Just Your Average Weary Traveler

Funding....arghhhh!

2011-10-02T21:10:00.000-07:00

Time to get down to business now...and I have been working really hard at getting my first film completed and ready for screening. I have two interviews tomorrow which shall be very interesting and I'm not sure what to expect. But, each time that I do this, I am completely surprised and blown away at what I discover. It's never what I originally expect to hear.

So here is where I am at now, funding. We need a lot of help as we are paying for everything out of pocket right now to get this done and it is getting really tough. However, I know that I can get this done no matter what. I am currently in the works for a fundraiser to be be held in San Francisco with live music (some very cool bands) as well as some comedians who have been featured in the film to help us raise funds. I wanted to attach a link here of a sample from the film of our interview with these guys. COMEDIANS
They are extremely funny and I hope that you enjoy this sample teaser from the film. Also, if you or anyone that you know who loves San Francisco as much as I do and would like to help support the film, here is a link to our teaser and indiegogo.com page. Folks can donate to the project here and there are perks! Like seeing these crazy comedians in concert here in the City as well as thank you credit in the film! Thanks for viewing and pass it on! Cheers!

FUNDING/PERKS/TEASER
Nathan.

San Francisco Values: The Movie

2011-08-11T21:04:00.001-07:00

I have been away for awhile working on my very first film and it has been quite a ride. I would love for you all to check out the little teaser that we just cut which can be seen here: http://www.youtube.com/user/AishaMedia

Also, we have a Facebook fan page under the name, San Francisco Values The Movie so please "like" the page if so inclined. http://www.facebook.com/pages/San-Francisco-Values-The-Movie/245615538795361?sk=wall#!/pages/San-Francisco-Values-The-Movie/245615538795361

Thanks for checking everything out and sorry for being away for so long.

Cheers,

Nathan.

Update

2011-06-18T20:48:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately or fortunately, I have not been able to write or post recently due to a new creative project that I am currently working on. I cannot say much about it, however, it will be in the form of a documentary film that I am writing/directing based in my lovely city of San Francisco. I will share more details in the months to come so please check back once in awhile for links and to see updated information.

I still hope to write poetry and post on all of my favorite poetry blogs but it won't be as frequent as I would like. Thanks to all who do check in and read from time to time.

Cheers,

Nathan.

Veil

2011-05-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

Photo by Michael Johnson

I now understand the veil,
The one that covers our faces and our bodies
And the religiosity of rehearsed obedience.

I now understand the veil,
Mere fibers that transform the mundane
Into epic episodes of false grandeur.

I now understand the veil,
The failed American Dream and
A romance novel set in an indigo sky.

I now understand the veil,
A shell used to combat shame
To fool the foolish.

I now understand the veil,
Hidden turbulence
With a platinum credit card.

I now understand the veil,
Distant relatives' likeness in which
We have reluctantly become.

I now understand the veil,
We threw rocks at each other
Because feelings were too difficult to articulate.

I now understand the veil,
Blueprint successes marked with
Status measurable only to a corporate sponsor.

I now understand the veil,
Longing to be free but
Hiding just like me.

Moment

2011-05-10T20:33:00.001-07:00

In desolation, he appears under my wood sash and screams incomprehensibly to my no-soul. I'm startled by it so I leave home for one of the last times even though I'm clinging, to go meet up with Rita the rational one. She always has something comforting to say about the comings and goings of things, and usually adds in a tidbit about why Bodhidharma decided to make it out East to round things out. I'm shaking says me, shaking all the damn time and while this makes me feel discomposed, she assures me that it is only natural. Rita is swirling her iced tea with her pinkie finger, a look of contemplation in her eyes, focused on a point unknown or unimportant and I am anxious. You know, she says, after some time, returning her pensive gaze towards I, you are clearly being watched. Her sentiment only increases my uneasiness and in respectful turn, my stare becomes glossy in thought. I don't like the idea of being exposed, I don't want to tell a story, I don't want to be the reality of reality, and I sure as hell don't want to be watched. In instantaneous, educated conclusion of my own understanding, he reveals himself again. He musta followed me that rat. Clearly cloaking my existence was not on the crow's agenda and I would soon be forced to find complacency. Rita's pursed lips attached to a cigarette like an extremity glowed as she spoke. It cant be that bad, can it? She said. I concurred and thanked her for the company of another human being and excused myself. Alone, I hiked up Post and fumbled for my keys before they would become useless, sat on the floor of my soon to be empty home, and waited for him to present himself under sash once more.

For One Stop Poetry

Curiousity

2011-05-03T23:26:00.000-07:00

Rough Draft for One Shot Wednesday @One Stop Poetry

What is it like to be a slave to your NASDAQ?
To have, have and have nothing of value,
Miserable at the core but 'cha got stuff and on the
Outside and to me, you have everything.

'Cept the buggaboos
Pesky splinters under fingernails,
Undercover agents who seemingly
Infiltrate personal security, sole purpose to obliterate.

What is it like to be so scared all of the time?
I myself, am afraid of the postman,
Do you lose sleep?
Do you forget to notice your breath upon awakening?

Is life meant to be viewed in 18 millimeter,
Black and white with dust embedded
In the film introducing a faint, filmy, fog,
Masking tangibility.

What is it like to create unwanted stories that eventually become truth?
Do children learn from television by osmosis?
She is such a bad person, so needy with no needs at all.
No, it was his upbringing, he said...that's why- coddled too much.

She had a bad mother, sister, father-
That's why there is war and he didn't pray enough
He didn't pray, he didn't pray enough
And here she is, story already told with irreparable branches.

What is it like to have a voice but use it only for self interest?
What is is like to have a voice and use it for hate?
What is it like to have a voice and do nothing?
What is it like to have a voice?

Chimera

2011-04-27T22:55:00.000-07:00

The present has become the past,
The future has become the present
And the wheel continues to turn
The pigeon on my stoop is a voyeur.

The pictures on my wall and
The chimera cigarette burns on the floor,
With the leftovers of you and your scent
Memories of my conformity.

Fear has become biblical and my home consequential
So I burn sage
Without reasoning but I was told to do such
Just in case.

Just in case the supernatural might smell
The incense of my sincerity
And of the ritual cleansing of my failure
Thusly expelling desire.

Born on the morn of a day
Only historical to me, taught me,
That my suffering can only be derived
From carnal desire to be free

Of suffering and of the strings
That attach me to shit that harms and is irrelevant,
To the community at large
Forging distraction and destruction.

I'm as pure as a misguided bhikku could be
Asking for nothing unless offered
Willfully accepting when given
And praying for contentment and rebirth.

Heaven

2011-04-17T23:47:00.000-07:00

With prehensile cognizance
I read the obituaries
And I saw my picture but
Didn't like the look on my face.

I didn't like the way that my eyes
Were squinting in the light,
Or the shirt that I was wearing,
The fact that I had conformed to a complicated life.

I was taught to be sensible
And nothing that I ever did would
Be considered sensible,
I was a rolling stone.

I didn't believe in god,
Slept in all day
Found beauty in the cracks
Laughed at silly liturgy.

I was on everyone's prayer list
I hated the smell of success
Voted for the rights of my brothers
A social outcast.

There was a crowd outside Green Street
At the mortuary and another across the way
With Guinness and bangers and mash and smiles
And I hoped to be there instead.

This must be heaven.

Youth

2011-04-10T20:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish that I still felt as I did in my youth, struggling for identity and acceptance but sill innocent nonetheless. This one is just for fun...

Youth

I was a punk
And now I am just a hipster, semi-wanderer
Who sometimes forgets youth
Those guys, I'm flashing back in time to, running around in circles
On dirt floors of the Seaman's Lodge in the hills
With trench coats harming no one but punching each other nonetheless

It was mad, innocent fun and the energy
Was something out of an indie film that my parents wouldn't let me see,
And that's why I liked it so much.
Anarchist sheaths who sat on the grass
Waiting for mediocrity and brilliance
A beat up bass amp used for a regular guitar instead.

Freedom and rolling and rolling down the slope
Like it would never end and there was no end.
I wished that I had a Mohawk
Or that I did drugs.
I wanted a nickname.

You can call me Smalls
Killer
Duct tape
Falz
Money
Stitch
Snake
Brawls

I wanted a cigarette but I was scared.
The other 16 year old kids were doing it
But what would it mean for my soul?
I wanted to be remembered
But I was a good kid and rarely did anything wrong.

This was so un-punk.
The music squelched to deafening levels
And the circle of pseudo violence commenced again.
Yelling at my comrade for the night over the sweet noise
I said, “Punch me!”

Without hesitation, I flexed my stomach muscles
And with even less hesitation, he hit me in the gut.
I wheezed and he marched with a crooked smirk.
“Oh!” He yelled at my neck, “What was that for?”
“Punk rock, baby, punk rock,” I screamed back.

Visit One Stop Poetry for more fun!

Dante's

2011-04-08T20:35:00.000-07:00

This is based on a photo prompt for this photograph via One Stop Poetry

It has come to this,
To the point when pain
And suffering and
Struggle can no longer
Keep the lights on,
The gulls have found

Brighter shores
Somewhere off in the distance
Across oceans without war
Patience dissipated
And hope dilapidated
“Just take me now!” I screamed.

I've had a good run
It's time for me to go
And I'm tired...
My eyes are growing poorer
But I can't pay for solution
Just take me now.

The papers say rain
The papers say coma
The papers say racism
The papers say one more innocent child killed
The papers say..shit.
Just take me now.

I'm talking to you goddess
Are you listening
To the plight of others
And not just the plight of mine?
It pains you and you are conflicted
But what shall I do this time?

Just take me now please
So that I won't have to
See what is happening all around me,
And ashes to ashes
And dust to dust
Will be a simple memory.

For One Stop Poetry

Wired

2011-04-08T00:53:00.000-07:00

I'm wired incorrectly...
There is something clearly wrong with me,

I have trouble functioning in the box that was
Created for me, or by history, or by religion,
Or maybe it was American society
That caused me to be an outsider
Or to become fearful of feeling different, as if I don't belong
Well...

Anywhere.

White picket fence, don't forget to pay your rent
On time, because there is never enough time
And you scare me with your tactics,
Why do you do that when you know that it
Fuels fear and that if the tables were turned,
Your legs would buckle from explicable trembling and,
You would beg for mercy,

But hey man...it's just business,
What's not to understand about that?

I'm wired incorrectly...
There is something clearly wrong with me,

And when I'm scared, I'm scared and you are scared
About what is going to happen to your home
When Rosie the Riveter meant less suffering
Because you, you had a job and whilst you had to get dirty
You were proud and were no longer afraid of what was happening
Outside of our comfortable little box and war felt like redemption.

Ah, those were good times...when we rounded up
Anyone and everyone who didn't look like you
Placed them in a cage and forgot about the holocaust,
But damn did we quell our fear of bunnies.

I'm wired incorrectly...
There is something clearly wrong with me,

I've tried to but no matter how hard I do try,
I can't seem to figure out how to fit into your box.
Did you see me on the streets? When I asked you for some spare change
And you said that you couldn't help?
I was lied to and you lied...
But I realize,

I'm wired correctly.

A Prayer

2011-04-04T22:30:00.001-07:00

I saw you thrice tonight
But there was no notice,
No noticeable acknowledgment
Of me, as a human being
I am background
I am an afterthought
I am noise
I am poised
On the Brink of non-existence
But I am smiling for some reason,
Watching you go about your daily duties,
Goings and comings about,
Your invisible stress only visible to me.
I wonder what it's like to be on your side

I am a matchbook
I am your mortgage
I am your newspaper
I am a candle
I am your prayer request
I am your new phone book sitting on your hopeful porch
I am that guy on the street
I am protest
I am enlisted
I am ignorant by choice
I am baseball and crackerjacks
Cracked into little decadent pieces
And I am your advertisement

Where did you go that night when you walked out?
I was waiting.
For a glimpse of understanding
But I understand when life just feels, oh too real
And it's hard to breathe.
Breathe deep and I'll breath for you because it's simple
To breathe and soon ugly will disappear

And I will be your prayer request even though you really were never here.

For One Shot Wednesday!

My Head

2011-03-26T01:17:00.000-07:00

My head,
You always live in your head she said.
But is it enough for you and what do you think
About the nonexistence of god?

Sun-kissed sky and crazy moon on the horizon,
Home foreclosures and pink slips,
Unemployment and homelessness
Feels like religion.

He held her life in his hands and gave
Her too much until she died in his arms
On the table of reprimand, and he questioned
His purpose and the control of a deity.

He drank, god how he drank
Because what the hell else could he do when the
Blame was his and he had no other existential
Way of non-feeling?

I felt longingly for his no-soul
To reach a capacity of unyielding
Acceptance of forgiveness and pure
Acceptance that he

Could accept the fact that the universe
Does what she does and it's often
Harsh and confusing and
Never about you.

He cried
He “messed up,” he said
I could have done something
I could have saved her

I could have...
I hugged him and told him that he was human,
That he was human, that he was human and
That the burden of existence and suffering

Is existence and to not take things too personally
Even when it is personal
And control is lost, and
You feel

You feel lost.

Humanity, humanity
in a box

It's a box filled with disappointment,

It's a box filled with first amendment and litigious rhetoric

It's a box filled with fear and self loathing and self doubt

It's a box filled with love and you are loved.

I gave him what I could that day
When he lost his faith and I told him about the loss of mine,
But not a loss of faith in him, and
In return he cried.

For One Stop Poetry: Congrats on winning the Shorty Award for Art!

Reminder

2011-03-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

Photo By James Rainsford - for One Shoot Sunday @ onestoppoetry.com

Because of a knock on my door
From a stranger delivering bad news,
Because of necessity
And unwanted promises,
Because of failed attempts to conform
To normalcy,
Because I had no other choice than
To put on clean clothes and face the intimidation of corporate intimidation,
Because I needed help,

Did I realize that all would be well.

Instantly, when I began to doubt,
A pigeon swooped down and smacked me on the head to remind me to forget and smile.

Laughing like a fool I sang.

For One Shoot Sunday @ Onestop Poetry

Desire

2011-03-19T23:27:00.001-07:00

Comes from within, innate in nature
It comes from suffering and the hope of not experiencing such

It is
Overcoming and beguiling.

It is
Fear

It is Fox News and MSNBC and Lockup
Debt collector, solicitor on the phone

It is disaster on platinum served freely and without thought,

Or from the concept of life after death.

It is a one night stand.

It is the economy, it is the shiver that reaches to the core of my bones
When you and your life are all too familiar for me and I speed up my gate.

It is
The pain in my body

It is
The pain in my body

The pain in my body that is overflowing with grandiose dreams of content,

Such a fool.

Rain

2011-03-09T00:15:00.001-08:00

The rain, oh, the rain -
An oxymoron, a synonym, another word
For sustainability and pain and
Inconvenience and the bearer of bad fate,
Ambassador of good news for someone else unknown.
On a park bench in the Embarcadero
With read and re-read copies of the Examiner
As intellectual property or comfort and shelter -
Lonnie was pissed that he had washed his belongings the night before
They were all soaked now and was shit out of something
Close to six bucks or a shower and a bed or a prayer
They were all worth about the same.

And I got kicked in the leg for sleeping outside of the Gap
By security, securing suburbia.

For One Shot Wednesday @onestoppoetry

For Jesse Wasser

2011-03-06T01:25:00.000-08:00

You did what you thought that you needed to do
To be a man and provide and mold.
Worked with wood regardless of exploitation,
Joined the Navy – I have a feeling that you,
Never really wanted to do so in the first place,
But machismo was validity in the heyday,
And you bought into it like the rest of us wanderers.
If only you, if only you could have,
If only you could have not listened so intently,
If only you could have realized
That your life was yours and yours alone,
If only you could have had the courage to walk away
Or have even an ounce of gumshoe to be more like Jack,
Then it might not seem so fuckin' normal.
I stand 'neath the tiers of success where you used to
And pose like you do,
And observe vessels and quote verbatim from words you said when you made me a sandwich with butter and I didn't like it because I thought that it was strange.
That's “how it's done,” you said.
And from that moment, I wonder about the wherewithal
Of my mind, and of the ocean so vast
Standing and smoking a cigarette on top of a rock in Carmel,
Saying nothing but reflecting
Hugging grand-kids and whispering apologies to the wind,
“Sorry” for being nothing other than who you are and what you could
Have Been.

God

2011-02-27T22:28:00.000-08:00

Yahweh, Tathagata, Krishna,

I prayed to you...

...for a run-on sentence that might hold an explanation for the existence of me because it's always about me and I want to know truthfully, in your own words but please keep it somewhat concise though as I need to tweet, and I'm almost out of Starbucks and if I don't have any more Starbucks, well, you are God, you know what will happen. I want to know why I am here, I want to know what my purpose is, I want to know where I am going when I die, I want to know what will happen if I don't file my taxes this year, I want to know if there is a sale going to be happening anytime soon at Macy's because you God, know that I could use the savings and my pants aren't quite fitting me the same as they used to. Hang on, I'm getting another call coming through here...

For One Shot Wednesdays at onestoppoetry.com

Slow Suicide

2011-02-27T17:38:00.001-08:00

She has succumbed to slow suicide
And while it's conscious and contentious
The irony is that darkness is sustainable
Despite extraneous indications otherwise.

Her hair cut short with missing patches
Is only mere, visible confirmation
That without much noticeable gray matter left
She knows what she is doing.

Yelling at invisible nothings in the street,
Swearing under her breath to whom I fear is me
For not being willing to share something
That I do not possess.

I can't hate her because I am her and
We are one, we all are.
Medicated by media, by desire
By choices made to feel nonexistence.

Distracted.

Desperation and attack are sojourn
But worry that for others, it's simply too late.
A chronic itch in the eyes of the supervisors
Who only notice when the heater has stopped working.

Street sheets and shelters under sheet metal
Swept under the door, health care budget cuts
And another war, it's easy to forget, hell,
I forgot until it happened to

Me.

