150: Bloody Hell

While I'm brushing my teeth last night, my nose decides that its own blood vessel will pop wide open, to release a copious amount of blood. You know, like the way an Ebola infected individual will just suddenly bleed and die. Well, maybe not exactly like that, since I'm still breathing. But you get the idea.

And, oh yes, my body parts do have a mind of their own; Masters of their own Determination and Will, they are. Sometimes they do stuff without my noticing. It's quite strange really. Waking up one morning to find your underwear wet and sticky. And just right now, this very moment, the muscles of my left butt cheek are starting to cramp...Ou, ou, ouuuu...Okay, I'm back. Think of the worst charley-horse you ever had and think of it happening to your ass. Not pleasant. Believe!

So, yes, back to my bloody nose. This doesn't normally happen to me. Last time I had an unprovoked (unprovoked, in a sense, your nose isn't picked so clean that you bust open the delicate lining of your nasal cavity) nose bleed was back when I was a sexually confused and horned up teenager. Spontaneous nose bleed, as Japanese manga teaches, only occurs in times of great excitement, to be more concise, when the male protagonist by happenstance observes a nude goddess bathing in one of Japan's many onsens or when some perverted old man peaks on a teenage girl changing out of her school uniform. I can assure you that I'm not, NOT, at the very least like either of those aforementioned manga figures.

I, however, having recently committed to a lifestyle, which I hope to, perhaps, share about in my next hype-cast installment, a life choice akin to the Masters, like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and Walt Whitman, even Hans Chirstian Andersen, and the countless Saints, like the older version of St. Augustine, without whom the beautifully proportioned bell shaped standard deviation curve would be askewed to the side of rabid beasts, or rather, to those of whom we label whores or sluts, I am perchance experiencing something similar to a buyer's remorse. As my bloody nose has indicated.

But what do you do when you're committed? Should I give in by complying to my other brain's demand? Invite the two good Messieurs to play? But what do you do when you don't want to play with Mr. Right and Mr. Left anymore?

Bloody hell!

Oh, the cramp, the cramp!!! Shit, I'm bleeding again.

149: What's In A Name?

Last night, the new season of American Idol and the Olympics weren't doing much for me. So, I started randomly searching different things in Google, and I discovered that I may have some Indian blood in me. I may not be a purebred after all, but a mutt! I can't tell you how stoked I am about this.

My family had told me that we are descended from a king who ruled some part of Korea 2 millennia ago. What they failed to mention was that his wife might have been a princess from India. So, I have two royal bloodlines in me!

Well, since I don't know if or when I'll ever reach greatness, I'll settle for now with this little factoid. Yes, this will have to do.

Sure, there are 4 million people who supposedly belong to my Gimhae clan. But so what? Most of them just stole our name, just so that they can be considered "blue" blood. That just shows how great my clan is!

Yes.

So. Hear ye, near and far: I am a royal Prince of Korea and India.

Bow before me!

148: A Subcontinental Revelation

So, during my lunch hour, I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. I don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone. Then, lo and behold, over yonder, I see before me a restaurant beloved yet not graced for over a six years time. Standing in front of it, I feel as if I made it through the wilderness. Yes, somehow I made it through and I didn't know how lost I was until I found it, again. Pushing through the door, I strut in. Seriously, you can tell by the way I use my walk. The aroma of spices fills this Indian restaurant and my stomach aches for the goodness. But as I lock gaze with the waiter, who is expectant for the information only I can provide and confirm, I realize I need to act. (Do I say it? Do I voice it? Help! I need somebody. I'm not so self assured.) But resigned, I raise my hand and lift the index finger up to let the good man know that I'd be a party of One. And I can't help but think that One is the loneliest number that I'll ever do.

But then I had the Rogan Josh and I didn't care. I was satiated. Hmm... Rogan Josh!

147: Exhausted

I'm just going to write this post as I would in my journal entry. I usually keep a separate journal, which is just a collection of my random thoughts strung together into one incomprehensible mess. So my advice is, skip it. Seriously, skip it.

