All of these excerpts were written on an old electric typewriter in Garry's dilapidated apartment -- usually between 3 and 5 in the morning. Spelling, grammar and punctuation are all true to the original type (for the most part).

(garry)
two confessions (in keeping with the need that was established a long time ago, by a man in colored robes, who poured water on my head while i wore a white dress).

1) i have and will always be obsessed with accessorizing (but to my defense, i most assuredly feel completely uncomfortable when accessories find their way into my daily garb).

for example
when i was in sixth grade i tried to wear suspenders with shorts simply because i saw steve caballero do it in a skate video. this attempt at accessorizing was a complete bust...and so on.

2) once i tried to make out with my sister.

i must add that i put confession two simply as a joke to help lighten up things. but, what of it? how strange would i be if i tried to make out with my sister? perhaps i was just young; i was at a point in my life where i did not yet understand genetics or social constraint in regards to relationships.........excuse me.

kenoki Quotes by Garry..........
"he sings like a black man, he has a black man voice, i wish i were a black man."
"lenin looks like he is stoned."
"hey dude, you are totally not medieval."

(kenoki)
i would like to propose yet another question to my loyal public (i.e., garry). if i were a tomato, say a very ripe tomato, how would my life most likely be terminated? would i be dried in the sun to one day be garnish for a tomato basil soup? would i be splattered on the face of a poorly performed open-mic comedian? boiled and shocked?
if you, dear reader, could please enlighten me to my destiny as a ripe tomato, it would certainly be appreciated.
one never knows when one might wake up one morning as a tomato.
or a cockroach, like kafka.
or a small mousey child, like tom hanks.
or another small mousey child, like judge reinhold.

(garry)
kenoki,
i have given your quandary a bit of thought. to make sure that we are on the same page, you are a very ripe large tomato. from a statement you made in your inquiry, i believe this to be true. with that said, let's continue on to the information you truly seek.
varying fates could befall you as large tomatoes, ripe and unripe, are in very high demand. certain variables can come into play when envisioning your final outcome. where will you end up? a grocery store? a cambodian marketplace (god save you), a fine ethiopian restaurant? i don't know. to simplify things for this reply, i will pick an outcome and then tell you of your fate.
i'm going with a mexican taco stand.
a man, a mexican, a migrant worker. yes, he is all these things. and you know what else he is? a damn fine judge of tomatoes. one morning started as many others had before. awoken by his wife, it's sometime before three in the morning, he drinks some coffee, shits the way only a mexican man can, and hops in his van to pick up his brothers.
their mission..........to pick some stellar tomatoes. this they do, from sun up to sun down -- all for a terrible wage and poor treatment. they do pick gems however, tomatoes perfect as priests.
back to our man.
he picked a tomato that day as he had hundreds of times before. he threw it in a basket, but then decided to put it in his pocket. his intent was not to be criminal, it was an impulse, one sparked by need and family bonds. his wife had a brother, her brother had a taco stand. where does this leave our protagonist? in a field of free to me tomatoes -- and so he puts it in his pocket, gives it to his wage, his wife in turn gives it to her brother, her brother gives it to a cook at his taco stand, the cook cuts off the top of the tomato, dices the rest to be used as garnish on quesadillas, and finally throws the top of the tomato into a bucket to be made into salsa.
and this, my dear kenoki, is what happens to good tomatoes sometimes.
posted by Kenoki at 12:17 AMComment

Here's a question.

Have you (and by you I mean, of course, the reader) ever wanted to be the best at anything?
Are you of the motivated sort?
One of the determined?
That which defines "excellent?"

Last night I watched Patton with my beau, and it occurred to me, while gazing at George C. Scott's glistening helmet, that I've never wanted to be great at anything -- just mediocre, sometimes merely acceptable. So in lieu of this finding, I've decided to become an amazing something-or-other, maybe even the best. Now to sleuth around and decide just what that something-or-other should be.

Also, I added this thing to my posts ... I've been lead to believe that you can now comment on my rants by clicking on "comment" at the end of each. That's what I hear, anyway.
posted by Kenoki at 7:35 PMComment

It's been a grueling week, this much I will say. I haven't yet commented on recent events aside from concern for my Aunt. This, I suppose, is my say on what has become widely known as, Terror.

Through the lower points in life, I have learned (tried) to expand my scope to the grand scheme of things -- it is in this grand scheme where humanity contently dwells until we all reach our common and certain fate. Every disaster seems a prelude to more of the same -- be it the weight felt by our local Islamic communities, copycat bomb-threats, or this sudden surge of misguided nationalism. However, buried below basic animal reaction there is that which dominates my rather idealistic vision : compassion.

There are for certain, more lives to be lost as a result of this 'act of war.' We will not, for certain, hear the last of this any time soon. We will, for certain, experience the equal balance of both devastation and nurturing -- and I will, for one and (yes) for certain, refuel my energy from the spickets of selfless hearts and the sometimes graceful nature of humanity.

In the grand scheme of things, I see all of us being just fine through ... and through ... and throughout the ages.
posted by Kenoki at 9:41 PMComment

I thought I'd lighten things up with snippets from the book that Garry and I are writing.

Here's some background on Garry:
He's the person I'm seeing right now, you know, the chef. Not only is he a chef, but a self-proclaimed history buff and former buddhist practitioner. Not only was he a buddhist practitioner (though he insists that his yellow-fever only goes so far as sage old Asian men), but he was going to be a monk.

Not only was he going to be a monk, but he was also going to be in the Air Force. However, the day boot camp arrived, he approached his recruiter and said he simply wasn't going -- not if he couldn't be a fighter pilot.

Not only is he a chef, buddhist monk and fighter pilot, but he knows everything about ships and lighthouses of the old. His walls are covered with ship paintings, lighthouse prints and, yes, a giant American Flag. During his nautical stage, he got a tattoo of a naked Betty Page type on his forearm. This isn't strange, you say? What if I told you that this otherwise feminine tattoo has a mustache? On the other arm exists the depiction of a blade piercing the body of a sparrow.

Oh, but there's more. Once he confided in me that, as a youth he wished to be a dancer ... and sometimes he would twirl around his basement clad in his sister's tap shoes and other dance garb.

Can you believe this guy? The nerve.

Oh, and we're writing a play -- it has something of an "Odd Couple" feel, only featuring General Patton and Rommel, were they to have survived World War 2.

Now that we have background clearance, here come the snippets!
posted by Kenoki at 11:27 PMComment

The night before last I received this e-mail from my father in regard to my aunt.

"For those among you who knew that my sister-in-law, Sue Oh worked as a Vice President with Morgan Stanley in the World Trade Center, New York, I'm pleased to say she made it out of the building before it collapsed. She hasn't been able to contact us direct yet. Sue had to call a person in Korea and have them call us in Georgia to tell us she was okay and back in her apartment in Manhattan. Direct communication between Georgia and New York is still down."

Apparently she got out with just a few bruises and burns, but is in ship-shape! Thanks to everyone who sent their well-wishes & prayers...

As for my personal going-ons, well.........
posted by Kenoki at 3:39 PMComment

It began with a very simple phone call from my father to my mother.

"Sung Hee, do you have your sister's cell phone number?"

"Yeh, why?"

"A terrorist plane just hit her building."

**click**

My mother immediately hung up on my father and proceeded to attempt contact with my Aunt Sue at the World Trade Center. She couldn't get through via cell phone and so opted to call all of her sister's friends.

The only thing we know thus far is that she went into work at 8:00 AM and phoned her friend, from within the WTC, 1 minute after the first plane collision.

