Driving out of the canyon in the morning after it had rained all night.
Sequoia National Park:
Yosemite:
Showing posts with label color. Show all posts
Showing posts with label color. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 30, 2001
Color archive, 2001-2004
Kings Canyon:
Driving out of the canyon in the morning after it had rained all night.
Sequoia National Park:
Yosemite:
Driving out of the canyon in the morning after it had rained all night.
Sequoia National Park:
Yosemite:
Tuesday, October 23, 2001
In My Cube at Work
Taken with my new digital camera. Photo by Joyce.
11:56 A.M.
Visible in my cube: Poster from the Southern All-Stars CD "Young Love", lyrics to Modest Mouse's "Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset", poster of Akira Jimbo playing Yamaha Beech Customs in the same color as mine, Buddhist mandala calendar.
11:56 A.M.
Visible in my cube: Poster from the Southern All-Stars CD "Young Love", lyrics to Modest Mouse's "Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset", poster of Akira Jimbo playing Yamaha Beech Customs in the same color as mine, Buddhist mandala calendar.
Saturday, August 11, 2001
Voodoo Lounge
They were a cool all-girl band. I liked them, but never heard anything about them again. We played after them.
Saturday, July 28, 2001
Tuesday, January 23, 2001
Josefa's Birthday
We tried to have as much fun as possible in those days. We were a good team back then, before the changes.
Monday, January 01, 2001
Wednesday, December 20, 2000
The Tempest Gig, Soma, San Francisco
Lisa on bass.
I swear I don't usually look like that when I'm playing.
Saturday, October 30, 1999
Halloween
Chris and his girlfriend as a frisky Austin Powers and Ivana Humpalot.
I was "Bitter Spice", the Asian Spice Girl who got kicked out right before they got famous, even though she did most of the singing on the record.
Wednesday, July 07, 1999
Saturday, June 26, 1999
Saratoga Gap Half Marathon
I was "training" to attempt my second San Francisco Marathon in July by doing this half marathon. Doing this half marathon was no problem, but my training was so poor and haphazard that I ended up with a knee injury running the marathon that I never fully recovered from. It was effectively the end of my running. I think I tried running a 10K after this and was dismayed that my knee wasn't getting better, since in the past it had always recovered.
Audrey was in town, staying with her brothers in Palo Alto. When I told her about the race, she said she wanted to come along to spend time with me, even though I'd be out running for over two hours.
Monday, September 07, 1998
Marin Headlands
Look at those adorable sneakers. She was so cute.
We had a lot of problems, but when things were okay, we went out and did a lot of things.
Thursday, July 24, 1997
Supplemental - en route to Chiang Mai, Thailand
Color archive, Summer 1997, Roll 2, Frame 36 - She was a human rights worker from Australia who was staying at the camp for several months.
It rained all night and it was raining when we woke up. Occasionally the sun would break through, but not for long. We had serious concerns about our return to Mae Sariang, but the Burmese assured us that one way or another we would get back.
Frame 34
The problem was that during the rainy season, the river fills and the truck can't get through. All we could do was wait to see if the truck made it through. They had radio contact with the ABSDF office in Mae Sariang and they said the truck would definitely try to get through. Of course, Madoka and I were paying for the driver and his truck, which meant that our visit was two free supply runs to the camp. Supply runs can never be taken for granted, so it was important for them, too, that the truck get through.
We sat on a choice for a while, whether to stay at camp and wait for the truck, not being absolutely sure that it would make it through, or walk for three hours to a small "town" where the truck could pick us up because it wouldn't have to cross the river. It didn't take us too long to decide to start walking. We had to get to Chiang Mai by morning because Madoka had to meet some people. We started walking to give ourselves some assurance that we would get to Mae Sariang that day.
Once again, that walk was indescribable. It was three hours, but time was simply not a concern. The river was waist-high for me at times (higher for Madoka), and the current was dangerously strong at several points. I lost count how many times we crossed the river. It was just crossing after crossing, sometimes harder, sometimes easier, sometimes feeling it would never end. All the while we were trying to keep our cameras from getting wet. Finally after about three hours, at just about the last time we had to cross the river, the truck finally came into view on its way to the camp.
