"schizotypal is a word?"


Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
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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