I have dreamed a great many dreams and I have written a great many poems for a wide variety of subjects… but when I think of you, there is no poetry you deserve. There is no dream you belong in.

And even though I look to skies that are as blue as your eyes and admire the vapor trails that are scraped across it’s glorious canvas, I see no place for you.


Two Generals (The symbollic overview of a politically skewed friendship)


Fire and smoke. That was the life of these two generals. For they were born of similar blood and cast into the same war at the right time. Only what made this significant was their affiliation; they were cast unto opposing forces:

General Charles Florence was in command of the 124th Regiment Musket Division of the North.

General Samuel Shlater was bound into the elite 50th Artillery regiment of the south.

In the height of the civil war, both Generals knew their confrontation was imminent. With their past in mind, Samuel started the secret messages via telegraph. Charles accepted the segment chains at first as a mere curiosity. It soon became a necessity. At this point in the war, both were quite fond of the head-on action due to take place. The blood that would wreak of both sides was imminent. The telegraphs purpose was to obviate any possibility of them fighting each other. Their worst nightmare was being left alone, amongst the trenches and bloodshed, where they would have to fight. With precious cunning from both sides, the two Generals found excuse after excuse to not advance their armies. From malnutrition, to disease, and even at times fear of night raids from Native Americans, their regiments would see the least action.

One night, while General Florence was away from his tent, a corporal whom was simply doing his job accidentally intercepted a message. From the implications of the segment, the assistant passed the message down the chain of command, avoiding Charles’s approval, in fear he was a spy for the south.

General Phillip Pastor, a superior and advisor to the President himself, intervened once he heard the news. Fortunately, Pastor sympathized with Charles as he too had a close relative fighting in the south. Charles’s last message to Sam was this:

Chivalry between us will never be disparaged. They know my plight but will never understand yours. Hopefully our paths don’t cross but if they do, may the fight be fair and heroic!

General Florence never received any messages following.

Towards dusk of July 1, 1863, Pastor himself sought for Charles to advance his army to the front of an awful incident: A simple skirmish uprooted into a poorly planned assault in Gettysburg. Charles prayed he wouldn’t find his awol best friend amongst the conflicting arms of their men.

Within the midst of the battle of Gettysburg, the two familiar yet foreign generals fought brutally. Fire and smoke. That was the life of these two generals.


5 years after the war

Unannounced, Samuel arrived in his carriage to make his presence. A score had to be settled, given five years of dissatisfied rage. But this wasn’t too hard for Schlater to attend, for Charles’s new estate resided on what used to be a plantation; Charles was known as the town ‘Carpet Bagger’. Sam just happened to live in the same state of Virginia. Using his leverage, he took what ‘needed’ to be his. In return, Sam came with an agenda.

“What a surprise, to see a  brethren like yourself here,” Charles announced to a confidently striding Sam.

“I hope you don’t mind the barging of my presence,” Sam said, prompting a strategic bit of bate to trigger vulnerabilities of an emotion.

“Nonsense! My dear friend. Please sit with me,” says Charles with a twitch in his stance.

A non-move; something Samuel wasn’t expecting. Sam shakes his hand and embraces Charles with an endearing hug. An unnerving energy wavered between the two embracing guns. Which would fire first?

They sat on Charles’s grand porch. White and black workers labored together planting trees in the blistering heat.

“So… no cotton?” said Samuel surprised at the sight.

“No need for it,” says a proud Charles, “This land was scarred. It’s now ripe with life… and plus, I get free apples on demand.”

“That you do, sir. That you do.”

A moment of silence passed over them. A worker’s chantey began to chime throughout the fields. The sun began to sink into the horizon. The breeze rustled through the trees as whispers of fallen friends and foes gathered to see the confrontation.

“Why are you here, Sam?” asked Charles.

“For good news and cheer, of course!” exclaimed Sam.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed,” Sam says with a mask, “I’m getting engaged. It’s official.”

“Congratulations good sir.”

“Thank you!” Sam said… allowing the silence to overcome once again. The spirits took note of this.

Charles then looked deeply into Sam’s ‘proud’ face.

“Now,” began Charles with a leap of curiosity, “What’s the the real reason for why you’re here?”

