So what are my thoughts these days? What is my life these days? Am I resigned to dying on my 34th birthday?
I don’t care about much. My life doesn’t mean very much. It really isn’t going anywhere worth living past 34. I’ve said it all before already. I’m not here for the same reason as most people – to live this life, to ascribe to some normative matrix that defines what we’re supposed to do between birth and death.
Career doesn’t mean anything to me. Friends, I don’t feel I really have any friends. Love, love is insignificant at this point. Music, it’s just a distraction. The family website is worth while, it’s not for me, it’s for descendants, and I think I can lay the appropriate groundwork for the website by the time I’m 34 and done.
I don’t need to move out of this apartment, I don’t need to move out of this city. I don’t need to change jobs, I don’t need to find the perfect band, I don’t need to write songs, I don’t need to figure out all the loose ends. I just need to make it to my 34th birthday and know what I want to accomplish by then.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, September 23, 2001
Wednesday, August 29, 2001
1557 Noe Street, San Francisco
It is August 29, 2001. I am 32 years old. I will be 33 in February 2002. I’ve always said that I want to die when I’m 34. I’ll be 34 in February 2003. It’s less than a year and a half until I turn 34.
I think I want to die on my 34th birthday! I thought of that and I felt immediately happy! I think I will dedicate my time until then to getting the groundwork for the family website, and just continue doing whatever else I’m doing, knowing that my 34th birthday is my end-date. I can keep doing music, I can keep hanging out with friends with a relationship totally out of the question, and I don’t need to cut anymore. Focus it all on February 17, 2003.
I think I want to die on my 34th birthday! I thought of that and I felt immediately happy! I think I will dedicate my time until then to getting the groundwork for the family website, and just continue doing whatever else I’m doing, knowing that my 34th birthday is my end-date. I can keep doing music, I can keep hanging out with friends with a relationship totally out of the question, and I don’t need to cut anymore. Focus it all on February 17, 2003.
Monday, May 21, 2001
1557 Noe Street, San Francisco
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is getting out of control. I don’t know how much longer I can hold this together. I read today that death is not an event, it’s a process. It is a process. When I die, it will not be an event, it will not be a moment. It will be the culmination of a process that began a long time ago. I’m starting to spiral out of control again.
Starting from June 1st, our benefits kick in and I will start going to therapy. I don’t want help. I don’t want to be “cured”. I just want to know what a professional thinks of me. I just want that opinion of what the medical establishment thinks of me.
Starting from June 1st, our benefits kick in and I will start going to therapy. I don’t want help. I don’t want to be “cured”. I just want to know what a professional thinks of me. I just want that opinion of what the medical establishment thinks of me.
Wednesday, October 25, 2000
1557 Noe Street, San Francisco
This Friday, friends of Ritu in New York are having a gathering to remember her and celebrate Diwali, the Indian festival of lights. I've been collecting candles from people who wanted to send candles and have them lit at the gathering.
Saturday, October 14, 2000
1557 Noe Street, San Francisco
"Hi friends,
You might decide to not read this or save it until after hours or an appropriate time.
Saturday was the one month mark of Ritu’s passing. When Ritu died, I was jealous of her, and the next day I got a horoscope telling me not to be jealous of other people's accomplishments and to write thank you notes instead. So this is the note I wrote to her. I took it to Land's End on Saturday with the candle container of the candle I'd been burning for her for the last month and burned the letter in the candle container and set it off into the ocean.
Dear Ritu,
This is a thank you note, the intentions of which I hope will reach you in some form wherever you are.
I want to thank you for being who you were, as you were, and for entering my life. That is all. That is all that is needed for me to thank you and to be thankful to you.
I didn't know you that long or that well or that deeply, nevertheless your presence through your absence is deeply felt. And that, perhaps, is the value of having been alive, having lived.
Having touched my life by having been in it, I miss you. I miss your presence, I miss knowing that you are somewhere out there in a form I would recognise, a form in which I could say, "Ritu?" and you could say, "what?"
I will remember your face, your love of orchids, your love of orange, of Eddie Vedder's voice, your passion for the music that touched you, your tactile appreciation; you loved life more than I ever will and you touched it more deeply than I ever will.
I will also remember your pain and your struggle for compassion. I had very little good to say about you in the last month, but now that you're gone, it has all been placed into perspective. We all have our pain, we all have our struggle, and we all deal with and express them in our own individual ways that may be perceived differently by other people. I didn't understand your struggle, but now I recognise it for what it was, and that it was just yours, not for me to understand or solve or resolve or cure.
So thank you and godspeed. Go on your journey and always come as you are. In whatever time or place I meet you again, if I recognise you on some level, know that I will welcome you.
On behalf of Josefa, Barb, Cass, Wayne, Angela, Lorena, Zenaida, Jeptha, and anyone else who shares the sentiment but I don't know about, thank you. Take this burned candle, this incense, and this song for you and go. If we are to meet again, insha'allah, in this I believe."
Today was the month anniversary of Ritu's death. The day after we got the news, I drove Josefa home to Vallejo and there was a candle in a glass cylinder in the kitchen. I mentioned that I wanted to get one of those and burn it constantly for Ritu. On Monday, Josefa brought the candle in and said her mother gave it to me. I haven't been burning it constantly for obvious fire hazard reasons, but I've been burning it all day at work for the past month, which is in itself still a fire code violation, I shouldn't wonder. It finally burned out this past Thursday just before I left work.
So tonight, I wrote a thank you note to Ritu, took the glass cylinder and incense and went to Sea Cliff to burn the letter and the incense and throw the cylinder and the ashes into the ocean.
It took a long time to burn the letter because it wasn't catching and the long-tip lighter I was using was just about exhausted. I didn't burn the letter completely, there was a piece of it that I finally gave up on, and I shoved the lighter into the cylinder and chucked it all into the ocean. If Ritu wants to read it, she can burn the rest of it herself. Of course, it doesn't work that way and she probably won't get the part that didn't burn. I played a tune on shakuhachi until the incense burned out and left.
You might decide to not read this or save it until after hours or an appropriate time.
Saturday was the one month mark of Ritu’s passing. When Ritu died, I was jealous of her, and the next day I got a horoscope telling me not to be jealous of other people's accomplishments and to write thank you notes instead. So this is the note I wrote to her. I took it to Land's End on Saturday with the candle container of the candle I'd been burning for her for the last month and burned the letter in the candle container and set it off into the ocean.
Dear Ritu,
This is a thank you note, the intentions of which I hope will reach you in some form wherever you are.
I want to thank you for being who you were, as you were, and for entering my life. That is all. That is all that is needed for me to thank you and to be thankful to you.
I didn't know you that long or that well or that deeply, nevertheless your presence through your absence is deeply felt. And that, perhaps, is the value of having been alive, having lived.
Having touched my life by having been in it, I miss you. I miss your presence, I miss knowing that you are somewhere out there in a form I would recognise, a form in which I could say, "Ritu?" and you could say, "what?"
I will remember your face, your love of orchids, your love of orange, of Eddie Vedder's voice, your passion for the music that touched you, your tactile appreciation; you loved life more than I ever will and you touched it more deeply than I ever will.
I will also remember your pain and your struggle for compassion. I had very little good to say about you in the last month, but now that you're gone, it has all been placed into perspective. We all have our pain, we all have our struggle, and we all deal with and express them in our own individual ways that may be perceived differently by other people. I didn't understand your struggle, but now I recognise it for what it was, and that it was just yours, not for me to understand or solve or resolve or cure.
So thank you and godspeed. Go on your journey and always come as you are. In whatever time or place I meet you again, if I recognise you on some level, know that I will welcome you.
On behalf of Josefa, Barb, Cass, Wayne, Angela, Lorena, Zenaida, Jeptha, and anyone else who shares the sentiment but I don't know about, thank you. Take this burned candle, this incense, and this song for you and go. If we are to meet again, insha'allah, in this I believe."
Today was the month anniversary of Ritu's death. The day after we got the news, I drove Josefa home to Vallejo and there was a candle in a glass cylinder in the kitchen. I mentioned that I wanted to get one of those and burn it constantly for Ritu. On Monday, Josefa brought the candle in and said her mother gave it to me. I haven't been burning it constantly for obvious fire hazard reasons, but I've been burning it all day at work for the past month, which is in itself still a fire code violation, I shouldn't wonder. It finally burned out this past Thursday just before I left work.
So tonight, I wrote a thank you note to Ritu, took the glass cylinder and incense and went to Sea Cliff to burn the letter and the incense and throw the cylinder and the ashes into the ocean.
It took a long time to burn the letter because it wasn't catching and the long-tip lighter I was using was just about exhausted. I didn't burn the letter completely, there was a piece of it that I finally gave up on, and I shoved the lighter into the cylinder and chucked it all into the ocean. If Ritu wants to read it, she can burn the rest of it herself. Of course, it doesn't work that way and she probably won't get the part that didn't burn. I played a tune on shakuhachi until the incense burned out and left.
