i'm terrible at this

I dunno what it is about blogging, but I honestly cannot seem to maintain one for longer than a few weeks. During those first few weeks (or the honeymoon period), I can't update enough, constantly forming my very confusing, very unorganized thoughts into a cohesive whole. Then, little by little, the desire fades into apathy. Sigh...I'll keep trying.

So the big news is, I've decided to go to law school. This may or may not be news to all four of you reading. The good news is, I'll be a Longhorn again. The bad news is, I'm going back in debt. Fun. It should be interesting. I'm already having dreams about my first day of school. I dunno if thats a good or a bad thing. The dream was quite confusing and a little...optimistic. I highly doubt this is nor do I honestly want this to be a realistic view of what law school will be like. I imagine it will be highly challenging and yet I find myself warming up to that idea more and more. Wish me luck and I'll keep all of you updated :).

random thoughts

- self-help books are a combination of the distillation of knowledge that everyone knows and should follow but most ignore and the advice that no one should be giving

- i've been feeling very productive. i've been going to work by 7 or 8 every day and mostly staying till 5 -7. i've finished all my work for the next week and am working on the next month's now.

- good music makes me happy. or sad. or emotions in general.

- good lyrics do the same

- street fighter 4 is very fun...and frustrating

- on that note, i realized, if i can't beat something...i will keep playing until i can. i ended up staying up till 1 trying to beat street fighter 4 with one of the new characters. it was immensely frustrating. the sad part is, i felt no satisfaction from beating it. i had just invested too much to quit.

- i like making my own food and i like eating. i just hate the cleaning up part afterwards.

My Dream

Background: Alternate Earth. 2015. In the history of the world, there have eight extremely deadly styles of martial arts - assassin arts. There were a few who would take advantage of these assassin styles (Judgment) and a few, very few, who opposed them (the Guardians). Through the work of a select few individuals, most of the world had never realized the existence of this other, super powerful, world. There are two very simple rules: 1) There are no witnesses and 2) They do not talk about this to anyone not of that world. In time, most of the ancient styles had passed into obscurity, remembered only through legend, or they still existed, but in a much diminished form. The Guardians had slowly come to view their work as unnecessary and rote, each successive generation growing more and more complacent. There were hints of the awakening of the forgotten styles, but they were mostly ignored except by a few younger members. Most believed the fight was over. They, and the world, were in for rude awakening.

Scene begins: I'm a young Guardian member, but have risen fast through the ranks based on my prowess. My wife is also a member, as well as visibly pregnant. We are walking through a town, ready to spend a nice quiet evening together (something we have been unable to do as Judgment has started to move). I had been worried recently, as I had seen some styles which I had believed long forgotten, in their most potent forms. We had already lost a few of the younger Guardians (the more active ones). However, this was far from my mind as I wished to have at least one peaceful night in my young life.

As we walk through the town, we notice a commotion. I see an old man walking, a little too smooth, something deadly in his gait. I focus in on him, reluctantly, ready to react, yet hoping it was nothing. However, a peaceful night was not to be. The old man suddenly attacks those around him and I must stop him. We fight, yet its fairly quick. The old man has very little power and his body feels weak, somehow. I come back to my wife and we realize our night is over, as we must take the old man in. However, two younger members quickly approach and offer to take the old man in themselves, as they are already planning on heading into the base. I agree and we continue our date.

We enjoy a lovely dinner and are walking back, when I notice something strange. The two agents and the old man are walking, but the atmosphere feels off. I watch carefully, but nothing explains why I'm intuitively on guard. Then, the two agents walk into a bar while the old man continues walking. I realize its too late. One of the oldest forgotten styles included forbidden techniques for puppetry of people. The two agents leave the bar and the three of them sprint past me toward a school we had just passed. I know I can't keep my wife safe and stop these three. I yell at my wife, "RUN!!", and promise I'll meet her later. However, as she runs away, I watch her, engraving her image into my mind. I whisper, "I'm sorry...I love you" and then turn and run after the three men.

