I’m laying on a primitive pullout at our Thai friend Vicki’s friend’s spare apartment, located about 20 minutes away from downtown.

I’m exhausted. It was a fairly beautiful day. We went to the markets and the art something and walked around. Erin and I came back at 640 to get changed and refresh and met up with the rest of the party around 730.

Because the king died on October 13th, the new years celebrations were limited to public relations events. No fire works. No major celebration. Everyone will be mourning for the next couple years and wearing black to honor the late king.

Bang kok is hardly a developing nation. Its infrastructure is amazing (compared to vietnam) and its people are incredibly westernized. Its almost comical how American it feels here. I don’t exactly like it. Nothing too original, other than the hint of asia penchants for over the top things, like Japan does so well. But mostly very american. Which is kinda cliche. Nothing oriental or exotic about it, so far.

Tomorrow we’ll visit the floating markets and ride some elephants. The day after that we’ll see some temples and the royal palace. We still have about five more days here, so I’m there there will be plenty more to see. It’s 12:21am. Happy new year. I’m exhausted. Signing off.

Flying to Bang Kok

I’m on a flight to Bang Kok, Thailand. To my right is my mother in the middle, followed by my father next to the window. We’re flying Air Asia. It’s about 10:17pm at the moment.

We arrived in Ho Chi Mihn City (closest port) by cruise ship on the 27th, and disembarked the 28th and stayed at Norfolk Hotel in district 1. We collectively decided that staying an extra day in Vietnam and take a couple tours. The first day was in the countryside, visiting the mekong delta, and taking a variety of guided tours throughout various islands. The second day was a tour throughout the city, the first part of the day by cyclo, which is a bike with a seat on the front where a person pedals you around. The second half of the day we walked around the city, visiting the unification palace and the notre dam palace. Our guide was fantastic. His name was Johnny Pho (Fu, like Kung Fu) and he went above and beyond. The entire tour costs $45 per person per day, for days longer than 8 hours and endless additional accommodations, including personalized recommendations to massage parlors and beer gardens, and the best pho in the city (visited by Bill Clinton, as was proudly emphasized repeatedly).

It’s a communist country. The hammer and sickle represent the industrial worker and the farmer, the two cornerstones of communism.

On the vietnamese flag is a five pointed yellow star on a red backdrop. The color yellow signifies prosperity and is a national color. The color red signifies blood for the people. The five points on the star signify the five classes that act as pillars of the Vietnamese socialist society: industrial worker, farmer, medical doctor, solider, and educator.

There was immense poverty, and incredible inequality. There was also insane development (purportedly from foreign investment) all around Ho Chi Mihn City, which has a population of 10 million. It’s incredible. There are 45 million motorbikes that congest the streets at all hours.

Despite the poverty, there is incredible courteousness and generosity of the people. They are supremely respectful and kind.

The poverty is overwhelming initially, but after a few days you become desensitized. Continue reading “Flying to Bang Kok”

eat what you earn

Cause and effect

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

If you cannot kill what you eat, do not eat it.

What you do not sow, you do not reap.

You must always hunt for your meals, always.
If you are ever content, you will be beaten and eaten.

There is no enough.

Eat until you gorge, then desert the carcass, sacrifice all that you have earned, then earn it again.

Purification is sacrifice.

What you do not let go, will weigh you to the bottom of your grave.

Sacrifice all.

Hunt for the biggest. Be the most ambitious.

The will of power provides to those who seek the larger vision.

You must lose everything to gain anything.

You cannot ask for help with a closed fist.

You cannot grab the fruit if your hands are filled.

Your heart cannot receive if it is full of other things.

Hunt. Eat in full. Abandon the carcass and go to new lands, find new tracks to hunt.

Wisdom is gained.

More risk more reward.

Have faith.
You must disintegrate in order to reintegrate

Lose the ego

If it doesn’t challenge you it won’t change you

Floating Elephants

It’s 7:20pm on January 1st. I’m laying down on the makeshift pullout in Bangkok Thailand. I’m exhausted, as per usual.

We visited the floating markets today, which consisted of markets with boats that drove or paddled around on canals. There was basically a community of lifted homes or shops on the water, teeming with canals, and then there were long boats outfitted with old car engines and a long 15ft shaft with a propellor on the end. The shaft entered the water at a 30 deg angle, and the boat was about 30 ft long and covered. There were paddle boats as well. It cost about 800 baht to drive around for an hour. Most of the goods seemed a bit generic. Regardless, it was enjoyable to go on the water and look at the goods and see the people. It was mostly tourists, but it seemed the entire economy in many of these developing countries are sustained by tourism. Its difficult to determine how much culture is authentic and original, and how much is simply manufactured. The line is blurred, and maybe the manufactured goods is in fact a part of the culture, and therefore inseparable.

