First hit on Google.

Guichanaso.

Mothagesso, I miss talking to you. I feel as though you might hate me. That's probably just guilt.

Guichanaso.

January 20th, 2012

Love doesn't need faith. It needs trust.

Faith is when one wishes someone to do as one wishes.

Trust is when one believes the love to not falter despite the doubt and deviation.
It's a faith in love, I guess.

Trust is larger than faith.

Mothagesso.

Collage

January 26th, 2012

I visualize the process of character-building during our college education and life afterward as sculpting. Or I justify it that way. Each class is a stroke of sculpting. We retain minimal knowledge of the class, although while at it, we were so careful about it. Shit it just sculpted away, no where to be seen, leaving a void, void because we know that there was something there once. But as long as we keep at that shit, at the end, we become the sculpture we want to look like. Also, if you fuck shit up, there's no going back. You can't add shit if you fucked some shit up. You can't go back in time. You just have to make the entire thing smaller or something by chipping away whole of a lot to hide it. And it's okay. You'll fuck shit up, and you'll always sculpt way more than what you planned to. The smaller you are, people might not understand all the chipping away that had to take place. The time that was spent. The delicacy it possesses. But I call that humility so don't worry. And if you feel like you just became a fucking dust, I think that works too. People call dust fine, not coarse. They are soft. As long as you keep chipping it away, not building it up. The only thing you build up is your sculpting skills.

Mothagesso.

Ease

It's easy to be real when you don't care. You don't care about hurting the other person's feelings, because you know this will never, and should never, work. It's easy to be real when you've already been disillusioned and you're no longer imagining the could'ves, should'ves, would'ves. It's just simpler.

It's also easy to brew coffee once you've accustomed to it. Once you've acculturated to the practice of roasting and brewing and grinding, using an espresso machine, steaming various kinds of milk (even soymilk! The implications), using various syrups for flavoring, and you know what you're doing, it's easier. You've numbed to the emotions you used to feel at first; feelings like fear and discomfort.

These recent revelations lead me to believe that emotional involvement is never really good. It's illogical and unfounded and childish. It leads one (or me, at least) to make rash decisions that I make simply for the sake of doing whatever the fuck I want. And when the object of my lust is something of recent occurrence? Especially so.

The truth of the matter is, I blind myself when I want something too much. So, I choose to occupy myself with a constant need to detach--disinvolve--myself with the things I want, thus creating a certain unnatural tension wherever I go. Whomever I touch. What does that mean?

Someone called me a waterbed. A boy I was involved with for a year or so addressed me as a waterbed on a written love letter five years ago. "If I try to jump into you, it hurts. If I wait for you to make room for me and sort of crawl into you, you'll make room, you'll give me comfort." I thought about that last June when I sat in my room in Atlanta with a box of old letters and gifts. What prompted teenaged me to give boys that impression? What was I so scared of, that I felt it necessary to push people away until I knew they would take their time?

Truth is, (and I hate saying that. You'll find that the people who say "honestly" are the most dishonest people) I fear haste. That could stem from an inner, deeper fear of rashness. The tumult of emotions, the irrational surges of anger, jealousy, hate, love, sorrow, gratitude, yearning, envy, greed, love.

"You make me think too much"

Guichanaso.

question

What is there, besides,
the physical senses of satisfaction,
bacchanalia, sensuality, sex,
the social niceties of conceit,
wit, style, snob,
the psychological consolations of companionship,
love, philia, ennui,
the warming dogmas of religion,
gratitude, admiration, passion,
the triumphant realization of self,
overcoming, salvation, complacence,
the egotistic fulfillment of status,
wealth, fame, adulation,
the charged stupor of politics,
change, impact, folly,
the infinite journey of art,
beauty, labor, irresolution,
the passionate masturbation of curiosity,
discovery, invention, utility,
the rigorous arguments of philosophy,
literature, history, oration,
the endless search for something, from
senses to thoughts, from
observation to imagination, from
culture to crime, from
kings to crooks, from
freedom to inability, from
simplicity to complexity, from
self to others, from
then to now,
values, aside, what is there?


Mothagesso.

"I thought about this word, 'soothe.'

We've always all been searching for that something that is us, you know, that aligns most well with the unchangeable things within us. When I was going around learning the stories behind people's tattoos, some meaningful, some meaningless, I asked myself what I would tattoo myself with. And I couldn't think of a single thing. I said to myself, 'fuck, I don't have a single thing that I wouldn't mind keeping on myself? As a reminder or as a guidance or something?'