Sunday, October 01, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
It's been just over two weeks since we got the news of Ritu's death, and my whole life feels different now. Work is completely different with Theresa and Josefa and having moved to the 18th floor. No more 13th floor.
In these past two weeks, Fiction hired a new guitarist and got a gig booked. Anita and I have cut communications. Our friendship was at its end, Ritu's death finalized it.
These past two weeks have been trying times; Ritu's death was just an undercurrent. The impact was considerable, but with everything else going on, her death now feels like it is far in the past.
In these past two weeks, Fiction hired a new guitarist and got a gig booked. Anita and I have cut communications. Our friendship was at its end, Ritu's death finalized it.
These past two weeks have been trying times; Ritu's death was just an undercurrent. The impact was considerable, but with everything else going on, her death now feels like it is far in the past.
Sunday, September 17, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
Aquarius: Look at all that's right about your life. Stop feeling jealous of what other people have and what they've accomplished. You are making yourself crazy making such comparisons. There will always be people who have accomplished more than you, and those who've done less than you as well. You must count your blessings. You have much to be grateful for. With your friends, practice being happy for them, not jealous. Compliment, praise and rejoice in their achievements. Send thank you cards. Your heart will become involved with practice.
Saturday, September 16, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
Hi friends,
Please take a moment and give a thought to my former boss and friend, Ritu, who died this past week of kidney failure. As tortured a soul she was, she deserves all positive thoughts, even though she's in a better place and wouldn't trade places with me or any of us to be back here. In fact, she's probably personally gloating at me from wherever she is.
It's my belief that this is what she wanted. She went through a crisis during the month of August which culminated in her taking a leave of absence from work, returning to her family in New York, and entering rehab for two weeks to kick alcohol.
I believe that she had reached a point that she realized what she had to do to get her life back on track and to progress, but felt deep inside that she didn't have the tools to accomplish it. So she hit 'restart', hit the abort switch, and with luck and whatever good karma she developed in this life, that realization will be a seed within her in her next life, without the experience baggage that disenabled her in this life.
I've been dealing with this with my co-workers who were also close to her and we're moving on. We all have our separate memories to preserve, we're going through this in our own separate ways and supporting each other, and we're going to stop talking about it real soon, I shouldn't wonder. We'll just drink to her as often as we drink together and let it be . –koji
Please take a moment and give a thought to my former boss and friend, Ritu, who died this past week of kidney failure. As tortured a soul she was, she deserves all positive thoughts, even though she's in a better place and wouldn't trade places with me or any of us to be back here. In fact, she's probably personally gloating at me from wherever she is.
It's my belief that this is what she wanted. She went through a crisis during the month of August which culminated in her taking a leave of absence from work, returning to her family in New York, and entering rehab for two weeks to kick alcohol.
I believe that she had reached a point that she realized what she had to do to get her life back on track and to progress, but felt deep inside that she didn't have the tools to accomplish it. So she hit 'restart', hit the abort switch, and with luck and whatever good karma she developed in this life, that realization will be a seed within her in her next life, without the experience baggage that disenabled her in this life.
I've been dealing with this with my co-workers who were also close to her and we're moving on. We all have our separate memories to preserve, we're going through this in our own separate ways and supporting each other, and we're going to stop talking about it real soon, I shouldn't wonder. We'll just drink to her as often as we drink together and let it be . –koji
Saturday, August 26, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
Last weekend I went to Lake Tahoe for the first time. I was just tagging along with some folks I had met who were going there for a wedding.
On Saturday when they went to the wedding, I decided to rent a bike and ride around the Lake. I figured it couldn't be that hard. The shoreline measured about 71 miles, but since it's around a lake, it must be flat, right? Right?! And 71 miles was just a little more than twice the length of the Tour de Peninsula. No problem, right? Right?!
I started in South Lake Tahoe and started going counter-clockwise around the Lake on Route 50. It wasn't easy, it was very, very hard.
The shoreline of Lake Tahoe being mostly private property, the only way around is to stay on the paved roads, minor highways really, certainly not flat. For some reason, this discovery did not deter my original justification for why it shouldn't be a problem riding around the Lake.
I encountered a considerable hill after not long, but I was pretty fresh so it wasn't too bad. I was actually psyched going up it, like I was conquering it. Il Pirata eat your heart out (not!).
The hill peaked at the intersection of Rte 50 and Rte 28, and I went down the hill of Rte 28, and as I was going down I started questioning whether I could make it all the way around. Hill descended, I stopped to rest at a place called Sand Harbor which was at Lake level. It had taken me two hours to get there and it was only one third the way around. If I wanted to turn around and go back, I would have to tackle that hill again, not an attractive prospect. Maybe the rest of the way around the lake was fairly flat. I decided to push on, relying on that unfounded belief, and accepting the fact that this was not going to be an easy ride.
An easy ride it was not - I continued but I realized that I was losing my legs. I stopped to get something to eat at a bagel shop, but it didn't help much. Eventually, even small upgrades became a challenge and slowed me down. I started getting cramps in my legs and had to stop and stretch every once in a while. At least I was right about it being fairly flat. Well, mostly right. After a while, I had no legs left, but I pushed on by sheer will. I gained some energy as I made it to the two-thirds mark and had a feeling I could really accomplish this.
The last third started off OK; bike lanes and paths made for a less harrowing ride. And then I hit what I feared – a large hill. I had no legs, I had no water and was dehydrating, but all I could do was put the bike in lowest gear and crawl up the hill. But the hill went on and on, it seemed like it would never end. I put my mind in a zone and just kept the gears cranking, but it was too much. As the hill continued with no end in sight, I cursed and yelled. I was cursing at God. I couldn't believe that there was this huge hill at the very end of the ride. This was surely some cruel joke God was having fun with.
Finally I reached the top. My legs were wasted and I just coasted on the downhill. And then I couldn't believe it, another hill looking even longer! I was cracking, I wasn't psychologically prepared for it, but I kept pushing up the hill. My mind was racing and I was trying to calm it. Why a hill at the very end of the ride? The end is where I needed it to be flat and be able to take it easy to the finish. Anywhere else a huge hill would have been better. When I reached the top, I didn't trust it. I coasted down the hills actively relaxing my legs waiting for the next hill.
The downhill didn't feel nearly as long as the uphill, but it finally leveled out without another uphill, but it still wasn't easy. I was crawling along until I finally saw the sign for South Lake Tahoe. It was an experience, and an accomplishment; an accomplishment I'd like to forget.
Seven hours on the saddle. Something NOT in my ability to do.
***************************
I thought I had wrecked my knees on the ride, but on Monday morning they felt fine, so I decided to ride into work. When I got to work, my back was starting to get sore.
The soreness continued through Tuesday, and on Wednesday morning, I woke up and I could barely move. It took all the effort I could muster to simply turn over. Then I had to climb down off my loft bed, and get ready for work. It took me forever to get to work because I had to walk slow step by slow, painful step. I took Muni because there was no way I could ride.
When I got to work, walking like a zombie, I immediately asked Zenaida, a co-worker, to get me a phone book and I called my chiropractor, Dr. Wonson, and got an appointment for 10:00. Aside from falling in love with her, her treatment got me through the rest of the day, but I was in pretty bad shape by the end of it. I made it to rehearsal that night, though. Sitting and playing drums wasn't too bad.
On Thursday morning, my back was just as bad. I had an appointment with Dr. Wonson at 2:15, so I had to get through the day until then. Afterwards, I was well enough to stay late at work. I hadn't been able to get much work done and I was falling way behind and I'm going on vacation next week.
Friday morning was a little better. It wasn't as hard getting out of bed, and I had an appointment for 9:30, so I went to work, turned on my computer and then went to see Dr. Wonson. It was still hard getting through the day, I was pretty stiff, but I could definitely feel I was getting better.
Dr. Wonson showed me my X-rays and showed me how bad it was. My spine was distinctly bent to the left. Barb, one of my co-workers who once was studying to go into physical therapy, reasoned that the 72 mile ride around Tahoe with monster hills, on a bike that was several inches too big, tweaked my muscles so hard that now they were wrenching my spine off center. Dr. Wonson was working to get my muscles and bones back to normal. The first thing she noted when she examined me was that my back muscles were really cold, indicating that my circulation was really bad.
Although I was much better on Friday, Dr. Wonson wasn't really satisfied with my progress. She had been heating my back muscles and adjusting me and I was still pretty bad off. She ran me through some acupressure exercises and decided she wanted to start me on acupuncture on Monday. After one exercise she asked me if I was going through any stress.
Was I going through stress?!! Let me tell you stress!
I didn't say that, but I told her about Ritu and work. Somehow, from the exercise, she felt there was some other external factors contributing to the problem.
