Even in phone calls since then, I don’t get irritated. If they talk about things I don’t care to listen to, I hold the phone away. In the same way as I often do, but without the annoyance, without the seething. I even contribute to the topic and try to explain when they don’t understand. Unlike before when I knew they wouldn’t understand what I would say and I would steamroll it by them anyway and let them ignore the fact that they had no idea what I had just said.
Apparently it’s making them happy. Good for them. Too bad they have no idea why it’s happening. It’s not because we’re getting along, it’s because they really, really do not matter to me anymore. Then they call and tell me if I want a new camera, I should just buy one and they would pay for it. Nice try, that’s them trying to gain control without even knowing it. That is how they used to assert their control. It doesn’t work anymore. Besides, I don’t have a job yet, they’d be paying for it anyway!
If I’m nice to them over the phone, I get rewarded. I jump through the hoops, I get a snack-treat, go buy yerself a camera. Nice try. I actually felt comfortable with it, too. I didn’t get off the phone with the usual antagonism. If they feel happy, that’s great. Truth in their reality is no longer my concern. When they try to lasso me with money or a new camera, it simply misses. Or rather, the lasso doesn’t exist anymore, it’s no longer part of my reality. They throw the lasso and I’m already in a different dimension. Maybe I always have been and I’m just starting to realize it.
I feel at peace about killing myself. I feel like I’ve released a load of bitterness and resentment. I feel now that I won’t kill myself filled with bitterness and hate. I can feel it as an attempt to accomplish something useful. I don’t feel that I need to because my life is unbearable. Now I can not want to, but still do it because it’s important.
My past is still here. My past is still a road that has led me to where I am now, the person I am now, and the damage is still here. It still needs to be healed. Becoming a ghost and addressing the source of my torment in that form is one way to do it. There may be a way to go about it while staying alive, but I’m not sure about it.
There is something very selfish about staying alive which would make me feel unsatisfied with my life. And I might have the chance to heal my soul, but it would leave the parents in their unenlightened, material delusion. It would be no benefit to them either. It would only reinforce their misconceptions and fool them into thinking that their lives were successful.
They are wrong. Their values and priorities are all wrong and it would be a disservice to them to give them the benefit of doubt to let them emphasize money and material gain. It would be wrong to passively allow them to be complacent with their position in society.
The dream shifted and there were metal stairs leading down from the parking area and it felt like New York City, still Winter. The next part I don’t remember so well. I lagged behind going down the stairs, I think I was doing something with my camera, so Liz had gone off. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a man about whom I don’t remember anything except that he was old and we struck up a conversation. In retrospect, he reminds me of Tony. Eventually he let me take pictures of him which I did. That’s all I remember along with having to change film, XP2, and taking pictures without a lens, just the body of the camera.
I went to New Jersey in August. Things have changed. I actually felt comfortable there. I walked around a lot. I went down Palisades Avenue to Dwight Englewood and then to Englewood. I went through Flat Rock Brook where I always used to go for solace and to get away. Everything seemed a lot smaller than I remember, starting with the sidewalks. Compared with hikes in California, Flat Rock Brook was puny. I went down to the Hudson River Boat Basin and walked along one of my old running paths on top of the Palisades. Not much of a run.
Everything was suddenly so detached. That is why it was so comfortable being there. It meant nothing that I grew up there and the familiarity of the landscape didn’t unnerve me or haunt me as it did in other times that I had returned. It felt like it was all behind me. Finally.
It was the same thing with being at the parents’ house. And strange about the parents, they really didn’t affect me much at all. Part of me just didn’t care anymore; most important, I felt that they couldn’t touch me anymore. They were no longer a threat. They didn’t have any control over my life anymore. Even their insidious suggestions, hints, and moralizing about my future had no affect over me. It was liberating.
Whereas before, I felt threatened by how they intended to control my life, now I could ignore it, laugh at it if I wanted to. The result was that I could tolerate them, even be civil and patient with them. As far as I’m concerned, I’m untouchable. They cannot touch my life anymore. They can do or say whatever they want, it’s my choice to ignore or walk away from them. I even allowed them to do nice things for me and I let myself appreciate it.