Want

2011-02-22T18:13:00.000-08:00

I want to be a grip-man
Charged with navigating the cable cars
I'll run the Powell and Market line
I could be proud of that,
It's respectable, responsible and reasonable.
Or make coffee, I could make coffee...
I just don't want to lift things, heavy things

A degree in intercultural communication
From a prestigious university
Should be pedigree enough...one could hope.
He's under-qualified, too qualified she said,
We'll give you a call, and thank you for your time
Consistent rejection felt stirringly comfortable
It smelled like future.

I want to be an artist
Charged with creating beauty and evoking emotion
I'll create murals and paint them all over the City
I could be proud of that,
It's inspiring, influential and indestructible
Or I could sell clothes, I could work in retail
I just don't want to work on commission, nothing too uncertain

He's under-qualified, too qualified she said,
We'll give you a call, and thank you for your time
It smelled like future

I want to be a writer
Charged with telling the stories that have yet to be told
I'll write books, novels and poetry and sell them all over the world
I could be proud of that,
It's like breathing, heart beating and beautiful
Or I could pack up recycled moving blankets and move on
I just don't want to sleep outside any longer

It's December-cold, my feet hurt from walking, and I stink
But to me it smells like hope.

Red

2011-02-20T21:49:00.000-08:00

I love the streets,
Damp, wet, full of red paper
Vacant store fronts resembling my
Life and unsuspecting apartments above

With families.

You smoke weed?
You gotta an extra needle?
You have 23 cents?
I'm hungry
I need a drink to stop shaking
Can I have your short?
You gotta?
You gotta?
Come on man...

Not with gas prices like this and have
You heard about the price of kumquats these days?
I read that congress said something about something
But we'll all just have to wait.

I used to believe that they were looking out for me
That's what I voted for
But I'm stuck as a 99'er and I'm scared
Of the color red

Chairman Mao would've been proud he said
It's spinning and spiraling and I can't afford to go
To General even though I want to, no need to
But I still love the streets

Think global
Think local
Think passion
Think no fear
Think peace
Think prosperity
Think justice
Think, just think

But I still love the streets

It's the only place where you can see
Reality and not the reality of CSPAN
Congressional hearings, which are supposed
To make me feel cared and protected for

You filibuster fucks

Where were you when she lost her job?
When she had to feed her kids,
When she transitioned from General Assistance
To prison and prostitution?

Is your budget balanced now?
Say War
Say Drug War,
Say Blackwater
Try to locate all of our current wars on a map

Did you forget the streets?
Right here...
At home, in your neighborhood
Or has supply and demand economics
Trumped your compassion for humanity?

Don't worry, I still love the streets

But I'm more cautious now
More complacent now
Feel more alone now

For One Shot Wednesday

Window

2011-02-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

I was submitting this for one stop poetry based on a prompt by this amazing photo from Sean McCormick but unfortunately missed the deadline by a few minutes. Either way, thought that I would post it and his photograph as well.

Window

I've seen you before
Looking through what was once
Glass, now dismantled
And I'm all naked

I hate that you can see me,
My American homestead
My American dream,
It smells like failed tax relief

It smells like broken promises
It smells like drinks all around
At the bar
It smells like it's all stagnant here

I can still see you, through the window
'Neath the horizon,
Scarred from personal battle
One that I may have caused

There is safety here in this facade
So I can watch you walk away
From the rotting wooden enclosure
That makes me feel protected

And get a glimpse of what it would
Be like to have nothing, which I have
For this, I am happy as this road,
Only I alone can lead.

For One Shoot Sunday

My Ghost Town

2011-02-14T19:48:00.000-08:00

The town that I created all on my own
From the South Side of Stockon,
Near the laborers and Caterpillars and
Punjabi man who always had a smile,

It began there, Underneath the
Rice-burnt summer skies
And an endless horizon of nothingness
And potential promises.

Continuing down the interstate
In the vastness of it all, and in a rented truck
With a cat sitting on my lap
The inevitability of the future was fuel

Consistent sun, celebrity connections,
Something about the tinsel and that white
Sign made me me understand camaraderie
And the stories that my mother used to tell about transvestites.

But ocean life was short-lived and Redondo was no more
Dank, stag-like, hamburger helper residence near LAX
Resemblance of hope dissipated like loneliness
I had come to terms with my existence.

Hurried escape from the smog to the fog,
I didn't know why I was running all of the time
Or from what other than from myself
Until I had a glimpse of the Bay and knew that I would die there.

Donning a shirt and tie I tried to fit in
To society, to live the American Dream, whatever that was,
I used wikipedia to help me understand but only
Learned about manifest destiny and 2.5 children and a dog.

I asked my boss if I could dye my hair blue and when she said
No, I asked about the color purple but to no avail.
Economy was driven by capital and I found out that we had none,
I wore jeans and a T-shirt on my last day when I collected my things.

Richard called me incessantly on my phone,
Doing his job as compassionately as he could given his circumstances
And wondering when the rent would be paid,
But I had nothing, no answer for him other than lies.

Creeping in the middle of the night, staring out at the full moon down
Geary Street, I left the American dream and wondered
What the politicos were up to at this hour, but reckoned,
That I created this ghost town myself and instead found rest on the streets.

For One Shot Wednesday

Existential - For Harrison Towne

2011-01-27T00:06:00.000-08:00

I'm fidgeting, nothing seems to stand still
I'm all...Itchy.

Looking out my window and to the left I see the university
Dorm rooms stacked like public storage in little boxes
But filled with hope and opportunity.
I reminisce for such ignorant bliss.
Intellectually ignorant stimulating bliss.
Coffee shop girl hopes to transfer but was denied.
She said, couldn't cut it.
Just wait honey, I wish I could tell you that it
Gets better I said, but I can't.

I'm tired of eating alone
In my room and staring at memorabilia
Of success other than my own.
I find myself hustling more than than that
Girl standing outside of the Flint club in
North Beach on Broadway.
But at this juncture, it's all that I can do to -
Survive.
The routine of it all has become like meditation.

But my mind is blank when I stand 'neath the
Stockton tunnel and wait, to push past old ladies
With pink, plastic bags who always seem to be in a hurry
To go somewhere, I'm not quite sure if I'll ever understand.
There must be a sale on ginseng or black fungus I reasoned.
Or, it has something to do with their existential upbringing -
And my altruistic nature shushes my inner voice and
I think about coffee shop girl because she has an
Air of innocence about her.

I can't tell her what it will be like and can only
Pray that it will be easier for her than for someone of the
Likes of me – or for the other majority of no-souls in the
Neighborhood who have lost their wives to cancer,
Who pine for aging has-beens, stuck like cement in their
Ways, jabbering about the times when they had a 34 inch waist.
Or more tragically, the few that have lost their sanity,
Subscribing to a facade of a life that the world has told
Them that they should fight for.

It's all just a dream and I'm tempted to just say,
Fuck you – I don't want any of it, you can have it all.
Then I realized that I don't quite know who I'm talking to.
Either way, it's not my place to judge and besides,
I was taught something about judging lest they be
Judged at Vacation Bible school as a child.
Even the most feeble understanding of anthropology or
Humanistic values dictated that I needed to
Keep my mouth shut or my brain to myself.

And for others like Harrison Towne, who is shunned by most of the
World and who is trying to learn how to live in their own
Skin without completely shedding it off for something unfamiliar,
Is unfortunately far too familiar.
The epitaph may have already been written by someone
You don't even know, however, it does not determine your subsistence.
And while I will always think of you, coffee shop girl,
I will bask in your purity and persevere to
Absorb your impeccability.

San Francisco, 2011

For One Shot Wednesday

Oh eff it...Happy Holidays...

2010-12-27T01:49:00.000-08:00

12.26.10
San Francisco

I'm always in my head and as such had plenty of time to reflect, especially about the holiday season...I have so much to be thankful for this year and for the first time, I truly believe that the new year is going to be better than ever.

On December 23rd, I rode the rails back in time to my often haunting past, yet this time with more confidence and virtually no anxiety to be felt at all. I almost began to feel anxious due to the lack of anxiety but calmed myself reminding my brain that I was leaving for warmth and good company instead of leaving out of fear or a desire for an escape.

I chatted it up with the conductor for most of the ride as if he was an old friend and gazed out at rolling and now green hills as well as a turbulent coastline...a storm was said to be on its way.

I felt zen.

O...and the other surprise to me was the amount of love I felt once in the town that haunts me so...it was confusing to me but I let it envelope me,

Strange...it...
Didn't feel like ghosts anymore.

I heard stories of healing, of growth and ones about falling.
Multiple stories about the big “C” and really?
At this age?
Poopy diapers, first steps, questions about when I,
Nathan,
Might decide to “grow up”
But I didn't care and enjoyed the pure act of observation without judgement.

I did lose my favorite sunglasses though

I slept like a baby, I smelled cinnamon and sometimes rosemary,
I found treasures from years ago and devoured them.
I hugged and I was hugged back.
I felt lonely even though I wasn't alone but deduct from this emotion that this is natural.
I read, more than I have read since the last time that I can remember.
I stared at the wall.
I did manly-man things.
I longed.
I played games with an almost four year old.
I thought of an old friend who is restrained.
I had food coma and when I arose, I preceded to inflict the same trauma upon my body once again
I never learn.
I researched information about Kwanzaa and I liked it
I hummed Bing Crosby tunes and some pop ones as well.
I told Sissy that she was beautiful and she really is.
Harrison Towne and I spoke about uneasy feelings and love and hate and
Connections after connection after construction of a new and better
Life.
Ginsberg spoke to me while I slept and I asked him to show me the way but there was
No Answer.
I was told that I needed a haircut at least sixteen times but have never been known to do what I am told.
I found out that Murkami wrote about my life in 1969 and as a tribute, I sang
“Here Comes the Sun”

Do, do, doo doooo

I feel...I feel...I feel content

A year ago, my home was a bench...and now today I am alive...
Whilst I don't care much for holidays or celebrating anything for that matter...today I will make an exception.

I am home.

Dive Into...

2010-12-23T01:52:00.000-08:00

Neon sign nestled between high class coffee and
High class hookers or masseuse or whatever it is that's best to
Tell your friends is your
Beacon.
Jimmy fought Irish Joe and Johnny got punched in the head,
And Tommy suffered from a fractured shoulder at one time but doesn't
remember.

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.
I wish life was still and calm and peaceful, like that of a Boddhisatva,
But alas...warm fire, warm memories...how I hate them so, they make my skin feel like
Black.
When at sunrise and when the windows are closed to keep out the cold, all I hear
Is destruction after destruction after distraction and it all smells like
Piss.

Rinse and repeat.

I haven't seen Jimmy in awhile and wonder if he is okay. “Who? Presidio Jimmy or Pepsi Jimmy?”
“I don't know,” I say...”Jimmy” as I can't remember who is whom and which is which. “Jimmy, you know, Jimmy...sauza and lime Jimmy...drove a taxi for De Soto Jimmy.”

“He got into another fight over a woman...one of them Koreans...sent him to General for a week.”
I didn't bother to inquire whether he was okay or would be okay because soon he would be a memory like a dollar bill stuck to the wall of a dive bar with a signature or a brassiere nailed to the top of another to commemorate debauchery and drunkenness.

I ordered a shot and paid ten dollars to the thieves.

A few weeks later I saw Jimmy at the laundry mat, he was on the wagon with his head stitched up and his clothes wrinkled like that of a lazy teenager who's mother would no longer wash his clothes. His eyes were wide, clear and I wouldn't have normally recognized him, however, I was in a
Haze.

I pretended that I didn't know him and left in haste.

Life went by and weeks later I saw him again behind that pestering neon sign...

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.

2010-11-13T23:03:00.000-08:00

The time change
Has me worried that I
Didn't vote correctly in this
Election
I forgot to see who had won and who had lost so I deduct from this that it doesn't really matter too much to me.

Opinions are commonplace
And everyone has one
But...did I feel any different
Or feel my life affected in a negative or positive way the next day?
I forgot.

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

I want what I cannot and will not ever have.
Saphron shades of textiles bring me comfort
But shades of green remind me that there is no
meeting of the minds and
this

is all that this can ever be.
Like a child I am told not to touch even
though I have no intention of doing so
I somewhat know my place regardless.

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

Twenty-three year old dreams
and letters will be stuffed in a box
for you or someone, god, I hope someone will

read

so that they might know
even if it doesn't tug at heart strings or
some other cliche that was written before
and some times randomness is order and

Things that aren't completely understood or
that hurt
have explanation

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

Taking the Time

2010-09-22T11:47:00.001-07:00

It has been awhile since I have last entered anything here and sent it out into the universe or cyberspace for that matter. But I needed a break to re-evaluate my life and whether or not this path that I have been on was really the right thing to do. I'll admit it, I was beginning to have my doubts.

I wasn't feeling inspired any longer and I was only feeling the toll that this lifestyle of not having much was impacting my body and my soul. For the most part I was happy though, just not sure if this writing path was going to actually lead to any road that I would be content to travel further. Luckily, however, with the strength of a few close friends who also call themselves writers, helped me through this temporary funk that I was in.

With a new sense of purpose, I began to think about stories that I had written partially before and revisited them, looking for more inspiration in hopes of completing them. I even looked at going back into the travel writing business and while it didn't pay much, at least it was writing and I could feel confident in calling myself a writer again.

Meanwhile, I had been hanging windows for a glass and sash shop in North Beach to try and make ends meet while the writing gigs slowly trickled in. I actually surprised myself at how much I liked the physical work that I was doing and all that I was learning. For any of my close friends, they know that I am pretty much useless when it comes to being handy or knowing which tools to use for a project at any given moment. However, to those same friends, I know that they would be proud to see me hanging out of a sixth floor window in downtown San Francisco, precariously trying to re-sash a window that most likely hadn't been touched since the 1920's. I'm actually getting pretty damn good at it.

...feeling pretty good about the work one day and comfortable about my writing and my new, "if it comes, it comes" mentality...I finally got a break.

On a Saturday morning, I walked across the street to get my usual cup of coffee before heading down to the park to watch the ball game with a friend. Luckily, I ran into a neighbor friend who is also a graphic designer and he came running towards me frantically as he had been trying to get a hold of me for a few weeks but didn't have my number. Long story short...he needed some writing done for a client and he needed it done fast. Without hesitation, I said yes and have been writing for him ever since. It hasn't been easy and I was surprised at some of the complications that would arise when working with a large client, and of course I have made my share of mistakes as well...but I am learning a lot...and most importantly finally getting paid enough to do this work.

So with that, my ambitions as a writer have been restored....I will do my best to keep more current here from now on as things progress....Cheers.

VALUE = VOICE @ The Box Factory San Francisco

2010-07-08T16:39:00.001-07:00

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting *Bernadette*, a musician and artist who has dedicated her life to creating...not just creating for the sake of doing so, but to spark conversation and to invoke a sense of duty and purpose in her work. Whether it be sculpture-new genre, painting or sound, she is constantly developing her work while collaborating with other like-minded artists and designers to promote social awareness and change.

*Bernadette* is also the founder of The Box Factory, an amazing live-in studio/workspace/gallery/concert venue right in the heart of the Mission Distric of San Francisco. This place is special and there is nothing else like it in the SFC...it's a must see for those in the City who are not only "in-the-know," but for those who wish to see work from passionate people who care.

So here's the deal...for all of you who live in or near the City...I want to formally invite you to The Box Factory's next gallery opening for two reasons...1) because I would love to see you there and 2)because it is going to be amazing. And this next one is going to be big!

Here's the info:

VALUE = VOICE
Opening Night Reception
WHEN: Saturday, July 24th, 2010 (7:00PM - 11:00PM)
WHERE: THE BOX FACTORY
865 Florida Street #1,
San Francisco, CA 94110.

Presented by: The National Organization of Women (NOW); The Box Factory; and Visionary Artist Management

Curated by Dr. Wendy Clupper, President of Visionary Artist Management

“Value = Voice,” three women’s embodied perspectives of the eco/socio free fall of the 2008-10 “Recession”/Depression. In this playfully edgy, three-woman, post-post-modern show, we are examining themes of value & risk, and throwaway objects & people. Each woman’s art works relate to their embodied experience of the socio-economic free-fall; the Recession/Depression. As we share our individual voices (exploring unemployment, housing, and isolation) through female lenses and symbols of domesticity (implied body, sex, food, etc.) a chorus forms. Choosing our own materials we are using both found objects (rusty metal and broken glass), and things which are precious (a lock of hair, personal photos, and rubies). We invite the public to share in this exploration of private and public issues and join in the conversation as we examine the concepts of value, risk & opening ourselves, and create our own sense of value through our art.

Please come and check this amazing opening event/reception out and I hope to see you all there!

Adlevo Media Launched!

2010-06-19T16:20:00.000-07:00

Finally...I'm getting it together and have started my own writing business! For communication purposes, I have created a Facebook Fan Page so please visit here for more information, services and summer specials! If you know of anyone who has writing needs from web copy, brochures, print, press releases or anything creative in general...please pass this info on!

Portfolio to come soon.

Thanks in advance!

Just Nathan.

Open

2010-06-11T02:45:00.000-07:00

For whomever reads this...

I'm open. Sometimes for good and sometimes for naught...and sometimes my openness is my detriment but I don't really care...I can't hide forever and nor do I want to. I'm waiting for greatness, to write the next great American novel, screenplay, television show, fuck...I might be interested in writing the next great American toothpaste commercial as long as it helps me keep the lights on. As long as I am not stuck in a cubical hell-hole of an office where I have to pretend that I am someone I am not, cover my tattoos, cover my mouth when I wish to swear, and pretend that I care about what my colleauges did on the weekend, then I will be just fine.

It's clear to me that what I am doing these days and what I have been up to in the last few years have caused some eyebrows to be raised and for that I am happy. It's good to mix things up a bit and keep people wondering. But for the most part, I am still open.