I've spoken to many friends about this situation for the past 4 hours, and it seems that we all know someone who was either directly changed by this disaster or knows someone that may have been there. It's close to home, it's painful, it's because we all share the same organs, fears and sentiments. If nothing else, this has allowed most of us to gather, sans politics, cultural or economic differences, and grieve for humanity together.

I'd like to ask all of you to send out a prayer, in whatever context you choose, to all of the bombing victims and families/friends currently existing in limbo.

What a frightening day, what a god damn tragedy.
posted by Kenoki at 1:25 PMComment

I would like to propose a question on behalf of both myself and The Republic of My Brain.

This question is,
"What gives!?"

Here is why.

There was a time when I got a substantial amount of response to this webpage, from readers via AIM or e-mail. It seems that those days are long gone since my rather abrupt vacation from the great green blog. So again I ask,

"What gives!?"

I'm bored, I'm as friendly as the green on this page ... so let's talk!

You can also view Wil Wheaton's personal blog at: Wil Wheaton dot net. Here's a sampler of what you might find:

"You know what I did at the beach? I peed in the ocean. I just wanted to get that out of the way, because it's something that everyone does, and I just HATE it when people act like they don't. Like girls who insist that they don't fart. Give me a break."

ENJOY
posted by Kenoki at 3:47 PMComment

Summer hasn't felt like summer in years. Infact, a lot of things have changed since summer truly felt like summer.

For one, there was a time when I was a mere observer. I rarely partook in any real activity other than binding together make-shift scrapbooks, hot oiling my perm and staring at strangers in, what may have been misconstrued as, "a creepy way."

Summer hasn't really felt like summer since '95 or so -- before I began meddling in the field of man-dome -- before I bloomed, as they say, a few years later than most.

This summer however, has felt something closer to a real summer. Beaching, playing, showing summer bums about my beachy-domain with all the cuban eateries, palm trees and sand crabs. This summer, I'd say, was as close to a real summer as the summer of '88 -- which was as hot a summer as they come.

I may not have gone far from home in the past 3 months, but I did meander away from the mechanics in my life that just weren't functioning. Like those inane trysts, an unhealthy fascination with Russian Dance, seclusion and malnutrition -- and that to me, is a real vacation.

Now it's all coming to an untimely end -- maybe not the sun and the heat (I do live in Florida), but the general feel in the air. The fall cirrus clouds are dimming the glow and hurricanes are preparing themselves for full bloom.

Maybe I'll end up back in the slump of last winter, but for now let's just say that it's still summer. Summer days are supposed to be the longest, but they cruised by so fast. This season has some making up to do -- so perhaps I can reason with the Powers That Be into stretching this summer to 2030.

By then I'll be of the aged, and fully prepared for my winter years.

We'll see.
posted by Kenoki at 5:46 PMComment

I have come to a decision.

It is a modest idea...a "simple endeavor," so to speak.

The sphere, the core, of this idea revolves around the reader (you) emailing me. We'll go from there and see where this grand, systematic and entirely mysterious brain baby takes us.

More later...
posted by Kenoki at 4:38 PMComment

testing, testing.
posted by Kenoki at 3:50 PMComment

Yes, we've touched down!

I've been on a summer vacation of sorts -- relaxing in The Keys, sipping margaritas from the belly buttons of strapping young lads, radiating a certain brilliance that only I could exude. So on that note, I'm back -- and the movements should be fairly regular from here on out.

Here goes nothing.

It's been awhile, really too long for me to catch up on things, so let me summarize:

I'm writing a book.

With a man.

Who also happens to be my "man friend."

And who cooks me dinner most every night.

Since I seem to be a bit smitten with him, it's likely that you won't get much love talk on here for awhile... so we're back to where we started from, a great big blog about all the other funny headaches life can provide us with.

Like canned tuna, for instance.

As for "My Hippy," well he ended up being a little on the...shall we say, crazy side? Let me script an example for you.

A man walks up to a clothing boutique to visit his ex-girlfriend (who broke up with him 1.5 years prior). He pulls his Volkswagon up to the entry, hobbles out, flings open the glass doors (a handle per hand) and begins screaming, "WHY WON'T YOU LOVE ME??" in repetition.

Security had to escort him out, as it wasn't the first time.

Ouch.

Everyone told me, after I'd heard the tale and decided to venture elsewhere, that he had crazy eyes.

"I could just tell," one would say.

Or, "He looks ate up 24/7."

Isn't it amazing how friends never point out the obvious, until the obvious presents itself a few weeks too late?

As for the book, I'll be posting up snippets as the days continue.

As for the kitties, they're happy and healthy. Except for Keno, that is...by some stroke of luck, she has decided that my bedroom is perhaps the most suitable of litter boxes. Ah yes, the entire room. What a stinker!

What a cat!
posted by Kenoki at 4:00 PMComment

p.s. it's good to be back.
posted by Kenoki at 4:21 PMComment

It's 9:50 AM on Tuesday morning. A cat, per usual, is kneading on my legs as I script this post in the traditional sense: pen and paper (or is it pen and ink? and paper?). I feel sort of archaic and lost with the absence of my computer, but this is life -- lots of broken and missing pieces that somehow fit accordingly.

Long hand! It's been ages since I've had to use it! Where's the backspace on this mechanism? The delete? The spell-check, even? Whoever thought of this obviously didn't spend much time at the drafting table -- a rush job, if I ever saw one.

So here goes my free-flowing thought ... in a shabby effort to save and fill time until I do find a computer to use.

The new apartment is finally beginning to feel like home, save the unadorned (though freshly painted) walls and lackage in the furniture department. Since being laid off, I've taken on two jobs: the pizza joint (which I promptly quit after one week and a 26 hour hangover) and I occasionally work the door at our local club. It was at the latter where I first ran into my new Cajun-scented flame, whom we'll refer to as My Hippy.

My Hippy is one of a kind. He has an obstinate view on all things life-related and garnishes much of his statements with phrases such as, "...and he knew I was right!" or, "...and I didn't do anything to deserve it!" His eyes are blackened by scarring blows from "random" angry oppressors, and of course all of his jailhouse stays were of no fault of his own. Of course.

He carries with him a thick scent of Cajun food (due to his day job) -- be it spiced rice, curried crayfish or Jumbalaya. However, we should use "Cajun" loosely, considering my Tampa whereabouts. I've had Florida Jumbalaya and it was a pretty tasty treat, whereas in Louisiana it merely evokes dry-heaves and complete fear. For those of you unfamiliar, Jumbalaya is the Creole version of Gruel, which is the Redneck version of soggy, stewed sanitary waste.

Ok, so he doesn't smell like sanitary waste ... we're talking Tampa Cajun, remember? It's more of a salty body odor ... the kind produced by someone who neglects his need for deodorant, and walks barefoot in the park during lunch breaks from the local health food co-op. It's a heavy scent, a natural musk -- something that should be revolting but instead causes me to sniff the air like a cat when he's not looking.

Which all probably goes back to his hippy tag, VW, blithe affinity for all things naturally hallucinogenic, The Greatful Dead and the slow smooth swagger in his walk.

Should I feel so unethical and cruel for wearing anti-perspirant and fru-fru body sprays? For buying my clothes at designer boutiques or The Gap? For shaving my armpits? So I neither appreciate nor taste like the salt of the earth, sue me (actually, don't)!

Anyway.
I'm not sure where M.H. fits into my life just yet, after all I've only known him for two weeks. Nonetheless, I'm half convinced that he in some way, is my saving grace -- whether from jittery nerves, proper hygiene or merely Last Thursday Night.

