thirstythong

On the use of Modern Internet Tools

2012-01-21T19:02:00.000-08:00

In conversations as of late, I often bring up George Lakoff’s theory “Don’t Think of An Elephant” to elaborate on cognitive schema as activated by language.

“What do you think of when I say the word “Elephant?” An elephant, of course. Animal, big, gray, trunk, ivory - that’s the word cloud, the cognitive schema.

When people say “Facebook” or “Twitter” to, say, a 50-something, their response to “Facebook” or “Twitter” is “Hmmm, I don’t know about Facebook. It’s kinda, I don’t know, you know…” which indicates their typical cognitive schema to be “Facebook = young, dumb, drunk naked pictures of college students at parties”.

“Facebook” and “Twitter” are today’s most powerful tools of the internet because the whole world are using them and they are designed well (user-friendly).

I am not the one to dictate how people should use tools. Do whatever the fuck you want with whatever tools are at your disposal as it’s your life, it’s your time. If you want to post up a picture of your treasure trail, by all means.

A friend needs help to achieve solace.

A teacher needs a new form of engagement with her students.

A traveler needs recommendations and someone to have conversations with when there.

My aim is to use (these) modern internet tools to spur constructive conversations that create ideas that are actionable.

When I think “Facebook” or “Twitter”, I think of how to “help someone”, “elevate the conversation”, "do some cool shit"

If it’s a topic I see no benefit in engagement, summon the filter of selective ignorance, “don’t suffer fools”, as it will be a waste of energy to partake.

“Facebook” “Twitter” “A hammer” “Words” - How to make the world a better fucking place, for fuck sakes.

What English Teachers in Vietnam Make

2011-12-30T04:54:00.001-08:00

What English Teachers in Vietnam Make (2011)
for Taylor Mali

He says the problem with English teachers in Vietnam is
“What’s a Vietnamese kid going to learn from someone who decided their best option in life was to become an English teacher?”
He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true what they say about English teachers:
“Those who can, stay in their home country; those who can’t, just teach English in Vietnam”

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it’s also true what they say about bankers nowadays.

Because we’re eating at a French restaurant, after all, and this is polite company.

“I mean, you’re an English teacher, Jimmy,” he says.
“You’re not planning on doing this your whole life. Be honest, What do you make?”

And I wish he hadn’t done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You know what I make?

I make Vietnamese students work harder than they ever thought they could
I make correct pronunciation feel like they won the World Cup for Vietnam
and an incorrect word feel like a motorbike collision
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best
I make students from small towns feel like they are ready to run the UN
I make high school students sit through 40 minutes of TED talks in absolute silence.
No, you may not use your electronic dictionary.
Yes, you have permission to criticize me.
Why, won’t I let you go to the bathroom?
Because you want to check your girlfriend’s text message, that’s why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven’t called you at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Thuy said today.
Thuy said, “I think Vietnam is the most beautiful country in the world and I never want to leave.”
And it was the best thing I’ve heard since my mother assured me she trusts me.

I make parents see their children for who they are and whatever they want to be
You want to know what I make?

I make students imagine,
I make them question.
I make them respect tradition and invent the future with what they’ve got.
I make them read and write a 1-page essay on what they’ve just read
I make them realize America is not as cool as the movies
I make them speak, speak, speak
And then I make them understand that to become fluent in English, to become fluent in life, you have to sing your answers, paint your plans, live to dream
I make them show all their work in complete sentences.
And hide their incomplete ideas in poetry.
I make them pronounce the words “Thank You” with punched sarcasm in the case they ever talk to a Wall Street banker
I make them assemble the vocabulary needed to talk us out of this mess we’re in
I make them realize dignity is not found in numbers
It is found in words and living by them

I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
for being just an English teacher, you give them this (the finger)

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?
for Taylor Mali

He says the problem with English teachers in Vietnam is
“What’s a Vietnamese kid going to learn from someone who decided their best option in life was to become an English teacher?”
He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true what they say about English teachers:
“Those who can, stay in their home country; those who can’t, just teach English in Vietnam”

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it’s also true what they say about bankers nowadays.

Because we’re eating at a French restaurant, after all, and this is polite company.

“I mean, you’re an English teacher, Jimmy,” he says.
“You’re not planning on doing this your whole life. Be honest, What do you make?”

And I wish he hadn’t done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You know what I make?

