SUIKA JAPANESE SNACKBAR
Words to make your mouth water!
THE RESTAURANT THOUGHTS ON THIS PAGE ARE REAL. THE CHARACTERS MAY OR MAY NOT BE.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental(?)
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental(?)
CLICK ABOVE TO BE WHISKED AWAY
LIFE: SHARING TOO MUCH
STORY WRITTEN: OCTOBER 2015
LAST VISIT: 11 APRIL 2015
STORY REWORKED: JUNE 2017
LAST VISIT: 11 APRIL 2015
STORY REWORKED: JUNE 2017
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PART 1
PRISON YARD
PRISON YARD
“It’s fantastic when you travel the world by yourself. I think it shows a ton of character.”
Pause. He looks at me. His face is... odd.
“I wish you would die.”
The man sitting next to him once said to me.
“I overheard you talk (overheard) — you don’t think like the rest of us.”
Friday night sucks.
To his right stood another man, a bitch: can a man be?
He overheard a conversation I had, a week before. In the conversation I questioned the selfishness of women in their 60s having children.
To which he asked me:
“What are you, a Nazi?”
I’m not.
Pause. He looks at me. His face is... odd.
“I wish you would die.”
The man sitting next to him once said to me.
“I overheard you talk (overheard) — you don’t think like the rest of us.”
Friday night sucks.
To his right stood another man, a bitch: can a man be?
He overheard a conversation I had, a week before. In the conversation I questioned the selfishness of women in their 60s having children.
To which he asked me:
“What are you, a Nazi?”
I’m not.
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A mere few feet to his right stood another—a friend. This man knows the struggles of my writing quest. Yet:
“How’s your writing hobby coming along?”
Yet, again, he has a penchant for sharing everything about his life—as if it is actually: sharing, is the norm.
His significant other hasn’t worked in 4-years—but without hesitation is painted as a great person—who are we to judge.
“We’ve opened up our relationship.”
Lightness turned dark. I asked:
I feel the urge to comment. I feel like less of a person when I do. I resist. Maybe, I just did?
I need a break. I look over my right shoulder—a racist—at least her comments from the past—so much so that racist is the only judgement. I reach out. I give her another chance. Please don’t be racist crossed my mind.
“How’s your writing hobby coming along?”
Yet, again, he has a penchant for sharing everything about his life—as if it is actually: sharing, is the norm.
His significant other hasn’t worked in 4-years—but without hesitation is painted as a great person—who are we to judge.
“We’ve opened up our relationship.”
Lightness turned dark. I asked:
- Are you bragging?
- Are you telling me because you feel guilty?
I feel the urge to comment. I feel like less of a person when I do. I resist. Maybe, I just did?
I need a break. I look over my right shoulder—a racist—at least her comments from the past—so much so that racist is the only judgement. I reach out. I give her another chance. Please don’t be racist crossed my mind.
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I’m naive. I don’t understand the point. Sure the world is fractured—we all need to find a way to stop being part of the fracturing—that is a responsibility greed carries solo.
This isn’t a PRISON YARD. It’s a local watering hole. It should be a happy place—where the patrons need to be grateful because they can afford a fucking drink. I may be insane to subject myself to...
Please don’t be racist crossed my mind once more.
I SHARE
“I’m going to Bellingham tomorrow to work with my “hobby” editor. Crossing the border is always an adventure. The border guards are frustrating. One of them once told me that everybody crossing the border lies. I don’t lie, I said to her.”
Please don’t...
“Asians are the liars. Every single one of them, they make it worse for the rest of us.”
Maybe this is a PRISON YARD.
I hope she reads this.
I feel sad.
At work today: June 2017—a worker was in handcuffs in front of the office.
Another worker in his late fifties chose to comment.
“You’re down a worker. A brown guy is being arrested; bleeping (n-word).
My blood curdles.
“Do not, fucking, talk that way, ever again.”
He will.
I should have asked: Do you feel better about yourself now?
TODAY I FINISHED READING: The Audacity of Hope - Barack Obama—wonderful!
This isn’t a PRISON YARD. It’s a local watering hole. It should be a happy place—where the patrons need to be grateful because they can afford a fucking drink. I may be insane to subject myself to...
Please don’t be racist crossed my mind once more.
I SHARE
“I’m going to Bellingham tomorrow to work with my “hobby” editor. Crossing the border is always an adventure. The border guards are frustrating. One of them once told me that everybody crossing the border lies. I don’t lie, I said to her.”
Please don’t...
“Asians are the liars. Every single one of them, they make it worse for the rest of us.”
Maybe this is a PRISON YARD.
I hope she reads this.
I feel sad.
At work today: June 2017—a worker was in handcuffs in front of the office.
Another worker in his late fifties chose to comment.
“You’re down a worker. A brown guy is being arrested; bleeping (n-word).
My blood curdles.
“Do not, fucking, talk that way, ever again.”
He will.
I should have asked: Do you feel better about yourself now?
TODAY I FINISHED READING: The Audacity of Hope - Barack Obama—wonderful!
Hana keep walking, help me escape the YARD.
Let’s grab a bite together, you and me; and, your friends!
Shall we dump the hostility of ignorance as we chow down?
The story is about to pivot, thankfully!
Let’s grab a bite together, you and me; and, your friends!
Shall we dump the hostility of ignorance as we chow down?
The story is about to pivot, thankfully!
PART 2
VISIT No. 6: MESS HALL
VISIT No. 6: MESS HALL
The most deliciously voyeuristic food stories online!
Much like visits one thru five, Suika delivered. I love the place.
Saturday noon-time was sparkling. I saddled up the wheels, heading to the restaurant with my dear friends Su Jin + Jeong Wan Lee. I was prepared to be swallowed by lies. Koreans are the worst.
