Sorry for taking my time.
I will get back to make this a regular thing, although I do not have to comment on every little thing that is going on in the world unlike alot of other madia outlets out there e.g., a two year old chain smoking, or Lindsay Lohan and her latest court appearance. And despite the fact you will not find many personal things on here, what has been going on lately is this:
I went here,
started working there,
to write these,
and this one.
While I am still trying to get to know myself,
and figuring out cultural differences between
here,
and
there...
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I ♥ New York
City Stories: Danny and the Homeless
Image by Francis Joseph
Rainy day, umbrellas turn over, bump into each other, poke one another. The usual crowded subways, which on days like these seem even more unpleasant. The cramped up cars become cramped up with people’s somber moods very much influenced by the grey skies. On New York trains, people never look you in the face--at least not the locals. But some have a hard time looking away, trying not to meet anybody else’s eyes, like me. However, it seems like a part of New York’s culture, and maybe it is an American thing--one looks away, trying to be extra discrete.
New Yorkers spend a lot of time on the subway, and half its riders bring along a book or paper or magazine to read to make time pass. Luckily I had my book when I heard the following.
“ Hi my name is Danny, I used to get paid until I lost my job because I broke one shoulder. Since I am from Brazil I don’t see no food stamps, no welfare, nothing. Basically I have no money to pay for food or rent, so if you could help out with a dollar, a quarter, a dime, anything will help, thank you, god bless you.”
When people hear words like that, they usually try not to look. Sometimes it makes you shrug when someone yells out something like that while you are really into your book. Danny had a very loud, strong, almost intruding voice. I felt disturbed and was glad I had my book, since it becomes harder not to look up when someone is soliciting on the train. Danny looked like he was a young man in his mid twenties. I noticed his neatly shaped beard. I was wondering how he affords rent now, and why he would not find work that would not demand his shoulder. I didn’t know if that was a fair thought or not.
Danny passed me, collected some coins, which I heard pinging into his cup, and I went back to my book.
Minutes later another man enters the subway car. His appearance differs greatly from Danny’s. He is not very tall, his hood covers most of his face, he has a wildly grown full beard and his clothes are baggy and dirty. His voice is soft and way quieter.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am homeless looking for help. If you can assist me with some money or food, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, sorry to disturb.”
Out of the sudden another voice raises.
“You should learn how to juggle”, says a tall man in a black long coat and jeans.
“What?”
“You should learn how to juggle. People usually have to work in order to earn money for food, so if you learn how to do something, too, people are willing to pay you for your efforts.”
“Ok, I will try”, said the homeless man quietly and strove along through the subway car.
I could not help but be surprised at both men reactions. Although I feel like the guy had a point to what he was saying, he sounded kind of rude. Regardless, the homeless guy did respond politely and sounded like he would actually take learning to juggle into account.
I was thinking that Danny’s approach was wrong, too intrusive. Unfortunately, we are too used to homeless people asking for money on trains; therefore, different approaches could definitely be refreshing and enable someone to raise more money. At the same time, people are really in need, and I don’t know who would feel like entertaining a crowd on an empty stomach, after a possible cold, sleepless night outside…
Image by Francis Joseph
Rainy day, umbrellas turn over, bump into each other, poke one another. The usual crowded subways, which on days like these seem even more unpleasant. The cramped up cars become cramped up with people’s somber moods very much influenced by the grey skies. On New York trains, people never look you in the face--at least not the locals. But some have a hard time looking away, trying not to meet anybody else’s eyes, like me. However, it seems like a part of New York’s culture, and maybe it is an American thing--one looks away, trying to be extra discrete.
New Yorkers spend a lot of time on the subway, and half its riders bring along a book or paper or magazine to read to make time pass. Luckily I had my book when I heard the following.
“ Hi my name is Danny, I used to get paid until I lost my job because I broke one shoulder. Since I am from Brazil I don’t see no food stamps, no welfare, nothing. Basically I have no money to pay for food or rent, so if you could help out with a dollar, a quarter, a dime, anything will help, thank you, god bless you.”