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

“So you’re asking me to attend?”

“If you’d like,” Sam manages to stumble out of himself.

“‘If you’d like’? Why Sam,” Charles shifted in his chair confidently, “If you were really here for that, you’d have thought this out far more attentively,” Charles looks into his eyes and into his retina and within to the soul, “what are you really here for?”

Sam fell silent. Uncomfortably he shifted as the gears in his head seam to be jammed, “You are welcome to be my…. best man?”

“Harken here, shit-fire!” Charles boasted in his chair bombastic, “‘Two opposing generals deliver the bride and wine and dine and find true happiness from each other’s solace in love’! What a read for the New York pamphlet!”

“That’s all in the past, Chaz!”

“Is it now? You mean you’re not here to berate me with knowledge of the sub-human, negro humanities like you always did? You’re not here to tell me about Lincoln’s, may he rest in peace, poor qualities as a man?”

Sam retreated to the back of his chair. Charles continued, “You’re not here  to find ways to veer my assets to your benefit?”

“None of that’s true.”

“Then what is? What is true dear sir?” Charles leaned in drawing his dagger-like view closer and closer as he seemingly planted to this unforgiving wall.

The blood now began to rush to Sam’s head. His muscles tensed as he saw the trap. A familiar feeling… the sensation of adrenaline one might feel in a close-encountered ambush ,”You captured my men! You terrorized all hope. You closed in and after I sent the telegram to  avoid all possibility of confrontation you double crossed me!” Sam jolted upward and began to point a belligerently furious finger into Charles’s face, “You took my land. You took my neighbor’s land. You tore apart my neighbor’s property and completely bought the south from the spoils and riches of our losses. For every man of mine killed, an acre to you! For every nigger of ours freed, another dollar into ol’ Abe’s hat! I came here to tell you your faults. I came here to tell you the great regret that is to be of your life. I see a shrewd murderous man. I see a manipulative, greedy, snake! Fuck your life and the horse you rode in on!”

Sam had lost his breath. His body convulsing as it tried to ground itself back to a rational state. He tried to find that state but was too surprised in himself that he let it out like that.

Below, the workers obviously took notice. Some of them had their hands hovering over holstered pistols, ready to help their paying master if necessary. Even the spirits now leaned back in awe of the hostility.

“I deny none of this,” Charles finally broke the silence. He clapped twice and motioned to a white butler to come over, “Rupert, grab the grand chess set and a small table for us to play. Thank you,” he shifted his attention to Samuel, “I deny none of this…. but let me ask you. What do you know of snakes?”

“Don’t reify what I’ve said.”

“Oh, but I will. Let me ask you, “Charles looked up again, “which is a more genuine snake? The snake that hides or the snake that presents himself before taking the bite?”

Sam stayed silent, seething in his stance.

“The answer,” Charles continued, “is obviously the clear and present danger. I’ve always presented myself because I always had an answer. I always identified with the identity. But you were the talkative and radical at the worst of times. Yes, we’d play our games, but you blindsided all of us when you announced your plans. We thought they were fairytales – a passion ridden dream that only fools would pursue. But you dwindled down, dear brother.  Yes, your southern minded, but you’re northern raised. Thank God you were a part of my life because you taught me what not to be.”

Rupert, the butler, emerged with the assistance of one other butler, carrying both the chair and the chess set with a case for the pieces. While setting up, both Charles and Samuel had stopped staring into each other. Samuel remained too livid to do so. Charles, reserved, patient, and wicked decided to give Samuel a breath. The butler’s left and attended their respective places.

“Won’t you join me?” Charles asked out of character.

“Absolutely not.”

“We’re not actually playing. I just would like to demonstrate something.”

Samuel, once again caught off guard, felt no choice but to oblige this and let his guard down.

“Remember how you always won in chess when we were little? I want to let you in on a little secret: Despite all the lessons my father provided, you taught me everything I know today. We played war games before even knowing the fate of our great conflict.”

“This is boyish and silly,” revoked Sam.