Exhausted. Yeah, I'm exhausted. I feel as if I'll literally break apart... No, maybe a better way to put it is: I feel like a broken vase pieced together with glue. You can see the cracks and lines in me. Touch me the wrong way I'll just crumble a little bit more. Yeah! No, a more apt statement would be I am a vase broken and put back together many, many times. I took a half a day because I guess I'm still upset with what happened at work yesterday. With the asshole and the other guy, who I thought was a decent person, but turned out to be an asshole as well. I hate the blame game people play, pointing fingers, passing the buck. I hate it more when I'm called to play the blame game. So, I go into craigslist and check its job postings. Anywhere but New York. But it's a job; it's in the very nature of a job. So, whether I'm here or in London, it'll be the same. I know this. Maybe moving back to New York was a mistake. Maybe I should have found ways to stay in Japan. I had a car, I had the beaches, the mountains, I had my drunken revelries, I had laughters... I had a life... I had friends. God, I'm exhausted.

***
I was asked about the songs I had in my podcast. So here they are:

hype-cast episode 1:
(1) Clear Cut by Lani Pula
(2) Evacuating London from the Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack.
(3) Just for Now by Imogen Heap

hype-cast episode 2:
(1) Hands by m-flo (original version)
(2) Song 6 by Daniel Powter
(3) Won't You Come Again by Susie Suh

146: So... Well...

Should you find yourself being...

Called into a small conference room,
By the Man of a company that you don't belong to,
But must treat him like he is your company's Man,
Just because of a special (read: shady) relationship the two companies have,

And

Sat down just so you'll be lectured to like a five year old,
Because you disclosed to a coworker last week,
A good thing that happened to you, like receiving a raise,
Which, by the way, the Man did not give you,

What do you do?
What do you do?

You get your coat, go down the elevator, walk around SoHo,
And come back with a cute, brand new hat, of course.

It's really cute. And I got it cheap!

(You have to know when to pick your fights. I chose not to fight, but I'm building up my arsenal.)

145: I Hate Love

Anyone want to speculate as to why?
Do I need to explain? Must I spell it out?

Today is the day I hate the most.

Today is the day I wish to skip.

Today is the day when this rings too true.

But...
Today, as always, I will hold on a little longer,
Keep the faith, sustain the hope, and believe
Love is Real,
Love is Tangible,
Love is for me.

But for now, let me love to hate Love.
I Hate Love.

144: Mumble, Mumble, Mumble

It's that time again when I enthrall you yet again with my sexy voice. Click, click, click away.

143: A Package

An adopted son of stoicism, made of skin thicker than the glacial sheet of Antarctica, impervious to true emotions, expriences a random and unexpected offering, a simple gift, from a true daughter of candle, innocent and incandescent. Ice melts, droplets gather, river forms, filling the recess of my soul with a deeper understanding. It whispers, you are not alone.

Thank you, YM.

142: There's Trouble A-Brewing, When You Start A-Thinking

There's trouble a-brewing, when you start a-thinking.

Not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator, mind you. Because I believe most, if not all, great thinkers, being also great communicators, when illuminated with an idea, however abstract and intricate it may be, they know how to share that idea, provoking and expanding the minds of the feeble masses, with effortless ease. I mean, one reason among many that we think Bush is an idiot is that he can't speak English; no one understands him.

So, as I was saying: not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator; but still... I'd rather not think.

You know, at this point, you are supposed to lie and say, "No, you are a great thinker and also a great communicator!"

No? Is it too tiresome and beneath you to stroke the ego of a self-proclaimed loser?

Well, FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU.
No! I love you; I LOVE YOU...
Fuck me instead. Cum on back, please.

So, yeah, I'd rather not think. I'd rather sit in front of a vanity and run a comb down my well-conditioned hair (it's not), counting each stroke (too lazy to do), up to a thousand (up to five is more likely), preening and primping (don't know what that entails), making myself pretty. Because when you are pretty, you are happy. And even if God decides to hate the pretty ones (highly unlikely), cursing them with trials and tribulations (oh no, his Gucci man-purse ripped), but if their beauty is intact, they still will be happy. Sure, they may suffer some. But ugly people suffer, too. And there are more ugly people in the world than there are pretty people. Pretty people intrinsically understand this, and their innate ability to see the world for what it is will give them this natural ability to be happy. Being pretty equals being superior equals being happy. So, I'd rather not think; I want to be pretty instead.

It's the biggest dilemma I have right now: How can I stop myself from thinking and be pretty instead, when any medical alteration, be it a lobotomy or a pectoral augmentation, is not an economically viable option?

But then I've heard it said "throughout your life, God will throw at you life's challenges that only you can handle." This "belief" seems promising to me. It says that there is a way for me to empty my head and fill my biceps, and I'd be better for it. I would have grown in wisdom—wasn't it Buddha who said everything is meaningless? Why then ponder about nothing?; and I would have matured in beauty—like a sole lotus blossoming in a garden pond.

