A Tree's Life Like a Man's (Frederick Douglass' Grove)

Centered in a grove of trees arranged in an octagon, I've taken just my wireless keyboard out and am typing. I write freely and I feel uninhibited...

I think I am among wise men in a temple, standing as proudly and as frozen as marble statues. They are like the sages in Ocarina of Time.

I am now looking at a third tree and this one is very different from butt crack tree and strong tree. This one is something like Frankenstein's lab assistant, Igor. This tree gives off an impression that it did not live a healthy life, for it is shorter, twisted, scarred with indentations, and it only has one burst of leaves. I am thinking of this tree's human statue. This is a man who suffered through a winter and icy solitude in his final stage of life. It made him sick and haunted his branches, which jut out like rigid and dead tendrils and hang up in the air like teathered bones. HEH. This tree has conceded the race for more sun loooong ago. What about you? The tip of this tree, though shorter, takes him into the great canopies of two other trees. His life ended differently than all the others will because it opted out of society. This tree died consequently died with others. Really in the arms of loved ones in a way that someone fighting in the rat race of society never can due to ego. Dwarf tree dies enmeshed in the canopies of two great trees that meet right atop the dwarf tree, where it would most certainly have the greatest advantage in fighting off the other trees' desire for more light, if it had wanted to fight. Igor tree has a first burst of leaves, but not a second. It is a small burst of leaves, lower than in the other trees; I can almost jump and touch the lowest leaf on this tree. Now I am closer to Igor and see there is more to this tree! As I continue to look, I notice there are no cut ins at all. These are mushrooms! Aha! Why does only this tree have mushrooms on it and no others? Maybe this is the youthful malign (is that a word? FUCK it, MY BLOG) that stunted its life. Hmm, well anyway it lived a life just as good as the others, though I can see this tree had a harder time.





All of these trees have the same long and narrow trunk. Maybe they've all come from the same primogenitor and look the same because the conditions of their youth were similar, except for one tree that is just a stump because it has been split by some event unknown. All of these trees have branches jutting out from their trunk at two points -- at their midpoint and tallest point.

The trees become unique at about halfway up. One has a deep rivet, one that looks like a butt crack. Another is straight and tall all the way up through its top. Other than having a distinct feeling of strength, it is just like the first, except for that when it bursts out in branches at its middle and its top, the explosions are larger and more verdant. Maybe these are periods of great creativity. Can you say that both a baby and sapling have their entire biology determined at birth and what happens to them which alters that trajectory is not worthy of praise or of blame because the input is hella complex and the interpretation/integration process involves all of that pre-determined biology? No credit or blame belongs because we are like flutes to wind? We have logic, but in a sense we are unable to dodge what life throws at us, similar to a tree -- which we dont blame for anything. Things like time and chemicals can alter us in ways we do not see or understand because we make sense of them after they have passed. Our entire blame structure is built on the expectations of reaction to particular stimuli; i.e. Cry when sad. A friend told me she is working on not laughing as much, and I told her this is the worst thing she can do. You should not fight against your most basic proclivity towards happiness. A perfectly good man is ruined by trauma the same way a tree is struck by lightning.

A grove of trees can tell a whole story of life and time. A statue is a snapshot, meant to misdirect your senses and make you think you know a man. A piece of art is more like a statue than a tree. Art is not anthropomorphic or humanistic, though, like a statue. It can be but whatever. Instead it involves a larger spectrum that is inherently undetermined, unintelligible, and unique to the viewier. Artists and thinkers have called this confusing mess of symbols in art a reflection for the viewer. I love how Oscar Wilde puts it in the preface to Dorian Gray. Trees, however, are not like art or statues. They tell no lies in the stories of their life from beginning to its end and even offer a full perspective on how the beginning is to be considered, relative to the end of life. I mean to say you know the beginning of the story by looking at the end of it and you see the complete relationship of birth and life to death in a tree. As the tree grows up, it grows out and becomes all the more satisfying and deep, but it is always complete. It is a poem, not art.

"Responsibility starts where the imagination begins."
- Kafka on the Shore

Frederick Douglass' House Museum in Anacostia, MD/DC (Hood AF)

There are many trees around me and actually more further out in a second ring. These trees are very different. I dont want to think about trees anymore and I'd like to move on somewhere else. In the distance, an old steel school alarm bell rings. Im back to real life, suddenly. Im in an oasis in the middle of the hood, and there are mosquitos biting my sun burned body. On my way! Just musings that sink to the bottom of my mind, where I can reach them.

