At nine’o’nine in the evening, sitting in the middle of my room, the experimental beating of the drums that hum like a muffled loud wave of a helicopter in the midst of a battle, a war, a chaos… the tick tocks on.

 

Wash the destiny out of your mouth… the taste… right out, out, out of the mouth.

Lady knows that I walk even or after I talk and she believes in me but with the weakness within me hovering stronger than my own voice, my voice has been washed away into a distant mist. You can feel me, but you can’t see me, you can’t move me, but I know you can. It does hurt when someone tells you that you can’t talk if you haven’t walked or as I have mentioned before, “Pay your dues” or earn your way through respect, just like what I used to express about our new employee at work. That has already subsided; how time really washes away.

I’m in a middle of this chaos and the music comforts me, surrounding me like a wall where everything in here is safe and once I stand up from this position, I’m moving as if I am in an emergency room ready to be operated on. I have washed, scrubbed in and I’m ready to operate. Perfection is nonexistent, but it is better to go slowly and precisely than to rush through things like a whirlwind and only to bounce off of each other and wake up exactly where you were a decade ago. You wake up and realize that you haven’t washed your destinies away, but you have drowned inside of you, deep inside of you that you can’t even catch a breath or two to really reflect who you are anymore nor were anymore. To be are is to be were. It’s good not to make sense. It makes me smile.

I’m reading a book about writing. I was half way finished with it but decided to start over again since most of the time I was reading it was a few seconds before my head shut down on my pillow and I would wake up with my heavy duty glasses still smashed against my face and the lamp near the side of my face. Who would have thought that an artist could write nearly four hundred pages worth of just writing? I guess it’s just like water. You could write about water and never run out, literally like the flow of a water from a broken faucet. I’ve got too many knots in me and I’m afraid to loosen one out because once I do, there’s no turning back and the domino effect flashes forward like a release of pressured air that has been suffocated for so long.

I’m finding my music. My music found me. The echo of the flute filters through the halls of the tunnels where passer bys going to work, home, to see their loved ones, their issues to settle and I play my fingers through their ears and intertwining them. Tonight is evening and a few hours from now, I’ll be behind my desk working on a computer program that I have never messed with and it’s the beginning of my Summer. Summer on a Friday is wonderful and each and every day I look forward. I need good friends right now. I can’t be alone. I won’t be alone… because I choose not to be alone. I need a friend right now. I need a true friend right now. I’m the type of friend that will be there for you no matter what. You could repeat yourself now and a month from now about the exact same bull shit that you’re going through and I will still be here for you. I won’t tell you to drop shit or buckle up. I will listen to you. Until you tell me to tell you to shut up and buckle up, I will only listen as patiently as I can and will because this is what I would hope a friend of mine will do. I just chuckle at this bull shit.

Expectations, lead to disappointment. If you don’t expect anything big or exciting, you usually um… I don’t know. It’s just usually… nah.

I’m rearranging my room again. It’s nothing big since I have no intentions in staying here for another fucking, useless year. Solid eyes. Strong beliefs. Conquers all. Your… stable.

I want to dance. I feel like dancing and even though I’m sitting on the floor Indian style, I can already picture myself up on my feet dancing to RnB with “bow wow yippy yo yippy yay deathrow is in the muthafuckin haus”, and I won’t, but I can! Who said you can’t dance and rearrange furniture at the same time? Who says that there is a rule that you can’t dance your way through cleanliness? Cleanliness. Sorrowness.

Step on up, so remember the name… mighty mighty D.R.

Poet’s house. The flute lingering in the tunnel. The sun underneath the lake. Drinking sorrows while rowing against the placid life of destiny.

I passed on coffee today even though I yearned for it. It wouldn’t be right when it is past six in the evening and I have to be awake less than twelve hours from now. And so I grabbed myself some tea, ate a freshly made, experimental sandwich and then… sat down alone, by my window, gazing beyond what was in front of me and took those relieving blows of smoke and in each breath of pain, I would exhale and let myself enjoy the simple sinful pleasures of life. Because I fall, too and I’m only human for doing so. 