When people hear words like that, they usually try not to look. Sometimes it makes you shrug when someone yells out something like that while you are really into your book. Danny had a very loud, strong, almost intruding voice. I felt disturbed and was glad I had my book, since it becomes harder not to look up when someone is soliciting on the train. Danny looked like he was a young man in his mid twenties. I noticed his neatly shaped beard. I was wondering how he affords rent now, and why he would not find work that would not demand his shoulder. I didn’t know if that was a fair thought or not.
Danny passed me, collected some coins, which I heard pinging into his cup, and I went back to my book.
Minutes later another man enters the subway car. His appearance differs greatly from Danny’s. He is not very tall, his hood covers most of his face, he has a wildly grown full beard and his clothes are baggy and dirty. His voice is soft and way quieter.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am homeless looking for help. If you can assist me with some money or food, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, sorry to disturb.”
Out of the sudden another voice raises.
“You should learn how to juggle”, says a tall man in a black long coat and jeans.
“What?”
“You should learn how to juggle. People usually have to work in order to earn money for food, so if you learn how to do something, too, people are willing to pay you for your efforts.”
“Ok, I will try”, said the homeless man quietly and strove along through the subway car.
I could not help but be surprised at both men reactions. Although I feel like the guy had a point to what he was saying, he sounded kind of rude. Regardless, the homeless guy did respond politely and sounded like he would actually take learning to juggle into account.
I was thinking that Danny’s approach was wrong, too intrusive. Unfortunately, we are too used to homeless people asking for money on trains; therefore, different approaches could definitely be refreshing and enable someone to raise more money. At the same time, people are really in need, and I don’t know who would feel like entertaining a crowd on an empty stomach, after a possible cold, sleepless night outside…
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Brain Stimulation
Homage to... MUSIC
Sometimes I need music to get by, usually when I’m feeling blue. Other times I am trying to distract myself from my surroundings with music--usually happens on public transportation when involuntarily sharing public sphere with people I otherwise would try to avoid. Or I am feeling a certain mood that I want to be complemented by it's musical match. Music is an all round tool for different scenarios I once in a while face. It is a carrier through my inner journeys, good and bad, and without it, I know I wouldn’t find life as pleasurable. In fact, I do not think I would have been the person I am without music in my life, which I once felt like I needed daily.
When I was in my teens, I was able to fall asleep to trash metal. Not because I did not care about what I was listening to, but because I was listening so intensely, focusing on the different components of a song, such as the double bass, or the guitar riffs and strumming, the lyrics, or the way it’s been sung that at some point I would get tired and fall asleep.
Those were times, where everyday I would shuffle through songs from every genre my ipod provided me with. I would wake up to music by my radio alarm clock, then commute to college with music accompanying me, often fading out people’s early morning conversations which I was allergic to, and continued listening to my songs until I got to my lectures and finally settled down to reconnect to the world outside of me by removing the earbuds and opening up to the world outside again.
Until my early teens I would even listen to music while working on homework assignments. Throughout college I noticed it changed, probably because my assignments required a bit more attention. And gradually, I began listening to music less. Nowadays, at the end of my twenties, the way I consume music has drastically changed.
I do not listen to music everyday anymore. Sometimes there can be a whole week without listening to it. I mean, yes, there would be the radio playing in the background, but that has little to do with really listening to music. Today, I need a good sound system to enjoy music. I can lose myself listening over headphones for hours, or play it at home over my speakers. I hate flat sounding systems, and when I visit friends and family who do not own somewhat decent speakers, I almost want to pity them and tell them to turn the music off. After all the artist and producers created their music in a certain way, therefore if you are not listening to it in the proper way, which means a decent sound systems that allows you to hear the depths of the song, it is not the same anymore.
When I was younger I could have never imagined to not listen to music everyday.
Now, I need my quiet more. Now, I need to listen more intensely, and now, it has an even greater effect on me then it ever had. Music you are a great friend, and I would never want to be without you!