Aftter that we had lunch, then went to a Thai amusement park. We were greeted by a lady boy with bleached hair, thick makeup, and pink braces. All very normal.

We saw a monkey show, rode on elephants, and took a gold cart to another park where we visted a “long neck village”. It was mostly animal and human exploitation at its finest, and I have to confess, I feel guilty about visiting and looking and indulging.

The monkey’s were chained, and performed horribly. They were kept in steel cages and looked pretty worse for wear.

There were about 30 elephants that gave various rides. It was an entire community of people, and there were other amusements as well. The ride was about 30 minutes or so. We walked around a coconut grove, and were submersed in about 15 feet of water at one point.

The long neck village was pretty surreal. Girls eight and nine years old, to seventeen and even older like sixties were there. There was a seventeen year old who looked twelve who had a seven year old daughter. These people were called Paudang or Burmese, and were brought it from Burma. They lived high in the mountains and had metal rings around their necks. The story goes that these people were very beautiful, and they had rings around their neck to showcase their beauty. At five they had 19 rings put on their neck, and one added every five years until they had 29 in total. I believe that is what I was told. The more brass rings, the prettier, and more desirable.

They lived at this amusement park in a make shift village. Many of the girls weaved various garments which took them five days to make, or so they said. They were weaving in front of us, but many of these girls were very young and very illiterate. Eight years old. Twelve years old. All of them were very beautiful. Like, very very beautiful. The most beautiful concentration of Asian’s I’ve seen yet. Exquisite physiognomy, and very hushed and humble demeanor.

The whole day was very strange. I felt odd observing all these show cases. The asian culture is very strange indeed.

I can’t decide how I feel about these things ethically speaking.

We’re about to head to downtown bangkok and have dinner at a sky rise restaurant.

bangkok is huge. About 8 million people if I remember correctly, or more than the entirely state of New Jersey.

The city is enormously sprawling. It’s difficult to gauge how huge it is because there is a downtown center every half mile, with massive skyscrapers. You can drive thirty minutes and feel like you haven’t left the downtown area. I imagined it smaller, but i still haven’t grasped the full size of the city. I need a map with some explanations behind it.

Traveling really makes me want to read biography’s about the cities or history books. I want to nature the history of the people and their culture. I want to know about the politics and government. There’s sooooo much more I want to know and explore and understand.

Will write more later. Signing off.

middle of blue

The crests of water splashed over my head

My gaze was obstructed by the salty breeze in my eyes

The sun was over head beating down
Streams of sun baked my crown

I tasted the salt running into my lips

It had been three hours

I bobbed with the waves

The feeling of isolation
Of helplessness
Of enormity is like nothing else

I struggled to lift my eyes to greet the sun above it

It was shrouded in thick haze

The swells crested snow tips and dissolved in avalanche

The power was endless

I flailed my limbs

Thinking the thousands of leagues below me teem nothingness and life

The sea engulfed me


I’m on lsd. I’m on the cruise. I’m in my room. I took 1 hit of last at 8am. or actually about 1/3 at 8am, then 2/3 at 9am. I’ve been in my room since. I read a lot on my computer. And I watched a lot of news. And I’ve been introspective. I need to go and explore. It’ 1:05pm.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m going mad. I am not sure what to believe. I’m not sure about anything.

I’ve been having digestive issues, but I haven’t decided if that’s because of the time change, my lack of working out, the alcohol consumption or what.

My sisters are pleasant as usual. I enjoy them. I love my family.

I was reading through digital documents on my laptop. I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing, but darkness has been a very persistent theme in my writings from a very young age. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I wish I didn’t have those feelings. And I’m not sure why. I’m not sure who to blame. Do I blame my parents? The ones who are taking us on this cruise? Do I just forget it all? The problems? Were they larger than I was making them out to be? I don’t think so.

I wish I knew why I felt that bad. I wish I knew more about the dynamics between my parents and me. And what was going on in my fathers inner world, as well as my mothers. To this day I do not know. But it haunts them. I know this.


Stories are metaphors. They map relationships onto a fictional landscape of imagination. The relationships and meaning are what must hold, everything else can be substituted, and even adorned for emphasis or effect. Symbolism can characterize the essential points of the story, otherwise lost.

Stories do not need to be descriptive, but they need to be relatable.

How does one persuade anther human being? How can you capture the attention of another mind, and imbue it with your intention?

