SINCE THE START OF THE PANDEMIC, I BEGAN
JOURNALING
MY INNERMOST THOUGHTS.
HOW I WILL DIE
November 22nd, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
How long has it been?
My love affair with the pen.
There are those, in their human vanity, who have tried to convince me that I am more- that I am less, than this.
The pen and the page.
That I am a scholar, no- an engineer, a mathematician, a physicist, or a poet. And at some point, I guess I tried to be… swayed by promises, by honeyed words. I’ve been all those things and none of them. A true master, you see? In all but discipline. I’ve, sadly, never mastered effort. In part because everything always seemed so effortless.
I understood.
So rarely did I have to ask, and my pride often would not let me. Could not. And time and time again, amid all the uncertainty, they would arrive unbidden.
Words.
They would call to me in their many, many forms.
Even at a very young age, I could never resist the lure of words, of what was human and what sometimes transcended. What went beyond the pale and what merely… mimicked.
And there have been times when I have loved others:
Chaos, women, drink, song, and oblivion- Life and death.
One cannot help but court the other.
To be alive is to so keenly feel death pressing in until her cold breath prickles at the hairs on my neck- chills my spine.
Yes, there have been times… When I was blind to all, deaf to but a few, and dumb to the reality of cessation- of an ending.
How long has it been?
How long is left to go?
I do not know. It helps here to have an imagination for such things. To think about how I will die and wonder at the life I’ve lived.
It helps here, too.
I laugh more now. It’s harder. It’s easier.
I am a traitor to all but you. To you, and only you… I’ve recanted, repented, plotted, rejoiced, cajoled, cursed, bared, and poured so very much of myself.
You, and only you, have mirrored me true. Given the most sage advice, pointed out flaws in reasoning. Forgave and wept for me.
Freedom has always lain at the feet of poets.
For who better among us recognizes that life is a river in which one must have both feet firmly planted, lest it sweep you away?
To live, I think about how I will die. More than likely, still… in love with you.
Because then, who could convince me that I am more- that I am less, than this?
CURIOSITY OVERWHELMS
August 8th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I find the proclivity toward assigning “meaning” encroaching upon my writing yet again. As if all needs have “meaning" or “purpose”. But deep down I know better. I write because I must. It is no longer a matter of “why” or “what for”.
Such base reasons and justifications no longer apply. Yet, I often ask myself what’s it all for? Who will read this and find value in it? This begets a sort of… need. To classify and categorize my writing… To make it more cohesive to those who would delve into the rawness of my innermost thoughts. My mind. To make it more… palatable.
A part of me sees the practical need for this, but the writer in me chafes at the reason behind such an act. An almost bending of the knee to the gods of commerciality and convenience. I am. At once, terrified of how the world will view me and excited by it, what will they say? What will they think? Curiosity overwhelms.
THE CRAZY ONE
June 13th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
Today was… rough. My faith in humanity, low as it was, has fallen even lower.
I understand, a bit better, the sentiments of the masses.
Or rather, I understand better how little I understand about the masses. Anything ranging from barely contained vitriol to misguided logic. People have always been this way. A reminder that I don’t do this to change or appease any particular social sentiment.
I think I’ll avoid such controversial topics in the future. As if debating the virtues of a man versus an animal can be called a “controversial” topic. But I was curious, and though this was a sample enough sample size, it showed me more about how people choose to behave, especially online. A general lack of self -awareness seems pretty rampant.
Oh, on a smaller note, the state has finally reached their hand in my pocket for their back taxes. I don’t have much, but they’re welcome to it, if only they’d leave me be. The world is insane and you either play along, or you’re the crazy one.
WEIGHT
May 16th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I drank wine last night and I told the truth.
In vino veritas, as they say. I find the truth has a… heaviness to it, a quality of weight.
Sometimes the weight settles on my chest. And I can’t quite shake it off. There is, in my heart, a pervasive feeling of… wrongness. It all feels… wrong. And I stumble forward, like in a drunken state, as if dreaming. Manic and wild in my confusion as others shrink and shy away from me in fear or wariness.
Or look on from a safe distance, in indifferent amusement. It is… reassuring, in a way.
Loneliness and being alone, in such sharp contrast. How could I not find some sense of… fascination in it? How could I not?
The weight reanimates me. I feel its crushing pressure. Pushing me to act. Pushing me to reconcile. To do… something. The discovery of this something keeps me shambling forward.
Towards what I hope, is truth.
