The vast universal suffering feel as thine:
Thou must bear the sorrow that thou claimst to heal;
The day-bringer must walk in darkest night.
He who would save the world must share its pain.
If he knows not grief, how shall he find grief's cure?

~Sri Aurobindo

This is a surrealist film directed by Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel. I just wanted to share it because its so damn shocking I love it.

I'm frozen. I have a complete artistic block. I want to write, paint, do something but I have no creative energy. Im frustrated, my mind is a blank. Its just one of those moments, which come and pass, regardless I hate them.

On the other hand Im constantly reminded of how infantile and weak people can be (myself included). Sometimes I wonder why I ever came out of my antisocial shell, but those are fleeting moments. The beauty of life holds both the pain and the pleasure. Im willing to suffer through agony to achieve happiness.

Random note: I flirt too much and that gets me in trouble.

I need something amazing to happen, I need something to break this damn so that all my artistic energies can flow from my finger tips. Why the dry spell, probably because at this very moment in time nothing is happening. Im board beyond belief.

In three days Ill be revitalized. Im coming home to California and damnit my friends better be around because Im gong to party. After the party I will soak in the California beauty.

Id never thought Id fall in love with California, but it took snow and months of hell for me to bond with my home. Of course Ive gone through a complete metamorphosis since senior year of high school. That could explain the change of heart. Alas Im being too vague. Blame it on a caffeine high and me staying up past my bed time.

Summer school has in the end turned out to be an amazing experience. Not the class, that was painful. But Ive met people, who have unbelievably beautiful spirits. Perhaps when my thoughts are not so disjointed, Ill recall the last month or so.

Black Rain

 

A flash precedes the violent winds

Thrashing, tearing, burning

Through concrete walls and metal barriers

None escape sudden blast

 

A dark phoenix rises above the earth

Amorphous and growing

Expanding outward, it looms

Thunder roars and black rain falls

 

Atomic fires of radiation

Burn, twist, poison

Crumbled magnificence

Wither under roaring conflagrations

 

The dead lay as ashes

Their shadows remain

To mark their terror

As the sky went ablaze

 

Those who survived

Are walking dead

Flesh fried, eyes blind

Flooded with radiation

 

Screams of agony

Tears of pain

The mutilated scramble

For help . . . For their loved ones . . .

 

The boy screams for his brother

“Its me! Its me!”

Charred beyond recognition

His brother can only cry

 

A sobbing mother, bloody and blind

Feeds her baby bloodied milk

The child held in her arms

Is silent . . .cracking . . . crumbling . . .

 

Five years past and still some walk

Unscathed on the outside

But their viscera are as burnt as the baby, the boy . . .

As mutilated as the people . . .

As crumbled under roaring conflagrations as the city . . .

And slowly they die one by one

I wrote this joint poem with a firend. I've never done anything like this before, its absolutely amazing.

I wrote the intial two lines, covered the first line. She responed to the second line with two over her own, covered the first line she wrote, and I repsoned to the second. We were only alowed to see the last line writen. We continued this way for 20 lines. She introduced me to joint poetry. Now I'm hooked.

Cleansing Fire

 

Black Verses: Sean

Red Verses: Khullani

 

Like petals of a rose,

Red with the passion of life,

Lost with unbelievable strife

I’ve resolved to make amends

To place at ease the ghosts of the past

Which flood my vision with blinding waves

And tear apart the veil that covers my face

Leaving me torn asunder with disgrace

Keeling before an endless sea

Raging, Violent, and Atramentous

I respond with devastating brilliance

Only to feed the savage buried beneath

Their pain and suffering torment me . . .

But, through cathartic fires I walk . . .

Born to avenge, fed on loving vengeance

Karma reborn to douse the fires of my birth

From which I arose as a phoenix in the night

Roaring against he silence of the people

Who left to their own devices

Would castrate and forsake the masses 

As much as I wrote in "made so clear" I left so much unexplained. The rest is difficult to describe because its more of a philosophical expression. Ive come to understand my past struggles through existential terms. Existentialism has given me a vocabulary to describe the suffering I went through. I hesitate to say that I am an existentialist because people seem to think that Existentialism is pessimistic, but theyre wrong. Existentialism is optimistic.

