photos

I have decided to share some of the photos I have been taking recently. I hope you enjoy. As the year officially wraps up I will write more, meaning tomorrow when I will take the appropriate time to reflect. It should be interesting


http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2133786&id=23506268&l=4550c72353



http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2133786&id=23506268&l=4550c72353

For the most part

I view myself as an open person. However, I am realizing that most of what I do, I mean the day to day rarely gets shared. That's fine. I'm not in a relationship and that's where people open up about what they do. That's because the other are the only ones who care. It's not a strange concept and it doesn't work with all relationships. If you ask me a question I will answer it. I am more open to hearing what others have done. I will add something if I feel it relative. I have always been a talkative person and more and more I am trying to understand what I was actually saying. Growing up, I was always the kid who was sat next to the teacher, just to get him to focus. I wasn't a bad kid, a bad teenager yes, and that is from the perspective of the teachers, most would say that I led a pretty safe teenage life. I didn't have my first kiss until I was fifteen. I smoked, I drank, but I was never malicious. I am not a mean person. I have a hard time understanding the motives of others when they are solely for personal gain. I will never make it in the business world. The status quo of my life is usually fine, unless I find it boring. That's when I grasp the desire to change.

It is unavoidable to not look back at this year, just putting mileage on your life is thought provoking. Sometimes it brings a smile, or a pang of regret. It shows us missed opportunities and hopefully we can see how lucky we are to be counting the remaining seconds. I'm sure in a few weeks I will have more on this. I would be lying if I said that everything was perfect this year. It makes me think of the idea of happiness. When we do achieve it, does it last? I am thinking about the people who always find a fault, think that the there is something better coming up. For those people, like it or not, I believe that is their happiness. I, on the other hand, feel that I am fortunate to be able to recognize these moments in life that no one else will understand. These are the moments you have by yourself, or with someone that, no matter ho hard you tried to explain them, it's not the same. These are the moments I keep silent about. These are my secrets. The fact of the matter is that I don't actually want to share them with others. I have been blessed with the understanding that what other people think only matters when you are trying to change their mind. Sure there could be repercussions, but if it comes to that you can always envelop them into the moment. When those thoughts come into my mind I smile. I throw the proverbial middle finger up and hope they enjoy the show, whatever that might be.

I sit

here while it is raining and think about last week when the lightning was striking. I remembered that when I was a kid I don't think I was ever really afraid of it. Even though it looked like it cracked the sky, it always disappeared. I would sit, as I think many do, and listen to the thunder roll over the many hills and mountains that surrounded our town. I could hear it coming and going. When I think about it now, understanding the science of it all, I think of all the mysterious things that are not anymore. Rainbows, animals, human behavior. I think that is what it means to be a grown up, to mature and understand things, that seemed so magical. I guess I am still trying to comprehend what I am going through. The years rolling by and how age determines what we have learned in our lives. Some people have stopped learning. They compromise and they find themselves satiated with what they have. I guess that's okay. Most people have more than others, well at least the people I know. I am rambling, I am trying to put into words the frustration I have, that no benchmarks are clear. Does it hit you and your head clears and you can say to yourself, "Yeah ok, now that that is over, time to move on." Or do you remember something and then there is the realization that in the past few months, years, there was a change and you have been who you are for quite some time? Does it ever come, or are you transported between different periods of humanity all while the clock ticks? Do you get to be a different role player, now I am a child, now I am an adult, now I am responsible, now I can act like a jackass? Now I am wise, but yesterday I was a fool? I just don't get it.

I breathe

and I breathe and I breathe. Tonight, with a spark of creativity that exploded I tried and am trying to get it all out. I started a new art project *top secret* and worked on some music. I have this strange and sudden need to get some art out there, out into the world. I don't know what medium it will be, or if it will even have an impact. I just can't wait for the moment to have it out, then I can watch what the world does with it. Chew it up, embrace it. I don't care. I will have done my part, however small. I think I have the talent, I just need the patience. It all takes time. That is one thing I had failed to realize when I first started writing. I thought i could write it and be done with it. Now I know it has to simmer, until the boiling point. I can see everything in my head, but usually it is a split second. The hardest thing is capturing that perfection. You see it, but don't always have the opportunity to put it down how it needs. I do believe the greatest motivation is seeing what others have done and trying to eclipse it. I can stand in awe of the great accomplishments, for those I do have much respect, but this is where my competitive side comes out. Rarely do I want to admit to myself that I couldn't do what they did. Astronauts, on the other hand...

Now let me get this straight, I don't normally put this idea of myself out into the world. I am a very humble person (pause for irony.) I am writing this as kind of a challenge. It is too often that I forego creativity for simplicity. I encourage you not to do the same. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. It doesn't even have to exist after you create it. I just want you to get the same feeling as I have right now. This feeling that I can't control my fingers. That there is an inside force, finally escaping. That feeling where you breathe and breathe and breathe and you don't notice it. Do it and you will recognize your lungs.

It's been some time

I know I have been behind. But here is what has happened. Take a deep breath. I'm not stopping.

I went to Denver, saw my wonderful sister, watched Hubble 3-D, which absolutely blew my mind, I am still trying to figure out how long 90 trillion miles is and how they were able to capture it, had some Denver sushi, went to a comedy improv show,flew to New York, finished my second book of the trip, walked from the lower east side to 42nd street drinking every type of alcohol we could think of, saw a giant hole, ended up in times square around 2:30 in the morning, there was no one there, took a cab home, pissed in the street, the next day took it easy until we went to Tribeca and saw James Fucking Franco (as his name will forever be known to me) read from his god awful short story collection, went to an amazing erotic acrobatic display, in an abandoned building in Brooklyn, (seriously that was amazing, beautiful and awe inspiring , for people who did this all on their own.) The next night we toured around Williamsburg, (birthplace of my people: hipsters) went to a shitty house party and then had some slices, next day I met up with a former student who lives in Boston but was going over to New York anyway, she's a sweetheart, the next day was sunday and we didn't do much during the day, instead we met up with some friends of my gracious host at a bar where when you buy a drink you get a free mini pizza, I didn't sleep that night because I was flying out very early, flew home, finished another book, came back to work to discover that my class had been dismantled, meaning i lost a lot of my favorite students to morning classes, rooted for the giants, less than a week later watched Brian Wilson strike the last texas player out and saw a city explode, from the Thai restaurant we were watching the game at we headed, in the back of a pickup truck (montana?) to the Mission where we gave high five after high five while drinking tall bys and watching hipsters, grandmothers, mexicans, punks, jocks, the homeless and everyone else dance, hug, cheer and yell, all because we won, (yes I said we I was a part of this team just as much as anyone else driving by and honking their horns) It was all fun until someone started a fire in the street and forced the riot police out, they stormed through twenty abreast, pushing me onto the side walk, well not all of them just one, that was a Monday night, Wednesday the Giants rolled into town and were given a much deserved parade, the streets were full all day and I touched electricity,since then the routine kicked in, I did however read one of the best books I've ever read, (Number 9 Dream-David Mitchel), I am up to twenty nine books this year and on my thirtieth, I have watched 154 movies and ... oh yeah I gained ten pounds which I am slowly losing, my mind, however, still here, I think I will always have a map to it.

Dustin

While I was in Montana,

I made a short video. I had some time on my hands, so I decided to edit it to make it more interesting. I added some music and took out most of my voiceover. It's nothing fancy, just a camera shot from my backyard. I hope you enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1lE-5CTp24

(If the video doesn't work, that means youtube is still working on it.)

Dustin

P.S. There might be more videos, one of The Victory Smokes, one of James Franco reading his god awful short story, and one of the ferry ride to Staten Island.

After Montana

I had a good sign last night as I spent the last few hours in Montana. I was outside around two-thirty in the morning and I was looking at Venus. Then a comet shot through the sky, broke in two and then disintegrated out of sight. It lasted three seconds, which doesn't sound like a long time, but when it's a comet that makes you notice it. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't remember the last time I saw one. So, I threw out a few amazed expletives and then made a wish.

I spent this time giving up the ghost of my childhood. I went through my old stuff ruthlessly and found a lot to throw away and not much to keep. I even thought to throw out all of my books, but my mother stopped me. When I was in high school I had a spot about a half a mile from my house. It was an opening down by the river across from my house. I didn't go there this time. And, as far as I can remember I didn't go there last winter either. Time to move on.

Last night, before the comet I had dinner with my father, I was early so I waited outside, looking around. I realized how much I missed San Francisco. I had never missed Montana, even when I was halfway across the world. I can safely say that if it weren't for my family, I would never step foot in that state again. It is a hopeless place, for me, veiled in a mystic romanticism. People tell me how beautiful it is, and it is, but beauty can only go so far. I understand the reasons my family stays but those reasons do not apply to me.

I went through the routines, the drives I have taken hundreds of times, the walk through the backyards of my family, the quirks of the house I grew up in. These are no longer my places. My mother made this house hers. I have yet to make a house. I don't know that I will and those concerns are not the ones I am focusing on right now. I need to decide on a continent first. My parents gave my sister and me a good life and I will always be grateful for their decisions that led to this point.

It is time for my own decisions. Time, which doesn't exist, has factored into my life, but never ruled it. I know the thing I want done, will get done, but the rush isn't behind them. Nothing is chasing me; my hopes my fears, least of all my expectations.

This trip was to say goodbye. I knew I would be able to say goodbye to my friends and family, maybe for two years or more. But I never imagined I would wave at that sandy blond kid with skinny arms, and a smirk. He never knew where he was going and he still doesn't. Maybe he'll hitch a ride on that comet, but that wasn't his wish.