“You see,” Charles continued, ignoring Sam, “You had a greater impact on my life than you could have ever imagine. I learned, telegram after telegram, that this fate was unavoidable. So all I could do was embrace this inevitable result no matter how reluctant I was to do it. The world isn’t made of fairy tales Sam. You chose an unjust life even you could see unfit. You treat it as such and you develop the attitude you’ve set for yourself; righteous yet misleading. You’re right. I did kill many of your men. I imprisoned more of them too. But looking at this set,” Charles motions to his chess set, “I want to show you my analysis properly.”

The general flattened his hand and in one swift motion, swiped all the pawns of his side off the table. The pieces of wood crackled to the ground and rolled astray in the uncontrolled environment of his porch.

“Within hours, you shred apart my first line of defense. I was scared. I was isolated. I, as king was left completely vulnerable. The men to which I was left responsible for were sent to their deaths by your unforgiving barrage of cannonite. You were relentless and yet you could see me on the other side of the valley through your telescope. Yes you knew damn well who you were firing at… as did I. Yes, you warred away the bulk of my front, but you could not find my snipers,” Charles moves his bishops into offensive positions,” You did not foresee my cavalry, “he positions his knights into position, ” and you certainly never foresaw general reinforcements coming in from other units in the area,” Charles leans down, scoops several of the disparaged pawns and sloppily drops them across the board, “You see, Sam… Checkmate. You lone wolfed your attack just like you lone wolfed your ego.”

Ex-General Schlater looked up to Charles’s eyes.

“You push. We push. People who undermine their heritage tend to lose, Sam.”

Sam tried to find what words to say. At a loss he forced himself to weakly shake his hand.

Charles looked over to his butler on standby, “Rupert,” who took notice and hastily approached the two generals, “Please escort my long time friend off the property. He is tired and needs to think.”

Rupert stood by, loyal and ready to assist. Sam stood, faking his pride, and strolled off ahead of the butler with a swagger of mere facade.

Charles watched the carriage trot off into dusk.

“Check mate, old friend.”




We Marched in the Reign


Accidentally, I caught his reflection and suddenly fell more in love with the outcome of this picture!


A reminder via architecture of what were supposed to represent.
Two politicians take part in the people’s activity outside of their office.


Let’s hope Trump can balance this nation…
Big Brother’s Watching.
San Francisco’s Peaceful Militia.


Seriously… what would his thoughts be if he were still alive?


Anonymous visited the scene.


Ode to Film!

Ode to Film, the ultimate art!

Neither the Lumiere brothers  nor Muybridge and his horse would ever guess at what a creature they made. From them and many others, especially women – the forgotten catalysts – audiences are given reason after reason to buy more popcorn.

It’s the ultimate art! Take any form of media ever created in the history of man. Writing, shadow puppetry, Phantasmagoria, theater, photography… these are just some of the many art forms combined into the great medium that sweeps audiences one blockbuster at a time. To enhance the art, science also plays a great role in it. Science was used to create the very technologies and tools used. This very practice proves that art needs science to produce new innovative views that no one has ever seen. It’s a beatific cycle.

With anything beautiful comes it’s complications too. Ode to film, the paradoxical world you’ve created that is as inviting as is exclusive. Cruel  and addictive, you remain to be the Apple of Eden, daring me to make choices that will potentially effect my world forever.

Anybody can take a video of something nowadays but not everyone can make something worth relishing for generations to come.

Chaplin, Anderson, Ford, Tarantino, Ozu, Hitchcock, Anderson, Nolan, Lang, Kubrick, Coppola, Spielberg, Lucas, Welles, Kazan, Fincher, Lynch, and more. They have such an amazing eye for detail yet they’re not even close to completing the long list of names worth mentioning… I pray for the day that Volk becomes as putative as the rest.

In some ways, were all like bartenders (not the one from The Shining, of course). We find a glass, and constantly polish it even though it’s clean. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve polished that glass. We’re still going to do it. We do that with our craft. Our craft is never perfect. None of the names mentioned above had ever made one film and decided to call it a day. We polish that glass until the bar is closed and come right back to it the next day.

It’s persistence that we live by, but the magical moments we strive for. And yes, it’s cliche but the movie magic of it all is incredibly real. You feel it in moments where uncertainty is met with reality. You feel it when your cutting and formulating sequences onto a timeline in editing. You especially feel it when you’ve acquired a new bit of knowledge that forever changes your approach to the craft. In this field, epiphanies are met with elation.

