rambling
raving
on and on
one thought starts
melts into another
and another
and another

from blue whales
to the nature of dust
from water
to the nature of carpets
on and on

never ceasing
to make any sense in the moment
yet in hindsight...

what?

false hopes
false promises
shatter quite easily
beneath the demon is revealed

i cower from him
wanting to run away into reassuring arms
but where are they?

faux promises
faux hopes
faux faux faux

but no matter what
however irrational
i still have hope
there is goodness yet
but disguised
in the form of the demon

disillusion
disappointment
strike the heart
but forget not to remember
the demon was once a lamb
though the demon may not become a lamb once more
he might return half-way
with a maturity
that only comes with knowledge and experience

i pray that that day may come soon.
in the meantime,
je demeure.

je suis en colère, mais
au même temps
je t'aime
on rit
on regarde les vidéos et des gifs
du football américain
et on se claque
au sujet de la stupidité
de Mark Sanchez
de Rex Ryan
des Lions
des Texans
et au fin du jour,
on sourit.


comment est-ce que
cette rage
peut
nous
unir?
ça c'est un vrai mystère.


QUE LES 49ERS GAGNENT LE SUPERBOWL!
ET QUE TOM BRADY ET LES PATRIOTS PERDENT UNE PERTE DOULEUREUSE!

or should i say ghee for that matter
take a spoon
take a slice of bread
smooth it over

creamy at first
then slowly shriveling
shrinking
melting
into yellowy softness
over the bread's pores

beauty at last
and scrumptious indeed

but you can only put so much
before it becomes gross
moderation,
moderation, my friend
is key
as is always

Interesting... a draft from 2009. Those were the days...

I have been experiencing a lot of mind blocks recently, yet I do not even understand what it is..

My mind goes blank. I have a book in front of me, but I won't read it. I have a pen in front of me, but I won't write. I have everything in the world to do, but I don't do it.

That's what's bugging me.

Exercise does help a lot. Getting out in fresh air, taking a stroll, physical stuff.

Yesterday, I was at Memorial and I saw a summer concert (part of the series). The Retro Rockets were playing - a local rock and roll band. I guess being limited in my Western music repertoire, I just sat there feeling blank. I did like Stormy Monday, though. A jovial man came out to sing it. And he was blessed with a great voice. It was good to hear him.


***

And in many ways, I still feel like that today. So many words, yet how to make them fall on paper? I don't even really get how I write... Where the heck do these words come from? Why are they coming now? And what do they really mean?

the age old question,
you'd think we'd found an answer.
pointless debates and discussions,
yet we're right where we started.

what is this computer,
what am i,
what is god,
can you tell me?

what does it mean to believe anyways
no way to prove
no way to disprove
just being
being
being

and that is all

no point in debating
no point in discussion
yet why are we always drawn to doing so
why must we do the pointless
rein in the sea
with a simple fishnet

it ain't going to happen
but i suppose that we can't just let things be
that we must find explanations
however misguided and flawed they are

i'd rather let things be
live
and let live
and just be.

i am raskolnikov
deckard
heck, even mason.
it scares me;
we have so much in common.
almost like what i read shapes who i am...
slowly,
but surely,
i morph into a
plain jane
a rochester
maybe even a st. john.
good grief,
literature tells me more about myself
than i could have ever imagined.
but how do i know that's not those authors
getting into my head?
perhaps it is time for me
to take
the voigt-kampf test.
i clearly am too empathetic...

You are an 78 year-old retiree with a passion for golf.
You are a 72 year-old doctor working at Walden Houses.
You are a 49 year-old engineer.
You are a 35 year-old social worker.

You enjoy walks with your dog,
the dog might not as much
because you don’t walk nearly as quickly as you used to.

You’ve been working for decades,
seeing patient after patient after patient.
The days are long, but manageable enough.
Retirement, though you’ve been pushing it off,
will come soon.

You earn big bucks at IBM,
going to conferences, and the like.
You’ve got the wife, the kids, the house.
Things are working out for you.

You work hard,
nurturing the community at work
and nurturing the baby at home.
But you’re content, you’re doing what you love to do.

I watch you all,
from the corner of the exam room.
I wish I didn’t have to,
that I might be able to see you at
the mall
the movies
anywhere else but here.
Some place happier.

