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Red Sox GM contest

life moments

One of the younger attorneys walked into my office this morning. We start talking about sports, and then life. He then asks me when I'm planning on peacing out of this joint and I tell him within the next few months. Then I tell him about my plans, the possibilities and other extended possible plans. He's silent for a moment and then he looks at me and says, "I envy you." "what?"

 

He asks me how old am I. 23. He tells me he wished he had taken more time to fully explore at my age rather then going straight to law school. Granted, he says. This is a great gig. Georgetown law, A huge and expanding law firm in an office where everyone is very laid back and accomadating.  Money is good, Just bought a house, he has a steady girlfriend, etc.

 

Makes me wonder what the term successful, really means.

Christmas wish list

Blessed to have everything I need. My apt. complex is also adopting a family in need of some help. More info to come later.

 

Thanks folks,

 

Christopher Reeve Foundation

 

Ronald McDonald House Charities

 

Washington Animal Rescue League

 

Strength - Childhood Hunger

 

Doctors of The World

Napolean complex

We stood around Napolean's table and both thought..what glass is for what. She sat beautifully at one end of the table, by the rays of the afternoon sun. I pretended to be Napolean and all I could picture for inspiration was that short guy from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventures. "That glass is for the port and that is for the champange," she says. Fantastic, I think. I've been in this city for almost six years and now you decide to show up.

True North

Sometimes between 1am and 3am I'd wake up consciously and look at you. I'd study your face. You look like a little girl with your hands tucked under your chin. That guard you keep around you in the day in just a facade. I know who you really are and you are beautiful. You wake up like a woman, ready to prove something. You want to make it all yours. Someone once really broke your heart. I hate him too for all the same reasons. I want to be good even if it is just to show you that there is a true north.

The Novel soul

Currently working through a great book called Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami. I admire writers of the novel. Haruki pours his whole heart into it. I feel like novels take so much of a writers energy.

I'm only through the first 100 pages, but the way Murakami writes puts me in awe of the possibilities of text. He has a masterful craft for story telling, a way to keep the reader guessing.

I went to a reading by Martin Amis once. He discussed how as we become a world on a faster past, continually being stimulated by TV, music, and the Internet, art must move to keep up as well. Poetry is becoming lost because the whole purpose of poetry is to slow down time in text. His attempt in his book Yellow Dog was to throw imagery out there to inundate the reader, to move along the novel at a faster pace. I can't exactly say Amis did such a great job at it, but I can say Murakami does. He writes simply in a Hemingway tone, but with the Garcia Marquez eye for detail and Camus craft for showing thought.

The content of the story itself, I can't quite write about yet. It's about a 15 year boy who runs away from home and a man who lost half of his shadow.  See, it confused the hell out of me too, but you just have to read it yourself.

Murakami explains a Japanese myth in the legend, that a soul can leave the body before death leaving the body to resume it's basic functions without a soul to govern its heart. The soul must have a will strong enough, and usually it is to put order back or for revenge. Once the task is done, the soul will reunite with the body.

I've been thinking about the soul lately. What drives it? Why do we sometimes deny it? Do you think if we deny it long enough, it will become more and more quiet? Or will it scream louder and louder until we break? You have to believe we are more then what we have collected in our heads, our memories, experiences and knowledge. There is something else in there that is making you tick and it comes from the heart. Haven't you ever read about hear transplant patients who after the surgery develop different taste in foods, become fans of mint chocolate chip ice cream because the person who had their heart before loved it?

You have to believe that there is more in this world then what we drive to work, how much money we have and where we vacation.

My Tattoo on my arm means Chi, Japanese for Energy. It's a base symbol for Strength and Power. During a physics class in High School I came across an article by Einstein. He was discussing energy. I can't remember the article, but I'm a big admirer of Einstein. He said energy never dies, it just gets transferred. Energy is finite. It is science that confirms a life after death. A tree dies, but the energy of what that tree once was becomes transferred to the shelter it provided, the seeds it planted, the food it gave off. A person dies and the energy that person gave off is a reflection of his whole soul, who he loved, who he helped, who he touched, where he has walked and what he has left behind.Then there is the energy that is his life force, something that is fed by all those experiences, all those people you've met, loved, places you been, things you've seen. That is the energy that stays with you until the very moment your body gives out. When the body dies, the soul goes gets tranferred. To where? I'll tell you after my body gives out. There is a sudden weight loss as well. I found this article a while ago. http://www.snopes.com/religion/soulweight.asp
It explains an experiment done by a doctor in Massachusetts who measured a patients weight right after the moment of death. He found there to be a loss of 21 grams (hence the movie). So the soul weighs 21 grams. Those 21 grams gets transferred somewhere. One of his patients actually loss the weight, then had it regained to lose it later on. His explanation, the soul of that woman was stubborn and tried to come back only to realize it couldn't.