In Montana

So, now that I have been back in Montana for almost three hours, I think the shock has worn off. While I was on the plane here I didn't notice it, but once I got off, everyone was white. I don't mean that the plane ride was scary, I mean everyone was white. No multiculturalism here. My friend once asked me, what the black people did in Montana. I had to say that they all played sports in College. Scary when stereotypes are true, and sad when they are from a place you call home.

He sat there ticking his pencil. Up and down so the eraser would hit the table. No one around him heard it but he did and that was all that mattered. He was staring up at the clock. Ten minutes. He was going to be free, all he had to was sit there. The class was ending and the teacher was talking. Something about the homework. Homework was never on his mind,. He could see the sunshine. He could feel the grass under his feet. He wanted to be out there. His knees were aching and the walls looked as though they were melting. Why was the teacher still talking? Why can't we just go. We understand what to do. It will take me about five minutes before class tomorrow. Why is everyone else so stupid in the class? All he had to do was sit there.

He decided not to look at the clock and just wait and maybe if he closed his eyes then the next time he opened them he would be free. Free to yelp and run. Free to get home, shed his nice clothes and head to the woods. Mike will be waiting for him. I need to get to Mike, he thought, he can't hold them back for too long without me. Even if the teacher let them out right now he would still have to take the bus, but that was something that can't be changed. Mr. Johnson could shut up, and open the door. He closed his eyes. He tried to count the seconds but all he could hear was the tall bald man's voice. Yeah, yeah I understand, page thirty seven the even numbers. He thought. The odds' answers were in the back. How did Math become his last class of the day? Why did this happen? There he was everyday. His previous class was right across the hall, so he had nine minutes to stare at room 207 and wait for or will it to blow up. He thought if he looked at the numbers long enough the room would pop and everyone would be spared math class.

It never happened. The bell was about to ring and he slipped in the door, everyday. Often enough so that Mr. Johnson had asked him a few times what he would do out there before the bell rang. He never answered, he just slipped into his seat and did the homework, due in approximately seven minutes. At the beginning of the semester he calculated how long Mr. Johnson took to take roll. It averaged between three and a half minutes to sometimes even ten minutes.

Two twenty-nine. By god it worked. The tick has less that 20 seconds to tock. He saw Melissa gathering her things. He wasn't the only one to sweat and dread this class. He had already put his book in his bag. His jacket was on. His pencil was the only thing he had to put away. Now his foot was tapping. Three, Two, One..Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

I have been looking

at the numbers and where people are from who view my page. It gives me great satisfaction to know that this little blog has reached all over the world. I mean, Europe, China, India, the U.K. and even Canada. I never would have thought this, but you can see how the internet makes everything closer. I like to think that this little blog isn't so little anymore. Enough about that.

It is safe to say that the New years Hex has been broken. For those of you who know then you understand for those of you who don't let me explain a little. New Year's Eve 2009 was going to be a romp through the city ending on Twin Peaks at midnight to see the fireworks. That didn't happen. I'm going to leave out most of the details, because I don't really want to get into all of it. It ended up with cops at my friends house after he had thrown up. My other friend and I on couches not being able to move and finally a trip to the hospital for my friend. It was a strange mix of nerves and misunderstandings. I was in bed for three days, sleeping and watching football. My friend was/is fine, the whole trip to the hospital was unnecessary. So that's the hex, and we three felt it for many months.

Let's jump to now. I no longer view 2010 as a disappointment. I have embraced life as a twenty-something and now am very happy with my life. I have plans for the future and I see light at the end of the tunnel. In two weeks I will be home for a little while to see most of my family, then Denver to see my sister, then off to New York to see my friend. I am also going to be taking care of some paper work.

Today, the weather is supposed to be 104. Soon, I will be going to the doctor so they can tell me that my wrist will be fine and I don't have to wear a thing that makes me look like a fifty year old who has carpal tunnel. Then, maybe a movie of a book I finished yesterday and then to a Monday night open bar party. So, life is good. Things really couldn't get any better, unless, the Lakers and the Yankees dissolve. On the creative side of things I have started making music with the help of a tiny keyboard, a mic and some software. I hope that you can agree with me that your life is great, the sun shines for you and rainbows, although magical, are also understandable.

Dustin

Writers are collectors of words. We just haven't figured out how to organize them yet.

Strange

things happened to me today in the random occurrences sections of my day. I was in the Apple store and saw Adrien Grenier. Texted some friends and my sister about it then moved on. Tried to see a French film but I was at the wrong theater. Saw Im Still Here instead. Then I went and bought a watch. I was looking for shoes and ran into my friend Dave at Shiek downtown. Hoped on a bus, went home. Then when I was heading back to the pizza place to get my ravioli, I saw the guy who sold me the watch maybe two hours before. I rarely see people out or getting together or, you know, work. I guess this might count. I did see a student where I always see one student or another, on Powell and O'Farrell. Four in one day. Strange.

No promises on the rest of six drinks, but sooner than later.

Dusitn

Fondue

Today was fun. I wore suspenders and people really didn't know what to think. That's okay. My class is great. The sun shone, then let his brother, fog come in and have a turn. I went to North Beach to have some cider and fondue. I like cheese, but it doesn't like me. In less than a month I will be in the skies seeing clouds, stars and small people while I travel to see people whom I haven't seen in a long time. Things. Are. Happening.

Dustin

Twenty Something

Last week a few friends and I decided that we were going to live like actual twenty somethings. I have been cooped up in my room for so long, the weather might have something to do with that, that I haven't been living. I have been somewhat happy, but now I want to get out there and mix it up a little. So, the past two weeks I have been out, and usually that means drinking. I have gained some weight, lost some sleep. I have bruises that I don't remember getting. And, I have been in a perpetual state of drunkenness and hungover. I think it might be affecting my memory. (Thursday night, after the gin, I don't remember anything.) I feel good about this. The connections I have are becoming deeper, and my smile is wider. So, no matter how old you are, I encourage you to live a few weeks like a twenty something. It is refreshing, a little painful at times, but all in all, worth it.

Dustin

It's about time

I got on an airplane or two, maybe three. I am planning on flying to see some of you. I am shooting for the end of September. Let me know what your plans are so I don't show up while you are in the middle of something. This will be the last hurrah before I move to Korea.

Wonderful

dinner party that lead to skinny dipping in a pool. Sometimes it's just good to do.

Six Drinks: Part one

As he walked through the door, no one turned around. No one looked up. No one noticed him. That’s just the way he likes it. With his cane in his left hand, he reached for his wallet. He sat down at the bar and waited for the bartender’s attention. She asked what he wanted without looking at him. “Gin and tonic.” She served it to him without a lime.

There was a ball game on in all corners of the room. No one was watching. He remembered when there would be one on in a corner and the whole bar would cheer for a base hit. He picked up the glass, the first one he has had in twenty-three years. He licked his lips, swallowed his saliva, sighed and took it in one drink. He did it with his eyes closed. This allowed him to shut everything else out. He felt the contrast of alcohol and water. He felt the ice on his tongue.

He set his drink down and thought about his first drink. He was eight and his family was having a dinner party. After all the guests had left and his mother was in the kitchen washing up, he snuck down to hear what all the laughter was about. He missed the party but found a prize. There were still drinks on the table. He quickly picked up the first one he saw. It burned his throat and made him sad. He stumbled on the first stair trying to run away. He was never caught and he never told his mother.

At the bar he laughed. Oh what a sweet kid he used to be. He picked up the glass and raised it to signal another. With this one, he took his time. The first sip he swirled around in his mouth. He smelled the pine as regulars came and went. This one had a lime and he fished it out of the glass and threw it in his mouth. He relished the sour flesh, the tangy peel.
The day he turned twenty-one he walked fifteen blocks to meet his friends. He was early and the bar was empty. The waitress was reading a book. He sat at the bar and made some noise. She came over annoyed and asked him what he wanted.
“Gin and tonic.”
“What gin?”
“I don’t know, what’s the best?” She didn’t tell him. She walked away and came back with the shiny liquid. “Six dollars.” He gave her seven and she walked away tapping her fat fist on the bar twice after counting the money. He had mixed emotions about the fact she didn’t card him. He liked that he looked his age, at least, but a little upset that he hadn’t tried it earlier.
It was the third drink that gave him the buzz. He felt it first in his legs. He was getting impatient at the noise the baseball game made. It was much slower than he remembered. Too many commercials surrounded the ball players. He couldn’t see the score and he was getting hot. His beard was itching. He took off his coat and stood up. It rushed from his legs to his head and he had to breathe deep to stay on his feet.

He met Sam this way. Well kind of. He was out of college for two years and just moved towns. The best friends he had were the ones he drank with, so when he got to the city he unpacked his things and went to the closest bar. After his third drink he got up to piss and tripped on the stool next to him. The girl sitting there was alone but not about to let that go. She turned and looked him up and down. He apologized and she smiled. She wasn’t used to that. When he came back there was fresh drink waiting for him.

“That’s from me.” She liked his eyes and how they looked directly into hers. He felt very comfortable, just like it was his smile he was looking at. “I’m Sam.” She held out her hand, stiff with her elbow locked. He noticed a scar between her thumb and her wrist. “Arturo, but call me Turo.” She hated that name and the confidence he didn’t say it with. They went home together that night. Two years later they were married.

Hot night

lead to a tall boy of high life in the panhandle with a roommate. Can you spell wonderful? I can and just did.