Su Jin, is a lasting beauty, her charm and giddiness grow on you the more time spent with her. By lasting, I mean: she is real not a touched-up glamour magazine cover. She’s delightful. My cat occasionally lashes out at her.
Jeong Wan is simply put: a great guy. In the future: when he’s dispatched back to Korea to serve 2-years mandatory military duty, he takes the time to write a personal note to each of his friends and acquaintances. He cares about people—never to a fault.
Saturday noon-time was sparkling. I saddled up the wheels, heading to the restaurant with my dear friends Su Jin + Jeong Wan Lee. I was prepared to be swallowed by lies. Koreans are the worst.
Su Jin, is a lasting beauty, her charm and giddiness grow on you the more time spent with her. By lasting, I mean: she is real not a touched-up glamour magazine cover. She’s delightful. My cat occasionally lashes out at her.
Jeong Wan is simply put: a great guy. In the future: when he’s dispatched back to Korea to serve 2-years mandatory military duty, he takes the time to write a personal note to each of his friends and acquaintances. He cares about people—never to a fault.
Breaking bread or twirling noodles is a blessing—I’m grateful. And besides, our time together is always filled with laughter.
I find there are two kinds of dining dates:
I find there are two kinds of dining dates:
- The type who are only there for the food.
- And, the type who are there because we are supposed to connect, on some level; at least.
I find the eaters who are mostly North American, for them (us), food is a rushed endeavor during hectic days. Plates of food aren’t to be shared. Shoveling food into your mouth as fast as you can, fearing it may be your last meal—is commonplace. We’re stressed, rushed, and stupid. Not all of us, of course.
When it comes to food some people become mentally disorganized. Much like: Costco Shoppers; Ikea Shoppers; and anyone, riding BC Ferries.
Off tangent: I’ll add a third category to types of dining dates:
When it comes to food some people become mentally disorganized. Much like: Costco Shoppers; Ikea Shoppers; and anyone, riding BC Ferries.
Off tangent: I’ll add a third category to types of dining dates:
- Client lunches.
Which usually, don’t involve, rushing, but instead; provide a means to escape the drudgery of the work day. These lunches are often doused in alcohol—if the client is game?
OMG, I’m on the ferry. The ride is 1.5 hours. Must eat... must eat... Do these jeans make me look fat?
Never answer.
OMG, I’m on the ferry. The ride is 1.5 hours. Must eat... must eat... Do these jeans make me look fat?
Never answer.
Back to the fibbing Koreans: It was time to share a wonderful array of taste sensations. Our server broke into the conversation we were enjoying to deliver our soon-to-be-discovered scrumptious selections to our MESS HALL TABLE.
I grabbed a piece of chicken. It slipped from my fingers—pirouetting into the flaming moat protecting us from the outside world. My chicken lingered in the heat of the sauce. I pulled it out, took a bite, my mouth was infused by an inferno of death. I cried out in agony.
Actually, borrowing a page from the dishonest Asians, I lied: it wasn’t all that hot, instead; tangy, with a sweet after taste, yummy.
- Beef Cutlet, perfectly cooked, sliced into shareable bite-sized melt-in-your-mouth morsels.
- Hellz Chicken, with a side plate for the sauce, our affable server's suggestion: as the safe way to go.
I grabbed a piece of chicken. It slipped from my fingers—pirouetting into the flaming moat protecting us from the outside world. My chicken lingered in the heat of the sauce. I pulled it out, took a bite, my mouth was infused by an inferno of death. I cried out in agony.
Actually, borrowing a page from the dishonest Asians, I lied: it wasn’t all that hot, instead; tangy, with a sweet after taste, yummy.
WE ORDERED MORE
- Yellowtail Carpaccio
- Mackerel Sushi
More yummy, a fantastic day with great friends, no protecting our food from the other inmates, no lining up to the trough—or, the IKEA EXIT-WAY—because they are giving away hot dogs (almost).
The place was packed. Almost half of the diners were Asian children that I’d guess would be under the age of 8. For the future border line-up destroyers who have a penchant for alternative facts—they were amazingly well behaved.
BEFORE PRESSING FORWARD TO PART 3
I’ve dined with people from the YARD before—it’s usually entertaining—we don’t share food. My food is mine. We protect what’s ours. The odd inmate, one in particular, each time we dine together: likes to share with the server, vocally; every food he hates, detailing why... it’s like being with an awkward uncle—definitely (un)enjoyable.
When the food arrives when dining with YARD-MATES: talking usually ceases, we’re there to eat. I prefer to talk.
Isn't food mean't to be a prop to bring us together?
To bring love + joy?
Don’t you think we all need to take a deep breath and slow down—learn from other cultures?
By sharing, I don’t mean: We’ve opened up our relationship.
BEFORE PRESSING FORWARD TO PART 3
I’ve dined with people from the YARD before—it’s usually entertaining—we don’t share food. My food is mine. We protect what’s ours. The odd inmate, one in particular, each time we dine together: likes to share with the server, vocally; every food he hates, detailing why... it’s like being with an awkward uncle—definitely (un)enjoyable.
When the food arrives when dining with YARD-MATES: talking usually ceases, we’re there to eat. I prefer to talk.
Isn't food mean't to be a prop to bring us together?
To bring love + joy?
Don’t you think we all need to take a deep breath and slow down—learn from other cultures?
By sharing, I don’t mean: We’ve opened up our relationship.
At times: SHARES.
I think some things are meant to remain private, because they tend to be yucky, at least to me.
SHARING TIP No. 1
Intimate life is meant to be intimate. There are roughly 7.5 billion people on this planet—a lot of sex happens (even on ferries—probably at Ikea) daily—sharing yours makes you sound... finish my thought yourself.
Wait, I may be interested if you have a story about doing it at: Costco; Ikea; or on a Ferry.
Come to think of it: I may have done it once on a BC Ferry.
Or, did I?