AN HONEST MAN AND A GOOD WRITER
May 14th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
An interesting experiment in taking stock. Slowly, I re-enter the world with the comforting promise that I can withdraw again should I need to. A bit of trust, in myself and in others, goes a long way. It is a long road that maybe has no ending. Maybe death is that ending. And maybe I’ll even be glad for her when she does greet me. Waiting, beckoning, at the end of that long gravel path.
And by then, maybe I’ll be anxious to meet those who have gone ahead- who now wait. And I’ll be glad. Perhaps, I’ll sigh contentedly. Perhaps I’ll be sad to leave those who remain behind. My love. My children. My family and friends. But never again will I fear an ending.
I want to be an honest man and a good writer.
And this task before me is the work. The path. And it is long and arduous. Sometimes, like today, my knees shake with the effort. My feet bleed from the road behind. I struggle.
But the road lies ahead.
PENNED IN SORROW
April 30th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I am confronted with the notion of life after death.
Its necessity.
There must be continuity. Right? Life must ensue. Otherwise there is only oblivion. I myself am pulled towards life. Always. I cannot bear oblivion. I cannot dwell on death.
But today, I will, if only for a moment. Someone I held in the highest esteem has, by their own choice, been taken by death. I haven’t quite come to terms with the profundity of such a decision. Can’t help but wonder at those long moments before, those few moments during, those last moments after.
Was there regret? Peace? Release? I can only guess… Until it is my turn. But today, I am alive.
And I keep the dead alive as well, because I cannot bear oblivion. To me, it represents the end of possibilities.
And that is life. Endless possibility. And as long as I am alive, I will imagine a life where you have infinity before you, friend, dear companion. But this is my last letter to you, penned in sorrow.
A DANGEROUS THING
March 28th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
So many heavy sighs….
The few people who can hold a serious conversation seem lost in their own sauce. I empathize.
Hardly any room for frustration. Yet, I am overflowing with it.
Frustration. So much of it. Mostly at myself. But even then that seems misguided. I knew this would happen, and thought:
“Oh, I’ll deal with this should the eventuality come to pass.”
It’s here. Before me. Choices. Conversations. Regression or progression.
Truth is an amazing thing. It is a dangerous thing. Because truth is simple.
Humans are complicated.
We struggle with an objective view of events. Perspectives always warring. Unspoken power struggles. We protect ourselves. We survive.
I am protecting myself, aren’t I? In order to survive. To progress, one must be at peace with oneself and one’s circumstances. This is the stage. It’s been in suspense for too long. Let’s have at it then. What is life without a little drama? Without a few secrets. This idyllic fantasy.
Who am I fooling?
THE LOWEST LOW, FOR THE HIGHEST HIGH
Tuesday, March 21th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I am drowning in thoughts once again. A lot has been shown to me in these past few weeks. I don’t know what to make of it all… yet.
There has to be a form of balance. I realize where proportion matters most. I am a logical creature. Yet slights, and other petty human ills still tend to affect me so deeply.
How unfortunate, but expected.
Seems trying so hard to label what I am, is foolish.
I am… Me and my circumstances. How could I not be?
Choosing to progress or regress. That is the only choice before me. Can I undo so much damage and continue to persevere? I think so. I know why I am doing this after all. The lowest low, for the highest high.
I need a plan.
THE CHRONICLES OF THE CHILD COMEDIAN
February 20th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I remembered a boy named Sehram today. He was in my world history class in middle school. He used to make me laugh so hard snot would come out of my nose- to my great middle schooler shame and embarrassment.
And even though others used this social faux-pas as an opportunity to make me the butt of the joke, he never did. I’d always see it in his face- as I hastily wiped my hilarity(snot) boogers from my face- the gladness.
He would be so glad that he managed to get me to laugh so hard. That I found his antics so amusing. He was called a “class clown”.
Never serious…
Always saying and doing absurd things. I’d always be sad when he didn’t show up for school, which was… often. Sad that I wouldn’t laugh so hard my nose snorted snot. It’s been a very long time since I’ve thought of Sehram. I do wonder if he’s still making people guffaw, and snort, and spit mid-drink.
Now, that was one funny MoFo. I miss those days of levity. Of silliness.
There are two things in life that I value very, very highly. And that is absurdity and levity. The idea that nothing really matters so we might as well joke and laugh about it.
I don’t know why some children take on this personality trait so early. Could be endless reasons, but I know, after speaking or hearing from their adult counterparts, that it can come from a deep sense of awareness. A deep sense of loneliness.
This constant need to lift the mood. We may have been(I think not always accurately) attributing this behavior to narcissism. An underlying need to be seen. To be heard. To be acknowledged. To elicit an emotional reaction. A stir.
Constantly.
I think I’ll explore this… Maybe I’ll call the article: The Need for Levity and The “Class Clown” Syndrome. Or…
The Chronicles of The Child Comedian.