We were just glad to see them and to see that they were going to make it through. The truck had a modified exhaust system that would allow it to go through higher water. The Burmese who were guiding us got on the truck to go back to camp, and two people who came on the truck continued with Madoka and me to the small town where we were going to wait for the truck on its return after dropping off the supplies. Where we met the truck was the only point during the journey that I managed to get my camera out and take a single shot of the river. It was impossible to have taken pictures during the journey.
Series VI, Roll 8, Frame 19
It was at someone's home that we waited. It was getting dark, Madoka and I just stopped and rested. It took a couple of hours for the truck to return, by which time it was just about dark. This time, both Madoka and I were able to sit up front. The drive out was quite a different experience due to the rain that had fallen since our arrival. The mountain roads were treacherous and mud was piled along the side of the road the way snow is in Winter.
Our journey was delayed by a cattle truck that had gotten stuck in the mud. At first it was completely blocking the road. Our driver tried to help them out, but it was in vain. Numerous attempts were made to get it moving, including letting the cattle off of the truck. After over an hour, the cattle truck had almost fallen off the road and down into a valley, but it was out of our way. We had to go. I didn't notice if we gave the truck driver a ride. We might have.
We arrived in Mae Sariang close to 11:30 at night. There was a bus leaving for Chiang Mai at midnight. We unloaded the Burmese students at the ABSDF office, grabbed our bags, said goodbye to them and the driver drove us to the bus station, just in time to catch the crowded bus. We didn't care if it was crowded, we took what seats we could. I smelled so bad that I could barely stand it and felt sorry for the person sitting next to me. After the first stop, I managed to change my shirt and slept the rest of the way to Chiang Mai.
Wednesday, July 23, 1997
Supplemental - ABSDF refugee camp headquarters, Thailand
Most of the living huts have fire-pits that get lit every night for warmth and light. The guesthouse didn't really have a fire-pit, so they had to build a fire right on the floor and it smoldered through the night. The smoke also helps keep the mosquitoes away. After waking up, the students fed us and Madoka had arranged for us to be taken to another larger refugee camp.
Color archive, Summer 1997, Roll 2, Frame 37 (July 24, 1997)
The camp was about thirty minutes away on foot. Thirty minutes should have taken us pretty close to the river that marks the border between Burma and Thailand, but we didn't see it. The camp was certainly larger, holding about three thousand people, as opposed to eighty at the ABSDF camp. The structures were also larger and more worn down, and there were a lot more children and teenagers. The ABSDF camp was a refugee camp, but it was also a political headquarter for a movement comprised of ethnic Burman. This camp was a refugee camp of Karen who left Burma to escape persecution by the Burmese military.
Our contact at the camp was a woman who appeared to be in her fifties, but was probably in her forties, and spoke English pretty well. We went to her home where she fed us and where she gave us an interview that Madoka videotaped. The interview was about her experiences and how she got to camp and what she did prior. She also translated the stories of several other people including her sister who had recently arrived from Burma.
After the interviews, during which a Thai soldier, who was apparently sympathetic and friendly, dropped in, the woman took us around the camp. We visited the school, the chapel, and the hospital. The camp was composed of Christian Karen, thus the chapel. The last thing the woman told us before we left was to not forget about them.
Frame 29
Frame 30
Frame 31
Frame 32
Madoka and I walked back to the ABSDF camp with our guides. We were tired and dirty. I tried bathing in the river with the students and made the most of it. It had started raining the night before and it rained intermittently through the day, and apparently the increase of water flow makes the river muddy. I only had one shirt which was getting pretty ripe, but it felt good to feel water and run soap over myself.
Frame 33
They fed us and the students came over again at night to play music. Madoka and I both recorded the session and were glad to have remembered to do so, even though the second night wasn't quite as good as the first. They were all so good and they played together so well that it was uncanny, but I guess after nine years in the jungle with no other entertainment, they're going to get good and be able to play together really well. Five guitars would be playing at once and it still worked. One person would plunk out a bass line while one would riff out a lead part and they would just jam.
There was one refugee named Moren who had a great voice and was into music more than the others. The others were really good, but they weren't as focused on it as he was. I think that if they were all back in Rangoon, the others may or may not be doing music - at most it would be just a diversion or a hobby. Moren, I think would be doing music seriously.