This last year, I had the privilege of working with 16mm Bolex Reflex Cameras. Heavy 30 pound hunks of machinery with three lenses (wide, standard, and telephoto) screwed onto a rotating panel.. In the dark, we loaded spools of actual film into the claws of the chamber, fed the stream through until we were picture ready. We went outside with our light meters and cavalier mics and recorded practice shots in a well thought out scavenger hunt. We then upped the challenge into a narrative (in-camera editing), where we waited for the perfect moment – working with the unpredictability of nature – to capture our protagonist in the right light and sound.


When we saw what we created, after receiving it from special labs across the country that processed the ancient art from, my dreams began to feel far more real. My insecurities for my lack of knowledge were especially vindicated when the clicking of the proliferated film fed through the projector. Light consumed the blank flatness of the room and turned the blandness into the very images we sought after. It was beautiful. Between the specks of dust that shimmered in the space of light to the production we just completed, we watched in utter awe. We now understood why the past was so relevant. It was the very movie magic I’ve always dreamed of.


While this medium presents many rewarding moments, it also plays to a very cruel nature. Besides having an incredibly biased and immoral industry that backs it at times, entire technologies, styles, key moments in history, and careers are constantly forgotten or vitiated. The old becomes obsolete when audiences are manipulated through the industry’s “progress” to continue onto the next subject without considering the context. Sometimes realism is set aside purely for the pleasure. The mystery behind the industry is often shielded by jaded figures who practice greed on a regular basis. In order to be a director you have to be above this – when I get my break, I’ll be faced with a big decision requiring a high understanding of awareness: Do I play to the industry’s game or do I challenge it.

I truly do love it, though. I suppose part of me appreciates the flaws the way that a loved one appreciates the faults of their partner. I remember having to drive to Beverly Hills at roughly 7:00am three days a week last summer for my internship. I used Waze to navigate my way through the city to end up on winding hills and narrow streets met with colossal wealth around me.  I saw the paralleled trees. I saw the glistening cars. I remained starstruck by the appallingly large houses. Each estate had somebody in them – worthy contenders to the life of entertainment. I knew I belonged there. As if the drive to create wasn’t enough, I wanted all of this as well. I made a ritual out of playing this song while driving into this perfectly molded scene every morning.

“I will talk and Hollywood will listen
See them bow at my every word
Mr. Spielberg look just what you’re missing
Doesn’t that seem a little absurd
Bow at my every word?”

-Robbie Williams in I Will Talk and Hollywood Will Listen


The adrenaline rush fueled me through the day at the office I worked. It is this energy that provided me with excellent grades in my film classes this fall.

Since that internship and the experiences from before, I have found myself coming up with theories of my own too:


As the sun sets on 2016, 2017 dawns with the promise of my thesis project hitting production stage. I will get the chance to work towards picture lock on a script I wrote called The Painter. It’ll be a heartfelt experience to work on something so meaningful and personal. With the same significance that these blogs contain, The Painter will hold just as much of me in it. As of now, it is my most important project yet.

And when we begin, and I yell, “Action!” it’ll be the satisfying feeling of a take that makes me exclaim, “Ode to film, I will thrive!”


Ties to Endearing Nostalgia


Some of you might know I carry a thought book. Yes, a thought book – not a journal nor a diary but a small little notepad full of thoughts both cynical and reflective. It’s a handy tool to which some psychologists might say contain putative results of positive outcome. I’d have to agree with them.

Here are some of the thoughts I’ve had in the past:

“I started as a dog. I turned into a tree. Now I’m a snake.”

“Politics only arise in a social dynamic where there is something important and relevant to gain. That’s why those who are exulted eventually fail. Arrogance kills. Social dynamics are everywhere. Gain is a chosen treasure and path to pursue.”

“Swallowing pride in the right timing… That will be my greatest weapon.”

Looking back at it now, some of these thoughts are so cynical that it becomes humorous. I picture a tiny immature child named Napoleon stomping and jumping while yelling, “Me! Me! Me!”

But in reality, they sort of come and go like spontaneous trains without a route. I try to catch them before they permanently departure into the abyss of forgetfulness by writing them down… half of the time I succeed. The other half persist like bland white walls.