I think some things are meant to remain private, because they tend to be yucky, at least to me.
SHARING TIP No. 1
Intimate life is meant to be intimate. There are roughly 7.5 billion people on this planet—a lot of sex happens (even on ferries—probably at Ikea) daily—sharing yours makes you sound... finish my thought yourself.
Wait, I may be interested if you have a story about doing it at: Costco; Ikea; or on a Ferry.
Come to think of it: I may have done it once on a BC Ferry.
Or, did I?
PART 3
TIME TO REFLECT?
TIME TO REFLECT?
DATELINE: 8 DECEMBER 2012
Depression comes in the form of
long swaths of a clock's second-hand as it subtracts time from alone...
long swaths of a clock's second-hand as it subtracts time from alone...
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I’m not a drunk. I never thought I was.
If you remember my last post on restaurant thoughts: THE RED WAGON (will be posted soon on this site—so how could you possibly remember—unless you’ve been to my other site—I’ll stop) —anyway, in the story, I spoke of my propensity for liquids, nary a day passed without a few sips to quench my unquenchable thirst. My thirst may not have been for the liquids but more for the insights of the people I was fortunate to cross paths with: people I was fortunate to learn from—everyone—almost.
I am happy to say: I think, since the end of October (2015), I’m dry on more days than I swim in intoxication.
Nice imagery.
Although, like everyone who’s ever hoisted a beverage, I have swum; however, I rarely do anymore—in fact: I’m slamming back a skimmed milk as I type.
“Welcome to Suika’s, table for...” —spoken in a delightful mixture of Japanese infused broken-English.
Before we feast on the sultry flavours of the Far East, won’t you join me on a little (walk) talk?
Yes.
Isn’t sharing life what dining is all about?
Unless you are on the ferry—where starving has been known to occur in less than 2-hours—where gluttonizing (new word) yourself becomes necessary for survival.
Before I type on: Thank you(s), for taking the time to consume my words—my site is hitting 300 page views per day with 80 unique visitors, all thanks: to you. Maybe a little to me—I do try to provide entertaining digestible content.
If you remember my last post on restaurant thoughts: THE RED WAGON (will be posted soon on this site—so how could you possibly remember—unless you’ve been to my other site—I’ll stop) —anyway, in the story, I spoke of my propensity for liquids, nary a day passed without a few sips to quench my unquenchable thirst. My thirst may not have been for the liquids but more for the insights of the people I was fortunate to cross paths with: people I was fortunate to learn from—everyone—almost.
I am happy to say: I think, since the end of October (2015), I’m dry on more days than I swim in intoxication.
Nice imagery.
Although, like everyone who’s ever hoisted a beverage, I have swum; however, I rarely do anymore—in fact: I’m slamming back a skimmed milk as I type.
“Welcome to Suika’s, table for...” —spoken in a delightful mixture of Japanese infused broken-English.
Before we feast on the sultry flavours of the Far East, won’t you join me on a little (walk) talk?
Yes.
Isn’t sharing life what dining is all about?
Unless you are on the ferry—where starving has been known to occur in less than 2-hours—where gluttonizing (new word) yourself becomes necessary for survival.
Before I type on: Thank you(s), for taking the time to consume my words—my site is hitting 300 page views per day with 80 unique visitors, all thanks: to you. Maybe a little to me—I do try to provide entertaining digestible content.
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Look way-way up: Hana, the cat, is still trying to make it down the hall.
Back to the literal bar: I’ve managed to cut out more than 36-days of sloshing in the past 2-months, 4-times less than the previous few years (2013-2014). A real accomplishment if I was worried about it. I think the real accomplishment is on the days I do imbibe...I tend to make up for the days I don’t, not the cocktail for optimum health—but a mixture leading to a treasure trove of material to write about.
Maybe you should worry.
Get out of here.
Let’s begin our talk.
Family season (the holidays are here). A time to rejoice, share good fortune, care—and reflect.
Back to the literal bar: I’ve managed to cut out more than 36-days of sloshing in the past 2-months, 4-times less than the previous few years (2013-2014). A real accomplishment if I was worried about it. I think the real accomplishment is on the days I do imbibe...I tend to make up for the days I don’t, not the cocktail for optimum health—but a mixture leading to a treasure trove of material to write about.
Maybe you should worry.
Get out of here.
Let’s begin our talk.
Family season (the holidays are here). A time to rejoice, share good fortune, care—and reflect.
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Like your drinking story above?
Sure, but deeper.
The life snippets I’m about to drop may be good, bad, or lay somewhere in between.
Sharing is all I know. I believe we’ve been put on this planet to share our stories. Talking is vital to future balance. Who are you? —Is an important question, that the noise of the world draws shade on. I think we need to step out from the shadows and scream: I’M HERE!
Opening up allows us to bask in an individual’s greatness. It allows us to fit the people into our puzzles who encourage us to be amazing as well. It also allows us to determine who to avoid.
I have been sad this entire year. I pretend otherwise. I mask emotion with consistency. I’m okay. More on this year will be shared as we meander through my thoughts.
What’s important, I think:
Sure, but deeper.
The life snippets I’m about to drop may be good, bad, or lay somewhere in between.
Sharing is all I know. I believe we’ve been put on this planet to share our stories. Talking is vital to future balance. Who are you? —Is an important question, that the noise of the world draws shade on. I think we need to step out from the shadows and scream: I’M HERE!
Opening up allows us to bask in an individual’s greatness. It allows us to fit the people into our puzzles who encourage us to be amazing as well. It also allows us to determine who to avoid.
I have been sad this entire year. I pretend otherwise. I mask emotion with consistency. I’m okay. More on this year will be shared as we meander through my thoughts.