Color archive, Summer 1997, Roll 2, Frame 37 (July 24, 1997)
The camp was about thirty minutes away on foot. Thirty minutes should have taken us pretty close to the river that marks the border between Burma and Thailand, but we didn't see it. The camp was certainly larger, holding about three thousand people, as opposed to eighty at the ABSDF camp. The structures were also larger and more worn down, and there were a lot more children and teenagers. The ABSDF camp was a refugee camp, but it was also a political headquarter for a movement comprised of ethnic Burman. This camp was a refugee camp of Karen who left Burma to escape persecution by the Burmese military.
Our contact at the camp was a woman who appeared to be in her fifties, but was probably in her forties, and spoke English pretty well. We went to her home where she fed us and where she gave us an interview that Madoka videotaped. The interview was about her experiences and how she got to camp and what she did prior. She also translated the stories of several other people including her sister who had recently arrived from Burma.
After the interviews, during which a Thai soldier, who was apparently sympathetic and friendly, dropped in, the woman took us around the camp. We visited the school, the chapel, and the hospital. The camp was composed of Christian Karen, thus the chapel. The last thing the woman told us before we left was to not forget about them.
Frame 29
Frame 30
Frame 31
Frame 32
Madoka and I walked back to the ABSDF camp with our guides. We were tired and dirty. I tried bathing in the river with the students and made the most of it. It had started raining the night before and it rained intermittently through the day, and apparently the increase of water flow makes the river muddy. I only had one shirt which was getting pretty ripe, but it felt good to feel water and run soap over myself.
Frame 33
They fed us and the students came over again at night to play music. Madoka and I both recorded the session and were glad to have remembered to do so, even though the second night wasn't quite as good as the first. They were all so good and they played together so well that it was uncanny, but I guess after nine years in the jungle with no other entertainment, they're going to get good and be able to play together really well. Five guitars would be playing at once and it still worked. One person would plunk out a bass line while one would riff out a lead part and they would just jam.
There was one refugee named Moren who had a great voice and was into music more than the others. The others were really good, but they weren't as focused on it as he was. I think that if they were all back in Rangoon, the others may or may not be doing music - at most it would be just a diversion or a hobby. Moren, I think would be doing music seriously.
Tuesday, July 22, 1997
Supplemental - ABSDF refugee camp headquarters, Thailand
Madoka and I checked out early in the morning following breakfast. The Japanese traveler was still there. We weren't sure if he'd be there because he thought he might leave before sunrise, but he ran into a money problem - he was running low and couldn't get any from the bank because of the holiday. We chatted a while longer, but we were cut off when some Burmese students on motorcycles arrived to take us to the ABSDF office.
This is what we were there for. It was overcast and dreary. Once we got to the office, we talked with some of the students there to show our interest and familiarize ourselves with some of the issues. After a couple hours, the truck that was to take us to the refugee camp arrived, and they started loading the truck up with supplies. They covered the supplies with tarp, and I rode on top with a bunch of students heading back to the camp. Madoka was able to ride up front in the pick-up's cabin.
Series VI, Roll 8 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 1
Frame 2
The experience of driving the four hours to camp was . . . indescribable. Driving out of Mae Sariang was beautiful, even on an overcast day at the beginning of the rainy season. The tropical greens were lush and the scenery was nevertheless interesting; life in the Thai countryside, so different than Bangkok; borderland areas which could have been something else other than Thai, had history's line-drawing in this region taken a different course.
Once we hit the first official Thai checkpoint, we were on mountain roads and that is what was indescribable. Six or seven of us clinging onto the ropes that were holding down the supplies, clinging on for dear life trying not to get thrown off into the mud. This went on for three hours, up and down mountains. At one point my hat got knocked off by a low-hanging branch and one of the Burmese banged on the cabin to signal the driver to stop. He ran off to retrieve my hat, even though it would have been fine with me if we had continued on. It was the Beans hat I got from Amina. The trek was an experience that I could not impart through words.
We were fortunate because even though the rainy season had started, it hadn't rained much and the creek that we had to cross maybe 15 times was still shallow and the truck had no trouble getting through. When we got close to the camp after hours of rattled bones and dusty mountain roads, we got off and walked the rest of the way. The Burmese were well familiar with the area, having made the trip enough times. The walk to the camp wasn't far. We crossed a very impressive footbridge that they had constructed out of bamboo, and walked up a small hill to where the camp was.
Frame 14 (July 23, 1997) - I shot this later, but this is the bridge.