And few days ago I thought about the word 'soothe' and I liked it a lot. I think that might be what I want to do. More so to soothe my troubles, all the tensions within me and rough dips ahead of me, but also to soothe others for their worries and concerns and whatnot.

'Soothe' is not solving or improving. It doesn't meddle with the trouble itself. It doesn't change the course of the thought or alter how they were originally feeling. It just atones. Smoothes it out. Caring, not controlling. Relaxes. Quells. Covers.

I don't know, I thought maybe it came close to who I want to be."


Mothagesso.
(This is Mothagesso, finishing the post that Guichanaso prematurely posted on my behalf)

Some updates

1 Started work at an Evanston cafe today. It's good to explore college cliches. Working at a cafe, drinking coffee, procrastinating, late night talks, bonfires, throwing frisbees, frolicking in grass, living in a dorm, living out of dorm, carrying cardboard boxes, disheveled hair, attempting to kiss up to professors, zoning out during discussion sections, the list could go on.

2 I've been messing things up a little but hopefully things will go back into place once August rolls around.

3 Hair is growing unnecessarily long and I feel as though I am part male lion. This hair....

4 Strange African American men need to stop stopping me on the street to ask which part of Asia I'm from. In fact, I'm entirely willing to disregard their (unfounded) praise for my looks. And do not, I beg of you, ask if I'm from Japan or China. Yes that was blatant patriotism.

5 I sat through a train ride with two huge personalities yesterday. One was a white girl drunk out of her mind, screaming at some of her friends that Buddy (Budweiser) simply must sit with her. I did not see a Buddy, so I have no choice but to assume she was hallucinating. At one point she actually revealed her upper body. I wanted to call her mother.

6 The other member with the huge personality was a man carrying a bike wearing a frayed baseball cap and a nose ring. He seemed content talking to himself until a courageous drunk man struck up a conversation. I believe that was a fail move on everyone involved. The bicycle man first insisted it was not a good day to talk to him, that he was going through many things of which he should not speak of, some which were foul, some which were traumatizing, et cetera. Then he insisted the man who had struck up the conversation was immensely drunk, and that he should go fuck himself. Other sentences he screamed were much more graphic. I wished I had his imaginative vocabulary.

7 because seven is supposed to lucky and I'm always craving for luck.

"Are you going to break my heart someday?"

Guichanaso.

I Say "Also" A Lot

A guy who sits next to me in Web Design is a Brown grad. I found myself envious. I can never have what he had. I wanted so much of what he had. 


I hated sucking it up in silence.
Guichanaso.

I usually know when I make a friend, because I can catch myself talking about absolutely nothing. It doesn't feel so ridiculous to be ridiculous. The awkwardness may be there but not enough to be jarring, conversations enders don't feel consequential, time doesn't seem to lie stagnant like it does at a bad dinner date (the worst). Where does that feeling come from?

Does it stem from similarities? I'll find I have no trouble talking about differences with certain people. Hey I like green, you like red. We can celebrate Christmas together. But with some others, I'll feel at ease when we're talking about common ground, and feel oddly at odds (heh) when we're talking about differences. The difference talk, as I may dub it, will start out with benign motives, wanting to get to know each other and all, trying to love the other for who they are. Or sometimes even to get them to love us for who we are; I often believe these deliberate actions are ultimately rooted in extreme selfishness and our desire to be loved. Nonetheless,

It's tricky as well because some differences just matter more. His red overalls won't matter as much until you witness his rude behavior toward waitresses or see him brush his teeth with your toothbrush (extreme example). Dealbreakers. For me, its when a person has no idea who I am and likes me for who he/she thinks I am. Dealbreakers are at a level above pet peeves and just below incompatibility.

But yeah. Its so easy to love the people who are easy to talk to. Its almost like they were personalized for you to befriend. And sometimes, the fact that they've mastered the mysterious natural ability to talk to you is precisely what draws you to them. You know how to talk to me! I like you already. Or at least that's how I think in my head when no one's listening.

What is chemistry?

Guichanaso.

I relate.
You should write, Guichanado.


Mothagesso.

A simple reminder for a decently led life would be, to just try not to be pathetic.

If you're faring well in that ground, then try to be less lame.

Mothagesso.

Guichanaso: "You're always lonely. Stop drinking."

Okay.


Mothagesso.

