University North Texas Denton, TX - "Bumworker"

I have this "thing". This "thing" creates a lot of trouble for me in the working world but, on the other hand, also provides for some very interesting life episodes. The "thing" is my allergy to work. My friend Lan once told me that she has never met anyone so reluctant to get a "real" job...I told her that I would take that as a compliment.

The truth is I don't mind working hard, taking it for the team, breaking a sweat, whatever words you want to use for labor. The labor just has to continue to provide interesting experiences. Try feeding that "excuse" to the average boss. And I know that I am not alone on this matter. I'm just the type that would rather eat crackers and potted meat and live freely than enjoy a steak dinner provided by earnings via reluctance. I've been generously called "free-spirited" by some but sometimes feel like a complete bum. Then again, I cannot be accurately labeled a bum for I am largely self-sufficient with the occasional filler met by my awesome big brother, Sage, but by and large, I am self reliant, therefore I register, by class, in the nebulous land between the working class and the bum --- the bumworker. No, not a working bum. A working bum is one who hustles people of their hard-earned money. I am a bumworker. I work just enough to cover my ass.

University Towers -- Austin, TX

Well, I made it down here in one piece. I am grateful to have this chance to pursue a dream, a dream I cannot exactly define, but it borders along the lines of making money as a music performer. Just now I ran into a celebrity impersonator/vocalist named Mark Danube. See, what he does is use his voice to mimic stars...like Elvis, Madonna...yes, Madonna (he's got a 7-octave voice apparently). I think that's pretty neat. I bet he gets a kick out of doing his job.

Before I left from Dallas, my older brother, Dzung, sat down and said that he was not convinced that going down to Austin is the best choice amongst my choices. I tell him that I did not make the decision to move down here rashly; that I have thought about this a lot and, most importantly, that I am following my heart. He asked me one question I will try not to forget. It was, "How long will it take for you to get really good (at your craft)?" I respond, "my entire life." He says, "good, that is the answer that I am looking for."

What we were talking about here is not the likelihood of me succeeding in music, rather, how long it will take. I assured him that I am past my nai$B!/(Jve days of believing that success comes overnight. We reiterated my need for self-discipline and for a mentor; one who has "hit the ropes" so to speak. If you know anybody: a friend, an uncle, a co-worker, who is pursuing music as a career, please let me know. Perhaps, I could benefit from knowing what it takes to succeed at this game. Well, comrades, it's time for me to go to bed. I will catch you, again. Laters.

On Romance

Richland College--Dallas, TX

So where does the story go? What a fun question to ask ourselves regarding our lives. Man! I have been without a "girlfriend" for a year and a half. And a stud like me? Hehe. Well, I do have someone I think about a lot, but I gave up on romance a long time ago. I mean, sure, romance is GREAT in books, on film, and in songs. But, who are you kidding? Romance between two people. Such things are not meant to last.

NO! I am not a bitter humbug who got dropped by his ex-girlfriend. Who me? haha. Nah, it's actually how I felt about romance before I got involved. Friendship, now that's something different. Friendships can last. But the nature of romance will come and go. I am trying to find love in the arts: music, narration, nature. Why? I have one experience I hold near and dear to my heart. There was a pleasant summer day last year I spent by the lake at Richland College.

A friend and I spotted a very attractive girl sitting by herself on a bench by the lake talking on her cell phone. We both could not help but oggle at how the sun shined on her. However, something inside me told me to pay attention to the bench that she was sitting on. Yes, the bench. So I spent the next 10 minutes zoning in on the bench underneath her. Sure enough and shortly after, the girl left, still on her cell phone.

My friend's gaze followed her direction while my eyes where glued on the bench. Then and there I found true appreciation. You see, the girl comes and goes...but the bench...my, my. The bench remains; sturdy, dependable, functional. Imagine being sat on by an incredible number of asses of all shapes, sizes, and (most unfortunately) smells, yet, remaining true to one's purpose: to provide a basic necessity. I admire that bench and I still do. Whenever I stride by it, not only do I sit on it, but I meditate, talk to, and even pet it (at times). Well, that's all friends. This is Dao signing out. Until we meet again. :)*

Surge Cafe University of Miami

On Saturday I woke up feeling lousy...you know, it's a disturbing ache somewhere in you but you don't know exactly what or where it is to fix it. I was expecting a pretty bland weekend. There's a t.v. lounge here on campus and lately the N.C.A.A. (College Basketball for those unfamiliar) Championships have preoccupied me. I don't particularly follow one team. In fact, I don't even watch any sport on television until it gets down to the nit and grit of The End...the playoffs (basketball), cup play (tennis), world series (baseball), supremium bowl (pronounced with an Indian accent ...the finals for the sport of "cricket") I am not making that up...alright...I am, but I am sure there is such a thing as championship cricket, just dunno the name.

Anyhoo, there I am, kicking back with some munchies, my feet propped on a coffee table in front of me staring at the tube. I must have stared too hard, because out of nowhere a strange image appeared before me. It was a picture of a full-grown, 300 lb. Korean, female sumo wrestler showcasing, from each outstretched arm a sprawling, gawky, Japanese 8-year old. I was thinking, "What the heckeroo?" After a second to gather my senses, I look to my side and realize that the homeless-looking gentleman sitting to my right was volunteering my eyes (by placing in front of me) to a photo he had taken at the Asian World Summit. Strange things happen when you're not at home.

All That You Can't Leave Behind

Monday Jan. 05-'04! 6:45A.M. Miami Beach, FL

The air is so nice here, fresh, naturally, a hint of salt from the sea, calm and steady. I come here today for hope and what better a symbol for it than morning sunrise. Last night I had a vivid dream. It involved two people who really affect me, one I hat to love and the other I hate to hate. My once girlfriend turned "dissacciate" is the one I hate to love. Naturally we still have feelings for one another but she'll deny it and has moved on to new relationships. So I love her, but I hate that I do.

The dream last night starts with me chasing after her down a huigh school hallway, longing for affection to be returned. Her body language communicates that she would rather let time erase what was between us. I think to myself, "women. so typical" After relentless pursit, she finally agrees to talk to me. I have a seductive affect on her and she me, so we kiss passionately and all things are back to good. [Interruption of thought: the sun just rose over the water's horizon. It is beautiful, awe-full, and so, so transient; if you blink you just might miss it.] So we find ourselves happy and embraced in each others arms in my mothers sewing room watching television. Things are so perfect, too perfect, I feel something bothersome coming, and sure enough, it is my father, who scorns and yells at me to be more productive.

Always intimidated by him, I don't bother verbalizing what utters in my head, "Look around pops, there's really nothing left to be done." But in my dream, my father can read my mind and he says, angrily, "Oh, yea? Well I got something for you to do. You can put finish on the wooden drawers in your room." I want to think, "Oh brother, how necessary" but I don't b/c I know he can read my mind. I wake up to the repetitive back and forth motion of my paintbrush on wood. Interpretations, anybody?
Dancin' Dao (dancin' thru life)