Something big happened the other night, though. I went to a casual event at an urban farm – yes, they exist and it’s hipster heaven – and they played a song that I hadn’t heard in years. (Olam Chesed Yibaneh or We Will Build This World From Love if you’re interested). It was a camp song and given the scenery of a burning fire pit with huddled warm bodies around it, I was brought back in many ways.

These are the thoughts I wrote down following that event:

“I raise my head to see a reflection of myself in the BART window. Under the light facial hair and slight structural changes I begin to formulate what I used to be. But nostalgia draws me in, nearer and nearer to this oh so familiar feeling… and suddenly, without any transition or warning, am forced to witness the power of 68 variations of love forming within the seems of my memory.”

“Naked yet unafraid, this foggy abyss seems to encapsulate every corner of my body. The purity of hopeless romanticism poses advantages to all defenses I might have had before, for these notions are not becoming of me nor do they fit what I am.”

“And suddenly, I’m melted from my solid form into warm reviving water; the nurturing welcome lures me forward and with this, I am free. Look at all the paths before me! I can wander paths into other paths into other paths into other paths. Infinite and overwhelming, I’m somehow back in this reality I thought didn’t exist anymore.”

My thoughts ran amok as they proliferated within every mental fiber of my being. It raced as every possible trigger of emotion shot through my body. With a combination of at least several mental agendas, I felt pulled in every direction by some sort of longing for the past; A bitter sweetness for a time with less beguiling figures and more youth-driven ambition had dwell.

That song, Olam Chesed Yibaneh came from summer camp, thus I relished among the euphoria of these memories:

I think of the alpine tower where I conquered my fear of heights. I think of the brotherhood of bunk mates and all the dirty jokes we raved over. I think of all the egregious critters that somehow made it into our beds. I miss the prank wars. I miss the volunteering. I miss the singing and dancing. I miss the trees and breeze and smell or horse manure for some reason. I miss my first romance from that camp… How I will never forget the high cheek bones she had when she smiled… I miss the high towering hill that I’d hike up every other day. I miss the live performances on Fridays that I got to partake in. I miss the average food. I miss the casual counselors. I miss the legendary stories and names that reside in those parts. And finally, there’s a good fraction of my emotion who misses what I used to be…

Today, I’m a man whose greatest hopes and desires tend to by stymied by darker thoughts. I mean… I do live a great life. I posses a wide variety of friends here in California and beyond. I have a loving family who never hesitate to support me when I need it the most. I am enrolled in a fairly decent film program providing me with a great arcanum of daedal skills.. I’m fairly spoiled and privileged, I’ll have to admit. But as I sift forward into the untouched future, inching my way faster and faster into the paths I’ve hungrily sprinted towards, I tend to lose sight of my greatest keepsakes.

And from this thought process, I wrote down a truth that I must hold onto forever:

“Yes, love is our most important resource but nostalgia is our more precious as love fuels it.”


Peckish Ambition


This morning I was a tear drop.

I rolled my way, though, and became a mere wet spot.

From there, I networked my way into a puddle.

I learned to water log their floors right under their noses.

I proliferated wider to become a lake.

In my present form, I planned with peckish ambition for the aim of a river.

And from the river, I found salvation within the unforgiving ocean!

I’m Ready


I feel like an eel hiding in the deep blue abyss of the sea wrapped in a variation of Godzilla’s burnt victim survivor skin. Another layer of wrapped snake patterns consume the essence of the atmosphere; it’s been fueled by an axiom. The answer is plangent, beatific, and laconic all at once. It’s the frozen fire that swells in your muscles when you commit to breakdowns of all the worst possible scenarios. This is as harmful as it is addicting thus it’s sublime.

As an only child, the evolution of hardening into the being I am now resembled that of igneous rock solidifying amongst the ridges of a volcanic crater delved deep within the Pacific Ocean. You see, I once trusted virtually everyone. Coincidentally I had no self esteem. Now, I’m a rich man  – recognizing my right to ascend into dreams – and consequentially trust a finite list of people. People see me as a romantic. Do you not see my cynicism?