Three old wise-men and their riddles.
Three old wise men pondering a blue game of chess. 

The Seven Days of Tolerability -- My Ramadan Retrospective and Resolution

Ive finished Ramadan and I feel unsatisfied. I think my suffering was not enough. I began the period with such focus and spirituality but fell out of it as easily as I might slip out of a dress. I feel shame because I went on vacation and did not keep up my practice. The 'rules' of Ramadan say this is okay, and so I trusted that, but it does not feel okay to me.

Today I feel like my decisions will have everlasting permanence. I feel like the world is going to end tomorrow and that today is the only day where anything matters. Like there is no time. Why do I feel like there is no time? Is this a normal thing? I am almost sure it is not, but my memory is foggy right now. I am like the force was when Palpatine was rising to power. Things were clouded and even the Jedi, the seers, could not see. I am in this fog. I Think... No I dont need to think about anything.

I just need to relax.

I need to take the time to take the time. I know that I am in the eye of a hurricane.

I feel bad for myself. Oh, the weather is coming and it'll be bad this time -- im sure of it. But why do I delve into the deepest beauty for me that Seattle has to offer. It must be to rid myself of this moss that has grown over me.

I think I went into Trump's DC and came out so swampy that I cant stand myself or anyone else. Wow. That's really what happened. I have a bad taste in my heart because I licked dirty materialism, vapidity, and a million stories everyone told themselves. In truth they're puppets to ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Eet goes where you go.

My mind is colonized. That's a hard truth. I believe that everything is socially constructed -- I almost believe in a blank slate. No, today I do believe in a blank slate. I think that the world is a maze ants have tunneled into shit and if you're not tunneling you're making the rounds in other peoples tunnels. It's all shit and doesn't matter anyway. You stomp, 6 legs deep, into shit. You skitter and scatter through pipes so tight you smack your dangling ball sack on them and so smelly we learn just not to smell really at all.

Yes, we are ants. Not mice. Not dolphins. We are the ants. Our cities are ant mounds. Our tallest buildings look like termite hives turned upside down and that makes sense. They are subterranean and we are not. The queen is an interesting allegorical comparison. She exists for us too but im not sure how to talk about her because our queen is abstract. Our queen is Beyoncé. Our queen sleeps in bed with us with her huge ass (which is all we want) and is there the next morning to soothe or shatter us. In either case, she becomes our attention and our focus and our drive and our meaning and takes from us the morning's golden magnificence. Fuck 12.

I feel very free right now. Just now, as I write to you, I have pushed myself off of a bench and fallen into the grass of the Seattle Japanese Garden because I was slouching too much to use my keyboard. I am writing in my favorite way. Blindly. I will edit what I have written, but I cannot see when I type. I like to write on my wireless keyboard. I still dont like this angle... hmmm. I must move then.

...

I totally forgot to write about the seven days of tolerability. I am treating myself to seven days of experiences that are tolerable. Experiences that are intolerable are multiplicitous; too numerous to list. Some typical seattle intolerabilities I will not put up with are 1. Homeless people acting a fool just to troll 2. People trying to avoid saying hello on the sidewalks 3. Wearing uncomfortable clothes to fit in. I will try my best to have an experience each night which lets me get away from these things but is also to my liking. Today I went to the Seattle Japanese Garden, my favorite alcove in the Washington Arboretum, and then I spent too much money at Nishima Sushi. I appreciate good service in restaurants, but that is really hard to find -- especially on the West Coast. People are filling up my water way too often, asking me more than a polite amount of conversation, just sort of being  half-genuine/half-customer-oriented half-wits. Sometimes I make friends behind the bar or in the restaurant; dont fake it, though. Feel it for real. Dont fake it.

IF people are intolerable to me on the streets, I will try to kill them with kindness. Yesterday, some guy threw something at my foot and I did get mad at him. I was caught off guard. I am sorry. It is tolerable that you throw something at me, provided you have a good reason. It was like 10PM and the dude said it was an accident -- unlikely, but maybe it was.

Today a homeless man came up to me and yelled and was like spitting on me so I bonked him on his head. Intolerable. 

Shortly thereafter, a person trying to get signatures for some sort of ACLU something and then some environmental company waved at me like they knew me. This is intolerable. Don't try to manipulate my emotions. I waved at her and said "No!" She said 'I was going to give you 10 dollars." I considered this and said to her "I am more expensive." 

