There Is No God

Oh God. There is no God. The rain tonight was torrential. Streets were shut down; roads turned into raging rivers. I had to go to my night math class, and in so doing, a second major tragedy befell me this month.

I have lost another.

My iPod drowned inside my backpack tonight. I found her just now, dead and lifeless, filled with rain water. First Lucy and now this.

I am a man completely broken. There are simply no words. I can't go on anymore in this cruel world.

There is no God.

This Post Has Been Deleted

This post has been deleted due to excessive boringness.

"Pink (South Beach Remix)" by Aerosmith

So I was hit on by a gay guy for the first time in my life yesterday. I walked into the elevator with Eric Chen wearing my thrift-store-esque, but-actually-from-Urban-Outfitters dark green corduroy blazer, and this guy turns to me and goes, "I like your jacket." So I'm like whatever and go, "Oh. Thanks." I don't really think anything about it. Then, when we reach the ground floor and as we're leaving the elevator, the guy drops this bomb:

"I wanted to get a pink one just like it."

At that point I knew. Why else would he slip me the pink bomb except to let me know, "Hey, buddy, I'm gay, how about you?" I kind of laughed nervously and left. I've never had a gay guy flirt with me or hit on me or even talk to me approvingly before. I know now that that jacket is, if not gay, then at least metrosexual, or as Eric might say, metrocurious.

The moral: shopping at Urban Outfitters not only turns you into a sell-out and is a total rip-off, it can also get you attention from gay guys. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The gay guys part, I mean. Everything is wrong with selling out and getting ripped off.

Fun With JODIE WONG123, Part 1

First off, a little preamble is in order. JODIE WONG123 is a complete stranger to me. I don't know how she found me or why she talks to me, but somehow over the summer she just started IMing me and chatting with me. Her English isn't very good, and I have a feeling she is considerably older than me, so clearly it wasn't very interesting to talk to her. So I blocked her. She was blocked for two months. Last week, I unblocked her thinking she was gone forever, when suddenly she started IMing me again as if we had been talking to each other every day. Well, today I decided I might as well try to amuse myself as much as possible with these conversations, so I now present to you the first of hopefully many interesting installments titled "Fun With JODIE WONG123." Enjoy.

JODIE WONG123 (5:03:51 PM): hi wht are you doing
quaker chicken (5:04:00 PM): having sex
JODIE WONG123 (5:04:09 PM): you don't work
JODIE WONG123 (5:04:16 PM): no school
quaker chicken (5:04:22 PM): i just got back
quaker chicken (5:04:24 PM): from work
JODIE WONG123 (5:04:34 PM): so early
JODIE WONG123 (5:04:40 PM): what job you had
JODIE WONG123 (5:04:52 PM): you work pt
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:02 PM): where you live
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:05 PM): in NY
quaker chicken (5:05:13 PM): i'm a porn star
quaker chicken (5:05:16 PM): we have good hours
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:25 PM): what's that
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:27 PM): what you do
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:44 PM): where you lived
JODIE WONG123 (5:05:53 PM): are you in nY
quaker chicken (5:06:01 PM): no i'm a porn star in philadelphia
JODIE WONG123 (5:06:09 PM): oh a star
JODIE WONG123 (5:06:19 PM): what's is porn star
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:00 PM): you work everyday
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:07 PM): is work busy
quaker chicken (5:07:10 PM): no it's pretty relaxed
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:16 PM): you fininsh school
quaker chicken (5:07:16 PM): i make porn movies
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:20 PM): how old are you
quaker chicken (5:07:21 PM): pornography
quaker chicken (5:07:23 PM): 19
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:27 PM): you're young
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:35 PM): you don't go to school
JODIE WONG123 (5:07:48 PM): are you chinese
quaker chicken (5:08:27 PM): yeah, i do asian porn
JODIE WONG123 (5:08:40 PM): where are you from
quaker chicken (5:08:40 PM): so sometimes i'm vietnamese, sometimes i'm japanese
quaker chicken (5:08:45 PM): it depends on the movie
JODIE WONG123 (5:08:54 PM): you do movies
JODIE WONG123 (5:08:59 PM): that's good
quaker chicken (5:09:01 PM): yeah, pornography movies
quaker chicken (5:09:03 PM): i'm a porn star
JODIE WONG123 (5:09:10 PM): how long have you been working
JODIE WONG123 (5:10:12 PM): you get off work so early
JODIE WONG123 (5:10:21 PM): you're home already
quaker chicken (5:10:53 PM): yeah i'm pretty quick
quaker chicken (5:11:03 PM): i can usually get a scene canned in about half an hour
JODIE WONG123 (5:11:16 PM): that's goof
JODIE WONG123 (5:11:22 PM): is work fun
quaker chicken (5:11:29 PM): oh hell yeah
JODIE WONG123 (5:11:34 PM): that's good
JODIE WONG123 (5:11:42 PM): do you go to schol
JODIE WONG123 (5:12:01 PM): do you make a lot of money
quaker chicken (5:12:03 PM): sometimes
JODIE WONG123 (5:12:09 PM): that's good
quaker chicken (5:12:54 PM): my work is definitely fun though
quaker chicken (5:13:05 PM): i get to have sex with really hot asian women all the time
JODIE WONG123 (5:13:06 PM): you work so young
quaker chicken (5:13:18 PM): sometimes they make me have sex with hot asian men
quaker chicken (5:13:20 PM): that's not quite as fun
quaker chicken (5:13:22 PM): but i live with it
quaker chicken (5:13:24 PM): it's a job
JODIE WONG123 (5:13:31 PM): oh that's fun
JODIE WONG123 (5:13:48 PM): guys and girl
JODIE WONG123 (5:13:55 PM): that's good