Even in phone calls since then, I don’t get irritated. If they talk about things I don’t care to listen to, I hold the phone away. In the same way as I often do, but without the annoyance, without the seething. I even contribute to the topic and try to explain when they don’t understand. Unlike before when I knew they wouldn’t understand what I would say and I would steamroll it by them anyway and let them ignore the fact that they had no idea what I had just said.
Apparently it’s making them happy. Good for them. Too bad they have no idea why it’s happening. It’s not because we’re getting along, it’s because they really, really do not matter to me anymore. Then they call and tell me if I want a new camera, I should just buy one and they would pay for it. Nice try, that’s them trying to gain control without even knowing it. That is how they used to assert their control. It doesn’t work anymore. Besides, I don’t have a job yet, they’d be paying for it anyway!
If I’m nice to them over the phone, I get rewarded. I jump through the hoops, I get a snack-treat, go buy yerself a camera. Nice try. I actually felt comfortable with it, too. I didn’t get off the phone with the usual antagonism. If they feel happy, that’s great. Truth in their reality is no longer my concern. When they try to lasso me with money or a new camera, it simply misses. Or rather, the lasso doesn’t exist anymore, it’s no longer part of my reality. They throw the lasso and I’m already in a different dimension. Maybe I always have been and I’m just starting to realize it.
I feel at peace about killing myself. I feel like I’ve released a load of bitterness and resentment. I feel now that I won’t kill myself filled with bitterness and hate. I can feel it as an attempt to accomplish something useful. I don’t feel that I need to because my life is unbearable. Now I can not want to, but still do it because it’s important.
My past is still here. My past is still a road that has led me to where I am now, the person I am now, and the damage is still here. It still needs to be healed. Becoming a ghost and addressing the source of my torment in that form is one way to do it. There may be a way to go about it while staying alive, but I’m not sure about it.
There is something very selfish about staying alive which would make me feel unsatisfied with my life. And I might have the chance to heal my soul, but it would leave the parents in their unenlightened, material delusion. It would be no benefit to them either. It would only reinforce their misconceptions and fool them into thinking that their lives were successful.
They are wrong. Their values and priorities are all wrong and it would be a disservice to them to give them the benefit of doubt to let them emphasize money and material gain. It would be wrong to passively allow them to be complacent with their position in society.
Friday, September 20, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
I took a short drive down Route 1, looking to find something to shoot, looking to find somewhere I hadn’t been before. I ended up at a beach in Linda Mar. There was Taco Bell right on the beach. Lots of surfers. It was another world. Houses right on the beach and houses with ramps for boats that went right into the water. Not vacation houses.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 18 (Ilford XP2)
The beach was in an inlet. I headed off to the left where there was a protrusion of land out into the ocean. There was a road that led to the cliff area and it was a short climb down to the bottom where it was rocky. People were fishing down there. I walked along the bottom of the cliffs, past the fishers, out towards the ocean.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 22 (Ilford XP2)
I guess it was kind of far. Eventually there were no more people fishing. Then I got to a point where I knew there were no more cliffs. The waves were rough and the rocks weren’t as easy to navigate. Crabs scuttled into the shadows as I approached. I thought about the crabs in Japan with carapaces that looked like soldiers’ faces. The ‘Tales of the Heike’.
I reached a point, an end, I knew that I had to go . . . up. I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t think I was. It didn’t even occur to me to turn and go back the way I came from. It was only moments after I realized I wasn’t going any further that I started climbing upwards.
So once again, I was going up a cliff thinking how stupid I was and how much I didn’t want to be there. Growing up on the East Coast, you feel safe anywhere you go. There was no where in nature to go where you really feel at risk for your life. Going up this cliff, it occurred to me that I was in serious shit. If I slipped and fell, I could very easily be killed. It would not be a matter of rolling and sliding and getting dirty and scratched up. It would be bouncing off sharp rocks, breaking bones, hitting my head, getting washed out to sea. Dramatic!