Existentialism recognizes that the world is full of suffering. There is a horrific amount of impoverished communities around the world. Simply living involves some form of suffering. Growing, learning, and living presents difficulties caused by constant change, which creates a disturbance in an individuals life. The statement is not an exaggeration, its simple truth. It is true that in some cases suffering is more pronounced than in others, but existential thought doesnt necessarily claim that the world is filled with constant unbearable suffering, such suffering exists, but there is a more general suffering, which also exists in the world. Existentialism addresses this suffering by encouraging individuals to reach out and help each other. Its a hopeful philosophy, which finds hope in reaching out and supporting others under the burden of suffering.

My entire life has been a struggle against suffering. My suffering began internally and expanded to a universal suffering. I am predisposed to depression, which resulted in an early life full of depression for no apparent reason. My struggle against depression and all the wrongs I experienced was intimately tied to my struggle to express my individual experience.

Communication is ironic. Communication is what binds us, and we all strive to connect through communication. However, many struggles arise because of communication. Body language and facial expressions are extremely limited, they express a feeling, an emotion, but no motive. To explain motive we need language, but language is so difficult to master enough to describe our experiences accurately. Each word has a connotation, which doesnt necessarily fit an individuals exact experience and the way an individual uses one world many not be the same as someone else.

Here we are social creatures struggling with our own suffering and needing social contact to ease our struggles, yet a very struggle in itself is that connection. Its ironic and would be funny if I werent caught in the middle of that struggle.

I see my life as a struggle against my individual suffering and the universal suffering I faced. My very disposition plunged me into a dark atramentous world full of suffering. I then faced the prejudice of mankind. I belonged nowhere, fit in no category, for this reason I was immediately ostracized from any group. At first this caused immense turmoil in my life, but I learned to find power in ambiguity.

My uniqueness emphasized my individuality. I wasnt a faceless member in a uniform crowd. My loneliness became a blessing when I realized my uniqueness and embraced it. I found power in choice. Through choices I could influence the course of my life. I had a choice either to let the suffering I endured overwhelm me, or I could make changes to use the suffering in a constructive way. I chose assert myself as an ambiguous individual and for that matter break down the destructive categories, which threatened to ruin my life. I am 3/4 Japanese and 1/4 Irish, and Im bisexual, not straight nor gay, further more I love carrying this masculine femininity or is it feminine masculinity? Metrosexual fashion fits me perfectly I can come across beautiful and feminine and yet strong and masculine. I find power in having no labels, no categories, and this makes most uncomfortable because they feel safe in their sanctuary of barriers. I want to break them down, I want to wipe the world clean of the ignorance which causes prejudice so intimately tied to categories.

"Make no-form form, and no-style style." (Bruce Lee).

My life now centers around choice and no one can take that way from me. Before I thought I was doomed under a burden I could not defeat, but now I realize that through choices I can manage anything that tries to obstruct my path. What I needed most was to reach out. What finally pulled me from my depression was my choice to ask for help. That began the process of healing, which was both rewarding and painful, but coming back to life is always painful, and I had been socially and emotionally dead for 19 years.

During that time of revival I made some foolish mistakes, but ultimately I grew from them. In a period of loneliness, desperation, and personal struggle over my sexuality I grabbed on to someone I should have only been friends with and nothing more.

What I am about to write I struggle with, but ultimately as much damage or pain this may cause I think it will help, this isnt something Im doing for myself either.

I fell in a relationship too fast and too desperate. That was my main fault, perhaps my only fault in that relationship. I didnt take the time to see he didnt fit my needs, that I needed someone who could return and embrace my powerful emotions, I needed someone who was stronger and more mature emotionally and intellectually: I needed someone who could communicate.

For all that is great about him: his artistic perceptions of the world are wonderful; he has qualities, which clash horribly with my own understanding of the world. I expressed my needs, my wants, brought up what I thought needed to be addressed, asked him what his needs and wants were, but all I got was static. He could not express through words the struggles he hid inside. He expressed through actions, but as I said, actions portray only emotions, but not intentions. He began to push me away, lash out at me. I was hurt tremendously. He spat at me no touch, pushed me away. Moved away from me, avoided me. He went out of his way to avoid me after I asked if he wanted to go eat sushi. He said yes then avoided me when it was time to go. He could have just said, Id rather not. I was so torn up inside. I felt neglected, hated, and used. He was struggling with difficulties at home and in his frustration he pushed me away.