Like begets like. We only hear what we understand. We only see what we are looking for. We attract what we are. Who is most familiar to us? Ourselves. Appeal to that. Reflect back what resonates most with the person, and they will gravitate and accept and protect you.

Establish common ground; find similarities. Become the person. Speak their language; use their linguistic style, utterances, tempo, idiosyncrasies, nuances, style. Use their words. Value what they value, and become their equal. Share credit; show solidarity. Act modest; you are their equal. Ask questions; be interested in them. Apologize freely; be vulnerable. Give feedback; you care. Avoid verbal opposition; be constructive. Avoid boasting; humility is humane. Being indirect; be suggestive. Connect emotionally; give the way they receive.

Reciprocity. Get what you give. Model desired behavior. Show the way. Walk the walk. Smile first. Be the change you want to see.

Social Proof. Follow the leader. Others give us permission by going first.

Consistency. Commitments increase follow through. We desire to be dependable.

Authority; be an expert. Establish credibility.

Scarcity. Create demand by perceived loss.

Vividly reinforce your position; provide compelling stories, examples, metaphors to have an emotional impact.

Keys: Authenticity, Be open, Connect, Be passionate, Listen

The Secret Mountain Laboratory, draft

There is a place, nestled amongst the neighborhood homes, where a laboratory exists. A lone genius labors in this secret place, hiding in plain sight. He works feverishly, night and day. Working. Thinking. Creating. What is he doing? You ask. Who is he? These are the questions we will answer in my story.

Long ago there was a boy. He grew up in a large family, of many brothers and sisters. He was poor, and life was hard. He was misunderstood. Everyone around him was busy with their life, and never paid much attention to the boy. The boy was awkward and quirky, so his classmates often used him for jokes. The boy would often retreat inward, escaping to his thoughts, and dream. One day this boy, alone with his thoughts, discovered something magical. This magic transformed the boy, and gave him access to a world that he explored endlessly. Unfortunately, no one else could see this world. It was there, in plain sight. But, no one seemed to notice. But the boy noticed. Within this world there was magic, and joy, and endless friends. He tried to show this world to others, especially his classmates. He would show these objects to them, but all they saw was an awkward boy, fumbling over his worlds and stumbling over his feet. “You’re such a Klutz!” They would say. Undeterred, he insisted showing them this world.

He named this place, this world of magic, “Inside out world”. Much of the ability to harness the magic and access the world was learning to see things inside out. Continue reading “The Secret Mountain Laboratory, draft”

The Paradox of Media

If you don’t read the news your uninformed. If you do read the news you are misinformed.

Whatever narrative you believe that isn’t your own provides power in proportion that others with your same ends/ needs believe it.

Sanity is agreement. Agreement with power, with the authority the masses have agreed upon, tacitly or otherwise.

Your history is your story, a fabricated recollection of memories past, but it is not worth losing your life for. Adapt.

Identity is an illusion. Create a sense of self for the situation, and you will flourish.

The World Creators

We are the world creators; the story tellers.

From the beginning of time, those who possessed the stories weaved meaning and wonder into the world, into the minds of men. They captured realities inaccessible to most feeble minds and passed the bread to pacify their need to escape the frailties of the human condition.

The oracles, the ministers, the seers, the bards, the sages, the philosophers, the men of letters, the statesmen and political orators… the leaders: these are the minds that shaped the course of history, portraying worlds laced with endless meaning. They constructed stories that stratified the mind, that constructed consciousness that allowed mankind to live, to build.

Walt Disney possessed an insight like no one else. He created a world, curated a world, much like the authors of Christianity and Muhammad and Buddha and Hindu have done. These worlds possess magic in plain sight, evident to those who believe in the magic, who have faith in the world.

Ron L. Hubbard knew this. “You don’t get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion” he is famously quoted as saying. And he did. A dozen plus books later, his story was totally unrealistic, but it was believable, it gave people hope, it provided a story for people to believe in, to bond together.

The word religion is derived from the word ligature, meaning bound, from the latin word religare meaning “to bind” as in “to bind together”. This makes sense, when considering that religion is an institution binding people together through a common story.

Stories are life in motion, imbuing conscious experience with meaning, weaving words into a tapestry of significance. Everything is a story, and stories about struggle are the most universal. Love and loss.