It keeps me up at night. The knots within twist and turn and all the failed games of mental chess dawn to be my very achilles heal. Perhaps it’s been my lack of writing lately – I feel naked without it. I try to be like and even better than Alexander Hamilton on a regular basis. My writing is still the attempt of drawing that perfect circle with no outline. Flawed just about everywhere, I have so much to learn. It’s not the educational part that keeps me up. It’s the sloppiness that I tend to convey in my work that plays like a nuked civilization’s fallout.

I’m really trying. People are so weird. Everyone needs a vent. This blog series is just one of many for me. I withhold copious options for vents but I don’t need anymore beyond that. I yearn for the romantic life again:

I’m ready for you – you who hide with shyness and smirk with the charm of DaVinci’s work; I desire to delve into what makes you what you are behind your Mona Lisa! You, with your seduction of precipitate choices that cause me to feel just as defiantly raunchy. You are the dreadnought that pierces through glaciers. You are the monstrosity that reminds me of my goals. You are the oriental, errant desert flower standing unabashed amongst miles of sand. You and your poisonous touch that sends sagas upon words into my cerebrum. You, with your lethal eyes that tell the beginning, middle, and end to your means. I’m ready and waiting for you.

And when all of this is accomplished, maybe then I can feel like me again. I haven’t felt like me in so long. I try to “Keep it simple, stupid” but can’t when it’s my time. Out there – of course, I’ll really try. But this is for me and I’ll do as I will.

You hear that? The beckoning crescendo of the opera? Mozart is cueing me. The ending rolls credits. The beginning revamps as the projector claws in a new reel of film. I have new doors to ponder upon now.



Naked and left standing in the rain, I let the rain hit my face

On this planet to leave it better than I found it

This is no testament, this is a reckoning

Only in death, would I recognize other faults

Nothing like the smell of smoke in the air, burnt bridges are rampant

Love is a precious word, don’t exhaust it. You might run out of it

You’re the kind of person to be driven by the curiosity of your greed

Are you always this laconic or have you dropped all sense of linguistics

Righteous forefront to politics leads to a naive precipitate downfall

Expressed in a dream, the windmills of my mind surface

Once you were an acquaintance, then a friend, then an enemy, alas an acquaintance

Utter lucid dreams send pulses of waves throughout my limbs

Reverting back to cynicism, back to optimism; balance is a difficult game to play

Elation in the sight you

Might be a dangerous move

Obsolete lexical of words tend to dictate this life

Thought to be internal, you don’t have to speak to pontificate a synonym

Imagination is as incredible as it is useless, unless applied correctly

On the right brain, pleasure persists while the left reigns precisely these words

Now I’m a snake in a labrador’s clothing… That’s one of the dumber of my lines

See the projection of that plan? Men plan. God laughs.

And it’s my own doing. Who? What? Where? Why? How?

Pendulum’s exist everywhere which makes me ask, is there such a thing as free will?

Evil exists but never in absolutes

Naivety comes connected with compassion

Demagogues are too rampant, said the demagogue himself

Unparalleled wisdom from my opponents across the room, the questions is who’ll win

Loving like the juices within, but prickly in business like a cactus

Under all skin, comes consequence so I’ll never be envious of you

Monstrosity to society, that’s how leaders are made hence teratology

Opposites collide and formulate the greatest mixture; yin yang

Upside down, remain blindsided in the face of competition

Ringing recorder recorded rearguard rhetoric reasonably

Life can be an illusion confirming our purpose to drive us forward

Influential quotes from Einstein brought me to my own relativity

Vividly expressed, deja vu has become a necessity to recognize

Experiments with the creatures I possess confirmed my hypothesis

Sobering writings brought civility to my mental state

Ascension to success, I’ll use the losers as stair pieces

Rugs will be pulled from under all of you so say hello to the ground

Eccelerating through my veins, everything you taught me will fuel me

Thorough strides will shape the world into the version of peace

Only in death would I recognize other faults

Only in life would I embrace my prideful sins

My Seven Deadly Sins

I’ve always believed that one can analyze acquaintances, friends, and even themselves with The Seven Deadly Sins. Christianity and further branches of the faith originally coined these sins as a means to even out The Seven Virtues but also to scare away potential sinners of the faith. In other words it was used as a means of control but later was recognized as a fine piece of historical literature that would remain iconic for centuries.

