"When you're doing a house, you're not really an architect. That title is too formal. You're a dream maker."

- William Turnbull

i sometimes have to remind myself to put all my soul into what i do. just simply dooooing it is not enough. it's how you approach it too. some people are very technical. some people are very functional. me... i just try to be soulful. i like to rock my heart out.

"advice on how to cure my hermitdom"

BeeReeLs: get out there son! now!
BeeReeLs: its time to have some fun

"french fortune"

wow
i got a French fortune
in my fortune cookie today
(that's what you get when you have
a francophone family)
it reads
"etre indifferent, c'est mourir
esperer, c'est deja jouir"
which means
with indifference
we let ourselves die
with hope
we start to have fun
ok
somethings was lost in the translation
it sounds less cheesy
in French

"tools"

what tools do we have
to reinvent the world?

the architect in me has
the drawing board
the poet in me has
Microsoft Word 7

but countless others have
dire sweatshop workers with faltering fingers
itchy missiles with nuclear yellow teeth smiles
glowing televisions with hypnotic hums
platoons of political propaganda
battalions of blistering business deals and business ends
bombs bombs bombs
slave slave slave
media-clip media-clip media-clip

good thing
i watched Lord of the Rings
last night

i feel more heroic
against all odds

[kicked it with tallulah, luca, and david last night until early this morning. it's cool to see berkeley people outside the berkeley environment. played video games with jeremy today. tomorrow i hope to begin my productivity. i hope.]

"sneeze"

there are people
who confuse the way they dream
with the way they live
i sometimes lose myself in
that soft blur
until
the sneezing
and sneezing
and sneezing
begin
i'm not allergic to anything
in my dreams

[damn there's a mountain of used kleenex on my desk. it's cause i'm a slightly sick. i'm cool tho. i got heart. my brother and mother are in Berkeley now. haha great, my mom just yelled "sleep now, children." the de-aging of bruce begins. tomorrow we go home.]

"comet catching dreams"

why can't i
why can't i ask you -winged sonnet that you are-
to sing another song
under the luminance of tonight
can we go and rise up
along the silver slivers of rain and
collect the little streaks of
falling bright yellow stars
the trembling tears of an unfolding night
and finally float on down
riding a glow
our warm glow
in the shine
of rested comets
gathered
after a rain

how can i
how can i
while i can't even
heave haikus
enunciate energy
slip out songs
let alone words
out of me

[sara, jamie, tan, ria, and i drove up to SF Youth Speaks to check out their Holiday Party. kathy, jimmy, amorette, dandiggity, long, carina and kat were there. awesome place with awesome poets rocking the hell out of their shit. i love events like this, it brings out the bursting inspiration in me. we then drove the torrent streets of SF, doing this and that in the rain. karaoke is a fun art form. why do all my late nights always somehow involve the chicken and waffles diner? tonight was real cool, too bad it was just full of goodbyes..]

"soundtrack july 2002"

sometimes i throw together random music lists that's supposed to be the soundtrack of my life... or at least that particular fleeing moment of it. you know... the songs i rock in my head. the songs that remind me of little moments and details that in turn remind me of little feelings and heartstrings. the following is a music list i made up back in early July, around my birthday (July 7 baby.) listening to some of these songs are bringing back old thoughts i've already slightly forgottem. kind of like reading the archives of a blogspot. i'm not sure why i'm finally sharing this now. the music is pretty random when you put it together.

1. Badly Drawn Boy - The Shining
2. Weezer - My Name is Jonas
3. Gorillaz - 5/4
4. Radiohead - Karma Police
5. Bare Naked Ladies - What a Good Boy
6. The Eels - 3 Speed
7. Get Up Kids - Out of Reach
8. Jack Johnson - The News
9. Elliott Smith - Needle in the Hay
10. Babe Ruth - The Mexican
11. The Ramones - Blitzkrieg Bop
12. Souls of Mischief - 93 'til Infinity
13. Biz Markie - Just a Friend
14. Typical Cats - What You Thought Hops
15. Atmosphere - God's Bathroom Floor
16. Otis Redding - Sitting on a Dock by the Bay
17. The Faces � Oh La La

it's been an interesting past couple of weeks. i think i might make a new list later.

"luca's party"

maybe
when i wake up
i'll find
what i miss
when i come home
with a little red
left on my cheeks

[happy birthday Luca... you have a good one man. wow i just realized it's going to be a fun upcoming 11 months. a lot of people are turning 21...]

"the alphabet"

"E S A R I N T U L O M D P C F B V H G J Q Z Y X K W

The jumbled appearance of my chorus line stems not from chance but from cunning calculation. More than an alphabet, it is a hit parade in which each letter is placed according to the frequency of its use in the French language. That is why E dances proudly out in front, while W labors to hold on to last place. B resents being pushed back next to V, and haughty J-which begins so many sentences in French-is amazed to find itself so near the rear of the pack. Rolypoly G is annoyed to have to trade places with H, while T and U, the tender components of tu, rejoice that they have not been separated."

(tu is French for you.)

from The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby

"chapbook"

my goal this winter break:
design my own chapbook
featuring some
poetry sketches and photographs
and maybe just maybe
self-publish it

some AIM advice
from
brksupagrl tylee: there was this short one my teacher showed us
brksupagrl tylee: it's actually just one poem
brksupagrl tylee: and it was in a matchbox!
brksupagrl tylee: there's only one catch though
brksupagrl tylee: well the matchbox..you gotta make something as creative
brksupagrl tylee: so that your poem/piece will not be disappointing
brksupagrl tylee: compared to the architecture of your binding
and from
la dyc fu 111: do a chap book
la dyc fu 111: do it do it
la dyc fu 111: so exciting
la dyc fu 111: so i can read it when i am in the potty room

[i've actually been contemplating ending the whole blog thing and making some sort of webpage with a bunch of cool stuff on it. i dunno. that seems like a lot of work. and i did just decide on the whole chapbook thing. ok! ok! chapbook! chapbook! i'm making the chapbook first! and when that's finished, i'll start thinking about the webpage. so boocedotbawgspotdotcom... i'll keep you as is at least til then.]