The two attitudes toward love and loss are either comedy or drama. Comedy embraces the absurdity of life, the inconsistency, the injustice, and laughs because grieving is no use of time, though it provides existence with depth of feeling. Drama is the grieving, is the feeling that produces a well rounded depth. It is not superficial, it is profound. It holds on, whereas comedy lets go. There is joy to be found in both of these, the drama of holding on, the sorrow of holding on. Sometimes this works, sometimes it does’t. The best stories illustrate both of these struggles. Lost love found again. Comedy, on the other hand, relishes in the absurdity, holding nothing sacred, letting go and passing through circumstance with ease, laughing it off, accepting the injustices as mere jokes of the universe. Easy come easy go.

The cult leaders.

Cultivating stories, creating culture.

The world cult is derived from the latin word cultus meaning “to protect, nourish, worship, honor, till” from the word colo meaning “to till, to move, to turn around”. Culture refers to a cultivated piece of land. In the 16th century cultivated referred to the way the mind, faculties and manners could be developed, much like the soil, to yield good fruit.

Men of faith, in these worlds: perceiving the unseen. Great men, capable of imagination, of exercising the wisdom of the ages to construct these coherent worlds, capable of culling the cattle of men to pools of pleasure, of joy, of escape, by providing depth and meaning.

We create a world, a fantasy, full of universal mimetic meaning, of metaphors that make life spring to mind.

We are the world makers.

We tell it how it is, and you want to know more.

They will say, “Give me more of this joy. I know these characters. I know these deities, these personifications of me, of my multitudes, contained within me.

Give me more of these stories, weave a narrative I can glue my senses to, that I can grip and hold onto, to insulate me from the shallow world I inhabit, that my weak animal mind struggles to endure. Give me joy. Give me meaning. Please, I beg you. My world is too painful, possesses too much suffering. Let me indulge in this world, let me here these stories, let me take these totems, these toys, these symbolic representations of the world and their heroes, and place them amongst the exterior landscape all around me, let me adorn my life with them as reminders, offering me an escape when I am weak, when life becomes difficult.”

This they say. They want to be pacified. They want to believe. Let us create this world with fantastic stories that educate and inspire, that elevate, that put magic in profane places, in plane sight for those who want to see, those of faith, in the magic, the divine, the spiritual and supernatural.

We create the worlds, we tell the stories. Our language provides us the ability to create, not only describe. I am not a beggar, asking for handouts from others. That is for you. I am the world creator. I am the god head, the divine whisperer of ageless wisdom and magic and discovery, and I possess the power to produce meaning, to save your soul.

We are the world creators.

Let us enlarge your world, from beyond your slighted senses. Let us breath life into your spirit, so that you can see with new eyes, and feel with new hearts. These characters, these deities embodying the feelings within you, guide you in life, offer you a hero, a protagonist, ansntahonist to pin you pain on, an advisor for your travels. Seek them like the Greek gods, like the pantheon of past. They will accompany you on your journey.

We are the world creators, crafting characters containing the same spectrum of humanity as you, the rarified states of being that tantalize the imagination, that lay dormant at the edges of awareness, ever occupying your thoughts, but never explicitly. They are you, and when you see them, you see you. And you are inspired, like that daimon lurking low, that genius that embodies what you’ve always known to be true. (See: Emerson, Self Reliance) These personalities, these deities, give you permission to feel human, to feel whole. And you consume them, forgetting yourself. This is the aim of religion. To bind together, as one, as one of the flock.

We are the world creators.

We are the shepherds who heal hampered minds. Who unchain you from the world, from the mundane masses all around. The cattle of consistency, the convention keeping consciousness in a callow state.

Conventional stories fill our lives, but they are weak stories. Religion is out. Give me something more meaningful. The stories we create are safe and sound, are familiar and universal.

We are the world creators. Animating the inanimate world. There is magic here. The world of past was full of magic, but of superstition, of folklore that mislead man, of witches and wizards, of divine beings.

The world we create is science, is truth, the priesthood of the focused man with a focused aim. Reality is constructed by story, by the syntax sequencing the attention from one adjective to one article to the act that enrapt the imagination. The semantics imbue it with color, with feeling.

There is story that is magic, the leverages the logic of absurdity amd love, and this we create.

There are no rules. This is the truth. There are no laws of engagement, anything goes. There are ways to live that alleviate suffering, or promote suffering, but suffering is inescapable, and embracing this is the beginning of wisdom. You grow due to struggle, not because of its lack. There is no strength in ease, no matter your power. Strength is overcoming the insurmountable. This is truth, in finding what is true for you.

When you begin, everything is insurmountable. There is wisdom in this. Embrace the impossible, and you will rise to the challenge, you will learn to grow taller than the obstacles around you, but always seek bigger obstacles. There is nothing to fear when you operate from a place of love, from a place of acceptance, from a place where you nourish with attention. Death is imminent for all. Do not fear death. Annihilation begins in the mind. Charge the unknown: you are an explorer, you discover what is true, if only for you.