I need someone who can tell me what theyre feeling, what they need. If they need space then they need to communicate that, not lash out at their partner.

Perhaps he wanted something less serious. At least thats what Ive been told by others. He should have said that. I could have accommodated. If you want a one-night stand and Im willing, as long as you clearly express that Ill accommodate, but no, no communication whatsoever.

So we parted. I was utterly devastated for making a horrible mistake, for opening up only to be torn to shreds. Is he a horrible person? No. Hes merely struggling to understand the suffering hes going through. Hes simply at a different stage in understanding than I am; I was in that stage when I was 19.

Angry and balancing delicately on the edge of depression my vindictive tendencies exploded. However, Ive learned to curb those tendencies and use them constructively. So I consciously manipulated my appearance. You see everyone is manipulative to some degree. They choose the clothes they ware, the way their hair looks, and the things they say in different social situations because they want to portray a certain image. However, most people are not aware of these actions as manipulations, to them its simply living. I can be extreamly conscious of my actions and why I do them.

I expressed my anger to certain individuals because I knew those certain individuals would then tell certain individuals. You see I know how gossip works. I also expressed my anger through certain modes, which I knew he couldnt avoid. I can read people, and I quickly learn the habits they find hard to break. Im conscious of these things because of the lack of social skill I used to have. I had to learn the reason for social actions since they didnt come natural to me, therefore while people do things because it comes natural, I do things because I know the result it will get. In learning the meanings behind every social action, I learned what makes different individuals tick.

The reason I did this was because confronting him would only result in more turmoil. He needed to confront me for any constructive action to take place. Every time I approached him about something he turned inward and it was just me expressing a concern. The only way for constructive action to take place was if he wanted to confront me about a concern. So I created a situation where he would be concerned. I knew that he would be concerned because he wanted to still be my friend, thats just the type of person he is.

So he finally confronted me. I let him talk about his concerns. He needed to do that, otherwise nothing good would have come of the interactions. But then I laid down everything I needed to say. Mainly that: I felt morally wronged because he was disrespectful to me, which is a violation of my innate value as a human being. His actions of pushing me away and lashing out at me were attacks on my value as and individual and there was no way I would allow that to pass. I said what I needed to say. He said what he needed to say: the fact that he wanted to be friends and that he didnt understand why I was so angry, to which I replied but the statement already given. I told him that while he may not have meant to hurt me, he did, and it was because he didnt communicate with me his needs. He claimed to communicate differently than other people. I didnt say anything because I felt it was useless. Ultimately we came to an understanding. Only time will tell what grows from that.

The question is: did I do something immoral by manipulating my environment consciously. He could have chosen to walk away, to ignore me, but I knew he wouldnt, because I know what makes him tick.

Why did I write this? Because I needed to come clean.

 An update is much needed both for myself, because writing here does have a therapeutic quality, and for my readers, whom I assume I have, not because I'm an amazing writer, which I known I'm not, but because people are curious, but no one says anything so I can't be sure if I have any at all. It's ok I like to remind people of that innate human curiosity, I'm curious too, I like to remind myself of that.

I should begin with my family. We actually bonded over that initially emotionally traumatic transition from me in the closet to me in the open. There were several issues that arose, but I think the most difficult was the disparity, which arose in the eyes of my family, between the past me and the present me. I didn't expect this. For me I am who I am and I am who I've always been. But I realized that it shouldn't be a surprise at all. They saw me in a certain way, granted it was a way that had been reinforced and conditioned by society, but never the less a very real way, when in fact that was not who I was. Having grown to know me in this way, when I suddenly became honesty the disparity inevitably arose. The disparity caused tremendous pain for them because they felt like they didnt know me any longer. We had to spend a lot of time reflecting, so that we could connect the present me with the past me.