What’s important, I think:
LOVE – FRIENDS – PHYSICAL WELL-BEING – SPIRITUALITY – FAMILY - LOVE
Come along with me, this way, first up:
PART 4
LOVE + FRIENDS
LOVE + FRIENDS
SUIKA JAPANESE SNACKBAR
Come for the food—linger because of the company!
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WHAT IS LOVE: A CURSE, A SICKNESS, A DISEASE?
They met online. Over the course of several months they exchanged conversation—without sharing photos of genitalia. They were probably using the dating site incorrectly.
They lost touch.
Months later they met online again. The cyber currents pulsed through their accepting veins. After a few months of volleying messages back and forth—they chose to meet.
Meeting day arrived. One had been out the night before indulging. The other: spent the previous night alone. One was in the process of detoxifying. The other was consumed with nervous energy—experience count low.
The door opened. There wasn’t a spark. There was something more, perhaps.
A week later they met again. Something was there... it couldn't hide.
Sunday morning, it’s was time to break the embrace. They walked together across a downtown bridge. Near the end of the span the more experienced one shared his views on relationships.
SUGGESTING:
They met online. Over the course of several months they exchanged conversation—without sharing photos of genitalia. They were probably using the dating site incorrectly.
They lost touch.
Months later they met online again. The cyber currents pulsed through their accepting veins. After a few months of volleying messages back and forth—they chose to meet.
Meeting day arrived. One had been out the night before indulging. The other: spent the previous night alone. One was in the process of detoxifying. The other was consumed with nervous energy—experience count low.
The door opened. There wasn’t a spark. There was something more, perhaps.
A week later they met again. Something was there... it couldn't hide.
Sunday morning, it’s was time to break the embrace. They walked together across a downtown bridge. Near the end of the span the more experienced one shared his views on relationships.
SUGGESTING:
- He would never do anything intentionally to hurt the other one.
- He would never stray but if he did, he would never breathe a word of it to anyone.
- He suggested: The other follows the same program. If you tell me—I'll have to deal with your guilt.
- And, he suggested: if you want to fight about something please tell me what it’s about, clearly. After you’ve told, if you still want to fight, do it by yourself. I’m tired. Besides, I’ve already told you I will never do anything to hurt you. I can’t read minds.
They reached the train, embraced, and parted ways for the day + began happily-ever-after.
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Love has to be an illness. Some think: it happens at first sight. Does it?
Of course, daily.
We humans have a tendency to confuse it. We think survival depends upon it. We can’t live without it. We crave it so deeply we think we are lesser unless someone is professing it to us constantly.
What do you think?
Let’s turn here...
Of course, daily.
We humans have a tendency to confuse it. We think survival depends upon it. We can’t live without it. We crave it so deeply we think we are lesser unless someone is professing it to us constantly.
What do you think?
Let’s turn here...
Oh no, the wind is blowing a certain sultry way. I’m rising...
I must love the wind.
Look: the LOVE of your eye is standing over there. You best chase. Your LOVE can fix you. You can find in LOVE what is missing in you. You can finally become complete. Fireworks are blasting. Feelings never felt before are being felt. You lose no more. You can march forward in couple’s bliss. You may check into the hotel of completion. Sex can finally have meaning. Orgasms will be more than orgasms. You’ll no longer scramble for a towel upon the last blast of passion.
You start to realise what you’ve found in LOVE is what you don’t like about you. Love turns you into a projector. You project upon your LOVE who you want LOVE to become—it won’t work.
Love can’t survive the weight of the projection. Couple’s bliss turns into languish.
You didn’t catch your LOVE? Don’t worry there will be more along the way soon.
We can’t make LOVE change. Keep repeating that statement until it sinks in.
If that’s what you need: LOVE to change, you’re probably doomed from the start. LOVE has to want to become the person it is. LOVE can only be who LOVE is destined to be.
If you can’t find love in you—you’ll never find it in anyone else.
Can love survive, and if so; how long does it last?
I must love the wind.
Look: the LOVE of your eye is standing over there. You best chase. Your LOVE can fix you. You can find in LOVE what is missing in you. You can finally become complete. Fireworks are blasting. Feelings never felt before are being felt. You lose no more. You can march forward in couple’s bliss. You may check into the hotel of completion. Sex can finally have meaning. Orgasms will be more than orgasms. You’ll no longer scramble for a towel upon the last blast of passion.
You start to realise what you’ve found in LOVE is what you don’t like about you. Love turns you into a projector. You project upon your LOVE who you want LOVE to become—it won’t work.
Love can’t survive the weight of the projection. Couple’s bliss turns into languish.
You didn’t catch your LOVE? Don’t worry there will be more along the way soon.
We can’t make LOVE change. Keep repeating that statement until it sinks in.
If that’s what you need: LOVE to change, you’re probably doomed from the start. LOVE has to want to become the person it is. LOVE can only be who LOVE is destined to be.
If you can’t find love in you—you’ll never find it in anyone else.
Can love survive, and if so; how long does it last?
Aren’t we nuts to think it is forever?
Are we equally insane to think desire for others disappears when we find TRUE LOVE?
I don’t think humans function that way.
I think we want to believe one is forever—I truly do. But I think we’d be lying to ourselves.
How many of us become pathetic when TRUE LOVE doesn't last?
Infinite.
Good answer.
I believe: love is the most deliciously scandalous beautiful affliction one can catch—it provides hope. But I also believe: many of us put far too much pressure on the definition of it for them ever to allow it fully into their hearts.
I think love arrives when you come home and calmness engulfs you because you know there is nowhere else you’d rather be.
Am I in love, I’m lucky.
It’s absent now—but I know one day LOVE will return!
TURN RIGHT: Shall we cross this cobblestone bridge?
Are we equally insane to think desire for others disappears when we find TRUE LOVE?
I don’t think humans function that way.
I think we want to believe one is forever—I truly do. But I think we’d be lying to ourselves.
How many of us become pathetic when TRUE LOVE doesn't last?