People are being very inappropriate to me on a daily basis and for seven days I will treat myself to not having to deal with them at all if they want to come at me sideways.


The reason I am doing the seven days of tolerability is because Ive just finished my own personal practice of Ramadan and I feel like there is no reward on the other end of the practice for me. If you are Muslim, you have a big festival called EID where you get to celebrate with your family and have a great time all day or waste away on Instagram commenting things like "DEAD" and liking memes about how youre not doing anything for EID. I dont have a community to celebrate the end of Ramadan with. Ive tried celebrating with the Muslim folk but their celebration is too religious. I am not uncomfortable with them. They are extremely kind, welcoming (mostly), and last year I actually made peace with a 6'5/6 homeless dude who I had beef with from a random rap battle. I will not recount that tale here, now. That man and I made peace; big + for me lol.

This year I had an extremely solitary practice. I have decided to take seven days to really treat myself well and according to what I think is best for me, regardless of convention -- as best I can. My writing comes off as very insensitive and pejorative and that is how I am feeling, but I am also able to tap into a calm and open spiritedness I cultivated during long days of no eating. I am frustrated and feel I've betrayed myself by breaking my practice early.

On Staring at a Person

I recently read about staring and what your relationship with staring says about you. I have always had a hell of a relationship with staring. When I was a child, I would stare people down and I would relish when they would stare back and it would become a stare off. One time everything changed. I felt a sudden onset of fear and had to avert my eyes. That fear has been with me ever since. I've learned to resist it; sometimes I have to lie, sometimes I dont. I still try to hold a stare because I am trying to prove something to myself -- that I do not fear someone preening into my emotional state, regardless of whether I feel good or bad; but its not always easy at all. There was also a time where a teacher invited us to stare into a partner's eyes for as long as we could. That was a very important person to me and that was a endlessly mystifying half moment. Another thing I dont like is getting engaged in a conversation with overly concentrated, disengaged eyes. This is when both of you are staring RIGHT into eachothers eyes and both have really wide eyes like youre super engaged in the conversation. In truth, none of your eyes are saying anything. Both of your eyes have this gloss of falsified interest showing. That is the ultimate bull shit. Im going to poke myself in the eye the next time Im in that situation and just be like 'sorry, I had to break the lie.'

Richard Sherman and the Octopus

Firin' my Lazor!

I like to write about days that will one day make me laugh and cry. I know they will make me laugh and cry some day because I can tell they are the sweetest days of a bittersweet stage of my life that might be fleeting faster than I can know. Im doubt this ‘feeling’ I have about myself and the world around me will carry through to my elder years. Part of the reason why is because I see how fickle my beliefs about my own life have been in the past. When I was younger, I would make silent determinations to myself: I would never get ‘old’ or that I would find a way to make every year better than the one that came before it. These statements fell apart like how trees die — bit by bit, hidden to the eye as they become hollow and then a storm hits and suddenly they’re definitely dead forever.

“every year of life just gets better.” -- dumb me

Libraries in Seattle give away a few free tickets to the local museums through a link on their main website. I happened to be perusing the other day and got myself tickets to the Aquarium. Nobody seemed to be available, so I went by myself. The place was swamped with little children running around exclaiming and crawing over each other and doing what kids do. My sister called me the second I stepped into the building: “You dummy! Didnt you know Thursdays are field trip days?” It annoyed and kind of upset me at first, but I warmed up to it by the end. I plugged my Beats by Dr. Dre headphones into some recommendations for atmospheric underwater-y music; Ott and Tipper and I sauntered through the aquarium. I met a really nice older man giving fish their daily feeding and I felt like I could see through him to his life as a college kid studying biology at university. I hung out with him for 30 minutes — mostly just staring into coral — and watching how differently octopus, fish, crustaceans, vegetation, and eels react to food. A little dark haired, bespectacled, olive skinned girl from one of the field trip groups scooted in front of me and asked some questions of the old man about the fish — what they eat and something, rather. As I tried to leave the aquarium, all signs were telling me to stick around a bit longer, and that same girl ended up sitting right at my foot for the day’s Octopus Feeding. She interrupted the presentation to ask questions twice, despite the request to ‘hold questions.' That’s a future scientist :). the octopus was cool. I liken its consistency to ball skin, but on a scale I had never considered. It’s lobe head — its ‘mantle’ — really does look like a testie. The feeding ended up being lackluster and I left for my office. 