Yesterday was a

long day filled with a headache and nausea. I woke up round eleven-thirty and felt awful. At first I thought it was just a hangover but then it wouldn't go away. I tried to sleep all day, just to get rid of it. At 7:30 I thought I was fine so I got an Arizona juice and a doughnut. That didn't help. So I went back to bed. I stayed there until falling asleep and waking up at 1:30 am with no headache. Yesterday was a throw away day. However, I was able to stay up all night. I listened to music, watched some tv shows and a movie. Then I got up took a shower and went for breakfast. If I can make it to eleven tonight then I wouldn't have wasted a day. I believe that today will be much better. Enjoy your Sunday!

Dustin

These Hands. Page Five

He didn’t hear the thud. He was focusing on his hands. These hands. His naked body was still. His window was open. The floor was still just dirt and ash. But his hands were changed.
They were glowing. He put them together heard the releasing sound. He touched his face. He held them as far away as he could. He brought them close until they were just a smudge of pink, a blur of possibility. He slowly fell forward and caught himself, with his hands. He sprung back up. He touched his back, eyes, hair, chest, dick, toes. He touched his desk. He closed his eyes and held his breathe.
Pawing at the paraphernalia of his life on his desk he felt the scissors and the plates, the pens, the stuff and things. He felt around on the bed and felt the book and the magazines. He turned and thrust his hands into the mound of clothes. He felt the roughs and the smooths. He felt the clean and the dirty. He shoved his clothes away and splashed in the gathered water, juice soda, tea, beer cocktail. He found paper.
If he felt the numbers he didn’t know. He felt his hair again. He toyed with it. He rubbed it on the back of each hand. The grease, the grating sensation of rubbing it together. It meant something. He felt his head again. He opened his palms and laid them flat on the floor.
He pressed as hard as he could with his left. Keeping his fingers stretched he slowly lifted it up and held it flat an inch off the floor. He put his right down, pressing lightly. He felt the fingernail. He felt the ash and the dust. He felt.

These Hands. Page Four

Pulling out the thumbtack that was holding it up he opened it and dumped it on the bed. He knew what was inside; the book he was reading, two New Yorker magazines, headache pills. It didn’t occur to him that two of those pills would help his swollen head. He was searching for something new. A clue to who he was put there by someone else.
The bag proved useless. He was too logical to decipher what the contents actually meant. The book and the magazines were there to ease his bus trips; the pills were there to ease his head. I read and get headaches. Other people do too.
He threw the bag aside and it hit his trash bags full of cans and important envelops. The noise of the cans caught his ear. Are we what we don’t want? The bags were spilled, liquids running together and mixing with the ash and dust on his floor. He drinks bottles of flavored water, soda, tea, beer. Nothing.
The envelopes were not his to interrogate. The wrappers of food long since passed through him were meaningless. Scraps of paper were misdirecting cues. Receipts and tickets stubs all held the past. He found numbers that held his attention. 8945373624. He kicked bottles by walking the two steps to his bed. These numbers are something. Are these numbers me? He added them together he divided them, he multiplied them. He realized that he was not numbers. Numbers don’t breathe, more importantly numbers don’t laugh.
He tossed the numbers on the floor. The piece of paper flew into his closet. Clothes stared back at him. He stood but didn’t move forward. He twisted his head. He closed and opened his eyes quickly to see if he could change his perspective. He wanted to see who would wear those clothes.
They didn’t move. Without permission he inched forward. Aware of the bottles and trash, he shuffled his bare feet. He would hate to hurt himself at this moment of discovery. He slid by the closet door, careful not to touch it. He exhaled and extended his arm. He touched a shirt first. The fabric felt rough. He was confused that anyone would wear this material daily. The multicolored cloth held his imagination for a moment. Then with sudden haste he rifled through all of his clothes. Jeans, pants, folded and neat, a t-shirt, sweaters, button down shirts. Off to the side held his ties and his belts, different colors. Under that sat his dirty clothes bin.
He contracted his fingers around as much as he could grab. The hangers fought with no result. He threw them on the ash and dust, the still mixing liquids. How can I be something that varies so? I am not colorful.
He remembered his drawers. They too held misrepresentations. Why bother? He wasn’t going to find anything new. He wasn’t going to see his face in socks, in boxers. He won’t open a drawer and have meaning pop out. Soda stained a flannel shirt on the floor.
A door slammed and he felt a chill. He was stuck in his world for hours. He was on the verge of vomiting. He could not see straight but fought the urge to shake his head. That makes things worse. He hadn’t realized he was sweating. He could feel it on his whole body. Drops flowed down the back of his neck, behind his knees, on his upper lip. He was encased in sweet liquid.
His eyesight wasn’t failing him, it had just turned dark. The day had passed him. After falling to the knees he didn’t feel the pain on his bones.

These Hands. Page Three

He turns on a light, he smells them. He licks them. His ache for knowledge about himself has disregarded his taste buds.
He stands and rips down his pants turning around like a dog chasing his tail, not sure where to begin. Bald knee, chicken flesh legs, wrinkled penis, thick injured ankles. He sits down to examine his feet again. He forgot to check the bottom. Soft, not Neanderthalic, pink.
A moment passes and hair falls into his eyes. He grabs it, logic is not with him. He pulls trying to stretch it into his view. He doesn’t feel the pain. His tongue doesn’t reach it. Then he spots the scissors. He leaps, grabs the scissors used for cutting hair and cuts it from the roots. He holds it up like a scalp. He tries to scream but gets lost in the texture. Greasy, light, not as dark as I thought. He smells it; it’s a foreign smell. It smells good. He rubs it against his face. He puts it in his mouth.
He can no longer see the hair above his eyes. Treason. The hair that made up a small part of him is gone. The hair is not his and it is a waste to examine it. He throws it on the ash and dust gathered on his floor. He closes his eyes and sighs. At that moment he had never felt more lost.
He fell back on his bed and saw the cracks in his ceiling. He wished for it to crash down on him. He prayed for a tornado. He actually put his fists together. The tornado never came and he found himself suddenly awake. Hours had passed and the thumping in his head was more apparent. Where am I?
He saw the sunlight, it betrayed his mood. He had pulled his pants up and felt them hot, full of razors. He shed them with disregard to all pants. He stood and saw the window was open. He wanted to see outside. He was going to try a new approach. Maybe someone out there could tell him who he was. He took off his shirt and stretched out his arms.
With his head back and eyes closed he let the world examine him. He let the wind try to get at him. He let everyone in, but tried to keep himself out. He waited for days, for months, years. He held his breathe. He tried to cry. He ended up laughing.
What he wanted to see most were his eyes. People have commented on them. After his experiment with his hair, he knew that once detached, once removed, they were no longer a part of him. He opened his eyes and tried to feel them. He moved them back and forth, up and down. He made his zombie eyes. Laughter came.
That’s what he was. He knew it all along. This shell he was carrying wasn’t him. This was just a vessel. His legs, his hair his eyes, they weren’t him. He wouldn’t have to see his organs. This thought, this unexplored and relevant idea should have made him feel better.
Still he wasn’t ashamed. He still stood naked in front of the window and got a brief glimpse of enjoyment at the absurdity of what he was doing. He rubbed his head. A smile. His laughter didn’t turn to joy. Play the clown and laugh.
If it isn’t my body that makes me, what does? The idea lingered as he stepped to his desk. He saw what lay before him. Dirty dishes, things that fill his pockets, random notes about movies he wants to see. Pens, calendars, empty water bottles. Stuff and things. He smelled his watch before his attention was taken away. The bag by the door called to him.

Short Story

These Hands

Page Two

He can’t figure out why, at this moment, he feels that last night would have changed anything. There was supposed to be an asteroid. There was supposed to be a plague. There was supposed to be meaning. The red box of cigarettes gave him some meaning.
As he stood the blood fell from his head and he couldn’t see for a moment. He thought he was being transported to another planet. At 11:30 the world doesn’t look different. It is the most meaningless time of the day. As he regained his sight he saw the blank wall in front of him. Wild thoughts of spitting against it, of smearing blood. The Matisse print would have to stay. That would say something.
He grabbed his key and his water bottle and his lighter and his cigarettes and snuck out of his own bedroom. The hallway was still dark. The stairs cold. He almost tripped while shutting his eyes to avoid the bathroom mirror. This is my day, and this is how it starts.
The air was fresh as the fog rolled over the cars in front of him. A steady friend. He feels like fog, driving people inside, away, away from itself. His lighter didn’t work and for a few seconds that task occupied his mind. Exhaling, that was his first sigh of the day; it felt like his first breath. He sat with his hood on and watched the smiling walk by. They rarely say hi and are more often scared. Let them be.
He heard the electric bus roll through the stop sign and thought about the times he ran to catch it. It was more important than life at that moment. He knows it is going to happen. He steps off his stoop and lurches forward. He starts his sprint, holding his bag. This is why he likes sneakers. The bus doesn’t have to stop. At that point he gets angry at himself when he misses the bus. Not because he failed, because he cared so damn much at the time. A bus passes by dozens of times a day, I never notice.
He had wanted a cigarette and now that that was over, he didn’t want to go back inside. He thought about walking around with his slippers on. He thought about taking the bus without a wallet, without money, he smelled too clean to get away with that. As he gripped the bridge of he nose, knowing damn well that physically it doesn’t do anything for him, he smiled. He had nothing to smile about. He found everything funny. The night before was melting and with it the unrealized ambition.
He was a man coming to terms with his ununiqueness. The face he saw this time in the mirror was defiantly his. It made him angry. It usually makes him angry. Not for what he sees but the fact he will never see himself. Not as others, not even as himself. I don’t know me.
He sees things, he makes thoughts but he will never see who he is. He won’t know if the shirt he is wearing fits or not. He will never see if the double chin he perceives is real. He has seen photographs but it was never the moment. It was through a filter. It was through light reflecting caught by a camera. The anger mounts, it fills his fingertips. He makes an impotent fist.
Back in his room he rips open the blinds. He looks at the bed, his TV, his books. He looks at his hands and there is some relief. I can see you. He is a student now. He wants documents, essays, he wants experiments. All of them on his hands. Then he shoots his slippers off to look at his feet. He brings his foot up to his face.