"no faces"

when i read about world history
the untouchables of india, the children of vietnam, our nuclear power
i'm left with an ill feel
as if
i'm visited by ghosts
ghosts with no faces no mouths no hands
but with tears
i can taste

brother, sister, child
your drops dip down me
i don't know if you can hear
but i'm singing
your song in the dark

i don't know your song either
i just read about your melodies
in stale edited books

let's sing
let's keep our history alive with our words
let's imprint our faces into this Earth

"a night at cleary"

truth or dare
is fun
not as fun
as spin the bottle
but still
very
fun

tallulah
leigh anne
jelly
shioun
luca
jerry
mike
we are
players
of strange
party games

"melt"

i think Berkeley is so beautiful. the rain tonight made the streets melt in colors, like a water stained ink painting. i had very nostalgic thoughts on tonight's walk home. i like this feeling of longing. it makes me melt as well.

i'm so tired and so awake.

i'm probably not making sense. studying* makes me nonsensical.

*studying is composed of 84.23% goofing off**.

**goofing off is made up of jumping on couches, sporting wax cup bras, and shooting gummy bears porno films.

"rain as relief"

i am tasting myself
in the drums of the rain

rain carry me home
i feel light so light

the sky releases the rain
like i release relief
on a not so silent december night

"city lights"

on the curving cupping up and down roads of san francisco
city lights flow past us
in cool electric swirls
we lose ourselves
in a daze
i climb and climb
until i'm so distant from the ground
the stretching blurs of city lights
become lonely sparks in the landscape

[freaking fun night tonight. after the ice-cream-filling theatre rice banquet, luca, jimmy, patrick, andinh, denise, chau and i went on a spontaneous exploration of san francisco. we played hide and seek with the city. and happy 21st phatrick. twinkies and chicken and waffles make good birthday feasts.]

[on another note: i don't want this to end.]

"incomprehensible dance"

when words whirlwind
an incomprehensible dance
somewhere between the clutch of my lungs
and the tip of my throat
they trip over the folds of my tongue
like ballerinas over ill-placed rugs

my words don't meet my lips
when i meet you

"let's walk home"

bancroft avenue
one way exit
flows just beside my home
(the beautiful ugly architecture building)
slips downhill past the empty bus stops
smooths gently on down
with me
caught in a stream
i depart
on walks alone
in the wee hours of the morning
sometimes i rush when i'm afraid of the night
but sometimes
i dare the night
i dare it by stopping and spinning in the middle of the street
i dare it to jump me to run me over to wisk me away
i dare it to keep me moving
because i want to stop
the sky cries purple behind the clouds
i find a nice spot on the curb to sit
watch the homeless in search for sleep
and wish i knew
which way to go
sometimes i wonder how i can go back
how i can find my way home
but i can't go back
i can't
i'm on a one way street
i drift on down bancroft avenue
one way exit
i don't want to lose anything to the wind
but you're going pretty soon

"your little brightness"

i'll strive to reach with my fingers
the brightness
radiating from the horizon of your lips
caught in the rise of your laugh

i'll need
your laugh

your little brightness
little swooshes of light
spiraling from inside of you
to inside of me

your little brightness
will keep me glowing

"i have to run"

i have to run i have to run
i have to run until i wail
i have to run until my beating footsteps punch out the entire works of Shakespeare in Morse code
i have to run until my swinging arms pop out of my shoulders like a sputnik into the sky
i have to run until i drown off my pouring sweat and tears
i have to run until my clothes shed me naked against the wind
i have to run until my shadow gives up the chase
i have to run until i convince the Earth to spin the other way for me
i have to run
i have to run

even though i really don't know
if anyone
is waiting for me
but i have to run until i find out

i can't be far off

i need to run
i need to run

I started reading Jack Kerouac again. I don't know how long it'll last. I'm not a big fan of his writing. Just his energy. I remember in high school, I felt like I needed to run. I needed to run until I collapsed. I was never really good at sports. I had two left feet, two left arms, and two left brains. I couldn't catch, I couldn't pass, I coudn't dribble, I couldn't tackle, I couldn't leap. The only thing I could do was run. So I did cross country. In corss country, you don't learn how to run. You learn something else. While running for awhile, you reach a point where you forget the pain in your legs...the thirst in your throat... and you're left alone with your mind. You just follow the motions and you convince yourself that you're flying. I had to know how far I could go. How far my body could take me.

But I still don't know.

i need to run

"schizotypal is a word?"


Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla

Woopie! An online quiz confirms it: I'm caca-crazy. Hooboy.

I've been writing some half-poems. Man, you know what? Home is full of nothing but unfinished art. I went through all my old paintings from high school. All of them are unfinished. The only one I did finish is collecting dust in my ex-friend's garage. It's sad. When Winter Break comes, I'm buying paint.

Oh, home is good. I like food. I hope home is good for you too.

When did my blog become about my art instead of about myself?

I guess when I realized people were actually reading what I had to say. I didn't want everyone to know how I felt. But at the same time, I really had something personal to say too. So I said it all... as metaphors in poems. Sorry for being enigmatic. I'm down to share with you. But let's do it over coffee or cookies. Not online. I can't handle heart to hearts on AIM anymore... well, because AIM is full of miscomprehension. But then again... real life is full of miscomprehension too.

Oh, on another note: I saw JACKASS: The Movie today. Twas chaotic and stupid. I do, however, enjoy the stupid.

Oh, and "Mortimer." That's a cool name. I want to name something "Mortimer." Maybe a future pet. Or future vehicle. Or future child. "Mortimer Cheung?" Hah. Sounds like the kind of guy I'd like to beat up. That's me boy.