So who thinks she has no idea what I'm talking about?

The Masks We Wear

The concept of "Chewing Gum, Coffee, & Slim Jims" could be construed as a study on the masks we all wear. The respective masks personified by the characters of Chewing Gum, Coffee, and Slim Jims aren't necessarily mine, however, nor do they necessarily advocate any of my true feelings or beliefs. In fact, this blog as a whole stays away from my deeper, darker thoughts, because, as I say, I am searching for the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind.

Perhaps I have already said too much, but I feel motivated now to go even further, despite the mission statement of this blog. I am going to make a temporary departure now from the usual content of this blog: I am now going to become revealingly personal and excessively exhibitionist with some internally buried thoughts of mine. The following, then, is a list of masks that I wear/have worn, in more or less random order.

- The Annoying Asshole Mask
- The Timid, Shy, Can't-talk-to-girls-to-save-my-life Mask
- The Sensitive Artist Mask
- The Arrogant Elitist Mask
- The Nihilist/Existentialist/World-weary Mask
- The Idealistic/Do-gooder/Amnesty Mask
- The Hopeless Romantic Mask
- The Fun-loving, Out-going, Party-it-up Mask
- The Introverted/I-hate-parties Mask
- The Dude-I-love-chicks Mask
- The Girls-are-all-bitches-and-I-want-nothing-to-do-with-them Mask
- The Nerd/Know-it-all Mask
- The Basketball Athlete/Sports Maniac Mask
- The Traumatic-experiences-with-racism-and-growing-up Mask
- The Wronged-ex-boyfriend Mask
- The Easy-going, Nonchalant Mask
- The Sarcastic/Witty-repartee Mask
- The Anti-establishment/Anti-The-Man/Anti-preppy/Anti-society Mask
- The Indie Rock Mask
- The Anti-AzN Mask
- The Music/Film/Literature/Modern Art Snob/Nerd Mask
- The Talented Writer Mask
- The Guitar-playing Musician Mask
- The Filmmaker Mask
- The Wharton Mask
- The Engineering Mask
- The Anti-Ivy-League Mask
- The Scientific And Moral Atheist/Secular Humanist Mask
- The Profoundly Deep Philosopher With A Very Sharp Intellect Mask
- The Insomniac Mask
- The Naturally Intelligent Slacker Mask
- The Frugal, Money-conscious Spend-thrift Mask
- The Californian Mask
- The Texan Mask
- The Liberal Mask
- The American Mask
- The Anti-American Mask

You might be wondering at this point, "If he calls all of those things 'masks,' then what's actually real? Who's actually behind the masks?"

My vague, ambiguous, profoundly-deep-sounding answer to that is that maybe there isn't anyone behind the masks. Maybe that's what we all are -- faceless mannequins we dress up every morning to look like something we think people will find interesting to look at. Maybe we are all the same blank naked plastic underneath. Maybe we are all just simply human underneath, and nothing more. And certainly nothing less.