I promised you a short story.

I just finished one in a fury. I feel I have just run a marathon, yet my lungs are dry. I am going to post a page a day for the next five days. It's long and I want to keep your interest. Also, due to the formatting of this compared to word some of the formatting won't come together. If you ask me nicely I can email it to you. It's raw and I mean that in every way possible. No editing other than grammar and spelling occurred. The subject matter is uncompromising. I feel it is the best thing I have set my hands to. Please, I would love feedback. Any emotional reaction would be greatly appreciated. This is my new greatest achievement.

THESE HANDS

PAGE ONE

His days are numbered. All of ours are. As he looks into the night sky, he feels powerful. He feels strong. He feels drunk. The smoke he exhales brings a new shape to the street lamp over his head. An orange cloud, that seems to linger forever in his closed eyes.
The night was long and his head hurt. He sighed through it. Pouring wave after wave of lightly colored beer. It subsides long enough for him to slam dance to a cover of The Ramones. After that “Shout.” He looks around and feels that he is jumping higher than anyone else. The tall and short people around him don’t feel the music like he does. In fact that is all he feels.
After all he hadn’t had a night out like this for a while. He let his friends buy him drinks. Shitty beer and not so bad music made up his night. He was to forget who he was, but that he never knew made it impossible. The waves of beer brought the stars closer, but that didn’t matter. He was alone in a sea of people who didn’t know his name.
He smiles and feels like he is going to cry. He hasn’t been laid in two years. He hasn’t touched a woman in months. Those around him think he has nothing but laughs boiling inside of him. At this moment he could have been anyone. He could have been a Greek god. He could have been a beggar, the one who shat on the street in front of the crowd gathered outside. He honored that beggar’s wild unabashedness. He shouted guttural noises that even he didn’t understand.
That night ended not in peril, not in joy, in mediocrity. With a flash he woke up and found himself disappointed. He was to wake up in a stranger’s bed. He was alone. He was frustrated with the man in his bed. The sunshine outside only made him angry. He rolled over but no more sleep came. His routine had woken him up.
It was the potential that made him regret where he was. The night was right. He searched his memory to find something, anything that could tip him off to how he failed. He didn’t have a goal that night but after waking up he knew that he missed a chance. Was I talking to anyone, sitting there in the booth while others danced? This question lingered.
At that moment he felt like he had been alone all his life: déjà vu of never doing anything. Regretting the nothing that he accomplished. He noticed that the night before he had changed. His wasn’t in his pants and socks and button up shirt he had worn to work and then out. His frustration comes from not knowing why he was frustrated. He looked down at the floor. A fingernail or toenail, ash, one sock. This was his life, drowning in the wood.
He heard a car drive by and understood he wasn’t alone. He was never alone. The one idea he hoped for was that he would wake up and no one would be around. He wished that he could scream anywhere he wanted. He might not be alone. The bums who cruise by shout as if they are lost at sea. What are they looking for?
Transported back to his human form he searches for his water bottle. He searches for his cigarettes. He searches for himself. Everything I have done has led to this. He collapsed back on his bed and vice gripped his eyes shut for ten seconds counting aloud. Then he sprung up and looked out the window. Everything was still he thought he made them disappear. Then a woman walked by with a dog, blue plastic bag.

After work

I had a few drinks. Just a spur of the moment thing, but it was fun. After that I walked to the bus stop. It's between fifth and sixth on Market, where two blocks and one night away there was a shooting. Anyway, a guy asks for some change and a hug. I gave him the change, thirty cents, but not the hug. I had to refuse him three times. He went away thanking me for the change. A few moments later, he came back with two fingers up, giving me the peace sign, or asking for a cigarette. I told him to be careful because he gave me the peace sign with his palm in. I told him it meant the middle finger in Britain. Then with a confused look he held up his middle finger.
"Can I ask you a favor?"
"You want a hug?"
"Yeah." This was elongated, like I caught him in a lie.
"Sorry, I told you no."
"You'll give me change but not a hug?"
"Yup."
He walked away, this time I kept my earphone out of my ear to listen to the circus of drunks, him and the woman he was with, shout at me how they just broke up with their respective partners. He looked at me when he finished. I said that it was a match made in heaven. The older ladies, scared and possibly from out of town, laughed. I didn't like that. I meant that it was good timing. However, they thought I meant the fact that they were both drunks, or crack heads. He came back, asked for a cigarette and then tried to get his old lady to come and give me a hug. She wasn't having it. Instead he asked for a light. I gave it to him and then, not seeing the counteracting logic, he told me not to ever give anyone a light on the street.
"Never give anyone a light on the street."
"You mean like you?" I countered.
"You know why? They are all crack heads. Me I'm just a drunk." He finagled his "old lady" over to give a hug. She was in the middle of practicing her Drunken boxing style. She came over and was a little scared. Over in the bus shelter she was punching and grunting, channeling Bruce Lee. Then she came over, I shook her hand, grabbed her fist and gave it a pound, you know the way white people do when trying to seem cool. She left and sat down, perhaps humbled, perhaps tired, perhaps ready to pass out. Nope. As the man was talking to me she yelled. "You keep saying the same shit over again."
"This guy needs a hug. I like his vibe." Well, he never gave me a hug. As the bus approached I saluted him, wished him well in my mind and found my way to the 21. I got on the bus and opened my book...

What a beautiful weekend

I had. I haven't done much the past two days but sit in my cave and watch movies/TV. And you know what, I can't complain. I used to think that if I didn't do anything that meant I was a loser or a loner, but I'm not worried about that anymore. I'm not a loser, and no one can say that about me other than me, well maybe Neil, the Unicorn in the corner, but he's just mad because he broke up with his girlfriend. Such a strange roommate. Anyway.

My fingers and my mind have been itching for a while now. I need to do something creative. I helped a friend out with an essay and the simple fact that I was typing on a keyboard lent some satisfaction to me. So I thought I would keep going and write this. I think one of the reasons I feel so stagnant in my job is because I don't have anything creative to do. I know this system too well, or at least the curriculum. So this may be a subtle warning to the students, I might be doing things differently, but bear with me. Everything will be alright. Just take deep breaths. Close your eyes and this will all be over soon. I don't really anticipate any sort of reaction but I just want to prepare for the worst. I know I am far from being the perfect teacher, yet I think that if I could inject some variety into my classroom, I might be able to stay a little sane.

It will allow me to clean out the algae, the dead fish and let the water flow free. Also, I haven't written a short story in months. I find sparks of openings or endings, but something tells me to forget them. I don't like that. I want to try everything. That's it, I am going to write a short story this week. And guess what you have/get to read it. I know I started one on here a while ago, but I left that one alone for now. This will be amazing. It will drop your jaw and make you fall in love with 12 point font.

Ok, I don't have any idea about this story and I might be overhyping it a little but, but, confidence rarely hurts, if it's done right. Uh huh, Neil agrees with me.

(The picture is what I looked like while writing this. Neil's pissed he's not in the photo, but that is what happens when you don't contribute. No credit)

Take care beautiful people (I am talking to all of you, just in case you have self esteem issues)

Well,

I am getting excited. I have sent off a few resumes to Korea and have already gotten a reply. Just think, in a few months this blog will be filled with videos and pictures of my experience. Then I will actually have something to talk about. I am grateful for my students who have given me suggestions. Each city I research looks amazing. I am even starting my self study of Korean and have begun to like Kim-Chi.

After this week of ho humes I am very excited for this weekend. Party Tomorrow, BBQ saturday. Party Saturday night, and friends in town. I am going to shake the stale, cold evaporated air of this job off and then maybe a fresh start will be available Monday Morning. I am looking forward to a break. I love my kids but all the other the other shit accompanying it seems unnecessary.

On weeks like this I want to hop on a boat and sail until I can't see anything around me. Then I think I can exhale. I can scream as loud as I want. I can swim naked free and clear. I can talk to the fish and learn the mysteries of the sea. The curves of the earth will hug me. I will be cleansed. I will breathe and smile. After that I think I could come back to a war, armageddon, anything.

Dustin

Since

it has been a while, I thought I would share what I have been up to. Still teaching, still living my life, alone at home most nights, just watching movies, tv shows, things I enjoy. I have started adding stand up comedy into the mix. You might say that this started because of a new co-worker, who is a stand up. I toyed with the idea dozens of times. Just sitting down, writing some jokes, getting the wording right, then sneaking out one of these nights and doing an open mic. I still think about it. I am inching closer and closer to saying,"Fuck it," stepping on stage and letting it go. Some of my students might tell you that this would be no problem for me. I think that is a slight advantage. I do get up everyday of the week and "teach" for five hours. But actually a lot of that is making the students comfortable. I do this with humor. I make an ass out of myself and try to see if they will relax, breathe deep and retain some of that information. Making people laugh is selfless. Sure you might think that you want to make people laugh to feel better about yourself, and that is true to a point. But also, and more importantly, you make jokes and laughter happens. It may not be antibiotics but it works. People who are grieving might appreciate that laugh more in a difficult time. Everyone has a different sense of humor. Two people might laugh at the same joke, but are they laughing for the same reason?