 

I know that look. I you’re writing about me but it’s okay because I’m writing about you, too. I see you taking a sip of your cold latte on this beautiful, rainy Seattle weather and I’m thinking, “Does he know that I’m writing about him, too?” I’m skipping a very important system-imposed time frame right now where I am supposed to be producing a lot of code that will appear as a design for homework but who could resist writing a story here and there or painting an image with words while sipping your favorite latte as well?

His jet-black, dark, straight hair gently flows against his face while he silently carries the ball pen lightly onto his notebook. His notebook is a small diary, filled with tangible pages and thoughts that you and I will never know but could only guess. Though I’m writing here and not looking up, I can feel in my own peripheral vision that he is glancing over, maybe writing about me, too. He looks back at his pages of writing and continues to press lightly with his pen like a painter checking marks off of his canvas. This weather is beautiful. It makes me want to paint in my own words. I can hear the light music in the background of a raspy voice of a lady singer and looking out the window, the rain trickles dappling the path with tears and puddles of Seattle. Where are they? Where are they?

The rain in Seattle is harmless. I’d like to think of it as a piece of home that came with me from the tropical islands. They say that France is romantic or somewhere in Italy and I don’t doubt this at all but Seattle to me is the Italian vine-yard for tourists except I’m no longer a tourist in this new home. I’ve been with civilization for a year now and boy have I learned and grown a lot from the past year compared to the other years of sleep and solitude. I am glad to be awake and I am grateful I still have the opportunity to catch up and Spring forward.

She was wearing pink. Pink, bright, tight trousers; a floral pink top with a pink sweatshirt covering her back. All I could see from the corner of my eye was a pink blob and all I could think was, “Oh God, another one of those foofoo bitches. Where’s my headset at?” I finally look up and see a woman, frail and graceful slowly placing her coffee on the table and sat patiently. Her hair is shyly greyed on top but most of her hair is held back into a tiny bun with swirls of dark, brown hair. A man about the same age as her walks towards her and they grin at each other and began talking to each other. The body language was more than what words could mean if you were to hear their conversation. It’s been a rare sighting to see a couple, older than me, you or most of us be in a flirting stage of their life or they could be already be married, retired with lots of grandchildren but who knows? That’s the mystery of it all and that’s the story to see. She was leaning towards him, gleaming with a giddy grin and he was apparently sharing a funny story with her as he was also beaming with amusement. The closeness between them was so endearing and sweet I couldn’t help but smile out loud.

It’s a beautiful day outside. The rain continues to trinkle, dappling the already made puddles from earlier, cars slowly flow through the river of traffic and the old couple dating have already gone. They left a loving impression in my mind that despite all the bull shit of politics, worrying about gay marriages of to have or to not have, unemployment, the war oh that forever war, the budgets being stolen out of everybody’s pockets, the competition to be more greedy (success in society’s eyes), the desperation for that fountain of youth; despite all of this bull shit and more of every second of propaganda of awareness, there is still that beautiful picture. It’s a simple word called love and the love they exuberated drowned everything around them. They were in their own world and for once, I wasn’t bitter or jealous. My life is fucked up. I’m fucked up, even but I have my good days and bad days as well and I’m getting through them and usually, I would be loathing, wishing death or torture—a very painful torturous death—but the purity of their story was heart-warming. Maybe it’s because I am in love… maybe because I’ve found the meaning to live in my life… Whatever it was or is, I’m happy that I was happy for them because love does keep us alive, as the Eagles have sung all over the world.

I saw them leave this café. The rain brings people together or closer together. There is that rare bond or rare moments you can share under that umbrella. Their umbrella over them, their world continued to revolve around each other and as they walked away, I saw the gentleman reach around her waist to hold her closer underneath the umbrella of love. Love is in the air… always has… and maybe I was just lucky enough to feel this from a distance because I, too am in love and love has given me the pleasure and privilege to live, to keep going… to just keep on keeping on.

 

Mylo, you exhaust me. As soon as I brush up on my skills you will know who the master is because as of now, you obviously own my ass. Enjoy it while it lasts.

I have to contact my agency since I missed a signature and I have to fax that... again.

I also need to write a cover-letter so that I'm ready for my interview on Wednesday.

But, tomorrow morning, I will attend to my health, Mylo's bathroom issues, play with him for a bit till he knocks out and get this pear thing wrapped up.

For now, back to Elizabeth's life of what really is real...

I am feeling lots better. I can sleep in peace tonight.