I enter the school, and I'm immediately assaulted. The two junior members attack me, their eyes empty, their styles somewhat disjointed. I attempt to subdue them as quick as possible, but they do not stop for debilitating injuries. I must kill them. After their deaths, I search for the old man. I find him, and he attacks me in the middle of a massive gym. By this time, he had already attacked multiple and the alarms had been going off. I had already suffered multiple severe injuries from the previous fights, and was prepared to lose my life in defense of these people. Yet as the fight began, the puppet master seemed even weaker than before. This was too easy, something was wrong.

I soon realized he, too, was not affected by severe injuries. I broke his neck, expecting the fight to be over. However, his body stood back and leered at me. I realized I had been set up. The puppet master wasn't even there. The old man had been the first puppet I had seen. The lack of strength and speed finally made sense. The true puppet master had put me in a position where I had violated the first major rule of our world. No witnesses. As I looked around, I saw pandemonium. The high schoolers were all running around as teachers attempted to maintain some semblance of order. I knew what I had to do. I was about to violate the second rule.

I grabbed the mic and hoped this would work out. "All of you, please listen to me. I know you don't understand what you just saw. You saw an old man killed by the very person talking in front of you. You saw strange fighting, some of it too fast for you to follow. You saw a dead man walking." As I look around, everyone has stopped. They are looking at me, listening, paying attention. I'm grateful. "The world isn't as simple as you once believed. Long ago, eight assassin styles were created - their sole purpose was to destroy. The man you saw was a puppet of a master of one of those styles. A few masters, realizing the intent behind these styles, banded together to protect the world. Throughout history, you have maintained your innocence, your ignorance. However, this can no longer be. Our organization has grown weak and foolish. Theirs has seemingly spent generations building up strength. Ancient styles, once thought lost, are now appearing, their practitioners deadlier than ever and your protectors are no longer as strong as they once were. The world as you know it, is ending. I wish you all the best of luck."

I finished and step off the podium. I sit down, my wounds growing more painful. I know the end is near for me. Though my wounds would not kill me, my organization has already given up on me now that I have broken the two rules. Judgment will be coming for me.

As I wait, I don't feel any joy that I've protected the school, that no innocents were left to die. All I feel is intense anguish. I will never be able to see my son. I will never see my wife again. I wait for the end and weep.

The dream fades out.

random thoughts...

- i'm stealing a page from eric's book and posting up random thoughts as well

- i'm also stealing one of eric's thoughts: During the winter, I started reading a lot of non-fiction dog books. I had always wanted to read the books by Jon Katz, the author on Slate who always writes about animals, but had never had a chance to until, fortunately, my sister bought me a Sony E-reader. I started with A Dog Year, moved on to A Good Dog, then to Dog Days, and finally to Izzy and Lenore. I also read Marley and Me (note: Do not read if you are prone to waterworks). Theres something about the relationships that form between dogs and their owners which really moves me. The devotion these animals give to their owners is amazingly simple and powerful. I realized I want that and yet the timing never seems right. Sigh... This did lead me to realize I must be masochistic since I read these stories, knowing they're going to make me tear up. Whatevs. Eric had a good link to another bittersweet story about the love of a dog.

- the alarm in my dream woke me up 20 minutes before i wanted to wake up. my roommates wanted some donuts so i wanted to wake up at 6 to go get some round rock donuts. this must have influenced my dream, since i dreamt of ordering round rock donuts online, the texas sized one going for over 50 bucks! i also woke up in my dream, but my dream self was smarter and fell back asleep.

- i'm working on a poem, i think, called "Restless Nights". i hope its not major suckitude

- if you want someone new to listen to, try erin mccarley. her debut cd is called love, save the empty, and its pretty freaking awesome

- i've been listening to a lot of epik high for some reason. here's one of my favorites. fav lyrics are (translation): i hang my head with the weight of the memories / my shoelaces are untied, undone / and all thats next to me is the rain and wind

- my mood and level of patience in the morning is inversely proportional to when i woke up

Everybody Wang-Chung tonight...