Right now, I am listening to Jimi Hendrix’ “Watchtower” on Youtube. That video was last commented with “Chewing Gum Stimulates the Brain”--which I first thought was hinting to Hendrix’ drug addiction, and was more of an appeal (I thought that would have been kind of funny)--turns out the comment means exactly what it says, no ambiguity, no hinting to long gone Hendrix and his addiction, just someone who wanted to add something random. On that note, let me just add the following: I find that music stimulates my brain, and the best thing about it is, I can choose when I want to be stimulated. Music to me, IS THE GREATEST DRUG I NEVER WANT TO CURE MY ADDICTION TO!
Sometimes I need music to get by, usually when I’m feeling blue. Other times I am trying to distract myself from my surroundings with music--usually happens on public transportation when involuntarily sharing public sphere with people I otherwise would try to avoid. Or I am feeling a certain mood that I want to be complemented by it's musical match. Music is an all round tool for different scenarios I once in a while face. It is a carrier through my inner journeys, good and bad, and without it, I know I wouldn’t find life as pleasurable. In fact, I do not think I would have been the person I am without music in my life, which I once felt like I needed daily.
When I was in my teens, I was able to fall asleep to trash metal. Not because I did not care about what I was listening to, but because I was listening so intensely, focusing on the different components of a song, such as the double bass, or the guitar riffs and strumming, the lyrics, or the way it’s been sung that at some point I would get tired and fall asleep.
Those were times, where everyday I would shuffle through songs from every genre my ipod provided me with. I would wake up to music by my radio alarm clock, then commute to college with music accompanying me, often fading out people’s early morning conversations which I was allergic to, and continued listening to my songs until I got to my lectures and finally settled down to reconnect to the world outside of me by removing the earbuds and opening up to the world outside again.
Until my early teens I would even listen to music while working on homework assignments. Throughout college I noticed it changed, probably because my assignments required a bit more attention. And gradually, I began listening to music less. Nowadays, at the end of my twenties, the way I consume music has drastically changed.
I do not listen to music everyday anymore. Sometimes there can be a whole week without listening to it. I mean, yes, there would be the radio playing in the background, but that has little to do with really listening to music. Today, I need a good sound system to enjoy music. I can lose myself listening over headphones for hours, or play it at home over my speakers. I hate flat sounding systems, and when I visit friends and family who do not own somewhat decent speakers, I almost want to pity them and tell them to turn the music off. After all the artist and producers created their music in a certain way, therefore if you are not listening to it in the proper way, which means a decent sound systems that allows you to hear the depths of the song, it is not the same anymore.
When I was younger I could have never imagined to not listen to music everyday.
Now, I need my quiet more. Now, I need to listen more intensely, and now, it has an even greater effect on me then it ever had. Music you are a great friend, and I would never want to be without you!
Right now, I am listening to Jimi Hendrix’ “Watchtower” on Youtube. That video was last commented with “Chewing Gum Stimulates the Brain”--which I first thought was hinting to Hendrix’ drug addiction, and was more of an appeal (I thought that would have been kind of funny)--turns out the comment means exactly what it says, no ambiguity, no hinting to long gone Hendrix and his addiction, just someone who wanted to add something random. On that note, let me just add the following: I find that music stimulates my brain, and the best thing about it is, I can choose when I want to be stimulated. Music to me, IS THE GREATEST DRUG I NEVER WANT TO CURE MY ADDICTION TO!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Conversation of a Person Within Ones Mind on a Vicissitudinous day in Mid-August
Dolores (She) consists of 3 components:
Ego (das Ich), female;
Super Ego (das Über Ich), 50% male/50%female;
Id (das Es), mostly female
Ego tries to balance the Id and Super Ego;
Super Ego is the ultimate decision maker the moral component; tries to blame the Id for everything and often makes it believe it is nothing;
Id is impulsive, child-like, seeks for ultimate gratification at any given time, not considering any consequences at all.
TUESDAY
Dolores is on the phone with her boyfriend who happens to be 3738 miles away, which equals 6015 kilometers, and puts them literal 6 hours apart. They have been on the phone for precisely 1:12 hrs. No one has said much, she just happens to be so tired from a 12 hour day of work.