So that was a mess of thoughts I put up there. Now if I can put it all in a story, that would be a Murakami novel.

The greatest thing you ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. --Nat King Cole

I had a great time in NYC this weekend and an awesome Thanksgiving dinner. Just a weekend to remind yourself what great people friends can be.

Matter of the heart are tugging on my soul.

Thanksgiving

My earliest memory of Thanksgiving is a bit skewed.

We're a family that grew into certain traditions and always in strange ways. For Christmas, my mom use to wrap the presents a week or so in advance and put everything under the tree. As a young kid, you can see how difficult the challenge was in not opening those 'surprises' under the tree. Once my sister and I got really good at figuring out what was a toy and what was clothes, we had also a method of pulling open the wrapping paper by the tape and then sealing it back up with out any wrinkles in the wrapping. Then the trick was acting surprised when we got to open our presents Christmas Eve. I think my mom secretly knew.

Thanksgiving in my memories began when I was 4. My aunt had a two bedroom apt on Commonwealth Ave. in Boston at the time. The whole family came as well as a few guest. I remember watching the parade on TV and wondering what the hell was a Turkey.

You have to understand that turkeys are not native to Vietnam. We look at them in awe at the supermarkets and think to ourselves, "American birds must drink a lot of milk." That was also the explanation of why I grew so big. "D. drank a lot of milk!" (native Vietnamese people staring with mouths open and fingers pointing). Chickens in Vietnam are so small they can fit onto a large skewer, BBQ-ed and carried around to be eaten like a corn dog.

I don't think we even made turkey until I was about seven. That was also the age where they make you trace your hand on a brown piece of paper, cut it up, paint eyes and a beak and call it a turkey, and then Mrs. Baldwin would ask you, "so D., what are you having for Thanksgiving?" and when you respond, "well, I can't wait for my mom's eggs rolls and my dad's fried rice, and my aunt is making her chicken feet!!..etc, etc, " Mrs. Brown and the other Caucasians kinda look at you funny. I must of went home that day and asked my mom, "Hey, can we try making a turkey this Thanksgiving?" "A what?" "You know, one of those American birds that drank a lot of milk." "Sure, D," my mom says, looking slightly puzzled and apprehensive at the thought of cooking a monster chicken.

That first Thanksgiving in my aunt's apartment bears little resemblance to the feast we have today. I remember we had a curry dish. There was a fight with the toaster with a piece of french bread. The toaster won by lighting the bread on fire and then my uncle won by throwing the whole toaster in the sink. We may have watched football. I remember my family was big into Wrestle Mania then. And so was I. I'd pretend to be Hulk Hogan, my cousin T. would be the Ultimate warrior, and V. was always one of the Bushwhackers (which was always strange because they always made sense as two people, but seemed very weird as individuals). Somewhere in the mess of burning toasters, 4 year old kids doing pile drivers on each other, beer guzzling mom and dads, we found the spirit of Thanksgiving. We were together as a family, all in good health and all sharing some food, very thankful.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Beautifully Sad

We sat on the dock around the light of the lantern. Sally strummed her guitar. Sally Faye, the beautiful baby sitter for the Swedish branch of the Boston Blue Bloods. They were staying in the mansion, and here she is 200 miled from her small town in Jaimaca, Vermont. She strummed and hummed, "Killing me softly." I layed back on that dock and studied the stars and Sally's shadow dancing to the flickering light of the lantern. I watched it move along the thick tree leaves that framed the Cape Cod Island sky.

She finished her song, took a drag from the pipe and lied down with me.

"What do you want to do, D?"
"Jump in the water."
"No, really. In life? What would you do if money wasn't an issue?"
"I'd jump in the water, Sally."
"And then?"
"Swim."
"Swim?"
"Yeah."

Pause

I turned and looked over at her. Her hands sank into her curly blonde hair. She pointed up and said, "That's Orion."

"The Hunter."