I make Vietnamese students work harder than they ever thought they could
I make correct pronunciation feel like they won the World Cup for Vietnam
and an incorrect word feel like a motorbike collision
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best
I make students from small towns feel like they are ready to run the UN
I make high school students sit through 40 minutes of TED talks in absolute silence.
No, you may not use your electronic dictionary.
Yes, you have permission to criticize me.
Why, won’t I let you go to the bathroom?
Because you want to check your girlfriend’s text message, that’s why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven’t called you at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Thuy said today.
Thuy said, “I think Vietnam is the most beautiful country in the world and I never want to leave.”
And it was the best thing I’ve heard since my mother assured me she trusts me.

I make parents see their children for who they are and whatever they want to be
You want to know what I make?

I make students imagine,
I make them question.
I make them respect tradition and invent the future with what they’ve got.
I make them read and write a 1-page essay on what they’ve just read
I make them realize America is not as cool as the movies
I make them speak, speak, speak
And then I make them understand that to become fluent in English, to become fluent in life, you have to sing your answers, paint your plans, live to dream
I make them show all their work in complete sentences.
And hide their incomplete ideas in poetry.
I make them pronounce the words “Thank You” with punched sarcasm in the case they ever talk to a Wall Street banker
I make them assemble the vocabulary needed to talk us out of this mess we’re in
I make them realize dignity is not found in numbers
It is found in words and living by them

I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
for being just an English teacher, you give them this (the finger)

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

Before You Leave

2011-12-22T20:06:00.001-08:00

[Thuy places her documents in her briefcase, takes one last bite of a bagel and swigs down the remainder of her orange juice and gets up to leave for work]

[Thuy is in a escalating rush and kisses Henry in apron]

Henry: No!

Thuy: What?

Henry: That wasn’t right.

Thuy: What?

Henry: What was that?

Thuy: That, was that. What?

Henry: No!

Thuy: No, what?

Henry: I refuse.

Thuy: What, you don’t want me to kiss you in the morning?

[Henry pauses]

Henry: I don’t...not like that. I refuse to live like this.

Thuy: What?

Henry: I don’t want to be kissed like that.

Thuy: What? You want a kiss on the lips? What?

Henry: I just...you know, I just...want to be kissed.

Thuy: What?

Henry: Look, I sit here all day, cleaning the house, changing the baby’s diapers, writing all these blog posts, watching our site traffic spike, conjuring new SEO stuff, downloading and rearranging the apps on the iPad and you know...I think about you, alright. I’m watching last night’s Warriors game and Curry is taking the ball down the court and I start thinking you know. About 2012, and you know, Kim Jong Ill’s death, and that scene in Fight Club where all the credit card buildings are blown up, the Mayans, Global Warming, the baby starts crying, I forget to put the fabric softener in on the last cycle and, you know, I start thinking about you, like really hard, and I panic a little, you know. So, you know, I just don’t want to be kissed...just like that. You know.

[Thuy takes Henry’s hand]

[Thuy puts forehead to Henry’s forehead]

[Thuy takes Henry’s face in her hand]

[Thuy kisses Henry]

Henry: That’s better.

Thuy: I’ll see you tonight.

Henry: I’ll see you after work.

Fin

A Letter to my Future Daughter

2011-12-17T10:42:00.000-08:00

You didn't make the punk band as the bassist?!

Stop reading now

because you're disowned

The fuck you doing wearing that pink?

That's a shitty pink,

you need a pinker pink

You kiss that girl yet?

Some of them are shitty kissers
(and you can tell because they wear that shitty pink)

Correct all your trig?

"Đẹp gái có gì là sai, hạ?"

Funny, you are

Pumpkin, paper, scissors!

You lose, cook lunch!

You mess up this batch of bánh xèo, I'm gonna pin you

Where's that essay?

Your opening sentence sucks, it's too passive

Yeah, I did promise

Fine, park it is.

Häagen-Dazs, are you joking? You better do some cardio, no joke, I'm not paying for fat camp this summer.

Shit, time for your MMA class, fuck, sorry about that

Notes on Warhol

2011-12-15T08:23:00.000-08:00

“Easier to do.”

“No, it gives me something to do.”

“He changed the way people look at things and the priority they place on it.

He wanted to be a supernova.

Impact on the culture.

Being able to throw the lightning bolt, but not Zeus. He wanted to throw the lightning bolt.

So complex, so simple.

Artist of ideas.

Suggests something about life that could be formed in philosophical terms.

Withdrawing from active assertion of idreas.