Walking down my street, Post Street in San Francisco, I stopped by the used book store and bought a copy of Jack London's 1936 edition of Martin Eden, arguablly his most autobiagraphical novel (It was only 3 bucks)...and stopped at the first page...meditated on it and tried to commit it to memory.

"Let me live out my years in the heat of blood!
Let me lie drunken with the dreamer's wine!
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud
Go toppling to the dust a vacant shrine!"

After reading this, I read more about Mr. London...he died at about the same age as my hero Kerouac (47) and I wondered if I would have the same fate. I sure hope not but if I could tell my stories and still have a roof over my head, even a moon lit roof of sorts, then I would die happy. Oh...and bread, cheese and a huge jug of wine would be nice as well. I still dream.

My married friends are jealous of me because of freedom and I am jealous of them because of their lack of such a thing. But, having said that...I know that they are not built for this kind of life as much as they say that they are envious. I slept on the streets of San Francisco for a few nights and wandered around for days staying in hotels when I could afford it and on friend's couches when they offered. At the time it wasn't fun but looking back now, it was simple and I was actually happy not knowing where I would go next.

I didn't really realize how unhappy I was though, until I had my first shower in this dingy hotel on Market Street...the Aida Hotel. I didn't care how dirty it was at the time because this anomoly would actually replenish me and make me feel like a whole person again. I had to cut away my shoes from my feet and throw them away...the shirts that I was wearing as well as they were so soiled and crusty that they would be of no use to me again. The good thing was that I was alive and for that I was greatful. The warm water was enough to revitalize.

Now...in the present moment as I am always and only living in the present moment (often to my detriment as well) I find myself observing, consistently and constantly watching life...

From time to time I walk the streets of San Francisco with my good friend Harrison Towne, high as kites on marijuana butter, admiring old buildings, missing baseball games at the park because the people and the sights are just too interesting to miss, running around the Mission and the Castro and trying to do anything and everything that our corporate friends with real jobs and families cannot do. We feel like kings in these moments...kings of San Francisco and the world for that matter. And...there is nothing better than having a slice of pie from a San Francisco, wannabe, New York style pizza joint while wandering with no intended destination in mind. We would even sit cross-legged on steps in Union Square, smoking cigs, sipping luke warm coffee and pretend throw found objects at tourists as we shout at them...telling them that we are better than them! We never say it outloud though, and we never actually throw anything...but Harrison Towne and I both know and think the same thing from time to time without actually speaking. We're just that 'money'...that's all.

So for the time being I am going to travel this path because I can't think of anything else that I would rather do. I don't want to own a car, a house (fuck mortgages), a chia pet or anything resembling a pet, and shit...I'm often ashamed that I even own and I-pod but I gotta have tunes so we'll let that one slide.

I'm flowing with the wind and wherever that takes me...This is me and more openness to follow as I continue to find myself on this journey.

Oh...and I know that you don't care Mom...but sorry for saying fuck so many times.

Fuck...I said it again...

Angels

2010-06-02T17:17:00.000-07:00

"...Wait, let me take that back. There was one time..."

I stole my friends motorcycle when he was drunk, passed out on the floor, pieces of throw-up stuck to his lips. It was late and they drive on the left side of the road over there so I was a bit out of place and out of my element. That and I didn't have a license nor did I really know how to ride a motorbike. Conceptually, I had a good idea about how to do so but had never actually made an attempt to try it before that night. There's a first time for everything though and because I was tired, I figured that I could make it happen. I wanted my bed and to sleep and I didn't think about my friend at all...I was a horrible friend and I was wreckless.

The bike started up just fine, just one turn of the key that I had taken from his front pocket while he slept and I was off. Luckily, the house that we were at was in a small, quiet, suburban Japanese neighborhood and I was the only one on the road. This gave me the freedom to practice a bit with the throtle and brakes to make sure that I didn't kill myself. The ominous, Japanese rabbit moon above also provided enough extra light so I didn't feel scared.

Needless to say, I ended up crashing his bike anyway and landed in a ditch on the side of the road. Crossing the bridge on the left side of the road to head back in the direction of my apartment proved to be more difficult than I had thought and the lights from an on coming car spooked me. There weren't many European-Americans in the hood where I lived and I was certain that if I was spotted, I would be pulled over and arrested only to spend the rest of my existence in a Japanese prison. I had heard horror stories about foreigners in the jails there and never wanted to see what they were like from first hand experience.

I was okay though but the bike was not. The owner, my friend was bigger than me, he was a sumo wrestler and I was afraid of what he might do to me when he found out. I always thought he looked funny riding that little bike with the basket mounted on the front but I never told him so. He was a sweet guy but could crush me with his pinky if he was so inclined. I did my best to stay on his good side, but now, with his broken motorbike in my possesion, I wasn't so sure that I would be able to stay in the clear with him.

As I stared at his bike on the ground, my hands on my head, I wondered what I would tell him. I wasn't wearing a helmut either, but I was a badass like that. When I had finally composed myself and had stood the bike back up, confident that I would be able to make the rest of the ride home in one piece and had recovered from the shock of the crash, my cell phone rang. It was him, Miyata Michio the sumo wrestler.

He woke up and realized that I had left him and that his bike was gone. He didn't sound mad, a little sleepy and drunk but all that he really wanted was for me to come back and give him a ride back to our building. I inspected the bike for any damage and couldn't see any. Slowly this time, I started the bike, got back and on and drove 22 kilometers per hour down the road in the opposite direction of our appartment to go get him. I crossed the nearest bridge again, accross the Nigawa River where I would back-track to the house where the wrestler lay.

He was waiting for me outsited when I arrived, luckily looking more sleepy and drunk than angry. When I came to a complete stop, he and all of his 300 pounds of sinewy muscle, "bear hugged" me and plopped onto the bak of the bike behind me. "Be careful, aight," he said in drunken Japanglish, his version of hip-hop slang and Japanese. We were quite the sight going down the road, skinny white boy driving with the large Japanese man attached to him like glue and still moving no more than 25 kilometers per hour.

We got to the apartment building but this time, before I could bring the bike to a complete stop, Miyata Michio the wrestler jumped off the back and ran into the building without me. I parked his ride in his space and let myself into the front doors only to find my friend passed out on the couch in the first floor lobby. I let out a long sigh hoping that he would hear me and wake up and then walked up the three flights of stairs to my room and went to sleep. I was trying not to think about what he might say to me the next morning when he would take the bike downtown to his weekly sumo practice.

Without me telling him what I had done, he found out himself when he rode it the next day. The wheel was bent and the whole thing rode funny. He told me of the problem but never accused me of anything, he just asked me for the 20,000 yen it would take to fix it. I never said that I was sorry, never admitted that I had crashed his bike and didn't have to...he knew. I just handed him the two bills and we left it at that.

...
The Hell's Angel laughed when I told him this. "I knew it!" he said. "It was a Honda right?" I knodded my head in agreement and he slapped me on the shoulder and laughed again and then paused. "So you support us?" he said after that. Confused, I answered with an affirmative though I didn't quite understand the question. "Red, white, and blue," he said. "So you support us," he said again but as a statement this time.

"Sure." I didn't know what else to say to him. Then he unbuttoned his shirt with difficulty, one button at a time. While I thought that this was somewhat natural in a place like San Francisco, I was still caught off guard. Once his shirt was open, he revealed to me a barb wire tattoo around his neck and another one on his shoulder with angels wings. Then he pointed to my shirt, which I had forgotten about. I was wearing a black shirt with wings on them as well. "You's got wings on 'em too," he said now touching my chest with his index finger. "Why, yes I do!" I exclaimed.

"It's good to have badasses like you with us," he said more seriously this time. He also took a hug swig of beer from a paper bag that he was holding and the liquid trickled down his chin. Shit yeah...I was a badass. I rode a Honda scouter with a basket on the front into a ditch one time...and even in a foreign country for chrissake!

The semi-toothless old man put his shirt back on and punched me in the shoulder again, only it was more painful for me this time. "Hell's Angeles broddah man!" He said and then he was gone. I guess that was my in...down with the Angels...I'm a badass...he said so...for real tho.

Outside- In

2010-05-22T17:27:00.000-07:00

From an early age, I realized that I never felt truly comfortable in my own skin. Skin not necessarily being the opperative word in this case, however. There was nothing in particular about my physical skin that I was ashamed of or hated though. In fact, that was one of my physical attributes about myself that I liked the most and I thanked the Italian side of my family for blessing me with such nice, olive skin.

It was more about what lay beneath my perfect olive skin that perpelexed me the most. I didn't feel normal. At least not like my family did or the school yard children that I played with as a young boy might have felt. I desparately wanted to fit in and while no matter how hard I tried, I never felt like I could or did. My poor parents who worked tirelessly to provide for us would make sacrifices of their own so that I could have the lastest and coolest, I might add, Starter brand Detroit Pistons jackent and pin-stripped White Sox jearsey to help me fit in. While these things made me feel cooler in the moment, I knew that the feelings would be short lived.

On one occasion I accompanied my father to Candlestick Park with a brand new shiny, gold 49ers Jacket to watch a football game and I was feeling proud. We had even left my at the time annoying younger brother at home and I was feeling strangely special that day. Feelings of superiority and confidence, rare feelings for me even at that age soon dissapated when a young fan above our section at the game decided to spit a mixture of saliva and mustard from above. In slow motion I watched as the unsanitary and smelly loogie dropped down and landed on the shoulder of my new shiny jacket. It was a cold day in San Francisco and I didn't want to take it off even tough it was soiled and no longer cool.

My father didn't know what to do or say and while I expected him to do something, run upstairs and kick the guy's ass, swear at him, spit on him back in retaliation, I knew that he couldn't and wouldn't. Without saying much other than that he was sorry, he took a corner of a napkin left over from our previously devoured hotdogs and dunked it in my soda. He proceeded to wipe the yellow stain from my shoulder as best as he could without making the problem worse as Coca Cola was not the most idealcleaning solvant. "I'm sorry son," he said when he had done the best that he could.

My fathers gesture was genuine and came from a place of love, however, I still felt rejected by this stranger and by his actions, further prving to me that I was different and thus worthy of such an assault. I think that my father felt the same way as I did but didn't know how to articulate it. He is a quiet man, a man of few words but he is introspective and contemplative, something that I think that I am proud to admit that I inherited as well.

As I grew older and navigated my way through a small intermediate school and an only slightly larger high school, I continued to search for myself, find out where I belonged and as such, find a group of friends who I deamed cool and who would give me acceptance. I changed my hair style, the clothes that I wore, joined sports teams, a choir, and eventually tried to start my own rock band.

I couldn't play any intrusents, however, my incesant banging on the back seat of our family car finally moved my parents to buy me a drum set and sign me up for proper lessons. It would be the beginning of my future successful career as a musician and I knew this, even at the ripe 'ole age of 10.

I banged on the skins for awhile like a pro until I got bored with the lessons. I never liked being told what to do and the required practice assignments were no fun at all. At the time, I thought that I was a rebel for playing the drums in the first place, the loudest accustic instrument of them all. But now, I felt that I was being more of a rebel by ignoring my instructer and giving the whole lot up all together. Besides...I secretely knew that my parents would be happy that they would no longer have to pay for the lessons and that it would be much quieter around the house without me "practicing." I decided to try my hand at baseball instead.

I only made it through two seasons and played every position on the field before I decided to quit that as well. The coaches couldn't figure out where I fit in either. I left so many bruises on my opponants bodies that I had lost count when coach gave me a chance as a pitcher. I told him that it wasn't a good idea ut he insisted. "Ya gotta be good at something, right kid?" I wasn't. I hated making the other boys and sometimes girls cry when I beamed them with the ball, but it wasn't my fault really. They were suach bigger targets than the small invisible box above home plate. I had duely warned the coach beforehand so in my small mind, I was self attoned and gave that up too. I couldn't even watch the sport again until much later in my life when I was confident that the wounds that I had caused had been properly healed.

There was though, one magical day during an otherwise monotonous summer vacation that I will never forget. My other "uncool" friend Jesse and I were debating about whether Bo Jackson was a better baseball player as opposed to football player when we discovered a beat up and unstrung guitar in his garage. Awstruck by its existene, we quickly forgot about our sports debate and ran to find his father, the rightful owner, to see if he could give us any insight regarding the history of this musical instruments past.

When Jesse's dad saw what we were holding, he smiled and we had both noticed a hint of a tear in his eyes, something that father's weren't supposed to do we assumed. "Ya found 'ole Bessie did ya?" He said and reached his hand out so that he could hold it himself. He eyed it for what seemed like awhile, as if she were an old, long, lost friend from his past and I could tell that he had missed her.

Without saying anything, Jesse's father took 'ole Bessie and went back out to the garage where we had found her and began to rumage through old boxes and empty peanutbutter jars filled with nuts and bolts until he found what he was looking for. With a silly grin on his face, one even larger than from before, he presented us with a fresh but dusty unopened package of nylon strings. "I found 'em," He said feeling proud.

That was when Jesse and I would become rockstars. At least that's what we thouht when we say the beat up guitar fully strung and functional.

Years later, Jesse actually became a rockstar and moved from Los Angeles to Nashville to start his career as a musician. I stayed behind with my "new to me" beat up guitar, strumming to myself when no one was looking, hoping thta I would find my stardom in some form as well.

I still have that same guitar and a new one as well, and even though they are both locked away in a storage unit on South Van Ness Avenue, I think about them often. One thing that I did learn though was that I really didn't want to be a rockstar anyway. With all of the pressure and the fans...I would have had so many fans...it would just be too much for me. But one feeling that hasn't left me all of these years is my desire to fit in...and yes...I still want to be famous.

Dean

2010-05-21T01:44:00.000-07:00

So who am I supposed to ask about the symbiotic and metamorphazizing probabilaty of the so-called soul?

I looked to you Mr. Dean Moriarty,

Traverser of dreams, and of moonlight, of wit, and borrowerd cigi-boos.

The warmth of wine, calming

Passed around in circles of old friends

And through ghosts of the past, haunting me unwillingly.

Your only conclusion and the only thing that you know is that we are certain to grow old...you schmuck.

While I know in my mind and through the whispers heard in the wind that you are correct

I refuse to accept this as the only truth about the life and the no-soul.

2010-03-31T23:34:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed at how fluid life can be...there are no constants and nothing is certain. Other than what Jack so eloquently describes as the certainty of "nobody know[ing] what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old." This consistent constant while seemingly pessimistic is quite the opposite if one looks more closely at its inherent meaning.

Life is not for naught, it's just simply short and it is our duty to make sure that we, we humans do what is best for community. Even the word or the concept of community seems foreign once we include politics, religion, spirituality and stubbornness into the equation. What happened to the commonality of shared genes and the idea that god created all as one...as equals?

When did manifest destiny and capitalism become so prevalent while at the same time these same shared values, Darwinian values at best, hope to oppress those that cannot while the "can haves" can?

Darwinian...an ideology hated by most who sit on the right side of the road, however, loved when it comes to rights of people and the possible or maybe even probable origins of existence on the left.

Last Sunday morning I couldn't sleep...so I stayed awake and watched the sun come up over the coast...and while I couldn't really see the coast I knew that the sun was rising from the East and would eventually set in the West. The streets of San Francisco were barren for the most part and I walked up Polk Street to Pine and found my way to a park where I sat and contemplated the reasons for why I couldn't afford health care and why I didn't make more money or enough money to buy a nice sports car or a condo in the Marina. Darwinian I thought...

I wasn't strong enough...that must be the reason. Survival of the fittest I thought.

That guy with the hot car driving by me as I sat there in the park must have things figured out more or better than I could ever have imagined. That other woman, with the dog...a dog so cute that it could be on the cover of magazines...she must have things figured out as well...and while I hated dogs, she must've known something that I hadn't yet had the opportunity to learn myself.

Down the hill, church bells rang and they echoed throughout the hills of the city and I am sure that I would have heard them as well, even if I was still sleeping in my bed at home...but this time...it was different and I walked down the hill away from the park...

I entered alone into an old building, one that had been there since it was resurrected after the earthquake of 1906 and walked up dusty stairs into a hall and found my place in the back where no one could find me. The smell of incense was heavy but familiar and forgiving and while I don't remember much after that initial moment of entry into this spiritual place, I felt at peace.

I prayed for my friends with cancer, with heartache, and for those like myself who haven't yet found their way but were so close and were on the right path whether they knew it or not. And when I got home...I lit some incense hoping that the scent, the smoke reaches you to let you know that I am there as well and will be there always.

Lost and Found

2010-03-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

There was a second when I felt like you weren't there
and just when I became scared you appeared.
Behind the half moon in the sky out in the mountains
where the marine layer finally dissipated, I saw you.

As a constant, you assured me that you had never left...
but I just wasn't looking hard enough.
Daily mundane tasks seem to overcome passion
and sometimes life, but that doesn't mean that you have to die.

Last night there was knocking on the wall,
four simple knocks that let me know that there was
someone there and while initially frightening,
the experience was comforting as well because I now understood existence.

And in the next day, I stood on the platform
with no one there but my thoughts and the crow that had once visited
me before without warning,
and I learned about patience.

The view from the station is something that I would write about
and I could quite honestly sit there on that wooden bench
forever if it meant that I would gain more
wisdom if I did.

For better or for worse we grow old and the only
thing that we can be assured of is our purple turned gray,
a shade of red and blue not less perfect but faded a bit
and still beautiful nonetheless.

And like this bench on the beach created out of muck,
sprouts a lotus more spectacular than it's upbringing;
so unsuspecting it is.
Matriarchal and judicious.

However, with comfort comes complacency and normalcy
and with what I thought once was lost and unobtainable
I have realized that I have found
myself and that you are there with me as well.

To Whom it May Concern:

2010-03-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

To Whom it May Concern:

I just wanted to let you know that I am doing well...just fine in fact as I traverse this crazy planet looking for nothing in particular. I'm really quite content...honestly, I am.