"Would you be a Hunter?"
"Maybe. He was killed by a woman that love him."
"How?"
"Artemis is the goddes of hunting and the moon. She fell in love with Orion and one day forgot to do her job of carrying the moon. Her twin brother Apollo, saw Orion swim out in the sea and challenged his sister to hit that moving target. Not knowing it was Orion, Artemis shot an arrow and killed him. Later when she found out what she did, she placed his body on the stars. That's why the moon looks so sad. It's greif. Long pause... So what do you want to do?"
"What?"
"For a living?"
"You never answered me!?"
"I said I wanted to jump in the water."
"Seriously."
"Seriously....I think you know better then me."

She smiled a bit, played with her guitar. "I want to move to Jamiaca, play my guitar, teach kids english or something."

"Trading one island for another."

"So, now you have to answer me."

"I want to write stories about you in Jamaica." I stood up and took off my shirt.

"What are you doing?"

 

I took off my shoes and jeans. "Going for a swim, come on." My footsteps down the dock sounded like the knocking on a heavy door. I jumped a good five feet out and dived into Orion's reflection in the water.

 

"Jump in," I said.

"You're glowing!"

"It's the jelly fish. They don't sting. They give off a flourescent light each time you make a little wave."

"That's crazy! I'm not going in there."

 

I swam along to the nearest Yacht in the harbor. She started playing some Bob Marley.

 

"You're leaving a glowing trail! Look!"

 

And I was. I was making stars in the water with each movement. I swam further and further out, leaving a path of excited jelly fish.

 

Sally yelled, "Come back! I can't see you, D!"

 

I eventually swam back to the dock. I caught Sally crying. She told me her mother had abandoned her when she was five and she didn't know where her father was. I let her talk. Her voice soothed me. We watched the moon rise and I wondered what kind of people would abandon this sweet girl.

 

Feeling a little Gatsby-ish

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -

And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

 

Gatsby and I are totally vibing right now.

and so

I wanted to put my cold hands underneath her sweater. She looked warm and beautiful. She smiled a lot and would put her head on my shoulder. I said," I miss you." She said, "Don't say that."

When our trains came, we departed on the same line in different directions.

Office Vampires

We call her the office Vampire.

 

Over heard conversation today at work:

Vampire (on the phone): Hi, I tried changing my password and it wouldn't work.

Vampire: well, it use to be my birthday: June 1st and then I switched the number around, and then it use to be an eight letter word, and now I was told to change my password again and I tried.....

Vampire: No, I'm sitting at the front desk.

Vampire: Why do we need all this security stuff anyway?

Vampire: Well, it use to be so easy. Now it takes me a good 10 minutes to log in..

Vampire: So I need a symbol, a capital letter and..what?

Vampire: oh, a number.

Vampire: That's ridiculous. You think we could make something easier.

Vampire: Well, I still think...

Vampire: Wait, It's not accepting.

Vampire: Oh, a symbol.

Vampire: Well, you know I've been here for six years and this is the third time this year I've had to change passwords.

Vampire: It worked...Hello? Hello?...hmm..he hung up.

Life and Angels (a true story from almost two years ago)

It's drizzling, It's cold and I'm cruising down 93 in the fast lane at about 70. The fog is thick at 3am.

It's the day after Christmas and about ten minutes ago I had been playing poker, drinking merlot and smoking a huge blunt with the boys at Matt's apartment in Boston because that is what we do.

As I round a median I feel a chill run up my spine. I push on the brakes, and I see a body of a small person wearing white on the road in my lane. I grab the emergency brake and the car fish tails a bit before coming to a full stop on the slick wet pavement. A car had flipped over and there is a body of a smal girl infront of my head lights. I call the police and they tell me that they already know about it.

There are cars all around me. Like tourist on a Disney Ride, they ride by, watching and pointing and moving along. Half of the traffice is the bar scene on its way to IHOP.

I get out of the car and run up to the girl infront of my head lights.

She's convulsing, shaking, and cold. I look at her, bend down and hold her left hand. There is blood and glass in her long brown hair. I ask her what is her name. She mumbles over and over. I tell her she's okay and that help is on the way. I run back to my trunk, remembering I have blankets back there.

The rain is starting to come down harder.

As I head back to the trunk, I see another car, an Eclispe, in the fast lane speeding around the median and right at me. The beams of light hits the wall of fog infront of it, making it seem like a fireball heading towards me and a flash of a late August day on the beach with my family runs through my head. I must have been eight.