"we become stars"

at night,
the stars follow me
i feel
their fingertips along my spine
little prints that they trace
with a dim shine

i see the stars
not as gods not as guides not as goals
but as greetings
and as goodbyes

i turn my back
in haste
to the last light of the day
so that
i can meet the night
and the quiet stains
of light
she leaves all across the sky

the night stains the day and the day stains the night
and me
my eyelids are left pale
as i try to keep up with influx
of sunrises and sunsets

the moon's nowhere in sight
i'm tired of whispering to her shadow

i'll whisper this though
my light
i''ll whisper my light out
onto the inky blackness of tonight
i'll whisper all my all
fill the streets
with every ounce of brightness i have left
so that you and you and you
can trail, pace, walk
all through me
and pick me up
under the sole of your feet
and spread me so far
until i'm nothing
but bight footprints all across the Earth

i'll become stars seeping into the ground
so you
stars in the sky
can look down
and have someone
to greet
and
to goodbye
with

"can't wait"

i spent the whole freaking day in my apartment. i didn't set foot outside the door once. I have this research paper that's due tomorrow and I locked myself up until i get it done. Well... as you can see, that plan failed miserably as it's now past 4 am and i still have about half way to go. Well, I didn't really burn a lot of energy on work. i spent a good part of my day on the usual brouharhar. you know, random reading (i think i almost read the entire "The Little Prince" online), throwing imaginary rock concerts in my room, and the ol' jumping and tumbling on my bed. i also got a chance to go through some of my old writing.

It's kind of nice to spend a lazy day at home. It reminds me of slow summer days with my brother.

i can't wait until i find time to hang out somewhere and spill paint vigorously while listening to a swarm of Radiohead songs.

dude

i can't wait until i can get some serious poetry done and hit up all the slam spots in Berkeley with whoever else wants to accompany me and battle words against angry angst ridden high school bums and dusty chain smoking aging hipsters with bongo drums and colorful Reggae hats. let's all verbally harrass each other in the name of "poetry," oh yo!

dude

i can't wait until falling asleep on the memorial glade.

i can't wait until the next day i dedicate to a bookstore.

i can't wait until i lose myself somewhere and not knowing how to get home

i can't wait until chicken and waffles at 5 am in the morning.

i can't wait until watching the clouds and stars while exchanging ghost stories

dude

i can't wait

i can't

things like these only come

when we don't wait for them

"procrastination"

CDs in heavy rotation in Bruce's apocalyptically pleasant room:

Pixies' Surfer Rosa
Coldplay's Rush of Blood to the Head
Weezer's Blue and Pinkerton
Yves Montand's A Paris
Typical Cats' Typical Cats
Warren G's G Funk Era
and Otis Redding

"A Night Without Poetry"

The Art Showcase has come and gone. Man, organizing it really took its toll on me. I've been beat all week (with the occasional spur of energy.) Kenny's mom came out to the event. That was cool of her. I wish my mom could have been there too. I'd like her to actually see the results of my hard work (especially since the results aren't showing up in my grades.) Sometimes I wish I didn't live so far from home. And sometimes I wish I could breakdance.

Marques and I hit up the Sun Hong Kong after the event was over. That was real cool. It's been a very long time since we sat down and talked. He's a kid who knows me well. There are only a handful of people who are like that. He's been beside me for the past two years - a moment in my life when I really came into my own. He witnessed it, whether he was conscious of it or not.

I want to practice singing.

And writing philosophical booty music.

This is so weird. I just caught Jerry reading my blog. He has to read my blog to know what I'm thinking? He can't just ask me? I think Jerry's shy around me, that's all.

"sleepwalk streets"

at 4 am
i drift out
of your tired apartment

into a strange comfort
in the sleepwalk streets
maybe it's in the way
it's so still
it's so quiet
and my pace is so loud
and it seems like
like i'm the only one awake

if i listen closely
the streets burst
they wail
and i'm the one who hears it

i slip and sleep as i walk

"i'm too cool for stress"

'excel won't save my spreadsheet!'
'i have to census tract what?'
'are the legends in my pie chart correctly formated?'
'is arial font professional looking enough?'
'shit! i can't believe it's already 3!'

bah

stressing out over a paper assignment
(a measely meager city planning paper assignment!)
is a damn shame

i have other things to stress over

like how to stop myself
from growing up

"regular post redux"

i've been burning my creative juices on the upcoming art showcase Kenny and I are putting together. i really don't feel like poetry tonight. nor last night. i don't know what's up. i guess the poet in me is saving himself for Friday. he will perform then. (even though he hasn't finished the piece he wants to perform.)

i have a lot of stories to tell you. but i can't muster the energy to type it all out. yeah, yeah.

oh, i want to star in the television show "Jackass."

would you rather die laughing or die fighting? what about at the same time?

ok man i need to sleep. wait. who i am talking to.

"sunflower daydreams"

my sunflower daydreams
burst wide to the whole world
but topple over
under the weight
of its impossible reach

"dancers in the dark"

dancers in the dark
can't rely on their eyes
they see with something else
an instinct
a rush to fill each moment
with a dare

dancers in the dark
sometimes dance with each other
sometimes dance with each other's shadow

dancers in the dark
stretch to fill the night
with their unbearable lightness

"mister frustrated-poem"

i have to sleep
but i can't

i makeshift mischief
and i drift my hips into the chaotic collision
of the sound of poetry

(or the present lack thereof)

nothing's coming out tonight!
not a verse
not a rhyme
not even a murmur

i have a dizzy silence
roaring thoughts cyclone my head
and they refuse to roll out

i don't know why
i just can't put anything into words right now

i have something to say
i know it
(i just can't right now)

it's pointless to poetry
when i'm suffocating on my own
inaudbile gulps

i'm here
teetering on the brink
always drawn closer and closer to it
but never quite close enough
to say anything

"a change of pace"

tonight's poem
will be visual, audio, and interactive

Lose Focus

to view:
user name: student
password: guest

(i actually made this a couple of weeks ago.)

