Ranter

My mind is a ranter
A daydreamer, a fantasizer
A story teller that yearns to dream
Equally by day as by night
It sees a pipe, it wants to crawl through it
It sees a column, it figures to climb it
With grabs, if it's thin,
With suction cups or ice picks, if thick,
And it believes itself David Belle
As it jumps and bounces and breaks through tiny windows in like a missile
Then grabs tree branches and escapes on them
Like an anime ninja.

It thrives on perception
If I allow it to
And oh, on conversation,
It can imagine quite a bit.

It projects on the branches
of possibilities
It swings on them like a monkey
That's high on caffeine.
And it's only more so,
If it's actually high on caffeine.

It rants in conversation
Inside of me, itself,
It clones my contacts
assigns them roles
for impromptu dramas
and wishful dialogues
in my relatively tame life.

It bestows on me courage and elocution
them, interest and frankness,
the world, a new center around my mind,
as it somehow splices my life's loose ends.
It becomes the virtuous hero,
the broken-open lamenter,
the astute, omniscient seer,
the pure, open individual.

Opinions reserved, muffled attractions,
unacted intentions, my mind develops them all
in its fluid, private dark room.

Flagstaff escape

Written sometime in Late Jan/Early Feb 2013

Tonight I escaped the night's silent hullabully, and joined my friends the winds and trees at Flagstaff Hill. When they meet, they converse in unison, and though I don't known what they're saying, their voices fill me with peace.

Script on Bagel Factory Napkin

(Written sometime in mid-February, 2013)

A surface is most often continuous.
Counterexamples:

• Cracked ice
• Lego pieces together
• An ulcerous stomach

Today I decided to climb on the tree next to Carnegie museum's bus stop, at Craig & Forbes. Funny thing, as I hung from my legs, I saw a girl look at me. "Antonio?", she asked. It was Vasu. What are the odds?

Snow verses

(Written sometime in Jan 2013)

Snow
falls,
makes visible our river of winds,
becomes it, each blow and whim,
unlike the swift rain,
which pierces air and embodies gravity.
Rain falls, but snow flows,
gentle, unrushed, it takes the scenic route,
and in so doing it gives us a gentle scene
on our busy path.

Some flee it, and some feel it.
What difference does the order of its
letters cause in a word,
between being and not being
somewhere
somehow
somewho
anywho
anyhow
anywhere,
feel or flee.

What mysteries, these words,
spoken feelings,
we use them so often, in
our families, in our homes,
in our work, on the street,
in our computers, in our phones, in our brains...
they pave our understanding of the world,
of others...
but of ourselves?
Do they help us understand ourselves?
Ah, if I knew...
I might use the answer to decide
my path.
And maybe it is not in the action,
but in the intention, that meaning occurs.
Or is it in all?

Idyllic world I encounter,
just by stepping outside my door,
and doing what I want.
Vague purpose, yes.
Uncertain plan, yes.
But strong intention.
Not strong, just true.
Truth needs no strength,
it is just truth.
It is,
in contrast to the rest,
which is not.

And we might assume that the rest is,
is there,
is meaningful,
is ok for awhile,
but how many billions have never climbed back up that pit of illusion?
That convenient shortcut, that shiny distraction?
That comfortable nuisance one could bear forever?
First nuisance, then habit, then state absolute?
One forgets his intention in a myriad of diversions,
then only diversions remain,
piled high up over our tiny jewel of meaning.
Small, fuzzy,
but irreplaceable.
Unique.

You snow.
You playful little dancing fairies of cold.
You colden my body
but warm up my soul.
You tranquil it.
You remind me that whimsical, playful, and gentle
is also a way to be.
You're a dance of Nature.
Thank you, tiny frozen star-like dancers,
You help me be happier than I was.

Hambone's Escape

Where? On the 54D bus, at Baum & Millvale, heading north.
Who? Antonio
Why? Going to Hambone's to spend some time.
When? March 17th, around 9:00PM.
How? Happily.