***************************
My back really overshadowed my transition at work. The new attorney, Theresa, came in on Monday and she's learning the ropes at the firm, so we haven't had much interaction aside from introduction, but my cases are gradually going to be transferred to her. Angela apparently is not pleased that she didn't get me on her team, but there is no way that I can work for Angela.
This morning I had the easiest time getting out of bed since Wednesday. I had no problem turning over. I'm still stiff, but I'm much more mobile than I have been. It still hurts to stand up, but I'm feeling positive about recovering.
What a month it has been. Everything had been going so well until August 1st when Ritu hit the wall. That was the day I took off from work to take care of the psychic convergence that occurred at the end of July, when everything ran down. Somehow I must have sensed what was going to happen. If it hadn't happened? It had to have happened. It couldn't have gone on the way it was going. But if it didn't happen, things would have gone on normally.
Theresa would have joined the firm without affecting me at all, I wouldn't have had to deal with Angela and Stacey concerning my new assignment. But the cases I had that were floundering would still be floundering under Ritu. I had cases that had huge problems and Ritu wasn't doing anything to help me fix them. Would I have gone to Tahoe? I don't know, I may not have felt the need to get out of town. Considering the aftermath of going to Tahoe, I would bet that I wouldn't have gone.
***************************
We all have to die some time. I was thinking hard about that today on my way home from doing overtime at work. Passing all the people out on a Saturday night, old people who were walking like me, like they were in pain. I never thought that they might be in pain, I just thought of them as old. Young people searching for something to do, having fun, healthy, lives in front of them, going through their own dramas, taking for granted that they could walk. Homeless people, disfigured people, babies in strollers, tourists from out of town, taxi drivers at their jobs.
We all have to die some time. I thought really hard about that fact. We all have to die some time. We are all going to die some time. We will die as plainly as we are living. But we have no problem dealing with the issue that we are alive. We do have a problem, as a society, dealing with the fact that we will die, of our mortality. If we are so unhealthy about the way we treat and deal with death. We can't be very healthy about the way we treat and deal with life. Ain’t that the truth?
On Saturday when they went to the wedding, I decided to rent a bike and ride around the Lake. I figured it couldn't be that hard. The shoreline measured about 71 miles, but since it's around a lake, it must be flat, right? Right?! And 71 miles was just a little more than twice the length of the Tour de Peninsula. No problem, right? Right?!
I started in South Lake Tahoe and started going counter-clockwise around the Lake on Route 50. It wasn't easy, it was very, very hard.
The shoreline of Lake Tahoe being mostly private property, the only way around is to stay on the paved roads, minor highways really, certainly not flat. For some reason, this discovery did not deter my original justification for why it shouldn't be a problem riding around the Lake.
I encountered a considerable hill after not long, but I was pretty fresh so it wasn't too bad. I was actually psyched going up it, like I was conquering it. Il Pirata eat your heart out (not!).
The hill peaked at the intersection of Rte 50 and Rte 28, and I went down the hill of Rte 28, and as I was going down I started questioning whether I could make it all the way around. Hill descended, I stopped to rest at a place called Sand Harbor which was at Lake level. It had taken me two hours to get there and it was only one third the way around. If I wanted to turn around and go back, I would have to tackle that hill again, not an attractive prospect. Maybe the rest of the way around the lake was fairly flat. I decided to push on, relying on that unfounded belief, and accepting the fact that this was not going to be an easy ride.
An easy ride it was not - I continued but I realized that I was losing my legs. I stopped to get something to eat at a bagel shop, but it didn't help much. Eventually, even small upgrades became a challenge and slowed me down. I started getting cramps in my legs and had to stop and stretch every once in a while. At least I was right about it being fairly flat. Well, mostly right. After a while, I had no legs left, but I pushed on by sheer will. I gained some energy as I made it to the two-thirds mark and had a feeling I could really accomplish this.
The last third started off OK; bike lanes and paths made for a less harrowing ride. And then I hit what I feared – a large hill. I had no legs, I had no water and was dehydrating, but all I could do was put the bike in lowest gear and crawl up the hill. But the hill went on and on, it seemed like it would never end. I put my mind in a zone and just kept the gears cranking, but it was too much. As the hill continued with no end in sight, I cursed and yelled. I was cursing at God. I couldn't believe that there was this huge hill at the very end of the ride. This was surely some cruel joke God was having fun with.
Finally I reached the top. My legs were wasted and I just coasted on the downhill. And then I couldn't believe it, another hill looking even longer! I was cracking, I wasn't psychologically prepared for it, but I kept pushing up the hill. My mind was racing and I was trying to calm it. Why a hill at the very end of the ride? The end is where I needed it to be flat and be able to take it easy to the finish. Anywhere else a huge hill would have been better. When I reached the top, I didn't trust it. I coasted down the hills actively relaxing my legs waiting for the next hill.
The downhill didn't feel nearly as long as the uphill, but it finally leveled out without another uphill, but it still wasn't easy. I was crawling along until I finally saw the sign for South Lake Tahoe. It was an experience, and an accomplishment; an accomplishment I'd like to forget.
Seven hours on the saddle. Something NOT in my ability to do.
***************************
I thought I had wrecked my knees on the ride, but on Monday morning they felt fine, so I decided to ride into work. When I got to work, my back was starting to get sore.
The soreness continued through Tuesday, and on Wednesday morning, I woke up and I could barely move. It took all the effort I could muster to simply turn over. Then I had to climb down off my loft bed, and get ready for work. It took me forever to get to work because I had to walk slow step by slow, painful step. I took Muni because there was no way I could ride.
When I got to work, walking like a zombie, I immediately asked Zenaida, a co-worker, to get me a phone book and I called my chiropractor, Dr. Wonson, and got an appointment for 10:00. Aside from falling in love with her, her treatment got me through the rest of the day, but I was in pretty bad shape by the end of it. I made it to rehearsal that night, though. Sitting and playing drums wasn't too bad.
On Thursday morning, my back was just as bad. I had an appointment with Dr. Wonson at 2:15, so I had to get through the day until then. Afterwards, I was well enough to stay late at work. I hadn't been able to get much work done and I was falling way behind and I'm going on vacation next week.
Friday morning was a little better. It wasn't as hard getting out of bed, and I had an appointment for 9:30, so I went to work, turned on my computer and then went to see Dr. Wonson. It was still hard getting through the day, I was pretty stiff, but I could definitely feel I was getting better.
Dr. Wonson showed me my X-rays and showed me how bad it was. My spine was distinctly bent to the left. Barb, one of my co-workers who once was studying to go into physical therapy, reasoned that the 72 mile ride around Tahoe with monster hills, on a bike that was several inches too big, tweaked my muscles so hard that now they were wrenching my spine off center. Dr. Wonson was working to get my muscles and bones back to normal. The first thing she noted when she examined me was that my back muscles were really cold, indicating that my circulation was really bad.
Although I was much better on Friday, Dr. Wonson wasn't really satisfied with my progress. She had been heating my back muscles and adjusting me and I was still pretty bad off. She ran me through some acupressure exercises and decided she wanted to start me on acupuncture on Monday. After one exercise she asked me if I was going through any stress.
Was I going through stress?!! Let me tell you stress!
I didn't say that, but I told her about Ritu and work. Somehow, from the exercise, she felt there was some other external factors contributing to the problem.
***************************
My back really overshadowed my transition at work. The new attorney, Theresa, came in on Monday and she's learning the ropes at the firm, so we haven't had much interaction aside from introduction, but my cases are gradually going to be transferred to her. Angela apparently is not pleased that she didn't get me on her team, but there is no way that I can work for Angela.
This morning I had the easiest time getting out of bed since Wednesday. I had no problem turning over. I'm still stiff, but I'm much more mobile than I have been. It still hurts to stand up, but I'm feeling positive about recovering.
What a month it has been. Everything had been going so well until August 1st when Ritu hit the wall. That was the day I took off from work to take care of the psychic convergence that occurred at the end of July, when everything ran down. Somehow I must have sensed what was going to happen. If it hadn't happened? It had to have happened. It couldn't have gone on the way it was going. But if it didn't happen, things would have gone on normally.
Theresa would have joined the firm without affecting me at all, I wouldn't have had to deal with Angela and Stacey concerning my new assignment. But the cases I had that were floundering would still be floundering under Ritu. I had cases that had huge problems and Ritu wasn't doing anything to help me fix them. Would I have gone to Tahoe? I don't know, I may not have felt the need to get out of town. Considering the aftermath of going to Tahoe, I would bet that I wouldn't have gone.
***************************
We all have to die some time. I was thinking hard about that today on my way home from doing overtime at work. Passing all the people out on a Saturday night, old people who were walking like me, like they were in pain. I never thought that they might be in pain, I just thought of them as old. Young people searching for something to do, having fun, healthy, lives in front of them, going through their own dramas, taking for granted that they could walk. Homeless people, disfigured people, babies in strollers, tourists from out of town, taxi drivers at their jobs.