"papi et mami"

i ghost waltz
with the sprained footprints
of my fading ancestors

i fumble words as we dance
our tongues are hollow to each other
we communicate incomprehensible babbles
me who lost our native language
who whispers in French and English

you know loss well
you spell it S-A-I-G-O-N
pronounce it "family"
define it as identity

my loss is not Vietnam
i never had it to begin with

my loss is you
papi
mami
i weave your broken ghost scrolls
with my own worried words
to write a world
for my seeds to find comfort in

my grandfather's burning stories are dying out
am i the one who's left to tell them?

are my children going to know Vietnam
know the prison camps, the helicopters, and the wartorn streets
or are you going to be faceless speechless and nameless
a lie in a US History book?

i carry your ghost on my back
a child piggybacking his mother
i'm a lost boy in America
when i think about you
i'm so scared to live
i'm so scared to die

sacrifice is an inherited scar

"papi et mami"
i will not give up search
we both know loss well
but i will find you

you
who i don't even know yet

"a reminder"

i confess
i still can't shake you off me
you
a warm tingle brushing constantly
along the stillness of my skin
i'm immobile
as i take the warmth in
i have to remind myself
to breathe
to breathe
to breathe

"poo" (or "how the english language was formed")

poo
a child's word
a seemingly innocent syllable
one of the first exclamations a baby makes
like "mama" "dada" or "googaaa"

poo
a bird's mating call
the opening of the song
"poo-too-tweat!"

poo
poo
poo
spell it backwards and you have oop
as in oops
a mistake
a fault
a drop
usually accompanied by the declaritive exclamation
"shit"

poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo
poo

say it out loud often enough
and you'll find yourself with another funny little sound

hah
hah
hah

"disenchanted doves"

sage francis sings the hip hop hymm:
'We dont need wings to fly
Me and you... we dont need wings to fly
Keep on singing give it a try, give it a try
Just keep on singing give it a try, give it a try'
with such bravador i'm caught
whisked up into the updraft
i hear the echo in his words
an audible reflection
and i believe i'm him
and he's me
and we're all going through the same old shit

'we don't need wings to fly
me and you... we don't need wings to fly'

you're easy to lift
if you're feeling empty on the inside
a worried frown shoved in the rush of cold Berkeley days
do we really fly
or do we actually float drift and glide
along the routines we're used to

'Keep on singing give it a try, give it a try
Just keep on singing give it a try, give it a try'

if you want to lift me up
sing your song
go ahead
give it a try

we can give it a try

"how i clean my room"

i pop in a cd
(beck's sea change)
i scan my mess
(bua poster on the floor, clothing on ikea chair, pastel chalk everywhere)
i scratch my head
(and miss the long hair)
i pick my nose
(an ephemeral guilty pleasure)
i sit on my chair
(tired back slouched over)
i pout a funny face
(for imaginary tv audience)
i go online
(when tired of imaginary friends)
i write a poem
(about my life so far)
and what happens next...
(i don't know)

"i still haven't called you"

fading pencil marks
in the form of your number
marks a napkin roughly tucked
somewhere in the wrinkles of my pocket
i don't think you remember giving it to me
i didn't until i dipped my hand in search of a dollar bill
but now that i have it again
i wonder
what should i do with it?

"a weekend in new york"

i
i
i
i
i
i
i
got lost

not along your intricate subway system
so full of artful mosaic walls along one corner
and vomit stained grafitti holes at the next

nor did i lose myself
at 5 am
on the empty streets somewhere
in between Little Italy and Chinatown
a cold wind against my cheek
and the city at my feet

nor did i dissappear
in a cyclone crowd of friends
spilling drinks at a bar
falling asleep in a subway car

i did however
get lost
in my sketchbook
as i desperately tried
to take you all in

"eyelash run"

i am running
towards the very curvy tip
of today's eyelash
so i may bounce off it
and glide
into tomorrow

"as i let the morning sun in"

i wake up with a faint growl
deep deep deep
in the pit in my chest
not a beat
not a tremor
a slow squeeze
of murmurs
forced out with my gasps

'why
do i have
to wake up
and wake up
and lose you
and lose you
again
and again'

i let go of you
as i let the morning sun in

"honest laugh"

there's something honest
in the way we laugh

a string of melancholy
woven in between giggles

"after dinner"

i like
how
my breath
my hair
my t-shirt
still smell like
Korean food

it means
i ate well

"Haiku on a Cool Evening"

Inky evening
Cool breeze brushes by our hair
French whispers move me

"just to play"

can you understand
the musician
how he wraps his cello on his back
straps skis onto his feet
opens his door to a blizzard
braves the cold for days
pauses on a hill over a snow covered village

can you understand
how he comes all this way
just to play some music
and keep his fingers warm

"another reason why i write poetry"

secrets ache me up

the ones you tell me
quake my insides
my crumbling chest
as much as
the ones i don't tell you

i'll dig a hole
whisper
my words
into a quiet
Earth
hold my breath
close my eyes
and
brush dust
over the hollow ground

why won't i just
whisper
into your ear?

well...
i wouldn't know
where to begin

the only things
that can make me
explode
(whoa oh whoa!)
into a thousand itsy bitsy pieces
are
love
and
rockets

tomorrow's midterm
just happens to be
neither

it ain't no thang

when i'm sad
i tip toe into the kitchen
gently creak open the freezer
and i help myself
to a generous
scoop of ice cream

tonight
i help myself
to two scoops
of ice cream

a cold spoon
slowly warms up
between my lips
i take the cold in
it melts
inside me

i miss
the feeling
of melting

i almost
got hit by a car

me
absent minded
lost in my own
oh so happy
basking in a
chuckle smirk and giggle
a remembrance of a smile
from yesterday

and
silly me
i didn't look
bothways

right behind me
for quick instant
i could hear
an engine of sound and fury
trail off

the thing is
i didn't feel the
least bit rattled

i would have died laughing

rest isn't really
rest
when you're
restless

unless
you're able to find
rest
not in a pause
not in a silence
but in
a dance
a pull
a song
a meal
a stretch

rest
doesn't always lie
hip to hip
with those
waiting
pausing
holding their breath

i am
still
oh so still
tonight

not even
a hand clap
nor
a cool finger snap
will wake me

"let me rest
please
let me rest"
i repeat
in a moment
of bliss and
forgetfulness

my body aches
my eyes drop
my voice dries out

but
soon enough
i recall
the thing that makes me go

a smile
mine or yours
it doesn't really matter

i go
and go
and go and go
and go and go and go

for a smile

the curtains pull back
the audience spirit away

the laughters still
the sighs stiller

it's all over

am i
hero
or
divine fool
for finding comfort
in the tremble
of other people's hearts

haha

i don't care
who i'll be

we have a fucking good show

a little kid
called me
"bad man"

maybe he knows
how dreams
can make you crazy
or
maybe he knows
not to trust
a big hair man in a red kung fu suit

but either way
the kid knows something
more than i'll ever know

i like kids

"you're beautiful"

my whisper floats
to a shadow
a slight specter
vanishing
under the dim curve
of a curtain

can i chase something
that's already gone?