Plans are more than hierarchical to-do lists. That is why I just desisted from listing my near-future plans.

@Hambone's.

The people around me create an environ of, well, activity. No one's talking to me nor viceversa, but it restrains my possibilities just enough for me to focus on the writing. And thinking. And it appeases the chimera of loneliness that sometimes haunts me.

But what to write? The urge to spit out whatever is salivated is gone now - writing should mean something tonight. Or should it?

Preference of the fast over the subtle... these days? Like with quick TV montages? Maybe... preference by many.

I want to say things I haven't, I've been to polite to say, too considerate to let out, thus obscuring my truth, and in turn, when others perceive my hesitance, theirs.

To Dad: You are afraid. Of the world, of the consequences, were you to step too much outside the rules: of sex, of the typical banned pleasures of the world. Drugs, sex, recklessness, you fear them not so much by experience as by religious canon, though you never fully consented to catholicism... thought you did to Indian beliefs.

I say this because I perceive the same fear in you that I've felt in me. So I infer. But I tell you I believe fear is unnecessary, as it constrains. It closes the doors to an infinite fraction of the entire spectrum, and prevents you from experiencing the world.

But you're older, of course, so experience might not be what you now seek. And who am I to criticize the one who raised me, taught me sciences and spirituality and the wonder of the world? Who guided me to a path of prosperity and good? I am just me. An observer, a close one, in fact, and be I correct or not, this is my opinion, truthful, and as such, respectful.

Five.

Writing is wonderful.

A vessel of thoughts, emotions, ideas, moments, one of the closest confidantes of the soul, on paper as on air. And though air is richer, paper is steadier, slower, ideally timeless, and I thank it intensely for allowing me to listen to Corelli's creations, to Gibran's contemplations, to Wilde's precise eloquence, for all that I have read and will read, and for all it allows myself to persist.

obe

Last night, I believed I had left my body and was standing beside my naked body, lying flat on its stomach. I distinctly remember my naked butt, just after having detached my bluish-feeling "inner self" from the body. It felt like I was ungluing myself from something I'd had stuck to me for a long, long time. Relieving, it felt, and I looked at my body, the tiniest bit disbelieving, but almost as if that's how I had expected it to happen. Then I wondered what I could do, so I kind of moved around the room. I'm not certain the room was the one here on 201 S. Craig, it looked a little like what I imagine royal rooms in a castle to be like. It wasn't opulent or anything, but I had the impression that the rooms outside were larger, and that there was a fireplace somewhere outside.

I'd like to describe the feeling of leaving my body a little more in detail. It was... like, ethereal. I pushed myself up as I would if I were lying face down, pushing myself from the ground. The feeling o fmy arms was two-fold, as my dad described - the other, the body arms, were also there, and I could decide to control them. But I chose to control my inner arms for sure, so I felt an airy, fluid sensastion when pushing myself up. I saw my arms lifting through something that looked like, well, arms, but they somehow seemed akin to logs, unmoving and foreign. The feeling was of unsticking myself from something. A sesnation I knew I hadn't felt in a very long time, of detachment, of fluid unsticking, like when you're unsticking a piece of plywood from a piece of furniture, with tiny snaps along the way, but fluider. Like blue fluid wood? The feeling extended down my body as the other parts pushed themselves off the body too.

So, once I was "standing", everrything seemed in place and alright, so I went to the door to open it and explore the rest of the world. But when I opened it, a girl, or a girls' "inner self", was on the other side. She looked... I don't know how she looked, but I had the impression she was not that beautiful. I remember freckles and perhaps wide curly hair. I don't know why, I don't even remember if it was her doing, but meeting her brought me back to my body. And then I felt like "man!", disappointed.