You sit on the crinkly paper laid out on the exam table.
It’s a warm day; you take off your jacket.
Eyes wandering, you seek anything,
everything,
to take your mind off of that dreaded question plaguing your mind.

How much time do I have left, Doc?

You are polite,
though anxious,
You don’t want to bother the doctor,
you feel you’ve asked too much of him,
So you stare at me, the shadowing student, a while.

Sometimes I look away,
and other times I stare right back.
I smile at you
and sometimes you smile back.

I can’t help being surprised.
Your face radiates warmth,
your physique exudes strength,
as if there were nothing wrong with you at all.

But your eyes,
your eyes speak a different story.
They are grave,
but not quite downcast,
not gloomy or brooding,
and speak of endless determination.
I will never forget them.
I can never forget them.

I think of you often while researching in the lab.
While looking through the microscope,
I can’t help grimacing from time to time,
realizing that those despicably beautiful cancer cells
swimming around in my cell plate
are wreaking havoc in your body.

As I look into your eyes, sometimes I fancy I see those cells swimming around.
Then I notice that glint in your eyes,
that sharp fighting spirit
that sends the cells packing.

I only wish that could really happen.

You are Stage IV patients.
The cells are everywhere,
having spread from your lung
to your
liver
brain
stomach
and who knows where else.

Yet you do not despair,
which almost prompts me to ask you if you are going mad.
How do you do it?

How do you continue to play golf,
beating your healthy friends,
while all the while on chemo?

How do you continue to see patients,
when you yourself have been a cancer patient
for 6 years?

How do you manage to continue working full-time through chemo,
looking so healthy that your very own children have no clue that you’ve been diagnosed?

How do you continue to hope
when you are so young
and yet close to Death’s door?

You, all of you,
are my inspiration.
You are why I continue to research cancer,
even when bacteria repeatedly confound my results.
Even when there seems to be
no possible breakthrough.
You are why I hope to become an oncologist one day,
even though I’d be in school for another 13 years at the least.

I hope to help you in your fight for life,
and I’d give anything for you to
reign victorious over cancer.
It pains me to say that all I can offer you now is a smile,
but one day,
mark my words,
one day,
I’ll be able to give you my all.

rambling
raving
on and on
one thought starts
melts into another
and another
and another

from blue whales
to the nature of dust
from water
to the nature of carpets
on and on

never ceasing
to make any sense in the moment
yet in hindsight...

what?

false hopes
false promises
shatter quite easily
beneath the demon is revealed

i cower from him
wanting to run away into reassuring arms
but where are they?

faux promises
faux hopes
faux faux faux

but no matter what
however irrational
i still have hope
there is goodness yet
but disguised
in the form of the demon

disillusion
disappointment
strike the heart
but forget not to remember
the demon was once a lamb
though the demon may not become a lamb once more
he might return half-way
with a maturity
that only comes with knowledge and experience

i pray that that day may come soon.
in the meantime,
je demeure.

je suis en colère, mais
au même temps
je t'aime
on rit
on regarde les vidéos et des gifs
du football américain
et on se claque
au sujet de la stupidité
de Mark Sanchez
de Rex Ryan
des Lions
des Texans
et au fin du jour,
on sourit.


comment est-ce que
cette rage
peut
nous
unir?
ça c'est un vrai mystère.


QUE LES 49ERS GAGNENT LE SUPERBOWL!
ET QUE TOM BRADY ET LES PATRIOTS PERDENT UNE PERTE DOULEUREUSE!

or should i say ghee for that matter
take a spoon
take a slice of bread
smooth it over

creamy at first
then slowly shriveling
shrinking
melting
into yellowy softness
over the bread's pores

beauty at last
and scrumptious indeed

but you can only put so much
before it becomes gross
moderation,
moderation, my friend
is key
as is always

Interesting... a draft from 2009. Those were the days...

I have been experiencing a lot of mind blocks recently, yet I do not even understand what it is..

My mind goes blank. I have a book in front of me, but I won't read it. I have a pen in front of me, but I won't write. I have everything in the world to do, but I don't do it.

That's what's bugging me.

Exercise does help a lot. Getting out in fresh air, taking a stroll, physical stuff.

Yesterday, I was at Memorial and I saw a summer concert (part of the series). The Retro Rockets were playing - a local rock and roll band. I guess being limited in my Western music repertoire, I just sat there feeling blank. I did like Stormy Monday, though. A jovial man came out to sing it. And he was blessed with a great voice. It was good to hear him.


