The Day When God Leaves Us

The day started with another tragedy.
A stranger came up to me as I was boarding the bus saying she was very tired. I don't recall what I said to her her but I'm sure it was nothing she could have used, for she burst into tears. The smart-thinking bus operator gave her a hug. That, at least, got her on the bus. The operator gave her some kind words, when no one else would even look at her. I never thought Humans was capable of such meanness as to pretend she wasn't there crying hard for her life and her kids (She lost her children. I'm assuming in a custody battle. Dead children would've been too cruel). Maybe it wasn't "meanness" that held our tongues and our emotions. Maybe it was the realization that God has left her here with us. How do you console a lost soul when their God abandons them? When their pain calls out and no one hears? Humans still haven't learned to accept and help each other as fully as we should. God will always turn His back on us and here we are, face to face with the decision to kill or survive, to help or hinder, to bless or curse. This is a power we wield in our world, a power with vast resources, a power we have ultimately abused. If the pages of the Holy Book are to be believed, we find that God is a vindictive Being who, throughout human history, has had a difficult time accepting us as we are: There were curses, Floods, Fire and Brimstone, constant wars against humans working together(Babel Tower), endless wanderings, Commandments, more wars, even evil sent by God himself to "test" man's faith (at some point, Satan makes a bet and God destroys an entire household of moral and righteous people just to prove a point. Somehow the "reward" in the end pales to the hard won effort one makes at life. If anything, human Life is fragile and easily confounded. We have so many lies that helps protect us from the harsh reality that composes our world. When they fail, and they will fail, there is God. When the day comes when God abandons us, our only hope will be each other. I truly pray, for our sakes, that we are ready.

A Gentle Knife

It doesn't take much to kill a person. Degrees of human demise can be as simple as a word, a thought, a phrase, an accusatory stare. Betrayal is such a beautiful Beast! What motivates us to betray one another? Within the 'Why's" and the "How's" may lie the reasons for natural tendencies to kill. I just wish I new what codes of morality dictates humans to do such terrible things.

So, now my story has ended with a gentle knife. I stare at my corpse and wonder how it endured such torment, how that body grinded away everyday with hope and dreams; I see the wounds, the old scars and I try to imagine what it felt like receiving them so willingly and at what price. What was the price? As I stare at this broken body I wonder about the many years it took to sow and harvest all those precious memories, the laughter and the friendships... Was that all for nothing? Who mourns the fallen? Who will help them to rise? That knife is so gentle, so soft and warm...

They killed me. I may never know the true reason why or I mat suspect the reason. Maybe I wasn't of any 'value'. Maybe I failed their expectations? The knife doesn't tell me. It only take from me. My question is: What kind of person bases his judgement of another based on his value to them? Is a person worth proportional to their service to some end? A tool? Why is value in terms of the Human Condition?

In order to live, I have to be valued?
That's a scary question.

I'll always wonder why my friends and trusted people betray me. Consequently, I will always wonder what they get in return.

Urban Art

Residue

There is always a residue lingering within civilized societies. A memory, a monument of the people who pass us by... At times we forget the places that people built their lives with. The buildings that once housed daily purposes now abandoned by the constant impetus to move forward. Yet something always lingers behind. Soon, like all things Human, this will fall to Progress... Most of us will forget and continue on. Only a few of us will remember.

Lily Storelli (Author, Architect)

These pics are of my beloved friend, Lily. They were taken near Sci-Arc. She also wrote and published her first novel (a second one is in the works). I can't wait to read it... If it ever comes out in English.

Envy

Its those little things, those little delicate, beautiful things I took for granted. The intimate moments, the shared joy and laughter that I now miss. Those were the norms back then, in an era that I fondly remember being great. Today, the rules have changed. Intimacy and relationships has gotten trite and superficial. Everybody is gay now (women that I meet up with is confessing to this now as if it's cool and hip to be lesbian, while real Lesbians struggle for independence and fully understand the gravity of thier situation) and its harder to take people seriously. The girls I'm freinds with constantly remind me of how far I've fallen behind the times. All those little things I onced believed in, those comfortable things, are now gone. Now I harbor a genuine fear of "dating". I once dated a woman who did nothing but complain about how evil men are, about how men segregate women and make them submissive, blah, blah, blah. She was beautiful and smart... but she was crazy! One day, after weeks of planning, I invited her for dinner... She talked and talked and talked about the same damn thing, even when I tried to change the conversation she'll find some topic and there we were again, back to the feminist mode. I yelled at her. Didin't mean to. This smart, beautiful woman was so obsessed with her hatred (mostly unfounded) that she couldn't talk about anything else. Why me? What have I ever done to this woman to earn her general hatred? I stood before this cardboard fortune teller so dpressed and angry. I come o0ut of my shell after a losing battle with Love and all I do is run into these crazy women (for some, all you need is a bag of weed and they'll sleep with you. How pathetic!). My fortune has got to change. I don't have long to live. I have to hope there is happiness out there for me. I have to hope.