Ancient Grounds "Coffee Shop" -- World's Best Latte (Read: Coffee from Elf) 

I never really wanted to end up at my office, but it was my destination until, I came by a sign “Seattle’s most interesting and best latte???” I walked by the sign, laughing to myself. I looked back at the other side of the stand up sign and it said “Seattle’s best latte.” I appreciated the additional security. I headed into Ancient Grounds. It was the kind of mish-mash of ideas that belongs back in the era of mom and pop and book shops and the 50’s before anything made sense. The owner was a gaunt, towering fellow and some sort of collector of artifacts — from Japan, China, and mostly some African country(s?) I couldnt identify. There was a woman with great cleavage talking to an older man about real estate and I sat down to a mediocre latte and broke out my computer for some office work. I had a second latte which the man assured me would be half priced (and wasnt) and asked some questions about collecting and selling things. The man expressed typical old-man ‘this is a dying industry’ thoughts and I left. His store gave me the idea of buying dirt cheap hardbacks from my local workplace and reselling them at the internet for moderate profits. If I can streamline the process, I think I could have a solid literary side hustle going on — so that’s why we’ve got to protect the coral reef and biodiversity. 

"Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty."-- Derek Zoolander

Bitch dont kill my invertebrate

I took the bus over to Bellevue and was early for my appointment. I had more than an hour to burn and NBA playoffs were on so I decided to stop into one of my favorite local bars for a quiet drink. As I head to the bar and am about 10 feet away, I register Richard Sherman in my periphery, sitting dead-center with company. I sit a few chairs away take out my computer and order a bud light. Richard Sherman is rooting for the Oklahoma City Thunder, who are playing the Houston Rockets. I recently heard a quote saying something like that you can’t not treat a celebrity like a celebrity; you can only try to keep your cool. I didnt want to feed into that and so I left the guy alone even when one fan initiated a request for autographs and people flash flooded into an orderly line. I was contented with sharing his presence and just appreciating what I know is good about him and his ethics and interpersonal strength: Good things to meditate on as a 20-something. Better than xhampster, anyways. I had my drink and did some computer and left the bar.

I finished my afternoon tutoring session and decided to do something I shouldn’t. See, while I was tutoring a girl sat down at the library-volunteer-tutor table and verbalised that there was no one there to help her. Indeed, there was someone at the 2nd tutor table but he seemed to be wilfully ignoring the girl. I overheard him and he was a garbage tutor. Don’t quit your day job, buddy. I sat next to her at the otherwise vacant volunteer table and asked if I could help. She was happy for me to help and I tried to keep it together for her while I planned exit strategies depending on who might get pissed at me. Once I had sat down, I wouldnt let myself leave until the girl got the help she needed. When we had finished, the little girl announced her own name as ‘Ebony’ and offered to shake my hand. It was really sweet.

Thinking about that fear I felt when I sat down to help Ebony got me to reflect about a quote I told myself as I began to hear its antitheses among my peers: “I will never be one of those creepy guys that ‘feels old.’” I’ve found out life is alot more complicated than I thought it was and I have accepted my transition along with corresponding rapid hair loss. In that moment, I felt embarrassed that I was a full grown man putting his neck on a chopping block in order to impress a child. They do that in the movies, but not in real life. My smile is half as charming as a rule-breaking, young Brad Pitt and my quick wit is like 1/10 that — and I am vastly underpaid.

Really, Ebony knew everything and was a really smart girl. I think she was just looking for a push, which I felt compelled to give. If you believe in something, you simply must stand up — balding and all. That’s why it’s cool to share space with someone like Richard Sherman, who can be brave and express his thoughts. I can do the same at my best, but my ability to articulate goes right out the window. In fact — OMG — today Im walking in downtown Seattle and a young girl who looks rough around the edges clasps her hands together in a begging gesture and asks me for some money to get on the bus. I say no, and she says “faggot.” I almost spit out the words "did you just call me a faggot?” She cant hold my gaze. She says “Yeah, I called you a faggot, faggot.” I retort “YOURE…” and I eat the rest of my words and walk away. I wish I could have channeled Kid Cudi and pointed out that she couldnt say those words and look into my eyes. I wish I could have channeled Lil B and told her that if she hates me I love her too. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People says to use principles you believe in — ostensibly ‘good' ones — as the foundations for action. I didnt have that in me and it was all I could do to walk away. I wonder if I can change that about me. Being so serious. I wonder if I should. A younger me might have done any of those things. What would you have done? 

How much does a dollar really cost? Embrace your (hair) loss, I am a shark hat.