[Note: This entry isn't particularly coherent, nor does it have a real point. I just wanted to remember one of the best guys I've ever known: David Chung]



I don't think you ever really get over a friend dying, at least not a super close friend. However,
its not the anniversary of their death that gets you or their birthday; its the random days when you reminisce over your childhood or you want to plan some exciting event and realize they were the first ones you would call. Well...that's what it seems like to me.

Every year, I try to remember your birthday, to memorialize it somehow. Every year, a week or so before the birthday, I plan out something to write, a picture to post up, and memories to bring up, and yet when the day comes (November 23rd), I forget. To be honest, Chung, it's hard even now for me to remember you're dead. When Koller and I are talking about the various happenings at Whitnall, I always expect you to be able to fill me in on all the dirty details of the extraordinary shenanigans that occur in small-town Wisconsin. Whenever I think of San Antonio, I remember the long drive (not too long buddy, don't worry) to the base, where I'd go pick you up, always worried they wouldn't let me in for whatever reason. I remember eating sushi in Austin at some cheap 5 dollar place. There was the foam party that was disgusting for oh so many reasons...and the random drunk calls you placed afterwards. Of course, there was the whole tattoo thing, which mind you, looked so painful that I still would never get one. To be honest, Chung, I'm amazingly grateful that you were stationed in San Antonio, that we were able to hang out so much. I'll never forget ya, buddy.

What a beautiful mess we live in...

[Listening to...Jason Mraz - A Beautiful Mess]
Through timeless words, and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds, out of this earth
And times they turn, and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses, and stained our shirts
But it's nice today, oh the wait it was so worth it...

It was the first week of December. Desiring a short workday and having trouble sleeping anyways, I woke up a little earlier than usual for work. The sky was still fairly dark, deep purple with just the hint of blue lightening the horizon. The morning air was chilly; I felt the bite of mint in my lungs as I breathed in, my warm jacket providing a nice juxtaposition. Per my normal routine, my mind wandered as slowly drove in to work, the music drowning out the morning traffic. The garage was sparsely populated and I had no trouble finding parking. I listened to the tail end of "Mad"*, daydreaming and attempting to put off the dread of work for just a few more minutes. As I walked down the stairs, I saw it. The walkway to the office building was framed by color. Gold, bronze, and copper brushstrokes intermingled with red and orange flames, forming a harmonious symphony of aesthetic delight. The colors dotted the trees and the ground, blending together on a giant green canvas, as if God had allowed Vincent Van Gogh to paint his Red Vineyards on reality. I slowly walked through this masterpiece, my only regret not having the perfect music to accompany the moment.



* NeYo - "Mad"

The rain is like an orchestra to me...

[Listening to...Rachael Yamagata - Horizon]
Someday I hope to find the horizon
I've been all around the world
and nothing is clear

Sometimes, I experience an infinitesimal sliver of time that is perfect. When God decides to gift me with one of those minute instants, I savor every second, never knowing when it might go away (nor when I might experience it again). Most the time when it happens, I'm driving, either early morning or late at night, music blasting at volume level 10. The clouds, slate gray marbled with white, slowly shift, opening and closing little windows to the midnight blue sky. Sometimes it rains in torrents, giants sheets of water washing over my car, the sound drowned out by the music. The loud, dramatic rock blaring, I watch as the water drains down the windshield, like a liquid looking glass, constantly distorting my view. At other times, the rain is merely an afterthought, a soft percussion of droplets providing a constant background to the soft voices paired a gentle guitar. The streetlights, dim and distant, occasionally provide wavering light on the street. The cold light gently flickers, like a dying flame. Time drifts on by with no hurry and I go with it, content to extend this slow perfection to eternity if possible.