Birds other than pigeons sang to me for the first time in a long time today and while they audibly seemed strange to me at first they made me smile. The City has a certain smell to it and when winter and cold transforms into spring and warmth,
I noticed it and knew that you would as well. It's amazing isn't it?

This letter to you is long overdue and for that I am truly sorry. I have often been told that I say the word 'sorry' too much but that is all that I can come up with at this time. It seems that I am sorry for saying sorry.

Inevitably, the fog rolls in and I can imagine myself at the place where Tamalpais peacefully watches over existence and for some reason, she knows more than I will ever be able to fathom. Through the small gate that leads to the Headlands I become anxious with the idea that on the other side I might understand...but alas...the Pacific and her wide angles only lead me to one point...the point of no understanding and the vastness of uncertainty.

Uncertainty.

Black sands, coarse grains, drift wood, stagnant foliage, shells, nature...nature...nature...

There is an order in which I do not comprehend but will worship it as there is nothing else that I can do...I pray.

Anyway...I hope that this letter albeit somewhat strange, finds you healthy and well. You are in my heart and my thoughts. Best wishes to you my friend.

-Signed,

Nathan.

Tathagata

2010-03-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

दुक्ख

Reminiscent cold, nostalgic...uncomfortable
limbs on an old bodhi tree with translucent frozen stalactites
also hanging from a
youthful home.
The puddles that they formed when no one was looking
were my favorite
crept unsuspectingly in the day light
transformed again in the
night.
Innocently unsuspecting of becoming
metamorphosis and
fearful
of the outcome.
I'm scared of reality and
tired of my fear of feeling
However, in the place way beyond Tathagata
transcends existence and it's where
we meet.
Goddess is called boo boo
and while it's cold it's familiar and comfortable.
If I wasn't dreaming of tracks and rails
a point on a map
what else would I live for?
A hint in the wind maybe?
Slithery rocks with moss only on the North side might point
the way.
But until then
I will
swelter the cherubs of dukkha
and meet you in that place where the sun parts from the clouds.

दुक्ख

No Writing This Time

2010-03-05T00:39:00.001-08:00

I just wanted to share a portrait that one of my old students drew of me...she's amazing and only in the beginning of her first year of college. Thanks Michelle!

Moment

2010-03-02T15:45:00.000-08:00

There is a moment in time...a perfect moment in time when the sun peeks perfectly from behind the clouds and gives warmth for several perfect seconds. I have learned to live for these minuscule perfect seconds.

When the wind is blowing so quickly that the sun only makes a quick appearance before retreating beneath the clouds once again it's pure magic...I live for this perfect moment.

Like a madman...in these perfect seconds, I stare at the sky and let the warmth of the sun envelope me and embrace me because I know that the sun...the sun will never let me down...she will never leave me.

And in this perfect moment...today...in this moment a crow visited me...it had been years since I had last seen him. "Hello old friend," I said to him. He responded by screeching but I knew that he had understood...for it was he that was visiting me and not I visiting him.

The crow nodded his head up and down in an almost violent motion as he stood atop of the building in front of me...820 Post Street. I told him that I was impressed that he had found me since I hadn't sent anyone a forwarding address. I didn't want anyone to find me yet he did.

When he knew that I was okay...my grandfather who was just like me...is just like me nodded one last time and then flew away. "I understand" I heard the crow say as he flew off towards the sun and behind the clouds once again. Eyes watery beneath sunglasses made my vision blurry and the sun too bright doubled as if it had a twin.

Thanks for visiting me old friend...I'm glad that you can see me now.

Ashes to Ashes

2010-03-01T22:08:00.000-08:00

Cigarette smoke lingering in your hair
detested by most but comforting to you,
you are strange like that.
You wore the color purple that day,
the day that you confessed and that same day
you...cried.

The marine layer was coming in and I warned you,
better get some cover...it's coming your way.
Even though the skies were blue,
you knew that it was coming and that just over the
horizon, near you, that you could see it coming too.
I...cried.

You told me that you now liked the color
green, more than
purple but were conflicted...
you wore green on your fingernails and
Purple on your toes.
You...smiled.

You walk in your head,
you're always in your head aren't you?
she asked.
I imagine that you are and that's what I like
about you but, despite that...
I...became serious.

You have to let me go she said.
I'm not ready I said,
this has all happened so suddenly but,
it's not my choice,
I'll honor you.
I...prayed.

The heavens began to rain and
I tried to catch the drops with my tongue
as if it were snowflakes like we, you and I used
to do when we were young
I...reminisced.

Shaking myself and
alone
for the first time or at least that's how it
felt to me in that moment
I closed my eyes and I met you again in a whisper.
Come to me...
I...dreamed.

El Duderino

2010-02-27T12:29:00.000-08:00

Today I wanted to share something by a dear friend of mine...this is his poem.

"Jewels of the Russian Revolution"

Faberge would've been proud: this
top-heavy peanut
infused with spiraling lines of tiny gems
twisting towards the base
in rows that never touch.

A passer-by might notice
Christmas lights splayed in the branches.

Drivers would see
barricades of blinking lights
keeping the crash scene safe.

But to the prying eyes of the patient,
garbed in the loose gown of drafty hallways,
inhaling the hiss of disinfectant anterooms
it was his portrait in black and white:
the silver print of his prostate.

The surgeon had loaded
sixteen separate syringes
with seventy-four seeds
of irradiated birdshot, blasting
intricacies via catheter
just behind the scrotum.

And this image,
the size of a postage stamp,
glued to a pathology report
for Blue Cross
would've piqued both Nicolas and Alexandra
by its shimmering glory
to keep the Bolsheviks at arm's length
for one more moment in time.

-Phil Lumsden

I Had to Post This

2010-02-20T00:07:00.000-08:00

The mother of one of my old writing kids posted this on my Facebook page and I hope that she doesn't mind that I share this but it really meant a lot to me (And by the way...her son is going to be so famous one day).

For those who have read about my story...you will understand why it means so much to me.

"...I just happened to remember you but when you were sleeping on benches...I thought what a fool ... with talent..."

I simply love this and had no idea people were actually reading this babble that I write here...I feel happy and blessed...

-Signed,

Ever The Fool.

P.S. And proud of it.

Revelations

2010-02-19T22:30:00.000-08:00

It's humbling to admit that I have learned quite a bit about myself and about others in the last 48 hours or so. Don't worry...all that I have learned has been good...more than good.

I have learned that despite differences and difficulties that there is an amazing human capacity to simply love regardless of any experience the universe brings to us. Just when I needed to hear words of love and encouragement...the universe provided it in the most unexpected and most perfect ways. A simple phone call...a letter from a friend...and thanks to my friend Sophie a simple statement: "You're The Nate...we all love you."

I can't remember the last time in my life that I have felt more love or loved more than this moment right now. As mentioned above, I have learned a lot in the last two days and I have more importantly felt more emotions than I can honestly count...happiness, sadness, nostalgia, joy, schoolgirl like giddiness, jealousy, freedom, melancholy, uncertainty, love, love, and more love, and well...the list goes on but you get the point...

All of it has been good...healthy and cleansing. I'm happy and sad all at the same time and I think this middle path, this dichotomy between both emotions is perfectly and imperfectly just fine with me.

But with all of that said, the human condition still puzzles me. Not in a bad way where I furrow my brow trying to contemplate the universe or my belly button for that matter...but in a way that is exponentially more exciting and more fulfilling each day that I am blessed to walk this crazy planet. This concept confuses me, however, I better not ask too many questions and just let things be. Sure there are down times and times where I wish there was no such thing as war, conflict, pain and suffering, discrimination, poverty, and mayonnaise. I hate that vile white substance more than almost anything. It should really be outlawed but that's another battle best saved for another time.

So there it is...I am completely in love with the folks that are in my life and in a roundabout way wanted to thank them...and obviously...because you are reading this...thank YOU.

-Signed,

Uncle Nate.

2010-02-10T13:27:00.000-08:00

I have to admit, I have been neglecting my updates recently and for that I apologize. I needed to take a break for a few weeks to take some time for myself and to regroup. However, having said that...I was thankful to hear from folks that they were surprised that I have not done an update in some time and were anxious to hear what has been going on. Some have even asked if I am still sleeping on park benches and bumming around town, which I am happy to say that I am that no longer or at least not yet for the time being.

The City still speaks to me and breathes life into me...her intoxicating smells and sounds invigorate me. The cold air and the wind chills me to the bone on a regular basis but even that is comforting and inspiring. Art is everywhere...even on the streets or the bus or from a snippet of stolen conversation...crumpled up newspaper clippings from the Guardian or the Weekly or even the Chronicle which I save in little piles on my floor for future reference. Small things...cheap scented candles, classical tunes by the George Winston of my past, a book I've read over and over again and continue to read slowly nonetheless...an ironed shirt and a super burrito with everything on it...all of these things inspire me.

My short departure is mostly due to some personal things that I have been dealing with but more importantly due to my next adventure that I have embarked on. Cacao Films has indicated an interest in a screenplay that I had started several years ago and never finished. Since then, my absence has been necessary to focus on completing this project so that it can go into post-development and continue to move forward.

I have moved past my first novel for the time being as it has been sent to an editor friend for revising which has been great for me since I can now focus on this film. I hope to have more information to share soon but until then...my story is hush-hush.

Thank you to all who have been helping me along the way to realize my potential and who I am intended to be. (Phil and Julie, Carissa, Eric, and Erin)

Loving Kindness,

Nathan.

Published in Oakland!

2010-01-28T10:12:00.001-08:00

Click Here!

Meditative Prayer

2010-01-27T06:28:00.000-08:00

I tried to sleep tonight...I even made sure that I went to bed at a reasonable hour. Sleep is my drug especially when I don't want to think or feel anything at all. But alas, tonight...while I slept for a few hours...I awoke abruptly at 5:38 AM and was completely wide awake. This is not something that is like me as I can sleep through an entire day without anyone noticing that I have done so.

Awake...I carefully opened my front door, locked it behind me and walked downtown towards the financial district where I stopped and got a coffee...something that I hadn't done in a long time. I walked in the dark amongst folks rushing to work...they all had purpose, somewhere to be, something to do, someone to meet...but they didn't know...they didn't know what my dear friend was about to go through. I couldn't blame them for not knowing or caring because their lives would go on and if they really knew...they would give their condolences and then move on with their lives.

I on the other hand...couldn't sleep and that was why I was there...roaming the streets of San Francisco at this god awful hour. I picked up my phone and called her and was glad that I was able to catch her in the car...her mother and sister were in the front seat looking for parking at the UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento. She was crying. I would be too and I couldn't blame her. I couldn't even console her and wouldn't even try to attempt to as I didn't and wouldn't ever know what it feels like to be in her situation.

As I type this...now after 6:30 in the morning...after I had the chance to get a coffee and pick up the latest SF Weekly...after I have found myself safely in my home...she is checking in with doctors and signing her final paperwork. I have wondered time and time again...why her and not me? She has led a healthy life and I have not. It should really be me there in her place. However, that is not the hand that I have been dealt and unfortunately...in less than one hour...Kayle will be losing a part of her body permanently and there is nothing that anyone can do about it. Any glimpse of hope in the last two years has ended and it has all come down to this.

She has gone through some miraculous changes and has had amazing adventures since first diagnosed. I can tell that she is no longer the person that she once was and has instead transformed into something amazing. It's only the beginning now for her new life and I am so happy to be one of the many people that will be able to witness it first hand.

While she may be losing a huge part of her being...her body...her soul with this mastectomy...I am confident that something good is going to come of this. For those of you that know her, she is afraid and who shouldn't be? I would be. You would be. After more than a year of writing for Kayle...telling her story and sharing her wishes...I am somewhat beside myself. Is this it? Is this what was to happen all along?

Her doctors are but human as well...and for what has been discovered in science...it seems that this is it for the time being. I only hope that her doctors...the oncologists, reconstructive surgeons, and most definitely the mentors and psychologists will be able to help her heal mentally and physically in no time at all.

Now, only 30 minutes away before she has to endure this painful and life-altering procedure...I will stay awake and meditate...send positive energy...and pray for a speedy recovery.

For Kayle...know that you are loved by so many. Kick some ass Cowgirl!

I Think That It's Almost Finished

2010-01-23T22:41:00.000-08:00

After almost two years of writing and work...I think that my first book is almost finished and ready to go to the editors. For those of you that know me this has been a long and emotional process so I am glad that I am finally feeling like the end is near. Or maybe this is just the beginning I am not quite sure. Thank you to those that have contributed portions to this and to those that have read pieces and have given me insight. I hope that this finally gets into the hands of readers in the next six months or so. Now...time to nap and then get started on the next project!

So What's Next?

2010-01-22T19:53:00.000-08:00

I received a phone call the other day from my new filmmaker friend that I had written about previously. I was excited to hear about her new projects and what would be next for her. I hoped that I would be able to get some insider information. However, while we did talk about what things she would be working on next...she was more interested in discussing what I would be doing next. I was stumped actually. I knew what I wanted to do but for some reason I have been having a difficult time figuring out how to get "there" in the last month or so. I asked her...how the heck do I do this? How do I make this work? Her response was something so simple and something in which I have been meditating on for the last couple of days.

"All you have to do is just show up," she said.

It sounds so easy, but when one has so many ideas in their head...so many projects that they want to work on it's often difficult to figure out where to start. Just show up huh? That's the least thing that anyone can do when tackling a new creative endeavor so this is what I am going to do. Just show up. Knowing that I just need to show up everyday and work harder and stronger than I have ever worked before is comfort enough.

So what's next for me I ask myself? ...I know that I need to just show up but now show up for what?

How about this...

Finish up that pesky first book that is almost done...it's so close and get it to the editors so that it can finally get published.

Set aside second book for the time being to focus on the first project.

Dust off the first ten pages of a screenplay that I started awhile back and revisit that story...pitch it to my new filmmaker friend. :)

Continue to write freelance articles to make some more dough. Post more ads online...and send out more writing samples to potential buyers.

Whew...I think that this will keep me busy enough for the time being...so now I'll just have to show up. I don't think that I want to miss out on this appointment...

Words to Live By

2010-01-22T01:19:00.000-08:00

Thanks for sharing this with me Eric:

"Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'Press On' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race." - Calvin Coolidge

The Young and the Restless

2010-01-19T00:58:00.000-08:00

It's quiet here in this neighborhood...there are also a lot more trees here than my previous location which is nice. There are less bums but more trannies...more hipsters than hippies...more boutiques than liquor stores and yet I am finding it more and more difficult to find anything interesting here. Maybe I find some sort of comfort in the comforts of castaways, those that are down on their luck, or just regular guys as the man in front of me at the market put it as he mumbled to himself. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't dream to live on the 24th floor of the penthouse I can see from my window down Post Street. It just seems so far away.

I heard a man yelling at no one in particular today. He was screaming to someone and demanding that whomever was listening, "live each day to the fullest." I know that this is cliche and trust me...I am getting pretty tired of hearing self-help motivational, pseudo spiritual speak. Especially when I have been struggling so much to stay afloat these last few months. I don't mean to be snarky or ungrateful with this sentiment...I guess that I am just tired and things aren't moving as quickly as I had hoped that they would for my writing career. But as cliche and tiresome this man was who was yelling on the streets, it was enough to remind me that I am still on the right path and that I can do more and still do better.

{Pep Talk to Myself}

Do more...do better...wake up at a reasonable hour...go to a coffee shop that you have never visited before...talk to strangers...eat more vegetables...Make more time for reading for pleasure...go to strange parts of the city just to observe...stop sleeping so much when you don't need to...visit those art galleries with the crazy sculptures that you have admired through the window...think about what adventures lie ahead of you and be excited for them...dream...and don't worry so much about being cliche...you're money...you're so money and you don't even know it...

Lemonade

2010-01-17T16:08:00.001-08:00

It seems like creative juices are flowing everywhere lately by people who have been recently laid off from their jobs...more interestingly though, is the fact that so many of these same people have opted not to follow the norm. I came across this short film (only 35 mins. in length) where laid off advertising professionals talk about being fired as the best thing that has ever happened to them. They have also followed some pretty crazy and inspiring dreams as well.

Watch the film here:

A Dreamers Dreams Come True

2010-01-17T01:27:00.001-08:00

Tonight I had the opportunity to experience something that I have never experienced before...I was able to see first hand all of the excitement, blood, sweat and tears that it takes to create something beautiful and see it come to life. Even better, I was able to see it on the big screen.

There is a little known screening room on The Embarcadero here in San Francisco that is used for filmmakers, large and small, well known and not so well known to give first glimpses into what has often taken years to create so that they can share it with the world...or at least a small select group of people before the films are submitted to various film festivals for review. I walked to this nondescript location without a sign or an address even on the building with anticipation to see someone's baby...someone's creative joy...well...someone's entire being scrutinized on the silver screen. My name was on the guest list and I was excited...I felt important, even if just for a moment.

I spoke with the filmmaker, lead actor, editor, and director on the telephone a mere week before the screening and was impressed with her story and how similar hers was to mine...at least in philosophy. She spoke passionately about her work and why she needed to make this film...a film that told her story and one that I would later learn was to essentially incorporate her younger and unfortunately deceased brother's story into the dialogue. In a fictional conversation in the film, filmmaker Carissa Weir sums up what it means to live in the moment and to live life to the fullest. We only have one life..."this life is temporary" says one of the characters and it was clear that everyone in the audience was moved by this sentiment.

While the film was only 20 or so minutes in length, what was said and more importantly, what wasn't said was enough to invoke a sense of purpose that each and every member of the audience could understand. There was almost a feeling of envy by what Weir had accomplished because we all felt a connection but hadn't had the opportunity to be as vulnerable as to share it on screen like she had...or maybe it was just me because I identified with her story...I'm not sure.

I left the screening room feeling inspired...I received a special gift bag that was created for those who attended...There was a very cool T-Shirt with the name of the movie title on the front (Two Weeks From Monday) and the word "Crew" on the back. I'll wear it proudly and actually believe that I am now part of the crew...at least I would like to think that I am. Fear not...that's what I have learned tonight...continue to follow your dreams even if it hurts at times...and stay true to what is your purpose.