The car manages to swerve into the next lane to avoid me. I grab the blanket and put it over the shivering girl. She can't be older then 16. That's when I noticed the other body 80 yards down, closer to the over turned car.

There are beer cans everywhere. There's a white cavalier beat up on the road, on its side.

Her blue jeans cover her mangled legs lying against the median. She's so young. I take off my coat and put it on her. Ask her if she can hear me. She can. Her lips are moving. Blood dribbles across her lips. I can't tell if it is coming from her mouth or a cut on her lip. I pull off my sweater and hold it over her head to stop the rain from hitting her face.

I turn and yell for help. Where is the ambulance!

Some more people pull up behind my car and run out with flash lights and more blankets. We become a team. Angels. We put blankets over the girls, talk to them, hold umbrellas over them. The girl in white says she's only 15 and that her stepmom lives in my town.

A state trooper arrives. He directs traffic so the ambulance and fire trucks can get there.

A fireman tells "it was lucky you were able to spot these girls and stop in this weather. Who knows what may have happened this time of night."

The rain comes down harder. I'm standing in my t-shirt, soaked and cold, thinking about the Eclispe that swerved around the Median.


A week later my buddy, Chris, calls me and he tells me there was an article in the paper about the accident. He tells me the girls survived and are okay. That there were three boys in the car who ran off into the woods after the accident. The car was stolen. They had later tunred themselves in.

"One of the girls was from Randolph," I tell him.
"Yeah, the paper says that," says Chris.

"Did you talk to anyone that night?" he asks.
"I talked to lots of people. No more then a few words. I told the trooper what happened."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What else happened?"
"Once the girls were gone in the ambulence, I asked him if he could direct traffice so I could get out and drive home."
"So you just left and went home?"
"Yep"

Ruined friendships

She said it was my fault.

"You smelled me!"
"what?"
"You put that nose against my neck and sniffed!"
"You were in my bed," I said. "Besides, you kissed me first"
"You licked my face!" She pouts...with a smile.

This will be one of the three maybe four things we'll ever argue about over and over - who ruined our friendship first.

Walk for The Homeless

Anyone want to do the Walk for the Homeless This weekend.

 

Drop me an e-mail.

Harsh and True

Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for - in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it.
  - Ellen Goodman

I am a walking cliche.

laudry lists

You ever feel like life happens so fast that you don't have the time to deconstruct it into words?

I'll give you the laundry list of what I did this weekend:

1. Friday night I spent watching movies, making veal and drinking vokda by myself (that's normal, right?).
2. Saturday I spent at the gym, watching football, walking around DC to my favortie bookstores, outlining my next play, going to the Texan's Trio party (Side story: great time. I love those girls. Seperate post to come).
3. Played football for the Suspension Rules Committee. Out of 20 teams, we ended up making it to the superbowl and losing to a very good team. I cooked a venision roast, had a minor panic attack on what I want to do in life, more football.

Frog-tastic

On the way back form the gym, I spotted a frog trying to jump up onto a step. I caught it and picked it up. I haven't caught and picked up something wild like that since 10. I've caught everything from Pigeons to newts, crickets to squirles. Once a stray dog followed me home from school. When I worked on the island, I came face to face to a wild fawn. I also ran into a pack of coyotes. I also wrestled sheep on that island. There is something about the way animals can communicate without words that fascinates me.

Anyway, I put that frog down and it hopped away onto the next step and the one after it.

How do you want to live your life?

He had scars all over his face. A huge goiter grew on the side of his forehead. His left hand was deformed and wrapped up. His aviator hat and stiff denim jacket made him less conspicuous.

"Nice, day isn't it," he said.

I paused, took a sip of my coffee and looked right into his eyes. He didn't even blink. He stared right back and smiled.

"It's beautiful," I said.

And it was. Washington, DC in the middle of May will hand you two fist-fulls of beautiful days. You have to go out there and put each one in your pocket to remind you why you put up with going outside at all.

"Are you studying to be a doctor," he asked me.

"No, for a test to be a lawyer," I said. "The LSATS."

"That is good," he said. "I would study late at night from 3am to 7am. It helped avoid distractions."

I shut my book. Took another sip of my coffee and asked him, "Really?"

"Yes. I'm sorry to disturb your studies."

"No, I'm curious too. Why do you have so many scars?"

