soul laid bare

[soullaidbare]

i'm afraid.

i've always lamented that perhaps i'm a big fish in a small pond. but i've also always know that I am too frightened to ever attempt to be a fish in a larger pond. 

i rely on being in relative control of things. i draw strength from being able to keep an eye on my domain. 

but this control - it limits. it constrains. 

i know i don't have faith.

i don't believe God could use me in a big church. i don't believe I'd know what to do. I'm afraid i'd just make a mess of things. i'm afraid i'd fail spectacularly.

and then i'd need my own elizabethtown. 

[jakewyattonline]

I apologize as this comes off as disrespectful to Michael Brown or Trayvon Martin. Or their families. Or YOU, the reader. I’m not about that. That’s not why I drew this.

I am just really freaked out that 40% of Americans (and 47% of White Americans) do not think that the killings and violence in Ferguson ‘raise any racial issues.’ Fellow White Persons, this is our chance to learn. This is our chance to change.

When Trayvon Martin was murdered because Full Grown Men in America are frightened to violence by the presence black children, the dialogue turned very quickly into a conversation about gun control.

And gun control is an issue that deserves our attention.

But it won’t change the massive poverty in Black America. The arrest rate. The education statistics. The institutional, systemic, casual, or passive racism that plagues our country.

And it wouldn’t have saved Michael Brown.

Anyway. I’m sorry if this comes off as disrespectful or insincere or preachy. I’m sorry if my execution (or personality) gets in the way of what I’m trying to say. I am an imperfect artist, an imperfect person, and I am, undoubtedly, blinded to a million things by my own glaring whiteness. So this might be… Lord, this might be awful. I’m so sorry if it’s awful. Really.

But. I just keep thinking… Look, my wife is pregnant with our first child. A boy. We’re nervous, we’re excited, we’re SO ANXIOUS because what the hell do you do with babies? WE don’t know. But if we were a black family… in this country… we would be so terrified. Because we live in a nation that murders the children of black parents, puts it on the news WITH RIOTS AND TEAR GAS as decoration, and still half of us don’t even see it as a problem. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine bringing a child into that reality, to face the odds we lay out for black kids?

That would break me. I’ve never known anything like that. No one should ever know anything like that.

So let’s talk to our friends about race. Lets talk to our families. And when actual victims of racism try to tell us what’s going on in, say, a peaceful community protest as they are being gassed and shot at by cops WE SHOULD LISTEN TO AND BELIEVE THEM. Let’s talk to each other about this until we are all on the same page.

And then let’s turn the damn page.

[soullaidbare]

and i drifted off to another world on a bed of stars in the whisper of night

[soullaidbare]

green grass.

she was grass.  that's one of the words we used to use together.  "Grass. It's like cool. or awesome." "I'm going to make it popular. It'll catch on." Who knew I was trying to be "fetch" 15 years before "fetch" was even a thing. 

She wasn't the prettiest girl I knew, but she had another sort of charm. A wit, a sarcasm, a depth that I enjoyed. Well read, good taste in music, and a warm, down-to-earth demeanour. Attributes i love to this day. 

We never dated. But i'd visit her at her uni. We'd spend time together, chatting, laughing, drinking. When term ended, I'd visit her occasionally out by the sea. 

But as time passed, and I moved away, and she moved on, only a few words were exchanged occasionally. Pleasantries, old memories, good times. But there were no new adventures. There were no new stories to tell. Just the past. 

And now she is passed. Too soon gone.  When i first heard she was dying, I tried to recapture the years in-between. But too much time had passed, and once living friendship, was now conversations with strangers, but without the possibility of a future. 

Goodbye. 

You were, and always will be, my grass. 

[soullaidbare]

25% chinese?

i had a discussion today about the measure of chinese in me. Sure, ethnically, i'm 100% chinese, but culturally, it's hard to say. It seems that living in the west has muted the chinese in me, and so in hindsight it's interesting to think about what parts of chinese culture remain.

What parts of me are Chinese?

Unfortunately the things that come to mind are all somewhat negative. I'm extraordinarily hat-hey. Though to the point some people might call me British. I believe that children should be disciplined to play a musical instrument of some sort. Though that's not merely a Chinese trait. I love eating rice, though tend to stray away from more Chinese foods (usually odd animal parts and assorted fungi, not to mention the fearsome array of soups on hand.) 

But i am thrifty. My mother would say cheap. She used to say, "I pity the woman who marries you because you're so cheap."

But I respect my parents and my elders. 

I expect my child to stay with me as long as possible, and will do what I can to help them get a head start on life. 

I believe that we have a responsibility to take care of our parents, and grandparents.