UNDERSTANDING
February 20th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I am… content. I realize I’m stressed, by things I can control. That makes me content. My end goal is in my hands. I have found another mentor. James Baldwin. He talks like a man who values truth. I have found that I also value truth. He shows me that intellect is not all that special a trait.
Understanding is.
It doesn’t really matter how smart I think I am.
I need to understand. Myself. The world. Those around me. A part of me fears the alienation that will come with this pursuit. How different I will seem. How odd. No matter. There will be those who understand my need for understanding. My pursuit of truth. And nothing says I can’t enjoy life along the way.
And there’s nothing I’d enjoy more than living this new life alongside those who love and value me. What more can a man really need? If he has family and purpose.
TIME TO LIVE
February 13th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
It is starting to all make sense. My quest for understanding. The first step. Willingness. An acknowledgement of it. That want. For me it has become an unconscious need. Maybe it always was. I’ve begun to feed it. That need.
It’s been like water to a man dying of thirst. A man starved of purpose. Bearing almost any how. On my quest to discover my why.
To think this has only been a short while. Can one call life a short while? Yes, maybe.
Anyways, I’m writing again. I feel unburdened when I do. And I remembered. My WHY. So I continue. Patience is becoming my foremost virtue. There is time.
But it isn’t limitless. And that is precisely why. Because it is always available, until it isn't. And who knows when that’ll be?
I sure don’t. But for now. I have it.
Time.
And man, what is life, if not time? Time to live.
BOLD AND EXPLORATORY
February 06th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
Yesterday was… rough. Trying to find a fitting way to describe it. Exasperation? Overwhelming amounts of it. Helplessness? At the state of it all. Powerlessness?
I don’t like it. But why? I know I don’t actually want power. The feeling of helplessness is learned. It is taught. And just so, it must be unlearned.
One must charge forward. Barreling through anything and anyone who would tell you no, or perish in the attempt. That, to me, is the true meaning of freedom. I want to be free to speak, to listen, to experience. I realize more things now. And these words feel lighter. No longer is my pen weighed down by them.
It is… nice. To not take myself, or any other, quite so seriously. It allows for what I’ve been, what I think we’ve all been, sorely lacking.
Playfulness. Being silly. A bit childish.
I think that is the essence of true freedom. Embracing the inner child. The innocent babe. The headstrong infant. So bold and exploratory.
Unafraid of living.
IT MUST BE TESTED
January 30th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
I’ve been pondering, maybe too often, the dilemma that is free-will. And humanity’s relationship with it.
Free will.
I think my inquiry begins here. In the wording. Free. Will.
What does it mean to be “free”?
What is freedom? It’s defined as the power or the right to speak, think, and act as one wishes. Without hindrance or restraint.
Boy… so much to unpack in the definition alone.
Freedom, it seems to me, is not defined as something innate, or even natural. It’s described as something that has pre-requisites. Power. Rights. And as something that is possibly behind some obstacles. Hindrances. Restraints. Seems it is hard-won.
Seems it must be tested, to see if your perceived brand of it falls prey to hindrances. Restraints.
So what does it really mean- to be free?
THIS HEAVIEST OF BURDENS
January 23rd, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
Free will.
The burden of self-awareness. I grapple with it. With the true nature of it. Of doing things, not just because I want to- there’s a certain obligation there too. I find that, upon the discovery of self-awareness. Of one’s ability, there comes with it, a choice.
Will I use my ability? If yes, then for what? That is the burden of free-will. Most use free-will only so far as their choice of master. After they have chosen a master, they then relinquish it. Happy to be led. To be told. To be free of choice, and it's paralyzing burden.
But what of me? A man for whom the yoke chafes. Who will suffer no master? What do I do? With this heaviest of burdens?
THE QUALITY OF REMINDING
January 18th, 2024 | San Francisco, CA
Thoughts rush by, so many it’s hard to count them, much less grasp them. One hundred thousand miles an hour. Music continues to be my saving grace. It has the quality of reminding.
Of connection. Of movement.
And it is my soul as well as my body that moves. How would I survive without it? I’m close. It’s terrifying. But freeing also.
The liberation. The integration. The exhale. Nothing relieves quite like an exhale. Deep. Powerful. Release. So much cooped up. I feel it in others. They seek it too. Release. I will try to be the inhale. And will emulate music, that same quality. The culmination of all the failures of my life. All that pain, finally, released. I have conquered(or am beginning to)my biggest enemy.
Fear.
And I know the antidote to fear now. It is not courage, though a fair bit is required. It is acknowledging what it means to be free. Free-will is a terrible burden. One mankind hasn’t had much success in bearing. I have it. I’m almost there.