Disney World is the modern day Mecca; the American man makes his Hajj to this holy place. Who tells the stories here?

Muslims travel to the Mecca to participate in this world, the story they’ve been told. These holy sites are a refuge, the ultimate escape. The wellspring of our stories have a place, and these holy sites, these sacred worlds are their origin. Man’s search for meaning is all the same: create a story, an escape, and alleviate the suffering. Revisit the spiritual centers for healing. The pilgrimage takes us there: Carholic Christians make the pilgrimage to the Vatican, Buddhists to the Gangetic plains of Northern India and Southern Nepal, Hindu’s to the Himalayan Char Dham – Badrinath, Kedarnath, Gangotri, and Yamunotri. They go to the places where the magic began, to participate in the stories occupying their world.

A quote that has stayed with me all of my life, “The only reason it is still apart of your life is because you still keep thinking about it.” This is true for things that you don’t want in your life, just as much as it is true for things you do want in your life.

You become what you think about all day long.

You can join us in this world, but you must believe.

We will pass this sacred knowledge onto you, from the ivory towers into the temples of your heart. You will become part of the story if you share this knowledge, this magic. Share it with the world, let others into this world. The stories make disciples, so long as you share them. Be fishers of men.

The biggest worlds, possessing the most depth, the most substance, the largest landscapes of imagination: these are the pillars of civilization. The Pantheon, the World of Dr. Seuss, of Harry Potter, of Tolkien, of CS Lewis, of Disney, of Jesus, of Mohammed, of Buddha, of Moa, of Plato, of Aesops Fables, of Star Wars, of Mother Goose. The stories that we share, that teach us, that inspire and empower us, that show us that magic is found where it is sought.

We are the world creators.

Stories Create Wealth

What are the best selling franchises or brands?

Disney, Lego, Pixar, Moose Toys, Harry Potter, LOTR, GI Joe, Barbie, American Girl, DC Comics, Marvel, TMNT, Apple…

What do they all have in common? They all have a compelling story… they are worlds.

So, there are wants, and then there are needs. We’re suppose to be a “toy” company. Typically toys are wants.

How do we turn wants into needs?

What are toys? Toys and merchandise are culture, and culture is meaning. Culture is an assembly of symbols and signs. Stories give rise to symbols and signs. The christian cross is a symbol of a story with loads of meaning. Meaning is crucial for existence. Meaning is needed to live.

Everything has a story, and the more compelling the story, the more meaningful the thing.

What makes a good story? First, I believe is a dilemma. Life is about overcoming struggle. In addition, the story should be relatable, funny (comedic relief), and magical relief. There are other qualities of course, such as educational, empowering, etc.

A story contains characters within a world of places and things. These components of a story can be turned into products, or commodities to sell as symbols to represent the meaning within the story.

The best selling books/stories? The Bible. The Koran. Hinduism.

The bottom line is: SELL STORIES. Create a world, tell stories about that world. This draws people in, gives them something to believe in, an escape.

Once the world of characters and world is created, creating products for people to engage and participate with that story are easy.

Products and merchandise are the easy parts once the narrative has been established. People feel compelled to take part in the story.

A story is everything.

Lego caught on. They were a mediocre construction toy for decades, creating mundane worlds for kids to create, such as medieval princess or spaceship this, pirate ships or race car that.

When did they really take off? When they began buying licenses for other people’s stories, i.e. Star Wars, etc. Attach stories to their legos so that kids could participate and engage with the story world.

Soon they discovered they could tell their own story. Boom. The Lego Story was created.

Disney sells more toys and merchandise than any other toy company. Why? Because they tell stories. Compelling stories. They possess a world, and people escape to that world. They make about $10 billion in their entertainment and movie business. For their merchandising business? $55 billion.

Many people tell a story and don’t think of the merchandise. And most people that sell merchandise don’t think about the story. Become vertically integrated: tell stories, then sell the toys and merchandise to symbolize that story.

When I visited Olympus in Greece, there were countless little figurines representative of the various gods within the greek pantheon. People would make or purchase these figurines, or personified deities of the gods, and they would place them on the steps of the temples, or adorn the insides of their dwellings with them. What is the difference between these figurines and toys? They are symbolic representations of characters inhabiting worlds.

The merchandise is the part you really create wealth.