He paused for a second and then proceeded to tell me how he was in the Jordanian military. How sitting here on the sidewalks of DC on a nice day people watching reminded him of the markets in Jordan. How the family he is renting a room from are like strangers. He talked at length about how people here are always moving so fast, they forget how to sit still. I agreed. I bought another cup of coffee for him and myself. He asked me, "How do you want to live your life?" I didn't know what to say. I said, "as a good person." He asked me what a good person is. I said, "I don't know. One who does good."

He then scratch his bandaged hand and told me he was a high ranking officer in the Jordanian military and he had gotten into an accident. A few weeks before the accident, he had walked into a military hospital and there was a woman crying. He went up to this woman and asked her what was wrong. She said, her baby had lost a lot of blood and needed a blood transfusion. He said no problem. She will be okay. The mother replied that he was a B-Negative and the hospital doesn't have any B-Negative blood. He said, no problem. I am a B-Negative. He went into the operating room and ordered the doctor to take as much blood as the baby needed. And she survived.

A few weeks later His platoon was on a patrol, and one of his men had just gotten married. This man was responsible for dismantling land mines. When it came to dismantling the last land mine, this high ranking official told his man to go home and spend time with his new bride. "New love is beautiful," he said. The new groom did as he was told and went home to his new bride. This high ranking official inspected the mine and while inspecting it, the mine went off. His face was ripped apart, and the hand he instinctly held up was scorched. But he said to me, "It was God's will for me to live. And I cherish each day I am alive."

He was here in DC receiving reconstructive surgery. I see him around still and we still talk about the weather. Each time I see him, a scar has been removed, and his goiter is actually gone. I still wonder about that question though, "how do you want to live your life?"

Try not to become a man of success but a man of value.
Albert Einstein

 

My sis

When I was five my sister was born. My Family and I lived in a small one bedroom apartment in the Italian neighborhood of East Boston. My dad worked two jobs, and my mom was going to school to learn English and working as well. My sister's crib was kept in the kitchen at night and rolled out to the living room in the mornings. I had a bunk bed in the interim room, between the living room and the kitchen.

Now, being a five year old, I kept thinking, "Why is my sister so boring? All she does is sleep and eat all day." I was hoping for someone to play with because that is what all my relatives were saying while she was still a big lump on my mom's stomach. "You're going to have a sister to play with. Isn't that great?" I really didn't understand that babies get older. I thought there were different types of babies and we got a red dud of a potato. One day my mom has to go out and do laundry at the laundry-mat, literally two blocks down from our apartment. My mom says to me, "Your sister is sleeping, just watch her for me. I have to do some laundry." I said, "Yeah, and that's all she does! Can we exchange her for another?"

So my mom goes out and is doing laundry. I'm watching The Care Bears and it's one of the episode where the cousin Care Bears are helping out (I love that shit). Then all of a sudden my sister wakes up and starts crying. She's yelling as loud as a baby can yell. I run over and she's one upset, little, red potato of a baby. I freak out, ask her to calm down, play with her hands, but all she really wants is to be picked up. I'm five, mind you. I'm as strong as a weak kitten. Then I start crying. I'm five, that's what we do. I run outside the apartment and scream my lungs out like a five year old girl. My poor mother. The Italian woman next door comes over and runs to the laundry mat to get my mom. She comes back, freaking out and I cry some more. Once my mom picks my sister up, she stops crying.

Funny thing is, I swear I saw a smirk on her face and babies that young don't smirk!

Love is wine

I fell in love with a new wine tonight. It’s a little Cabernet Sauvignon called Five Rivers, a 2002 made and bottled in Hopland, CA. It’s sweet, with a little oak. Only in the past year have I taken an effort to enjoy wine. I still prefer the glass of scotch, but I hate waking up and trying to remember how I got the cuts on my hand, who I drunk dialed, and where did the lipstick on my neck come from.

Wine slows things down. It’s like slow love. It’s the pleasure you feel when someone goes out of their way to get to know you. Like a woman, every new wine should be approached with regard, gentility and care. Take a look at the bottle. I like bottles that catch my eye and show a creative spirit. I’m drawn to pick up a bottle with nice curves and an attractive labeling. These things matter. I have to admit I’ve been on a trend of chardonnays and sauvignon blanc, but I am always willing to branch out and try more reds. Take your time and read the labels. I find wines with good stories more intriguing. It’s like the winemaker put a soul into it, gave it a history and family. I like to know these things.