Born on the eve of the Great Depression

Andy had no idea of bourgie life.

High priest of Pop

He was okay with commerce.

Turn the art world upside-down

Mechanical production to its logical extreme - how to do that with the internet?

Reinventing the American Dream

We should all be famous for 15 minutes.

His desire to film everything - artistic embodiment

Take unbearable reality and pass it through the looking glass
Silkscreen reality - make it new
Search for different media - attempt to play again this trick of substantiating garbage and making it valuable

He couldn’t tell a story
Zero talent for narrative whose life is like a novel
His genius was for immediacy
Everything had a strange coherence
Power of connection
Death - lived it whether he wanted to or not
Attuned to large issues: immediacy, in the romantic movement, losing the moment, on the edge of death
Fraust
Endless going

I try to think of what time is:
Time is
Time was

Draw a picture of cows - 5 cents

Staring at something for a long time - someone who is lonely
Stare at an object - concentrate - hours of time poring over his artwork
Turn to the least likely source to learn your art

His art has maternal inscription in it

How to make it work

Pollock, 1949

Blotted line

in print

What makes an image communicate

His sense of color

Permutation

Single theme and endlessly change it

draftsman

work for a public realm vs promotional books

he looks like capote

acutely unattractive

observer than that of participant

other voices, other rooms

abstract expressionists

“So what?”

He stopped caring.

Gave up sentimental style in the 50s for a mechanical 60s style
master the world by not seeming to care

Time changes things but you have to change them yourself
Change the way people grasp the world around them
Art changes society

Jasper Johns
Avante Garde painter
too swish and campy
social distinctions to the art itself
Don’t care

Pre-existing images and vernacular subjects
Cheapest blunt images
Clipped from tabloid newspapers
The artist is this out of nothing inventor
Pure receptive to everything
He chooses, he is a recording machine
Reflects life rather than project life
He works from a found image
steeped in film culture

know about the hook, the seduction
american desire

can a painting be a painting if there are no drips
everyone prefers the tighter version
it’s naked, it’s brutal, it’s who we are
increasingly flat
no space for your eye to wonder or infer
our spiritual eye to throw ourselves into it
colossal creep

flatness wasn’t painterly (how can i be anti-poetry-ly)
anti-poetry

keith herring

Paint something that people see everyday (that they don’t see everyday)

It makes you consider something

seriality

marries form and content

he pushed the language forward - that’s what we got from great artists

complicated in their implication

I feel very much apart of my times
I am a camera
I am a recording machine, a mirror to the world

Steal reality as much as possible
 We were seeing the future without knowing it

He wanted to figure it out and leave something

I thought people should think about them sometime (it’s just that people go by and it doesn’t really matter to them - I thought it would be nice that they would be thought of when they don’t normally get thought of)

temporality of film

We want to redeem the garbage in our lives
Maximum redemption of lost material
Recycler
He puts meaning back where there was deadness

He is a non-artist who is the world’s greatest artist (HE IS THE ORIGINAL LEADER OF THE CULT OF THE AMATEUR)

Seize the means of re-production, a power move
Playing god in the most economical means

What do you do when you run out of ideas?
I wait, as an insect waits, and I jump
Beauty is in talkers
Destructive people
He was the receiver of ideas

If you let in everyone, you let in madness
Jesus narrative

He could read between the lines of what everyone was saying

Business: what you do is go to the edge, declare that the center and have everyone re-organize to your center

He created a center, that was the edge

Sociability and art - how people feel and respond

I was hanging around them

Made a decision about them
rejects feeling good about themselves
the misbegotten of the world can go there and feel great

he became a whole different person

he couldn’t be his old self anymore

public vs private persona

Don’t worry about creating art
JUST GET IT DONE
Let everyone else decide whether it’s good or bad

While they’re deciding, make even more art

Take it all in!
Serious examination of the nature of existence

The time dimension

Time disappearance

Celebrating our existence
Slowing down our perceptions

Screen tests - living portraits

Naked time

Every image is Andy

Andy became famous by making other people famous
Star maker

There once was better than anyone else’s.
Too gifted to lead regular lives.
dystopian grand central station

aristocratic pedigree
poor little rich girl
the voyeur

Do everything

He hated to say no
she couldn’t handle that challenge to that fantasy
Having died once, I shouldn’t feel fear

making money is art
good business is the best art
perpetual diversification
time theft
maniacal productivity

dying is the most embarrassing thing that can happen to you
someone has to take care of all your details

