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.