The camp was situated squarely within jungle. Again, not something I can describe in words. I have photographs for that, but even photographs couldn't describe the feeling in being in a place where they shouldn't have been in at all, but were there because of the political turmoil in their country and their ongoing struggle against the military government.
There was a sense of community and purpose there. The refugees were eager to speak with us about Burma and their struggle. I think they felt that every visitor is a line thrown out to the outside world informing it about what is going on. This was a headquarters camp of the ABSDF, so many of the refugees had been students and most of them fled Burma after their participation in the democracy demonstrations that culminated in the military crackdown on August 8, 1988. Hundreds or thousands of students were massacred in a precursor to what would happen in Beijing less than a year later. Burma, being economically insignificant to the U.S., didn't get the media coverage that Beijing did. These students at the headquarters camp were young, intelligent, and knew the value of informing all outsiders of what was happening.
Soon after we got there, we got a tour and went around meeting families and seeing what facilities they've eked out of the jungle. They fed us and there was a "guest hut" with six bamboo platforms in which Madoka and I stayed. Madoka had some business of her own to take care of, sort of a fact-finding mission for her friends, the Kawasaki's, who are deeply involved in the refugee crisis and contribute and influence what goes on. So there were times where I had nothing to do but pace back and forth. It was a miserable situation to be forced into, and many students attested to the hardships they endured when they first left Burma.
Frame 5
Frame 6
Frame 7
Frame 8
Frame 9 - my records say the rest of these shots were taken on July 23, but I think they were all from July 22, including the one of the bridge. The person in Frame 8 is the same as this person.
Frame 10
Frame 11
Nine years they've been in the jungle, fighting and sending propaganda about the military government. One day you're a student taking classes, but then a movement starts and you believe in what is being promulgated, so you join the crowds. You support democracy and the feeling is good. You are on the side of righteousness and there is optimism in the prospects of change. Then the military shows up and they shoot at you and you run, and you run and run. You leave the city, your school, your classes, your family. Maybe you travel alone, maybe in a group. You just know you can't go back. The next few weeks you run and hide until you reach the border. Maybe you've heard of where you need to go to get out of the country, maybe there is a network to help you and point the way. You cross the border, you leave your country, your home, you have nothing. The reality sets in. A week ago you were just a student. Where do you go in another country?
After dark, there is little to do in the jungle. Some people have flashlights, but for longer periods of time, people use candles. For entertainment, there are a bunch of guitars floating around. Over the years, they learned songs and played together and picked out parts. That night, a bunch of the refugees came to the guest hut and played for hours, well into the timeless night. They knew some folk songs from the '60's and '70's. Most of the songs were Burmese folk songs, and there were some foreign songs that were translated into Burmese.
It was so very alive. Madoka appreciated it and thought it was wonderful, but...I don't know. There was a tension between us for some reason. It never got out of hand, but it also very rarely went completely away. Part of me wonders if Josephine had anything to do with it, but I have no evidence to support that. There were times that I felt a tiny bit critical of Madoka because she would so single-mindedly concentrate on the work; the plight of the refugees, and finding ways to solve problems. I felt that most during the guitar playing because I felt that she couldn't just relax and enjoy the moment, being surrounded by good people, playing really good music, being really into it, because music isn't helping the Cause.
We had to sleep under mosquito nets. The mosquitoes in the jungle are malarial and extremely aggressive. To me, it would have been unbearable. They made existence miserable and they were the leading factor which made me think ahead to our departure.
Frame 15
Frame 16
Frame 17
Frame 18
Color archive, Summer 1997, Roll 2
This is what we were there for. It was overcast and dreary. Once we got to the office, we talked with some of the students there to show our interest and familiarize ourselves with some of the issues. After a couple hours, the truck that was to take us to the refugee camp arrived, and they started loading the truck up with supplies. They covered the supplies with tarp, and I rode on top with a bunch of students heading back to the camp. Madoka was able to ride up front in the pick-up's cabin.
Series VI, Roll 8 (Pentax K2, Ilford XP2):
Frame 1
Frame 2
The experience of driving the four hours to camp was . . . indescribable. Driving out of Mae Sariang was beautiful, even on an overcast day at the beginning of the rainy season. The tropical greens were lush and the scenery was nevertheless interesting; life in the Thai countryside, so different than Bangkok; borderland areas which could have been something else other than Thai, had history's line-drawing in this region taken a different course.