Id: (I need a hug. I want you to lie next to me.)
Super Ego: (What the fuck. I don’t wanna talk right now. I’m tired. What am I supposed to tell you what you don’t already know. I can’t handle this situation anymore.)
Ego: (I wish I would have the right words to say, but I don’t. Why are you so far way. I miss you. I’m so fucking stupid. Why am I so frustrated?)
She: (says nothing, absolutely nothing)
Super Ego: (Man, I’m fucking tired and I just want to go to sleep.)
Id: (I think it is better if I get some rest now.)
Ego: (I want a cigarette right now.)
She: I think I am going to sleep now.
He: Ok, good night.
She: Night.
He: Love you.
She: Love you too. Bye.
He: Bye bye.
Super Ego: (What a stupid, nonsense, non-gratifying, non-conversation again. You are always failing at expressing your real feelings.)
Id: (I’m a failure.)
She turns off her bed light at exactly 2:56 to be woken up by her alarm at 9 am. Exact 30 minutes early so she can hit the snooze button three times. Even then, she is an hour early. But she needs some extra time in the morning for her coffee and breakfast that usually consists of two pieces of toasted bread, and of course some coffee (usually one or two cups). The coffee is also good to make her use the bathroom before she leaves the house.
WEDNESDAY
10:20 am
Dolores wakes up and turns on her computer. As always, her computer it is being slow, which means from the minute she turns it on, to it being ready to operate can well take 20 to 30 minutes, making it an ordeal to even use it at all. She just sits there, stares at the screen and slurps her hot coffee.
She: (sits in front of her computer waiting for it to boot).
Id: (I want a new computer, one that works.)
Super Ego: (Fucking piece of shit.)
10:30 am
Her phone beeps. A message from her boyfriend telling her good night.
Super Ego: (If I would call him right now, he would understand what it feels like to be called right before going to sleep after a hard day of work, expecting a deep conversation.)
Ego: (I should wish him a good night.)
Super Ego: (And tell him how it felt like for you last night when he called you, and you were so tired, asking you all the superficial questions.)
She writes him a text wishing him a good night, telling him that he should think about what it would be like for him if she called him now, and tried to have a conversation minutes before he goes to sleep.
Id: (I’m hungry).
She gets up to roast one piece of bread. Spreads marmalade on it and returns to the desk to check her emails. She discovers a response to her job application.
Super Ego: (I know what this response is gonna say. It’s a letter of refusal.)
Id: (Open it... Open it!!!!)
Ego: (I hope this is a positive response.)
She opens the email and as it turns out that she got declined once again.
Super Ego: (I knew it. No one is gonna accept you without one. You don’t even have to apply anymore, it’s not gonna work out.)
Id: (I lost my appetite. I want to call someone.)
Super Ego: (You can’t call anyone. What is that gonna do for you.)
Ego: (A response is a response. It is worth a lot that they actually did reply. That means that they were interested in you.)
Super Ego: (No, they were just being decent and friendly. It means nothing)
Dolores ends up not calling anyone to maybe obtain some emotional support. Tears roll down her cheeks. And while her mind still deliberates over whether she is an idiot-a no one or not, she goes to work, greets her boss friendly while thinking ‘he is an idiot’, smiles at him while feeling like shit, puts on her uniform and lights the first cigarette of the day. Her life goes on, her day continues with rain and sun alternating each other by the minute, a conclusion is not found at the moment, and although she struggles with her inner demons and needs are not being fulfilled at that time, she will believe in the temporariness of the moment, look at it as a phase and not give up. Who knows, she might end up with the job of her dreams, a person who deserves her by her side, which is when her inner mind will finally feel gratified again.
I ♥ New York
City of Facades
Why do you put on a front
Show me your real face
New places new faces everyday
What do you stand for
What do you long for
City of facades
You are packed with false dreams
Of made up realities
Plastered with ads by the agencies
All to depict one dream
City of facades you are so fake
Make us imitate what others create
City of facades
Packed and crowded
Pidgins shouting
The lost
And lonely
Acting like a family
You confuse jealousy
With insecurity
City of Facades
I want to own you
I want to know you
I want to hear you
I want to love you
Friday, September 25, 2009
Do You Make Style, or Does Style Make You?