Unexpectedly, as we started probing into the past for answers we explored the multifaceted depths of my depression, which I hid from my parents. They knew I was always troubled, but they didn't know that I probably should have been medicated. It's not that they were careless, its just that I'm incredibly adept at hiding my emotions.

I found my dad one day looking at an old family album. I was afraid he was still having trouble connecting the past me with the present me. He was looking at pictures of me when I was 5 or so. He looked up at me with the saddest eyes. He said, "You were just a happy little boy . . . I didn't even know you were suffering then . . . if I could have just done something . . ." He started crying, "Was there any happy times? Was it all dark?"

Speechless is an understatement when I try to describe how I felt then.  I comforted him and said that no it wasn't all dark, that depression did coat everything in a dark light, but there were happy times, like the times caught in those photos. Depression does make it hard to remember those times, and I admit some of those pictures I have trouble remembering, but looking at them helps me.

My mother came into my room crying a few days later. She said, "Sean, I know the cause of your depression." I didnt know how to react. "When you were a baby we did everything together. Then I had your brother and you became starved for attention. It's no wonder you were hostile towards us and your brother. All you wanted was attention and when we reprimanded you, it pushed you away."

I still didn't know how to react. I personally feel like Im too emotionally needy, in fact I think Im emotionally greedy and unstable, but now I can monitor that. When I was younger I couldnt. As a baby I was probably too emotionally needy, to the point were I couldnt even be separated from my mother without crying. I actually remember being that way. I feel like they had all the right to punish me for misbehaving. Granted, if they had known what was actually happening they might have approached it differently, but I still don't blame them.

However, I found that having a reason for my years of depression made everything so vividly clear. 20 years of my life gained a firm foundation. For so long I had been floating in a liminal space, which was so frightening and lonely. Having no foundation, having no place to belong, the world became daunting. As a child I was already extremely emotionally sensitive. The world hurt tremendously. When my brother was born and some attention was pulled away from me I grew hostile so they reprimanded me. When this happened I pulled away. I lacked a strong foundation to grow from, without this foundation I had no support to venture out in the world. The pain I experienced from this lack of foundation was augmented by my emotional sensitivity. I thought I was hated. I grew extremely hostel. As an introvert this hostility was expressed inwardly. I became a brooding cynic, and my distaste for my existence was dispersed throughout my general perception of the world. I could only see the incredible suffering that existed in the world and how people contributed to the suffering. I hated everything and everyone.

My general hatred was reinforced by the ethnic difficulties I faced. I am of mixed ethnicity. At first this took away any hope of foundation. I was not just Japanese or Irish, both groups rejected me. The Asians saw me as white, and the whites saw me as Asian. As an outsider I stood alone and hurting. I thought humanity was cruel. But my alienation had a peculiar affect on me. I wanted to know what made humans tick. My curiosity arose out of the basic need to interact with others. I had no social skills, in fact I suffered and still suffer from social anxiety. This is a result of my emotional sensitivity, which created a fear for interacting (I feared making a fool of myself and the potential pain from interacting), and the exile my peers placed me in. Others could interact with their peers with out much thought. I had to learn, as a consequence I became incredibly aware of what every action meant, why every action was made. After a while I wanted to know why humans perpetuated human suffering, in part because I was at the receiving end of that torture, and because, as an emotionally sensitive individual, I am very empathetic.

I gradually made my way out of depression, and that began with one statement. "I am who I am." I am 3/4 Japanese and 1/4 Irish, and no matter what someone says that's what I am. At that point I would force myself into either group and if they made any comments I would shoot them down. I would say, "no I'm Japanese and Irish, and if you have a problem with that I don't give a damn." I found a foundation in this. But I was still lacking a foundation for the begining of my life. I was becoming more and more distant with my parents. Depression still continued. In high school I faced difficult trials, which progressed me further to a healthier life style (At this time I dont want to explain those trials). In college I faced the reality that I was bisexual and I was going to have to be honest about it. I was always bisexual but I denied it up till high school and afterwards I hid it. Finally being honest about my sexuality freed me. The story ends with me coming home, being honest, bonding, and exploring my past.

Of course there were other things that happened last year, but that's for another update. I've written too much here.