Once we hit the first official Thai checkpoint, we were on mountain roads and that is what was indescribable. Six or seven of us clinging onto the ropes that were holding down the supplies, clinging on for dear life trying not to get thrown off into the mud. This went on for three hours, up and down mountains. At one point my hat got knocked off by a low-hanging branch and one of the Burmese banged on the cabin to signal the driver to stop. He ran off to retrieve my hat, even though it would have been fine with me if we had continued on. It was the Beans hat I got from Amina. The trek was an experience that I could not impart through words.
We were fortunate because even though the rainy season had started, it hadn't rained much and the creek that we had to cross maybe 15 times was still shallow and the truck had no trouble getting through. When we got close to the camp after hours of rattled bones and dusty mountain roads, we got off and walked the rest of the way. The Burmese were well familiar with the area, having made the trip enough times. The walk to the camp wasn't far. We crossed a very impressive footbridge that they had constructed out of bamboo, and walked up a small hill to where the camp was.
Frame 14 (July 23, 1997) - I shot this later, but this is the bridge.
The camp was situated squarely within jungle. Again, not something I can describe in words. I have photographs for that, but even photographs couldn't describe the feeling in being in a place where they shouldn't have been in at all, but were there because of the political turmoil in their country and their ongoing struggle against the military government.
There was a sense of community and purpose there. The refugees were eager to speak with us about Burma and their struggle. I think they felt that every visitor is a line thrown out to the outside world informing it about what is going on. This was a headquarters camp of the ABSDF, so many of the refugees had been students and most of them fled Burma after their participation in the democracy demonstrations that culminated in the military crackdown on August 8, 1988. Hundreds or thousands of students were massacred in a precursor to what would happen in Beijing less than a year later. Burma, being economically insignificant to the U.S., didn't get the media coverage that Beijing did. These students at the headquarters camp were young, intelligent, and knew the value of informing all outsiders of what was happening.
Soon after we got there, we got a tour and went around meeting families and seeing what facilities they've eked out of the jungle. They fed us and there was a "guest hut" with six bamboo platforms in which Madoka and I stayed. Madoka had some business of her own to take care of, sort of a fact-finding mission for her friends, the Kawasaki's, who are deeply involved in the refugee crisis and contribute and influence what goes on. So there were times where I had nothing to do but pace back and forth. It was a miserable situation to be forced into, and many students attested to the hardships they endured when they first left Burma.
Frame 5
Frame 6
Frame 7
Frame 8
Frame 9 - my records say the rest of these shots were taken on July 23, but I think they were all from July 22, including the one of the bridge. The person in Frame 8 is the same as this person.
Frame 10
Frame 11
Nine years they've been in the jungle, fighting and sending propaganda about the military government. One day you're a student taking classes, but then a movement starts and you believe in what is being promulgated, so you join the crowds. You support democracy and the feeling is good. You are on the side of righteousness and there is optimism in the prospects of change. Then the military shows up and they shoot at you and you run, and you run and run. You leave the city, your school, your classes, your family. Maybe you travel alone, maybe in a group. You just know you can't go back. The next few weeks you run and hide until you reach the border. Maybe you've heard of where you need to go to get out of the country, maybe there is a network to help you and point the way. You cross the border, you leave your country, your home, you have nothing. The reality sets in. A week ago you were just a student. Where do you go in another country?
After dark, there is little to do in the jungle. Some people have flashlights, but for longer periods of time, people use candles. For entertainment, there are a bunch of guitars floating around. Over the years, they learned songs and played together and picked out parts. That night, a bunch of the refugees came to the guest hut and played for hours, well into the timeless night. They knew some folk songs from the '60's and '70's. Most of the songs were Burmese folk songs, and there were some foreign songs that were translated into Burmese.
It was so very alive. Madoka appreciated it and thought it was wonderful, but...I don't know. There was a tension between us for some reason. It never got out of hand, but it also very rarely went completely away. Part of me wonders if Josephine had anything to do with it, but I have no evidence to support that. There were times that I felt a tiny bit critical of Madoka because she would so single-mindedly concentrate on the work; the plight of the refugees, and finding ways to solve problems. I felt that most during the guitar playing because I felt that she couldn't just relax and enjoy the moment, being surrounded by good people, playing really good music, being really into it, because music isn't helping the Cause.
We had to sleep under mosquito nets. The mosquitoes in the jungle are malarial and extremely aggressive. To me, it would have been unbearable. They made existence miserable and they were the leading factor which made me think ahead to our departure.