This idea comes from no one but myself. I never had that moment in the office or at school where someone says, "You're funny, you should do stand-up." I have done it once before. It was alright but I could have done more, actually, I can do more. Now, I don't envision myself traveling the country and living that life. I see it as more of a hobby. Some way to make friends or a way to try something new. I admire anyone who can stand up on a stage practically bare-ass naked trying to make people laugh. If it goes well, you get all the praise but it's a two sided coin. When you fail you have no one to blame but yourself. For the most part, that's kind of how I feel about my life. I have had plenty of support but I feel that I have made my own decisions. The highs and lows I made sure to share with myself before anyone else. If there was a problem I have learned to solve it on my own. These account for around 90% of my problems. Same with my successes. I don't always share them with other people. I keep some and feel it give me confidence. My little secret that makes me happy. So, in a way I think that I could handle some of the pressure. So that's it. That's what's going on with me.

Dustin

Something I thought

Honor the man who puts his hammer down without a sound.
Do not fear the man who puts his hammer down with a crash.
Instead, fear the man who never puts his hammer down.

I feel

like doing something violent. Nothing to hurt anyone or myself, just something that I can tell has an obvious change caused by me. I would love to find a broken TV set on the sidewalk, take it into the park and destroy it. I wouldn’t really be destroying it since it didn’t work already, but I want to see something break. I am stagnant, I am docile and I am bored. This is a bad combination as I feel I am going to explode. My thoughts don’t know where to go. They are forming an angry mob in my head. They are ready to rush to my fists and smash, to my legs and kick. I guess I wouldn’t really mind getting in a fight right now. Never been in one, so I don’t know how to talk myself out of one yet. I have been very physical lately. Maybe I want to go dancing. I want to move without running. I want to smile while falling down and getting back up. I want things to have changed after I pass. I want more than the slight erosion my sneakers caused on the pavement. I want to see a bad man pay. I want him to learn a lesson. I am a teacher. Hell maybe, I want to learn a lesson as well. Do you ever feel like your shoulders are going to detach and your arms will fly away, leaving you with your mouth open as you fist smash the windows behind to you to escape? I think about that sometimes. I don’t know where it comes from. I am not a violent person. But I am human. Humans have been through violence. Don’t say we created it though. Just take a look at claws, horns spikes… We are in the wild kingdom, be it in my small apartment bedroom, the jungles of Africa, your penthouse apartment. Kill, fight, win, struggle. My mentality is this. We have these wonderful machines that are here to provide that we survive in the future. We need to use them or just like knives get rusty, they will no longer serve a purpose. Computers, TV’s are great but the outdoors, where we contact threats, that is where we get our thrills. It’s like sex. If we didn’t enjoy it so god dam much we wouldn't do it over and over again. There would be no sports. We would be fat blobs who were eaten before our first sentences were uttered. I just saw myself in a loincloth punching a tiger. Shut up PETA. No I am behind a drum kit hitting the cowhide. I am jumping over cliffs and diving into the water. My shirt is off and I scream as being chased or I run, chasing. It is making extremities numb with something to hold, pound, thrust or throw. I want my fist to smash glass. I want a microphone thrown into a speaker. I want to feel a punch in the ribs. I think that this aggression is healthy. I am not targeting humans, people, a symbol of my parents, boss, ex, or anything else psychoanalysts would tell my rage is really about. I could be the happiest man in a mosh pit right now. I don’t do and a not on drugs. I am just being a human, a human as an animal. I don’t think rage is the right word. There is this force that is trying to escape from my physical being, but I don’t know how to release it. I thought pounding on these keys would help, but as I rock back and forth to the song playing at full volume I feel this force growing, the atoms of it are multiplying. Worry not, for there is not bridge close enough for me to jump of and feel that thrill of smashing the water. Felling my body collapse. I still won’t fight any tigers because I am too far from the zoo. Violence is not the right word. Violence is a choice or something, how you react. I have nothing to react to, I just want to act. I want the bass drum note I am hearing in my head to be footsteps or the impacts of my fist into …something. I am a dangerous caged animal with rational thought and non-sociopathic tendencies. What do I do with this? I am sweating thinking about it. I am smiling as I slam dance and rip my shirt off. I laugh as I chop down a tree and hear the crash. I throw that fucking TV off of a cliff, watch it smash, glass flies, NOISE is made. No one wants to make noise. Shhhhhhhh I do this, all day long, let me Yawlp. Let me stand next to an 800-pound gorilla and scream. Let me charge into a justified battle with a spear, or an axe. Let me see fire, let me see revolution in the streets. I want to run down the oppressors and do it because I am human. Because I am an animal and that is what animals do. When something is wrong they fight. Let me fight; just tell me what’s wrong. God I wish I could fly. I need to climb a tree ride a bicycle down one of these hills. I need to walk across coals. I need to run from the cops. I need to do all these things at once. I want to swordfight. I want to parry and thrust. I want to explode, and it’s all out of a strange mixture of joy and boredom.

Dustin

I have

started shooting hoops after the Celtics play. These Finals games have made me so anxious, and give me so much energy that I have to burn it off somehow. It has been a great series, but I do hope that game six in L.A. will be a twenty point blowout so I can get some sleep afterwards. I usually shoot around for about a half an hour to an hour. I have done this four or five times. I have started to take 100 shots in the end, keeping track of how many I make, opposed to how many I take and figure that is my shot percentage. True, it is a lot easier with out anyone guarding you and without getting tired playing defense, or worrying about passes and rebounds, but I think this a fair assessment. I have done this three times and average around 55% shooting. Not so bad. I like this, it reminds me of when I was little and could go shoot hoops whenever I wanted, weather permitting.

However, when I was little, no one just randomly showed up and asked if they could have a shot. The past four times this has happened to me. Let me break down the type of people who just stop by and ask to play. This will also show the type of people who are walking around the Panhandle.

1. He was a man in a wheel chair who was sitting with other people for a while. He made his first shot and I was happy. Then he wanted to shoot more and more. The woman who he was with was getting angry, I was too a little. Even though he made his first shot, he air-balled the next ten or so, and wouldn't give up. He made one and rolled away, saying thank you.

2. Walter Earl. He was the nicest of the four. He took a few shots and then asked to play HORSE with me. It was his HORSE to my H. I know his name because he introduced himself and told me he was a Jazz musician. It was also the day before his birthday. You should google him. He told me to do so, but I haven't yet.

3. This was last week. It was a middle aged man with a polo shirt tucked into his jean shorts. He air-balled the first shot and then I let him get his own rebounds as I was getting frustrated. I was in the middle of figuring out my average and he wanted to make small talk. He played basketball in junior high school, but doesn't like watching it on T.V. I think he even said that he hated it. As far as I'm concerned it's the best sport to watch. He made a few shots and every one he made his partner, who was sitting about 100 feet away, cheered.

4. I could see this guy coming for a while. He looked like he might have just played a game. I didn't look at him as he strolled up, put out his cigarette and asked if he could shoot. He too air-balled his first shot. I went and took a drink of water as he ran after the ball. I still didn't look at him. He could take a hint better than the previous imposer. After only a few more shots he turned me and said, "Too drunk to play basketball." With a snort I took his pass and he went on his way.

I know this may be petty, but please if you see someone playing by themselves, please don't ask to shoot their ball. I did mean to say please twice. Chances are they want to be alone. They aren't looking too shoot around with someone. You could play HORSE with them. My problem is, I can't say no to them. It might be neighborhood rules. Sure it's five minutes of my time, but I am doing my own thing. I didn't ask the middle aged man if I could ride his bike around. I know this is a friendly and unfriendly city at the same time, but would it be mean to refuse? Probably, but it is much nicer to let them shoot. I'm sure I'll be back next Sunday with another update. I'm not going to change. I'll play ball, and if someone asks, I will let them shoot. And one more thing, why is it never the pretty girls I see running. Would it be strange to ask to run with them? Yeah, it would.

I thought I'd share

what a student wrote to me on her last day. There has been a lot of justified complaining about our job as teachers. Everyone there knows about the low pay, but we just can't figure out why it continues. There have been problems with management. But every once in a while we get the true reason we teach here. It isn't always summed in a card, but it is here. Also, please forgive the mistakes. Can you say what she did in Korean?

Dear Dustin,
Hi, this is Cindy. How are you? Can you remember my Korean name? My name is Sekyoung Shin. I get used to being called as 'Cindy.' But it's time to be Sekyoung again. HaHaHa. The time to go back to Korea is coming.

You and San Francisco are very special for me. before I came here, English had been stressful and boring to me because I always had studied English to pass an exam. But, I have been interested in English since I met you in your class. Your class was always hilarious and interesting. I was happy and fun while I was attending your class. Thank you.

You are very good teacher. Besides you are special teacher.
I will never forget you. And I wish we would meet in Korea again.
Don't forget to keep in touch with me! I really want to see you again.

Thank you. Dustin.
Good-bye.
Cindy
Sekyoung Shin
신 세 킹


Students like Cindy, and many other I have encountered here, are the reason I have stayed. Please ask any of my former teachers to see if any of them would have said I would have become a teacher. I understand it now. It might not be my profession forever but for now, I think I'll stick with it.

Ray Allen put on a show.

This was a good weekend. I had some karaoke and Japanese food on Friday. Saturday there drinks and Japanese food, then drinks in the Haight. Today I watched my favorite team tie up the series and head back home to take games three, four and five. When I look back I exhale and smile. Usually I just stay home. I know there is plenty to do in this city but it escapes me sometimes. I am even looking forward to this week and next weekend. For a while I thought that basketball and sports in general were just a phase for me. But now I have learned that sports, watching and playing, will be with me the rest of my life. The game is perfect in its simplicity. Put a ball into a hoop that is high above you, or try to make sure the other team doesn't put the small ball in a different hoop. But then you watch great teams and they first make it look impossible, then so easy. I don't like those who look down on sports as brutish and unsophisticated. It's true, you sweat, you push, shove, you get hurt, you gloat, you get angry, you are good one moment, then horrible the next. But you also learn a lot about yourself. Can you handle pressure? Are you a team player? Do you know how to exploit you strengths and abolish your weaknesses? Do you have a good work ethic? Are you coordinated? Can you see things others can't? Are you strong physically and mentally? It is a constant test. Most people can see the benefits of a team sport. But some see it as grown or overgrown men and women fighting over leather holding in air. To those people, I say you might be smarter than me in certain respects but let's put it on the court. Also, recognize that I said MAY.