LAST THURSDAY NIGHT

There I was standing on the bar patio, watching Mr Melancholia (a fling post-The Failed Experiment (TTOA) / pre-The Bryan and Kenoki Rehash) croon away to a dreary audience. I'd gone out that evening not expecting, though half-hoping, to see My Hippy -- but as it happened, he found lesbian boxing down the street more appetizing than the indie doldrums happening in front of and around me.
Subsequently, I was surrounded by complete misery!

Behind me stood Bryan, whispering with an old one-nighter. To my right stood The Failed Experiment (TTOA), my most popular mistake. To my left stood the lanky bartender I accosted one night with verbal affection, only to receive a shrug in response. Finally, before me sat Mr Melancholia, entertaining the crowd with a forlorn love jingle directed at me.

Things were looking grim ... real grim ... and the flighty Janeane Garafola look-alike, whom I'd met earlier in the evening, wouldn't stop gnawing at my ear about flat stomachs, the nutritional value of my beer and the romantic quality of centipedes.

If ever the gnarly terrain of Canada seemed appealing -- and let's face it, Canada rarely seems appealing -- it was during that ripple in time.

After about 30 minutes and 4 pints of Guinness, I was at my rope's end. Then suddenly, as if some telepathic force thrust him in to save me, My Hippy casually sauntered in through the doors and caught my eye. It was only moments after that we both left all the rock talk and headed towards higher planes ... like lesbian boxing and a breakdancing competition.

At this point nothing had yet fired between My Hippy and I. He knew I had the hots for him, but refrained from giving me any sort of hint at it being mutual. Of course, as we all well know but feign ignorance to, it's the chase that really keeps the hots hot. The ego. The nagging want to know how the person kisses ... like a fish, a sloppy donkey, a kid afraid to lick the popsicle because of brain freeze fables, or an expert tongue masseuse.

We strode though the streets of Ybor City and, after experiencing boxing and breaking at its finest, found our way to an upstairs Irish Pub. He wanted to show me a secret room, that held a secret window, that overlooked a secret fancified street of our city -- though none of this was really such a secret. So we just sat there, looked down apon the swarming crowds struggling to crawl into taxi cabs, talked and listened to the Irish Folk Singer strum away in the background.

At some point My Hippy said to me, "So do you still have the hots for me?" I nodded. He smiled. That was it for that topic.

3 AM rolled around and it was time to head out. When we got into the elevator he hit the "door close" button and said, "Let's wait and see how long it takes for it to open again." I stood there for a moment, wondering how long that would be, when he kissed me ... and kissed me. We kept this up for another half hour until it dawned on me that he'd kept his thumb on that button the entire time -- and for that entire time I was in New Orleans. I tasted New Orleans. Smelled New Orleans. Felt wistfully romantic the way New Orleans ought to feel ... at least until we opened the doors to Tampa.

He showed me the sights I'd never known existed in this city of mine ... balconies with warm Florida views ... historic inns with secret entry ways ... and an old decrepit cigar manufacturing warehouse where his friends live -- filled to rim with crack-pot artists, aged hippies and runaways that grew up but couldn't remember their way back.

Everyone there kept talking about lobsters...

"Lobsters this..."

"Lobsters that..."

"Isn't it creepy how Lobsters have eyes on their antennas?"

Seafood seems to be a running theme this week.

At any rate, I went home with him that night ... and he put on Concrete Blonde as mood music, and even sang along (at moments when I could have done without ... like, always). Then I didn't here from him for 3 days.

Maybe it's better this way -- his disinterest and apathy ... cause Lord only knows that if he did pay even an ounce of attention, I would immediately become as disconnected as, well, a Lobster's eye.
posted by Kenoki at 12:15 AMComment

Things to do when you don't have a computer or television:

1. Create an arsenal of pasta dinners buy boiling noodles, adding sauce and then placing both in a container. Later, place the containers in the refrigerator beside the other 12 uneaten/undisturbed bowls of pasta waiting to be devoured.

2. Make tapes. Tapes for your Dad (Cream, The Beach Boys), tapes for your Mom (John Denver, John Cleese Comic Tapes), tapes for your ex-boyfriend (Mean Spiteful Songs), tapes for your current crush (The Greatful Dead, Phish -- we'll talk about that in a sec), and of course -- tapes for those long distance pals that you've been promising tapes to for nearly 4 years (T Rex, PJ Harvey, Lilys, Mogwai). Then pile all tapes onto a single heaping mound, and let them gestate for an undetermined amount of time...or, otherwise, forget to write down the track listings and then set them on the mound.

3. Date, socialize, begin a relationship with alcoholism. However, I can not tell you if dating a fan of the Greatful Dead/Phish is a mistake or not ... I'm too closely related to the problem to really discuss it. Yes, it's true... The Greatful Dead and Phish. He likes the way they jam, but not The Jam. Apparently he also owns a few pairs of Birkenstocks.

On that note...I'm going to drive home and weep a grave, solemn weep.

Hi!
posted by Kenoki at 3:03 AMComment

Hello there, friends! Kinkos says hello, as well...because we're all friendly over in these parts.

All communication has not ceased, I just find it daunting and difficult to find the time, means and money to bring myself to a computer with blogger-like capablities. Yet, here I am...paycheck in pocket, with a mission to post. And post, I shall.

Things are feeling a little better with the Bryan situation. It's just very...did I already say "difficult," because it is. I have promised myself time and time again, over the past 9 months, that I wouldn't let myself succumb to Bryan again, so I did everything in my powers to avoid it. I dated, I dated hard... I mingled, I mingled well... I did all the things a girl on the rebound is supposed to do, but with little success because, as we all well know, I gave in with little resistance.

The last time we broke up it was because he didn't love me enough...this time? Because he loves me too much. Why can we not average the two out for a nice even *just enough*. If only math were the basis for all of this, my life would be on the ups.

1+1 = 2

Yee!

2x1 = 2

Attuh' Boy!

2-1 = 1

Oh quit it, you're depressing me now. Silly math.

It was two nights ago when I realized that this all needs to stop -- that I need to step back and give myself something that I deserve (which does not include headaches, heartaches or panic attacks). I was walking through Ybor City, the party mecca of Tampa, and was surrounded my glitter and glory. Women galloped by with their one-night beaus in tow, and I just walked...desperate to find my car so that I could have a good scream. True, I was a little inebriated from a few too many free drinks, but that wasn't all. I was completely drunk and stupified with the idea of being let-down, of having the rug pulled out from under me when I needed it least. So I walked, and 15 different strangers yelled for me to smile, one of which was an old, weather-beaten woman. She was a short black angel missing her two front teeth, and she carried a hundred different bags -- and was, in its very essence, a bag lady. She told me to smile and I just wanted to bury my head in her neck and ask her how -- how she's made peace with her life, how she seems so delighted to be alive, how even without penny or fragrant scrap of cloth on her body, she can smile and know that something brilliant exists in the beyond. I wanted to take her home to listen to me, I wanted...anything -- but I sufficed with giving her a few bucks and going home to my cats.

So tonight, I DANCE.

A new car surely does not make a new man.
posted by Kenoki at 5:51 PMComment

It's been nearly two weeks since my last post, one week since I moved into my new apartment and yet another two weeks until my home computer is back in commission. Today's post is brought to you courtesy of the Hillsborough County Public Library (that's right! Kinkos is for the birds! THE BIRDS!).

Job update: Well, it seems that I got myself a job (temporarily) at a little pizza dive run by an italian mafia. My duties include: wiping the same counter over and over again until I'm given a more substantial task such as, say, mopping or making a greek salad. This line of business is a provocative one, and certainly more lucrative than working at a top accounting firm. Hmm... maybe this job lacks a fullfilling amount of perks, but at least I can have my foes killed off if they so much as blink at me funny. hehe.