We all have to die some time. I thought really hard about that fact. We all have to die some time. We are all going to die some time. We will die as plainly as we are living. But we have no problem dealing with the issue that we are alive. We do have a problem, as a society, dealing with the fact that we will die, of our mortality. If we are so unhealthy about the way we treat and deal with death. We can't be very healthy about the way we treat and deal with life. Ain’t that the truth?
Wednesday, October 06, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I got that job with Ritu’s firm, I’m employed! I start work on the 18th and I’m leaving for New Jersey this weekend for one last visit. I don’t know when I’ll be willing and able to visit next. Vacations now will be valuable time, not time that I’d want to spend in New Jersey. I’ve started getting up early and I rehearsed my commute once. It’s about 25 minutes on bike.
So everything theoretically changes from here. It’s a two year commitment, at least, although that’s not binding. Two years and I’ll be 32, still two years short of my ideal age to die. It makes me feel young at 30. In my mind, turning 30 could just as well have been 32 or 34, the feeling is still the same - old, but picking at the numbers, I’ll only be 32.
So everything theoretically changes from here. It’s a two year commitment, at least, although that’s not binding. Two years and I’ll be 32, still two years short of my ideal age to die. It makes me feel young at 30. In my mind, turning 30 could just as well have been 32 or 34, the feeling is still the same - old, but picking at the numbers, I’ll only be 32.
Tuesday, October 20, 1998
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
If I stay away from Josephine long enough, she will fade. It can be over right now and it would make no difference to how I’m living my life and how I see the near future. This fight will be extremely difficult to reconcile and I question whether I really want to. I’ve always felt this relationship has been an “all or none” deal, and that is the result of how our relationship was a year ago. When it was young, when we moved in together, she monopolized my life and demanded more than I should ever give. And even though she has changed and doesn’t demand all or none, the echoes are still here. And no more am I in the “all” camp, and so I am feeling “none”.
Today was another beautiful day, warm and sunny. I finished recording a David Bowie song for fun, and had Japanese noodles for lunch. On the way to school, well way out of the way, I rode to the beach at sunset. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. I don’t know if that was it, or whether it was because I got nothing done on my exam, but I was just tired, depressed, and introspective afterwards.
Drinking has also been wiping me out lately. I wonder how my liver is doing. Diem told me her uncle died when he was 34 and he had drinking habits like mine. But I wonder if he ever tried to overdose on sleeping pills, which must wreak havoc on the liver. I haven’t done it in a year, but it is in my history.
I don’t mind dying. On the threshold of turning 30, any time will do now and I don’t plan on changing anything in reaction to the threat of dying. Fine I’ll drink myself to death, or get smashed on my bike in traffic at night because I don’t use lights or a helmet. I welcome dying. It’s almost time.
Today was another beautiful day, warm and sunny. I finished recording a David Bowie song for fun, and had Japanese noodles for lunch. On the way to school, well way out of the way, I rode to the beach at sunset. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. I don’t know if that was it, or whether it was because I got nothing done on my exam, but I was just tired, depressed, and introspective afterwards.
Drinking has also been wiping me out lately. I wonder how my liver is doing. Diem told me her uncle died when he was 34 and he had drinking habits like mine. But I wonder if he ever tried to overdose on sleeping pills, which must wreak havoc on the liver. I haven’t done it in a year, but it is in my history.
I don’t mind dying. On the threshold of turning 30, any time will do now and I don’t plan on changing anything in reaction to the threat of dying. Fine I’ll drink myself to death, or get smashed on my bike in traffic at night because I don’t use lights or a helmet. I welcome dying. It’s almost time.
Sunday, June 30, 1996
1347 La Loma, Berkeley
June 1996
It has become harder and harder to face the reality of my existence, that I’m here, a living being.
I have such trouble expressing myself and my feelings. I have such trouble even recognizing them. I bottle them up and it showed recently when Nobuko moved out.
I’ve been acting like I don’t care and that it’s good riddance, but some part of me hurts because she left one month before the lease was up. She couldn’t stand living here anymore.
There is a sense of abandonment that I’m having trouble admitting to myself; partly due to the irrationality of the idea. Pride is present as well, she was the one who left first, even though I also stopped liking living with Nobuko. You find things out about people when you live with them, and some things are better left unknown between friends. Like that they’re slobs or inconsiderate. I don’t know what my feelings are. I don’t know how to approach them.
I let go of people easily because there always is a point where I stop caring, or I think I stop caring.
When I value their friendship, I always think that if problems arise, it should be no problem to confront the issues and talk them through. But the first thing that happens when problems arise is that they lose their value as a friend and it’s no longer worth the effort to confront them to work out the problems.
Something still hurts. I ended up not even liking Nobuko. I can make a list. But still I have these feelings of hurt, and I don’t know what and I don’t know why.
So can I make a list of all the other real feelings I have but have repressed? Is there a lifetime’s worth of them? All this bottling in has been debilitating. It can only lead to an implosion. It makes me want to die; the ultimate cop-out. I devalue my life so much that I don’t even want to do anything to remedy my situation because it’s not worth it.
The logical solution is to leave my life. But every once in a while I think I don’t want to, I want to live. I think I do. The will to live may be a repressed feeling. When I had food poisoning and was gripped in that pain, I didn’t want to die miserably. When I brought myself way down with sleeping pills, I didn’t want to die.
I’ve gotten so good at hiding my own feelings. It started as a practice and has since become a perfected habit, an art. I remember hiding my feelings way early in my life, but at least back then I knew what my real feelings were. Now I have a pretty good idea when I’m hiding my feelings, but I’ve gotten to hide them from myself as well. I have no idea what my real feelings are anymore.
It’s pretty schizo. The act of hiding something suggests that you know what it is and where it is being hidden. I don’t have the slightest. I’m probably very confused. I can understand that, but I don’t feel it. And then it manifests itself in cutting and killing myself. At least it’s logical. We live for logic, don’t we now?
It makes me feel better about killing myself. I wouldn’t do it because of some trivial passing emotion caused by a speck of a moment in a lifetime. There is a huge ocean of an underlying problem that’s been simmering and boiling and to which suicide is a logical and inevitable end. It has been a long-running and difficult problem to deal with myself and my life. It sure has. It has been miserable and like a pot of boiling water, eventually there is nothing left.
***********************************
The band has been coming along. I still don’t feel like I’m a member and they’re doing nothing to make me feel any more than a ringer. My feeling is that they will replace me once they find someone who fits their image better. They’re image oriented. Rock and roll. There might be something special about this band. I do think the writing is excellent. I won’t know until we record and gig and see how audiences respond.
It’s not terribly original music. It may even be outdated. Three or four years ago people might have eaten it up. The writing is the strong point of the band. I think they think their attitude is the strong point. As far as drummers go, Pete has his own style, and that’s good. He’s got good time and he’s steady, if not solid.
There’s nothing distinct about Dre’s rig. It’s probably no coincidence that his main axe is a Fender Jaguar. He also splits his channel to run into two different sounding amps to make it sound like two guitars. I don’t know for sure, but it sounds like teen spirit to me. If we get tagged as an Asian American Nirvana, Dre doesn’t give a strong argument against it.
I try to be distinct on bass and I don’t know how much they like that. I think their conception of a bass player is someone that just follows guitar riffs and looks good and has attitude, lowest common denominator functionality. Not the kind of bass player I am. My Riverhead bass and Trace-Elliott rig are also not in vogue with this type of music, and I think that gives me minus points in the image department. I mean, what is a bass player if fans aren’t looking at the equipment, going “cool rig”.
***********************************
Have you ever felt like crying because you knew you felt something, but had no idea what it was or what to do about it? Dre and Pete bailed on rehearsal and didn’t call me until after I had left for rehearsal. They still haven’t gotten me keys to the space and I ended up waiting for two hours. I think I was really pissed, but my feelings were really obscure and ambiguous, so I really don’t know. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was pissed or who or what I was pissed at.
They haven’t gotten me a key yet. That’s an issue. I tried justifying everything by telling myself that this won’t happen after I get a key; a problem easily remedied. Get me the damn keys or I don’t show up until they do.
My feelings were obviously churning underneath and I was doing my best to keep them down and cover them up and come up with excuses to not face them. I picked up a bottle of tequila on the way home, driving wildly, I felt no loyalty to the band in terms of staying alive for it.
What were my alternatives? Get angry? Lash out? At whom? What could I do but take it out on myself? I tend to direct my negative feelings at myself.
I was trying hard to avoid being passive-aggressive, but I kept running into it when I was deciding what to do. Should I call them and tell them that I was really pissed, but that it was OK since it wouldn’t happen again because they would get me the key by Friday? Demand that they have the key by next rehearsal or I don’t show? Demand some assurance that this wouldn’t happen again? Ignore it completely and pretend nothing happened? Quit? I am passive-aggressive, but it gets misdirected. It gets directed all over the place. Mostly at myself.