"Class rules," I remember reading on the corner of the fifth grade classroom. Stuff like "Respect each other," which just means don't throw erasers at each other or say things that will make someone cry. I don't think I ever threw an eraser. It's just seemed too dangerous.

Somewhere along the list, I remember a word that the teacher struggled to explain to bunch of youngsters.

"Integrity"

She probably said something along the lines of, "is like, doing the right things, being honest to yourself, being trustworthy." Easy axioms are vacuous, flying right over our ears. "Right things," "Honest," "Trust," give me a break.

Beyond those words, I think it carrys the sense of wholeness and oneness that is so hard to achieve and maintain. It's not about the quirky personality, expressive temperament, unique style- the color. Therefore it's one ruler for everyone. It's not about your integrity and my integrity. It's either having integrity or not.

Wholeness, I think of
  responsible
   understanding
     aware
      thinking
       well-grounded, as having a firm base, anchor, as to be
         quieter than confidence, louder than humility, more satisfaction than conceit, not complacent.

Simple compressed words are dense, vapid. I either have integrity or don't. But it's not 0 or 1. It must be more a gradient, an aura.

It seems as though it's a little early to dig it up, explicate it.

Mothagesso.

Family

I love these people way too much

Guichanaso.

1 People talk about their ideals, types, dreams. I want nothing of that. What are relationships but a process through which you can change and learn new ways. If you expect something from the other, or go into the relationship expecting a certain outcome, how much can you learn.

2 Sometimes I'll think to myself, ugh, sundresses. Ugh, bustiers. Ugh, espadrilles. Then I'll go out and look to buying the exact garment months later.

3 Same with movies. Still haven't seen Inception. Or Prometheus. When did I see Avatar? I vaguely remember falling asleep at the theatre.

4 What makes an individual's style? What makes you, you? I thought about this, because I'm constantly picking out things I'm sure I wouldn't look good in. I know what works already. And I know I look terrible in light pink, so I'll pick out a light pink Marc vest and try it on. It's also got a square top portion and (I predict) will look terrible on my shoulders. Mom shakes her head saying, "Sometimes I don't understand the choices you make." But isn't that how we get to know ourselves? To make mistakes, so we know they're mistakes and can move on? Isn't it an expedited process of elimination, then, if we know as we walk into the fitting room that the garment will not work, we'd just like to confirm one last time? Not to mention when some things work wonderfully contrary to your expectations and you walk out feeling great about being wrong.

5 Confidence is tricky. Confidence and comfort and open-mindedness and nonchalance.

6 I wish people would stop this strange passive aggressive down-to-earth charade. Yeah, you're "open minded," I get it. Stop pushing that logo upon me. Breathe. You're so down-to-earth, you're uptight!

7 I hate cramps.

Guichanaso.

"So, one of my friends said that there are two types of photographers. One he calls it the businessman, and the other an artist. The businessman does it to share, to see that people like it, to meet the demand or the expectation. The artist, on the other hand, just purely does it for his own joy."

"In that sense, I think I would be the artist. I don't upload my photos. I just enjoy taking them." Because it's like a little puzzle to see something neat, and try to make it look neat with a limited tool, an effortless attempt. It's simple, and it's fun.

"You're a dreamer." "Really?" "I mean, I guess you're too practical to be a dreamer." "Yeah." It was maybe the threaded ankle bracelet I had on that I picked up by the lake the other day. It was maybe the baggy shorts that I made from an old, long cargo pants. It was maybe the camera I had in my hands. It was maybe because I was a little hungover. It was maybe because I was sitting on the sand by the lake shamelessly, and was not bothered by the sand all over my feet. It was definitely just an image. I think I try, though.

"The phrase 'I would love to be' encapsulates who you are very well." I am a practical dreamer of sorts. "I wouldn't say that you are happy. You are content." I pursue a lot of things aimlessly and half-assedly. "I imagine you to be a light in the shallow sea. (It sounds bad but imagine it, you'll get it)." "You analyze everything, not to deeply, but everything." I was happy with that. Content, too.

I am never interested enough to be rigorous. I love beauty but I'd much rather be messy if it's going to be too much work. There's no point. I love photography but am not infatuated enough to pour my time into it. I love writing but rarely do I edit them to some sort of perfection. I love to hoard everything that I ever owned with smart reasons why I should keep them, but I never look back or cherish any of them. It just doesn't matter practically, or maybe I am just content with whatever it is. I am a relaxed person, who loves to be troubled, but hates troubles.

Dreams in Chicago.

Mothagesso.