***

And in many ways, I still feel like that today. So many words, yet how to make them fall on paper? I don't even really get how I write... Where the heck do these words come from? Why are they coming now? And what do they really mean?

the age old question,
you'd think we'd found an answer.
pointless debates and discussions,
yet we're right where we started.

what is this computer,
what am i,
what is god,
can you tell me?

what does it mean to believe anyways
no way to prove
no way to disprove
just being
being
being

and that is all

no point in debating
no point in discussion
yet why are we always drawn to doing so
why must we do the pointless
rein in the sea
with a simple fishnet

it ain't going to happen
but i suppose that we can't just let things be
that we must find explanations
however misguided and flawed they are

i'd rather let things be
live
and let live
and just be.

i am raskolnikov
deckard
heck, even mason.
it scares me;
we have so much in common.
almost like what i read shapes who i am...
slowly,
but surely,
i morph into a
plain jane
a rochester
maybe even a st. john.
good grief,
literature tells me more about myself
than i could have ever imagined.
but how do i know that's not those authors
getting into my head?
perhaps it is time for me
to take
the voigt-kampf test.
i clearly am too empathetic...

You are an 78 year-old retiree with a passion for golf.
You are a 72 year-old doctor working at Walden Houses.
You are a 49 year-old engineer.
You are a 35 year-old social worker.

You enjoy walks with your dog,
the dog might not as much
because you don’t walk nearly as quickly as you used to.

You’ve been working for decades,
seeing patient after patient after patient.
The days are long, but manageable enough.
Retirement, though you’ve been pushing it off,
will come soon.

You earn big bucks at IBM,
going to conferences, and the like.
You’ve got the wife, the kids, the house.
Things are working out for you.

You work hard,
nurturing the community at work
and nurturing the baby at home.
But you’re content, you’re doing what you love to do.

I watch you all,
from the corner of the exam room.
I wish I didn’t have to,
that I might be able to see you at
the mall
the movies
anywhere else but here.
Some place happier.

You sit on the crinkly paper laid out on the exam table.
It’s a warm day; you take off your jacket.
Eyes wandering, you seek anything,
everything,
to take your mind off of that dreaded question plaguing your mind.

How much time do I have left, Doc?

You are polite,
though anxious,
You don’t want to bother the doctor,
you feel you’ve asked too much of him,
So you stare at me, the shadowing student, a while.

Sometimes I look away,
and other times I stare right back.
I smile at you
and sometimes you smile back.

I can’t help being surprised.
Your face radiates warmth,
your physique exudes strength,
as if there were nothing wrong with you at all.

But your eyes,
your eyes speak a different story.
They are grave,
but not quite downcast,
not gloomy or brooding,
and speak of endless determination.
I will never forget them.
I can never forget them.

I think of you often while researching in the lab.
While looking through the microscope,
I can’t help grimacing from time to time,
realizing that those despicably beautiful cancer cells
swimming around in my cell plate
are wreaking havoc in your body.

As I look into your eyes, sometimes I fancy I see those cells swimming around.
Then I notice that glint in your eyes,
that sharp fighting spirit
that sends the cells packing.

I only wish that could really happen.

You are Stage IV patients.
The cells are everywhere,
having spread from your lung
to your
liver
brain
stomach
and who knows where else.

Yet you do not despair,
which almost prompts me to ask you if you are going mad.
How do you do it?

How do you continue to play golf,
beating your healthy friends,
while all the while on chemo?

How do you continue to see patients,
when you yourself have been a cancer patient
for 6 years?

How do you manage to continue working full-time through chemo,
looking so healthy that your very own children have no clue that you’ve been diagnosed?

How do you continue to hope
when you are so young
and yet close to Death’s door?

You, all of you,
are my inspiration.
You are why I continue to research cancer,
even when bacteria repeatedly confound my results.
Even when there seems to be
no possible breakthrough.
You are why I hope to become an oncologist one day,
even though I’d be in school for another 13 years at the least.

I hope to help you in your fight for life,
and I’d give anything for you to
reign victorious over cancer.
It pains me to say that all I can offer you now is a smile,
but one day,
mark my words,
one day,
I’ll be able to give you my all.