***********************************
I thought that I was simply anti-social all this time. I’m starting to think that it has more to do with not dealing with myself and my emotions. I’ve stopped feeling or I’ve repressed feelings to such an extent that I don’t recognize anything as feelings. Feelings are completely visceral and sublimated, I can’t even begin to process them intellectually. I thought that I just roll with the punches, that I take life as it comes, but really every bit of life I encounter sticks to me and stays with me and gets sublimated and squeezes the life out of me.
I don’t even know if I want to live or not. If I do, I need help. Or else I’ll keep taking life out on myself, I’ll keep cutting, keep drinking, keep dying, keep destroying myself.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that I’ve reached the end of my rope. I reached it a long time ago and since then I’ve just been hanging on to strands, just barely being able to grasp another one as each one breaks. I don’t know how to get a hold of the rope even I wanted to. I don’t know how many strands I have left. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, no where I want to go. I have no friends, no feelings, no desire, just nothing.
It has become harder and harder to face the reality of my existence, that I’m here, a living being.
I have such trouble expressing myself and my feelings. I have such trouble even recognizing them. I bottle them up and it showed recently when Nobuko moved out.
I’ve been acting like I don’t care and that it’s good riddance, but some part of me hurts because she left one month before the lease was up. She couldn’t stand living here anymore.
There is a sense of abandonment that I’m having trouble admitting to myself; partly due to the irrationality of the idea. Pride is present as well, she was the one who left first, even though I also stopped liking living with Nobuko. You find things out about people when you live with them, and some things are better left unknown between friends. Like that they’re slobs or inconsiderate. I don’t know what my feelings are. I don’t know how to approach them.
I let go of people easily because there always is a point where I stop caring, or I think I stop caring.
When I value their friendship, I always think that if problems arise, it should be no problem to confront the issues and talk them through. But the first thing that happens when problems arise is that they lose their value as a friend and it’s no longer worth the effort to confront them to work out the problems.
Something still hurts. I ended up not even liking Nobuko. I can make a list. But still I have these feelings of hurt, and I don’t know what and I don’t know why.
So can I make a list of all the other real feelings I have but have repressed? Is there a lifetime’s worth of them? All this bottling in has been debilitating. It can only lead to an implosion. It makes me want to die; the ultimate cop-out. I devalue my life so much that I don’t even want to do anything to remedy my situation because it’s not worth it.
The logical solution is to leave my life. But every once in a while I think I don’t want to, I want to live. I think I do. The will to live may be a repressed feeling. When I had food poisoning and was gripped in that pain, I didn’t want to die miserably. When I brought myself way down with sleeping pills, I didn’t want to die.
I’ve gotten so good at hiding my own feelings. It started as a practice and has since become a perfected habit, an art. I remember hiding my feelings way early in my life, but at least back then I knew what my real feelings were. Now I have a pretty good idea when I’m hiding my feelings, but I’ve gotten to hide them from myself as well. I have no idea what my real feelings are anymore.
It’s pretty schizo. The act of hiding something suggests that you know what it is and where it is being hidden. I don’t have the slightest. I’m probably very confused. I can understand that, but I don’t feel it. And then it manifests itself in cutting and killing myself. At least it’s logical. We live for logic, don’t we now?
It makes me feel better about killing myself. I wouldn’t do it because of some trivial passing emotion caused by a speck of a moment in a lifetime. There is a huge ocean of an underlying problem that’s been simmering and boiling and to which suicide is a logical and inevitable end. It has been a long-running and difficult problem to deal with myself and my life. It sure has. It has been miserable and like a pot of boiling water, eventually there is nothing left.
***********************************
The band has been coming along. I still don’t feel like I’m a member and they’re doing nothing to make me feel any more than a ringer. My feeling is that they will replace me once they find someone who fits their image better. They’re image oriented. Rock and roll. There might be something special about this band. I do think the writing is excellent. I won’t know until we record and gig and see how audiences respond.
It’s not terribly original music. It may even be outdated. Three or four years ago people might have eaten it up. The writing is the strong point of the band. I think they think their attitude is the strong point. As far as drummers go, Pete has his own style, and that’s good. He’s got good time and he’s steady, if not solid.
There’s nothing distinct about Dre’s rig. It’s probably no coincidence that his main axe is a Fender Jaguar. He also splits his channel to run into two different sounding amps to make it sound like two guitars. I don’t know for sure, but it sounds like teen spirit to me. If we get tagged as an Asian American Nirvana, Dre doesn’t give a strong argument against it.
I try to be distinct on bass and I don’t know how much they like that. I think their conception of a bass player is someone that just follows guitar riffs and looks good and has attitude, lowest common denominator functionality. Not the kind of bass player I am. My Riverhead bass and Trace-Elliott rig are also not in vogue with this type of music, and I think that gives me minus points in the image department. I mean, what is a bass player if fans aren’t looking at the equipment, going “cool rig”.
***********************************
Have you ever felt like crying because you knew you felt something, but had no idea what it was or what to do about it? Dre and Pete bailed on rehearsal and didn’t call me until after I had left for rehearsal. They still haven’t gotten me keys to the space and I ended up waiting for two hours. I think I was really pissed, but my feelings were really obscure and ambiguous, so I really don’t know. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was pissed or who or what I was pissed at.
They haven’t gotten me a key yet. That’s an issue. I tried justifying everything by telling myself that this won’t happen after I get a key; a problem easily remedied. Get me the damn keys or I don’t show up until they do.
My feelings were obviously churning underneath and I was doing my best to keep them down and cover them up and come up with excuses to not face them. I picked up a bottle of tequila on the way home, driving wildly, I felt no loyalty to the band in terms of staying alive for it.
What were my alternatives? Get angry? Lash out? At whom? What could I do but take it out on myself? I tend to direct my negative feelings at myself.
I was trying hard to avoid being passive-aggressive, but I kept running into it when I was deciding what to do. Should I call them and tell them that I was really pissed, but that it was OK since it wouldn’t happen again because they would get me the key by Friday? Demand that they have the key by next rehearsal or I don’t show? Demand some assurance that this wouldn’t happen again? Ignore it completely and pretend nothing happened? Quit? I am passive-aggressive, but it gets misdirected. It gets directed all over the place. Mostly at myself.
***********************************
I thought that I was simply anti-social all this time. I’m starting to think that it has more to do with not dealing with myself and my emotions. I’ve stopped feeling or I’ve repressed feelings to such an extent that I don’t recognize anything as feelings. Feelings are completely visceral and sublimated, I can’t even begin to process them intellectually. I thought that I just roll with the punches, that I take life as it comes, but really every bit of life I encounter sticks to me and stays with me and gets sublimated and squeezes the life out of me.
I don’t even know if I want to live or not. If I do, I need help. Or else I’ll keep taking life out on myself, I’ll keep cutting, keep drinking, keep dying, keep destroying myself.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that I’ve reached the end of my rope. I reached it a long time ago and since then I’ve just been hanging on to strands, just barely being able to grasp another one as each one breaks. I don’t know how to get a hold of the rope even I wanted to. I don’t know how many strands I have left. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, no where I want to go. I have no friends, no feelings, no desire, just nothing.
Sunday, August 27, 1995
1347 La Loma, Berkeley
I was trying to fall asleep but my mind was too active. For a while, I freely let images flash through my mind. I've always had certain images of myself which I felt reflected how I felt about myself or my situation, such as lying in a snow-covered field, or my body being pulled out of the Hudson. I wonder if people normally have these distinct images that reflect and correlate to how they feel or feel about themselves.
In my half-sleep, the image kept repeating. It is in Shiho's apartment in Japan and the sun is shining brightly, illuminating the room through the closed drapes. I am facing the door, away from the window, either walking or just standing. Shiho comes up from behind, places one hand on my shoulder, and as I turn around, I can see what she is about to do. I don't resist or react as I see the arc of her other hand come up. It is either her hand or something in her hand that slashes at my neck, cutting my head cleanly off.
I don't know why the image is at all freaky, after all I believe that anything she does is out of love. I hope that there will never be any hate between us. In all the years we've known each other, there may have been tensions, some questions, but never animosity. There has always been some degree of love, and that seems to be what has shaped my feelings towards her now. Each time I've seen her, I've loved her even more.
In one permutation of the image, she stabs me in the back, and as I turn around, she pulls the knife out and hands it to me. I plunge it into her and grasp her to me as I feel her feeling the pain. I press my lips to hers as we fall and die together.
The image stopped repeating and continued linearly. Somehow, we both die together. We are in stillness, no light, no darkness, just nothingness. I feel my existence and I feel Shiho there. We are able to communicate, we can hear each other's thoughts. I reflect upon death, how I am now dead; my body has been left behind and is in the world that I have left. My existence continues and I find it supremely fascinating.