Example: Toy Story box office sales: $191 million. Toy Story Merchandise Sales: $2.4 billion. Another example: Transformers box office sales: $300 million. Transformers toy sales: $3 billion. Frozen box office sales: $400 million. Frozen toy sales: $5.3 billion. Cars box office sales: $460 million. Cars toy sales: $10 billion

Moose Toys, an Australian toy company, grew from a $10 million dollar company to a $700 million dollar company in fifteen years, selling non-innovative little figurines from brands like Shopkins. From the outside looking in, you’d think there was some magic to this success, until you realize they created a comprehensive Youtube animation series that has garnered tens of millions of views. No other toy manufacturer has so intentionally sought to leverage the power of stories to move their merchandise.

I could list countless examples, but it seems obvious. How do you generate sales? Tell stories to sell products.

Or rather: Manufacture culture.

Religion is out, and we live in a secular world, replaced by corporate messaging. Society at large finds meaning in brands, in stories that give life meaning. Corporations such as disney provide these stories. As a toy company, leveraging stories as a means to sell merchandise is the only obvious thing to do if you want to achieve the greatest impact and success.

Adaptation: Nature and Methods

What is adaptation? What does it mean to adapt? As a living organism? Transitioning from one state to another state?

How does one adapt? What ways can one adapt? Physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, culturally?

I want to explore the nature of “adaptation”.

Definition of adaptation: a change or the process of change by which an organism or species becomes better suited to its environment.



I am a complex person. But when I love, I love deeply, with my whole being. I recognize my complexity is overwhelming  for most people. I recognize my need to find someone equally complex, someone who understands the depths of thought and feeling circulating endlessly beneath the exterior, who possesses a self-awareness that inspires the way I seek to inspire. Complexity and depth can be muddy and frightening, but it can also be endlessly colorful and vivacious.

I cannot settle for the mundane and mediocre. It is easy to, to assuage the feeling of loneliness, to pacify the craving for companionship. But in the end, these are never fulfilling nor satisfying relationships. You learn from them, however, and I appreciate the time shared. But I need to be loyal to discovering the people that captivate my being and enrapt my imagination with their bold beauty of mind and fierce feeling of heart.

What is a complex person?

I use this word… but it is vague, and has these dark connotations, of baggage, of uncertainty, of unresolved endings. Perhaps it does mean these things, but I believe it means so much more.

When I think of complexity, I think of intricate depth, I think of a unique universe existing under the surface, fathomless forests of feeling and logic, dense memories of varied experience.

What also comes to mind are difficult people. Trying to figure out what makes them tick, they operate on the defensive, with walls that need climbing to establish a real rapport that isn’t met with suspicion. These complex people, who are difficult to get along with, often have unresolved damage that makes them distant. The complexity appears when trying to navigate their amorphous boundaries, sometimes forgiving, sometimes unforgiving. This isn’t fun, or comforting, although, I must confess, these people are challenges, and require effort and work that is compelling, that captivates the attention. I see these people in need of healing, and the distance they create is only an attempt to shield themselves from trauma and hurt, to veil the vulnerability that burned them in the past. I get it. But these people cannot be healed by anyone but themselves. And any effort to try and do so will be met with immense disappointment.

The complexity I posses may include this, but I like to believe a self-awareness has shown me the utmost importance of vulnerability, of exposing weakness in an effort to communicate an approachable and humble humanity.

I need a complex partner, someone who feels deeply. What is it to feel deep? Deep feelings are intense, are all encompassing, are generated by the efflorescent realization that death and frailty is forever looming behind the guise of appearances, that impermanence is the only permanence, the only constant, and that nothing is certain, that power is transitory, that status may steal away at any moment, that the only certainty in this world lies within the mind, not what is occupying our eyes, those windows of the soul, but deep in the recesses of the coy conscious, the accumulation of thought and sensations forever filling the latent mental matter between the ears.

Someone who appreciates that there are infinite possibilities and paradigms to explore, infinite moods and methods to press our gaze against the world.

Imagination. Books. Art. Philosophy. Culture. Science. People and their perspective. Knowledge is not the aim. Understanding, wisdom, imagination: these are the bell tolls of creation. Let us transcend the mundane, the worldly images impressed upon us at every turn, the conventional values that dictate our ends, and pervert the possession of a personal self.

Write, Alright

I consumed a cool four beers this evening, while my colleague and roommate and best friend visited the climbing gym with his girlfriend. I declined the invitation in favor of reading, though I didn’t read. No. I reflected. I wish I read, but I instead drank, and rested my eyes while allowing my thoughts to germinate and froth, and project fresh imaginings onto the back of my eyelids, onto the canopy of consciousness that envelops the senses when I escape the lucid ligatures of open eyes. I creep inward, towards myself, and begin to dig deep, begin to run my fingernails along the corners of this vague sensation, these memories, these crystalline landscapes of feeling, and begin to pull, until my nails stress and crack, and the pain electrifies the dullness into wakefulness, and I can feel again. This is the aim.