But in the rest of the dream, I managed to de-body myself again, and I joined a band of people who also did so on a regular basis. So when we met up, we did ethereally, and we hung out anywhere - once at some event with some kind of auditorium, but of course we weren't part of all the people, so we moved through corners and side entrances. One of them reminded me of Rashid Auditorium's side passage to the left after entering it. Other times, we hung out in alleyways, and they taught me tips and tricks about being disembodied, ways to float, to get to other places easier - at times I felt like I was receiving a parkour lesson.

The hanging out between people who couldn't see me reminded me of sitting at Southside last night, people passing me by, and taking but marginal notice of me. I enjoyed that quite a bit. The alleyways and the climbing, the kinda-parkour lessons reminded me of having climbed up the metal bridge column when walking back home from Southside last night.

St. Patrick's Night

Tonight I walked outside in search for whatever came to me. A 61B bus had just pulled into the Forbes & Craig corner, and I took it, not knowing where I was going. I strutted up to the back of the bus, where I cautiously eyed a big black guy at the very back of the bus, sat down, took out my notebook, and began to write about statements that I have once believed in.

10 or so stops later, I noticed the guy at the back of the bus talk to his little daughter, about 3 years old. I couldn't tell what they were talking about. A few moments later the guy addressed me:

"Excuse me, sir?"
"Yes?", I asked.
"Is eighteen plus eighteen thirty-six?"
"Yes it is"
"Thank you. I was asking her how much is eighteen plus eighteen, she said I don't know, so I told her it was thirty-six, and I just wanted to make sure"
"Sure! Glad I could help"
"It's important to know Math in school, ya know...", he told his little daughter.
...
"Oh yes, Math is VERY important. It helps you so much, in many ways", I told the little girl meaningfully.
...
"What's your name?", I asked her.
"Jezaiah", I heard her father say.
"Oh, nice name".

Then I saw him pull the bus cord, tell his daughter to get up, and I saw the bus was driving on Fifth right beside Birmingham Bridge, and the guy had pulled the cord to stop at the next stop. I decided to stop there too, so a few seconds later, I thanked the bus driver, got off, and headed back to Birmingham bridge, whereas the guy and his daughter walked up a steep street, to go back home I presumed.

I walked about 200-300m back to the bridge, or at least it felt that long - the stops were pretty far apart. I wanted to cross the bridge, but I didn't see any sidewalk. I only saw a concrete slab mid-bridge, certainly wide enough to walk on, so I fancied myself the walker again and got up on the slab. And walked to Southside. It felt great to see the riverview around me, cars zooming by, though I was wary of police cars passing by and stopping to interrogate me or give me a ride on their car or something. I saw a few people walking on the outskirts of the street, on the edges of the bridge, but as it had no sidewalk, I thought my approach was considerably safer.

Once on the other side, I saw guys and girls, many of them displaying small or not-so-subtle pieces of green. It was St. Patrick's night, and the people out seemed determined to be out and be drunk and have fun and get laid - some people looked for some of those more than others. Guys and girls pranced around, chattered vivaciously, let out the occasional scream of celebration, and everyone went around their own business. A few beggars lined up the streets, and the guys and girls seemed nonchalantly intent on ignoring them and not giving them money. A hot dog cart, fat black girls, non-fat black girls, black guys, gender-mixed caucasian people, and a few gender-exclusive caucasian groups roamed about. I knew that my appearance was not fit for socializing, so I found a shop doorway with a little bit of an entrance, sat down, took out my notebook and pencil, intending to write.

But I thought at what a waste it would be to be in this new environment, the occluded side of a party street, without observing it thoroughly. So I put down my notebook and pencil, and just saw the people out on the sidewalk move about. I didn't see any especially revelating scenes - just guys and girls walking about, doing their thing, trying to have fun and impress each other. I did receive a sandwich from a passing-by caucasian group:

"Would you like a sandwich?", a girl said.
"What?", I said with an inside smile that I had been mistaken for a beggar.
"Yeah, Primanti gave us another one by mistake, so we have an extra one"
"Uh, I'm not really hungry", I honestly said, testing them out.
"Hey, I'm just trying to help out".
"Uh, ok sure, thanks!"