Shiho and I reflect upon our situation and decide that we had better go and figure out what comes next. We are very happy about the fact that we are together, that we've taken a huge step in our path, our journey, and we are traveling it together as it was meant to be. She and I were meant to be together.
As we continue in a direction with only instinct guiding us, I reflect on how surreal the situation is and randomly think, "why can't I be in Tower Records". Suddenly I find myself in Tower Records. I get really excited and tell Shiho about this and she says, "What?!" I told her what I did and told her to just imagine herself in Tower Records, and she tried it and it worked, only she couldn't see me. I could see her looking around for me and she could still hear me, but she couldn't see me.
So I said, "Go look for me in the classical section," and I found that my movement wasn't at all restricted by gravity or what used to be physical objects and boundaries, and I was able to bounce over to the classical section in a flash.
It took her just a bit longer and when she turned into the aisle of the classical section, she saw me. We ran to each other and hugged and kissed and realized that we were the only ones in the store. That's when I woke up.
Nobuko and I went shooting today. She let me use her camera and film to just take pictures, kill the roll to see what came out doing what. It was fun. Afterwards, I pulled out the camera I took from Rob's room the last time I was in New Jersey, and for the first time an SLR camera wasn't a complete mystery to me.
In my half-sleep, the image kept repeating. It is in Shiho's apartment in Japan and the sun is shining brightly, illuminating the room through the closed drapes. I am facing the door, away from the window, either walking or just standing. Shiho comes up from behind, places one hand on my shoulder, and as I turn around, I can see what she is about to do. I don't resist or react as I see the arc of her other hand come up. It is either her hand or something in her hand that slashes at my neck, cutting my head cleanly off.
I don't know why the image is at all freaky, after all I believe that anything she does is out of love. I hope that there will never be any hate between us. In all the years we've known each other, there may have been tensions, some questions, but never animosity. There has always been some degree of love, and that seems to be what has shaped my feelings towards her now. Each time I've seen her, I've loved her even more.
In one permutation of the image, she stabs me in the back, and as I turn around, she pulls the knife out and hands it to me. I plunge it into her and grasp her to me as I feel her feeling the pain. I press my lips to hers as we fall and die together.
The image stopped repeating and continued linearly. Somehow, we both die together. We are in stillness, no light, no darkness, just nothingness. I feel my existence and I feel Shiho there. We are able to communicate, we can hear each other's thoughts. I reflect upon death, how I am now dead; my body has been left behind and is in the world that I have left. My existence continues and I find it supremely fascinating.
Shiho and I reflect upon our situation and decide that we had better go and figure out what comes next. We are very happy about the fact that we are together, that we've taken a huge step in our path, our journey, and we are traveling it together as it was meant to be. She and I were meant to be together.
As we continue in a direction with only instinct guiding us, I reflect on how surreal the situation is and randomly think, "why can't I be in Tower Records". Suddenly I find myself in Tower Records. I get really excited and tell Shiho about this and she says, "What?!" I told her what I did and told her to just imagine herself in Tower Records, and she tried it and it worked, only she couldn't see me. I could see her looking around for me and she could still hear me, but she couldn't see me.
So I said, "Go look for me in the classical section," and I found that my movement wasn't at all restricted by gravity or what used to be physical objects and boundaries, and I was able to bounce over to the classical section in a flash.
It took her just a bit longer and when she turned into the aisle of the classical section, she saw me. We ran to each other and hugged and kissed and realized that we were the only ones in the store. That's when I woke up.
Nobuko and I went shooting today. She let me use her camera and film to just take pictures, kill the roll to see what came out doing what. It was fun. Afterwards, I pulled out the camera I took from Rob's room the last time I was in New Jersey, and for the first time an SLR camera wasn't a complete mystery to me.
Friday, April 29, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
When the news of Kurt Cobain's suicide first broke, the news aired a clip of a teenage girl saying that she lost all respect for him and that killing himself was a cowardly thing to do. Of course the media is going to be quick to air something like that. They need to invalidate him for the safety and security of society at large. They had to put him down and cover him up to make sure no one that his music touched would see his suicide and follow his example.
Kurt Cobain was being called the 'voice of a generation'. He captured and expressed the alienation and disillusionment of today's youth through his music. He was a great cultural icon, an anchor, a signpost to let people on the outside know what was going on in today's youth subculture.
But once he lived up to his words and killed himself, then he became dangerous. He was the real deal, not just a poser; not just a personality to exploit. A 'voice of a generation' that kills himself can be a very dangerous thing. He wasn't a character that the media could shape and toy with like Madonna, Michael Jackson, even Prince. Kurt Cobain's suicide was a dose of reality that the media couldn't control. All there is to do is to invalidate his life and death.
Kurt Cobain was only supposed to be the messenger, not the deliverer. He was supposed to keep the kids happy by expressing what they felt and let them feel a connection. He was supposed to fill the larger society in on what the kids were feeling. He wasn't supposed to demonstrate.
Our society is so cowardly when it comes to dealing with death, and the reality of death and its role in the life cycle. The move to invalidate Kurt Cobain's life by decrying his suicide, his death, is a symptom of society's inability to deal with death and to deny any negative side of reality that we face.
If society wasn't so cowardly, it would look more carefully at his death, and try harder to find out the reasons for his death and validate his life, and still be able to disseminate that suicide is not an answer to problems. It was Kurt Cobain's answer, but it's not the only answer. It was only his answer.
Kurt Cobain was being called the 'voice of a generation'. He captured and expressed the alienation and disillusionment of today's youth through his music. He was a great cultural icon, an anchor, a signpost to let people on the outside know what was going on in today's youth subculture.
But once he lived up to his words and killed himself, then he became dangerous. He was the real deal, not just a poser; not just a personality to exploit. A 'voice of a generation' that kills himself can be a very dangerous thing. He wasn't a character that the media could shape and toy with like Madonna, Michael Jackson, even Prince. Kurt Cobain's suicide was a dose of reality that the media couldn't control. All there is to do is to invalidate his life and death.
Kurt Cobain was only supposed to be the messenger, not the deliverer. He was supposed to keep the kids happy by expressing what they felt and let them feel a connection. He was supposed to fill the larger society in on what the kids were feeling. He wasn't supposed to demonstrate.
Our society is so cowardly when it comes to dealing with death, and the reality of death and its role in the life cycle. The move to invalidate Kurt Cobain's life by decrying his suicide, his death, is a symptom of society's inability to deal with death and to deny any negative side of reality that we face.
If society wasn't so cowardly, it would look more carefully at his death, and try harder to find out the reasons for his death and validate his life, and still be able to disseminate that suicide is not an answer to problems. It was Kurt Cobain's answer, but it's not the only answer. It was only his answer.
Friday, February 11, 1994
Day thirty-one
Another day of practicing, running, cooking, and showering. My life is a total mess. I can't keep drunk enough. At the same time I feel that everything is perfect and just how it should be. One reality doesn't fade without another reality becoming more apparent.
Reality is unbearably constricting. The borders and barriers, every object in existence is plainly identifiable and separate. One day the borders and all they contain will break and dissolve and all substance will flow and fuse with all other substance like a raindrop into a brook, a brook into a stream, a stream into a river, rivers into oceans. Nothing will be defined by the borders that demarcate it.
Or is it a matter of phasing and frequencies? Realities existing at certain "frequencies", and things slightly out of phase are less real to one another. Things totally out of phase are in completely different realities.
Going insane is opting for another reality, one different from the norm. Dying is an extreme example. Dying is a trade of realities. There's nothing special about living this life here and now, it's just biological function and feeling with a variable of personality. There's nothing wrong with turning it all off and opting for something else. That we as individuals "exist" is a conceit. It's an attachment that feeds our desire to be here and gain materially.
So much goes through my head and gets interpreted in different ways. Has my self-confidence and sense of worth been shattered because of Amina? She simply phased herself out of my life by phasing me out of hers. What are these analogies of?
My life is in shambles, I'm a complete mess, and everything is perfect. I don't understand it. But I have confidence that I can do whatever I want now, even die, and that whatever force has been guiding my life thus far will know that if I choose to die, I have enough knowledge and experience to know what I want and to know what I'm doing. I know of the guidance, I know I've been in some way blessed, and if I choose to die, it is a decision under guidance.
Reality is unbearably constricting. The borders and barriers, every object in existence is plainly identifiable and separate. One day the borders and all they contain will break and dissolve and all substance will flow and fuse with all other substance like a raindrop into a brook, a brook into a stream, a stream into a river, rivers into oceans. Nothing will be defined by the borders that demarcate it.
Or is it a matter of phasing and frequencies? Realities existing at certain "frequencies", and things slightly out of phase are less real to one another. Things totally out of phase are in completely different realities.