It would prove iconic even in today’s world as an anime series called Full Metal Alchemist would use the Seven Deadly Sins as their villains – each sin being a multi-faceted character – in this world meant to parallel ours;  a means to create an emotional reaction. This is just one of the many examples in ways the seven deadly sins have been resurfaced. The series tapped into something deep inside myself that got me thinking.

“Pride, Wrath, Greed, Lust, Sloth, Gluttony, and Envy,” I’d repeat the sins over and over until it was memorized. Why those? Why not ignorance, manipulation, misdirection, or others? After much thought… I still have no logical conclusion. Why limit the flaws of humanity to seven general words when we clearly withhold the potential for far more evil? This finite lexical of unpopular labels are so general that foreigners from other worlds must think we are a simple species.

Nonetheless, my axiom still stands: The Seven Deadly Sins are an excellent way to  analyze one’s self, reflect upon so, and from there improve on it. I encourage anyone reading this to try it, as it has helped me hurdle over some of my greatest challenges as a man.

Ordered from greatest to least:

Pride: It’s as bulletproof as I am thin-skinned. While I’m anxious to be the knight in shining armor – the young dreamer, the glorious story, the thrilling adventure, the life of the party – it’s hard to bare the fact that people have the nerve to question my place in this hierarchy of life. I can’t stand it sometimes as it gnaws at me from the inside, but I can’t show that it hurts or else the whole infrastructure falls apart. The only thing that can destroy anything is that thing itself; Pride will be the death of me.

This cathedral isn’t made of steal beams. It’s never been made of the finer stuff. It’s the particles of dust you sweep under the rug in hope no one sees the flaws in your home. It’s that habit you insist on redoing because it’s “under control” and no big deal. Its that blog post you right claiming it has been perfectly ritten in hoaps that no won catches you’re mistakes because you are such a natural and truly belong in the best sellers section of philosophers next to Aristotle and Ghandi.

Yes, I am a prideful sinner. I will acknowledge it with rigorous rearguard knowing that it certainly exposes something that shouldn’t necessarily be left vulnerable. But this is all understandable and rather common. As a matter of fact, analyzing those around me, I have concluded that pride is a deep and sole drive for many a people. People with Pride, like myself, walk as if totally infrangible. More often than not, it’s their own demise.

Wrath: A rather terrible emotion to have next to pride. It causes the pendulum of emotions to reflect poorly on myself in times. Having pride and wrath in first and second position is like setting a bonfire next to gas station. It explodes in amazing ways and will ultimately catch your opponents off guard. Goodbye to all social norms. Goodbye to all efforts in connectivity. Goodbye to any sense of humane vibes that people granted you. Wrath isolates and is the very trait that destroys in itself.

When pride is hurt, it’s second in command comes in. As muscle to the emotions, it strikes with the intent of malicious result. Think of it this way: While our president is considered the commander in chief, the leader will always have military advisers at his or her side. They are the ones who cause action. Not concerned about peace, it moves forward, only to realize the entire time it has been running backwards.

“Sometimes it likes to imagine evil acts in the face of evil doings. Getting into fights, breaking things, hurting people – all for a good cause, of course. Then I come back to reality and realize how easy it would have been to break the mental stability of society in doing so. Even if it was for a good cause, vigilantes are not welcome here. I’m very positive this would never happen but if it did, it’d cause me social exile. My actions would go against the social flow of life and thus, I’d be rejected. Thomas Hobbes was right.”

-something stupid I wrote once.

Greed: Perhaps my newest acquiring. Greed is quiet, cunning, and is learning the use of laconic rhetoric to get it’s way. I want to tell you more, but that would expose my politics. I have so much want and desire for more; the commodious estates and the richer parts of finer life. This is exceedingly doable and for that, I love capitalism.

Let me put it this way: Greed simmers down Wrath and because of that, I divest from the possibility of deracinating myself. Reputation will derive respect and my ladder will ascend me to a place where Pride can rest easy. These politics are my greatest case thus I shall use it to get my way.