Thank you Carissa Weir for following your dreams and making a very inspirational film. I hope that you win many awards at the festivals and can't wait to see your next short and feature film.

...A Fan.

Watch the trailer at: http://www.cacaofilms.com/TWFMtrailer.html

Ode to My Past

2010-01-13T21:48:00.000-08:00

I have fond memories of my friends and I in college sitting in the dorm lounge, listening to the latest music and eating junk food. 2 Pac had just passed away so that's all that we really listened to...in tribute so to speak...a creative young guy with huge aspirations just like the rest of us but happened to die too young. All of us nodded our heads in solidarity with the words...just as if we were all serious about living and dying in LA. We didn't have to say a word to each other whether we agreed with the lyrics or not...it didn't matter where each and every one of us came from...it didn't matter if I was white...my brother next to me Mexican...the brother next to him Hmong...Filipino...Indian...Black...Chomoro...Vietnamese...Burmese...It didn't matter.

Years later...far apart...just once in awhile we hear something as simple as the music that once caused us to do silly things and remember...that time when it was so foggy that we couldn't see more than a few feet in front of our faces but we still played basketball nonetheless...we were all drunk off of bud ice because that was the strongest that we could get someone older to buy for us...remember? We had Hong Kong Deli in our bellies because they had that special...fried chicken...remember? We went there when Kaofu died...remember? I couldn't go back there after that though...it hurt too much.

We rode in the funeral procession with that fucked up orange sticker in the window...we never even went up close to his body...remember? We just stood back and watched his parents wail and we never said a word. We left and each of us went our own separate ways without saying anything but we didn't have to...we all knew what each other was thinking and feeling.

Remember that party that we had in the dining hall? The one where all of the gangs showed up and and we had to keep the peace. Remember that? Remember that huge wad of cash that you and I had in our pockets and stored in our dorm room just in case we might get jumped? Remember that huge bag of weed they gave us as payment which none of us smoked because we didn't like the taste?

Remember that time when we all said goodbye? We all pulled our cars into the lot and each of us blasted our music as loud as we could. Mine was a little funky though because we could never get the wiring right...but you guys didn't care. I remember that. I remember that well...

Out of Many You Have One People

2010-01-12T16:23:00.000-08:00

Out of Many, You Have One People

By Nathan Falstreau

Oakland filmmaker pushes through tragedy to release first short film Two Weeks From Monday

Societal norms and expectations are so familiar it is easy to forget what it feels like to dream. Even more important, it takes someone with some serious vision and guts to actually follow those dreams. For filmmaker Carissa Weir, this is exactly what she has done.

An immigrant originally from Jamaica who now calls Oakland her home, Weir has experienced more than most in her life; and through her struggles has realized the most important thing for her and for her soul is to tell a story through film. In 2006, she cashed everything in and founded her own production company, Cacao Films, with the help of a bank loan and savings.

Where it all Began

Like many, after high school Weir worked several unsatisfying jobs to make ends meet. She even enrolled in a local community college and completed general education requirements, but as a person with many interests had difficulty finding what she intended to do with the rest of her life. Her breaking point came at age 25 while working two jobs in the business world. Weir claims, “I knew that I needed to do something else but I didn’t know what it was. Something just wasn’t right.”

A Call to Act

After talking to one of her mentors about her situation, he began to ask her to remember what she liked to do most as a child. Weir recalled enjoying acting in her younger years. After being persuaded by her friend to look into theater companies, she eventually found her home at the American Conservatory Theater (A.C.T) “This is where I discovered myself,” Weir states. “I used to never even laugh out loud in public before. Then I took a clowning class and was surprised at how much I had changed as a person through acting.” Through A.C.T. she received screen work on several major films, including Sweet November, the Matrix, and Twisted. More importantly, she found that she learned the most just from being on the set. “I absorbed everything that I could while on set. I watched the producers, the directors, the actors, everything, so that I could understand the process,” says Weir. Her business background and passion for the entire world of art was a perfect fit for the production side of the film industry.

Tragedy Strikes

Her dream of acting and making films came to a halt with the death of her younger brother from complications due to Muscular Dystrophy (MD). “His diagnosis was unexpected and the disease spread through his body quickly,” Weir remembers. “My mother is a single mother and has never driven a car so I was responsible for taking him to his appointments and much of his general care. It was tough. I had to put my dreams on hold indefinitely at that point.” It wasn’t long before it was clear that her brother was dying. He passed at age 13.

The death of her brother was the final breaking point for Weir, she realized that she needed to get back on track and follow her dreams. “I had something to say,” She states. “I bought a laptop and just said to myself, I am going to do this.” In December of 2006, Cacao Films was incorporated.

Pushing beyond Fears

Weir talks about society and humanity in her work and most interestingly incorporates the concept of fear in very subtle ways. “Some people battle with what traditional society wants but I have noticed creative people battle with the fear that they won’t make it trying to follow their dreams and cling to what traditional society expects of them.” Her first short film, Two Weeks From Monday explores this very topic.

Two Weeks From Monday Debuts

On January 16, 2010 Weir hosted a screening of her first project, Two Weeks from Monday, at the Delancey Screening Room in San Francisco. This film was inspired by her brother’s death from MD. This event was also a fundraiser for the MD Association. While the film was only 20 in length, the powerful message invoked a sense of purpose. Weir sums up what it means to live in the moment and to the fullest. “Life is temporary. Time is sacred. Having a choice is a gift," says one of the lead characters.

I left the screening room feeling inspired. The room was buzzing with a sense of admiration by what Weir had accomplished; as many of us let dreams and ideas lie dormant. All of the attendees received a T-shirt with the name of the movie title on the front and the word “Crew” on the back. I will proudly wear this shirt, believing I am now part of the crew of doers and not just dreamers.

When asked about her audience, Weir states, “I write my films so that they can be appreciated by any audience regardless of ethnicity, age, or creed. In Jamaica, there is a code of arms that states, ‘Out of Many, You Have One People.’ That’s what I want people to remember when viewing my films.

Look for Two Weeks From Monday at various film festivals around the country.

Art of Life

2010-01-11T02:16:00.000-08:00

The weather finally changed, it felt like winter even though it came a little late this year. The brick buildings as seen from the inside out, littered with wires attaching themselves precariously like vines, amongst splashes of color, hangers, t-shirts, socks, pajamas, second and third floor, dangling.

It was art of life, survival, unintended space used to capacity for lack of anywhere else to go. Outside in, inside out, cappuccinos and cigars, tattered, yellow pages and garlic, stale beer, the smell of bleach, inside out.

Grey skies ne’er seemed less depressing, comforting, art of life, gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe, snapping pictures by my overweight neighbor with the loud shirt, he was welcome here too.

Outside in, flashing neon signs on Broadway Street, Columbus Avenue no more, Cuban Jazz on Grant and Green, girls, girls, girls, they were all welcome here too.

Red, white and green, climbing up the poles, bells ringing not in the distance but right here, up close, and loud, calling someone, anyone outside in but I’d rather stay inside out I thought. It might be safer out here on the streets rather than on the steps to the steeple or the ones that led to the park.

Rust colored facades were also part of the staple steeple, foggy light still creeping in through the cracks.

I was the king of San Francisco and these were my subjects. All were welcome here, outside in, inside out, so is the art of life.

...

Photo by Navid Baraty of San Francisco

Geary Street

2010-01-10T17:43:00.000-08:00

I stood inside, looking out of the fast food, bulletproof glass window out onto Geary Street at the theatre,
Comedy, Geary, Tragedy it said and I laughed and cried at the thought of both, silently.

Cup in hand, just behind the front door, was a request and I didn’t want to help him fulfill it even though I could.
It seemed it was not real and just a façade, oh the times, they are a-changing.

It’s that time of year, they said, even though the phrase had recently been banned from the Queen’s English
But I didn’t know this Queen as there hadn’t been a Queen of San Francisco since I could remember.

Modern signs, neon, begging, street sleeping, cupa, cupa, cupa, can you please just buy me a hamburger? 64 more cents and I can get the super burrito
50 more cents so that I can get drunk, can you help me?

Show playing across the street didn’t matter as most passed it by unnoticing, the Euro is strong and as long as it was, the City would thrive,
I’ll close my eyes and go back there, as I wasn’t born of this time.

Biscuits and Blues, forgotten by most but still part of the story, 3119 Filmore not gone but forgotten as well, still standing but selling rugs,
The reading at the 6th was something of the past.

Ghosts of culture past, lingering, blistering, beckoning, but not becoming of what the picture postcards,
Depicted of the streets of a City no more.

Protest through creativity is now taken to the streets and I truly wonder, which is the most effective, pop, pop, pop, it’s normal, quasi-radical
Same, karaoke, supermarket poster, I’ll sign your petition with indifference.

At least it was something, I forgot what it was that I was fighting for, passion, peace, peas, instant pleasure, go home to your wife, they are
Waiting there for you to do something, anything

Shirt and tie, not wrong just easy to get too involved, rush, rush to wherever you are going, you have bills to pay
Why else would I get up this early?

Eyes closed, I’ll walk home, it’s familiar and routine will follow, I just hope that I remember in the morning
What is right and where I am from, nay, what I have become

Rest easy I am sure, all is well, Ben and Jerry’s is on the corner at Ashbury and if you go up Haight
You will find retail, retail, resale, I’ll sleep easy even though it’s all gone

Sepia vision goggles is how I would like to view the existence of time travel and that corner where I’ll sleep
Just suits me, I’ll be fine.

I’ll live through picture perfect, picture present, presents under the tree and all is well,
Summer comes and a new tribe descends on the City

Looking for the same, days that have been lost under a vale of curiosity or normalcy,
Fishbowl, picture taking, it doesn’t matter, it thrives.

2010-01-08T00:04:00.000-08:00

I don't tweet...but if I tweeted...this would be my tweet. However mine is much much longer than the mere 140 characters that twitter allows.

"Slept way too long today...it was dark when I woke up. Ate at McDonald's because it's all that I can afford. Checked my email, nothing but spam. Walked up and down Sutter Street in both directions not sure where I should be going. Got a call from Eric. Called Eric back. Went to Eunice's apartment to watch the football game and bitch about life. Overstayed my welcome at Eunice's. Went to get a slice. Ate my pesto slice while standing up. Thought about where to go next. Couldn't figure it out so I walked in circles on the corner of Hyde and Post. Started to look and feel crazy so I stopped. Walked to the Outsider and said hi to Mina but she was drunk so I left. Smoked a cig. Watched a trailer for a film that I was asked to review. Wrote a little but not enough. Set my alarm for noon the next day. Made a reminder to call the filmmaker in the morning. Wished I had an iron so that I could look presentable. Watched an attractive woman receive a parking ticket for 53 bucks. Noticed that there weren't many pigeons in the neighborhood. Listened to a defunct Los Angeles radio station that I use to love online. Decided to go to Sacramento tomorrow to crash a concert and party. Eunice said she'll drive. Lit a candle and burned some sage. Noticed that I don't have any clean underwear. Wished that I could dance hip hop. Reminded myself that I wanted to start jogging. Listened to Bob Dylan. Saw stars outside for the first time in a long time. Decided to call it a night."

To Write or Not to Write

2010-01-05T02:33:00.000-08:00

Calling myself a writer has honestly been a difficult challenge for me. When I worked in academia it wasn't difficult to rattle off my title and shove my business card engraved with the word "Director" on it to interested parties. It didn't matter if they really understood what my job at the time really entailed, it only mattered that I had the title and with that they assumed that I had large amounts of money and that it carried some kind of importance. Sure, for the most part I called the shots in the office and did as I pleased, however, I was never truly happy and never really had any true power. Now when people ask what I do and I tell them that I am a writer there is the inevitable question about what books I have published and where they can find them... not that they are really interested in reading them but only that I might say Amazon or Barnes and Nobles instead to give credibility or notoriety to my response.

So here is the rub: I have written a book and have been working on a second and even a third but at this time...there are no buyers. Does that make me less of a writer because I am not quite there yet or do I forge on? I'll answer my own question with an affirmative answer. Yes. The problem with being a writer is that we absorb so much information, see so many things, want to write and document so many things that it is often difficult to know where to begin.

I'm jealous of my friends who write for a living full time as reporters and journalists and in turn, they are jealous of me for the freedom that I have to do so as I please without anyone else to answer to. It seems that we are all jealous of each other but nothing is entirely perfect in either scenario. I have though, heard the words of Buddhist monks who claim to have nothing yet have complete happiness. I wonder where this happiness comes from and they tell me that it is because they have complete freedom. No bills, no family other than what they would call humanity, no car, no mortgage, no creditors, no temptations, no addictions - nothing. Nothing. No self.

While I feel that I do not have much either - I still have something. I have purpose. I have no explanations. I have no regret. If I am called to write then I will write and hope that I have at least resonated with one person, just one. With that I will be satisfied.

With Metta and Peace on this cold San Francisco evening.

Nathan.

Street Sheet

2010-01-03T01:34:00.000-08:00

Well...it's a new year and there is a lot to look forward to for all of us. I have neglected to make a new post in the last few days not because I have nothing to say or that I don't have enough time to write. Rather, I thought that I would take this small amount of time, 48 hours or so to really reflect on this new year and what it means to me and to those around me. Plus, I was starting to feel the pressure of having to write something insightful each day, much like a lesson that Doogie Howser would have a revelation about after each 42 minute episode on television back in the day.

I have been walking the streets of the neighborhood and have truly felt the same appreciation for this city that I have always felt in the past...but maybe...my love for the grit and the grime, the smell of kim chee, old Chinese grandmas carrying way too many pink plastic bags for them to handle, ambulance sirens at alarmingly loud decibels, and people simply hanging out in the street for a lack of a better place to go has gotten the best of me. I simply love it here.

While walking tonight, I felt the urge to give a dude on the street a dollar in exchange for a paper...but not just any paper I might add...I gave the suggested donation of a buck for an 8 page weekly paper celebrating its 20th anniversary in San Francisco entitled, "Street Sheet." I don't know why I have never taken the chance to pick one of these up in the last three years that I have lived here. I have certainly seen them all over town and while I would like to consider myself a writer, why wouldn't I have wanted to check this periodical out?

I was happy that I did finally ask for a copy and read it...truly read it. While I only spent a few nights out on the streets of San Francisco, I still consider myself somewhat of a transient and felt that I might have some kind of connection to the publication. I was surprised to find out that the paper was not only created to help end homelessness in the City, but also to be a service to those that are down and out and need information and resources to help them get back on their feet again. What a cool idea this was I thought. The issue that I picked up had poetry from guys on the street, an exclusive interview with Bob Dylan about a Christmas album that he had created where all proceeds go to the homeless, as well as information about shelters and where people could go when they had no where else to.

For anyone who has lived in or visited a place like San Francisco, it is easy to ignore those folks who are living on the streets. However, the sad part is that many of these people haven't made the choice to do so...life is just rough sometimes and often leads you with no other place to go. I was surprised at how easy it was for me to find myself in similar situations and that in itself is scary. Forget politics, economics, and religion because there is no one person or entity or even concept to really blame for this kind of problem. Have compassion instead, have joy, have faith in something and do only good things towards your fellow man.

I would like to reprint a poem that was in my first copy of the Street Sheet and hopefully, the Coalition on Homelessness won't mind that I do so.

GHETTO WISHES

Living in my perimeter
Among the crooks and sinisters
You'll need more than a Sunday minister
More funds than the Government needs to administer
My ghetto wishes - My ghetto wishes
Just scattered dreams and superstitions
While I'm living under drastic conditions
Battling opposition during daily transitions
I'm caught up in this misery of my childhood memories
Thinking back from a seed only wishing to grow
Coming to the womb as an embryo
Nine months later just another Negro
Looking to break the chains that confine me to the ghetto
My ghetto wishes - My ghetto wishes
Just shattered dreams and superstitions
Searching for my daily bread
Is my only religion
My ghetto wishes - My ghetto wishes
Just shattered dreams and superstitions
Praying on my knees, trying to avoid convictions
Lawd, it's hell for a criminal
On the down-low, subliminal
Just like Malcolm, I'm looking out the window...

Vincent V-Dubb Williams.

Oh How I Wish to Live Alone Again

2009-12-31T12:50:00.000-08:00

Normally I am a pretty peaceful guy. I don't like to get angry and I especially don't like to argue. I also take pride in the fact that I can handle almost any type of personality and communicate effectively. Unfortunately, today I was not at my best.

My morning started out a little rough, however, I received some great personal news and was enjoying the San Francisco weather and skyline as I made my way back up the hill to the apartment. While I wasn't entirely looking forward to coming back to the pad I was at least content that I had someplace to go at all.

But it wouldn't be long before my blissful walk home and entrance into the apartment would all be for naught and my mood would turn from contentment to disdain in seconds flat. It was the roommates. I hadn't even had a chance to put my things down and take off my shoes before I was backed into the corner of my room (well...actually I am staying in the living room but you get the drift) by my shy, yet aggressive Korean roommate. Apparently their fears were confirmed when they received word that the missing roommate was not missing after all, he had skipped town and left them with the bill and some of my money as well I might add. All of a sudden the amount of money that I had agreed to pay was doubling and tripling right before my eyes and I didn't know what to do. I was angry at the roommate for getting in my face and I was angry at the other guy who skipped town with my money and theirs. Frustrated to no end I had to walk away and ignore the incessant nagging from the Korean guy to pay him more money as soon as I could. It wouldn't be long before I would wrap my hands around his neck and choke him if he didn't turn around and walk the other way.

Now a few hours have passed and I am a little calmer and at peace about whatever the hell is going to happen next. I am also happy to say that no roommates were harmed, Korean or otherwise. And now...I think that it is best if I take a nap and hopefully wake up in the new year with fresh perspective and clarity. Onward!