Sojourn in Eugene

This journal entry is based on experiences from my short week in Eugene, Oregon. 

Having the place and time to explore along with will and curiosity is a simple recipe for returning to a calmer mindset. I started this journey questioning my path in life; what will I be doing in 5 years and why? I didnt find treasure at the end of any rainbow (I did find a leprechaun), but I got back up on my two feet and feel confident and satisfied.

 "Sometimes people see a possible next step, but are not ready for it.
They can get there and do it, but the cost will be seven times inflated.”

My best qualities, ones I’ve always known and love in me, had been muted and I had been feeling alot of anger related to loneliness.

Late Sunday evening, I purchased a one-way ticket for the following morning. I threw together a packed bag and hopped on the 7-hr bus south. My good friend, Daniel, picked me up in his same truck and that evening we went grocery shopping and stayed in watching Young Frankenstein.

I left early in the morning. I walked on the side of a busy road crowded with slow moving cars into the center of town. My backpack full of books, journals, and my computer. I flipped out Google Maps and decided I would go to where the map’s yellow-coded land information indicated the dense center of town. I found many interesting thrift stores, mom and pop bakeries, tabletop and computer gaming hangouts, and a copy of Pokemon Sun for $28.00 (which I did not buy).

Create a small rhythm. Once you can ride, enjoy the difference. Try something new.
Embrace your excellence. Time and focus determine your reality. 

Shadowfox cafe’s mascot Tommo sniffed me out as a friend. He sat on my table and sniffed around my space. Tommo let me pet him, gnawed on me a bit, and even tasted my English Breakfast Tea.

My destination was Oregon University. I stopped at coffee shops on the way to people watch and do company admin work, emails, etc. My path was partially determined by Pokemon Go, which I flipped open to find rare creatures from time to time.

Vero Coffee was a large doll-house estate converted into a two-story, dainty, airy and bright coffee shop. A perfect place to spend a few hours people watching and funnelling refills.

I sat outdoors on a small, two-table patio facing the main thoroughfare. People walked, biked, and drove by. A church for the science of christ (stfu) was directly across the street. I watched people come and go. Eventually, a girl joined me out on the patio. I felt an immense pressure against saying hello or speaking. When she did something like try to squeeze by, my reactions were jerk. I dislike this mode I can get into and it usually resists my attempts to calm myself. What I’ve found, though, is that actions speak louder than words — always. Try talking and the connection, if it is possible, will shine through and burn away everything fighting it. Any throw away line or question will elucidate both of your purposes and time will push you where you need to go.

I finally spoke. We conversed about plans for life, our recent past, struggles, travels; of cultural norms, of unease, loneliness, anger, and all of the little rocks and gems we clutch close and really just want to show everyone on the playground. We lifted each other up and shared motivation, which is always limitless and meant to be shared in everything you do. I learned that any stranger is dealing with struggles not so very different from my own put me at ease.

It seems you basically have to catch people in a beginners mindset or in a reflective state in order to connect with them. As I was writing this, a roommate and friend walked by my room and I greeted her warmly. She held my gaze for a moment and shifted right back forward and marched on like she had just seen a squirrel and was ready to move on with life. Cold. But, though it seems every time you attempt to reach out you get bit or find nothing, reaching out and finding something in someone, for 10 minutes or life, will remind you of why you reach out in the first place.

I entered this trip because things were getting really heavy. My worries and depression had been amplifying and the weight was hurting me. I was in a cycle and psychological trap.

I’m writing this here because I want to share my own story for the people I’ve been speaking with who are dealing with the same existential issues in their mid-late 20’s. I have one main message for you: everyone is in the same boat with you. If you reach out boldly, life will surprise you.

I lied on my back in thought. I reclined on a fallen redwood in the middle of luscious nature left to grow, carpet, die, and rebuild, undisturbed. It rained lightly and the moisture had soaked into the vegetation to its saturation point. Everything was teeming and dripping with fullness, making the forest’s greens glow. Lying prostrate, tilted toward an iron-grey sky, sense and sensibility burned off of my perspective like when an old film reel finishes on a projected screen, and in my head I played with my brain like spaceship controls. Now, this was Pod Racing. The grey skies melted endlessly into and reflected into themselves ad infinitum. In the foreground, the forest canopy leaves, symmetric structures, danced in nautilus-shapes and spirals on stretched and twisting branches. Under forest temple skies, I considered self infatuation, romance, narcissism, sadness, anger, targets and anchors, and nightmares. Log it. Pull it apart. Move on.