I laid on the couch. I purred to myself, basking in the radiant heat of the fireplace.

The bay area is chilled, ever so slightly. Bearing in mind that my homeland in Tennessee is suffering much more unbearable temperatures, I am thankful.

The alcohol loosens my inhibitions.

I went on a date yesterday. She was blonde, 28, and much more attractive in person. Very disarming on the phone, and very pleasant in person. We ate at a sushi restaurant. The conversations seemed fluid enough, except that it wasn’t. She wasn’t comfortable, even though she seemed at ease. I’m not the funniest man in the world, so I don’t expect to loosen her up in my presence without reason, but it would have been nice if she was already loose. She had beautiful long blonde hair, and large pretty eyes, and… enormous breasts. Like, the largest natural breasts I have ever seen on a frame of 5’4. Her pink long cut shirt didn’t hide these assets either, and when she revealed them after removing her coat, I literally had to regain focus and look at the table while preparing for an evening battling the impulse to stare. Why on earth would she do this? Was it a test? Did she want me to say something? It was beyond me. Did I like them? Well, sexually speaking, yes. But from a proper courtesy and etiquette point of view, no I did not. It made everything harder, and made me feel less at ease and more strained, having to focus ever so intently on maintaining eye contact rather than being absorbed in these overgrown sexual organs hanging off her chest.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed my time with her as much as possible. She wasn’t the most colorful person, but then again, maybe neither was I. I tried, however. But maybe she did too. I walked her to her car and she gave me a rather ginger hug, which did’t instill the confidence that she enjoyed herself. For shame.

Perhaps she did? It was a blind date anyway. She didn’t know who I was. Perhaps she was following the basic etiquette for such things.

Did I like her? I suppose I did. It was confusing because my basic sexual impulse overrode my rational judgement to evaluate her character in a productive way. As in, any way that didn’t involve me having my way with her, which was very hard to put out of mind.


Work has been good.

I am leaving for Asia in a week, and the thought of it is giving me butterflies. Three weeks in Asia, thousands of miles away. Then I will return to the bay area, stay a couple weeks, then return back to Tennessee to pay bills
Imagination. The dreamy world. Dreamy. Hazy. Colorful. Flowing. It flows and forms and these outlines sketch and breath colors of feeling and familiar faces and distant places with no bottom or end, just empty shelves where longings reside and wait to be picked and placed.

I have so many stories to tell.

I am looking forward to returning from Asia. My life feels amazing, and sometimes this concerns me. More pain. More discomfort. What will it take? Pain is the only impetus for growth. No more of the same old same old. I want fresh eyes, not the same steely stare. Breath.

I’d like to find a companion to share my time with, someone who calls me every evening, and occasionally asks to fuck. A person that knows my place in their life, and they refuse to relinquish that role, even against my best objections. A strong woman. But a deep woman, a woman of convictions, but a fragile woman, who begs to be considered, to be held in high regard. This woman is my dancing star.

Why you should read

The limits of my language means the limits of my world.
⏤Ludwig Wittgenstein

We use language to refer to and describe our experience. In addition to allowing us to talk about our experience, it allows us to access more of our senses and perceive aspects of our experience.

The word “blue” allows us to reference the visual sensation blue. If it did not exist, could we talk about blue? African tribesman do not perceive the color blue, for they do not have a need for it. It is invisible to them. You cannot see what you cannot perceive, and words allow us to anchor our senses to perceptions within our experience. You can look at a painting a thousand times and not see a deer nestled in the woods. Only when someone mentions the deer do you perceive it. We perceive what we are primed and looking for, and if we don’t know what we’re looking for, it’s difficult to perceive it in our everyday experience. We are blind to it. In the same way, a person hears only what they understand.

The more expansive our vocabulary, the more expansive our perceived reality. If we lack a word for something, we cannot reference it, so we cannot talk about it. How do we talk about something we don’t have a word for? Each book we read contains language that allows us to access a reality beyond ourself.

Each book and the domain it refers to is unique. Psychology books use a specific language, as do physics, and sociology, and any other specific to a domain.

Language springs from a community of people referencing their shared experience. Language evolves with the experiences of the people, but it is directly limited to the world in which the people act and live. It does not go beyond.

People living in the arctic tundra don’t have a word for a desert. People living in a desert don’t have a word for snow. You cannot talk about what you cannot reference.