It Ain't Paradise...But it's Dry

2009-12-30T15:55:00.001-08:00

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I arrived back at the apartment that I am going to be crashing at for a little while and was greeted with total chaos. The walk from the Ferry Building through Union Square and up Lower Nob Hill caused me to sweat even though it was raining and all that I really wanted to do was rest. However, when I opened the door to the unit, I was greeted by this French dude wondering who I was. I finally convinced him that I was allowed to be here and that I indeed have a key to the apartment and the electronic front door. Soon, the other guys came out of their rooms to assure him that everything was okay. Once we had finally finished our introductions and everyone was calm again, they wanted to know if I had heard from one of the other roommates, the one who's name is the main name on the lease and basically, the one with the majority of income. I hadn't.

This roommate had left for Los Angeles and was supposed to be back in San Francisco over two days ago. He hadn't responded to multiple text messages and phone calls so the other guys were starting to get worried. Luckily, they don't know that my name is not on the lease so if the shit hits the fan, the only thing that I lose is a place to stay. I feel bad for the guys but I don't know what to do or what to tell them.

One of the guys, Daniel has even gone as far as trying to get this other roommate's family number to track him down as they are worried that he has skipped town leaving the rest of us to pick up the tab. Last night I was able to calm the guys down yet again and tell them not to worry as there was nothing that we could do at that point and that we could worry in the morning if there was still no word.

All in all, however, I was completely fine with him not being here last night as I was able to have the room to myself. There is no furniture, no bed and I have no pillow. So just like it was for me in the streets, I made up camp in one corner of the room...but this time I was able to huddle next to a warm space heater and sleep peacefully. I was at least thankful for this as it rained heavily all night long.

...

I have had a few requests to see this apartment where I am staying and while I do not want to show pictures of the inside...I will allow google maps to show the exterior.

Happy Holidays!

Back to Reality and Back to the Bay

2009-12-29T00:34:00.000-08:00

I can't believe that I have spent the last six days in the small little town that I grew up in. I vowed to never come back to this location but now I don't want to leave. Looking back, while I spent a majority of my younger years not far from this house that I have been staying in, it wasn't until much later that I actually began to grow up. Hell, I think that I am still growing up even at the age of 32 and continuing to find myself. Maybe I will never truly grow up because just like my good writer and reporter friend Eric, we both don't do well with following the rules nor doing what it traditionally accepted in American society. However, having said that...I have had some of the most relaxing, invigorating and loved days in my life here and I am truly sad that I have to let it go and move on. My gracious hosts have been more than amazing and have made what would be a completely lonely and hungry holiday season for me a truly blessed experience and I am forever in debt to them. I was able to experience a merging of family and friends regardless of tradition or belief and just simply enjoy each others company.

But alas, I must make my way back to the city that I do truly love more than any other place in this world and continue to walk my path alone. I know that when I hear the sounds of the honking cars, the silly tourists gawking at cable cars and bridges, and the ambulance and police sirens, that I will sigh with relief with a confirmation that I am where I need to be.

Tomorrow, I will take the train or hitch a ride back to the bay...whichever is easiest or cheapest or quite frankly, the most interesting and go from there. For the time being I have a place to sleep, I have my laptop and I have some clothes. I guess that I can't think of much else that I would need at this point because I am happy for what I have no matter how minuscule it may seem. A lighter backpack, some nice cheese and a bottle of wine would be nice though but I really can't complain.

...

So I am going to San Francisco...I'll be sure to wear some flowers in my hair. To all of my friends whether I have had the chance to meet you or not...peace and blessings be upon you.

Focus

2009-12-26T02:49:00.000-08:00

For the last few months I have found that as soon as I get one bit, one glimpse, one ounce of comfort and familiarity I completely shut down and am no longer productive. This is not to say that I prefer discomfort and pain over comfort and health hoping that I might be completely devoted to my passion and my path though. The problem is that in these moments I am allowed to be complacent for a short period of time and in these moments I feel safe. However, it is also in these moments that I often fail to create.

Living day to day, one day at a time and not always knowing where I am going to stay or where the money is going to come from so that I can buy food and pay for shelter is often trying. While most might think that this is the perfect opportunity for a writer to write, often times, life becomes too difficult to handle and the pen and the paper are neglected. Something has got to change if I am truly meant to make this work. I know in my heart that I have to.

My new years resolution this year is to focus. I can't remember the last time that I have actually made one of these silly resolutions, however this year I am confident that I must. Focus...it's so simple...just focus...

All Hollowed Christmas Eve?

2009-12-25T13:26:00.000-08:00

After a very enjoyable evening of writing and watching old movies on television while house sitting for my friends, Christmas Eve turned into Christmas morning and it was time for me to go to bed. Seems pretty normal right? Well, it is except for one aspect that I had completely forgotten about once I had brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. This house is not only inhabited by my friend and his wife but several other spirit world type entities. Now normally I would be skeptical about such phenomena, however, while staying her previously I have heard the noises. Some of their friends vowed never to sleep here alone because they feared a possible encounter.

I wasn't afraid because I was told to just ask them to let me sleep if they became too loud and that eventually they would go away for the night. But when I immediately got under the covers, the noises began. I thought that if I just waited it out until I fell asleep, they could make all of the noise that they wanted and it wouldn't matter because I would be in slumberland. Unfortunately, this didn't happen and they would not listen to my pleading to shut the hell up so that I could go to sleep.

Finally, after a few hours of waiting I eventually fell into a deep sleep but not deep enough as to prevent me from having some pretty vivid nightmares. My body began to heat up and I was perspiring heavily. In my dream I was brought back to sleeping on a bench in the city and while before I was cold this time I was incessantly hot. I was wearing a button up shirt that I had forgotten to change when I went to sleep and in my dream while trying to sleep on the bench I was so desperate to cool myself down that I ripped the buttons off my shirt just like the Incredible Hulk might have done in the movies and then pulled off the buttons on the cuffs as well until I was free. I felt a rush of cool air but kept the shirt close to me almost as if I was using it as a blanket, but in my mind, I told myself to keep it close or someone might steal it from me. Some time passed and I became more conscious and realized that I could feel softness beneath me and the bed became a reality. Once I knew that I was indeed laying in a bed and not on the bench, I slowly remembered where I was and then noticed that I wasn't wearing a shirt any longer...just like in my dream. I sat up immediately and turned on the light to inspect and sure enough, I had ripped every button off of my shirt rendering it virtually useless.

I'm not sure why I had such a vivid dream and why it brought me back to the streets when I was clearly in a nice, warm and comfy bed but it scared me. So between the spirit people making all kinds of noise and my strange reality-driven dream, my Christmas Eve was quite interesting. Luckily I was able to go back to sleep once the sun had come up and the ghostly guys went to sleep themselves. Now it is time for me to reflect, write and enjoy the nice weather and holiday cheer with the lights on.

Ho...Ho...Hope...

2009-12-24T22:18:00.001-08:00

For those that know me well, they know that I don't really celebrate the holidays. I don't dislike them, I have nothing against them and I have very fond memories, especially of Christmas when I was young. However, for some reason over the years family members became emotionally distant and geographically further away from each other. Eventually Christmas and Thanksgiving seemed just like any other day for me and for the most part I am honestly okay with this. But, there are some times when I do miss the merry-merry and the warm holiday spirit because I often don't feel like I have anyone to really share it with. These feelings are rare though and usually happen when I see the families and couples ice-skating in Union Square or the snow flake Christmas lights on lamp posts downtown. I usually snap out of it though when it becomes impossible to walk down the sidewalk congested with cranky, pushy touristy shoppers.

But this year is different for me thanks to a dear old friend and his wife and family. I mentioned early that they had opened up their home to me back in my old home town but I had no idea how much comfort it would bring to me. I am truly thankful for every little thing that I have experienced thus far and I hope that they know this. I wish that I could give them all great, big, expensive gifts.

...

This evening, I am watching over their house as they head over to their mom's to get ready to open the morning presents. I am sitting in the living room, admiring their amazingly decorated tree and watching my all time favorite movie Swingers. I feel loved, content, warm and all merry-merry again. I couldn't think of a more perfect way for me to spend the evening tonight. I hope to get some personal writing done as I have been in survival mode for too long lately to progress on any of my projects. I feel hopeful tonight and I am going to let that feeling dwell in my heart and my mind for as long as I can.

To all of my friends: whatever holiday or tradition you are celebrating or not celebrating...I wish you the best as well as a happy new year. Peace and love. Om Om Om.

P.S. Their cat Tuggs is finally starting to warm up to me...maybe because she knows that I will be the one feeding her in the morning.

P.P.S. You're money.

You Can Leave...If You Want To Leave...But I Won't Follow...Just So You Know

2009-12-23T22:31:00.000-08:00

I feel that I need to need to explain some things before I continue posting. Something is telling me in my heart that I need to share more than just the superficial things that are occurring on a day to day basis in my new life.

First of all, I must explain the title of this blog a little further. Some have interpreted it as being a declaration of my distaste for actually working or being gainfully employed. This is the farthest from the truth as I am constantly working, just not in the same way that I guess would fit into what is considered a traditional societal norm. It is not that I feel that I am too good to work at at restaurant, pick up trash or even answer phones for some executive officer. I have done all of these types of jobs in the past so they are in no way beneath me. However, having said that...I have been there and done that and for someone who is a self proclaimed creative junkie...I just can't do it any more. My good friend Eric, who is also the creative type once put this type of personality very nicely when describing himself. "I just don't follow rules very well," he said. I am the same way and do things on my own whether they are the best decisions or the worst decisions. They are indeed my own triumph or demise to experience and no one else. I understand that this is hard for many to understand and normally would not attempt to explain myself, however, I thought that it would be fitting to do it this one time.

Okay...enough of my disclaimer for now.

It is now nearing the Holiday and for whatever holiday you are celebrating this time of year, I wish you the best. Today I took a train further North to stay with a friend and his wife for the next few days. They have graciously opened up their home to me and included me in their family tradition this holiday. While I don't celebrate any holiday religious or otherwise, they have included me as one of their own. I am actually at a loss for words when it comes to describing the feelings that I am having regarding their generosity. I know that they understand how grateful I am to be able to spend these cold few days with others rather than by spending it all alone.

I'm tired from all of the traveling and new surroundings, however, tonight...I am going to enjoy the beautiful Christmas tree in front of me, good friends, and good food and bring in the new year just right. I'm thankful. Peace and love.

Temporary Next Move Proves to be a Little More Stable

2009-12-22T18:31:00.001-08:00

The last couple of days have been somewhat uneventful but very reflective as well. The hostel that I stayed in for two nights wasn't ideal, but it wasn't bad either. The only problem was that I was on a completely different schedule than everyone else there and was staying there for completely different reasons. The Korean guys that were in the room the first night were kind enough, however, I had no idea that they had planned to leave the hostel permanently early the next morning. I didn't get much sleep due to excessive snoring and chatter the entire night so when I finally did get to sleep, I was brutally awoken by their hasty packing. They also had no concept of "quiet" voices when someone else was trying to sleep in their immediate vicinity. When they had finally finished and left the room, I couldn't understand why it was still so noisy. Turns out that they had left the door open and everyone else in the hostel were busy going about their business, all with perfect view of me lying in bed.

I then finally was able to fall asleep and it was good sleep, the kind where you dream in technicolor and feel completely at peace. That lasted only an hour or so though, when two very loud German guys came into the room to unpack, also with no concept of the "quiet" voice. I was so thankful when they finally left that I ended up sleeping until about noon before I felt completely rested.

For the most part, during my stay at the hostel I spent the days outside people watching and admiring the amazing views of the Golden Gate Bridge and of Alcatraz. There were so many people outside, walking, running biking, and playing with their dogs (Note to self...come new year, you are going to start jogging again). The Cypress trees remind me of my grandfather and for some reason I have a feeling that he would be proud if he knew about what I was doing and what I am going through. At least that is what I am going to think from now on.

...

After another sleepless night (turns out the Germans snored louder than the other guys) I made my way back towards my old neighborhood and moved what little belongs I have been carrying on my back into the living room of an apartment where I will be sharing with five other guys. It's not ideal, I don't have a bed, and it's way too crowded. But anything beats living on the streets and even this is much better than the hostel. I don't have to walkout side the room and down the hall to take a shower like the other place.

Tomorrow I am going to head back down to the Ferry Building where I had previously slept outside. But this time I am getting a train ticket to go up further North for a few days to stay with some old friends. To be honest, while I love this city and while she has been mostly good to me over the years...I am ready for a little break. I'll end this with the same phrase that another good friend ended her blog with the other day, "Peace and Happy Solstice!"

Simple pleasures

2009-12-20T23:45:00.000-08:00

I am having a hard time lately. I have to admit that I am having a hard time or else I will not be able to fix it and move forward. My ankle is so swollen and painful that I walk with a limp. My semi-regular showers and my backpack have converted me into a human living on the fringe of real society, someone on the outside, someone on the outside looking in. People either stare at me or don't look at me in the eye when I walked past. I wish that they would understand what I am doing...I have to follow my dreams, I just have to.

I have checked out of the hotel again and have hiked my way up to Fort Mason where I am currently staying in a hostel. I have been alone for so long that it is tough for me to be around so many people, especially when I am sharing a room with seven other guys. This must sound silly for someone like me, such the city boy. I stayed away for most of the day after I checked in because I didn't want to talk to them. I thought that if I were to sneak in after they were asleep and then left before they awoke it would be much better. But alas, I was tired and cold and needed to come back so I introduced myself to them. They were all from Korea and for that I was pleased. I don't know why but I felt better knowing that I had some cultural understanding and sensitivity and while I didn't want to explain to them why I was here when they asked me, I did my best to give them as honest of an answer.

For most of the day, I sat in a park on a hill and people watched. It might not seem like a productive way to spend the day, however, one learns a lot when observing life in this manner. I got some food...watched the Niners and the Vikings lose respectively at the pizza parlor on the television, and then made it back to the Fort to hang out for a bit before I called it a night.

Tomorrow, I am getting up early and going back down town and then to the Lower Nob Hill to get the keys to the apartment that I will be staying in for at least the next month. I'm not excited about it, but it's a place to stay for the time being.

Until next time: Happy Kwanzaa everyone!

Lonnie the Loadie

2009-12-17T17:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I met this cat on the street named Lonnie, or Lonnie the Loadie which I think suits him best. It had stopped raining and he was hanging around the United Nations Plaza just killing time. At least that's what he told me. He had a nice little pull cart filled with his clothes, basic toiletries, and a clean sleeping bag and blanket. I was a little envious of his set up because my bag was so heavy and was becoming too much of a burden for me to carry. But even though he had a sleeping bag and blanket and I didn't, he was complaining about the rain from the night before because he was forced to do laundry two days in a row. Apparently, he had taken the time to clean up his bedding at the laundry mat and because of the rain the other night, it was completely soiled and he was forced to do it again.

I asked him where he slept last night and he told me that he had found an alley just off of Market Street but according to him it wasn't his usual spot. His usual spot was under the over pass at 850 Bryant Street. "You usually sleep outside of the City Jail?" I asked him. "Wouldn't you rather stay as far away from the cops as possible, especially if you are sleeping on the streets?" He assured me that it was the best place in the City to sleep because the cops generally leave folks alone there. Plus, if anyone tries to mess with you they are right there to help. One cop even gave him five bucks the other day and told him where he could get some more free clean blankets on 9th. "I like to stay there because it protects me from the wind and the rain and plus, there have been two times where someone tried to light me on fire when I was sleeping! I figure the cops are like protection for me."

I was curious as to why Lonnie the Loadie hadn't made it down to his usual spot that night before. When I asked, he said that he was too loaded from smoking too much weed the entire day and couldn't make it there before the rain started pouring. Lonnie didn't look like the kind of guy who would sit on the street and beg for money, he seemed too savvy so I asked him about his financial situation. I know that this would normally be a personal question but on the streets, no question is out of the question. Lonnie the Loadie has been receiving disability benefits for the last 15 years and the government deposits his money into a bank account every month. A bum with a bank account, I thought. How modern!

When Lonnie was a child in Indiana, he was sexually abused by his father for so many years that he had developed a post traumatic stress disorder and that is why he was able to receive benefits from the government. He even said that he is receiving good money for it, enough to get an apartment in the City of his own. However, he wanted to save all of his money for weed and booze and preferred to stay in the streets instead. I remembered what Ray the Cleaner had told me before. Don't get too comfortable on the streets or you will never be able to get out. I guess that Lonnie the Loadie was the perfect example of this scenario and while I had only made it a few days outside, I was certain that I would not let that happen to me.

Lonnie asked me if I wanted to smoke a joint with him and when I declined he simply said, "To each his own." I wished him luck and he wished me the same and we parted ways. "I'll see you around bro," he said and I hoped that I wouldn't but I didn't let him know that.

Rain, Rain Go Away

2009-12-16T21:57:00.001-08:00

For the first couple of nights out on the streets, I have to admit...it wasn't that bad. It wasn't fun so to speak, but it wasn't bad. In fact, the second night I was so tired that I slept like a baby. Now having said that, last night completely and utterly sucked. It was horrible and it was my first glimpse at what it is really like for over 6,500 men, women and children out on the streets every day here in San Francisco.

My day didn't start out any different than the previous ones. I wrote, went to the library to check email, got something small to eat and then headed back down to the pier to watch the people and yet again, do some more writing. Being the introspective person that I am, I find that a lot of what I write I choose not to share publicly, at least not yet...but I do have to say that it has been very good for me and honestly has allowed me to do a lot of personal healing.

The clouds in the sky looked no more ominous than the previous days so I wasn't too worried about rain. I did notice though, that it was a few degrees colder than the night before and for that I was a little concerned. When the sky grew darker, I moved locations back to the patio outside of the Hyatt again to listen to the ice skating music and do some more writing. Other than having a slight case of the shivers, everything seemed to be just fine. Just after 10 PM when the skating rink closed, I moved towards the same bench that I had slept on the night before and made my bed and camp and got ready to go to sleep. When I would see homeless people on the streets of the City before, I used to always wonder what they were doing once they found a location to spend the rest of the night. Now I understood because I had already developed my own routine as well. When I was satisfied with my location and the placement of my belongings, I lie down and go to sleep.