I kept going up. Going back down was no longer an option. I thought about how looking down would not be a very good idea. When I climbed my way to the top, it was a lonely triumph, but I was defiant looking back down at what I had climbed. I was on top of the ridge that stuck out into the ocean. From there I could see Point San Pedro which I had seen on the map. There was another inlet between that ridge and Point San Pedro called ‘Shelter Cove’.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 23 (Ilford XP2)
Walking along the ridge back to solid and safe ground wasn’t nearly as harrowing, but still mildly precarious in a few places. There were houses right on the beach in Shelter Cove. It was a private, secluded community. A road came out to them, but it wasn’t passable by car anymore. The road was all overgrown. The walk back on top the ridge wasn’t quite so far. I felt exhilarated.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 24 (Ilford XP2)
I spoke with one of the fishermen. His name was Tony. He was aged, he might have been Philippino, maybe Pacific Islander. I couldn’t tell much of what he was saying, but he was nice enough. He talked about beating people up in the past. He talked to me before I went down the cliffs and I approached him again when I returned along the top. I didn’t think to ask if I could take his portrait. He had a rugged face with a lot of character.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 18 (Ilford XP2)
The beach was in an inlet. I headed off to the left where there was a protrusion of land out into the ocean. There was a road that led to the cliff area and it was a short climb down to the bottom where it was rocky. People were fishing down there. I walked along the bottom of the cliffs, past the fishers, out towards the ocean.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 22 (Ilford XP2)
I guess it was kind of far. Eventually there were no more people fishing. Then I got to a point where I knew there were no more cliffs. The waves were rough and the rocks weren’t as easy to navigate. Crabs scuttled into the shadows as I approached. I thought about the crabs in Japan with carapaces that looked like soldiers’ faces. The ‘Tales of the Heike’.
I reached a point, an end, I knew that I had to go . . . up. I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t think I was. It didn’t even occur to me to turn and go back the way I came from. It was only moments after I realized I wasn’t going any further that I started climbing upwards.
So once again, I was going up a cliff thinking how stupid I was and how much I didn’t want to be there. Growing up on the East Coast, you feel safe anywhere you go. There was no where in nature to go where you really feel at risk for your life. Going up this cliff, it occurred to me that I was in serious shit. If I slipped and fell, I could very easily be killed. It would not be a matter of rolling and sliding and getting dirty and scratched up. It would be bouncing off sharp rocks, breaking bones, hitting my head, getting washed out to sea. Dramatic!
I kept going up. Going back down was no longer an option. I thought about how looking down would not be a very good idea. When I climbed my way to the top, it was a lonely triumph, but I was defiant looking back down at what I had climbed. I was on top of the ridge that stuck out into the ocean. From there I could see Point San Pedro which I had seen on the map. There was another inlet between that ridge and Point San Pedro called ‘Shelter Cove’.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 23 (Ilford XP2)
Walking along the ridge back to solid and safe ground wasn’t nearly as harrowing, but still mildly precarious in a few places. There were houses right on the beach in Shelter Cove. It was a private, secluded community. A road came out to them, but it wasn’t passable by car anymore. The road was all overgrown. The walk back on top the ridge wasn’t quite so far. I felt exhilarated.
Series IV, Roll 2, frame 24 (Ilford XP2)
I spoke with one of the fishermen. His name was Tony. He was aged, he might have been Philippino, maybe Pacific Islander. I couldn’t tell much of what he was saying, but he was nice enough. He talked about beating people up in the past. He talked to me before I went down the cliffs and I approached him again when I returned along the top. I didn’t think to ask if I could take his portrait. He had a rugged face with a lot of character.
Sunday, September 15, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
September 1996
So this is what it feels like knowing that I will never fall in love again. Attraction is just a game. Falling in love is not in my range of emotions anymore. It feels empty. Numb. Interesting. Love is so important.
Turns out that Susan was interested in me way back last Winter. She didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated and it never went anywhere. I actually did have a crush on her. All for the better; we weren’t exactly compatible. I never quite knew where she was coming from. Apparently neither of us were any good at showing our feelings or letting them be known.