Only until you have a word for it can you imagine and entertain the idea of its existence, and even then, if you don’t have the experience, you’re left to use only your imagination. What does it feel like to experience space? To experience the moon’s gravity?

Books provide portals into experiences currently inaccessible to us.

Each book possesses a unique perspective and language to refer to the experience, and this allows us to use our imagination and conceive a reality beyond our self, beyond the limited experiences and language borne out of it.

I believe we should familiarize ourselves with every subject and every domain and every culture and every genre possible. In this way we will develop our vocabulary in a way that allows us to access the understanding of the most people possible, by traversing as many language boundaries as possible.

When people think of language, they typically think simplistically about it, like the English language, and Spanish, Chinese, French, Swahili, Farsi, Ordu, Romanian, Swedish, etc.

But within each of these “tongues” are vocabularies used by specific communities, particular vernaculars and patois.

Coal miners use one vocabulary, computer scientists use another, engineers have their own, biologists have their own, etc. The words they use are unique to the subject they are studying and the people they engage the study with. If you were to sit in on a group of physicist discussing quantum entanglement, you probably wouldn’t understand much. And if you were a farmer, and wanted to engage them, you probably wouldn’t have much to say to one another besides the colloquial pleasantries of every day speak.

Despite sharing the english language, the communities in which you reside, and the language you use to reference the world you engage with are vastly different. However, by reading, you can access these realities and arm yourself with language that allows you to communicate and understand and adapt to every community and environment where those people reside.

This selective attention test illustrates the power of being unable to perceive things even though we clearly can see them.

The Secret to a Successful Business

Some thoughts on evaluating a successful business. There are three aspects to growing a successful business, and all three of these need to be great:

  1. Quality Products
  2. Quality Brand Marketing
  3. Quality Sales Force

I’ll elaborate on each of these aspects in the following paragraphs.

Continue reading “The Secret to a Successful Business”

The Red Book

Be silent and listen: have you recognized your madness and do you admit it? Have you noticed that all your foundations are completely mired in madness? Do you not want to recognize your madness and welcome it in a friendly manner? You wanted to accept everything. So accept madness too. Let the light of your madness shine, and it will suddenly dawn on you. Madness is not to be despised and not to be feared, but instead you should give it life…If you want to find paths, you should also not spurn madness, since it makes up such a great part of your nature…Be glad that you can recognize it, for you will thus avoid becoming its victim. Madness is a special form of the spirit and clings to all teachings and philosophies, but even more to daily life, since life itself is full of craziness and at bottom utterly illogical. Man strives toward reason only so that he can make rules for himself. Life itself has no rules. That is its mystery and its unknown law. What you call knowledge is an attempt to impose something comprehensible on life.

― C.G. Jung, The Red Book

I purchased this book recently, for about $150. It sits large, and red, with gold lettering. I have not read through the book yet, only thumbed through the pages, examining the illustrations, eyeing the occasional page in an attempt to scrape some quick insights from its desultory story line.

Jung gave himself permission to let go of his stable self, the protracted ego carefully balancing the scaffolding of reason and knowledge against the ever changing world, and embrace the spiritual realm of his inner mind, the unconscious pools of varying depth and darkness, swirling with latent impulse and imagination, coalescing in his dreams, and put to paper in the hours afforded between him work and home life. He labored for roughly fifteen years to construct this portal of the soul, this raw incarnation of what he believes contains the timeless collective consciousness of mankind. After his death, it sat in a lock cupboard at his estate until the 1980’s when it was transferring to a bank vault in Zurich. In 2007, with the help of his Jungian devotees, and the passing of his son, the primary proprietor of his legacy, it was scanned and printed and published.

The Death of Innocence, first draft

I haven’t recounted this incident many times in my life. At least, not in the depth that I plan to provide in the following story.

Joe’s death was a traumatic experience, and so it was rarely recalled, only topically in therapy, or in brief moments of bonding with others whom I wished to build rapport and explain my story.

The death occurred in the seventh grade; I was 13. My mind wasn’t ripe with perspective, and I believe the events surrounding it were repressed in an effort to deny guilt, which I still feel at this very moment at the mention of the word.

After the death, I entered an even more depressed and suicidal state, more detached and more pained than ever, and my efforts to die increased. I was pulled from the confines of private school a month before summer began, and was thrust into public middle school, an experience I savored, but in hindsight, added to the repression of feeling and memory.

I will do my best to meditate on the events as I remember them, and allow myself to feel deeply in an effort to trigger more feelings and more latent memories hiding the past 17 years in the corner of my mind.

Continue reading “The Death of Innocence, first draft”