I made this video to reach out to everyone out there with a creative bone in their body. Each of us has a gift on the inside to take the clay of the world and morph it into something unique, masterful, gorgeous, raw, biting, soothing dreamlike and real. We owe it to all those before us who could change the world with a pen and paper to carry their legacy into the next grand era. Tomorrow already came and went, let’s start etching right now into what they’ll call history!
I recently became oriented as an official volunteer for New York Cares.
It isn’t my first time being philanthropic by any means, but this makes it an extremely far way from being the last.
We work for so long, for so many days, to reach so many achievements, for so many opportunities, just to change our life, eventually, one day.
However, in just the span of a couple of minutes, we can change someone else’s life.
I gave a hamburger worth one dollar and some odd cents to a woman on the corner once, and when she thanked me, I reflexively said “it’s nothing”.
She said it was worth a million dollars.
Beyond just living in the moment, we have the power to completely enrich someone else’s present and future, regardless of their past.
The power will be used.
Metamorphosis, transformation, completion, achievement.
We oftentimes remark on these things as benchmarks, because we love the feeling of closure and finality.
Ironic how so many adages regard the average civilian as being “chained”, and yet if you were to take those metaphors in a literal sense and overlap them with the common feeling of “completion” that most people feel on a day to day basis, it would be physically impossible. How can an unfinished puzzle be chained?
Perhaps true completion of the soul shouldn’t be taken as “complete” at all. Perhaps instead of building towards a grand portrait that we believe represents everything we aim to be, choosing instead to accept that we are scattered at the core could be the answer to inner peace.
I am all of me, this is an objective fact. We are all of what we are, and what we are as individuals are complex nations governed by leaders that stand for our principles and vices; however, there are checks and balances that dictate what principle and what vice possesses absolute control over our mental nations, respectively.
I have two presidents within me in an infinite political race, one standing for righteous fortitude and the other for carnal hedonism. If either is allowed to become too self righteous, they have the potential to become an overpowering despot.
To find an agreement between these inner politicians is to achieve world peace on their planet, that which is my soul.
I have a long-time friend representing both what I physically crave and yet emotionally desire; and we’re terrible for watch other. In her presence, my inner politicians are in heated debate.
Should I sacrifice the emotional reservoir to satisfy immediate carnal needs, or preserve the emotional security and trust while being forced to buckle down and do without physical consummation?
I like to think the right compromise was made.
Practice does not make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.
One of my favorite adages. Just training isn’t enough, we have to train like we’re getting paid for it. Practice makes paychecks.
As Bruce Lee said,
I do not fear the man who practiced 10000 kicks once. I fear the man who practiced one kick 10000 times.
Aiight McDonalds, we been through a lot you and me. Known you since grade school, shit’s been crazy. You made sports kinda hard for a little while but that’s behind us now. Now all I’m asking for is one million dollars and I promise to dress like Ronald and eliminate the burger king myself. Deal? Deal.
The sun rises and falls on the exact same axis, at the exact same time, over a world in which the word “justice” seems to have a different definition every half hour.
The media’s sensationalism of society’s emotional energy is both the blood and kryptonite of true societal justice.
We are torn between vigilantes and suit-wearers, both torn between calls to protocol and calls to personal validation.
Are we growing into a nation of real morally advanced agendas or simply too jaded to caught by surprise again?
In this blog post, if I were to try and give concrete answers to that, I would be attempting to walk the same unreliable wire as our judiciary system; attempting to quantify what is infinite, formless, and volatile.
For we are a society of red knights, shining and slick with an eternal rain blood. The color of the armor, black or white or silver, has no significance beneath the waterfall of carnage that deluges all the eyes cannot see.
I hope that in the maelstrom of anger, despair, and bloodlust seizing millions across the nation for any reason at all, that some can still find peace under the many-stretching shelters of everyday goodwill and love that stand strong to see yet another sunrise
To quote Mark Twain, “History may not repeat itself, but it does rhyme.”
I’ve made it a habit to dedicating an hour of each day to pretending I know how to play the guitar
It’s actually not even as hard as it sounds, pretending to sound good
Not to say there’s been no studying about the right ways to tune and pluck an inoffensive note on most of the frets, but something is just so objectively sexy about the feel and look of holding the instrument that I’m sure with enough practice I could bullshit my way into a gig with a place that’s usually to loud
I play with a notebook, partly because it helps to write down the words that jump from the notes and also because it looks more pretentious
The words made this:
Exotic explosions of extra-terrestrial exercises of the mind,
Extra-Extra read all about it you’ll find,
Words of the curious kind,
Born from a mental battleship on a sea of red wine,
He’s clearly out of his mind,
Follow him into a world where to progress we press rewind
They say once you learn how to ride your bike, you never forget.
I would assume that it’s because of the muscle memory and unshakeable giddiness of going faster than you ever did before on two legs.
For me, it was a fucking lake.
Bike chain broke on the way down a massive hill, couldn’t brake, couldn’t make a smooth turn. In moments I was man o’ steeling my little chubby brown ass about 15 yards smack dab into the local goose timeshare.
The lake was my teacher. The lake is my mental tattoo. It was baptism by fire, in the mouth of a giant nature toilet
I effectively learned how to swim and bike at the same time that day, all by nearly dying in the process of both
And also that black labradors will only rescue you from drowning if you’re a box of french fries or a tennis ball.