Cold blue lips as soft as snow
Your scarlet eyes no longer glow
On quiet wings you pass away
To leave dysphoria for another day

Now all times I can laugh and smile
Even with certain souls all the while
But you served your purpose to the end
You are a woman who can mend

But you’re not gone forever
In fact, death, touches you never
You only rest and slumber in the sun
You wake when I’ve just begun

Oh woman of my darkest dreams
Your anger ripping at the seams
You’re truly not the one to blame
For you and I are one and the same

I had a dream. It was surreal as any dream, but more tangible than dreams I've had before. In this dream sunlight bathed me with a soothing caress of warmth. A sea of calm blurry faces surrounded me. Laughter, music, and chatter filled the air. I peered through the sea of faces and I could see one face clearly.

To me this face was both a boy and a man at once, both existing simultaneously, but at the same time separate. I was filled with a nostalgic sadness and ruminating bitterness. A deep pain swelled in my chest and I felt tears streaming down my face. The man I hated, but the boy I pitied. In that moment of divided synthesis the entire being seemed happy.

How can you resent a boy for a moral wrong he did, yet is too immature to understand the full impact of his actions? That in itself seems immoral, but how can you forgive, excuse, or show mercy to a man who wronged you morally and refuses to admit it? What do you do when the boy and the man are the same?

I know at least that I am honest about the way I feel. I do not deceive. In that way I respect myself and others around me.

This is a warning: if you chose to read this I did not force you too. This is a confrontational post and I chose this arena to post is since, its the only place that I'll be heard anyway and its a place that people can chose not to read it.

For a while I was content. For a while I even entertained the thought that I could forgive. For a while I even did. But that was when I had a misperception of what really happened, then I learned the truth. Honestly I don't give a fuck anymore.

I had this hysterical interaction with a friend and I thought I would share it.

I was hanging out in his room, we were about to watch memento. As he was putting in the movie I said, “You know, I really like that white belt you’re wearing, I’ve been looking around and noticing people have different colored belts, while all I have is the traditional black and brown leather belts.”

He said, “Yeah . . . umm . . . yeah, you know . . . yeah . . . you know . . . you . . . you . . . If anyone . . . You pull off atypical clothes like no one else . . .”

There was an awkward pause. I thought for a moment, “what clothes do I have that atypical . . . maybe my tight jeans . . .” Finally I said, “atypical clothes? What do I have that is atypical?”

He said, “You know! As a heterosexual male I’m having trouble saying that you’d look good in my belt.”

For a moment I’m silent, I smirk and then start laughing hysterically. I’m never going to let him forget that.

Got me thinking though, I realized I do that a lot with some of the gay guys I know. I tell them they’d look good in this or that. However, I don’t think that has so much to do with my bisexuality. In California, the huge metro-culture encourages an openness, even with straights, about fashion. It’s not unusual for heterosexual males to say, “you know those tight pants look good on you.” I love the metro movement; it needs to come out to the midwest. It breaks down what is stereotypically “gay.” It’s so fun!

I was walking from my dorm to Buntrock Commons and along the way I saw what must have been a field trip for elementary kids. They were all wearing formal clothes, blue shirts with a black pants or dress, so they must have been from a private school. I was suddenly lifted from the softly brooding mood I was in, my normal self anyway. The sight of such vital youth would lift me from even the darkest depths. As I walked I watched them play and laugh and I could not help but absorb some of their jovial energy.

As I approached the commons I saw the rotating door sectioned off. People surrounded it and were working on it. I was filled with curiosity. As I approached I sensed that something was wrong. I entered the commons and there was a crowed around the door. I glanced over and I saw an adult holding a small girl, whose leg was stuck in the rotating door. Quietly men worked to free her, while the lady held and comforted her. For a moment I was frozen, worry inevitably spilled through me. I felt at the moment useless, but I knew if I tried to help I would get in the way. The situation was not dire and the girl was not in any obvious pain. I felt comforted that she was in good hands.

I began thinking, however, how would this affect her later in life? Would she be forever frightened of rotating doors? How in the first place did she get stuck in the door?

Human minds are so inquisitive, perhaps too much.