I think hard work and saving money are important, because you never know when it will all be gone. (Though that's probably more an immigrant mentality, than a pure chinese one.)

Truth be told, I am not that Chinese at all. I'm a little bit disappointed. But the reality is, I'm also not that western. I'm somewhere in-between.

Middle child, middle culture. 

Maybe i should be part of the middle kingdom. 

[theladybadass]

Scenes from 1963 March on Washington. The march was documented by James Blue and restored by the US National Archives. The *entire film can be seen on the US National Archives Youtube Channel.

*The audio from 23:13 to 29:44 in this film has been redacted due to a copyright restriction by Dr. King’s family

[soullaidbare]

this is inspiring.

[jh-001-deactivated20151203]

After seeing Her the other day I realized that it felt a lot like Lost in Translation and dealt with the same themes: isolation, loneliness, and finding solace in someone (or something) else.

[parislemon]

Yep. Thought the same things.

Update: Another interesting little twist to this: remember that Spike Jonze and Sofia Coppola were married from 1999 - 2003. Then there’s the rumor that Giovanni Ribisi’s photographer character in Lost in Translation was based on Jonze. And, of course, there’s the voice of Samantha…

Was Her Jonze’s direct response to Lost in Translation? Maybe that’s reading way too much into it. But maybe not. It’s certainly a compelling notion that sort of works beautifully.

[mrbeniciodeltoro]

[soullaidbare]

it boils within me,

this anger, this rage

that screams out in the silence

of the frustrations of this place

which binds me from moving

keeps me from speaking

til my inner screams

from my heart

leave me

exhausted

but unabated.

[soullaidbare]

goodbye again

another year another departure. how many is it now? 20-30? more like 80-90. how many goodbyes does there need to be. at some point it feels like investments with diminishing returns. but they all leave. because friends and churches are replaceable. but jobs, I guess they're harder to find. and so the obligatory "we'll keep in touch" and words of thanks are exchanged. but they're half truths. no one bothers keeping in touch. everyone has their own lives, their own stories, and in reality we are just selfish. and so it's another goodbye. I wonder when I won't have the strength to muster up a new hello.

[soullaidbare]

the art of communication

it's not what i said, nor what i meant, 

and so the conversation goes round and round

with ever increasing intensity, 

til the temperature reaches a boiling point

and the communication exists only

as a simmering stew

[soullaidbare]

Vertigo sending me over the edge Of reason and of rationality The heart spinning excitement of falling Mixed with the nausea of uncertainty The moment of peering over the edge Lost in the dizzying heights of near death Afraid that at any moment in time My footing fail and the fall becomes real Intoxicated by the precipe Tumbling down, the end crashing towards me Rush fear guilt loss drifting confusion death For taller the tower, greater the fall.

[bldgwlf]

Ben Javens’ piece for a show curated by Idiot’s Pasture currently held at Village Book Store in the Corn Exchange, Leeds.

[soullaidbare]

speaking

all eyes on me. except for the ones glued to their phones. and the ones distracted by the noises in the back. and the ones that are closed. but apart from those - all eyes on me. ears at the ready. eager to hear what words will come from my mouth. 

i stand there, and begin my oration. fine words framed poetically, weaving narrative, explaining passages, driving home points. rhetoric, if not at it's finest, at least in action. 

until i am finished. and i leave somber-faced, to retreat to my own thoughts.

and though my moment has passed, its lingering effects remain. the criticisms. the complaints. the parts unexplained and unfinished. 

and i sweep up all the negative dialogue, and piece it together back home, and dwell in the regret that it was never enough time spent. 

i tell myself i speak for an audience of one. but in reality, i am weighed by the words of the many. 

[soullaidbare]

it aches within. this missing piece. what was is no more. but what could be could never have been. yet the aching continues. shriveling my heart and soul dry hoping for the impossible this missing piece to be amiss no more.

[soullaidbare]

ridiculously p'd off.

[soullaidbare]

i don't know what i want.

i was asked what would constitute a fun day for me. i had nothing in response. i don't even know what would be fun for me. aside from wanting to sleep, i'm not sure i would know what i would do that would make a day fun. i have no idea who i would want to spend it with, where i would go, what i'd want to do, how i would plan my moments. 

but this "what would be a fun day" belies a greater problem. i don't know anything. i don't know what clothes i would buy. that's why i've had the same styleless style for years. i don't know what i want to eat, which is why i pore aimlessly through a menu and then just pick the same ol same ol. 

it's times like this when i feel lost. 

and yet there are insignificant things which i do have opinions about. typefaces. human computer interface. traffic and parking. but those are all addendum. where am i going. i don't even know anymore.