Burning Man

October 16, 2006 - Monday

Jester Dormitory Austin, TX

My life i live in desperation. I place myself in desperate measures. Perhaps I need it, perhaps I seek it. I feel desperate for work right now. I fell desperate this morning. Analogous to my having to go pee and spurting from the 5th floor to the women's restroom, I smile. I think that I like this desperation. The reason why I am alone is because I do not with this on others. It's a hard life, in some regards, and an easy one in others. When others ask what my goals are, i spill them my dreams of adrenaline.

A goal so unspecified, I have no idea what I speak about. It's a Sunday morning and the worlds mostly still asleep here in Austin. I don't even have a decent pair of socks to wear. A life of temporary solutions. My life is an opportunity to figure out what works for me. I have been without work for 2 weeks now, finding work isn't difficult, finding the motivation is. I feel somewhat trapped in this work -- entrapment cycle. it will not end. I am beginning to believe that we work hard in hopes of retiring. God, what a life. How can you trick your mind into bearing that? The mind can do anything it wants to.

A Hippie Ethic

4:46 P.M Pharmacy Building Austin -- TX

God. It's a gorgeous day outside. I mean, truly picturesque. I feel very lucky to be alive and well here in Austin. Just got back fr9om volunteering at a soup kitchen downtown. Good thin I came hungry, too, because there was plenty of food. What perplexed me though was the mixed feelings I had about my experience. I guess poverty caused me to feel uneasy. I don't enfoy seeing others in poverty. It disturbs me.

All these questions pop up in my head about these homeless people. Where do they sleep at night? What became of their relationships with their siblings? Are they happy with their lives? Or is being poor really not that bad a gig? Right now, I guess what's so bothersome is that I don't see the distinction between their lives and my life. If i feel disgusted by their existence, feel pity, then is MY life to be pitied? Essentially I am without home.

Essentially. my relationship with my siblings has deteriorated and that disturbs me. Sure, wealthy people can feel out of place, rejected and sure, wealthy people can have fall-outs with their families too, but at least, the rich can put on an image of success. Perhaps I cannot answer for the homeless of Austin, but I can answer for myself what I think will be a successful 9outcome for me. Maybe being fed by youngsters when I am 40 is not my picture of success.

Perhaps volunteering and eating recycled foods despite being incredibly wealthy will, or riding a bicycle to work despite being incredibly wealthy is also. Pewrhaps it's about having power over oneself. "unlimited power" by Anthony Robbins, check it out at your local library. I do remember wanting to live in poverty out of choice and using my money for goodwill, goodwork, and activism.

"Piecing the Puzzle"

Jester Dorm -- Austin, TX

The day before I left for Austin, my youngest brother, Luong, and my darling baby sister, Jessica, worked on a jigsaw puzzle that had been strewn carelessly across the family game-room for months without progress. We got our gathered our talents and aimed to put this bad boy together. It was difficult at first. Actually, that is an understatement. It was daunting at first; pieces were organized yet no connections; many times promising leads turned eventually turned into dead ends.

We were frustrated, figity, and flatulous (well Jessica mostly), I called for a group break to analyze and reorganize our approach. Our second try proved slow, at first, then all of a sudden Luong called out, "Got one!" quickly followed by a "got one!" from Jessica. Shortly thereafter, I, myself, was piecing things together. We worked at this incredible rate for another 30 minutes; pieces seemingly connecting themselves and without difficulty.

I was feeling lonely just yesterday, as you read in the previous entry, so I decided to make it a point to contact my peeps. I called mother at work, and although rattling me out for having left Dallas, I felt a peculiar warmth of intimacy...the kind that annoys you but you appreciate nevertheless. Then I called and met up with an 'ol friend, John Tran.

We talk for a little bit and head out to a tea shop and there I run into another friend, Bee, who is getting married in two weeks. Then, as I am talking to Bee, another friend named Jeanie, who happens to work there, approached me and we did the whole "hi! wow haven't seen you...da da...the whole nine yards. She told me that in the shop were other people that I knew...I was just socially overwhelmed and didn't even bother to come over to say hello.

Point in case...sometimes you complain to yourself how lonely you feel, only to complain another day how you don't have any control when you're being bombarded with friends. This is Dao, signing out. Oh, again, if you know any musicians or any related contacts for musicians email me at dal_nguyen@yahoo.com

Life Unfiled

Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Richland College--Dallas, TX

A lot of my friends are graduating from UT Austin this week. I think of the choices that I have made and revisit the reasons why I have chose a different path. I left UT Austin two years ago, well, hehe..actually UT kicked me in the rear and said "you can leave now." Whichever, it doesn't matter to me. I reflect now where I stand.

My uncle asked me once why I do not go back and finish where I left off with school. I replied that I did not see the urgency nor the necessity. He told me that he understood, and that he had "once been where [I] was 20 years ago." I just feel that everyone has their own journey to make, no which way is better than the other.

I know that I am taking a similar path that my older brother took, a path a bit different from what is expected from a 23 year old asian: neither am I graduating with a bachelor's degree from a major university, nor the other extreme, gangbanging and selling narcotics. I am simply a guy trying to find out the answers to his life, and taking a detour in order to do it. Well...wish me luck, and I hope to see you further down the road. :)

Break The Cycle

Dallas, TX

I recently spoke to a friend online and she was counseling me on my non-existent relationship with my dad. You know, the ever-familiar problems we have with our stoic-every-so-ready-to-force-feed-you-his-opinion-when-he-wants-to-asian father. Yes. It frustrates me.

So I run into a complete stranger on at the rail station on my way to meet up with a friend. The stranger is a white man in his forties. He seems a nice man so I approach him with, "Pardon me, sir, may I ask you a question? Perhaps you could help answer a question I've been puzzling over today." I share with him the above and he first replies, "Well, first, I am sorry to hear that. It's quite a shame." And proceeds to dissect the way the last generation of fathers was raised.

It's quite possible that one of us will pass before we make the effort to know and forgive each other. Needless to say, it would be a shame. Despite the discord, we're both fundamentally good people. I can't imagine what that would be like, I have experienced missing somebody;but not like that. Not a permanent longing.

"Father. Hello. Who are you?" We don't talk. We don't call one another. There's so much to talk about, but it seems almost impossible to start that conversation. You celebrated your 47th Birthday last week. How do I wish someone a happy birthday I don't talk to. I have learned to shut you out; to make your words... your opinion of me... not matter. I am safe behind these walls. Or am I? Explain to me why we always cry when we talk? Can't it get better? When tears come for apparently no reason, I know the reason. It is that I wish things were different. That things did not play out as they did between us. Many of us long for things from our parents that they, frankly, don't know how to give.

There was a boy. There was his Father. The two did not speak to one another and did their best to avoid one another. What foolish games. One of the hardest things to do is to meet up with the source of our pain. Life seems easier when we can fill things up to act as a bandaid. I know because that's what I do.

I feel no shame here. There's no need to hide this. Sure, it has somewhat stained me. I hurt and still do. Not so much from the physical violence of my childhood experiences but moreso from the emotional instability that affects a person long after the quarrels, broken dishes, and sleepless school nights have passed.

I'm grown now and live apart from my folks. It is difficult each time I visit them. It becomes a revisitation of emotional places that both anger and sadden me. I think that domestic violence is a terrible, terrible thing. It stays with a person long after. You sometimes feel "weird". I wish I had some good advice I could share about all this. Here's a photo of my mom and dad in happier times.