Dustin

Lakers Suck.

Although Boston didn't win tonight, it could have been worse. Watch them come back with a vengeance on Sunday. I know I will. They didn't win but I had a good time watching the game. After going to a crowded bar I found a Thai restaurant with big screens and the waitress (I think her name was Thai, I'm sure it was something different though) let us sit all alone in their other bar and watch the game alone. I like it when people are nice. I know that is a simple sentence but it isn't as easy to find as one might think. Just ride the bus sometime, and you will see. I suspect she was a nice person but others suspected she had something else in mind. Now I am never one of those people who think that the waitress is into them, or anyone else for that matter. Thinking about it, I might have missed some opportunities. Later when I was waiting alone for some people to come back, she sat down and talked to me. The bills were paid, and most people had left, so I'm not sure about this.

I'm sorry to all of you for not writing so much recently. I got another job and have had to behave like an adult, going to bed before eleven and waking up before seven. It has started taking its toll. How much it charges, I'm not sure, but I hope it isn't too taxing. (Yay! Word humor.) I have been treading water for too long. I can't wait until I can get some serious bread. It will be very eye opening to get paid what I'm worth. I think in three months it will be a different story. Right now I am just enjoying what little peace I have. I think a big difference, and I mean this in no derogatory way, is not having a girlfriend. You always have to do stuff and buy stuff and they keep you awake (and yes I know that usually it is never a bad thing.) But sometimes a homie (that's me) needs a break.

I have decided that I am moving to Korea. I know there is a lot of turmoil right now, so I am not going to go if things are too escalated. But this hole I am in needs a ladder and feel like this is a good opportunity. And you know, I like barbecue.

When I look at her she will smile. I mean when I stare at her, longingly, quizzically, tenderly, she will smile because of the attention. She will challenge me, but concede when wrong, and graciously accept when I concede. She will like and play basketball. She will wonder where I was, not out of jealousy, but rather she will want to know, first if I was safe and then if I was enjoying myself. She won’t care what purse she has or if we leave for a quick outing, will just put on shoes and leave with me. She will let me kiss her whenever I wanted. She won’t turn away because she knows how much pain that causes. She won’t call me names when she’s angry. She will be understanding and loyal. She will know more poets than I do. She will have an unusual name but not unusual parents. She won’t call her father ”daddy.” She hates dick and fart jokes. She will want me to meet her friends and be liked by them. She will like my friends. She will trust me. She won’t seek attention, from me or anyone. She will never try to undermine my family, or my relationship with them. She will be as smart as or smarter than me. She will understand movies, and understand the use of blood in them and not wince when it appears on screen. She will let me cook for her. She will understand my physical ailments, and limitations, but still expect me to be as strong as superman. She won’t question anything in my writing, unless it’s about the form. Just touching her skin will make me aroused. She will have been places in the world, or she will have never been anywhere and allow me to be a tour guide. She will understand humans have emotions and different things make us sad. She won’t comment on my smoking. She will able to drive, swim, drink, use chop sticks, run fast, and use public transportation. She won’t drink too much unless it’s a celebration. She will make sure that I don’t get hung-over, and when I do, laugh at me at first then help me out. She will know that a simple hug can turn into lovemaking. She will have friends in other countries, whom we visit every few years. She will not like hiking, camping, canoeing, or kayaking. She will take showers with me when we are both running late, or if she wants to be close me while being naked and having hot running water embrace us. She will give me a back rub and praise me when I give her one. She will understand computers and won’t understand comic books but find it endearing that I do. She will laugh at me when I’m overreacting. She will know the difference between Star Trek and Star Wars. She will be happy. She will have an open mind. She will teach me about art. She won’t mind if it’s a little dirty. She will never hold anything over my head. She won’t keep tabs. She will understand money, but never use it as leverage. She will understand that in a relationship there are some silences and sometimes those are more important than what could have been said at that moment. She will exist.

The atoms

I am comprised of stir and my hands move. My eyes shift, squint in the light. I am waiting for something. I usually forget that I am waiting. Oddly enough it is not only when I am sleeping. I have been waiting for days, years. The unfortunate thing is, I don't know what I'm waiting for. I get excited, I get anxious, but for what I don't know, have no clue. I imagine I might find it when I take an unusual path or make a decision counter to what I would have normally done. It's just around the corner, just over the hill. I am afraid of it. Not knowing scares me. Finding out could scar me. I am not a nervous person, the thoughts that normally tax our brains pass over me, mercury racing downhill. Money comes and goes, my job is stressful but secure. I am waiting, wondering for nothing. When I feel like I can see the future, my heart strengthens and my eyes sharpen, I look deeper at the man on the corner, approaching me. I stare at the woman across from me on the bus. My future lies just three feet ahead of me. Then the man walks past without the exciting job offer, or peril. The woman gets off the bus and doesn't look back. I shrug and continue walking. I exhale and climb back into my book. It isn't greatness, fame or riches. It's purpose that I'm waiting for. I'm doing my part of being in the lost generation.

I make them smile, I make them laugh. They cry. I indulge myself with novels. The protagonists have purpose. They have conflict. Is that it? I have no conflict, war battle, love. I have over six feet of myself. I have my thoughts, my dreams, some I share, most I leave behind. I think, I create, I forgive others quicker than myself. Is it time that I accept that I have to make the adventure I am looking forward to. I have had a few. I have been places, seen things, like when I was in Japan and saw a guy riding backwards on a motorcycle waving a samurai sword at the police chasing them. Is the difference that I only saw it and didn't do it? However I am pretty sure that is not what I am waiting for. I just don't think I can accept my life as normal. I am ready for my samurai sword.

Dustin

Kick-Ass

I watched it, you should too. Unless you don't like violence. Or superheroes.

Dustin

I was

going to write something, but it felt forced. I am debating whether or not I should just not post something. I guess you don't have to wait for the answer.

Dustin

I have

come to the point in my life where I am starting to notice gray hairs and new wrinkles. I am 27 living with roommates. Is that a bad thing? Who knows? You do. So tell me right now. What am I supposed to do about this aging thing? I wonder if I am thinking too much about it. I used to live by the philosophy, "Why worry about the things you can't change?" But this is really getting to me. I feel trapped or caged.

I am starting to seriously consider moving to New York. The apartments don't look too expensive, cheaper than here. I would live in Brooklyn. I would live in snow, but oh, I would have a train, the park and a cliched life of moving there from a small town, well not directly.

I don't know what I am doing.

Dustin

Hello,

So I stayed up very late last night and made a video, well rather I edited one to make it better. Last week I went to a Giants game with a lot of the students and thought I would make a video. Still, I am just testing out the camera and software, and I think I am getting the hang of it. So you can go to my youtube page and see it there.

http://www.youtube.com/user/Dustin798

I hope you all enjoy, it was fun to make. In case you are wondering, the song is Lightspeed, by Matt & Kim.

Stay gold

Dustin

a day at two museums and a park

I went to the de Young and then to Yerba Buena and then to the SFMOMA. This is what came of the visits. I wrote some poems. Save you eye rolls for after please. This is the poem I wrote after I told my students to write one for class.

Yerba Buena

with the sound of thunder behind me and sugar drops of water I sit on concrete.
two men fight in a circle, starting on their hands, slowly.
the child cries under the waterfall, but the sun still shines.
i see a shadow of a man writing, his hand, never letting the pen go, pink knuckles.
i am at the center of the world, dreaming of jet streams behind me while the sun embraces my neck.

I'm not sure this would be much different under the moon.
The coins reflect nothing but hopes, each a different color, each a different dream.
A child on his knees contemplates the rippling water as I contemplate him.
The tired sakura say goodbye to the hellos of the green, unwavering grass.
Men in suits, women in skirts, teenagers pass walking mirrors and look past.

Culture and history crowd this park, doves are pigeons here.
the ocean sky has no sand, no ships, and no whales.
My shaded eyes squint and I realize it is finally spring.
no snow here but the fog relents and we wait for the wave to come down.
Sadness is joy here, the sun warms the soul, and the sky cools the mind.

This one I wrote after visiting two museums and had a line just stick in my mind all afternoon. So I just had to write it down.

Frown Smile

I like paintings of poets, drunks and men with beards.
Usually they are on in the same.
I don't like paintings of happy people,
Usually that moment of jubilation doesn't last.
It becomes unrealistic.
I like photographs of happiness.
That just makes more sense to me.

Happiness, though usually isn't that moving
No one has decided to take action
because of seeing someone laughing or smiling.
Sadness gets things done.

Dustin

After

a while I feel that the weekend was way too short. In fact, all weekends seem short. Why is that? It's Sunday night. I am at home, ready to wind down and maybe make a movie. I shot almost twenty minutes of footage at the Giants game. Now all I have to do is somehow doctor it so that the Giants won. They didn't. It was nine-zero after the last out. That is my night. I just wanted something quiet after a few days out. Friday was another outing at a Japanese restaurant, no Karaoke this time. Yesterday, I went to a BBQ and then hung out with my roommate and her friends, opting out of going to a club. Today was a delicious ham and giant squid. I ate the ham and watched the squid on TV, just in case you were wondering. I hope that this week will be a little calmer. Calm is good. Rowdy is good too, just not now, not for me. I had a thought yesterday, "I wish I grew up in Brooklyn." But after thinking about it I realized how much of a contradiction this wish really is. If I had grown up in Brooklyn, I would have wanted to grow up somewhere else. Or I would have been a totally different person, one who might never have come here and been riding on the BART at the time of this idea. So, logically this wish doesn't make sense.