Going insane is opting for another reality, one different from the norm. Dying is an extreme example. Dying is a trade of realities. There's nothing special about living this life here and now, it's just biological function and feeling with a variable of personality. There's nothing wrong with turning it all off and opting for something else. That we as individuals "exist" is a conceit. It's an attachment that feeds our desire to be here and gain materially.
So much goes through my head and gets interpreted in different ways. Has my self-confidence and sense of worth been shattered because of Amina? She simply phased herself out of my life by phasing me out of hers. What are these analogies of?
My life is in shambles, I'm a complete mess, and everything is perfect. I don't understand it. But I have confidence that I can do whatever I want now, even die, and that whatever force has been guiding my life thus far will know that if I choose to die, I have enough knowledge and experience to know what I want and to know what I'm doing. I know of the guidance, I know I've been in some way blessed, and if I choose to die, it is a decision under guidance.
Wednesday, July 21, 1993
324 S. Main St., Oberlin
I had to change my plans for going back to New Jersey because the ‘rents are going to Taiwan on the days that I had planned to go back. I went this past weekend and now I’m back in Oberlin until I leave for California. Apparently, grandfather died on July 12, and the ‘rents are going to the cremation which is this week. The actual funeral will be much later and they will probably go for that as well.
They called me last week and told me they were going to Taiwan on the days I was planning to go to New Jersey. They were going to let it go right then and there and not expect to see me until I visited from California, but not being one to miss an opportunity to deceive, I told them I could change my plans so that I could see them before I left for California. More importantly, I needed to get some cash.
So I went to New Jersey, collected some serious G-money, and bid them good riddance. It was actually a touching farewell, full of good intent and concern and care. Some of it may have been genuine, but then I have to ask myself if it would have been the same if I wasn’t going to law school. Doubtful.
A few weeks ago, they were trying to press me to find a place with a roommate in California because it would be cheaper. Ah, money as love; it falls through every time when money is all you care about. But actually, they didn’t press it further, and it really is my choice, so their pressing may not have been much more than suggestion. Maybe there wasn’t an undercurrent of them trying to save money. Doubtful.
The ‘rents have been concerned about a decrease in their income. It’s laughable. They are worried about not having money! Gimme a break, there is no risk of their having no money, they’re concerned about not making enough to support the opulent lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. If they need money, they can always sell the Rolls. Maybe they’re concerned that they will run out of money with which to show their love. Doubtful.
The ‘rents visited Tom in Rochester a while back, and on the way back to New Jersey, their Mercedes got a flat. They made a big deal about their stroke of fortune in how uninhabited the highway was, but when they got the flat, there were houses nearby. So they went to one of the houses, knocked on the door and asked for help, and paid whoever helped them $20 to change the flat.
That must have been a really nice guy who helped them, but it’s the ‘rents’ attitude that really disgusts me. It epitomizes their philosophy, their approach to the world: Flash a $20 bill and you can turn any jack-ass sitting on a couch on a Sunday into a mechanic. But nothing to do with the ‘rents, I’m grateful that there are people like the person who helped them in the world. Even to help the ‘rents.
While I was back East, I caught up with Audrey in New York where she’s taking Summer school, making up classes for this past semester that she withdrew from. After grandmother died, she went to Taiwan and decided to stay there and spend time with and take care of grandfather. She was still there in June when grandfather had a heart attack. He continued to have complications, but she had to come back to the States. He died after she left.
She had stories to tell, she was the closest person to him in his last months. It sounds like he went out quite painfully. After the heart attack, he stayed in the hospital until he died. Her descriptions of what he went through are so different from my mental picture of him. Not that I have many mental pictures of him. I never knew him very well and vice versa.
My image of him dying would have been something peaceful and private, like dying in his sleep. It seems so undignified that he suffered a painful heart attack and was fussed and flocked over by doctors. A man in his ‘90's. It seems so undignified to be moved in and out of ICU, vomiting sickly dark colored liquid as if his old age had rotted his insides. There’s a lot about him I don’t know. Maybe the indignity of the way he died suited him. I don’t know.
It came as no surprise to me when he died, dying within six months of grandmother’s death. The ‘rents on the other hand hadn’t been concerned at all about grandfather after grandmother’s death. They just noted, probably more to themselves, that he was in perfect health. Life is all about health and money and they don’t want to face anything which negates health and money. Even when he had the heart attack, they believed the Taiwanese doctors who said they expected a full recovery. When I heard he had a heart attack, I knew the end was near and I couldn’t believe the ‘rents weren’t facing it.
I don’t know where the story ends. I don’t know where it began and I don’t know most of what happened in it. Grandparents were never a part of my life, they were just biological fact, they were a living part of family history. Now they really are family history and I don’t know how I should feel about it. The only effect their deaths are having on me is the knowledge that they were there somewhere all my life, and now they are, in fact, really dead. No longer here, gone beyond.
I don’t know how the ‘rents feel, I don’t know their experience with their parents. I know more about Audrey’s relationship with them. Audrey was a part of their lives and vice versa these past 20 years. As for the ‘rents, I have no idea what their relationship was these past 24 years or more.
Death has never hit close enough to me to ever really affect me. It’s not in my nature to be strongly affected by things that are not in my control, so I wonder what my reaction would be if someone close to me died. I don’t know if this is healthy or if I’m being really cold-hearted. I don’t think I know what it means to truly love. If you can’t truly love, can you truly lose?
But my attitude also fits in with my understanding of Buddhism. I know I’m “Buddhist”, despite the myriad meanings that may have, because with every step along the way, I first identified elements of my own being first and that they are part of my nature, and only later found that they are Buddhist elements. None of it was fed to me, it was here first. I was Buddhist before I knew what it is to be Buddhist. I’d be Buddhist even if there was no such thing as Buddhism. Being “Buddhist” has absolutely no meaning or significance except to help others identify “who I am”.
I don’t think I’ll ever attend the funeral of someone close to me. I think I’ll die first anyway.
They called me last week and told me they were going to Taiwan on the days I was planning to go to New Jersey. They were going to let it go right then and there and not expect to see me until I visited from California, but not being one to miss an opportunity to deceive, I told them I could change my plans so that I could see them before I left for California. More importantly, I needed to get some cash.
So I went to New Jersey, collected some serious G-money, and bid them good riddance. It was actually a touching farewell, full of good intent and concern and care. Some of it may have been genuine, but then I have to ask myself if it would have been the same if I wasn’t going to law school. Doubtful.
A few weeks ago, they were trying to press me to find a place with a roommate in California because it would be cheaper. Ah, money as love; it falls through every time when money is all you care about. But actually, they didn’t press it further, and it really is my choice, so their pressing may not have been much more than suggestion. Maybe there wasn’t an undercurrent of them trying to save money. Doubtful.
The ‘rents have been concerned about a decrease in their income. It’s laughable. They are worried about not having money! Gimme a break, there is no risk of their having no money, they’re concerned about not making enough to support the opulent lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. If they need money, they can always sell the Rolls. Maybe they’re concerned that they will run out of money with which to show their love. Doubtful.
The ‘rents visited Tom in Rochester a while back, and on the way back to New Jersey, their Mercedes got a flat. They made a big deal about their stroke of fortune in how uninhabited the highway was, but when they got the flat, there were houses nearby. So they went to one of the houses, knocked on the door and asked for help, and paid whoever helped them $20 to change the flat.
That must have been a really nice guy who helped them, but it’s the ‘rents’ attitude that really disgusts me. It epitomizes their philosophy, their approach to the world: Flash a $20 bill and you can turn any jack-ass sitting on a couch on a Sunday into a mechanic. But nothing to do with the ‘rents, I’m grateful that there are people like the person who helped them in the world. Even to help the ‘rents.
While I was back East, I caught up with Audrey in New York where she’s taking Summer school, making up classes for this past semester that she withdrew from. After grandmother died, she went to Taiwan and decided to stay there and spend time with and take care of grandfather. She was still there in June when grandfather had a heart attack. He continued to have complications, but she had to come back to the States. He died after she left.
She had stories to tell, she was the closest person to him in his last months. It sounds like he went out quite painfully. After the heart attack, he stayed in the hospital until he died. Her descriptions of what he went through are so different from my mental picture of him. Not that I have many mental pictures of him. I never knew him very well and vice versa.
My image of him dying would have been something peaceful and private, like dying in his sleep. It seems so undignified that he suffered a painful heart attack and was fussed and flocked over by doctors. A man in his ‘90's. It seems so undignified to be moved in and out of ICU, vomiting sickly dark colored liquid as if his old age had rotted his insides. There’s a lot about him I don’t know. Maybe the indignity of the way he died suited him. I don’t know.