I don’t think I can love anymore. Even hearing about Susan, it was just a fanciful thing. A tickling. There’s no way that I could have ever really fallen in love with Susan. We are too different. Just as I could never have fallen in love with Ana Claire.
Maybe I do know what love is. It’s not anything about a person. I still love Amina two and a half years after the fact and our last contact, and considering what happened between us, that’s an incredible statement. I can’t make a list of things about a person that would make me fall in love with her. Anything I can place on a list, I’ve already found and have been disappointed or betrayed by already. There are things I could like about a person, things that would attract me, interest me, but nothing that would necessarily make me fall in love with that person.
Love just happens. When it’s there, you know it. I just know I won’t ever love anyone again. I’m too damaged in myself, much too uncomfortable with who I am to trust myself or like myself being with someone else.
***********************************
Yukiko moved in at the beginning of the month. We get along alright even though she’s kind of conservative and hangs out with mostly white people. She’s one of those Asians.
If we didn’t have to live with each other, we wouldn’t even associate. She’s a lot better to live with than Jeff, who owns this house. He’s also conservative, but in addition he’s also a typical male. He's a male stereotype. He also has a good side, generous, but he's definitely not the type I would hang out with. Yukiko is clean, considerate, open and amiable. Personal feelings aside, she’s a good housemate.
***********************************
I’ve stopped cutting since I’ve moved back to San Francisco. I also haven’t had the drive to set any dates. Since August. The desire to set a date just hasn’t crossed my mind. As part of my personality, however, it’s always there.
Things have been changing. I feel that I have to kill myself, it’s part of my destiny and responsibility. It is what I’m supposed to do, not what I’m supposed to avoid. It’s not a test, but what is supposed to happen.
Sometimes I feel that suicide is not so attractive an option, but in those times I feel even more strongly that it is something I have to do. Those are the times, strangely enough, that I’m most certain that I should kill myself; when I really feel that I don’t want to. Suicide is not a desire that I should succumb to, but an end that I have to learn to accept.
I cannot die in peace. My soul is too tormented for that. I don’t want to. I think that when I die, I’ll spend some amount of time as a ghost of who I am now. Released, with no judgments. But present, damned, chained. But I think I will be reborn. I think I’ve been “good” enough and true enough to myself that I won’t be reborn in a worse position. But I hurt too much and I’m too attached to that hurt that I can’t advance. I have to settle and understand these issues before that happens. I can’t even rest and take a break from the cycle.
Maybe my role as a ghost will be to teach my parents something. They are the ones I’m to “haunt”. I think that my soul will only start to heal once I’ve expanded their minds beyond their narrow conception of life. If I can change them in some way, set them on some sort of path of realization, instead of the smug complacency in the comfort of their materialism, then I can go forward. The longer I live, the less time I’ll have to accomplish it. I need to heal. I’m a long ways from becoming what I want to become.
I want to kill myself for that reason. Because it is my destiny and it may put me in a position where I can do something that would give my life some meaning. Even though it is very unattractive that I care about my parents enough that I’m trying to set them on the right path.
So this is what it feels like knowing that I will never fall in love again. Attraction is just a game. Falling in love is not in my range of emotions anymore. It feels empty. Numb. Interesting. Love is so important.
Turns out that Susan was interested in me way back last Winter. She didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated and it never went anywhere. I actually did have a crush on her. All for the better; we weren’t exactly compatible. I never quite knew where she was coming from. Apparently neither of us were any good at showing our feelings or letting them be known.
I don’t think I can love anymore. Even hearing about Susan, it was just a fanciful thing. A tickling. There’s no way that I could have ever really fallen in love with Susan. We are too different. Just as I could never have fallen in love with Ana Claire.
Maybe I do know what love is. It’s not anything about a person. I still love Amina two and a half years after the fact and our last contact, and considering what happened between us, that’s an incredible statement. I can’t make a list of things about a person that would make me fall in love with her. Anything I can place on a list, I’ve already found and have been disappointed or betrayed by already. There are things I could like about a person, things that would attract me, interest me, but nothing that would necessarily make me fall in love with that person.