Frame 15
Frame 16
Frame 17
Frame 18
Color archive, Summer 1997, Roll 2
Tuesday, August 29, 1995
1347 La Loma, Berkeley
I think I've truly fallen in love with Shiho after all these years. She used to be just a backup, but now she is right at the forefront of my heart, overshadowing Amina in a way that Joy never did in the best of our relationship. But the nature of our relationship, the impossibility of us ever being together, has me perpetually poised for a break-up. I'm anticipating it. The feeling has put me in a crappy mood all day.
Living in a daze. Looking into the mirror, it felt like I hadn't quite fully awoken. Maybe on days that I awake fully, that's when I'm in a good mood. On other days I reach varying levels of being awake, and accordingly I'm in corresponding moods. Today I looked into the mirror and felt like I was looking at someone else.
I walked around all day in a daze. It did, however, make me more efficient. I didn't linger anywhere and wasn't distracted. I just did what I had to, no feeling about it. I went and got film for Nobuko and batteries for the camera I nabbed from New Jersey. The light meter is broken, it's not the battery. If I'm going to get into photography, I have to do what is necessary. After Corporations I brought my camera to the store to get it fixed. It'll take a week for them to give me an estimate. Just do it, don't be concerned about the outlay.
I don't want to work in an office, I don't want to push paper or do research and come up with things that I care nothing about. Bartending is do-able, but it means being social. I don't know if I can do it. I should look into sound engineering programs to see what it will take to be a sound tech. That's the kind of job I think I would enjoy.
I feel like I'm in the compensation stage of a break-up. I'm trying to fill the hole left by Shiho by making sure all aspects of my time and attention are occupied. Sweeping out discarded remnants of her memories. Looking at my life and future without accommodating her in any part of it. It hurts. Even though we haven't broken up yet.
Now I have this memory of visiting her in Japan, how this latest development started; her apartment, tiny, one-room, hardly enough for two people. She prepared bedding for me to sleep right below her bed. I didn't expect anything, I was just visiting Japan to see her and Madoka. Old friend, dear friend. She had just broken up with a boyfriend who had dumped her to be with another woman. Then at some point during the night, my eyes opened and her hand was right there. I thought she was asleep, but I touched and took her hand anyway. She wasn't asleep and her hand touched my face. It didn't take long before she drew me up into bed with her. More than ten years after we met. The first time.
Living in a daze. Looking into the mirror, it felt like I hadn't quite fully awoken. Maybe on days that I awake fully, that's when I'm in a good mood. On other days I reach varying levels of being awake, and accordingly I'm in corresponding moods. Today I looked into the mirror and felt like I was looking at someone else.
I walked around all day in a daze. It did, however, make me more efficient. I didn't linger anywhere and wasn't distracted. I just did what I had to, no feeling about it. I went and got film for Nobuko and batteries for the camera I nabbed from New Jersey. The light meter is broken, it's not the battery. If I'm going to get into photography, I have to do what is necessary. After Corporations I brought my camera to the store to get it fixed. It'll take a week for them to give me an estimate. Just do it, don't be concerned about the outlay.
I don't want to work in an office, I don't want to push paper or do research and come up with things that I care nothing about. Bartending is do-able, but it means being social. I don't know if I can do it. I should look into sound engineering programs to see what it will take to be a sound tech. That's the kind of job I think I would enjoy.
I feel like I'm in the compensation stage of a break-up. I'm trying to fill the hole left by Shiho by making sure all aspects of my time and attention are occupied. Sweeping out discarded remnants of her memories. Looking at my life and future without accommodating her in any part of it. It hurts. Even though we haven't broken up yet.
Now I have this memory of visiting her in Japan, how this latest development started; her apartment, tiny, one-room, hardly enough for two people. She prepared bedding for me to sleep right below her bed. I didn't expect anything, I was just visiting Japan to see her and Madoka. Old friend, dear friend. She had just broken up with a boyfriend who had dumped her to be with another woman. Then at some point during the night, my eyes opened and her hand was right there. I thought she was asleep, but I touched and took her hand anyway. She wasn't asleep and her hand touched my face. It didn't take long before she drew me up into bed with her. More than ten years after we met. The first time.