An Ode to Diffusion

2011-12-10T19:24:00.001-08:00

Galaxies glint in my eye while all you see is the next episode of Jersey Shore like a shower of slobber wipe your maw
You gargle water as I savor the components of aged wine
How dare anyone except insolence as the bare minimum of existence
The meager thought of mediocrity has me reaching for edges
Even Mike Tran can't hold a candle to this fierce wind
Fore I fear language-less lepers who make me more foolish by osmosis
Stupidity is scarier than science
I am drunk off my potential
Most of all

Theatre is Power

2011-12-05T05:17:00.001-08:00

There were two instances when theatre was power.

When I was 8, I was enrolled in the Willard Summer Camp. They assigned us roles. They assigned me the “Good Prince.” I had never done theatre prior to that. I took it very seriously. I memorized all my lines and rehearsed hard. On the day of the live performance, I discover nobody else on our cast memorized their lines, all were going off script in hand. I actually had to pretend I forgot my lines as I didn’t want to seem like a show-off. Regardless, self-reliance is powerful.

When I was 15, we had social studies class at Berkeley High. We had a role-playing activity where we had to act out various situations we would find ourselves in, at our pubescent age - to create empathy, to critically think about real-life situations, to learn. To my quasi-bewilderment, one of my best friends, who I was grouped with, outwardly moaned about his disappointment not being in the “funner” group. I took indirect offense to that. I take the bull by the horns and enter the role-play with a fellow classmate and to not only the surprise of hers, but the whole class - I perform the fuck out of my role-play. My role-play girlfriend is pregnant and I straight man-the-fuck-up, I get on my knees and assure her that everything will be alright and we’ll get through this together, whatever happens, we will get through this and everything will be better than okay. I get a standing ovation in a classroom of pre-haters. The next week, I am then imitated by one of my former bullies, as he searched for approval from my eyes.

From then, I decided that I would make life awesome - any time, any where, any situation.

Theatre is the shit.

Flat Tire

2011-11-21T08:22:00.001-08:00

I always think I’ll get to where I want

Bust in a blink, stuck to search under the night

A failing-eyed uncle fixing my bike now venting at his wife

I didn’t mean for them to fight, it’s alright sir

I’m in no rush tonight

Though I usually am

cuz there’s never much time

Third cigarette

I’m doing just fine

Though I’m usually not

cuz there’s never much time

It’s alright sir

I’m in no rush tonight

Invincibility

2011-11-20T00:00:00.001-08:00

I understand impermanence and that has made me invincible.

That there is no me. That there will never be a me. That this body is a vessel. That the worth and grace is in the sweat and momentum - the swing we bring - that manifests God, found especially in all the small things.

Those small moments.

Our best legacy is the one that pushes those within our realm to their limits, to bring out the best in them.

The most divine existence is not defined as the preservation of one’s genetic code. It is to push humanity forward irregardless.

To live for form and shape, not for the physicality, beautiful as it is; for the mental sharpness most of all.

To transcend and know those within our realm cannot be left behind.

God will only come if you are there as it is in the energy, your sweat, your tears. As always, we are the God we’ve been waiting for.

Booce knows what I'm talking about: http://vimeo.com/22918197

A Relationship is a Business

2011-11-13T00:54:00.001-08:00

A friend expressed her feelings of her partner making her feel inadequate, to which I say: "then, why the hell are you with that person?"

To me, a relationship is like a business. There are three things to remember:

1. It has to be fun.
2. It has to build the two of you up together, not tear you both, or even one of you, down. The whole point of being in a relationship is to ultimately build a future, and if you are fortunate, a family, together, and you need at least two strong pillars to create a solid foundation on which to build a future. In business terms, it has to be profitable in all aspects: especially mentally and spiritually.
3. It has to be fun.

If the relationship doesn't meet those three important criteria, I would cut my losses and move on, no matter how much time, effort and capital has been invested.

In other economic words, no matter the sunk cost, if the prospective cost projections are dim, abandon sitting on the depreciating sunk cost and go out and create a wealth of opportunity cost options, until you hit the jackpot.