Love just happens. When it’s there, you know it. I just know I won’t ever love anyone again. I’m too damaged in myself, much too uncomfortable with who I am to trust myself or like myself being with someone else.
***********************************
Yukiko moved in at the beginning of the month. We get along alright even though she’s kind of conservative and hangs out with mostly white people. She’s one of those Asians.
If we didn’t have to live with each other, we wouldn’t even associate. She’s a lot better to live with than Jeff, who owns this house. He’s also conservative, but in addition he’s also a typical male. He's a male stereotype. He also has a good side, generous, but he's definitely not the type I would hang out with. Yukiko is clean, considerate, open and amiable. Personal feelings aside, she’s a good housemate.
***********************************
I’ve stopped cutting since I’ve moved back to San Francisco. I also haven’t had the drive to set any dates. Since August. The desire to set a date just hasn’t crossed my mind. As part of my personality, however, it’s always there.
Things have been changing. I feel that I have to kill myself, it’s part of my destiny and responsibility. It is what I’m supposed to do, not what I’m supposed to avoid. It’s not a test, but what is supposed to happen.
Sometimes I feel that suicide is not so attractive an option, but in those times I feel even more strongly that it is something I have to do. Those are the times, strangely enough, that I’m most certain that I should kill myself; when I really feel that I don’t want to. Suicide is not a desire that I should succumb to, but an end that I have to learn to accept.
I cannot die in peace. My soul is too tormented for that. I don’t want to. I think that when I die, I’ll spend some amount of time as a ghost of who I am now. Released, with no judgments. But present, damned, chained. But I think I will be reborn. I think I’ve been “good” enough and true enough to myself that I won’t be reborn in a worse position. But I hurt too much and I’m too attached to that hurt that I can’t advance. I have to settle and understand these issues before that happens. I can’t even rest and take a break from the cycle.
Maybe my role as a ghost will be to teach my parents something. They are the ones I’m to “haunt”. I think that my soul will only start to heal once I’ve expanded their minds beyond their narrow conception of life. If I can change them in some way, set them on some sort of path of realization, instead of the smug complacency in the comfort of their materialism, then I can go forward. The longer I live, the less time I’ll have to accomplish it. I need to heal. I’m a long ways from becoming what I want to become.
I want to kill myself for that reason. Because it is my destiny and it may put me in a position where I can do something that would give my life some meaning. Even though it is very unattractive that I care about my parents enough that I’m trying to set them on the right path.
Friday, September 06, 1996
Series IV, Roll 2 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Seacliffs, San Francisco:
Frame 10 - Close-up shot of the ruins of a concrete structure that I've shot many times with the Golden Gate in the background, including this time:
Frame 11
Frame 10 - Close-up shot of the ruins of a concrete structure that I've shot many times with the Golden Gate in the background, including this time:
Frame 11
Wednesday, September 04, 1996
Saturday, August 31, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
August 1996
Listen, Em, as far as I’m concerned, the message you were trying to convey was very clear. I’m not an idiot, I quite well know what you were going to say before you felt you had to say it. So unless there is any doubt or ambiguity in yourself as to the message you were trying to convey, I assure you that there is no need for you to feel that you have to clarify anything.
(And what was the message I was trying to clarify?)
You felt that our friendship was developing too fast, you may have felt that I was becoming “interested” in you, and that was simply not what you wanted. That’s fine. As a result, we understand that we will be seeing much less of each other. I, on my hand, accommodating character as I may be, am more than willing to oblige. I’m not here to bring conflict upon you, and it’s just as well and as easy for me to walk away from you, Cat, or anyone.
***********************************
I walked away from the one person I can say to have loved in any enduring manner. I don’t think that is such a bad thing. I think it drove home the first lesson that was ever introduced to me: to not be fooled by appearances. Amina was an appearance. The love was not. The point of relevance here is that if I can walk away from Amina, I can walk away from anyone; especially at the request of the person I’m walking away from.
My friendships with both Cat and Emily are finished. It seems like the simultaneous demise of both friendships indicates that there was a connection between the two. I don’t think so. They were separate. Cat and I stopped being friends before I left for New Jersey, and Emily immediately after. If either hadn’t happened, it was entirely possible that my friendship with the other may have continued.