You should open it with care as well. Like undressing a lady, be smooth in cutting the foil. Take care of the cork. You don’t want to ruin it and get it in the wine. I find that bottles with twist tops a little too artificial. They give the impression of a quickie with little regard to the sensual pleasures derived from a foil and cork. Reds should be poured with gusto right down in the middle of that glass so the air it catches releases the smells and the flavors.

If you are eating, make sure that wine goes well with your food. You can’t have a wine that is out to ruin your other sensual pleasures, no matter how good the wine is. One can make only so many exceptions. This cabernet complemented my veal, pasta and kalamata olives very well.

Smell it before you taste it. Your sense of smell is what gives you the pleasure of flavor. Those curves of the wine glass are specially made for you to swirl and smell. Take a look at it. Does it look thick and sweet? Smooth and refreshing? It’s all foreplay: the swirls, the looks and sniff.

Once you are really excited, take that first taste, a little sip. Let it roll on your tongue. Let it touch the tip, sides and back of your tongue. The tip will pick up its sweetness, the sides will pick up its tanis and sourness, and the back of your tongue will pick up its bitterness. Suck a bit of air in to help release the flavor. Notice its textures. Like you would use your hands and mouth to explore a new love, roll that little bit of nectar around your tongue. Do you like it?

Learn her inside out, outside in.

gut check

All week I've been at work for the following:

Monday - 6:30pm
Tuesday - 7:30pm
Wednesday - 8:30
and tonight - Estimated time of departure, who knows!

The developments in the past week have also been fairly significant as well. She's back in my life. It's a bit...surreal. The girl that I thought I would never see again, I have been seeing again. She's not even sure if she's back. I have no idea what is going on.

Financially, I am...well, remember Man Day 2005? The invoice came in yesterday.

What I am looking forward to is going home tonight to my empty apartment, cooking a pork lion seasoned in a spicy mesquite dry rub, making cranberry glazed sweet potatoes and opening a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz. For a brief four hours tonight, I'll pretend I'm home and not in this static state of constant transition that us young people are forced into. I may pop in a movie. I think I have Layer Cake from netflix somewhere.

Maybe I'll just open up the Yellow Tail. The Shiraz is bold and decisive. It says, hey, I am strong and I have pleanty of flavour. I'd date Yellow Tail Shiraz. She's fresh and new. Very toxic. She's like a perfect lemonade, bitter but balanced with a sweetness to remind you of the summer. The vanilla scent she leaves you with only makes you want more. She'll get you excited and relaxed all at the same time. She's not afraid of leaving her lipstick on your lips. She'll hold your hand, make you brave and whisper things in your ear to ease you to sleep. She won't make you broke, but you won't mind spending a little extra for her. And.... I dig Australian chicks.

Playing in the water

My friend Teng wrote last night:

You stand at the shore before the ocean. All you see before you is blue... neverending blue... and yet you only see a piece of the ocean, and a tiny piece at that since you are so small... you think you see it all and you think you know the ocean... but it is only a glimpse of what it really is, the ocean greater than what your eyes can see and what your imagination can fathom... the vastness of that unknown within makes me question my very understanding of myself... of reality as I know it... because...

How well can you really know yourself when you are an ocean of memories?

I say that ocean is bigger then just our memories. I say that ocean of memories is a collective memory of human experiance. It's a collective human consciousness that guides us. Those images and dreams come from somewhere. In sleep, I like to think we let our conscious mind (Frued's definition of the 'ego') rest and our subconscious mind play.

Who is to say that dreams are not reality. When we dream, the reality that presents itself in that dream is as real as any reality that is presented to us in the conscious. Even then some of 'real experiances' can be described as dreams. Have you ever had a sense of De ja vu? or have you smoked a lot of weed and listen to Radio Head?I had a conversation with a friend last Friday about his dreams. He said he dreamt his grandfather died and he actually woke up and had to call his grandfather just to make sure he was okay.

Dreams are symbolic interpretations of our subconscious fears and desires. They are premonitions. They are mystic. They are a whole other world.

The thougt that you had, Teng, I totally agree with, that we're only seeing a small bit of that great big blue ocean. We're all apart of that collective human conscience, each on seperate currents, waves, and rythms, but essential we're all connected, all fluid, moving and flowing through, over and under eachother. The thought makes me feel small, like looking into a clear night sky with billions of individual stars all part of one picture.