Infinite.
Good answer.
I believe: love is the most deliciously scandalous beautiful affliction one can catch—it provides hope. But I also believe: many of us put far too much pressure on the definition of it for them ever to allow it fully into their hearts.
I think love arrives when you come home and calmness engulfs you because you know there is nowhere else you’d rather be.
Am I in love, I’m lucky.
It’s absent now—but I know one day LOVE will return!
TURN RIGHT: Shall we cross this cobblestone bridge?
FRIENDS TO THE LEFT OF ME JOKERS TO MY RIGHT
I have too many to count until I subtract my way down to: A FEW.
JG, who was killed off and brought back to life in, Black Shorts + Dissembling Social Media (Chapters 7 + 8) sits next to Jim at the bar, sipping chardonnay. How sophisticated.
I have nary a thing to say to him since he wished for my demise.
Jim’s a good friend. I’m invited into their conversation. The topic is complex: Christianity vs. Islam. None of us have a clue—at least not much of one.
JG says ISLAM is a flawed religion. The followers are mentally deranged. This irks me. I inject it is much more difficult than labeling, offering: maybe terrorism is a result of a lack of hope for 40% of the youth in Muslim countries. I also interject maybe us bombing the crap out of these countries and killing many innocent people doesn’t help.
Manchester was just wrong. They're all sick.
But, a wedding in Yemen was okay? We're all sick.
JG broke in, he had caught the scent of something he could exploit, he wanted to pivot and turn things personal. He challenges me by saying I support terrorism because of what I just said.
I take the bait. I strongly suggest there is something wrong with him. Jim wants to break subject. He wants lighter. Lighter turns to the Opioid crisis plaguing the world.
Hey, that’s not lighter.
JG, asks Jim if he’s ever gone more than 2 weeks without drinking? Jim is 74. Jim is a delightful man. JG can fuck off.
I say to him the Opioid Crisis is a complex subject and much like religion—an economic one. He tells me: I (me) have used Crack + Methamphetamine’ +++ I tell him he’s fucked. I ask him why he’d say that.
We all just figured you do.
I look around: just the 3 of us. I tell him he’s an idiot. I ask him: why he needs to be one? I ask him: where's the we?
He tells me to leave.
Everyone wants you to leave.
I’m stooping to his level. Jim wants to laugh.
I begin to leave, pausing briefly at JG.
Why do you feel the need to insult + judge people or make shit up about them? I don’t hate you. I don’t enjoy talking to you. You always need to poke. Why?
The rain begins to pour down inside on this clear sunny day.
Because you are the only one I can have an intellectual conversation with in here. And besides, I know how to push your buttons—so I push them. I enjoy pissing you off.
I have nary a thing to say to him since he wished for my demise.
Jim’s a good friend. I’m invited into their conversation. The topic is complex: Christianity vs. Islam. None of us have a clue—at least not much of one.
JG says ISLAM is a flawed religion. The followers are mentally deranged. This irks me. I inject it is much more difficult than labeling, offering: maybe terrorism is a result of a lack of hope for 40% of the youth in Muslim countries. I also interject maybe us bombing the crap out of these countries and killing many innocent people doesn’t help.
Manchester was just wrong. They're all sick.
But, a wedding in Yemen was okay? We're all sick.
JG broke in, he had caught the scent of something he could exploit, he wanted to pivot and turn things personal. He challenges me by saying I support terrorism because of what I just said.
I take the bait. I strongly suggest there is something wrong with him. Jim wants to break subject. He wants lighter. Lighter turns to the Opioid crisis plaguing the world.
Hey, that’s not lighter.
JG, asks Jim if he’s ever gone more than 2 weeks without drinking? Jim is 74. Jim is a delightful man. JG can fuck off.
I say to him the Opioid Crisis is a complex subject and much like religion—an economic one. He tells me: I (me) have used Crack + Methamphetamine’ +++ I tell him he’s fucked. I ask him why he’d say that.
We all just figured you do.
I look around: just the 3 of us. I tell him he’s an idiot. I ask him: why he needs to be one? I ask him: where's the we?
He tells me to leave.
Everyone wants you to leave.
I’m stooping to his level. Jim wants to laugh.
I begin to leave, pausing briefly at JG.
Why do you feel the need to insult + judge people or make shit up about them? I don’t hate you. I don’t enjoy talking to you. You always need to poke. Why?
The rain begins to pour down inside on this clear sunny day.
Because you are the only one I can have an intellectual conversation with in here. And besides, I know how to push your buttons—so I push them. I enjoy pissing you off.
I have amazingly brilliant wonderful friends. We offer each other love + support + encouragement. I know how to push your buttons—friendship can do without.
I think in Chapter 9 or 10, I will unceremoniously end JG once more so we no longer have to hold onto the fiction of our friendship.
I think in Chapter 9 or 10, I will unceremoniously end JG once more so we no longer have to hold onto the fiction of our friendship.
BACK TO LATE 2012
I’m down in the dumps. Too much heartache lined up in a row—entering my reality. Christmas is fast approaching. My absent family is occupying my mind. LOVE’S boarding call has past. My friend's wife never woke up. I’m accused of being negative. I’m barely surviving. I want to cry.
A friend dumps his life challenges upon me daily. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. I just listen. He seems to be trapped inside a rapidly revolving vortex with only a single exit. From the outside the exit is glaringly transparent. His challenges are worded in a nauseating variety of angles as he searches for what he wants to hear. It grows tiring.
I want to fucking scream at him. I keep listening. I’m not responsible for their outcome. I offer: We can’t win love. If love comes with condition or restraint—it’s probably not love.
This friend is the INMATE in Part 1: PRISON BREAK who shared the openness of his relationship with me—I'm a fan of never breathing a word—he misjudged me as a receptive recipient of his misguided bravado.
A dear friend who is running off-the-rails calls me.