And they were off. The sandwich was sliced bread with some beef slice, coleslaw, and french fries inside of it. I nibbled at a few french fries, but wasn't really hungry for the rest. It was not that good at all, either.

After getting what I could elucidate from my corner, I got up and walked further down the street. I saw (what I thought was) an actual beggar, and offered him the sandwich. He seemed just OK with it - not especially pleased, but happy to get it. He asked me then:
"Can I have a dollar?"
"Hmm, no, not tonight", I said after thinking a while.
"Oh, come on"
"What do you need it for?", I testily asked.
"I need it to take the bus, to get back home"
"Right. Why don't you walk back?"
"To Wilkinsburg?"
"Sure! I'm walking back too".
"Where are you going?"
"Oakland".
"uhmm. Oh come on, can I have a dollar?"
"No. Bye"

A few steps off, I remembered I had a bus ticket in my wallet, so I went back and gave it to him. Again, he didn't seem at all pleased, but just looked at it with an "ugh" stare. As I walked off again, I heard him ask the next group coming along: "Can I have a dollar?"

I walked out again. I saw nothing interesting, nor another corner to sit on, so I walked back. On the way back I asked the beggar for a piece of the sandwich back, as I had gotten hungry. He gave me half of it, and asked me for a dollar again. I refused, and walked back to the bridge. I found the hot dog cart again, and a semi-pretty girl wearing green sparkling plastic hair offered me hot dogs. I said "no thanks", and walked off. The girl's prettiness did entice me, though, so I walked back and asked the hot dog lady (not the girl) for their prices.

"What do you have?"
"Hot dogs"
"Only hot dogs?"
"Yeah"
"How much?"
"One for three, two for five"
"What do they come with?"
"Uhh, the usual. Ketchup, sauerkraut, mustard, cheese, anything you want".
"Hmm"
"Do you want one?"
"No thanks, I'm a vegetarian"
"How about I just give you a bun with cheese?"
"Noo, that's too expensive"
"You could give me a dollar"
"Hmm, ok"

"So she gave me a bun with cheese, indeed. Cheapest bun from Giant Eagle, tiny fake cheese squirt in the middle of the bun, hardly covering the bread. I wanted some ketchup to go along with it, so I put some on the bread, gave the lady the dollar, and poured in the coleslaw and french fries remaining from my half sandwich. The combination wasn't so bad, and I ate it as un-sloppily as I managed as I walked back to the bridge.

I thought I'd wait for the bus, but my phone told me it would be at least half an hour before the next one passed by. So I happily set off to walk back on the bridge, though this time I saw a sidewalk on the left side, so I walked on it. A girl/woman of undetermined age walked in the same direction in front of me, thickish fur coat around, and I thought she'd be good company to talk to as we crossed the long bridge. So I walked at my usual long-step pace, but she didn't seem to be getting any closer. Wow, she was walking fast. So I sped up my paces and caught up with her. Once she had detected me right behind her, she turned suddenly, in instinctive fright, and calmed down once she had seen that I was not a threatening sight. I passed her on the left, and she looked too scared to be asked for a conversation, so I just walked on. Two steps ahead, I thought it again and decided to ask her "Would you like some company as we walk on the bridge?". But just as I was starting to turn my neck:

"Can I walk with you?", she asked.
"Uh, sure! I was just about to ask you that same thing, actually".

And then we conversed, about many things, though I'll summarize now because it's Monday and I have things to do:

"Where are you from?"
"You mean, originally?"
"Yes"
"Guatemala"
"Oh! South America!"
"Well, Central, but yeah, close enough"
"Well yeah. So you're coming back from partying?"
"Not so much, I was just hanging out. Why are you crossing the bridge by yourself?"
"I'm heading home. Where are you headed?"
"I'm going to Oakland".
"Woah! Why didn't you take the bus?"
"Well, it wasn't due to arrive in at least 30 minutes, so I just decided to walk"
"It's a long way"
"So where are you going?"
"I live in the 'hood, right on the other side"
"Oh yeah, I walked through there just earlier tonight. I don't really know that area".
"Yeah, I live in the 'hood".