Saturday, July 01, 1995
1347 La Loma, Berkeley
I stood in the doorway, still, for about five minutes, looking into the dark, empty apartment, letting images, sounds, memories of the past year and three months freely come and go; my routines, my feelings walking through the door, who had been here, what I did here.
This had been home. It's hard to let go of something like that once it's gone. But I had stayed my welcome. Things were getting stagnant, it was getting old, difficult to deep the place clean, difficult to get out for fresh air because there was nowhere new to go and explore. It was time for a change and this move to Berkeley is the best thing.
My nightmare is still here. The difference is that the nightmare is now close to other people. Before I was able to keep people from seeing it, now it may be impossible. Things have been fun with Nobuko and Vikki these past few days, and it feels like living together can only be good. I know that's not true.
I wonder how well I'll be able to adjust to living up in the Berkeley hills. I had gotten used to minimal insect life. I don't even want to think about the spiders here. It's old and somewhat dank. Rustic. I don't know if the air quality is any better than in San Francisco. I'm still getting nosebleeds from my allergies to dust I'm also starting to get a touch of asthma again. I haven't had asthma since 1992.
I still want to die. I still wish in the abstract that I had stayed in San Francisco. Things just won't get better for me.
Last Thursday I went to 5:00 Mass at the Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. I looked up to the concrete ribbing along the ceiling of the cathedral and imagined it designed to appear to be inside the body of God. There seemed to be an intentional distance placed between the guests/audience/worshipers and the people who were singing, those close enough to God to actually participate and lead the Mass.
The voices of the singers/choir/chorus were absolutely glorious; God-like was probably the intention, and all ranges of voices reflected actively and beautifully off the concrete walls. The room was especially well-fitted for the pipe organ. The bass frequencies were enormous.
Why do I tend to interpret the physical world in terms of signs and metaphor? That's the way I've been trained, it has almost become automatic. It's not conceit, it's not pride, it's just the way I am.
The cathedral made me think about distance from God and it made me think about how huge and definite my distance from God is. If I have spiritual aptitude, then why this distance? Maybe there is a reason why there is this distance. The spiritual aptitude may be what I've gained through however many lifetimes; it's just me. The distance may be the result of suicide. Maybe more than one. Maybe I keep committing suicide and each one pushes me further from God and increases the distance. I feel that I know that I'm going to commit suicide in this life as well. It's just a given. And that is the struggle of this distance. It raises the doubt in me whether I will do it.
Wednesday, June 07, 1995
247 19th Ave., #2 San Francisco
Spring semester ended peacefully enough. In retrospect, at least. It's hard to look back at exam period objectively. Catharsis - it lends well to a rose-tinted recollection.
I went through two all-nighters before morning exams. At 4:36 a.m. before my Property exam, if I had a gun in the apartment I would have shot myself. But I finished all my exams and used all of the available time. I ended up really liking three of my professors and respecting the fourth. I think I did alright this semester and I'm in Summer session now without having received any indication that I've failed out. No "Dear John" from the Dean.
Summer session. Revealing to me once again how I'm swimming upstream. I can force myself to read the material with a fervor, I can generally follow court decisions and rationales, I even find myself forming strong opinions from case to case; but this is not stuff I would independently think about. This is not stuff I want to put any effort into.
Everything ended in May. My last exam was on May 18. SHAG then had its performances which ended on May 21. May 21 was also the Bay to Breakers, which is always an event. The best ad for it was: "Spain has the Running of the Bulls. We have the Running of the Giant Boxes of Macaroni & Cheese". I came in 744th place, which isn't bad in a field of 75,000. Joy and I broke up on May 22. I finished my demo on May 24 and had a master copy on the next day, May 25. Law school, music, running, and a relationship all winding down to an end.
SHAG 1995
Things have also started. Summer session, some new song material. I've gotten back in touch with Madoka, and I'll be moving to Berkeley at the end of the month. Nobuko and Lisa were looking for housing, and they ended up only finding a house for four people. So they asked me and since then, we've gotten Vikki into this. I felt honored at having been asked into what they were hoping would be a women's space.
Berkeley. I'm moving away from the ocean. The ocean and its solace, peaceful in its vastness; its expanse and the mystery of what it hides; forbidding and its constant invitation. I take a gun and put it in a ziplock bag and hang it around my neck. One night I swim out into the ocean on a boogie board as far as I can go. When I get tired and I'm so far out that I can't even think of trying to swim back, I remove the gun and shoot myself in the mouth. The gunshot muffled and dull, no echoes, silence comes quick.