In late-night comedy club after-hours stand-up speak:

"Man, fuck that motherfucker. I could give a flying fuck how long we've been together. If my partner doesn't wise the fuck up and respect me like I respect them, I movethefuckon.org"

Precious

2011-11-01T01:39:00.000-07:00

When I say "there are no words to describe how I truly feel inside"

It means

I went into my own personal caves

the furthest one I could reach, I damn near broke an ankle

Pick,

Satchel,

Headlight

Fury

at every stalagmite

every cavity

and break

in my tectonic plates

No diamonds

no rubies

not even a barnacle

Fuck,

not one damn word for you

So please,

take my pick,

my satchel,

my headlight

I forgot to use gloves, my fuckin' dirty hands

Know that I mean business

Taking Lua Programming to a Lower Level

2011-10-27T23:50:00.001-07:00

My Perfect Day in Hanoi

2011-10-21T04:03:00.000-07:00

My Perfect Day in Hanoi

Siri-ơi

2011-10-13T20:27:00.000-07:00

Hoan Kiem

2011-10-03T07:12:00.000-07:00

Mecca for an hour

Walkers

Joggers

Mothers

Toddlers waddling behind

in the joy of pursuit

Old timers upright on stone benches

hands on their knees

half-faced glasses

talking life in between caught breath

Old timer

shirtless and pull-ups on the branch over water

No fear

since this giving tree

has been his friend

ever since he was a teenager

The couple staring out into the face of the lake

earbuds split between

listening to you know who

and who knows what

Guitarist

who just bought a guitar

Soon to be newly weds

hard for that perfect shot

The Lotteria now

across the street

like the pimple glistening

on prom night's face

Big women speed walking trying to make weight

Little women speed walking trying to stay weight

All women on the bend

flash aerobics in sync every weekday past 8

hips in rehearsal for the biggest show

they will never go on stage for

I tiptoe around the factions

the couples

the eldest

the sprinting child

I wonder what my life would have been like

had I bred here

I wonder what my life will be like

if I stay here

the homies

the tour group with matching trucker hats

the tourist couple with their day packs, their Oakleys

and their map outstretched

wondering, always wondering, what to do next

the beloved

the blessed

the friends forever

the cupcakers, the I may never kiss you again so ahhh yeeeaaah ones

the artist sitting tree-side with his self-made charcoal portraits of Angelina Jolie

and passer-bys

he can immortalize you for what comes out to be $1.25

Hoàn Kiếm

Sword Lake

where the turtle

hasn't been seen in years

It's only the people we never met

that have seen it

I sing Karaoke songs, like my homie Cam

but to myself

I tip-toe

We all stroll

We never stop

Round and round

and round

we go

Choose Your (Hiphop) Role Models Wisely

2011-09-23T06:56:00.000-07:00

A conversation last night touched on the topic of role models, within the scope of hiphop artists.

A friend said I am trying to be like P. Diddy.

I replied, “actually, I’m aiming to be more like Mos Def.”

I thought about this more at home later and realized there were elements of truth to both claims.

Yes, I do want to be like Mos Def: I want Mos Def’s artistry.

Also, I want P. Diddy’s business acumen

And Jay-Z’s delivery

And Kanye West’s conceptualization ability

2Pac’s politics and passion

Nas’ lyricism

Eazy E's vulgarity

E-40’s linguistics

Snoop Dogg’s aura

Biz Markie’s amiability

LL Cool J’s career endurance and gym discipline

Eminem’s determination

Andre 3000’s imagination

Tribe Called Quest’s inner-Chi

DMX’s bark

B.I.G.’s food expense account

Wu-Tang’s limousine

Ice Cube’s flannel shirts

Ice T's goat-tee

I can think of many role models because I want to learn their most defining characteristic.

I can’t think of one role model who I want to be wholly.

Or perhaps, I am working to one day be called U-God.

In figuring it out, I’ll end up myself.

Between the Lines (2004)

2011-09-17T03:59:00.000-07:00

On the grounds of John Muir Elementary

I am given one of those

chain letters

folded in a fifth grade way

I won’t blame whoever gave it to me

I know the fear of fate in my hands

warning

if I don’t make ten copies of that very chain letter

doom ten of my friends to doom ten of theirs

bad fortune within the next year

I rip the chain letter to shreds

toss into the wastebasket

along with my belief in superstition

luck

a chain letter

That same year

my family is given a letter of their own

the unexpected

drama reserved for after-school specials

we were being evicted

Questions of fate pursue

stir with future and circumstance

I have the fifth grade to worry about already

crushes I have to mentally manage

baggy pants to buy

these questions too early

for a ten-year old

what if we had more money?

what if the landlord wasn’t so greedy?

where are we going to live?

what if we still lived in Torrance with Aunty Marie, Lili and bà nội?