I pictured her laughing and playing with friends as they ran around the rotating door, sectioned off from each other as they ran merrily in circles. Then the fall, the door continues to rotate and her leg gets jammed.

I realize this rendition is probably not even true, but I could not at that point stop my train of thought.

"What a perfect metaphor" I thought, "for coming of age. We dance and play and then get our legs jammed in the rotating door of life . . . no ridiculous, it doesn’t even make sense. I like the apple of knowledge metaphor better anyway."

[I credit the title and the line to my friend Ben, this poem was inspired by "Notes From the Underground" by Fyodor Dostoevsky]

To my own inevitable death
To the inescapable failures I will make
To the uncontrollable catastrophes
To all those who let me down, shit on me, and turn their backs to me
This is a casual "fuck you"

To my overwhelming emotions
To those powerful impulses
To the instincts, which hinder my free will
To the very thought of being a slave to myself
This is a casual "fuck you"

To those doomsday prophets
To the ones who believe we have no choice
To everyone trapped in their self-centered lives
To the ignorant and to those in denial
This is a casual "fuck you"

To anyone who tries to tell me how to live
To the intellectual elites, who think they’re better than me
To the aristocratically gifted, who step all over me
To the poor, who try to steal from me
To the ignorant, who hate me
This is a casual "fuck you"

To all that is predetermined, making a wall impossible too climb
To those who do not even try to scale the smooth surface
To the ones who cry helplessly at the base
To the people who do not reach out to comfort each other
This is a casual "fuck you"

But wait . . . out of spite . . .
To the climbing of the wall
To the searching for a crack
To the reaching out to others
Just to show you that I can
This is a casual "fuck you"

[About a friend from home]

A grain of salt amongst the blood
The deeper I dig the more it runs
The agony of soft broken flesh
I can’t stop once it has begun

Bittersweet taste upon the tongue
Fiery tears, searing skin
Silent screams and blinding light
I see your face within the blood

Lost hopes and broken desires
I thought this wound healed a long time ago
A ghost of a tortured rose
I never thought I’d see

If I’d known the frozen frost
Was laced with a hiding heart
Afraid of living honestly
I wouldn’t have touched, I’d never touch

But I did, and now I’m a lone
Surrounded by leafless trees
Knee deep in bloody snow
Cut open wide by a knife not my own

Burning with hate, filled with despair
I let the blood fall, and maybe then . . .
Maybe then the salt will leave
And your face cascade into snow

This is a casual "fuck you" to society.

I wonder how many of us are slaves to our own illusions and if it is possible to disenchant ourselves from our own enslaving false perceptions.

The way we perceive the universe and everything which occurs in it is ultimately influenced by our own predispositions, which are a result of congenital traits making up our personality. Where does this leave us? Determined slaves? Bullshit!

I may be predisposed to certain actions because of my personality, but I am not determined. My choices, fueled by reason, which is conditioned by education, can be completely separate from my inclinations, spurred by my predispositions.

Yes, perhaps what I perceive is not accurate. In fact what anyone perceives is never an accurate representation of true reality. However, this misperception is only dangerous in solitude where the misperception can grow monstrous through harmful brooding. Through connecting with others this misperception can be harmonized with a lesser misperception, and this can lead to more accurate, more constructive choices. But until we connect we are blind slaves to our own impulses.

There is one thing I know for certain; there are many ways to close yourself off from the world. For me I caved inward and shut everyone out. Others avoid their problems through frivolous socialization or focusing on the problems not their own. Regardless of the mode, the end is always the same. I make a cry to all, "connect and free yourself from your own impulses, only then can you find happiness amongst the suffering."

I have a worry, I don’t want my brother to receive the blunt force of prejudice for my sexual orientation, which shouldn’t exist at all, but if it is to exist, it should be directed toward me and only me. If someone where to ridicule him because of me, I would hate myself. I know he’s strong, he’d probably attack them verbally, and if he needed to he would fight them. I’m not worried because he’s big and strong enough to carry himself around without a worry, but the fact that it’s an issue tears my heart in two. He shouldn’t have to suffer for something he didn’t ask to deal with. I didn’t ask to be the way I am, regardless I deal with it, and I know it works the same for him. Still its not fair, and its absurd.