Love update: Bryan and I began seeing each other again about a week or two prior to my move. I stayed with him for 5 days before moving myself into my new pad. As of yesterday, that ride came to yet another end (what's the current Bryan/Kenoki break-up tally? 6? 7?). I'm in a mode now, a quandary -- one that is somewhat disillusioned and forced. I've got a real problem, I tell you. A real problem! I like to present myself as this gloriously satisfied gal with a full dance card and night life to boot; but when it all comes down to it, I want what any other girl wants ... and that is: A large cheese pizza with a side of garlic sticks and some dipping sauces.

Grumble Grumble.

Stomach, quiet yourself! You're making a scene in the middle of the library!

I didn't think people still went to libraries, nonetheless in Tampa ... but this place is packed! An older, weathered man to my right is typing something in Spanish. Thanks to my 4 years of Spanish class throughout junior and senior high, I can make out at least two of the words -- "I" and "you." That would be "yo" and "usted." I wonder if he feels invaded when I pop my head in his cubical and stare at his espanolio.

p.s. big thanks to andie for posting this in my time of need. although the library does placate my computer withdrawal, it does not allow me to post to blogger. gypped -- again!

posted by Kenoki at 9:46 PMComment

(I'm not concerned with spelling this early morning. So don't taunt me!)

I, Kenoki Kenoki, just performed a marvelous feit. While it's true that I didn't meet my midnight deadline of evacuating this humble abode, I will surely be done by the time management arrive for their work day.

So about my enormously remarkable accomplishment which requires superhuman strength and endurance. It's 6 am, and about 15 minutes ago I single-handedly lifted and carried my delapidated metal futon frame (yes, the infamous) down a large flight of stairs and then dragged it...with the occasional pause and heavy gasp for air/a little quiet prayer...1/5 of a mile to the dumpster. My immobile futon and I could have been a comedy sketch, twas a fitting farewell -- balancing that futon on my shoudler and dragging it across the concrete. My neighbors must have enjoyed the rude awakening of metal scraping against asphalt; in fact, the entire complex must have.

I should be a professional mover.

Or not.

I do indeed deserve this 10 minute break for a little smoke and a little blog.

I haven't slept in three days, can you tell?

I miss my kittens. I cried when I took them to the kennel today...they were so sad, so frightened of the other kitty beasts in the jail cells beside them. If only ... if only things could be different. Tomorrow I shall visit them, and everyday following -- I'll even bring snuggle toys (which may or may not include me)! I keep thinking that I hear Keno scratching at the carpet or peeing on my floor -- I begin to shriek her name, but then I remember. It's not her, just my imagination. Sigh. The things I'd do to have them here, gyping me out of my security deposit by pooping on the walls. Oh kittens... kittens kittens... and it seems that animal cruelty has become a reoccuring theme in my life (see: the hamster incident).

We humans are animals too, and don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

Till next we blog,
Kenoki
posted by Kenoki at 6:28 AMComment

Well folks, I'm just about out of here, all that's left is this computer. Getting a bit misty eyed about leaving my little palace.

Posts for the next week will be from foreign computers in random households/internet cafes.

I don't have a house key anymore...strange. Oh wait, I take that back, I do have keys to my last two places of residence. Hmmm...I wonder if they still work. Perhaps we will soon find out?

Devious plots abound!

Who knows what the future has in store ... but perhaps the future is not the future at all, but rather the past for which we've forgotten and need little reminders of in real-time.
posted by Kenoki at 7:43 AMComment

I know that I'm supposed to be packing now, considering that I have to be outta this apartment by midnight, but there are other matters that I must attend to first.

I have decided, with the help of my associate, that I want a perm. Tonight I must travel to the mystical land of Wal-MArt in order to purchase cleaning products -- while I'm there I also plan on picking up some hair curlers for a lil' trial run. I mean, I know I was some hot business between the ages of 6-13 (when I had the fro in full effect), but who knows if raging curls would do my face justice these days. It is possible that the luster of a perm is only prevalent when toted by a chubby-cheeked child. Oh, we'll see. Perm + Me is so where it's at.

More later.
posted by Kenoki at 7:32 PMComment

My Conversational Letter To The Powers That Be (PTB)

Dear PTB,

I've got a few questions to ask. I don't know exactly who you are -- God, Buddha, Mork, The Cosmos -- but I'd really appreciate a little clarity here. No favors, just answers ... and maybe a few years added onto my life and a lifetime supply of raspberry flavored ice tea. Let's start with a few of the more urgent questions:

1. Why is it that every time I sort through and organize the mess of my life, you throw me a curve ball? Like my whole living situation for instance. Ok, I began to deal with the lay off situation and the fact that I won't be able to afford a phone deposit. I even shrugged off the day in between leases when I'll be homeless. Then today, when everything seemed nice and settled, you have the leasing agent from my future apartments call to inform me that my home won't be ready until the 6th! The 6th! I have to be outta here by the 31st! Do you see the funk here? Why!? Why!?

Well [Kenoki], remember that time you killed your hamster amidst a personal "science experiment?" In case you have conveniently forgotten, let me provide you with a refresher. You were 8 years old and living in Fort Worth, Texas. One day, being of the inquisitive sort, you decided to see how your hamster (Hampy) would react to the freezer. After about 3 minutes of letting the innocent little fellow wander around the unfamiliar icy terrain, you began to feel pains of guilt. So what did you do? You warmed him up -- in the microwave. Sure, he was only in there for about 4 seconds before collapsing from radiation exposure, and sure you didn't know any better -- but it's murder nonetheless and for that you will suffer. You've got a long and treacherous payment plan ahead of you, and this is only the beginning. It's like a student loan, really -- I give you about 14 years to get settled with your life, forget about the whole rodent incident, and then when you least expect it, the piper asks to be paid ... with interest. The piper being me -- God. The real kicker is that you rolled him back up into a little ball, put him in the corner of his cage, and waited for your father to get home and find your little dead friend. Everyone thought he had entered my pearly gates due to natural causes ... but you can't fool me. Oh no! Not me! Not God! Moo wah hahaha!

2. Well shit. Oops, sorry God. What I meant to say was "Well doo-doo!" Onto my next question: Is it natural for my hair to be falling out at such a rapid rate? I know that I have very thick hair, but there's simply no way that my follicles can produce full grown replacements at the same pace. Am I going bald? Is that what you're getting at?

Did you learn nothing in school? Oh wait, I almost forgot, you dropped out of school! 5 times! Perhaps you should refer to my answer for the first question. No, just pulling your chain. See, it's only natural for you to lose thousands of hairs a day, and while the growth rate of a single hair is about half an inch per month, there are millions springing forth daily. You might also want to consider investing in a quality conditioner. It may simply be that your hair isn't receiving the vitamins that it needs. Too many people neglect their hair and forget that it too is a part of your body and needs proper care. And for this neglect, they will all pay. Moo wah hahahaha!

3. Do my cats think?

Don't you wish you knew! Moo wah hahahaha!

4. Quit it, you're scaring me.

Don't tell me what to do! I'm God! Moo wah hahahaha!

5. Sometimes you are so aggravating.

I know you are but what am I? Moo wah hahahaha!

Love,
Kenoki
posted by Kenoki at 5:55 PMComment

It's packing day. Ok, it's actually been "packing day" since Thursday, and this is what I've accomplished:

box 1: books.
box 2: old journals, books, some records and a ball of yarn.