I imagine the questions hit my mother harder

1992

we live in the heat of the UC Berkeley campus

students desperate for a cheap place to live

like us

My parents work as manicurists

giving hands egos

hours of work behind dust masks

days without official business hours

any customers needed

from the rich Park Blvd. residents who have always remembered my birthday

to the local customers trying to skip my father who runs them down

determined not to let anybody cheat him

he is a gambler

Pretty Nails By Kim

open

even on Vietnamese New Year

Sunday morning temple

my parent’s respective birthdays

No time for Buddhism

time is manicurist money

religion can’t pay our bills

so we keep our altar honored

Even manicurist money

can’t pay the rising rent of student housing

inevitable

we move into the back of my aunt’s nail shop

that stole my parents

No heat

only blankets

No privacy

only a sliding door

No bathtub

luckily a shower

No stove

only microwave

Eating fast food with no taste in those slow times

living beneath my silent shame

four years of rubbing alcohol

Lume gel

nail polish

polished laughs from my mom and aunt for extra tips

develop immunity from the fact of living in the back of Pretty Nails By Kim

on Telegraph and Alcatraz

Teach myself to lie to my friends

imagine there are other Vietnamese boys who live the same shame

that has no name that would do justice

because poverty doesn’t suffice

the pain is always more complicated than a single word

Fate or circumstance

or if I had the chance

I would take that chain letter back

screw over ten of my friends for family’s sake

they don’t know the feeling

hiding from the sight of friends riding the morning school bus

creeping out the back gates

uncomfortable in my own skin

They don’t know what it’s like

embarrassed of my own mother

when it’s never her fault

and I don’t know who to blame

UC Berkeley

our ex-landlord

the Vietnam War

the community college teachers who have never been able to teach my mother English adequately

myself

that

chain letter

About a Fisherman from Cuddalore (2005)

2011-09-13T03:56:00.000-07:00

for Mani Natrajan who lost his family on December 25, 2004

The tag #196

is tied to a foot of a listless body

veiled by white cloth

Mani kisses this foot

Belonging to his wife, Muniamma

Convulsing in dry heaves

his body goes into aftershocks

like rusty fingernails

excavating his muscles

II.

Mani and Muniamma

learned of each other at the market

as Muniamma picked pungent sardines

from his weathered hands

Not only can she make a sensation out of scraps

she has a hearty laugh for her frame

thick with life

Holding her tiny face

gentle like a wilted rose

they exchange confessions

in whistling rain

keep themselves a secret

shared only with the ocean

Thatch shelter with promises

whispered in sleep to keep heat

she consumes him like survival

Why he swallows hard

Watching her sleep

chest emerge, ebb

wishing to kiss her like

every time is their first

and last

III.

2004

the 11^th year marking the 10, 8 and

6-year-old birthdays of their children,

Sukaniya, Vanaya, Surender respectively

Mani and Muniamma have bought them

a pale blue kite

mad swirls against the fog

like an S.O.S.

They fly it in the bare brown field

a sprint away

from their mother

washing their shirts

on the wood

planked staircase to their home

…

Muniamma thought it odd one afternoon

that as her three firecracker children

ran towards her for an early lunch

they were mute

Turning her head towards the ocean

for the first time

she saw the sky disappear

In an unwanted staring contest

she didn’t blink

when the wave poured through

like bleach

IV.

Mani outran the wind

burning the skin off the underside of his feet

Upon arrival

his home didn’t even look like a sketch

of the life he once had

Just crumbs

and the scent of phantoms

December 26, 2004 –

“Among the hundreds of thousands of Sri Lankans, Indians, Indonesians, Thai dead and missing, 7 Americans may have died or suffered injury.”

VI.

Wailing gravediggers couldn’t afford to spare a second for sentiment

running out of tears

as the shoveled earth bevels Muniamma

faster than the sea could swallow her

VII.

It won’t matter if this time, he is safe on a mountain

Mani will build a small house elsewhere

tuck himself away

VIII.

Every time he sleeps

Mani dreams Muniamma, Sukaniya, Vanaya, Surender,

crackling with laughter, sly squids in their grip

secede slow into a huge hole in the Earth

He coats the hole with a viscous scream

sapping him to collapse

as an avalanche devours him

breaking his rib cage open

drowning his heart in salt

Mr. On '08

2011-09-08T01:56:00.000-07:00

My hobby in 2008 was following the presidential election.