I don’t know what to do… he’s crazy. He’s outside chanting in an African dialect. He threw my cat off the balcony. I’m scared.
Minutes later I’m out front of my friend’s home. I call the police. Ambulances are on the way. There’s a knock on my window. My friend is desperate.
Hurry, I’m locked out. He’s going crazy. He’s trashing the place. You have my extra key. Hurry, hurry...
FRIEND, the police told me not to go into your place. It will escalate the situation.
I’m down in the dumps. Too much heartache lined up in a row—entering my reality. Christmas is fast approaching. My absent family is occupying my mind. LOVE’S boarding call has past. My friend's wife never woke up. I’m accused of being negative. I’m barely surviving. I want to cry.
A friend dumps his life challenges upon me daily. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. I just listen. He seems to be trapped inside a rapidly revolving vortex with only a single exit. From the outside the exit is glaringly transparent. His challenges are worded in a nauseating variety of angles as he searches for what he wants to hear. It grows tiring.
I want to fucking scream at him. I keep listening. I’m not responsible for their outcome. I offer: We can’t win love. If love comes with condition or restraint—it’s probably not love.
This friend is the INMATE in Part 1: PRISON BREAK who shared the openness of his relationship with me—I'm a fan of never breathing a word—he misjudged me as a receptive recipient of his misguided bravado.
A dear friend who is running off-the-rails calls me.
I don’t know what to do… he’s crazy. He’s outside chanting in an African dialect. He threw my cat off the balcony. I’m scared.
Minutes later I’m out front of my friend’s home. I call the police. Ambulances are on the way. There’s a knock on my window. My friend is desperate.
Hurry, I’m locked out. He’s going crazy. He’s trashing the place. You have my extra key. Hurry, hurry...
FRIEND, the police told me not to go into your place. It will escalate the situation.
Come on Hana, you can make it down the hall!
The African chanter (JAH LOVE) leaps off the balcony. This incident is ending. Broken limbs a certainty; not so fast...
The Emergency Responder's arrive. The neighbourhood is full of eyes. It’s 10 AM. I scream: Don’t you people work?
Mr JAH lunges at the Police with a tree branch. He’s wailing in an undecipherable patois. The chanting continues for 20-minutes. Nobody goes to work. Finally, the police take him down.
FRIEND, you should...
But I love him.
The Emergency Responder's arrive. The neighbourhood is full of eyes. It’s 10 AM. I scream: Don’t you people work?
Mr JAH lunges at the Police with a tree branch. He’s wailing in an undecipherable patois. The chanting continues for 20-minutes. Nobody goes to work. Finally, the police take him down.
FRIEND, you should...
But I love him.
TWO MONTHS PRIOR
I was robbed at knife point. My watch was stolen. I was thrown out of my car. I was left for dead on the side of the road.
ONE MONTH PRIOR
They barged in. I recognized them. They pepper sprayed me. They threatened decapitation with a machete. They stole my stuff.
I just listen.
I hope I don’t have to go to your funeral soon. That would suck.
The phone rings. I answer.
May I dump my life on you... you’re a good listener.
The phone rings, again.
Fuck, I need to clear my mind before I go home for the holidays. Listen to this shit...
I do.
Is there anything new with you?
I force a smile.
Let me tell you what’s going on with me.
I was robbed at knife point. My watch was stolen. I was thrown out of my car. I was left for dead on the side of the road.
ONE MONTH PRIOR
They barged in. I recognized them. They pepper sprayed me. They threatened decapitation with a machete. They stole my stuff.
I just listen.
I hope I don’t have to go to your funeral soon. That would suck.
The phone rings. I answer.
May I dump my life on you... you’re a good listener.
The phone rings, again.
Fuck, I need to clear my mind before I go home for the holidays. Listen to this shit...
I do.
Is there anything new with you?
I force a smile.
Let me tell you what’s going on with me.
My friend SB goes home from work. His wife is sleeping on the sofa. She doesn't wake up.
WAYBACK SETTINGS
30 JUNE 2012
30 JUNE 2012
|
Aren’t we going to eat soon?
We will. Soon, I promise.
2G sends me a cryptic message containing: Hospital, bleeding profusely, critical; and intensive care.
My co-worker KS and I were entertaining clients at a football game. We drank far past polluted.
May we have 100 vodka + soda please?
Yes, yes was the answer. There were only 7 of us, serving it wrong.
A glass shatters on the ground. A shrug of the shoulders: oh well, 99 to go.
May we have 100 more?
I rise from my crypt at noon. I shake. I go to the gym. What’s wrong with me? Must go to the hospital crosses my mind—to admit myself also crosses my mind.
I’m here about 2G. He’s a friend.
I’m satisfied: I’ve fulfilled my friendship responsibility.
Follow the brown line through those doors. He’s in critical care.
But, I’m not family.
I find his bed. He’s hooked up to every machine in the hospital. He’s out cold. I shake some more. My visit is complete.
Before I make my exit, a doctor stops me. He tells me 2G has suffered an esophageal tear. He tells me he was within minutes of bleeding to death. He then tells me a whack of personal medical information.
But, I’m not family.
I want to vomit. I’m frightened: at this point for my esophagus.
2G survives. He’s deposited in Intensive Care for the next month. I hate hospitals.
You’re the one.
I go most days. I don’t want too—but I do.
The hospital is a mere 500-yards away from our local watering hole (gathering place), many friends congregate there on a regular basis. Few make the 500-yard walk.
I don’t like hospitals. I want to remember him how he was. I’ll go tomorrow... blah, blah..
I’m lucky, a friend reached out to me.
My LOVE won’t be missing forever. The clock continues to beat in sync with my heart.
Like love, friendship is meant to be condition free. It is meant to be pressure free. It will last as long as we keep it uncomplicated.
If we accomplish that, friendships will last till the end of time.