I'm pretty happy about the tape I made. I got a lot out regarding Amina. It's cathartic, it's an expression of my feelings towards her. I feel much better now it's done and can move on without hating her. I'm moving out of hatred and into the true opposite of love - indifference.
I went through two all-nighters before morning exams. At 4:36 a.m. before my Property exam, if I had a gun in the apartment I would have shot myself. But I finished all my exams and used all of the available time. I ended up really liking three of my professors and respecting the fourth. I think I did alright this semester and I'm in Summer session now without having received any indication that I've failed out. No "Dear John" from the Dean.
Summer session. Revealing to me once again how I'm swimming upstream. I can force myself to read the material with a fervor, I can generally follow court decisions and rationales, I even find myself forming strong opinions from case to case; but this is not stuff I would independently think about. This is not stuff I want to put any effort into.
Everything ended in May. My last exam was on May 18. SHAG then had its performances which ended on May 21. May 21 was also the Bay to Breakers, which is always an event. The best ad for it was: "Spain has the Running of the Bulls. We have the Running of the Giant Boxes of Macaroni & Cheese". I came in 744th place, which isn't bad in a field of 75,000. Joy and I broke up on May 22. I finished my demo on May 24 and had a master copy on the next day, May 25. Law school, music, running, and a relationship all winding down to an end.
SHAG 1995
Things have also started. Summer session, some new song material. I've gotten back in touch with Madoka, and I'll be moving to Berkeley at the end of the month. Nobuko and Lisa were looking for housing, and they ended up only finding a house for four people. So they asked me and since then, we've gotten Vikki into this. I felt honored at having been asked into what they were hoping would be a women's space.
Berkeley. I'm moving away from the ocean. The ocean and its solace, peaceful in its vastness; its expanse and the mystery of what it hides; forbidding and its constant invitation. I take a gun and put it in a ziplock bag and hang it around my neck. One night I swim out into the ocean on a boogie board as far as I can go. When I get tired and I'm so far out that I can't even think of trying to swim back, I remove the gun and shoot myself in the mouth. The gunshot muffled and dull, no echoes, silence comes quick.
I'm pretty happy about the tape I made. I got a lot out regarding Amina. It's cathartic, it's an expression of my feelings towards her. I feel much better now it's done and can move on without hating her. I'm moving out of hatred and into the true opposite of love - indifference.
Monday, August 22, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
We didn't get out of bed until after noon on Saturday. I had to get back to San Francisco to get my drums for the R&B band's gig that night. I was pretty zonked.
We had only gotten to sleep after 4:30 because we ended up talking about "us". She wasn't sure how far into a relationship I wanted to go because of things I'd said and she wanted to respect that. I stupidly embarked on a discourse of my love for her. To make a long story short, I spent a long time basically telling her that I did want to be in a relationship with her, regardless of what I had said before. Most definitely.
She came to the performance that night. It was so-so. It would have been decent if certain song format mistakes weren't made. I could deal with performance mistakes or even poor energy, but when someone doesn't come in when they are supposed to and stands there looking stupid, or when someone isn't doing something when they're suppose to and also looks stupid while making other people look stupid, then it's not a performance I want to keep for the record or remember.
I should have known. From now on, that's the lowest standard of proficiency in musicians I work with. They must be able to remember song maps and know what goes where. They don't have to be great, they don't have to be amazing, but they have to know what to do when.
We had only gotten to sleep after 4:30 because we ended up talking about "us". She wasn't sure how far into a relationship I wanted to go because of things I'd said and she wanted to respect that. I stupidly embarked on a discourse of my love for her. To make a long story short, I spent a long time basically telling her that I did want to be in a relationship with her, regardless of what I had said before. Most definitely.
She came to the performance that night. It was so-so. It would have been decent if certain song format mistakes weren't made. I could deal with performance mistakes or even poor energy, but when someone doesn't come in when they are supposed to and stands there looking stupid, or when someone isn't doing something when they're suppose to and also looks stupid while making other people look stupid, then it's not a performance I want to keep for the record or remember.
I should have known. From now on, that's the lowest standard of proficiency in musicians I work with. They must be able to remember song maps and know what goes where. They don't have to be great, they don't have to be amazing, but they have to know what to do when.
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