Yet boredom finds me once in a while lifting a book (often drawn to biographies or memoirs), flipping its pages, and reading the words. But, damn it, the voices of the authors encroach my mind, and there's a rapid succession of electrochemical thunderstorms, which makes me see the world in a new light. I'd admire their shear bravado in overcoming difficult situations, the richness of their lives. And inevitably, I'd compare my life to theirs, realizing how easy I have had it. But then I'd find myself turning green, followed by the envious hue deepening, moving one spectrum down to blue.

My mind races: Does God not think that I'm strong enough to overcome more difficult challenges in life, so that I, too, can have a rich life, one that's admirable to others, or rather one that makes others jealous of me? Does he think me that weak that my only concern now in life is to be like Natalie Wood and to sing, "I Feel Pretty?" And WHY THE FUCK AM I THINKING?

GOD, WHAT AN ASS! I HATE GOD!
No, I love God; I LOVE YOU...
Don't smite my back!

Oh, how I am constantly reminded of the Japanese lady with two Master's Degrees who tried to work at a Korean deli! She philosophizes almost every night on Avenue Q how two polar opposite forces can inhabit an individual at the same time. I quote: "Love and Hate, they like two brothers who go on a date." Indeed they are like two brothers on a date, "where one of them goes, other one follows. You inviting love; he also bringing sorrows."

Let it be said that yours truly will explore this life's mystery. Why two contradictions exist at the same time and space. Why people have no problems with life's many paradoxes, while I do. And why I am a Gemini—the living embodiment of the two opposites, the wishy and the washy. Yes, I shall investigate why my desire to not think is provoking me to think.

It's a beautiful and ugly world!

***
This post was brought to you by the letter "V" for vapid; and the numbers "3" and "1," the number of comments I've got for my hype-cast and the number of fingers I'm holding up in response to the low number. Oh, and guess which finger. Just kidding—I don't really care... yet I do care...some. Ah, another paradox.

***
Pace ed Amore!
xoxo

141: Say Cheese

I am a point, click and shoot kind of a guy. In a way, my pictures lack a certain depth and sharpness you find in professional work. I've decided that I need to develop this artform; my goal is to be a good photographer, an artist!

So, when pictures are taken of me (self-portraits), they'll look good, or rather I will look fabulous! The next step is I will photoshop them and I'll look beyond fabulous, I will look hot! Then I can start posting my hot mug in some on-line personals. Yeah!

No, seriously, I need to do something creative. So, I've decided to try photography and signed up for a course. Tonight I had my first class. By May, I'll be an awesome photographer. And it's important that I get good by May... I'll disclose the reason why later on.

Yawn... I needs me my sleep.

140: A New Adventure

I dare you to click on the image. See where it'll land you. Only thing I'll say is I hope I'll get better at playing with my new toy... Well, at least for me, it's new. Usually I join in the fad once the interest in it has dissipated to nil, but why not change the paradigm a little, hm? Why the b!&%p not?!

Blogoliday Post: I'm Nauseous

I feel like hurling.
Oh God, here comes the upchuck.
Stand clear, I'm gonna spew.

Dear Commenters,

Thank you all for your kind words.

I'm feeling va-klempt... Oo-Uh... Talk amongst yourselves, I'll give you a topic:
"The writer of the this blog is neither a non-entity nor does he need an identity to define who he is."

Ok, that was not funny. But it's a truth that I'm going to stick with.

Truly, your words of encouragement have uplifted me. It's thrilling to know that what I have to say resonates with you. So, I'm going to vomit.

The fact that tomorrow's hyphenated non-IDentity's 1st blogiversary had no bearing whatsoever in my decision to come back. No siree, none! I mean, it's good a time as any to start writing again, right? Sure, it's lamely symbolic, for me, that I can mark tomorrow as a new beginning, but, hell, we all need a new beginning, sometimes we need as many as we can get.

So, here's to a new beginning!

Blogoliday Post: An Update

I've let myself be cut off from the blogging world.
I'm seeing a different world.
I'm almost tempted not to come back.
But that'd be my laziness talking.
You see, my mind's percolating with thoughts and stories I'd like to share.
And I don't care if no one listens!
My dreams, however lofty, seem vivid and real.
Only I can make them come true.
Perhaps my good friend YM is right:
I can see myself having massive, explosive, uncontrollable word vomit.

'Til then,