It came as no surprise to me when he died, dying within six months of grandmother’s death. The ‘rents on the other hand hadn’t been concerned at all about grandfather after grandmother’s death. They just noted, probably more to themselves, that he was in perfect health. Life is all about health and money and they don’t want to face anything which negates health and money. Even when he had the heart attack, they believed the Taiwanese doctors who said they expected a full recovery. When I heard he had a heart attack, I knew the end was near and I couldn’t believe the ‘rents weren’t facing it.
I don’t know where the story ends. I don’t know where it began and I don’t know most of what happened in it. Grandparents were never a part of my life, they were just biological fact, they were a living part of family history. Now they really are family history and I don’t know how I should feel about it. The only effect their deaths are having on me is the knowledge that they were there somewhere all my life, and now they are, in fact, really dead. No longer here, gone beyond.
I don’t know how the ‘rents feel, I don’t know their experience with their parents. I know more about Audrey’s relationship with them. Audrey was a part of their lives and vice versa these past 20 years. As for the ‘rents, I have no idea what their relationship was these past 24 years or more.
Death has never hit close enough to me to ever really affect me. It’s not in my nature to be strongly affected by things that are not in my control, so I wonder what my reaction would be if someone close to me died. I don’t know if this is healthy or if I’m being really cold-hearted. I don’t think I know what it means to truly love. If you can’t truly love, can you truly lose?
But my attitude also fits in with my understanding of Buddhism. I know I’m “Buddhist”, despite the myriad meanings that may have, because with every step along the way, I first identified elements of my own being first and that they are part of my nature, and only later found that they are Buddhist elements. None of it was fed to me, it was here first. I was Buddhist before I knew what it is to be Buddhist. I’d be Buddhist even if there was no such thing as Buddhism. Being “Buddhist” has absolutely no meaning or significance except to help others identify “who I am”.
I don’t think I’ll ever attend the funeral of someone close to me. I think I’ll die first anyway.
Monday, January 28, 1991
84 S. Park St, Oberlin
Time passes so quickly. Winter Term is running down to its last few days and I still have a lot to do with this recording project. Ken and I have run into tensions. He seems to have flip-flopped and instead of being stressed about getting it done, he’s not so concerned about it and tells me not to stress or worry about getting it done. He said something the other day which I think really puts it into perspective. He said the project is more mine than his. And that’s the main source of the tension because that one comment made us both look unfavorably on the project.
He does have a point, though. They are his songs, he did the writing and it’s his expression, but the recording is my production and more of me is going into these songs than he would ever intend. Maybe I’m diluting the songs by putting a dimension of me into them and so I think he thinks I’m trying to usurp the songs or the project. Which would explain why I’ve been losing sleep doing this project. But if he’s disassociating himself from the project because he thinks I’m taking control of it, that makes me disassociate from it because these aren’t my songs, they aren’t my expression, I’m not the talent involved here. The value of my work only exists if he sees value in it.
Today I worked for about five hours on “The Ballad of Charlie Ohara”, “The Damage is Done”, and “Seven Years”, getting them ready for Ken to put down vocals. I ran into the time that we had agreed to get together and I think he was pissed at having to wait. It pretty much summed up the tension between us. But when he put down some vocals and they turned out really well, I think he was happier about that because he could finally hear results of what we’ve been doing. But then I think I pissed him off again by cutting things short because I had to meet Pasha and Ann for dinner and I wasn’t about to cancel on time with Pasha.
Weekend had more babies. I’ve got thirteen gerbils in that ten gallon tank. There were eight new babies total, but two died. Such innocence. Such life, not knowing anything, just doing what it does - live. Then being crushed, having that life squeezed out and feeling pain, but not really since it didn’t know what pain is. Then being dead. Was that a soul right there, come and gone?
He does have a point, though. They are his songs, he did the writing and it’s his expression, but the recording is my production and more of me is going into these songs than he would ever intend. Maybe I’m diluting the songs by putting a dimension of me into them and so I think he thinks I’m trying to usurp the songs or the project. Which would explain why I’ve been losing sleep doing this project. But if he’s disassociating himself from the project because he thinks I’m taking control of it, that makes me disassociate from it because these aren’t my songs, they aren’t my expression, I’m not the talent involved here. The value of my work only exists if he sees value in it.
Today I worked for about five hours on “The Ballad of Charlie Ohara”, “The Damage is Done”, and “Seven Years”, getting them ready for Ken to put down vocals. I ran into the time that we had agreed to get together and I think he was pissed at having to wait. It pretty much summed up the tension between us. But when he put down some vocals and they turned out really well, I think he was happier about that because he could finally hear results of what we’ve been doing. But then I think I pissed him off again by cutting things short because I had to meet Pasha and Ann for dinner and I wasn’t about to cancel on time with Pasha.
Weekend had more babies. I’ve got thirteen gerbils in that ten gallon tank. There were eight new babies total, but two died. Such innocence. Such life, not knowing anything, just doing what it does - live. Then being crushed, having that life squeezed out and feeling pain, but not really since it didn’t know what pain is. Then being dead. Was that a soul right there, come and gone?
Monday, May 08, 1989
Oberlin, OH
There’s a double-standard for death. If I died by accident, people would mourn, bury me, and get on with their lives. But if I killed myself, there are all these questions and there’s a horror to it. There may be feelings of anger, maybe regret . . . whatever. Why can’t people treat suicide just as they would if it was a death by some accident? Mourn the dead person, bury the dead person, get on with your lives. No questions asked, no haunting regrets. What? You couldn’t prevent the bus from running over him and his dog? Well, you probably couldn’t prevent her from slashing her wrists in the bathtub.I hope no one mourns over me, they can mourn for themselves alright, but spare me. I wouldn’t have killed myself because I was depressed or giving up, I would have done it as the next logical step in my existence. Mourning that achievement doesn’t make sense, almost insulting. What makes me feel so important that I think people would mourn my death?
So why do I write about this? Am I being insensitive about the topic? Am I trying to convey that it’s just a fact, just another act? Maybe I’m writing about it because I couldn’t talk about it. If I talk about suicide, the natural reaction would be for someone to be concerned, whether they knew me or not, I don’t want anyone to be “concerned”.
The average person isn’t expected to be able to think away physical maladies, like cancer. In the same way, I don’t think the average person should be expected to be able to think away insanity or suicidal tendencies. Someone with a mental disease dies from it, but the form of death looks like a suicide. Mental leap. It looks like a choice to commit suicide, but dying from cancer is never seen as having been a choice.
Medical science isn’t established knowledge, it’s knowledge of the establishment, and its ubiquity and all-knowingness is self awarded. And the fault of medical science is in what it thinks is its strength. Something is fact because it can be proven, and if it can’t be proven, it isn’t fact. So if it can be proven that someone died of cancer, it’s fact. But if it can’t be proven that someone died of mental disease, that’s not fact, and so instead it’s suicide. And since society can’t handle that, they make it illegal.
Sunday, May 07, 1989
Oberlin, OH
I’m sick. I told myself that if I couldn’t get these papers done by Friday, I would go talk with the professor and tell him that I really, really, simply just can’t do the papers. But then my efforts were scuttled by my body trying to sabotage my efforts. But I ain’t giving up yet, I’m going to put a noble effort into this. I got asthma pretty bad on Thursday and Friday, whenever I was able to get out and move about, I thought I would collapse or whatever.I went to a Steel Drum Ensemble rehearsal because I was feeling a bit better and it really rocked. Our show is going to be on Friday at the Cat in the Cream and I feel pretty good about it. It’s been a long time since I’ve really performed in a group, and playing in a group is SO much more fun than playing alone.
The ‘rents are back from a trip to China. They called and it was barely bearable, they’re still talking out of two sides of their faces, they can’t be thinking I’m buying it. They just can’t. They sent money a few days ago, along with, for the first time, a LETTER! I couldn’t even read it, I read the first line of each paragraph to get the gist and then chucked it. It was too weird having them trying to communicate like that after all this time. If they ever wanted to communicate, they should have started a long time ago and it’s way too late now.
We’ve never talked or anything. Anything said between us has been for practical communication or small talk, never discussion for the sake of discussion and I think it’s bullshit if they think things can change just because they all of a sudden decide to. I couldn’t get used to it and since they established it, I don’t see any reason why I should let anything change. I’m used to non-communication and I like it that way.
I had a dream a couple of nights ago. A bunch of people I knew were playing team hide and seek in the cemetery. I was on the hiding team and I couldn’t be caught. I was being chased at the time I woke up, but I couldn’t be caught. The following day I dreamed a cat had gotten into my room and woke me up by sitting on my chest. I was afraid it was going to scratch me even though I love cats, and I had difficulty kicking it out since I’m allergic to cats. I got it outside of the room but it made moves to get back in and I woke up just as I was slamming the door on it. I think they’re both death dreams. There was something morbid and dark about the cat and that’s why I was uncharacteristically afraid of it. But I don’t see my death happening before two years from now, so I don’t know why I’m having dreams about it now.
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