She then began sniffling noticeably, and I just had to ask:
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, don't worry..."
Hesitant to hug her, "Hey, what happened to you?"
"Oh nothing, I just got broke up"
"Oooooh, ouch, that always hurts"
"Yeah, and I'm not even that drunk. I just had like five beers. And I don't like white boys"
"How do you mean?"
"I usually date guys from other places - Peruvian or Persian..."
"Woah. How do you know people from so many other... ethnicities?"
"Well, I like brown boys".
"Huh. Well, that gives me a little boost :)"
She smiled back. "You should shave though",
"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to do that. I'm pretty sure I will just after Thursday".
"Why Thursday?"
And I told her all about my Master's Project/Thesis, and how it'll all be over after that.

"The 'hood is a little scary at this time of night"
"I can walk with you if you want", I put in casually.
"Oh you don't have to do that. You should go back home".
"Ok then"
"You know, talking to a random girl on the bridge, it's not the smartest thing to do".
"Neither is talking to a random guy on the bridge".
"That's true".
A little later I started hearing some girl say something to us from behind, catching up to us from outside the sidewalk. I couldn't understand her, so once she caught up with us, I asked her "what?"
"I'm not talking to you, to her"
"What is she saying? I asked the closer girl".
"No, nothing", she quickly evaded. I still have no idea what that was about.

Upon reaching the corner, we paused for a few moments, then she talked:
"Well, thank you for making my walk a little better"
"Yes, same here"
"Well, you're going that way, I'm going to the left"
"Yup. So... do you want to...", I readied myself to say. But before I could:
"Well, it was nice to talk to you on the way. I'm Michelle, I work at UPMC Mercy, also in the 'hood. Look me up"
"OK, will do. Have a good night!"
"See you"

And we were each off on our own direction, my fleeting hopes of a random nightcap quickly vanishing. Of course it made sense - inviting a stranger from the street into your house the first night out makes little sense, but as an optimistic single male I'd kept hope anyway.

A few steps in the Oakland direction, I noticed I was passing under a lifted street, and there was a metallic column holding it up right beside the sidewalk. I looked at it, and it certainly seemed very climbable. So I climbed up on it - one hand on the beam, one step on the wall, pushing up to step fully on the beam, grasp the beams firmly with both hands, push myself further up, grab the metal platform over the beams, pull myself up again, and now I was on a mezzanine platform, one tall platform below being right beside the bridge railing. I grabbed at the only-a-little-uncomfortably-tall wall, pushed off a metallic protuberance on the wall with my foot, and managed to grab onto the other side of the platform. Once with a firm grasp, getting on top took only one or two more arm and leg pulls. Then a quick climb over the railing, and voilà, I was up there.

About two hundred steps in, I noticed that the street had no sidewalk, and that there were very few, actually no buildings around it. And then I realized "ohh, this is a highway". Conscious of the dangers a pedestrian risks as he walks on a highway, I quickly looked for a way out. A little dirt hill on the side was accessible, so I stepped on it and scurried up to the top, looking for a way out. Another street was just steps up on it, so I got on the new street, and I recognized it as Fifth Avenue. Happy to be on a non-highway again, I continued walking back, full-knowing where I was walking now. I did, however, wonder about whether the 54 bus (which I half-expected to run into on my way back) took Forbes or Fifth avenue to get to Oakland. I half-hoped for the latter.

And sure enough, a few blocks in, I saw a guy and a girl running to the bus stop, anxious to catch the upcoming bus. I looked back - the 54 bus was coming. Having solved my conundrum, I walked to the bus stop, got on, and rode it all the way back home.