Last week, I was told I can wear anything from casual sporty, to sexy and wild. People have been telling me, they like my style. To me, it is a great compliment; yet, I am wondering what the word "style" really means, and what it implies, when someone tells you "you got style".
Merriam Webster dictionary delivers the following definition of style a: the state of being popular:(fashion) clothes that are always in style; b: fashionable elegance; c: beauty, grace, or ease of manner or technique (an awkward moment she handled with style).
This definition is partly true. Style has to do with aesthetics, so in a way, it can be considered as something beautiful. But what I consider beautiful does not mean you do, too--beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. If someone carries themselves with style, they could (emphasize on could...!) be carrying themselves in a graceful manner, probably because they feel comfortable in their clothing. However, does style really have to do with fashion? And does being in style, really mean the clothing one wears while being stylish, have to be fashionable?
Aren't fashion and style two completely different things? While style can be influenced by fashion--something that is currently in style--one can still be stylish, without the fashion. Gwen Stefani serves as one example for someone who can be in style, but doesn't necessary have to make use of fashionable gadgets. Stefani is the perfect example of what style is beyond fashion. She does not use fashion, but makes use of whatever she thinks suits her and creates her own style. Therefore, style is not necessary synonymous with fashion but with individuality.
A friend of mine, Don Brodie, a current photography student at Parsons in New York, who specializes in Fashion Photography (he just went to New York Fashion week to cover some events backstage) says the following about style and fashion, "Fashion for me is a universal language. Whether someone wants to admit it or not, they are bout fashion. It is an identifier, it is how one defines them self. Style is the "." [bottom line] in fashion. It starts with the fashion which is a mass produced thing (at least to most of us). Style is adding your own flair and creating your individual voice."
If fashion is mass produced and set by the designers who create the pieces, do they make your style, or is style then, what we make of it as individuals. I think style is is about identifying what works for you. Or could we all wear what Stefani rocks?, probably not. Style makes you who you are as an individual, and you make style by expressing your individuality.
She: Hey girl!
She 2: Hey!
She: Damn, I love your outfit, you really know how to work it girl. (Man, I would never wear that...).
She 2: Thank you! I like your's too. (Gosh, she got no style...)
She: Thank you. We should go shopping together sometime.
She 2: Yes, we should. (Man, I would not go shopping with you, you just want to steal my style...) All right, I'll give you a holler. Later! (Nah, I won't call her).
She: All right. (Damn, she got guts wearing that shit...)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
It Was the Night to Forget About Everything
To the Day He Wanted to Die
True Story
It is a nice summer evening in 2008, when a group of people gathers at a lake to celebrate their friend’s birthday. They are having fun, just enjoying the company of one another, without having to think about unemployment, relationship issues, and financial problems. It was a night to forget about everything else. The party involves alcohol and who knows what other substances. The evening proceeds into night, people are reaching a certain limit, starting to feel buzzed, when one of them has an idea--taking a dip into the lake.
One of the friends is hesitant. It is the birthday child. I call him Mike since I do not want to reveal his real name. He knows it is a bad idea, but his friends laugh off his concerns, so he decides to give it a shot. He jumps into the dark water, head first...
Mike wakes up weeks later from a coma. Soon realizing he cannot move from the neck down. He has been paraplegic from that day on.One of the first things he does, and will do almost daily, is calling his best friend asking for salvation; asking to be put out of his misery.
Next, he ends up at an institution for disabled people, most of who are mentally disabled. Mike is still clear in his head,but he is surrounded by people that can barely talk, have ticks, or are just slow. It's Mike's first night there, when a young woman who belongs to the nursing staff starts her shift. One of her colleges tells her they have a new resident. It is the night shift, and she decides to go into Mike's room to introduce herself as the night nurse. When she opens the door, she cannot believe what she sees.