The Duality Of Clarity

Even though my visual stimuli are being funneled extremely clearly through my optical nerve endings, the second these electrical impulses leave the wall of my retina and fire across synapses into my brain, they turn into amorphous, clouded thoughts--alternating currents of ambiguity and imprecision. It's like the intersection of my eyes and mind are a series of crossed circuits that mix and match messages into the jumbled garble of the randomness of the Universe. Thoughts become thermally influenced particles moving in cerebral Brownian motion. The impetus of this material duality, this simultaneous definition and static, was brought on by my newly cleaned glasses.

The moral: clean your glasses. The removal of grease stains and oil smudges from your windows out into the world will manifest the same compelling epiphanies for you too.

I Love My Wall

I love my wall. Not my facebook wall, that wall is an image of defilement, vulgarity, and anti-Semitism. I love my one wall in my room (the other three are a window, a closet, and Chandan's, respectively). I love this wall because I spent about $30 USD on it for four posters.

The first poster is of THE BEATLES. It shows them in 8 different photographs, "through the years."

The second poster is the album cover of OK COMPUTER by RADIOHEAD. It has some of the lyrics of the song "Fitter Happier" on it too.

The third poster is of BOB DYLAN. He's wearing shades.

The fourth poster is of the movie BACK TO THE FUTURE. It shows Michael J. Fox looking at his watch and making a "What the fuck?!" face.

Various smaller things are also tacked on my wall, like playbills and other memorabilia from my life.

It is a great wall. It is my wall. Come visit it anytime. I love my wall.

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

I've been struggling silently for about a week now with a terrible tragedy that has befallen someone very close to me, Lucy. Her untimely death on September 4, 2004 came as such a shock to me that I've been unable to express just how deeply my sorrow and my woe run through my bleeding heart. She wasn't really my girlfriend, but she was definitely like a best friend to me, and the void she now leaves in my life will never truly be filled. It has taken me this long to even be able to begin thinking about it and talking about it.

I will always remember how we first met. I was really nervous. I wasn't sure about myself at all, but the moment I saw her, I knew she was the one. Her long, slender neck (this is so difficult), her beautiful curved body... she reflected the light in the room so gracefully, like an angel. I fell in love immediately, and I decided right then and there that I would take her home with me.

Our first few months together were pretty rocky. It was a tumultuous time of feeling each other out, trying to get to know each others' quirks, each others' personalities. She was a lot more rigid than I thought she would be initially, and I discovered just how much of a bumbling idiot I could be, but we learned to cope with each other, you know? We grew to like each other and need each other. We depended on each other. Over the years... she really came to need me as much as I needed her. Our last days together were the most beautiful times of our budding relationship; things were so new and exciting, and it seemed like anything was possible.

Lucy, my acoustic guitar, died the day I moved back to Penn. I opened up her gig bag and took her out, hoping to just relax with her. Being with her and playing her was a real calming influence on me, and I was hoping Lucy was up for it. The moment I took her out, I knew something was wrong. She didn't look right. She sounded sick. Finally, my eyes fell on her slender spruce and mahogany neck: there was a large, irreparable crack in the polished gleam on the back of her neck, revealing rough wood. The wound was covered in sawdust. I felt like screaming and crying at the same time, but I didn't make a sound. I just sat there, holding her, hugging her tightly, while I gently wept over my guitar.

I will always remember you, Lucy. You were my first. You stuck with me through very rough times in the beginning, when I didn't know what I was doing, when you could have easily abandoned me. You believed in me, then, and so I will always love you. I will never forget your beautiful body, your graceful neck, your angelic, six-stringed voice... (Oh God! Why did you have to take her away from me? Please just let me hear her voice again one more time! Please just let me pluck her strings and her music again! Please!) You were always there for me, encouraging me to become better, to learn how to love you better. I will truly miss the happy times we had. You will never be replaced. Even if I do buy another acoustic guitar, which is what I know you would have wanted me to do, you will never be replaced.

But in all my sadness, I do have one hope, and it is my confidence that you are happy up there on that Stairway to Heaven. You are finally what I named you after in the first place. You are Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, and you are smiling down on me. You are where you belong now -- where you always belonged -- that jewel-studded place in the heavens you left for a brief moment to illuminate my earthly, terrestrial life. I will always love you, Lucy. Thank you for everything that ever happened between us. And rest in peace.