A Brief History Of Modern Humanity: pt. 2

On the day he was born, his mother must've been very proud; even with all the pain she endured, the reward was this child, born in an ugly world she hoped he can change. She must've held him in her arms blessing the name of the God she believed in for this precious gift she would gladly sacrifice her life for. So many things to be hopeful for, so many dreams...  The world seemed less hostile and more forgiving. This was the child she would love. Once he got his name, he went through the World like most of us. He's been bullied, got into fights, fell in love, fell out of love, stole things from someone or someone stole from him. The Sins that built this world has touched him, provoking him, humbling him. At some point in his life he held onto secrets that hurt him, he's seen the terrible things humans are capable of yet he survived just to be the man he is today. Look at him. His life, which he worked so hard for, is dangling at the end of a wheel chair. Now he sleeps in his own piss, broken, unknown, unwanted and unloved. He, too like most of us, believes in God. I'm sure that's a Bible laying next to him which he reads with all the calenture and hope expressed by most devout humans but where is his salvation? Where are the promises of love he was taught would be there when he falls? When you have no origin, you have no destination. Any God, King or Kingdom that fails even one soul, fails everyone. At the same token, we are all responsible for the world we live in. This man will probably never see happiness ever again and that is a truly sad fate for any human.

Theory Of Analysis: notes pt. 1

A-nal-y-sis: the separating of any material or abstract entity into its constituent elements. This process as a method of studying the nature of something or determining  its essential features and their relations.


1. Analysis only covers about 10% of the object/text/abstract entity/event. The rest depends on the interpretation of the "analyzer"

2. Analysis is not capable of processing 100% of a given object/text/abstract entity/event. It can't account for the imaginary or the fantastical.

3. Analysis operates on a basic set of rules that governs its methodic architecture as a process of investigation which is its ability and its limitation in relation to object/text/abstract entity/event. In other words, a system that seeks destabilization of an object's structural constitution (or: a system that seeks to understand a given extraneous system and its opposite).

4.All forms are guided and understood by the structure of their systems. The rest are branching paths into the realms of evolutionary possibilities, circumstances, inter-relationships, the imaginary and the fantastical.

5. Think of analysis as a form or method of translation. Its natural that things, concepts, ideas, imagery, etc., gets lost or non-digested as it goes from one form to another Although it is the nature of analysis to initiate structural destabilization, and ultimately its segregation, of a given object/text/abstract entity/event, there will be pieces it can not process or investigate. Those are the pieces that contain the imaginary and the fantastical; where the mind roams and the emotions are stirred and take flight. These pieces are in constant flux and remain beyond the scope of definition.

6. Analysis can't cause erasure (unless interpretation is erasure?).

7. Analysis depends on an object's basic structure and its system, not the "essence" of an object.

8. Erasure happens during categoricalization (this process occurs when we mistake the parts for the whole).

9. Analysis doesn't seek meaning.

10. Meaning is perspectival, completely dependant of one's point-of-view.

11. Understanding is fluxual, very unstable, in constant motion and collision; an evolutionary species of process.

Remembering The Crash

sometimes, I hate sleeping. I hate dreaming. Your presence still haunts me when I wake and terrifies me when I dream. There are some days I want to let go and join both of you there. How is the little one? Too bad I'll never be a father. I think I would have been a good one, like my Dad. I shoyuld have listened to you when you tried to tell me the secret. I got drunk but I was soo happy. Our lives were about to change for the better... and that's when I lost you. I want to believe that there's some meaning to your absence but instead I have to wear this ugly mask everyday so I can be human and not be seen for who I really am. Sometimes I forget you are gone... I have a job and I've learned to smile. Every night I try not to let it all end. I miss you so much...

Mirrors Lie

I'm not beautiful.
When I see myself, I see the flaws that has built me, the scraps of self-worth that has shamefully clothe this ugly skin.
I realize I am envious
Of those who stare at themselves in that mirror called Desire.
They are beautiful.
they are objects of themselves
They are their own seduction, possessing themselves with such greed and confidence.
I fear my mirror (all mirrors show the past. That's their only power and our failure).
I do not have perfection.
I am only as good as my last glance and this saddens me, forcing me to look again and again to catch that moment when I am truly current and beautiful but
I am not beautiful.
I am a monster.
I cry in the rain.
I laugh in the sun.
I weep.
I feel pain.
I need Love.
I have loneliness and longing like all the monsters before me.
My feet are deformed by ugliness, my hands are clumsy, my heart is sick.
My Hope has wept, my prayers have died. My mirror has shown me how.
I will never be beautiful like you, my Angel.
No monster ever is.
No monster can ever hope to be.