The first time I saw 2G after he woke from his comma as I wiggled the knobs on the machine he was connected to in an attempt to get high score, I asked him:
How’s the food?
To which he replied:
The last blast of electrolytes was tasty, lemon, I think. Oh... oh... they gave me hospital grade cocaine!
We will. Soon, I promise.
2G sends me a cryptic message containing: Hospital, bleeding profusely, critical; and intensive care.
My co-worker KS and I were entertaining clients at a football game. We drank far past polluted.
May we have 100 vodka + soda please?
Yes, yes was the answer. There were only 7 of us, serving it wrong.
A glass shatters on the ground. A shrug of the shoulders: oh well, 99 to go.
May we have 100 more?
I rise from my crypt at noon. I shake. I go to the gym. What’s wrong with me? Must go to the hospital crosses my mind—to admit myself also crosses my mind.
I’m here about 2G. He’s a friend.
I’m satisfied: I’ve fulfilled my friendship responsibility.
Follow the brown line through those doors. He’s in critical care.
But, I’m not family.
I find his bed. He’s hooked up to every machine in the hospital. He’s out cold. I shake some more. My visit is complete.
Before I make my exit, a doctor stops me. He tells me 2G has suffered an esophageal tear. He tells me he was within minutes of bleeding to death. He then tells me a whack of personal medical information.
But, I’m not family.
I want to vomit. I’m frightened: at this point for my esophagus.
2G survives. He’s deposited in Intensive Care for the next month. I hate hospitals.
You’re the one.
I go most days. I don’t want too—but I do.
The hospital is a mere 500-yards away from our local watering hole (gathering place), many friends congregate there on a regular basis. Few make the 500-yard walk.
I don’t like hospitals. I want to remember him how he was. I’ll go tomorrow... blah, blah..
I’m lucky, a friend reached out to me.
My LOVE won’t be missing forever. The clock continues to beat in sync with my heart.
Like love, friendship is meant to be condition free. It is meant to be pressure free. It will last as long as we keep it uncomplicated.
If we accomplish that, friendships will last till the end of time.
The first time I saw 2G after he woke from his comma as I wiggled the knobs on the machine he was connected to in an attempt to get high score, I asked him:
How’s the food?
To which he replied:
The last blast of electrolytes was tasty, lemon, I think. Oh... oh... they gave me hospital grade cocaine!
A quick verbal dash to the right and we come to…
PART 5
PHYSICAL + FAMILY
PHYSICAL + FAMILY
SUIKA JAPANESE SNACKBAR
Are you going to finish that...?
In 2012, I did a stellar job of taking care of my body. I work out with an intensity rarely seen in humans. I am human!
In 2012, I was an Olympian-level, cardio-demon—but somehow: I managed to get skinny-fat; the most attractive kind.
Mommy, what’s wrong with that man. His pants are falling off him. I think he’s stealing a basketball... no that’s his gut. And, he has toothpicks for arms... ewe.
I managed to roll on at least 20 pounds I don’t need. I don’t need: 3-words that were not necessary in the previous sentence.
In 2012, I was an Olympian-level, cardio-demon—but somehow: I managed to get skinny-fat; the most attractive kind.
Mommy, what’s wrong with that man. His pants are falling off him. I think he’s stealing a basketball... no that’s his gut. And, he has toothpicks for arms... ewe.
I managed to roll on at least 20 pounds I don’t need. I don’t need: 3-words that were not necessary in the previous sentence.
DAILY 6-STEP PLAN TO SUCCESSFULLY GET FAT
- 4 am daily wake up.
- Nutritious snack for breakfast.
- 10 AM the body craves what it craves. Resist... you can resist...
- The body's wish is fulfilled. Beautifully, scrumptiously, nutritionally-balanced, yummy: fast-food.
- 1 PM a client lunch.
- Too tired to lift—I’ll just do cardio.
Suika, we are coming soon, hold our table, please
The preceding love break was brought to you by...
Near the end of 2012, my alter-ego; smarter me, was missing in action. Depression seemed to be stalking me, me.
Destiny is driving the bus, don’t you forget it.
I finish reading The Orphan Master’s Son (Adam Johnson). It’s good.
The following line about a boy and girl rowing on a boat—a scene from an opera resonates loudly with me.
They abruptly stop rowing. They’re facing fate.
It wasn’t a sad story, really. It was one of love—the boy and the girl at least knew each other’s fates, and they’d never be alone.
Near the end of 2012, my alter-ego; smarter me, was missing in action. Depression seemed to be stalking me, me.
Destiny is driving the bus, don’t you forget it.
I finish reading The Orphan Master’s Son (Adam Johnson). It’s good.
The following line about a boy and girl rowing on a boat—a scene from an opera resonates loudly with me.
They abruptly stop rowing. They’re facing fate.
It wasn’t a sad story, really. It was one of love—the boy and the girl at least knew each other’s fates, and they’d never be alone.
Time to blame.
Whose responsibility is it to be responsible for my reasonable and responsible nutritional choices?
You
I’ll disregard that, you.
Without question the responsibility falls on societies need to punish singles, especially, guys.
Family packs cost substantially less than single items. Singles only buy single items. Living Solo you are part of the dregs of society, and a bruise on the heart of being free to judge.
The world punishes lonely. Two for one is useless.
I turned sideways to look in the mirror. I cried. I covered my mirrors.
I won’t eat any fast-food today... tomorrow... I read Wheat Belly (2017)—it may be wheat I’m craving, not the burger? Interesting
I won’t eat any fast-food...
Cardio... cardio... up the intensity... more cardio...
Underwear elastic flips over and wella: Skinny Fat...
All this cardio doesn’t seem to be working, I know: I’ll do more.
Whose responsibility is it to be responsible for my reasonable and responsible nutritional choices?
You
I’ll disregard that, you.