I might be going crazy by having nostalgia for a past I never experienced. I should be focusing on the amazing life I did have. I think that I'm just not fully satisfied with where my life is right now and I am trying to pinpoint the time in my life when I could have changed the outcome, where I am at now. I think about if I had grown up in Brooklyn, or if I had gone to this school, of if I had studied something different. The logical Dustin, which in recent years has completely taken over the emotional Dustin, knows that is just a waste of time and thinking about the past will solve nothing unless you are not repeating the mistakes you made. The problem I have is, there really isn't a mistake I regret. I just have this feeling of emptiness inside. Instead of focusing on the present and what I can actually change, I think about what I could have done differently. I'm not sure this is making any sense to you but that just adds to the frustration. If I knew what I regretted I could analyze it, break it down and devour it. Swallow it, digest it, and move on.

Dustin

Instead of grading tests,

I am doing this. Today was a long day. I worked my ass off. It's true, it disappeared. I can't find it anymore. I have looked everywhere. Does anyone know how to get an ass back? Anyway, I have been getting overwhelmed recently at work, just too many tests. I have made it through over half of them and even brought them home tonight to work on them. Then I thought, "Wait, you're Dustin, you never do this shit." So I decided instead to break the absence of blogs. There have been some changes at work, people leaving, new people coming in. It feels like most people are on their way out. I might be one of them. But I bet I said this a year ago, and again six months ago. this is coming at a time when I really feel that I have been appreciated for my work, both teaching and general office behavior. So, tonight I will not talk about my future.

In place of that, I will talk about the second eventful week I have had so far and the plans continue. It's basically because I have been working a lot that I have been so busy. Tomorrow is a baseball game. Not sure about Friday, no plans, yet. BBQ on Saturday, and a Sunday dinner on, well you guessed it, Easter. I like it, but stagnation is also fun. It allows me time to be myself. But, you might counter, you are always yourself, aren't you? I don't think you are truly yourself unless you are alone or with someone who you have incorporated into your being, changing your definition of "yourself." I am talking about the thoughts you have and the things you do when no one else is there to comment or judge. The strange movies you watch, the shitty music you listen to, the silly voices you make when you know no one is listening. I talk to myself. And you are lying if you don't do the same thing. Today, I started giving my actions theme music. Hmm, that might be my next short movie thing. Yes, that's it. It will be from my point of view and the music will be done by yours truly. I'm excited now. Life tastes good. You just have take a bite, let the sour pass, and get on to the sweet and spicy and salty. Does salty translate here? I'm not sure about that one, but I just couldn't leave it out. Poor salty would have been all alone. Salty should never be lonely.

An eventful week.

This week I went back to work. It was time. I had my week off and needed some structure. Wednesday I met a lady for a drink. Now, when I say lady I mean someone who is my age. I don't like to say girl, that just doesn't sound right. On the same token I don't like it when women say they are meeting a boy or they like a boy. It makes everything seem immature. They could say guy and that would work just fine. Anyway, I met this lady and we had a great time. Stayed late then at her house. Woke up at 8 and hoofed it home. Slept and went to work. While I slept, back at home, I had some amazing dreams. I'll expound on them later. I wrote most of them down, I just have to finish and paste it here. They were the type of dreams that connected, even though I woke up between them. Unfortunately, I missed the parts of the dreams that let me know how they were connected. Later that night, I went to Karaoke with the students. It was good. The time I spent there made it seem that I was there until three in the morning. But I did make it home around 11:30. That brings us to today. I taught a full day, met some new teachers and left with a overall positive feeling about the day. Then I met my friend to see a movie; Greenburg. I liked the movie; not too much but just enough of a story where we want to know what the hell is going on in the character's minds. What made me enjoy this movie more was the conversation afterward. We stopped for a drink, discussed the movie, discussed ourselves and discussed life. It's good to see that other people think the same things I do. I know this to be a universal truth but I do want it to be re-enforced, every once in a while. That's the great thing about Dave. He's always up for a conversation that doesn't fit into chit/chat. He looks for the deeper meaning in things, whether it be basketball, neurosis, or life. I like the side he brings out in me.

I am looking forward to see where my future is headed. And I think this might be the first time, at least in a while, I have sought out the thoughts that lead me to imagine what my life might be like in a few years. But usually never more than that. I'm only 27 for christ's sake.

Today

was my birthday. Thanks to all the well wishers. I have been on this planet for 27 years. How would the world have been different? Best not to concern yourselves with that one. As I sat on my stoop last night thinking about the upcoming benchmark, I became sad. (Worry not friends it happens to the best of us.) I just got overwhelmed, then I realized why. I am Peter Pan. I don't want to grow up, I don't look into the future and see myself smiling back, I look to the past and see a toe headed child with his arm outstretched, asking me to play with him. He is smiling, and always sad when I give him the, "Well, what can I do" look. Shoulders shrugged, half smile trying to overcome my always frowning mustache. I tilt my head and he runs off, looking for a new adventure. It is a regret of nothing that makes me feel this way. What would you call it if you regret your present? Don't worry this will pass, and always seems to happen around my birthday. Another thing, I do not like grown up birthdays. I remember having friends over, running wild, screaming, shouting. We had cake and colorful presents wrapped so that anything could be inside. Our dreams, our futures were tied by those bright bows. I spent my birthday alone. No running, no screaming, no cake. I ate the worst Chinese food I have ever had and before that I might have even taken a nap. Then I watched a depressing tv show, and after, a depressing movie. I had no idea that either of these would work out the way they did. I know I am not alone in this type of celebration. There is a pain in my heart. Has been there ever since I understood what it was. Maybe if my family were assholes, I wouldn't look back with such wide eyes. Damn them for a wonderful childhood. Can it all go downhill after those vibrant balloons and sugary cakes? Nah, I'm just pissed off because I am bored. It's time to go back to work. Time to think about the future, because that's possible. Going back to when I could run and jump and scream while slaying dragons or hitting that game winning shot or having Donatello defeat Shredder, going back to then is not possible. Nobody will play with me. And I have to admit that is a good thing because if my friends were still playing with G.I. Joes and legos, I would have to reconsider who I was and if I really was a 27 year old man living, working, breathing on his own. Or if I was being taken care of by the state. There is advice that I have heard, repeated and genuinely believe in. The past is over, there is no going back. Remember the good times. (and the bad, hey they build character) You age. End of story, but not the end.

So this is my 100th post,

I can't believe that it happened on St. Patrick's day. Today is a day where I usually get drunk and today was no exception. I just made it home thanks to Mike. His kind car lent me a passage home. I have been doing absolutely nothing since my vacation started (This morning) when I woke up around nine in the morning. I am sitting here typing this after three 24 oz. Pabst Blue ribbon tall cans and an Irish car bomb. I thought I would have drunk more but I sit here telling you that this was enough. I cheers to all of those whom celebrated St. Patrick's day with vigor and zest and whom didn't come home at 11:47 p.m. Thank you all very much who have witnessed this 100th blog and know that more will follow.

Dustin

Surprisingly

good game tonight as the Lakers did not simply walk away with a win. It came down to the last shot, well, the last two shots. It was hard to rally the students I went with to show support for the hometown team, but I did have one girl change her mind. All in all it was good experience. This time, as opposed to the last two times I went to Oracle arena, a fight did not break out. I think everyone enjoyed the game since it wasn't a blowout, and good sportsmanship was had by all. I start my vacation tomorrow and I hope you can join me in spirit as I sip on some lattes or tea with steamed soy milk and honey. Those are wonderfantasticool. Yeah, I made that up. The sun is shining here in the Haight and I can't wait to wander around tomorrow. Enjoy your days too. By the way, finished Lolita, fantastic, but too much French. I feel like I missed something.

Dustin

My

vacation will start on Tuesday as I am going into work tomorrow, just for an hour to tie up some loose ends. However, I do get to sleep in and I am mainly going there because afterward I am going to see the Lakers get whooped. That would be nice but I will be surprised if Golden State losses by less than twenty. Then my vacation (I will not use that annoying word) begins.

My plans are this; do nothing, write, think of and make another movie, go to at least three different cafes around the city, start and finish a book, drink on Wednesday, recover on Thursday, watch copious amounts of movies, enjoy the sunshine, somehow make a new friend, eat Indian food, research and see if I want to learn Tai Chi, improve my Japanese even if ever so slightly, play a lot of the video games arriving shortly, sleep in only on Thursday, try to wean myself off Rockstar, find something to do with all my shoes, celebrate my birthday, write my 100th blog post (that is coming up very soon,) sell or trade in some books I have already read, discover a new planet, solve the JFK assassination, repair the ozone layer, cure cancer, have a stomach transplant, invent the hover board, learn to speak with animals, discover Atlantis, throw a 110 mile and hour fastball, master blind folded chess, discover how to charge electronic items with the energy in our own bodies. And if I don't sleep in on Thursday, find the meaning of life.

Dustin

When

we have good ideas, we might want to think about them twice. Last night I thought it was a good idea to drink as much as I could in a very little amount of time. Now I am feeling that pain, still. Good ideas come in masks, but bad ideas smell better.

Dustin

I don't know

how but I am able to post this blog, but I went to a show and I am very drunk and barely ably to type this message. I had a wonderful time and am looking forward to the next time I can have this experience. Tonight it was The Big Pink and I know Metric will play next week at the Fox and I hope I will see them.