let's get lost
and twirl
and twirl
and twirl

my life
is on pause

as always

i drift
in slow motion
daydreams
in everyday walks

I feel the rain!
The fall of a thousand black holes
Each a beautiful empty wreck
That crashes against the stutter of my skin
Me
Who forgets to breathe
In the absence of your touch

How can I begin
when I haven't forgotten
your seeping footprints
left behind after the rain

please
don't watch the tide
as you hold your breath
and wish for the sun
on the other side

please
don't tremble
the damp air
doesn't deserve your stir
don't be
here
if all you seek
is comfort and companionship
in the faint echo of
an ocean

please
let me build you
a bridge of bones
out of my own
so you can take a step
across this sea

@#$#$&!!!

sometimes I can't express the way I feel with these poetic stanzas.

i'll talk to you later.

when i'm more agile with words.

and less of an asshole.

I am
no longer
the little bowl-haircut boy
who coughs dreams
with every single breath

my hairstyle
is different now

theatre rice
should be renamed
theatre hell in your pants

we're pyromaniacs baby
and your pants
look pretty damn combustible
right about now

shhhh!
we set a fire
in 160 Dwinelle
tonight
a small mock fire
it left us a little burnt
but it's for the best

for next week
the towering inferno bonfire
in 155 Dwinelle
come as you are
bring your friends
you firewood you

do you know what you do
when your pants are on fire?

you try to run run run
chase the burn burn burn
then you
stop
drop
and rock and roll

it's getting hot in here
Nelly has no idea
but neither do you
about the hell you're in for

you should just
come to our show
naked

save yourself the embarassment
of taking clothes off
in public

no wait
wear pants

we're not called
theatre hell in your pants
for nothing

today i'll forget
that's the first thing i said
when i woke up

today is a day that i'll forget

(like the one before
and the one before)

i'm raking routine
off the midautumn ground
and maybe
i'll scrape myself off it too

this must be the fall semester blues
this must be the fall semester blues

time moves too fast
not when you're having fun
but when you're not

i try to latch onto moments
to strum the guitar in the sun
to play five seconds of tags
to boil potstickers and pasta

but
as i sit here
as i try to remember my day
i know it's too late

we're already memories

if i could
i'll play the spanish guitar
cyclone down its slender neck
glide down its brown curves
tickle its gasps out

but that's not it

i'll become an Asian American guitar God
tour with Radiohead
play a ballet of ballads
all the while echoing
(underneath all my
abstract lyrics)
"don't you see
what you
youyouyou
make me do?"

Theatre Rice went well today. I think tonight was the first we pulled off a complete full run through. Things are going good. I have another poem or two in me tonight, but I'd rather not share the poetry that I find embarassing (because of what I say.) You know what. It's weird when people know more about me than I think they know about me. I guess word gets around and secrets are spilled sometimes. But that's cool. It's not like I'm the Man with No Name.

The only thing worse
than thinking about
girls
while studying
is thinking about
updating your blog
while studying

no
thinking about
girls
is
much much worse

thinking about
blog
is just
disturbing

if i could talk to my shadow
he'll tell me:

"go to sleep
your desk light keeps me up
I'd like to disappear
even if it's just for a little while"

but I'll just reply:

"shadow!
my brother man!
if i turn off the lights
it's not you
who will disappear"

I find
with much relunctance
only an echo
of past conversations
already lost
along the deadend highways
of rewinding lips

but then
I find
a face
you
you stare at the moon and smile

and me
I find
not something revolutionary
nor particularly startling
simply
a wonder

Just got back from San Francisco. I went there with Kathy, Jimmy, Luca, Allison, Olivia and Olivia's friend (whose name I've already forgotten.) We were supposed to go to this "Cinema Electronica" film screening, which featured a DJ Shadow music video directed by Wong Kar Wai, but we weren't able to get tickets. So we got ice cream (the 8 scoop EARTHQUAKE... ohhh man... still so full right now...) and watched Spirited Away instead. Spirited Away is a cartoon directed by Hayao Miyasaki, the artist who made Princess Mononoke and Totorro. It's a really impressive movie. One of the most beautiful pieces of film that I've seen in awhile. I'm so in awe with the movie. I don't want to forget the world I've seen tonight.

Today is a very serendipitous day.

Good times chilling. Under a tree by the GBC. In the shade by Martin Luther King Jr. Or in the secret garden in front of Dwinelle.

Sorry for the lack of details. I'll show you where I go if you find me. Or if I find you.

Really good feeling: "I would like to extend my gratitude to Kevin and Bruce for starting writer's block. It is just amazing, and the perfect venue for creativity. This is what being at a university is all about!"

It's really satisfying to know that the effort I put into an endeavor makes a difference... it makes times like these - these so called "dark" moments... when I question why I take on so much instead of taking it easy - a cool breeze to go through. How do I deal with the seemingly countless things I take on?

I think of certain people, and the rest is easy.

Sooner or later, I'm going to have no room to breathe and there'll be a slithering battalion of homework, midterms, Theatre Rice rehearsals, and APASD meetings just dying to meet me. It's going to happen, I know it. But I'll be prepared this time. I'm going to go to the library tomorrow night to catch up on reading. No more playtime for Bruce. Well, not until the weekend, at least. No. Stop. Stop thinking of fun, Bruce. Bad! Da! Da!

Yesterday's June Jordan memorial reaffirmed one thing again (that I always seem to forget): we are the ones we've been waiting for. She used poetry to gather, save, and change people, including herself. She didn't wait for things to happen. She straight up wrote it and spoke.

I try to live life without regrets, but, well, I felt a slight Regret today and a slight sigh snuck out.

"What happens to a dream when no one dream anymore?"
"They become ghosts."

We just had out first Theatre Rice comedy troupe meeting this morning. We had some swanky cool ideas. Since all my creative energy has been dedicated to serious stuff for awhile now, it's a real relief to get into comedy again. I'm actually really excited about this show. I have this big badass vision for it. I hope we (the mighty comedy troupers) connect and bond. I still remember a good feeling from awhile back: when we finished our first show ever (Luca, Brian, Jes, Cyrus, me, et al...) and we all sang "Say It Ain't So" by Weezer as the audience left... man... good times, good times.