Somewhere near Atwood Ave, a bunch of girls came in, most of them clearly fairly inebriated, but conscious enough to walk and talk loudly. One of them came in wearing a pair of horns, and yelled "Today is my 21st birthday!!", and a few people in the bus went "woooh!!". Right before leaving the bus, I took a piece of paper from my notebook, wrote "Happy Birthday!" on it, and stepped off the bus on Winthrop. And after a short walk back to my apartment, my evening out came to an end.

Beliefs

Statements I've believed to be true, at some point:

• Willpower is the currency of the Universe.
• Living in a place near a water body is inherently better than in a place without it.
• The world is so much more than we perceive of it.
• My potential is enormous, and largely untapped.
• ...

Lines

The unreasonable sub-optimality of people waiting in lines, especially at airports, amazes me. People will stand in line in front of the gate, backpacks hanging, babies in carriages, doing nothing, for twenty whole minutes just to board the airplane in the order that the airline suggests. Yes, on some airlines you will get to choose your seat. I get it, you're quirky, you have specific seat requirements. Or you need extra carry-on space for your fragile guitar, I see your point. But for all others? What are you accomplishing by standing there, idly tiring your legs, fitting yourself, your backpack, and your rolling suitcases, perhaps even the people you're traveling with and talking to, into the narrrowest possible single file? And when the line starts moving at 0.05 m/s, and you're forced to keep that speed, in consideration of the guy behind you who will board the airplane at virtually the same time whether you move with the line or not? Do you really care whether the guy in front of you moves, as long as he's at the counter when his turn arrives? Are people that possessive of the "line spot"? I think that, by conditioning, yes, many people are.

And what futile consideration. What silly nursery-school rules are placed these days to deal with the "line spot" possessiveness. "We will board only the next 30 now". And so they can make the line remain shorter, and have everyone look for their exact spot. Good fix, yes, but what unnecessary selfish reflex that caused it in the first place.

And now I see a standing line, also, of around 40 people, all waiting to board the 28x airport bus back to Pittsburgh. Out in the cold, wearing sweaters and jackets, some of them shaking a little...

It is not that cold at all. It is practically Spring already, but oh, how useless the line! I might be wrong - the bus might fill up, leaving me and perhaps a few other stragglers behind to wait for the next one in half an hour. But I risk it, and in exchange, I get to comfortably sit inside the airport, on cushioned chairs, and type this little text out of my mind and into my hard drive.

5 minutes later...

Funny thing, the risk activated, and I am left behind at the airport, waiting for the next bus along with a few stragglers. The apparent misfortune, possibly seemingly brought on by my haughty comments on the behavior of the masses, does not affect me much, as I have no appointments to keep today nor am I in a rush to get back home. "Ten minutes or less", as the driver said (though I think it will more likely be half an hour). On another hand, if the bus indeed comes soon, I will likely sit on a bus chair on the hour-long ride back to Pittsburgh, instead of standing, holding my backpacks with one hand, a bus pole with the other, keeping balance with the bus accelerations, looking at blank-eyed strangers out of instinct, whose breaths I feel on my neck because their mouths are close enough. (This might seem less bad when those strangers are pretty girls, but it really isn't that much better. In fact, sometimes it's worse, because the specific situation doesn't yield to much conversation, getting to know one another, let alone flirts, but one wants to anyway).

But the bus does not come soon, and I see a sizeable line form outside, my co-stragglers at the front, and a bunch of recent arrivals in the back. And I sit inside still, trusting to statistics and to a decent airport transportation planning that the same situation will not happen again. Although, with CMU's spring break just finished, St. Patrick's Day happening today/this weekend, it being a weekend at all, plus a set of initial stragglers, I might just have hit the high tail of the Poisson.

Yay, bus is here now (just under 30 minutes later), and the line looks pretty short now. I'm pretty sure I'll get in - not that sure about the sitting, though.

An hour later...

Ah, bus ride was comfy. It also allowed for a nice experiment. I wanted to be comfy and relax on the way, so I relaxed the torso muscles that usually hold the body upright, and let the torso move to where it wanted to. It bent down towards the ground along with my limp arms, which just almost touched the bus floor, and I just hung there, half-jokingly, but actually quite comfortable.