He just stares at her, unable to say anything at all. They are the same age, not even thirty, and had known each other from their teenage years. He was one of the "cute guys", talented, too. She hid her tears that night and tries to be as professional as possible. The tears came when she went home that day.
Whenever she works, she spends time with him, they have conversations and she takes him out for walks in the park. At the point where he refuses to eat, she has to put him on a feeding tube. She tells herself she is just doing a job. Other nights, when she sees how degraded he feels when she has to release him from his excrement, since he can't use the bathroom anymore, she just focuses on the job, too. She tells me how at first his friends come and visit. But the longer he is there, less people show up to see him. At last, only a few family members and maybe one or two friends persistently show up.
A couple months later, he moves to a different institution. They haven't seen each other since.
Two weeks ago, she gets the news--he died at the age of 29.
I want to share this, because I really felt for this person. I want people to remember these kinds of stories and make them apparent in their lives. I want people to realize that life is short. We may never take a single day for granted. We may never not do what our heart desires, we need to be aware of how precious life is. Tell your loved ones you love them, and never leave after a fight, before you told that person you love them.
These kinds of stories help me to put things into perspective, and make wonder about what really is important in life—certainly not materialistic things.
I do not think we actually have to look in the face of death to be able to appreciate certain things as simple as the sunrise.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jMDFYdITLE&playnext=1&list=PLEB29FB6006DFEEE8&feature=results_main
True Story
It is a nice summer evening in 2008, when a group of people gathers at a lake to celebrate their friend’s birthday. They are having fun, just enjoying the company of one another, without having to think about unemployment, relationship issues, and financial problems. It was a night to forget about everything else. The party involves alcohol and who knows what other substances. The evening proceeds into night, people are reaching a certain limit, starting to feel buzzed, when one of them has an idea--taking a dip into the lake.
One of the friends is hesitant. It is the birthday child. I call him Mike since I do not want to reveal his real name. He knows it is a bad idea, but his friends laugh off his concerns, so he decides to give it a shot. He jumps into the dark water, head first...
Mike wakes up weeks later from a coma. Soon realizing he cannot move from the neck down. He has been paraplegic from that day on.One of the first things he does, and will do almost daily, is calling his best friend asking for salvation; asking to be put out of his misery.
Next, he ends up at an institution for disabled people, most of who are mentally disabled. Mike is still clear in his head,but he is surrounded by people that can barely talk, have ticks, or are just slow. It's Mike's first night there, when a young woman who belongs to the nursing staff starts her shift. One of her colleges tells her they have a new resident. It is the night shift, and she decides to go into Mike's room to introduce herself as the night nurse. When she opens the door, she cannot believe what she sees.
He just stares at her, unable to say anything at all. They are the same age, not even thirty, and had known each other from their teenage years. He was one of the "cute guys", talented, too. She hid her tears that night and tries to be as professional as possible. The tears came when she went home that day.
Whenever she works, she spends time with him, they have conversations and she takes him out for walks in the park. At the point where he refuses to eat, she has to put him on a feeding tube. She tells herself she is just doing a job. Other nights, when she sees how degraded he feels when she has to release him from his excrement, since he can't use the bathroom anymore, she just focuses on the job, too. She tells me how at first his friends come and visit. But the longer he is there, less people show up to see him. At last, only a few family members and maybe one or two friends persistently show up.
A couple months later, he moves to a different institution. They haven't seen each other since.
Two weeks ago, she gets the news--he died at the age of 29.
I want to share this, because I really felt for this person. I want people to remember these kinds of stories and make them apparent in their lives. I want people to realize that life is short. We may never take a single day for granted. We may never not do what our heart desires, we need to be aware of how precious life is. Tell your loved ones you love them, and never leave after a fight, before you told that person you love them.
These kinds of stories help me to put things into perspective, and make wonder about what really is important in life—certainly not materialistic things.
I do not think we actually have to look in the face of death to be able to appreciate certain things as simple as the sunrise.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jMDFYdITLE&playnext=1&list=PLEB29FB6006DFEEE8&feature=results_main
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