Dustin

The bus

So I take the bus to work almost everyday. I decided that I wanted to share this experience with people. I took nine minutes of video this morning, but I cropped it down to less than a third of what it actually was. I am basically doing this to familiarize myself with the technology. And, I like doing it. It's fun to see it all come together. I have to say that when I saw the final project I felt all warm and gooey inside. The song helped a lot. It's good to have a huge music library so that when you type in "bus" you can find an appropriate song. I don't know what will come of this but it's fun. I feel accomplished when it's finished. Let me know what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/user/Dustin798?feature=mhw4#p/a/u/0/L4tugYiymhY

Dustin

Also

Last night I had a strange dream. (sorry I realized that I wanted to keep writing, to spill this out on a page before I forget all of it. It goes like this:

The night before I get a call from my mother and she tells me she got me a plane ticket to New York and that I would leave at three a.m. that night. For some reason I questioned it, Not just questioned it, I screamed at her (mom, this is by no means a reason never to buy me a plane ticket to New York) Sure, normal Dustin would question this but I think he would jump at the chance. Cut to me arriving very early in the morning to my friends neighborhood in Brooklyn. I couldn't or didn't talk to him, but instead I saw a stationary store. It was right next to the cafe where his girlfriend used to work part time. I really wanted a pen. It was snowing. I went inside with the one duffel bag I had with me. It had just one glass case and a pen where you refilled the ink very methodically. There was a French Girl working the counter and doing just that. She unapologetically said "bonjour" and went about her business. I was entranced and stood there watching her work. Then, with ink stained hands she held out the pen for me. I had been watching her for a few minutes so I thought I knew what I was doing. She watched me do it once then grabbed my hand a guided me, wordlessly, breathlessly. After that, she let me work. I was transferring the ink for one box that was the stores into a smaller one. After her foreign hello, she said nothing and I followed suit. It took a long time, I was transferring the ink one drop at a time. I remember the first few drops. The patterns they made on the light brown of the wood as they spattered and stayed. Then I saw the pool rise and felt accomplished. Think of dipping a straw into water about half an inch then capping one end, holding it and releasing it into another glass of water. I saw her smile, she said I was a natural.

I remember that smile, it was lazy with a hint of pride. We fell asleep together. It was exhausting and I hadn't yet watched the sun rise. I never thought it strange that she had mattresses all around her shop, behind the counter. We I awoke I wasn't alone with her. She wasn't there. It was rather a scene out of an independent film about music. Topless, bearded men in trucker hats, women with tights and suspenders, married people who looked thirteen in ironic t-shirts, brightly colored ray ban wearers. And they were all mad.

"Who the hell are you?"
"What the fuck do you think you are doing here?"
"You can't just crash here, man."
They screamed, but their eyes squinted quickly as they remembered their hangovers. I stood up on a mattress or a chair that faced all of them.
"Look I just got in from San Francisco and I saw this place and came in and I filled ink, or whatever with Slyviana, (I will never forget that name) then crashed. I woke up and you were all here."
"Get the fuck out." I grabbed my bag and left. I think it was still early in the morning. One of the guys, now fully clothed came after me. He started pushing. I yelled and said that I was leaving and I'm sorry. He threw a punch at me and missed. I threw one and hit him square in the face. Then something took a hold of me and I hit him again. He was swinging wildly and I realized he was about twice my size, but I kept knocking him back. My Brooklynite friend found me and I ran over to him.(Side note, isn't it strange how "ran over to him" the phrasing of the word, isn't gay but if I were to say "I ran to him" it would be. Prepositions are amazing.) So I ran over to him and was all excited and told him few details. The main point I wanted to express was that I found out I was good at fighting. Now at this point other guys had come out and were even more angry that I beat up the previous guy, along with crashing at their place without notice. He was game and we joined back into a fray.

Cut to running into a concrete structure. (These have been showing up a lot lately.) I think more people came out. We were laughing and I lit up a cigarette. I grabbed him by the shoulders, with the cigarette in my teeth and looked into his face. I was grinning, wide eyed. I started hopping and whooping. I leaned back and screamed. Tim did the same. With our now bruised faces, I threw my arm around him and we walked off into the distance.

What the Hell does it all mean? And where did Sylviana go? French Girls.

Dustin

A day late

Alright, so I watched The Oscars. I have to say that the lead up was deflating faster than a Happy Birthday balloon eight days later. Like I said it felt like a chore to watch all the movies. Deadlines do just that, they kill it. What was supposed to be a fun achievement meant not much once it was said and done. True, I might be feeling different if I had actually gone through with seeing all of them. I will say that I watched more than most. There were some fantastic movies last year. I saw so many that I can't really tell you the ones I thought should have made it but didn't. However, I would like to propose a new category: Best independent film. I know that there are special festivals for this kind of thing, and inevitably films like "The Hurt Locker," which was an independent film, might not have gotten best picture. But I think it would expose more of the Hollywood elite to more trailblazing films. Money doesn't dictate great films, in fact more often than not, it kills them in the spirit of the almighty dollar. "The Hurt Locker" was the lowest grossing film to capture the best picture statue. I am proud to say that I predicted the winner, walking back to Dave's after watching the film, I said it. So, cut the best picture category back down to five and add best independent film. This is just one man, with no power in Hollywood's thought. I might get a few people to agree.

Actually this has given me an opportunity to examine how I view movies, individually and overall. Do I want to sit down to a movie like "The Book of Eli" with a critic's eye or a movie goer's eye. Do I want to disassemble the plot of "Avatar," or would I rather sit back and enjoy the cold Iccee in my left hand while being amazed at the floating 3-D objects that seem mere inches from my face? Do I want to contemplate if I really buy into Clooney as a lonely man of the sky or simply smile at Brad Pitt leading a rouge group of soldiers in a baseball bat swinging, swastika carving romp through Europe? Well, I guess I need more research and that means more movies. I think the next one I'll see is the far from intellectual horror flick "The Crazies," Or perhaps a 3-D adventure in a wonderland.

Dustin

At the start of the day,

I had ten movies to watch. It was not a good idea to leave all or most of the foreign films to last because I am sick, and as my sister mentioned, I had a lot of reading today. The bad thing is, my mind cannot function as it normally would. I was able to get through three films; one Italian, another Peruvian, and another one French. Since I am sick I had to sleep for a few hours and that could have been another movie. I'm not sure I will make it through all of them tomorrow, but if I don't watch the Harry Potter movie, that's fine by me. I have neither read any of the books nor watched any of the movies in that series. So, tomorrow I have seven movies to watch and hopefully I will find the time to make it through all of them. If I don't succeed, then it isn't the end of the world. It's a good thing that we all don't live in action movies. What we do for ourselves really doesn't have any bearing on other people. That's fine by me. No one has forced me to undertake this mission, as I have been calling it. In terms of what I want, I would much rather not be sick than have missed a few movies.


Dustin

About

two more days until the oscars. I am excited and underwhelmed. I think it will not be as rewarding as I hope, but one never knows. I am very much looking forward to next week, when I get my afternoon schedule back. Although, I will miss the morning teachers. I emplore you all to move to the afternoon, it's sunnier there. After next week I will have a, and I hate this word, staycation. I do have plans, big plans. I want to see as many live shows as possible. I haven't been to one in a while. Also I am looking to expand my social circle, but I'm not sure how to do this. How does one make freinds, outside of work school, etc? I barely made any friends in College. It was pretty easy, I just avoided it. I think that I'm a likable person. Anyone want to go with me on a week long, music and booze bender? I'm sure it will be pretty tame. I might make it to more than one show, but knowing myself, it's not likely. I will see The Big Pink next week. That should be great. I have gotten to the point where I am just rambling, so I am going to stop, take a shower and sleep. Good morning.

Dustin

So, I bought a Flip camera. It's HD and very easy to use. I made another video in about fifteen minutes, including the upload time. I used a song from the band Why?. It's a short view of my house, mainly my kitchen. I just made it to test out the camera and Apple's Imovie, which is ridiculously easy to use. It's very strange, when I was working on this i didn't think about anything else. I was entirely focused on what I was doing with my computer and forgot about everything else. I know I have a long way to go and still consider this just a hobby but I feel that the more creative things I participate in, the better. Luckily, you all are along for the ride. I tried to upload it to here, but that was taking forever. So I will supply the link to youtube. Even for a 44 second video it is still 20 MB. I hope you all enjoy this and see it a just a tiny sample of what's to come. Up next, Dave, Steve, Justin and I are going to make a Kaplan rap video. And we are going to do everything ourselves, the music, the song, the filming and everything else that we can think of. once again, I hope you all enjoy this and have a good day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfdOWfKTxgE

Dustin

Have you

ever woken up so tired that you feel like you are still asleep? I did that today. The first hour I felt I was trudging through the street on the bus, off the bus, down the block. It felt like I was moving so slowly. People weren't passing me by, but I know my normal speed and this was not it. You know in the movies when the camera is focused on one person, but thousands of people rush by as a blur. That feeling has stayed with me all day, at my heels. I saw it, and it winked at me. It knows something that I am not privy to. I know it will go away, search for other food, but it is a reminder of what to expect. These days we are only certain of ourselves. The time we have in this earth is fading with every breath. However, I once heard that we are all sharing the breaths of Caesar. So too, I share my breath until the end of time. I share it will all of you, even if you are hundreds or thousands of miles away. We breath Plato, Cleopatra, our grandparents, our friends, lovers, ex-lovers. When you look into the stars or at the sand and feel small and impermanent, just breathe and you will have shared life with everyone.