Today is June Jordan's memorial service. Rest in peace.

Today is also Alice and Aimee's house warming party.

I went to SF this morning with Allison for our City Planning project assignment. Malls are unexciting. Clutching to Muni hand rails for your dear life is. I like pretending to be a detective. Add to my To Do List: get dressed up, sneak into office buildings, and makeshift mischief on the inside.

Marques, Ben, Tallulah, and Leigh-Anne came over tonight to hang out. Tallulah pulled a "Bruce" and kicked a sock ball at my wall but it accidentally hit a framed picture, which fell and knocked over a drink. Now I know how it feels like to be the victim of accidental chaos. Oh sweet irony...

I met a homeless person named �Sonny� who was setting up a sleeping bag in the park. He told me about how his mom used to take him to Duboce Park when he was a little kid. Now he lives there day by day. I have a feeling he comes back there to remember.

I do that too sometimes.

With a gentle tug from my music.

Just made this digital art thing. For fun, I guess. I spent way too much time on it (a couple of hours.) I usually play with photoshop to relax but I was really stressing the whole time I was on it. And I'm not even happy with what I made. In fact, I hate it (probably because of I had no fun making it. At all.) Why did I do this again? To relax? Ooh. Good job, jackass.

I'm feeling a little on the edge right now. That's what happens when you're sleep deprived and broke. Lack of sleep and money are things that I don't really get upset over. I can usually manage for awhile without very much of either them. But it's just a not so good time for me, I guess.

I feel like an avalanche of Radiohead, Sage Francis, and Weezer songs right now, playing all at once. You might know the feeling.

StudLeeBC: you watch
StudLeeBC: it's gonna be the best blog update ever
chenni jen: yeahhh

nahh, i lied.

I think I really do need a mentor. I feel lost right now in this whole architecture-cognitive science thing. I have too many ideas in my head and I can't express all of them. I have too many visions and not enough time or method. I don't need one mentor. I need ten of them. Someone who knows architecture and design. Someone who understands people. Someone who's an artist. Someone who dares to push the limits. Someone who is an educator. Someone who is a philosopher. Someone who knows digital design. Someone who's an anthropologist. Someone who's in Ethnic Studies. Someone who has failed.

I think I've been waiting for them to find me. I need to go out and find them. I never want to teach more than I can learn.

I have to go to Brazil. Decarlo told me about it today. I think I really am a lot like Tallulah. But not too.

What was my master plan again? Last year, it was "save the whole f*cking world."

I'm revising it: "change the world."

It can be a crowd or a single person.

Want a good quick read? "On Seeing 100% Perfect Girl on a Beautiful April Morning" at http://www.geocities.com/softalarm/repeat/

It's the story of our lives.

This week, I have dreams of becoming a hip hop artist. Yes, yes, unrealistic, I know. But who knows? I have some wit. And some poetic nerves. And a little chaos too. It's a long shot. But what if this "what if" comes true, you know? A better question would probably be "why"? I'm a personal journalist. I have stuff to say. Why not saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannggg it?

Tomorrow I have to control my homework.

I fight for a voice, a murmur that glides of the slope of two lips. Yes and no. I charge and go. Back to the face, of anyone, with a voice.

The Optimus Prime Party (aka Jerry's B-Day and our house warming party) is now over. It was real fun. It's good to see all these random people from different parts of Berkeley life mingle together. I passed out for a little bit (thanks to Jen Tran) but I'm good now. I hope I didn't act too much like jackass. All apologies if I was a jerk. I was just trying to have some mindless fun. Thanks y'all for coming. It's good to find some friendly faces.

Happy 20th Jerry.

In Cog Sci discussion we watched a video that had a segment on someone who damaged a part of his brain and now has constant memory loss. Like what happened in the movie Memento. Every moment is a completely new one for him. When he talks, he already starts to forget the last thing he said. It's like he's constantly waking up. He doesn't remember anything except for two things: his love for his wife (who he doesn't consciously recognize) and his ability to read, play, and conduct music.

My first year of college seems so far away now. I found all my old stuff in a box I left in the Bricky Attic. It's funny how everything that meant something to me a year or two ago now fits into a simple box.

Waking up in places I don't know is momentarily exciting. Until the contact lenses start feeling crusty.

Alex and I hit up the Theatre Rice auditions today after settling into our apartment. We're auditioning for spots on the new Theatre Rice roster. I hope we both get in. I wrote a bunch of stuff on the bus this morning and I recited it as my audition piece. Just imagine me rambling because that's basically what I did. In a cool way. Yes. Cool.

Funny moment: When Jerry sat on the Chill Chair and it collapsed on him. Ahh. The slapstick joys of apartment life.

I'm itching for some new music. But I don't want to spend money on more CDs. I miss the CD swapping system that was happening over the summer. I need to burn CDs! Burn 'em all!

Tonight is my first night at the apartment. Hoo boy. The roommates went home for the weekend so I have the place all to myself. I invited Allison and Jenny over to watch Amelie. Luca showed up a little later too. We were chillin' out, maxin', and relaxin' all cool. Woohoo... they're the first guests to come over and chill at the apartment. Popcorn and Vitasoy is nice, by the way.

Tomorrow is my brother's birthday. Ho ho.

Battle Royale. What a crazy freaking movie. Ultraviolent too. Imagine "Lord of the Flies" on crack. Evil crack. And semiautomatic guns, scythes, and Japanese 7th graders. But it's a good movie! Intensely hypnotic and chaotic. It's a Japanese movie that's hard to find in America, but if you find it online, download it! Download it and cry (not of glee, not of fear, but a little bit of both at the same time... what? No, I didn't cry. No way. That was Marques.)!

Speaking of good foreign films: Chungking Express by Wong Kar Wai. I love that movie. That and Amelie. They're all good wholesom fun. Kinda like Army of Darkness but with more heart. And no chainsaw battles or medieval zombies.