R.I.P.
Lucy Fender
January 7, 2002 - September 4, 2004

Free Form, or An Ode To Estlin, or E.E. Cummings Homage/Rip-off/Tribute

thisis )anode( a Song for

every little breeze
--going through the trees

& mi fyckle frend;;
the ottum wynd ~~~~~~~~~~~ flyng
leevs throo yur heyr
may king & mick sing
evry thing to get her
sophly wisprs ( ( ( { ( ( (
) ) ) } ) ) ) just kiss her

i'm sorry I'M AN A
MALG
A-----MATION]
an amorphous manifestation--

a magnificent
moaning
mess.

So good night to you,
I will see you soon,
In verse and in rhyme,
In five syll'ble time,
When I am ready,
To better be me.

To Speak like Shakespeare and Feel like Young Love.
To let Autumn pass and give Birth anew.

The Party Song Of Alan D. Zimmer

The Party Song of Mr. Zimmer was a majestic thing--
It floated like driftwood on a surfing wave,
*****Floated over a girl afraid.
She says she'll never make that mistake again,
She's had her share of honey and rusted nails--
*****She's lucky she survived.
It was the saddest song with a happy melody,
Bittersweet like wine, sounding half-a-world away.
The sound from so far took her away,
And she didn't even think of you at all.

The Party Song of Alan D. Zimmer was engulfing;
Swimming in its wake, she choked on the tide/
Colors swirled away and faded to white.
She fell apart by herself, running away upstairs
To the sound of the guitar, the silence,
*****And the black hole.
She just couldn't keep it on the inside anymore--
Stupid bitch--want to get lost, but don't know why--
Sat inside the dark--your life is getting better--
--What's that noise--what are you doing--what's that--?
*****That dream, that movie, that song...

Laughing. Yellow light. Curtains open. Headache.
Oh my God. Was it a dream? Oh my God. Lord.
There is an alarm going off somewhere far away,
And an alarm going off in her head too.
Nothing's done. She feels numb. It slips away.
Walk home. Don't forget your things. Nice to meet you.
*****Fuck you.
Because you're young--she's your gun.

The Party Song of Alan Zimmer doesn't add up.
The sound is pounding, pounding, pounding,
Like her pulse, something's wrong with her--
*****She tastes copper in her mouth.
She just wants to be a kid again--break off this misery.
I wonder how things could have been--everything is fucked.
Dangerous. Never go back. Never the same.
Today has come too late. I think it's today.
The girl is going away. Tickets booked. Don't care.
*****She will never be free.
Ticket to Summerland. Smalltown. Montauk.
*****She will never be free.

But there will always be the song of Mr. Alan D. Zimmer,
Chasing down her heels like a screaming flower.

"The Good Life" by Weezer

'Nuff said.

The Homosexualization Of Britpop

Britpop has evolved since the early 90's from its macho guitar-rock origins to what is now most assuredly very wimpy rock, if rock at all. It all began with Blur, who played their guitars boisterously loud, and weren't afraid of a little distortion. Most of you should remember "Song 2" and its visceral, metal-punkish sound, used in at least two separate SUV commercials. Their music wasn't exactly "hardcore" by any stretch, but its sound had an edge to it. The vocals sung by Damon Albarn were sometimes unintelligible, a la British punk influences the Clash. Very soon, in the mid-90's, this new Blur-based Britpop sound phased into the band Oasis. More concerned with trying to attain the mass, worldwide appeal of the Beatles, they wrote unconcealed pop songs played loudly like arena-style hard rock at concerts. There was no hint of punk or metal, just straight, generic, radio-ready alternative pop/rock. The vocals of Noel Gallagher were much whinier than Blur's, but they were good at what they did, and were incredibly popular, more popular than Blur. This was the intermediate stage. And so that brings us to the Britpop of today, exemplified by Coldplay and copy-catted by bands like Keane. This is wuss-rock, or just straight pop, with the high falsetto vocals of Chris Martin, prominent use of piano melodies, and clear, soft, non-buzzing guitar playing. All vestiges of machismo have been removed. Britpop has been homosexualized.

Finally: please understand that I am not condemning this as a bad thing. I am, in fact, a Coldplay fan.