My cats are in a flurry over the hidden ball of yarn (one of which is licking my arm right now) -- so before they draw blood, I may have to un-pack their make-shift toy.

Where do I start? With dishes? No, that would mean washing them. Clothes? No, I have to wear those. Toiletries? No, I use them. Who knows when I might want to spritz on a little cucumber-vanilla body spray. How about cd's? But what if I yearn for the sweet tunes of The Enoch Light Orchestra doing Beatles covers?

I could easily start with winter clothes, but they're in a box somewhere around my closet...magnetically attracting dust, cat dander and moths. Frankly, I'm frightened of what I might find lurking beneath the mass of wool, dense cotton and long-johns.
posted by Kenoki at 10:29 PMComment

I've been without a job for nearly two days now and for every hour I can't account for, the feeling of a pending doom (i.e., homelessness) burns another tiny hole in my skull. I can make a tragedy out of anything.

My lease ends in 6 days, after which I will be moving into a new 2 story townhome. How I plan on paying for my deposits, I have no clue -- which is where the Kenoki Lay-Off Fund comes in!

That's right! You can now take an active part in my survival! For every donation I receive, there will be a new story posted here at the ABOW -- and that's not all! Once you donate, you will automatically be sent to a page containing an unpublished (due to the threatened lawsuit) Asian Book of Wisdom entry. Call it a "membership perk," if you will. Just click on the "pay pal" button located to your left and donate away! I currently accept most major credit cards/check cards and checks, I believe. Have I no shame? No. If I don't pay my phone deposit, there will be no new Asian Book of Wisdom posts for an unconfirmed amount of time ... or at least until I find a new job and/or join a paying harem.
posted by Kenoki at 1:21 PMComment

A side note: For assisting me with this donation idea, John from Us Against Them will be receiving a 0.05% cut of all donations. Credit is given where credit is due, friends -- don't ever say that I'm not a giver.
posted by Kenoki at 1:47 PMComment

Job Security and Destitution Like to Party

I was living in Dallas, TX when my father first got laid off from Texas Instruments. Dad came home with his office decorations in hand and my mother, in response, blamed him for his and the other 5000+ pink slips distributed. In her mind his incompetence was responsible for the wrongs of the world, and he may have believed it. Regardless, like the smile he rarely abandons in the public eye, he maintained a facade of self-assurance and took me out for ice cream. He still wears that smile, and I know that it's all for me.

With each passing day I notice my molecules shift, gravitate and re-organize themselves to the likeness of my parents. Had I been alone yesterday afternoon, I would have succumb to the ideas of everything being my fault. I would have taken on the role of both parents and torn myself apart, but I didn't... Instead I held my favorite coworker's hand and kept her from weeping while holding up the dam preventing a flood of my own.

See, along with my coworker, I was laid off. I was laid off by my boss' assistant 30 minutes before I was to go home for the day.

"Thank you so much, you did a fabulous job and we're very glad to have worked with the two of you. However, the boss is very sensitive and hates to do these things, so it's my job for now. Today is your last day with us. Good Luck."

It's as though I'm guzzling down the backwash of everyone's touchy-feelies these days. Their sensitivity. Who, aside from my gas station's resident hobo, likes backwash?

Today I have no responsibility, and the tasks I do need to accomplish seem too inconsequential to actually deal with -- you know, like finding a new job. So rather, I'm going to flood this page with stories.
posted by Kenoki at 11:52 AMComment

Happy birthday, Dan!

I'm here at The Firm, "working" with two new temps in office. I just ushered them into a new era of poor work ethic by showing them the version of internet explorer/instant messanger hidden in the vacant computer's hard drive.

Let the games begin.
posted by Kenoki at 1:54 PMComment

I sure love kiwis! I sure love the Afghan Whigs!
posted by Kenoki at 12:45 AMComment

I'm listening to the Dave Navarro solo record. I'm sorry, don't be sad. It's really not so bad, really! Even with a song called "Mourning Son."

For the record, the new Weezer makes me (*cough*) green.

Bob: The funniest man in Chicago? Let there be no confusion -- he was/is indeed a funny man. Seriously though ... NA? Never Again! A pug named Pugaboo. hehehe. Almost as good as Bugle, The Electric Beagle-oo, but not quite.

Apparently, Dave Navarro wants to taste your saliva. *shrug* He said it, not me!

Now listening to Marvin Gaye's What's Going On - The Deluxe Edition.

On to the stories:

A regrouping of the gender clans/What to do when the beef is rancid.

It's been awhile since we've delved into my world of love, lawsuits and the little lobotomized characters in my life. As many of you may have guessed, The Suer was none other than The Tampa Object of My Affection. Such an appropriate end to our story!

Two evenings after the threat, Laura and I were taking an evening drive to the local venue/bar. We were having a laugh at the suer's expense, when she exclaimed, "It's completely ridiculous! I can't believe it! It's something that would happen in a movie, only ... it wouldn't even be in a movie because it's so completely farfetched. The screenwriters would get together and say, 'There's no way that anyone will ever believe this. Let's just add some ferocious mutant sharks and aim for a PG-13 rating.'"

TTOA will henceforth be known as The Failed Experiment. Please take note of the change.

Tuesday evening was the night of the Wesley Willis show. As a result of not being able to see a thing, Bryan/Mr. Misery (I should really quit calling him that) and I went outside to catch a glimpse of Willis skin through the windows, as it had been rumored that you could see his left breast through a crack in the curtains.

There we were, slumped beside the red bricked walls attempting to get a flash of man-boob, when I turned to see The Failed Experiment haughtily prance passed us. He trotted by, new concubine in tow, with a pompous look of regality in his eyes -- as though he felt vindicated by puffing his chest out with a masculine air of false pride. Still, what instantly popped into my mind were the lewd 'requests' he'd made in the past, and all I could do was giggle -- so I did.

Now listening to The Who's The Who Sells Out.

Some background info: Having found out about this journal, The Failed Experiment made a superb effort to dispell any ideas that our social group may have had about our affair. Needing to be the center of dramatic production that neither existed nor mattered, he made sure to call everyone we knew about the "situation." Regardless of his impetuous denials of our 2 month fling, those that have caught a smelly wiff of his pointless fibs are not so naive.

One evening Bryan and I had a breakthrough when he said that he does still care. He said that he just hated the fact that I'd been involved with someone that would deny my part, though meager and primarily sexual, in their life. I felt comforted by this...I felt...cared for. That feeling lasted for all of 1 minute, maybe 2.

And here's where it all goes awry.

Turns out that due to a month gap between leases, Bryan will be living with The Failed Experiment and his roommates for a month. Such incest! Regardless of everything, The Boy's Club wins again! Oh well, such is life.

Which brings us to the beef. Yes, more beef.

When I was a younger lass there was a definitive difference between sexes. I however tended to mingle with both genders, as I could talk at great length about both She-Ra and He-Man. Yes, I played with both Barbies and my Commodore 64 until I was well into middle school.

As I got older the lines began to blur, and maybe I attribute this to the 'punk' community that I became involved with in middle/high school. But punk is dead, right? You'd think that it would only get more indistinct as you get older -- that sensibility would overcome the biological differences of testosterone vs. estrogen ... testes vs. tit. I'm learning that this is certainly not the case.

It runs in cycles, I suppose. We have a moment of clarity and then the gender clans regroup for another go around of bros before hos/hos before bros. It's deafening. A true acknowledgement that the archaic era of cave-dwelling civilization never really ended, we're all just fooling ourselves with philosophical and ethical values that don't really exist. Tarzan clubs Jane, Jane teaches Tarzan language and art, Tarzan's name shines in bright lights along the streets of Broadway.