Suddenly, at around 3 AM, I awoke to something that felt like someone was throwing small stones at me and hitting the top of my blanket and my head. Startled and now completely awake I realized that it wasn't stones or rocks but a nice heavy rain falling down upon me instead. Instantly, I scrambled to gather all of my things and put my blanket and towel back into my pack and head for shelter. I ran for the mall that was on the first floor of the Embarcadero Center building number four and waited until I could figure out what I would do next. The rain was coming down so hard and didn't seem like it would let up so for a moment I began to get worried. For some reason, I decided to try the front door of the mall to see if it was open and to my surprise it was. As stealthily and as quickly as I could manage, I made my way up to the second floor. The escalator wasn't running at that hour so I had to hike up the flight of stairs and look for a new spot to lay. It was well lit and their weren't many options so I finally settled on the entry way in front of the Gap. I folded my towel into a makeshift pillow and set the rest of my things beside me and immediately went to sleep. It was the first time that I had been able to fully stretch my legs and sleep like a somewhat normal human being. The floor was cold but the air was increasingly warmer under my blanket without the frigid wind outdoors.

Unfortunately, this only lasted for an hour and a half when at 4:30 AM, a man kicked me and ordered me to leave telling me that I couldn't stay there. Again, I quickly gathered my things and went down stairs and back out into the cold where it was still raining. Tired and out of options, I walked to the side of the same building that I was in and found a service door that was unoccupied and made my final camp there for the rest of the morning. This lasted until 7:30 AM when I was again kicked by another security guard asking me to leave. I was wet, cold, and extremely tired. Not knowing what else to do, I walked back to the ferry building and washed up in the restroom and then sat outside until it was mid morning and most of the commuters were gone for the time being. Completely drained, I knew that I couldn't do this for another night...at least not four nights in a row. I was stinky, my feet hurt, my back hurt and I was mentally beat up. It's time to call it quits I thought, even if it is just for a few nights.

P.S. I am happy to say that I am staying in an old motel on Market Street with everything that I could possibly need, a bed, a television, and free internet. The rats and roaches were also added into my vacation package for free and I couldn't be happier. That's all for now. Peace.

P.P.S. The photo is my view from my room and this time it is from the inside looking out.

Sweet and Sour

2009-12-15T10:34:00.000-08:00

It's been interesting these last few days. I have begun to look at people differently. I'm listening differently, watching differently, understanding situations differently. I'm looking within myself carefully and with compassion at the same time.

Simple things are making me happy these days, more so than any other time in my life. I have always considered myself a simple person, not needing much at all to survive. however, when the sun came out yesterday as I was sitting on the pier and beat down on my back, warming me through and though, I was ecstatic and content.

My second day outdoors was longer than the day before. Mostly because it was the first full 24 hours that I spent on the street. I wanted night time to come so that I could go to my spot and rest. Because I didn't sleep much the night before I was nodding on and off all day and didn't want to be seen caught like that, just in case the five-oh wanted me to leave. That's how we say it on the streets ya'll, the five-oh. Okay, so I am kidding again. I'm just trying to sound tougher than I really am. Actually, I am surprised at how tough I have actually been during the course of these last few nights.

Finally darkness came and when the ferry building's clock tower rang 8:00 PM, I rushed as fast as I could towards my spot, the spot that I called my home the night before. But when I got there, much to my dismay it was taken by someone else! How dare he come into my home like this I thought. There was a possibility that he would leave so I went to another bench on the other side of the dock next to a couple snuggling together. It wasn't long before one of them proposed to the other and they ended up kissing and oohhhing and ahhhhing for at least an hour. I hated them. I wanted my old spot in the back from the night before.

Just then, a private security car came rushing up the driveway and the guard stormed out of his vehicle with nothing but a flashlight. But it was a big flashlight and he looked as if this tool gave him some authority and power and in some respects it did. He shined his light on me and looked me up and down but said nothing. Then he disappeared around the corner and kicked out the guy who was in my original spot. Eventually, he came back to me and with his big flashlight pointed in my face, he demanded that I leave before the hour was up.

So much for the familiarity of the previous night. I didn't know what to do. I was so tired from the night before and I didn't want to spend the night searching for a spot where I could sleep unseen and untouched. I crossed the Embarcadero slowly because my shoulders and feet were hurting terribly.

This is where I meet Moldavia and Rich. Moldavia is a quirky artist from Berkeley who has developed her own technique of making wool hats. She shows me her resume if you will, that boasts numerous celebrities who have purchased her hats. Anyone from Tupac and the Digital Underground to Woppie Goldberg are reported to own some of her work.

Rich is a fan of hers and knows her by walking in the park and chatting with her over the years. Both of them are complete opposites but both of them have interesting things to say about me. Moldavia gives me a spot on reading about my personality and wants to know what I am doing there on that night. Once I told her, she said that she completely understands and that she felt that I was on purpose. Rich is a little more scared for me though and gives me a bottle of pepper spray. He assures me that he has another one in the other pocket so I reluctantly take it and put it in my bag. Rich even offers to let me stay at his house and loan me his last two dollars, but I decline. For some reason he is still worried about me.

I was happy to talk to them, especially because it killed a few hours and was now almost midnight. I walked through the Hyatt's outdoor patio and into a large park that overlooked the four Embarcadero Center buildings and found a bench. There was someone else sleeping in the bushes about a 100 yards from me so I made sure to stay as far away as possible. Ideally, this bench was too out in the open but I was tired and decided that I would sleep sitting up for a while until I could figure out another location.

Needless to say, that never happened. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep and didn't wake up once until 6 AM. I noticed that I was so sound asleep that I actually had real dreams and I felt rested and good. I checked to make sure that all of my belongings were still with me and went back to sleep, not waking up until 9:30. This probably wasn't such a good idea but I needed the rest.

Today should be just as interesting as the last few and it is supposed to rain. I'm not sure what I am going to do about that one. Oh well...back to the streets. Peace!

P.S. Photo Descriptions: 1) the sun that made me so warm and happy 2) artist Moldavia showing off a hat 3) my view from the park bench that I finally ended up on for the night

In the Streets of San Francisco, You'll Meet Some Gentle People There...

2009-12-14T10:17:00.000-08:00

After I left Phil and Julie's condo in the Mission yesterday, I had somewhat of a plan. However, I still hadn't quite figured out where I was exactly going. I still had a little bit of cash in my pocket but not much. Originally I had planned to stay in a hostel just above Fort Mason but then realized that I only had enough money for the lodging and nothing left over for food for the time being. So this is where I had to make a tough decision, choose a roof over my head for two nights or put food in my belly?

The growling in my stomach won me over and I decided that food would be the most important thing for me right now even more so than a bed for the night. I was taking a gamble though as it had been raining non-stop for the last three nights with no signs of letting up. I could still back out if the rain came and head up the mountain to the hostel if I needed to. My pack has been getting heavier by the day so I walked slowly down Market Street until I finally made it to the pier. Exhausted, I carefully slipped my bag off of my aching shoulders and sat on the cold cement and watched the Oakland ferry boats come and go. I was getting nervous because the sky in front of me, just over the Bay Bridge was begging to look dark and ominous. I still had time to back out. I sat there for at least two hours watching the people and the boats and thinking about everything and nothing at all at the same time. It was a sort of surreal Zen like experience for me.

That's when I met Roy the Cleaner. While he doesn't actually clean anything per se, he told me that he had once sold cleaning products across the country so I thought it fitting to give him this nickname. Roy the Cleaner was barely 20 or 21 years old and clean shaven with an almost military appeal to him in dress and in his speech. He had seen me sitting there and assumed that I was on the streets so he thought that he would chat it up with me. He asked me how long I had been on the streets and I lied, I told him a few weeks. He told me that he had been out here for over a month. He was selling his cleaning wares from Maryland where he is from when business suddenly went bad. "Damn economy!" He yells. He tells me that he lost everything. He tells me about where he sleeps, a real find he says. It's down past pier 39 in a public hallway that the public seemed to have forgotten about. He tells me about the boat that he wants to own and live in. He tells me about karma. He tells me about Mexicans and what he thinks of them. He tells me about a program in the City that will help people like him in his situation with fare to buy a bus ticket back home. He tells me that tomorrow, he is going to finally take them up on that offer and return back to Maryland. I simply nod and smile every now and then and interject with a "damn," or a "that's pretty crazy." I figured that he liked the company, however, since this was my first night outside, I preferred to be alone.

I eventually say goodbye to Roy the Cleaner and wish him luck with his bus ticket situation the next day. I didn't know what else to say and almost caught myself saying, "I'll see you on the flip side brodda." But thankfully I caught myself and simply gave him the 'Peace' sign and walked away into the Ferry Building for a little warmth.

...

I realized that if I wanted to make this work, I would need to keep moving quite a bit. I didn't want to stay in one place too long just in case someone would see me. So I walked back away from the water up Market in the direction that I had come from earlier and got some snacks and water at the Wallgreens.

For some reason, my right ankle was throbbing once I left so I only made it about halfway back towards the water on my return trip. I decided that I would sit on a bench outside of the old Wells Fargo building at One Montgomery. No one seemed to mind that I was there. Fellow street dwellers would smile and nod their heads at me when they passed by. I even met a cool hippie couple trying to find their way back home to Seattle so I was glad to help them with directions to the bus terminal.

After another hour or two in this spot I figured that it was time to move again. This time, I went to the left of the pier towards a park near the winter outdoor ice skating rink. I sat in the park for some time admiring the ice skaters as well as the grandeur of the lights and the buildings in the financial district. Soon, it began to rain and I began to get a little worried. It might be too late to back out now and head for the hostel as it was nearing 10 PM already. Thankfully, I didn't let it bother me and eventually the rain did stop. Taking that as I sign, I moved to my final location for the rest of the night.

I didn't know that this was going to be my final stop for the evening when I ventured in this direction. I was more interested in seeing the Port of San Francisco sign lit up in red which you cannot see from the city, only from a boat or the bridge. I followed a darkly lit sidewalk where from what I could see was completely empty. What I encountered was one of the most amazing views of the City that I have ever seen and on top of that, the perfect place to spend the rest of the night! Originally, I hadn't planned on sleeping at all because I didn't know what I was to expect. But now that I had found this spot, a few hours rest might not be that bad of an idea.

I was completely content with my surroundings. It was the best damn view that one could have hoped for and one that would never be seen from any apartment building in town. I was the only one who has this view I thought. I listened to music and danced around for hours, enjoying my time and mainly keeping warm. Finally, at just after midnight, I felt sleepy and decided to give sleep a try. I used a towel for my pillow and pulled out a small down blanket that I was happy that I had that night and laid it on a bench with my head to the City and my feet facing the bridge. This isn't so bad I thought and immediately went to sleep. That only lasted for about two hours though when it seemed that the temperature dropped 20 degrees and my blanket wasn't keeping me warm enough to sleep. I ditched the towel pillow and wrapped it around my legs instead to double-up on the warmth which kind of worked. Several hours of restless, freezing sleep went by until I was startled by the horn of the first ferry coming into port for the day. Not wanting to be caught, I immediately packed up my belongings and moved to another location and wrapped my blanket around me, shivering in the cold. When the sun finally had risen, I went back into the Ferry Building and into the restroom where I soaked my cold hands in the hot water and washed my face. I wanted to say indoors for as long as I could but knew that I couldn't stay in the bathroom. I squatted near the front doors where it was just warm enough and just close enough to the Amtrak station that no one seemed to mind me being there. I actually fell asleep again while sitting up. Right before I was getting ready to leave, I saw none other than Roy the Cleaner. He gave me a "Sup Nate" and then walked away. I guess that he just wasn't quite ready to get on that bus back home yet.

Thankfully, today is not too cold and the sun seems to be trying to come out. Time to go soak up some vitamin D before figuring out where I will end up next. Peace!

P.S. These pictures were from my "room" for the night.

The Best Day of Birth

2009-12-13T04:39:00.001-08:00

When I had no where else to go and was quickly running out of cash, two of my most favorite people in all of San Francisco opened their home up to me. Phil and his wife Julie took me in for three nights in their amazing condo in the Mission just bordering the Castro. I love coming to visit them because, well, both of them have so many amazing stories to tell and we all have a strong affinity for rock n' roll and the Beatles.

What is even more amazing is that they opened their home to me in a time that was difficult for their family. Phil had just had an invasive procedure to attempt to cure prostate cancer and Julie had just gone on a series of interviews at the A.C.T (American Conservatory Theatre). Ironically, this is the same theatre that my father had worked for in the late '60s.

I have never felt so completely blessed and welcome in a home, especially when the circumstances of their lives were so trying. While today is my 32nd birthday, they put themselves before me and took the time to order pizza in and bring me a cake with candles to blow out while they sang "Happy Birthday." I honestly can not remember the last time that I have had a birthday cake and I was at a loss for words. I know that my time spent with Phil and Julie was not easy for them, and for that I am forever grateful and in debt. However, I do know that their hearts are bigger than they give themselves credit for and that I cannot wait to be able to return the favor and pay it forward.

I'm happy to say that Phil is recovering well and that Julie has aced the interview at the A.C.T. Just by the fact that when you walk into their home you are greeted by over 120 playbills from her father in New York City seems fitting enough that Julie will get the job and that Phil will be on his way to recovery.

Thank you Phil and Julie. You two mean the world to me. Cheers!

Here Ye Here Ye Here Ye

2009-12-13T04:14:00.000-08:00

Good people of the Mission District of San Francisco. I am pleased to say that I have found you to be warm and accepting people. You have graciously let me into your homes without question. You have given me warmth and sustenance without even taking the time to think twice. For this, I have also embraced you as my own...

Okay, so that is a little dramatic, however, while walking the streets of this neighborhood I truly felt at home.

The other day, I wandered around the Mission for about 4 hours until I could no longer hold my backpack any longer. I needed to take rests almost every 20 minutes because my back was beginning to hurt so terribly that this was the only thing that I could possible do. However, while walking slow...mostly because my knees wouldn't allow me to move any faster, I noticed some of the most amazing artwork and culture that I have ever seen. The weather was cooperative and while tired, I was in high spirits. Here are some of the pieces that I stumbled upon while I was seemingly stumbling myself. One of the murals is of one of my most favorite San Francisco illustrators, Sirron Norris, nonchalantly placed upon the wall of a small market and liquor store. Tired and hungry I am, however the beauty that I am finding never ceases to fulfill and amaze me.

The Weather is Frightful

2009-12-09T19:41:00.000-08:00

I arrived back in San Francisco this evening and while it is so familiar and comfortable for me, tonight it seemed somewhat foreign. I walked the streets just as I would have done on any other given day only this time I didn't have anywhere to go. It was time for me to now think about how to do things in order and do them one at a time without worrying about the next task. Just complete one and then move onto the next until all have been completed. At least that's what I told myself to do.

I hadn't eaten anything today so the first thing that I saw once I got off of the train was a fast food chain. That was task number one: fill my belly.

Once that I had my fill, I walked up Geary Street back towards my old neighborhood, not because I needed to be there but because it was in the direction that I had always walked. Realizing that I wasn't quite sure where I would be going, I stopped in Union Square and sat on a bench. I must have sat there for at least two hours before the numbness of the cold got the best of me and I had to move. It was then that I realized that I wouldn't be able to rough it in the cold as much as I thought that I would be able to.

Thankfully, I was able to meet up with an acquaintance from a year or so ago who lives in the Mission and she offered me her couch for the night. I love her space...it is a huge loft/warehouse with a full stage and art gallery with all sorts of interesting artists and musicians living here. While I am only going to be staying here for the night, I have asked her if I might be able to rent her soon to be open room in the near future. It just might be an option and even though I don't know what the outcome will be, I know that whatever the universe holds for me will be just what I need no matter what. Plus I really love her two cats. I miss my childhood cats. All is well in the bay and one more day alive here in this town feels just great.

Absence

2009-12-09T09:13:00.000-08:00

I'm going to be on the road for the next few days and will be heading back towards the Bay Area. I'm not quite sure where I will land so internet access will be hit and miss for a while. I am looking forward to having more updates very soon...and I'm off!

I Can be Strong...

2009-12-07T00:42:00.000-08:00

But I am only human and right now, I am feeling lonely.

Write Write Write

2009-12-06T22:24:00.000-08:00

I am finding that I am quite scattered and I have self diagnosed myself with what I will call as writers A.D.H.D. Honest. It has to be a real condition I swear. The desktop of my laptop is full of word documents and folders, some that are complete and I just don't know what to do with them and others that are completely incomplete but for some reason I am saving them for a later date. Either way, I am pretty sure that they will die right here on this computer because, well...my writers A.D.H.D. will get the best of me I'm sure and I will have moved on to something else.

I'm still in Sacramento and I am going to stay here one more night because I figured that it would cost just as much for me to be here as it would for me to go back to San Francisco. Plus, it is raining outside and I don't feel like hiking in the harsh weather back downtown to the train station until it subsides.

Having said that, I have been quite productive today. I wrote three articles for payment about cruise destinations. I have never been on a cruise in my life so I faked it a bit but I think that I did a pretty good job. I also sent in another writing sample for a freelance gig about art schools, something that I actually know something about so I hope to get that one as well.

Other than that, all is well. I'm pissed that the niners lost to Seattle today and that it is getting colder outside. But other than that, all is well.

Toilet Graffiti Photographer

2009-12-05T23:35:00.000-08:00

I thought that this was pretty cool, and well...amusing as well. I met this dude in Sacramento today named Troy who has self published a photography book featuring his favorite art and prose. It's not your traditional art and poetry, it is all found in bathroom stalls around Sacramento, Berkeley, New York and San Francisco. Just thought I would do a shout out. Visit his site at: www.twotonepublishing.com.