When I was going out with Shiho, Amina became nothing. But once Shiho was out, it became apparent, that all things equal, Amina is the one I love first, and the one I love most. The immediacy of Shiho simply distracted from the fact. Cat’s friendship outlived Nobuko, but I never stopped thinking that Nobuko was special. Cat didn’t sink in as much as Nobuko, and in the end, Nobuko was much more valuable to me than Cat ever was. What was special about Nobuko didn’t disappear once we stopped being friends.
I don’t feel sorry at all that Cat is gone, I don’t regret it. Cat kept her distance well enough and offended me enough times so that I don’t feel anything about our friendship ending. Nobuko, I really enjoyed and loved her company. Emily really was nothing and is hardly worth this mention.
Listen, Em, as far as I’m concerned, the message you were trying to convey was very clear. I’m not an idiot, I quite well know what you were going to say before you felt you had to say it. So unless there is any doubt or ambiguity in yourself as to the message you were trying to convey, I assure you that there is no need for you to feel that you have to clarify anything.
(And what was the message I was trying to clarify?)
You felt that our friendship was developing too fast, you may have felt that I was becoming “interested” in you, and that was simply not what you wanted. That’s fine. As a result, we understand that we will be seeing much less of each other. I, on my hand, accommodating character as I may be, am more than willing to oblige. I’m not here to bring conflict upon you, and it’s just as well and as easy for me to walk away from you, Cat, or anyone.
***********************************
I walked away from the one person I can say to have loved in any enduring manner. I don’t think that is such a bad thing. I think it drove home the first lesson that was ever introduced to me: to not be fooled by appearances. Amina was an appearance. The love was not. The point of relevance here is that if I can walk away from Amina, I can walk away from anyone; especially at the request of the person I’m walking away from.
My friendships with both Cat and Emily are finished. It seems like the simultaneous demise of both friendships indicates that there was a connection between the two. I don’t think so. They were separate. Cat and I stopped being friends before I left for New Jersey, and Emily immediately after. If either hadn’t happened, it was entirely possible that my friendship with the other may have continued.
When I was going out with Shiho, Amina became nothing. But once Shiho was out, it became apparent, that all things equal, Amina is the one I love first, and the one I love most. The immediacy of Shiho simply distracted from the fact. Cat’s friendship outlived Nobuko, but I never stopped thinking that Nobuko was special. Cat didn’t sink in as much as Nobuko, and in the end, Nobuko was much more valuable to me than Cat ever was. What was special about Nobuko didn’t disappear once we stopped being friends.
I don’t feel sorry at all that Cat is gone, I don’t regret it. Cat kept her distance well enough and offended me enough times so that I don’t feel anything about our friendship ending. Nobuko, I really enjoyed and loved her company. Emily really was nothing and is hardly worth this mention.
Friday, August 30, 1996
Series IV, Roll 1 (Pentax K2, Tri-X): Fort Funston.
I love this series of this family at the beach at Fort Funston. They just look so happy. Shot from atop Fort Funston, and then down on the beach. All telephoto lens.
Frame 13 - you can see their shoes on the sand.
Frame 14
Frame 15
Frame 18
Frame 20 - not sure what that dark line is on the right side of all these shots. Don't think it was the camera. Maybe the film, maybe the processing.
Frame 13 - you can see their shoes on the sand.
Frame 14
Frame 15
Frame 18
Frame 20 - not sure what that dark line is on the right side of all these shots. Don't think it was the camera. Maybe the film, maybe the processing.
Tuesday, August 27, 1996
Full Moonrise Over Bayview-Hunters Point
Series IV, Roll 1, Frame 12 (Pentax K2, Tri-X) - This is where our rehearsal studio was off 3rd St. in Bayview-Hunters Point.
Sunday, August 25, 1996
Foggy Day at the Beach
Series IV, Roll 1, Frame 7, 8 (Pentax K2, Tri-X): Ocean Beach
Frame 9, sun trying to break through the fog:
Frame 9, sun trying to break through the fog:
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