"It's a guy thing," is the line we women too often get that validates this point.

And of course there are exceptions, there always are -- I just can't really think of one right now. Boy George, perhaps!?
posted by Kenoki at 3:53 AMComment

It is late. There are these amazing things called chocolate cake shots... but perhaps I had a few too many this evening by the prodding of my evening's companion, Elizabeth. At any rate, if these shots don't taste like chocolate cake, I surely don't know what does. As she said to the bartender (who experienced the wonder for the first time), "Try it! It's like licking dough from the bowl!"

And it was indeed, like licking dough from the bowl -- only we had lemons, sugar, and liqour...and yet, no bowl.

I was never much of a drinker prior to these past couple of weeks (winks). Of course I had my bout of miniature bonfire parties when I was in high school, but never anything on a grand scale. Where did this sudden spurt of social activity come from? When in God's name did I become a ... *shudder* ... BAR FLY!?

ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

P.S. I believe that Bob should indeed get an English Bulldog. I myself would like a Schnauzer, Golden Retriever or Lhasa Apso, however...the cats always butt heads with me on the subject -- and lord only knows that I live by the whims of my cats.
posted by Kenoki at 4:17 AMComment

What was I talking about? I've never wanted a Schnauzer or Lhasa Apso. I do however want a beagle. I would name him: Bugle, The Electric Beagle-oo!
posted by Kenoki at 3:03 PMComment

This evening I went out to see Wesley Willis. I assumed that I would arrive at the local venue and sort of cruise in (for free, of course) with no major traffic in my way; however, that wasn't the case at all. The bar was packed. PACKED! I couldn't believe that such a schtick would actually sucker in so many people. "Man, I hear that some crazy homeless guy with schizophrenia is playing! That rules!" Frankly, I've seen people as entertaining, if not more, peddling about our grimy tropical streets.

I saw Wesley Willis' elbow, but that's about it. Oh, and his left boob.

In the past week or so I've been making an effort to go out and meet people. Having been trapped in relationship-ville for so long, I never really took the opportunity to see the many faces of Tampa...to enjoy life as it should be enjoyed. This is not to say that relationship-ville didn't have its perks, but I did tend to ignore my own personal life in the process -- maybe that's what made everything so wrong. Maybe that's what lead to the ultimate demise.

At any rate, this evening Bryan appeared at the show. After a few uncomfortable moments of "should I or shouldn't I?," I approached him. It was good ... we were fine ... I missed him, but in what way I can't really tell.

I ended up mingling with some new friends and Bryan approached me saying that he was going to leave. I sort of grabbed his hand and weighed out the options of whether I should go as well or stay and make social. I mean, after all, he would walk me to my car and we'd have a moment to ourselves. Still, I decided to stay ... and so we kept holding one another's hand which sort of slipped away as he backed towards the exit.

And all I can think is, how did it all get buried? How can two people love one another so much and for so long, yet still never meet eye to eye?

I should have left with him this evening ... but then maybe I would have ended up in the old cycle again ... neglecting the me for the sake of the he ... and still never being there as much as I should have been.

There's so much that I haven't told you! So much .. and maybe I'll work on an epic story containing all of the crazy antics of the past few weeks. Maybe indeed! But for now, this is me talking in the midst of a sleep-haze, wishing for my bed, however uncomfortable.

Wish I had more time to type -- but the Z's beckon, and I'm not one to deny any letter of the alphabet!
posted by Kenoki at 3:57 AMComment

I hate this! I abhor having to work *around* stories so as to not offend people. I liked the way the Asian Book of Wisdom was before! Back when I could tell my anecdotes and daily trials in any way I deemed fit! Take the last post, for instance...there's so much more involved, but it ended up being this rather terrible narrative that didn't quite depict the scene in its entirety. I didn't mention seeing TTOA or the TTOA female parallel that tormented my life for a spell.

Ugh! That's it! The ABOW is returning to its roots, and if anyone is offended or wants to sue me, then so be it. This is the one forum of my life where honesty is everything, and that has to count for something. The truth can be hilarious, and maybe that's why some find it so offensive or lurid.
posted by Kenoki at 4:10 AMComment

The old spanish man in our office (Fernando!) strolled in here earlier carrying a box of blue file folders. I opened the door for him, he looked up at me with a suspicious grin and said, "Hello little flower."

He creeps me out! The ivory ring he wears on his pointer finger and his slow way of speaking. Ew!

He went on to make eyes at my file dungeon companion, then strutted towards me, pulled up the waistline in his pants and so bravely announced, "Oh my Chinese Lady! How are you doing little Chinese Lady!"

Seriously, if you want my love ... don't call me Chinese.
posted by Kenoki at 1:37 PMComment

Every woman here in the HR department looks about my age...21-25, I'd say. I'm now realizing that many of them are in their mid 30's...it's possible that some kind of genetic mutation experiment is being performed on this 7th floor. Perpetual youth + the need for xanax + a cubicle contentment and artificial plant decorations. Am I next? Is it really worth the lobotomy?
posted by Kenoki at 3:42 PMComment

It is 1:20 am and I woke up about 10 minutes ago.

See, I was sleeping peacefully on my enormously uncomfortable futon mattress -- and I say mattress because my frame done gone and broke itself after an evening of sumthin' sumthin' -- when my eyes fluttered open. I felt this sensation on my tongue, so I licked my lips a few times to pinpoint just where this all-too-familiar feeling was going. All of a sudden I knew what had to be done -- I had to eat crackers and cheese. My body simply won't agree with me if I don't succumb to its needs, even if it asks at the most awkward of times.

I slumped into my car and drove to the Coastal convenience store. I sauntered in through the side doors wearing my best plaid pajamas pants and rattiest paint-splattered tee shirt as the night clerk looked at me and giggled. I found my way to the cracker aisle, just hoping for some Keebler Club and Cheddar -- but there were none. So instead, after painstaking debate, I sufficed with a Doritos brand of C&C.

I spit out my 49 cents and went home feeling half satisfied with my buy. Hell, I even cracked a smile at my irritatingly hippy neighbors as I droved passed them. I had my crackers, and that's all I really needed for complete sleepy-eyed serenity.

Which bring us to now ... and the god awful crackers I've been ingesting for the past 5 minutes. What the hell is wrong with these crackers!? Why must Doritos ALWAYS FIDDLE WITH THE CHEESE!? Is it really so hard to just stick with the norm? Do they really have to add that salty yet sweet flavoring? Is the *zing* really necessary? Just use sharp cheddar for goodness sake!

God, now I must go to another convenience store and just hope they have what I'm looking for.

I've got crackers in my bed. Crackers. In. My. Bed.
posted by Kenoki at 1:29 AMComment

It's now 3:40 am. I was lying in "bed," attempting to get a wink of beauty sleep, when the coughing began. I tell you, if it's not one thing it's another.

And while we're on the topic: What's with the Doritos' Crackers and Cheese aftertaste? Shouldn't I have taken the neon orange coloring of the cheese to be a hint? A sign? A giant flourescent sign blinking "No! Don't eat the cheese!"

Foul!
posted by Kenoki at 3:46 AMComment

Liter night at the local brewery/bar. What time is it? 5? When do I have to go to work? In 3 hours? Who wants to bet that I sleep till 11...? Actually, I might lose that one.

For the record: I love Canadians and I take back any Canadian jokes that I may have made in the past or may accidentally slip out in the future.
posted by Kenoki at 5:35 AMComment

Big thanks to Nanette and Jeff for the legal advice and/or articles regarding Internet Libel.