About 10 minutes later I got tired of that position, so I brought my body back up, and looked around for other ways to be comfy. I saw a grabber hanging down from a bus pole, and I got an idea. I tied my gray A's hoodie on the grabber, and tried to reach my neck onto the hanging middle. It wasn't long enough (nor me tall enough), but the hood of the jacket was just within reach of my face. So I put my face in it, and indeed, it was such a comfy feeling. I just let my head hang on it, I could breathe through the fabric perfectly, and my back and neck muscles were fully relaxed. It felt awesome. A couple of girls came in and said "That's weird", and though I couldn't see them, I knew they were talking about me because they said "It's his face in it! How can he breathe in there?", and I doubted anyone else was doing the same thing. I brought my face out once, looked at them, and said with a smile: "It's comfy :)". I put my face back in the hood, and rode the bus most of the way back like that. I removed it when a seemingly-tired woman came and wanted the seat beside me, which was kinda-blocked by my hoodie. A few minutes later, I dozed off my resting my head on my large backpack. But I dozed off long enough that I missed my stop, so I ended up walking from CMU back to my apartment. Which wasn't so far anyway.

Lucid

My first attempt of Lucid Dreaming with HemiSync was memorable. Sensational. I did, against internal expectations (but in accordance with my wishes), gradually relax my body and my mind to the point of conscious almost-sleep. I believe I may have kept my body unnaturally still, though - I maintained an unmoving straight position with my hands on my chest throughout the whole session, and only towards the end did a fairly intense ants-running sensation on my hands and arms make me allow myself to lower them towards my sides.

Throughout the exercise, I felt I was too conscious while the narrator counted and as the rain did its best to be soporiferous. I thought of causes of lucid dreaming, consequences, possibilities, too much deviation from simple focus, I kept thinking. And that same thought was unfocused, too. But eventually, without a clear boundary on when, my mind entered a state of which I don't remember all of it. I remember very short and bursty dream-like experiences, but the novelty of what I was doing, any excitement about succeeding at it only pulled me back into the conscious realm, my thoughts about the dream fell into my physical model, and the illusion dissolved into nothing. The first I remember, a drop of water, perhaps from the rain, was forming into a puddle somewhere to my front and left. Then it spread, and the water streamed down to my back, on a concrete surface. My "mind's eye" looked back to see its path, and it was simply moving back to the next concrete slab at its own pace. Then a streak of purple crossed my field of vision from right to left, and I remembered how exciting it would be to actually be having a lucid dream, and I broke the quick dream.

That might have been my clearest dream in the whole exercise. Of others I can only recall vague emotions, if I was ever able to recall anything at all from them. The BT headphones began beeping midway through the exercise too, so that didn't help. I didn't want to move to turn the BT off, so I just struggled through the rest of the exercise with occasional beeping and interruption of the rain sounds. Perhaps next time I can try it without headphones, or with a wired set.

I do believe that my body's sensations were unique - I have not felt any such (simultaneous) relaxation and awareness inside me in years, and I very much want to repeat, and enhance, the experience. Next time, I plan on allowing my body to switch its position as often as it needs to achieve utter calm.

Happy moments

(Written c. early 2013)

Standing and dancing with the wind on top of Flagstaff Hill
Contemplating the city lights when standing on the bridge south of downtown, Austin, TX, just looking and taking pictures
Kissing Daniela at the skating rink near Miraflores, walking outside, hugging each other while watching the moon in front of us, in the sky
Shouting and running euphorically and calling Pedro outside the Reddwerks office when I found out I was accepted to CMU's Ph.D. program.
Repeatedly driving to Jerol's as my nocturnal secret adventure, anxious to sex her up every time.
Acting out the scenes of Hero's Quest II as a kid, leading my friends in the act at El Shaddai.
Setting out on my bike ride alone, from Chicago down south.
Deciding to take my trip to Europe in 2009.
Living together with Laura in Feb-Apr 2011.
Kissing Andrea at movie theater, groping her as much as possible, "watching" Shrek 3. And then walking around the christian concert, kissing every chance we got.
Kissing and touching Carmella behind a rock near one of the lake islands near Granada.
Hugging Carmella at the top of the bell tower for what seemed forever, as tight as if our life depended on it, Granada.
Sexing Echo on my bedroom wall, laying her gently on the rose petals.
Finding out I'd made the team to IMO Bucharest, 1999.
Hearing the other guy's name for second place at the National Math Olympiad, 1998.