I'm in Benmarq now. Ben and Marques' room. I'm spending the night in APATH because the bus home never came. They're both respectfully talking to their respective girlfriends on their respective cell phones right now. Something is missing in this picture: my girlfriend (and lack thereof.) But heh. I'm not gonna get sentimental on you. Not yet. I wanna keep this journal girl-free for now.

Tomorrow, I move into my apartment. The days of Hotel life, housekeeping, and sauna apas are about to be over. The days of apartment life, microwave meat, and dirty bathrooms are about to begin. Yay!!! (as Aimee, or Jimmy impersonating Aimee, would say.)

I'm an eternal freshman. I'm always lost on this campus. I bet you are too. It's fun being lost. It keeps you on your toes. Aimee and Jimmy agreed that the semester is going by really fast. I digress. It's been slow days. Good slow days. Highlighted by quiet moments in the sun. Or in indoor pools.

That's right. We threw a pool party a few days ago at the hotel. It was a lot of fun. What do you expect when you put fun random friends in a pool, a hot tub, and a scalding hot sauna? Chaos and chlorine, that's what. Oh babay. I've been working out too, by the way. Check out my biceps sometime. You can't miss them.

(Bruce rapping) My name is Kurtis Blow, and I want you to know, that these are the breaksssssss.

I wonder if Architecture and Cognitive Science is going to mix well. Haha. Who cares. Wait. I do.

In City Planning 110, I convinced everyone my name is Brodie, and not Bruce. Next semester, I think I'm going to be Lop. Lop Cheung. Hahaha. (Lop Cheung is a Chinese fatty sausage... but you've probably heard that joke already, I use it too much... and it's not even a funny joke.)

Another random thing: this other Berkeley student girl got off with me at the Marina bus stop. I figure since we're headed in the same direction, we can make some friendly conversation on the way back. But the second she steps off the bus, she runs, nay, darts to the Hotel. But here's the funny part: she's a small girl with small legs, so her steps are very small. so she's not going very fast. She's running fast, but she's not covering much ground. If you can, imagine watching Speedy Gonzales running on a treadmill pulled by tractor. That's about how fast she was going. Hehe.

Did you know a gander is a male goose?

Ok. As you can see, I'm running out of things to say. I'm a little lost too. I don't really know what to talk about. I'm sorry. Next time, you're going to read a journal entry that isn't a complete waste of time. That's not an empty promise. You watch.. er, read!

Blog sucks. I wrote an entire journal entry. I lost it. I wrote it again. And I lost it again.

I wrote that I'm used to losing things in the now lost journal entry. I lied. I'm not.

Italian food with some old friends. I think that's a good way to end another summer vacation. Mike Richter, Jimmy, and Tazor (aka Luca) are always good company.

I smile when I think about the bus ride home tonight. No. Not really smile. I have good feelings when I think about it. I'm too tired to smile. I witnessed two strangers, an old man and a young man, meet and exchange short words about art. One was at the beginning of his art career. The other, at his end. Not a monumental moment. Just a good encounter with someone you'll probably never see again.

Random memory: Of Little Nemo. In a dusty comic book store. With ice cream stains on the floor.

Saunas and hot tubs are fun. Apartment banishments are not. One day, I will have my own place in Berkeley.

It's been a long morning/afternoon/evening. Jeremy gave me his trucker hat. It keeps me going (through bad hair days.)

Tomorrow I hit up campus. Sunday Sproul time. It's been awhile. I hope to see you around soon. We should hang out. Get something to drink. Laugh. Share a plesant silence or two. And watch people walk on by.

Now I need to shower. Must wash away stink of chlorine (thanks Jerry for helping me spell that.)

(I've had the same dream two nights in a row. I don't think I'll blog about it though. This isn't a dream journal.)

"But that night, in his burning bed, he understood that he had to go see her, even if he were not capable. He got dressed by feel, listening in the dark to his brother's calm breathing, the dry cough of his father in the next room, the asthma of the hens in the courtyard, the buzz of the mosquitoes, the beating of his heart, and the inordinate bustle of a world he had not noticed until then, and he went out into the sleeping street."
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude, a book that I'm reading right now... dope read!

I sometimes want to recreate moments. That's always the post-moment, late night, lying in bed, afterthought.

Oh, I finally managed to put my resume online with Blog's templates after multiple failed attempts at trying to use HTML. If you want, you can check it out at http://brucecheung.blogspot.com but I don't know why you would want to do that. Unless you want to hire me. I make a good saboteur and/or piggy backer.

But the sad part is I was just looking at my schedule for next semester and I'm not sure if I can handle another job. Man. I'm gonna be pretty busy next semester. 17 units. Theatre Rice. APA Student Development Office Internship. New Apartment. Sounds pretty hefty... but I'm confident I can handle it. After ED11b, everything seems do-able.

"Do-able"? Is that a word? Know what's a cool word? "Digable." As in "Digable Planets." Man, I wish they got back together. I could use some jazz right about now.

Tomorrow I road trip to Berkeley with mom and Jeremy... shabooyah!

I'm wondering about my Denizen Kane CD. I ordered it online awhile ago and I've yet to get it. I hope it finds its way. I need to burn some CDs and hook some people up with some music. That's the Rob Gordon (see previous journal entry) side of me thinking outloud. All I wanna do is make mixtapes for people.

Home is vitasoy aplenty.

Got some bad news from Alex on AIM today. I can't move into my apartment until Saturday. SATURDAY! That's like, two days before school starts! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, man.

In case you don't know yet, I'm going to live with my friends Alex and Jerry next year. And a guy named Jason, who I don't know yet. We're going to throw a party sometime soon: The Optimus Prime Party (no connection to Sheng's Voltron House Parties.) And don't worry... you're invited. Yes. You.

So far, I've been diggin' my different living situations in college. At the dorms, I lived with Marques. It was chaotic. It was prank filled. It was restless. It was fun. Over the summer, I lived with Denise and Michelle. Kick back. Playful. And I felt a little pampered heh. I don't want to prepetuate stereotypes but living with girls rules! So I dunno. I'm looking forward to this next semester. I hope it's gonna be good living.

What do you do when your friends have sad away message on AIM? Like "Don't wanna talk." Or ":(." Do you simply IM them an "aww" or "feel better?" Situations like that feel so impersonal. Emotions aren't conveyed too well over the internet. It's real hard when people pour their hearts into AIM (or ICQ, or mIRC, or Blog) and whatever they're trying to express doesn't come out clear to whoever is on the otherside.