I ain’t gonna front, I had a mancrush on Obama - not just because of this girl, but of course.

Even though he might be able to convince to buy an iPhone, he will never be able to convince me to vote for the Bosnian mercenary - unless, he can somehow get me, ahem, seven minutes in heaven.

Hilarity aside (pun intended, but of course), allow me to introduce you to Mr. On.

“In all the tales of wartime courage peppering John McCain’s presidential campaign trail, perhaps the most outstanding example of selfless heroism involves not the candidate but a humble Vietnamese peasant.

On October 26, 1967, Mai Van On ran from the safety of a bomb shelter at the height of an air raid and swam out into the lake where Lieutenant Commander McCain was drowning, tangled in his parachute cord after ejecting when his Skyhawk bomber was hit by a missile.

In an extraordinary act of compassion at a time when Vietnamese citizens were being killed by US aerial bombardments, he pulled a barely conscious McCain to the lake surface and, with the help of a neighbour, dragged him towards the shore.”

Dopeness, indeed. But then:

“From that brief encounter to his death at the age of 88 two years ago, Mr On never heard from the senator again, and three years after their meeting, McCain published an autobiography that makes no mention of his apparent debt to Mr On.”

Not that I need to give you reasons not to vote for McCain, but how’s the wind in your stomach? Read the article for the account of their encounter.

Killing with Kindness (keeping it real with a plate of french fries)

2011-08-22T02:02:00.000-07:00

I was at an old favorite bar of mine in Hanoi last week.

Friends and I were on the dance floor, I had ordered a plate of french fries. The plate was brought over and in transit, right before it’s laid on our table, a western man of my age grabs a fry without asking. There are, of course, two ways of dealing with this: 1. Ignore it 2. “Keep it Real” - curse, kick over stools, and do my best imitation of Spartacus fighting for glory before the Heavens. I opt for the third option: Kill with kindness. Step 1: Approach the man, make direct eye and tell him what he should have done (“Sir, if you want a french fry, please ask.”) Step 2: Retrieve the plate of french fries from the table and offer french fries to each and every person in his circle of friends (three at the time), who happened to be dancing with him. Approach each and every person, make direct eye contact, ask them in a civil, more importantly, giving manner. If they decline (they usually do), move on to the next person. To convey I sincerely want them to have a french fry, I lay my hand on their upper arm, to have them re-direct their waning eye contact back towards me. Step 3: Reiterate with the entire group that if they want french fries, they will be back at our table, just ask. Killing with kindness takes less energy, realigns the disrupted moral imbalance, gets me back in the mood to dance with my friends and has quietly changed the mindsets of the strangers who originally thought it would be funny to take the belongings of someone without asking politely (and I’ve personally observed foreigners doing this in Vietnam more often than not unfortunately). This exercise can be practiced in other similar situations, such as another individual wanting a dance with your significant other, which of course, tends to happen on the dancefloor. Truly consider: they never really wanted the french fries - and you never asked for trouble. It will only take 2 minutes tops to rectify the situation. And you won’t even break a sweat, that is, unless you’re pretty dancing like Ali. We always have the power to realign the balance in the way that keeps us in control, so exercise that power with the grace of a butterfly and the sting of a bee.

Synchronicity

2011-08-15T00:28:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my friend, Cam, about Synchronicity, while we were driving home one night.

His definition is, you know, I can't remember it and I actually feel that I would do his words injustice if I were to describe it.

What I can do is to tell you of my moments of synchronicity which I have experienced lately.

a. I was listening to music on my iPad and was thinking of a Raphael Saadiq song. About 5 seconds later, it starts playing.

b. I was reloading my metallic cigarette case and had the exact amount of cigarettes to refill it exactly.

c. I dropped something and caught it as a reflex.

d. Basketball sequences on the court where everything flows together: perfect passes are made, imperfect passes are adjusted to and caught, shots are banked off but a teammate is there to rebound it at the right angle, to throw it back in, you and your teammate aligned to where he can swing the ball around for an unguarded cut. The beauty of these flows is they aren't informed by pre-determined coach plays, they are informed by having played with each other for so long and in that, being able to take on and adjust to any assortment of players in the entropy that is street ball.

In writing those down, synchronicity refers to being on the same wavelength with everything around you, being present in the moment to where everything falls into place.

Peter Parker has Spider-Sense.

The rest of us have synchronicity.