Envy: A primary focus of mine that is now on quite palmary behavior! No longer querulous, it simply remains passive. I’ve come to the point where I realize our skins are all so different. As I said before, Pride allows people to appear infrangible but many people contain Envy. Skin is the beholder of your history. You can see my scars and my youth throughout it: There, I had my appendix removed. There, I attempted to light a fire in safe means at summer camp. There, my heart was broken by my middle school crush.

In the end, I guarantee, everyone at some level despises themselves. No matter how much they claim to “love” themselves, there is always a little habit, or flaw, that uproots and triggers an automatic reaction of self-loathing. I used to feel it more often, especially around my peers but I’m currently peaking and have no desire for it. I love myself!

Gluttony: Well… G-d gave me a stomach, better put it to the test. But hey, I have a membership at gym so we’re okay.

Sloth: Why bother even writing this?

Lust: My least and most sinister sin… I shall say nothing more.

To conclude my analysis, it is important for me to think about these things all the time. I question myself, write down the subconscious, and experiment with ideas all the time. That is how I’ve come this far.

My sins are as harmful as they are ubiquitous and necessary. Utilize them. Embrace them. When dissecting ourselves, our sins are all we carry. They are hereditary and thus it’s inevitable to pass them to your children as hereditament. All you can do is embrace them.



Dr. Frankenstein


One might as well call me Dr. Frankenstein, for my wonderful creations have always consisted of monsters. More than film and more than literature, I have reached beyond all scientific leaps and bounds due to sciolistic teachings. Let me explain:

Superficial ways to cope with one’s self has hardened me. It is easy to recognize my easy and soft innards but I must at least attempt to protect the exoteric euphemisms I live by, thus I create monsters. Here’s how you create a monster:

Step 1 – Search in lorn locations. You will never find monsters in public areas. They only reveal themselves in private. Of course, you must be selective. You don’t just pick all of them. You must pick one of utmost probity.

Note: Monsters do not appear under their stereotypes. They always first appear as small, forgotten trolls under bridges.

Step 2 – Raise them. Bring them back to your laboratory. Establish yourself above it and acknowledge that you are indeed the nomenclature in this relationship. It may not take on a name or ego unless it’s earned it. It is merely “It”.

Step 3 – Challenge It. Once It has been trained, put it in the arena of life. Our goal is to help the creature aspire up the ranks until It reaches the power of fully blown monster. The world needs to see a true force of splenetic ego rise above it’s challenges. If this does not happen, your monster will be eaten alive by other, bigger, and better monsters. This means you must give it easy competitions at first and then encourage it to rise above the rest.

Step 4 – Politics. Not every fight can be won by the monster. There are things you will have to do in the shadows. Begin by shmoozing. Make appearances. Do not allow anyone to abrogate anything you say. Be the one who does the vetoing. Make bribes but not with money – you’re going to be impecunious most likely. There are other ways to fancy those in power. Keep your rearguard up in the face of banter. If you do fail in a small task, make up for it by accomplishing a task that is doubly more difficult. Smile. Win.

Step 5 – Notoriety. Once your creature has risen up the ranks, it may ask you what it’s ever-so-expected name shall be. It may have desired names of it’s own choice but you may not allow self-identity for you are the nomenclature. Instead, tell it to listen  to it’s following and from there it will realize it’s name. A Promethean sense of foison will overwhelm it with joy and suddenly it’ll become one when it fully embraces such fame and power.

And now I sit in my own private laboratory; such a fine training ground full of memories and glory. Unfortunately, it is all short lived as my monster has left. It is not the first monster to have departed.

I have had amazing monsters rise up the ranks. They have done it naturally with little to no assistance. The two things a monster needs in order to go beyond it’s trainer is a charismatic attitude and a good sense of politics. Many monsters have these traits in stronger ways than I have ever acquired. You cannot compare our personalities anymore. I realize now the intentions behind them are so different that they cause crossover in all the wrong places. It gets to the point where I become a ladder; they use me to climb up to the top and never look down to return the favor. This is the lesson I was taught in utter sciolism.

Fun fact: What are the two most relatable emotions? Answer = Love and Hate.

Why? They are the most passionate emotions. Even though they resonate on opposite sides of the spectrum, they remain to be the most passionate yet focused as they creep in on the external forces that make us whole.

So how do I feel about my monsters? I hate them… until I see myself a monster too.