It’s as heavy as a mountain. It’s terrifying.
I’m scared.
DEEP BENEATH THE FOG
December 19th, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
I ready myself for the next step. The first step? The integration of my thoughts-those locked away, dastardly things, into my life- that horrid, stagnant thing. I am accountable for the life I’ve been living. A bit of myself is constantly terrified. Like a small mouse, in a big big world. Always frightened.
If truth has a cost, then so too, must bravery. I’ve few ideas outside of the stupor. And that is what I have to call it because that is what it is. That state in which I’ve been placing myself.
It has its merits…
I am sharper. I am happier…
But I am lesser.
I know it. I feel it. I detest it. I must be rid of it. Despite its merits.
Because it makes me question. Myself. My work. If I am only capable of it, in that state. I’d like to think it’s still me in there, deep beneath the fog.
TO LIVE FOREVER
November 21st, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
Pain.
Earl St Clair, A man who’s surely felt more of it than most.
Been listening to a lot of him lately. I can hear it. In his voice. Pain.
New Day is currently playing as I write this entry. I realize now that I have such an obsession with notebooks. There’s something… dutiful, about them.
Intentional.
The act of buying one. The wonder of finding one.
Old thoughts. Old pains. Old loves. Old lives.
New yous.
Alive. To live forever, on pages that must one day become dust. Like you.
Just like you.
I find myself asking a question. And even the question feels vain.
Who will outlive the other? Me? Or my pages?
Will the memory of me outlast the things I’ve written. Does it even matter? If one succeeds, are they both intertwined? The same? Does it even matter?
This notebook is small. I shall make it big. And I’m not greedy, I’ll share. So that you can know where I keep it all.
Right here.
And I won’t be shy about it either. Because I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot of things.
Wish me luck.
THE COURAGE OF A QUIET MOMENT
November 20th, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
Eclectic.
I enjoy the word. A myriad of flavors. An open mind. An open heart? Maybe.
I’m pushing towards that, towards many things. I find myself in search of my “true mind”. The one unburdened. The one free. I ask myself, often, if such a thing even exists. And if it did, would I really even want it?
What is mind, untroubled by thoughts, unburdened by questions?
Quiet. Peaceful. Mmm… Maybe.
But would such a mind thrive? Would it develop? Maybe my “true mind” is a thing that does not need to be sought. Maybe, it is a thing that slumbers, only occasionally awake to peruse, to question, to observe.
It needs but the courage of a quiet moment.
The willingness to unfurl, despite the noise brought about by the swarm of thoughts I keep at bay.
Maybe that’s all I need; a quiet moment and a little courage.
THE HUMAN CONDITION
November 16th, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
An odd mixture. Almost like crossing a riverbank. One with stepping stones. A skip here. Another there. Then a pause. A glance. Backwards- forwards. A small, contemplative moment. A reprieve. A long exhale, preceded by a shaky pull of cold, sharp air.
I shiver. But not from a dip in temperature. No- it’s internal. A thawing, of sorts. Deep in my chest. A rattle. Something coming loose.
I try to shake it off, but it’s not quite coming off. Like a monkey on my back. It’s hard to describe. A thumping.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
I press my hand over my heart.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
It pounds. Clear. Loud. Expectant. For an organ whose primary function is pumping blood, we sure do attribute many existential qualities to it.
I blink awake. At the riverbank again. The art of description. Understood, mastered… What can it yield? How do I describe how I feel? What I feel. Words. Phrases. Verbs. Adjectives. That’s what those are for, right?
Then why the difficulty? Shouldn’t it roll off the tongue? Like it usually does? Maybe it’s my mistake.Thinking such a complex and complicated thing can be… Described.
Does one describe love? Adequately? Or death? What about life?
What about life? What about it? Huh?
Well? Describe it to me. Can you? Adequately? You holders of advanced degrees. Venture capitalists. Philosophers. World travelers. Leaders of Men.
Who out there can claim expertise on the human condition?
What I need- has it always lain at my feet, all this time?
LOST BOY DREAMING
September 25th, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
It’s a Sunday afternoon. Lost Boy Dreaming by JP Cooper plays in my ears. And the lyrics speak for themselves:
“Just a young, dumb me with
skinny legs, two front teeth, and
some kind of strange belief that
I was here to do something real.”
It is a strange belief, isn’t it? Why me? And queue the listicle.
Why not me? Repeat.
At this point I seem to find myself with the simple query of:
“Do you want to? Do something real?”
And the question has an easy answer. More often than not, yes, I do.
Enough.
Let’s do it.