Without question the responsibility falls on societies need to punish singles, especially, guys.
Family packs cost substantially less than single items. Singles only buy single items. Living Solo you are part of the dregs of society, and a bruise on the heart of being free to judge.
The world punishes lonely. Two for one is useless.
I turned sideways to look in the mirror. I cried. I covered my mirrors.
I won’t eat any fast-food today... tomorrow... I read Wheat Belly (2017)—it may be wheat I’m craving, not the burger? Interesting
I won’t eat any fast-food...
Cardio... cardio... up the intensity... more cardio...
Underwear elastic flips over and wella: Skinny Fat...
All this cardio doesn’t seem to be working, I know: I’ll do more.
HOW DID I GET HERE: FAT?
- Gain 2 pounds. No big deal.
- Take sideway glances at my reflection in a car’s side window. Is that a soccer ball?
- 2-weeks later: Is that a basketball? The car’s windows must be faulty.
- I run into an acquaintance. He views a picture of me on my website. He looks at me. He looks back at the picture. Is that you in the picture?
- After a rousing tennis match. I like your new bump. Welcome to middle-age.
- I convince myself: I’m free of indulgences.
- +++
In May 2012, I visit my doctor, Dr. M. I have been feeling off since November. He runs a plethora of tests, mostly evasive. The results come in. I’m fine. All bodily functions: functioning.
|
You look good, fit.
I’m blubbering up.
Muscle ways more than fat, you’re fine. What are you now, 41?
Doc, muscle weighs more than fat.
My doc doesn’t know my age.
Dr M, I’m overweight. Check my BMI.
I’m right. I’m fat. I’m 41?
You’re blood pressure is through the roof.
Troubling selection of words—he suggests: strapping wires to me to me for the next month (24/7) to find out if I have a genital, I mean: a genetic heart problem.
I’m scared.
We should expedite your tests.
Tests and more tests are ordered taking us to November, more tests are set up for January. Expedite takes time. Expidite doesn’t calm me.
Doc, will I still be around for the tests?
Probably, I can’t guarantee anything.
MONDAY @ WORK
Have you gained weight? Looks good; a little portly...
How sweet, someone used portly to describe me!
I’m blubbering up.
Muscle ways more than fat, you’re fine. What are you now, 41?
Doc, muscle weighs more than fat.
My doc doesn’t know my age.
Dr M, I’m overweight. Check my BMI.
I’m right. I’m fat. I’m 41?
You’re blood pressure is through the roof.
Troubling selection of words—he suggests: strapping wires to me to me for the next month (24/7) to find out if I have a genital, I mean: a genetic heart problem.
I’m scared.
We should expedite your tests.
Tests and more tests are ordered taking us to November, more tests are set up for January. Expedite takes time. Expidite doesn’t calm me.
Doc, will I still be around for the tests?
Probably, I can’t guarantee anything.
MONDAY @ WORK
Have you gained weight? Looks good; a little portly...
How sweet, someone used portly to describe me!
Let’s take a moment to take a peek at this beautiful bird picture I took recently with my new camera.
Cool, we’re on a boat.
Cool, we’re on a boat.
|
|
FUCKING PORTLY...
We’re only a few brief strokes before we arrive at our table.
The year is winding down: stroke; reflect, longingly sweep the oars through the inviting water, cutting swathes, water lapping delicately over the blades—we come to a pool of discovery.
The water is invigorating. It shocks to life. New possibilities are hidden in its crispness. The bindings-of-the-past, are swept under the bow. We can’t stop—not while we are alone.
Portly, has a half-life.
We’re only a few brief strokes before we arrive at our table.
The year is winding down: stroke; reflect, longingly sweep the oars through the inviting water, cutting swathes, water lapping delicately over the blades—we come to a pool of discovery.
The water is invigorating. It shocks to life. New possibilities are hidden in its crispness. The bindings-of-the-past, are swept under the bow. We can’t stop—not while we are alone.
Portly, has a half-life.
The boat actually, capsized: in 2003. I’ve been alone ever since.
Opportunities for reunion, fleeting. Adults often have trouble with being adult.
A family wedding presents an opportunity. I can’t find the strength to go. Meeting my mother for the first time as my mother, 20-years after I believed I watched her die... well.
Opportunities for reunion, fleeting. Adults often have trouble with being adult.
A family wedding presents an opportunity. I can’t find the strength to go. Meeting my mother for the first time as my mother, 20-years after I believed I watched her die... well.
|
Jun Do stood. He took a step back to get the right distance for a turn-buckle kick. He closed his eyes, he could feel the space, he could visualize the hip pivoting, the leg rising, the whip of the instep as it torque around. Jun DO had dealt with this whole life, the ways it was impossible for the people from normal families to conceive of a man in so much hurt that he couldn’t acknowledge his own son, that there was nothing worse than a mother leaving her children, though it happened all the time, that “take” was a word people used for those who had so little to give us to be immeasurable.
|
CHRISTMAS 2012
|
HOW ABOUT ONE OF THESE BABIES FOR YOUR CHRISTMAS GIFT
A gift arrives from my mother. I haven’t seen her in 22-years. We haven’t spoken in more than 9. I peel away the brown paper wrapping: A blender. The blender has 16-speeds.
Who’s my father?
Maybe one day, I’ll know.
I love my friends.
2012 was a rough year. I’m lucky: I’m loved.
I could have been one of those babies—nobody wanted—my family finally did, want (?) : out of obligation?
Darkness please lift: let the light shine in.
Who’s my father?
Maybe one day, I’ll know.
I love my friends.
2012 was a rough year. I’m lucky: I’m loved.
I could have been one of those babies—nobody wanted—my family finally did, want (?) : out of obligation?
Darkness please lift: let the light shine in.
I’m famished. Let’s hop back onto the dock. We have only a few blocks to go!