Capital City

2009-12-05T18:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I didn't make it that far from where I was the night before. I took the regional transit from Folsom back to the Sacramento Valley Transit Center wondering where I might go next. I looked at the large map of the Western United States posted on the outside of the building and trailed the multicolored lines with my index finger hoping that one particular city would jump out at me. My finger tip hovered over Reno, NV and while I don't particularly like this city, I thought that it might be fun so I stopped there. Plus, because of the gambling there the rooms would be super cheap. Disgusting, but cheap. No sooner did I convince myself that this was where I was going to go did I change my mind when I realized that I didn't have any warm clothes and would freeze my ass off there if made the attempt. Scratch Reno.

Instead, I walked outside and was amazed at how quiet downtown Sacramento is on a weekend. The sky was completely clear and the sun was warm and calming. I'll stay here for a night or two I thought, it might be nice and quiet yet still have the urban culture that I so crave.

I wandered around the streets of city center and around the capital building for a few hours, scoping out a spot to either get some cheap eats or find a place to sleep. But damn, my pack was getting heavy and my back was throbbing. I am going to need to get rid of some things if I am ever going to make it very long on this path. I guess I am pretty much the only bum on the streets who is carrying around an iron just in case I need to smooth out my clothes. Sheesh, I am a bourgeoisie bum. I think that might have to be the first thing to go.

After finding a cheap meal I needed to figure out where I was going to go. It was still warm outside and there weren't really any people on the streets. Plenty of hiding places where I could bed down for the night. It wouldn't be that bad. Honestly, I really did want a bed to sleep in tonight so I tracked down every hotel in town that I thought that I might be able to afford. Much to my disappointment, however, this was the weekend for the California International Marathon and every room was completely booked or way too expensive. After my last attempt which I thought would be a positive omen at the Vagabond Inn because, well...I am a vagabond of sorts and I was denied a room, I was pretty sure that I would be sleeping on the streets tonight. My other option was to go back to the train station and ride back to San Francisco but it was already beginning to get dark and I feared that I wouldn't have much luck finding a room at this hour either. Plus, I was exhausted and it was beginning to become much colder outside.

Remembering the days when I used to live near Sacramento, I followed back roads in what Sacramentans call the River District until I could see Interstate 5 heading North. There were always hotels lining major exits so I was confident that I would be able to find something there in my price range. 3 miles and 2 hours later (Hey, it took 2 hours because of the damn backpack okay?), I finally found a place to stay and I was shocked to see how nice it was for such little dough.

So for the night, I will be resting my back, deciding which items aren't crucial for me to carry on with, and enjoying a salad from the only restaurant nearby, McDonald's.

P.S. The photo above shows downtown Sacramento where I started and ultimately where I ended near the hotel.

Night 5 on the Road

2009-12-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

I was both excited and saddened by my ticket purchase at the Ferry Building the other day. I was excited because it would officially mark the start of my "on the road" journey, but saddened because I could already feel myself missing the buzz of San Francisco. I had an hour or so to kill before the bus would come and pick me up to take me to the train station so I sat on the pier and watched the Alameda Ferry come in and out of port. It was a beautifully perfect day despite my emotions and now it was time to finally get going.

The train ride went by quickly and while the scenery was awesome, it was otherwise quite uneventful. Once I arrived in Sacramento, I took the Regional Transit Light Rail all of the way until almost the last stop in Folsom where I met Eric. Both of us were pretty tired so we stuffed ourselves with some hearty Mexican food and laid low for most of the night in front of the television.

The next day, we took a short road trip to Davis to wander around the university campus, Eric's alma mater and old stomping ground. After an hour of checking out the sites, we both agreed that we felt much older now in comparison to the students cruising on their bicycles and noses glued to their text books. Seeing these students caused Eric and I to reminisce about the hopes and dreams that we had while in college and how much different they were in reality to our existence now.

A lot of people have been asking me why the hell I chose to come to Folsom, CA in the first place other than to see Eric, especially because it's not that far away, it's a small town and it's very conservative.

Well, Eric being a friend and in a very similar situation as myself is one of the reasons because we both desperately wish to write for a living full time. Another big reason why I chose Folsom as a first stop on my journey is because it is the antithesis of San Francisco and I thought that it might give me some insight. Overall, it was a pretty quiet trip and I had a lot of fun catching up with Eric about old high school friends and admiring the leaves that had already changed colors and were beginning to fall.

I also was able to follow Eric on one of his reporting gigs much to his dismay. I thought that it was rather interesting but he was embarrassed because he was charged with reporting on the Folsom Tree Lighting Ceremony for the local newspaper. On top of that, the festivities and the cold weather reminded me of the small town that I spent most of my childhood in. It was a good night.

Riding the Rails

2009-12-03T11:13:00.000-08:00

Today, I decided that I am going to take a train up North. I was trying to remember the last time that I have been out of the San Francisco city limits and it has been well over two months. I figure now is as good of a time as any other to go so I am packing up my backpack, checking out of the hotel and heading down to the Ferry Building to purchase a ticket. I'm not sure how long I will be gone or where exactly I will end up and it should be quite fun. I do know for sure that my first stop will be at my buddy and fellow writer Eric's house near Sacramento. After that, only the universe knows! All aboard!

Crisp December Day in San Francisco

2009-12-02T20:43:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up feeling like I was back working for my old job. The feeling was scary, more scary than not knowing where I would be landing the next day. You may wonder why I would have this feeling considering all of the other things that I have been encountering lately. The reason why I instinctively thought of my old work is because I woke up in an unfamiliar hotel room in a location that was foreign to me.

My previous career had me traveling quite a bit so I became accustomed to awaking in hotel rooms and not knowing where I was. However, because I haven't been in a hotel since the day that I was laid off, I was startled by my surroundings. Once I realized that I was indeed not working for that organization any longer, I was able to slow my breathing and my panicking subsided.

Not having to impress anyone, I put on my cap and walked out the door to check out what the free breakfast options were. I was surprised to hear that I was too late. "But it says free continental breakfast on that sign right there!" I exclaimed. "It's right there!"

"I'm sorry sir, but it is 12:30 in the afternoon. You are two and a half hours late for breakfast," said the clerk behind the counter trying to hold in his disdain inside for patrons such as myself. When he said this, I looked at my watch confused because this is when I always get up. I have never been a morning person and always do my best work late in the afternoon and into the early hours of the next morning.

"But this is my breakfast time!" I exclaimed again to the clerk but there was nothing he could do for me. As I turned around and began to walk out of the front doors onto the street, the clerk called towards me.

"Sir! Wait just a second." Not sure what I had done that would require me to wait, the curiosity got the best for me and I stood still as he ran towards me with outstretched arms holding a clear wrapper with a cheese danish inside. "I found this in the back, it's not much but I thought that you could use it better than I could."

Touched, I thanked him and walked outside onto 7th Street into the clear brisk winter day and smiled. I am learning that simple gestures, simple interactions with other human beings, positive thinking and having a good sense of humor is priceless. With a little something in my belly, I walked the City for hours enjoying the people and sights and interestingly enough I noticed buildings and artwork that I had never noticed before. There was another lesson that I learned today, move slowly and be still from time to time. It is such a simple thing, yet I forget to do it almost every single day. From now on, I am going to be still in the moment and enjoy the time that I have.

New Moon Rising

2009-12-01T20:17:00.000-08:00

My last post was about the moon and new beginnings. Well I finally turned in my keys to the apartment that I called home for the last few years and walked away on my own new beginning. I couldn't see the moon tonight because I honestly wasn't looking for it. I was on a mission to find out where I would be sleeping for the night.

I am very grateful to one person in particular who came to my rescue when I was in need and helped me get a hotel for two nights in the SOMA district of San Francisco. I had no idea that this person, someone whom I would consider as close as my own sister would come out and help me in this way. She doesn't know how much this means to me so I hope that through my writing, she will understand.

The hotel isn't amazing but it has a private bath, a television and a desk where I can write when I am not out and about. So for now, I will work on my projects, enjoy the change of scenery, and continue the adventure.

New Beginnings

2009-12-01T08:38:00.000-08:00

Last night there was an almost full moon indicating at least to me, the beginning of something great. It was the first time that I had really smiled and felt content in some time, simply by catching a glimpse of this amazing celestial being.

Recently, I watched an NHK World presentation about what people around the globe think about the moon. NHK stands for the Nippon Hoso Kyoukai or in English, the Japanese Broadcast Corporation. I was intrigued by the various perceptions of different cultures regarding what the moon symbolizes to them and it caused me to think about what it might mean to me.

I had honestly never thought about it before other than during the fall and winter months when the days are shorter and the nights longer. For the most part, the moon seemed spooky and conjured up images of Halloween ghosts and goblins in my head. It wasn't until I stood there on the street and really had a good look at it did I realize that it wasn't something to be feared, but something to admire. And on that night, the bright light of the moon was brighter than any of the lights emanating from the buildings and streets of San Francisco. It was simply beautiful.

As an American, I grew up thinking that there was a man in the moon, however, the NHK show reminded me of what the Japanese see there instead. There is a rabbit on the moon with a wooden mallet pounding mochi. I liked their view of the moon better than what I had traditional thought of it.

Needless to say, what I enjoyed about the moon that night was that it was lighting the way down a path towards my new life and I felt completely free. I wasn't afraid any longer.

I found an inexpensive hotel down O'Farrell Street to stay in. It wasn't fancy and in fact it is one of the worst rooms or hotels that I have ever stayed in. But it has a bed and a shower and a nice view of Union Square where I could still see the moon, rising ever so slowly in the sky. Whether it was the man in the moon or the rabbit pounding mochi that got me through the night, I will never know. However, the point is that I did make it through the night and this is the first affirmation that confirmed I am on the right path. I'm not sure where it will lead, but I am learning to be comfortable with uncertainty.

Calming the Anxiety

2009-11-29T19:01:00.000-08:00

I have managed to squat in my apartment for one more night but will have to get up early in the next morning, way before the sun comes up to discard the rest of my belongings and head on out. As the time grows nearer for me to vacate, for some reason I am becoming increasingly more anxious. I am pretty sure that it is my mind playing tricks on me, creating any possible negative scenario that could happen to me.

I am learning to calm these feelings and think only positively and adventurously instead. I do, however, have to admit that it is not an easy task by any means. When my fear and worry and my own perceived loneliness overwhelms me, I reassure myself that while what I am about to embark on isn't what I had ideally hoped for that I will be ultimately better off in the future.

The backpack is packed, the rest of the trash ready to be thrown out and the alarm is set for six in the morning. As my good friend Celina reminded me the other day, "If we are facing in the right direction, all that we need to do is keep walking."

Om Om.

Prolonged Anticipation

2009-11-28T16:43:00.000-08:00

24 hours has passed and I have worked out a way to sleep on the floor of my apartment for just one more night, maybe even two if I can work it just right. I don't know what my attachment is to this place, it's not fancy, it's not big and it's not in a very good neighborhood. But for some reason, I am holding on as long as I can. I think that it's the view from my window overlooking south of Market Street. Honestly, it's the comfort, the security, and the familiarity.

The good news is that I have a couple of new leads for some freelance writing gigs, one from my friend in the UK and one from the internet hosting site that I have done some articles for before. Emails have been sent of some of my writing samples and we shall see what happens next.

Also, because I will be on the road for some time, my next task is to get a Post Office Box here in the City so that I can have some sense of stability and still be able to check my mail. If I don't make it another night here in the apartment, my next post will be from some unknown location most likely in the Tenderloin. Should be exciting or at least interesting nonetheless.

Peace, Peace.

24 Hours to Go

2009-11-27T14:15:00.001-08:00

It’s official now. I have my reservation number for my new storage unit to store all of my belongings for the big move tomorrow. I knew that this day would be coming, but I am actually starting to become somewhat emotional because I have been living in this apartment for almost three years, the longest that I have ever lived in one place since I first left my family’s home to go to college. I had a dream last night that I was sleeping in the sand on Baker Beach and it didn’t seem so bad. The sand there is grainy and dark but still has softness to it nonetheless. There were also large logs that resembled driftwood and were perfect for hiding behind to find some rest. In my dream, I waited until everyone on the beach had left and gone to their homes and the sun set before I searched for the perfect place to spend the night. I didn’t have a sleeping bag or a pillow, but I did have a small blanket that I used to shelter my body from the cold. Not worried about the sand getting on my clothes, I laid down on the ground, used my backpack as a pillow and covered myself with the blanket and fell asleep.

When I awoke from my dream the next morning, the experience didn’t seem as glamorous as when I was asleep. However, it wasn’t out of the question for me in case what little money I had left ran out.

I have pretty much packed up everything in my apartment and put it into storage. However, I only had a small window of time to get everything out and without a car, it was extremely difficult. It looks like I am going to have “donate” my television, my microwave and bookshelves. For Thanksgiving, I squatted in my apartment knowing that the landlord’s office would be closed for the holiday. Thankfully, I am currently in a neighborhood that is quite diverse and there were plenty of Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants that are open for dinner on most American holidays.

So there I was, sitting on the floor of my almost empty apartment, eating greasy Chinese food and watching old reruns of The Office. While it might seem depressing, I have to admit, I was completely content and did my best to enjoy every minute of it in my soon to be former home. 24 more hours and my new adventure begins.

Countdown: Less Than 48 Hours to Go

2009-11-27T12:59:00.000-08:00

It all comes down to this, the next few days where I pack up all of my life, put all of my possessions into storage somewhere on South Van Ness Avenue and move out of my apartment. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my apartment or even dislike the neighborhood that I live in; it all comes down to simple economics. I really don’t have any other choice. While I barely stayed awake during my microeconomics class in college with all of those graphs, diagrams and numbers, I did remember one valuable concept, supply and demand. I had ample supply of what I thought were ingenious anecdotes and writing samples, however, unfortunately there wasn’t as much demand for my musings as I had hoped for. Thusly, I have found myself at this important juncture in my life where I leave everything behind except for my brand new backpackers backpack and hit the road for a while.

One of my most favorite literary heroes would be proud of me if he knew of the journey that I was about to embark on, and for some reason, I wish to please Mr. Jack Kerouac with my decision to go ‘On the Road.’ I might even end up riding the rails just as he did, hoping to emulate his life experiences. Without the dying at age 47 from substance abuse of course but I think that you get the idea though. I’m turning 32 in a few weeks so I hope that I have longer to live than that. He did write some damn good novels based on his experience though, so maybe I can do the same thing. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that some good will come out of this, but most likely, it won’t matter because I know that this adventure for myself will do nothing but good. I can feel it in my bones and most importantly in my heart.

Eric has graciously agreed to drive down to San Francisco to help me with my move into the storage space and I can’t even begin to explain how grateful I am for his help. It actually makes this transition much less lonely, which will be a good start for my journey.

After all of my things are safely secured in storage, I will take my backpack and search for a place to sleep for the night. This shouldn’t be that difficult here in San Francisco because as long as I don’t find myself sleeping in Golden Gate Park with hippie has-beens, living in a tent and smoking a bowl, I should be just fine. From this point on, I will do my best to make periodic updates as to my whereabouts and the adventure that I am excited to begin. Much love and peace.

We Just Don't Wanna Work

2009-10-11T17:34:00.000-07:00

Two high school acquaintances met up 13 years after graduation and were surprised to find themselves in very similar situations, they both were unemployed. Both had held successful careers in fields that they were passionate about, however, beneath the layers of their identities that had been defined by their professions was something completely different. Eric had been doing the weather for a local television station and Nathan was working as a university administrator. While it was fulfilling work, secretly they both really wanted to be writers instead.

It wasn’t long before both Eric and Nathan began to talk about how they were going to make their dreams of being a successful writer come true and immediately began to brainstorm and share ideas. More interestingly though were their experiences of being unemployed in a difficult economy while having creative aspirations. Plus, they really didn’t want to have a “real” job anyway, which made the situation even more difficult.

So there they were, two guys wanting to spend their days writing the next best seller, one living in Sacramento, the other in San Francisco, both living on unemployment trying to figure out how to make this work. It was not to be easy and it was not to come quickly. Follow these guys through ups and downs as they navigate the world of professional writing while still trying to pay the rent. It’s often funny, sometimes depressing, and not always pretty, however, there has to be a light at the end of the tunnel for them at some point.

Message From the Authors…

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Just Your Average Weary Traveler

Funding....arghhhh!

San Francisco Values: The Movie

Update

Veil

Moment

Curiousity

Chimera

Heaven

Youth

Dante's

Wired

A Prayer

My Head

Reminder

Desire

Rain

For Jesse Wasser

God

Slow Suicide

Want

Red

Window

My Ghost Town

Existential - For Harrison Towne

Oh eff it...Happy Holidays...

Dive Into...

Taking the Time

VALUE = VOICE @ The Box Factory San Francisco

Adlevo Media Launched!

Open

Angels

Outside- In

Dean

Lost and Found

To Whom it May Concern:

Tathagata

No Writing This Time

Moment

Ashes to Ashes

El Duderino

I Had to Post This

Revelations

Published in Oakland!

Meditative Prayer

I Think That It's Almost Finished

So What's Next?

Words to Live By

The Young and the Restless

Lemonade

A Dreamers Dreams Come True

Ode to My Past

Out of Many You Have One People

Art of Life

Geary Street

Tweet

To Write or Not to Write

Street Sheet

Oh How I Wish to Live Alone Again

It Ain't Paradise...But it's Dry

Back to Reality and Back to the Bay

Focus

All Hollowed Christmas Eve?

Ho...Ho...Hope...

You Can Leave...If You Want To Leave...But I Won't Follow...Just So You Know

Temporary Next Move Proves to be a Little More Stable

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Lonnie the Loadie

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The Best Day of Birth

Here Ye Here Ye Here Ye

The Weather is Frightful

Absence

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Write Write Write

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Capital City

Night 5 on the Road