I've been perusing other sites and have found that some of you (that also own websites/blogs) are now concerned about defamation in cyberspace/libel issues as a result of this. I was provided with these rather helpful links that you may want to read up on. As it stands, most of us have nothing to worry about ... but it's always good to take a glance and see what you could be dealing with.
--Internet Libel Law
--Defamation in Cyberspace

What is with us Americans? Someone should hand out strait-jackets at the US gates because we're all completely out of wack. Coffee too hot? Sue'm! Bruise your ego? Sue'm! Got a beef with your neighbor's landscaping? Sue'm! It was my intention to take down most of the content on this site, but I don't think I will. Certain specifics will be taken out and pseudonyms again changed for the sake of being a lady, but otherwise the site will be completely intact.

On another note, my sister slipped into a coma today and I may be flying out to Seattle to check on her condition/meet up with my father this weekend. If anyone knows of any good food places in town, let me know. There's going to be some downtime and I'll need some healthy bits in my tummy.

Enough with the serious tones ... It's time to resume the Asian Book of Wisdom (i.e.: The Life and Times of a Concubine -- Tampa Bay 2001) as it once was.
posted by Kenoki at 2:57 AMComment

At The Firm, where I work, we have a relatively new temp in office. I think I've told you about him -- you know, the naked guy. A few days ago I passed him while walking through the 7th floor corridors of The Firm. He was holding his clear plastic cell phone with blinking neon lights and had an attachable ear piece/microphone wrapped around his bulbous head. I tried to avoid speaking to him, but just as I brushed passed his arm he turned to me and said...

"My girlfriend can close doors with her mind."

I paused and kinda shook my head.

"What did you just say?"

"My girl can close doors with her mind. Wanna go outside and smoke with me?"

My Psychic Friend -- that's his new ABOW pseudonym.

I went outside with My Psychic Friend and he went on to explain, "My girl, she can close doors with her mind. I have those kinds of powers too."

"Oh really," I inquired, "what else can you do? Can you read my mind? Can you sense my dense yet fluid aura?"

I said this with a strait face, and so he continued.

"I have the power to look into people's eyes and tell what their life is about. I can see things that even they don't know about themselves ... I can tell what your future has in store for you."

Pretty convenient, aye? How am I supposed to know if what he says is true? If even I don't know these things about myself, it's pretty hard to argue his mystic findings.

Now, before I continue let me give a brief explanation of him. This young thing looks as any average 22 year old partier would. He has the big baggy pants, the accessorized cell phone and a seemingly obligatory affinity for techno. He is constantly talking about his internet girlfriend and how totally trashed he is each and every night. I knew he was a little off-his-balls, but who woulda thunk?

"If you take off your sunglasses I can read you if you'd like. It pains me to do so, though. Have you noticed that I never look into people's eyes when they speak? A deep rush floods my body and I am overwhelmed with such a great pain when I do."

He sort of closed his eyes and threw his head back as he said this. Such passion!

"Oh yah, I absolutely noticed!"

I proceeded to take off my blue-tinted glasses as he gazed deeply into my alluring brown eyes. By this time we were sitting in the grass by the neighboring pond, and I was secretly searching for the alligator that is rumored to surface every afternoon. The lawn was itching my bare legs and I quietly obsessed over keeping the ants from climbing up my skirt.

"You are such a creative person," he assessed, "but you set the standard too high. You're going to live a miserable life because of this and will never find your ultimate goal of happiness."

"Ok," I responded, "but tell me something I don't know."

"Well, you're going to be married either ... 12 times or ... never. You may have children ... but ... oh, it's getting hazy ... you may not."

Later in the day he saw a couple framed photographs of my cats. He decided that he could also tell me which of the kittens in a group photo belonged to me. Of the four cats, he did determine which were mine, however, right above were two separate photos of Keno and Audrey as well. He looked at the photos .. in their eyes of course, and said, "This one is very hyper... and this one..." He went on to sort of roll his eyes back and expose the veins in his in his forehead, as if in deep jarring contemplation. "This one," he continued, "well, she is somewhere in the middle."

The thing is, in those photos the "hyper one" is doing a 360 on the wall while the other, Audrey, is watching her.

Which reminds me of the time when a friendly acquaintance confided in me with...

"The dark demons have conquered my mind."

"What!?" I asked while biting into my pressed Cuban sub.

"On the beach one evening, I was tweaking on acid and my brain was susceptible to the evils lurking in the dark. They entered my brain and filled me."

I just sort of sipped on my Pepsi and hoped that he couldn't see the smile slowly creeping to my lips. The demons raped his brain, My Psychic Friend can open doors with his mind, my last fling is threatening to sue me and my kindred spirit is roaming around the countryside of Romania at this very moment. It's amazing what I run into these days ...
posted by Kenoki at 3:38 AMComment

I have never been so bored at work in my life.

Dan Kheen posts things about mittens and ice skating in Are You Wearing a Wire?. I don't know why he doesn't just give in and love me ... I'm a really good ice skater!

Sigh.

*thud*

Zzzzzzzzzzzz....

Huh? Ouch.

E-mail, please.
posted by Kenoki at 1:35 PMComment

No no, you guys! Bryan/Mr. Misery isn't the one threatening a lawsuit! Give him a lil' more credit than that! Certainly you long time readers can take a wild guess...

Sitting here in my file room. Alone. So dark and dismal is this filey world. Only an hour and a half left until I can go home ... I had plans to work some overtime, but somehow that doesn't seem as appetizing as it did over the weekend. It's like how I say that I'll wake up bright and early for work the next day ... that I'll get to work on time. It seems like a great plan at the moment, sensible, you know? But once that alarm clock rings, the thought flies away like a perky sparrow. I just roll over, pound on that snooze button and sleep until my body tells me not to -- which is generally about an hour after I'm supposed to be here. Don't listen to the hype, small birds (i.e.: perky sparrows) are really poor substitutes for good ole' fashioned clock-radios.

To think that with just one flick of my lighter and a little bit of gasoline, this entire place could go up in flames. The thought of such power makes me nervous ... yet still, enticed.
posted by Kenoki at 3:39 PMComment

Can you believe that someone threatened to sue me over this journal? Amazing! Out of curiosity, are any of ye readers law students and/or lawyers? I need to ask a couple of questions. E-mail me at the address listed on the sidebar. Actually, I remember someone e-mailing me saying that he is a law student at NYU? Jeff? Assistance?

At any rate, things here have been both intense and hilarious. The idea that this journal may soon spawn a lawsuit (from which someone, in the event of his winning, will be blessed with my life savings of 30 cents) is rather fitting. Will this keep me from posting in this web log? Absolutely not. Do I take kindly to threats? Not a chance. Has this given me the drive and motivation to begin posting again? Yes.

I write, this is what I do. For any of you that may befriend me in the future or are friends with me now ... if you can't handle this forum of my life, then don't know me. I don't slander people with the intent of being hurtful or stunting their careers and/or personal relationships. I tell stories that apply to my life and then mix these with my personal opinions of the situation ... things that affect me. Things that are me. I'm guided by the dim light of reason, right and retrospection -- regulation does not apply.

Am I, as the suer said, a person that needs excessive amounts of attention due to some "serious psychological issues?" I wouldn't discount anything, but if this forum of digital delights is meant to affirm the diagnosis, it makes for a pretty flimsy case.

If you want me to do something for you, be reasonable and simply ask. The second that someone I all ready find disagreeable, raises his voice at me or makes irrational and unfounded threats, I shut down, tune out and respond with something of paramount proportions.

Amazing!!!
posted by Kenoki at 11:30 AMComment

A detour, indeed.