PS:
soks2626: Here, call this guy
soks2626: Chris Hudson
soks2626: 510-668-0302
Online reminder for myself. Stupid apartment management (aka panoramic interests.)

Home is real good. I'm waiting for dinner right now. Mom's Vietnamese Pork Stew. It smells damn good. I need to become a better cook. Like I need to become a better writer or digital artist. It's just one of those things I want to stretch myself in.

Random memory: Of Junichi Semitsu. Crying. As he reads a poem at the last Poetry 4 the People student reading. June Jordan, who passed away in May, asked him to close with her poem "On A New Year's Eve." I just came stumbled upon this poem while shuffling through my old stuff. Here, I'll share it with you (I'll post my stuff here in this Blog too. After a rewrite or two.)

ON A NEW YEAR'S EVE

Infinity doesn't interest me

not altogether
anymore

I crawl and kneel and grub about
I beg and listen for

what can go away
(as easily as love)

or perish
like the children
running
hard on oneway streets/infinity
doesn't interest me

not anymore

not even
repetition your/my/eye-
lid or the colorings of sunrise
or all the sky excitement
added up

is not enough

to satisfy this lusting admiration that I feel
for
your brown arm before it
moves

MOVES
CHANGES UP

the temporary sacred
tales ago
first bikeride round the house
when you first saw a squat
opossum
carry babies on her back

opossum up
in the persimmon tree
you reeling toward
that natural
first
absurdity
with so much wonder still
it shakes your voice

the temporary is the sacred
takes me out

and even the stars and even the snow and even
the rain
do not amount to much unless these things submit to some disturbance
some derangement such
as when I yield myself/belonging
to your unmistaken
body

and let the powerful lock up the canyon/mountain
peaks the
hidden rivers/waterfalls the
deepdown minerals/the coalfields/goldfields
diamond mines close by the whoring ore
hot
at the center of the earth

spinning fast as numbers
I cannot imagine

let the world blot
obliterate remove so-
called
magnificence
so-called
almighty/fathomless and everlasting
treasures/
wealth
(whatever that may be)

it is this time
that matters

it is this history
I care about

the one we make together
awkward
inconsistent
as a lame cat on the loose
or quick as kids freed by the bell
or else as strictly
once
as only life must mean
a once upon a time

I have rejected propaganda teaching me
about the beautiful
the truly rare

(supposedly
the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore
supposedly
the soft push of the ocean at the hushpoint of the shore
is beautiful
for instance)
but
the truly rare can stay out there

I have rejected that
abstraction that enormity
unless I see a dog walk on the beach/
a bird seize sandflies
or yourself
approach me
laughing out a sound to spoil
the pretty picture
make an uncontrolled
heartbeating memory
instead

I read the papers preaching on
that oil and oxygen
that redwoods and the evergreens
that trees the waters and the atmosphere
compile a final listing of the world in
short supply

but all alive and all the lives
persist perpetual
in jeopardy
persist
as scarce as every one of us
as difficult to find
or keep
as irreplaceable
as frail
as every one of us

and
as I watch your arm/your
brown arm
just before it moves

I know

all things are dear
that disappear

all things are dear
that disappear

- June Jordan

Ok. I make an online journal and I take online quizzes. I need to start having cool journal entries. Like about defying the laws of gravity, or partying with De La Soul, or growing a new thumb. Or at least something else. Oh well. Here are the test results.


Which John Cusack Are You?


What Pattern Are You?


Take The Ewan McGregor Test!

Yo (part deux)

Ok. Aimee's keyboard went ballistic on me and I have to start this journal entry all over again. Ok, everyone, I need to talk to my Blog for a second. Everyone just skip the next two paragraph and read the rest of this entry, ok?

Everyone gone? Good. Blog, it's my first official entry and already you screw me over. Actually, technically, the keyboard screwed me over, but you're the reason why I used the keyboard in the first place. Look. I'm not a big fan of these online journal things to begin with. But I read them anyway like a sucker. Or a creep. Or a stalker. I'll just pour the gravy on straight. I'm a busy guy (hey, I got plans) so I'm going to neglect you. I also have a sketchbook that I get creative with on the side (if you know what I mean), so if you're the jealous type, hey not my problem. I'm also not going to share my truly inner most feelings and thoughts with you because hey, I don't feel comfortable online (and that asshole might be reading this.)

But I'll tell you what I will do though: I'll be funny. I'll be boring. I'll be political. I'll be intelligent. I'll be incomprehensible. I'll be childish. I'll be bitter. I'll be juicy. I'll be awkward. I'll be a philosopher. I'll be a braggart. I'll be an artist. I'll be a jerk. That's what I am: I'm a child of contrast. That suburban radical. That loud shy guy. That clumsy athelete. That cynic dreamer. I'm probably you too. The impersonal personal journalist. Does this make me a bad writer? Or a liar? Or a hypocrite? I dunno. I'll just flow and you'll just catch me.

Ok y'all. You can come back now.

Today this happened to me:
- I freestyled.
- I drew comics during my final.
- I met someone from Brown university.
- I made a "thank you" card out of tiny fiber glass.
- I called home.
- I ran in the cold.
- I got caught sneaking through someone's kitchen.
- I ate three sandwhiches. Maybe a fourth in a little bit.

Times like this make me wish I had a car. I don't like asking people for rides. I'm going back to LA tomorrow and I need a ride to the airport. Well, I don't really need one. It's a luxury. I'll take the BART. And hopefully write a poem or two. When I plan in advance to write a poem, it doesn't usually happen. But I'll try. I'd write one now but I gotta take care of the Blog. Yes. Excuses, excuses. I live by them and hide behind them.

There are two kinds of days for me: lazy days and hyper days. You know hyper days. The moment you wake up, you feel like you want and can do everything in the world. Today wasn't one of those days. I'll tell you about a hyper day when I have one.

Rap and talk with me sometime. We'll share secrets. Or sunsets. Or steak. Unless you don't eat red meat... I don't wanna discriminate.

So this is my blog... wow. Do I feel orange.