I can easily say that my life has been pretty drama free for the past 2 weeks. I've been avoiding it like the plague and have instead, been biding my time with my radical new obsession of burning cd's. I've been defying the man. List of burns from the past 4 days:

PJ Harvey - Stories from the Sea, Stories from the City.
Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds - And No More Shall We Part
Marvin Gaye - What's Going On (The Deluxe 2 CD Edition)
The Kinks - Kinda Kinks
Patty Waters - Sings
Scott Walker - 1
Scott Walker - 2
Scott Walker - 3
Unwound - Leaves Turn Inside You
Smog - Red Apple Falls
Mogwai - Rock Action
Trans Am - Red Line
Van Morrison - Astral Weeks
Bjork - Vespertine
Cinerama - The John Peel Sessions
T Rex - Electric Warrior
posted by Kenoki at 5:48 PMComment

Well, it seems that I've been caught yet again, only this time by someone different. This person has threatened to sue me for libel, slander and defamation of character because of some the entries on this website. So on that rather abrupt note, in addition to the archives, I've taken down the glossary. Everything will be back up and in working order within the next few days.

The funny thing is, I'm not even joking.

How's that for no drama in my life?
posted by Kenoki at 11:44 PMComment

It is 6 AM and Lord only knows why I'm still awake.

I missed my blog. Little friendly green blog.

It's been a crazy few weeks -- few months, really -- but time has flown by with little consequence. Many lessons have been learned such as: The lean border between love and lust, how not to be a sociopath, and the definitive difference between the sulking Starbucks artist and the guy who couldn't figure out what else to major in. However, I also learned that life ... regardless of its trials and remarkable feats of defeat ... well, life always has a way of taking a detour you wouldn't have otherwise expected.

And a part of me misses Bryan/Mr. Misery ... there exists a need for that one last hug. Of course, I have no intentions of satisfying that, but who said I couldn't miss certain things?

I'd write more but I'm tired ... will continue at length when I wake up.
posted by Kenoki at 7:17 AMComment

So we have a new temp in the office. He seems nice enough, a little bald but I won't hold that against him. So we're introducing ourselves (my regular coworker, the new temp, and I) and ... literally ... within 2 minutes he's taking off his shirt to show us his tattoos. Off comes the tie ... I gasp ... Then the first button ... I cover my eyes ... Then goes the zipper ...

Do I just attract nakedness?
posted by Kenoki at 4:44 PMComment

The archives are temporarily down and may be editted for content (meaning: I'll be taking a few entries down, but not all of them). I'm getting jiggy here at the work-place. The guestbook is also getting jiggy... meaning: it's not working. Everything gets so broken 'round here.
posted by Kenoki at 10:18 AMComment

The Truth Of The Matter and The Final Chapter of The Asian Book of Wisdom As We Knew It.

The truth is, I've been found out. If you scroll down a bit, you'll see a post talking about my rose-colored glasses... If you've been reading this for at least a couple of weeks, you can guess who Misery was. No, not the Tampa Object of My Affection...

I have never told any of my local friends of this page, or at least not the address. It's my quiet get-away, I suppose. It allows me indulge in the little tid-bits that I wouldn't normally indulge in ... or at least vent aloud.

Misery somehow found his way here and posted something in the guestbook yesterday evening (which has since been deleted). I'm not offended, though I do feel invaded. When I write, it's not my intention to pass along any specific message to the people involved ... I prefer to speak to thick air and strangers. This webpage was never intended to function as a megaphone. It's something to keep you, the workforce and myself entertained... or tickled... or thoughtful... or just, awake.

So with no further ado, I'm taking down all of the more personal (or lewd) entries in the Asian Book of Wisdom. Basically all this means is, no more Tampa Object of My Affection posts. I'll put them on another site entirely, but to access that you'll have to e-mail me. A hi would also be nice. Maybe a, "You're the best!" Of course I'll continue to write here ... what else do I have to do? File? Please.

If you're interested in keeping up with my future, more private entries, e-mail me as well. I will put together a mailing list and send out the more thought out posts as they come to me. They're going to be written with even less hesitancy than those you've read here. Hilarity, tears, spastic eye movements, snoring, sex-flukes and cat chat will abound! Yee! Perhaps I'll even combine those stories with the old on the new page... regardless, e-mail or IM me for more info.

It's too bad, though ... this was mi casa de explosion. When things go wrong, I create anecdotes out of trials for the sake of staying afloat ... and for my sanity. Everyone thank Mr. Misery. And I know Mr. Misery is reading this now, aren't you? You've done enough to slaughter an infantry, and there comes a point when you can't bury the bayonet any further. When you need to walk away and realize that once she stops breathing, she will not breath for you anymore. That there isn't a point to trite dispute. That this is it ... see? I asked you not to respond to my e-mail, to so much as look at me if I am to see you out. Yet you didn't seem to understand that I wasn't writing for the sake of dramatics, but rather for finality. My life should mean nothing to you from here on out. What is written on these pages have nothing to do with you, but rather with me. My life is my life, my love life, my sex life, my friendship life, my creative life, my... life. For you to make me feel uncomfortable with having this mode of distraction is frightening. You did it twice before with my written journals... and now... ?

And I feel nothing. When I said that you disgust me, I was speaking the truth -- from my perspective. That doesn't make me right and you emotionally retarded, though. It means that I can now move on, and that you have done more than your share in ushering me into this new -- absent of you -- nexus. I'm not always the victim, and I know this. Neither are you ... and this you don't seem to realize. I'm extremely content with my life. And this, all of this, is what the last two years have been leading up to. The last two (too) long drawn out years. So it's time to close this browser window and move on because, while you may feel compelled to respond again, I won't and I won't.

Now, back to our scheduled programming...
posted by Kenoki at 6:10 PMComment

And no, it wasn't Misery's finding this page that prompted my "world vision" post, the e-mail I sent him or the follow up this afternoon. His finding came after the fact... 3 AM this morning, to be exact.

What is with my A/C? When I set it at 80 degrees, it still insists on bringing things down to 60. Electrical devices have no love for me ... unless you count my computer.
posted by Kenoki at 7:59 PMComment

When I look at the world, I see a spherical shape covered with little beings that encompass love and goodness. I ignore the pollution that we've contaminated our system with... I blind myself to the hate that stirs in the streets, in Afghanistan, in Quebec, in homes... I can see that each individual has a soul, and that no one truly means to be deceptive or full of spite. I see us as an aresenal of little meteors trying to be stars. We seem insignificant in the big celestial scheme of things... but somewhere out there exists a person who will make a wish on us. This is what makes the occasional plummets so bearable. Though fate and mortality will cause us to eventually burn out in this atmosphere, I plan on performing one helluva light show until my exit.

This is how I view life. Maybe it's somewhat naive and contrived... but in my world, it is the sole (soul) belief that keeps me breathing, blinking and smoking. However, this weekend someone made me doubt all of this -- he made me doubt the entire foundation of my existence. I never realized that people could bury their souls... I never thought that a heart could be rendered useless. Misery loves company... and Misery said -- for nearly two years -- that he loved me. Lead your miserable life alone, I say, because no one is worth the dulling of my sparkle.

Shine on you crazy diamond.
posted by Kenoki at 3:28 PMComment

I have tall black boots on... They clack when I walk. Everyone can hear me coming and going in the office. It makes sneaking out for smoke breaks incredibly difficult. Tomorrow: Soft shoes. As in, the dancing kind...!

I could have danced all night... I could have danced all night... and still have danced some more...
posted by Kenoki at 5:36 PMComment