Aunt's Birthday

Today is the first day of the year that I feel comfortable enough to write outdoors, and not on top of the hot air exhaust near Heinz Chapel. Spring is fast approaching, clearer by the day, as I noticed today through a crisp blue sky still at 5PM through Bhiksha's window.

Today is also the first day I've felt at ease enough to write at a calm pace like now, in at least a week now. A DAP report, due last week, was attached in the email to my committe I sent out oday. Now, report sent, and my DAP presentation due two weeks away, I feel at ease enough for this journal entry.

My hands are somewhat cold, though, and my pens seem to work sub-optimally. Still, here I sit, happy to engage in leisure once more.

Today was also my favorite aunt's birthday. Favorite by her doing, I believe, as the love and caring she afforded me in my childhood was always strong and abundant, almost to a point of obsession, I thought. But it was true, and I thank her for it.

Still, I decided not to call her today, after a quick internal moral debate. Though I'd like her to feel remembered, I more strongly want isolation from the known. Or rather, from that which knows me?

I'd rather prefer the former. But the point is, she knows me quite a lot. And I'm moving away.

Today: Late wake-up at 11:52AM, ALADDIN meeting, 12:30 to 1:30, unattended classroom for Algorithms, trip to DMV in Downtown, DL renewal, on-and-off talk w/Bhiksha and Rita, addition of references and polishing-up of DAP report, and report send-in. Relief after sending it, followed by a half-willed attempt to finish HW#4. Which I just decided to whip out now.

Heinz Delight

Beginning of March, perhaps March 2nd, evening.

Seldom is my sight so blessed to see such a magical, dynamic light show.
March snow surrounds me, it falls and whirls around the chapel as the wind directs it. But the spotlights around it, oh dear, they make the traveling flakes into shining fairies. And these fairies either float gracefully in suspended animation, or they seem to play with the light, as if it pushed the tiny beings towards the chapel, seeming it to a twinkling path divine. Or they hail swiftly, in a fury almost, made epic by the constant quick strokes of brilliance.
Ah, but the sparkle! The sparkle is like a dream. These beautiful particles, at once fairy, magic, fire, and star...

Fire sparkles anxious to reach the ground, unlike the ones from flames, which rise. These fall in a fury, impatient to come shine upon us, heavy ones, on the ground.

Ah, tiny falling stars. You are a magical, gentle dream.

Behind.
I want to leave it all behind, and not carry it with in some forgotten pocket I've grown too accustomed to or too afraid to look into. Or too fixated. I want to settle all accounts, give what I owe, both matter and words. I withheld in silence many strong thoughts - more feelings, and they must come out if I owe them. The idea of writing them crosses my mind, but now I know this is futile in any way. I know what they are. I feel them. True unsettled dues are those that nibble at my soul every now and then... those objections that arise when I attempt to be at peace.

I will feel them when I ask myself. In my heart, in my throat, as I often do, as I now do. The true feelings arise when one attempts peace. They bubble up into a calming surface, signs of issues unresolved.

I still yearn with wishes unfulfilled, with unmade plans I've postponed time and time again. Sometimes I shushed my yearning, sometimes I held it at bay just under my skin, happy to feel it was still there, but chained by my own conditioning. Right now it's cracking away at my layers, like an atrophied unborn chick trying to begin its life. I feel it, and I'm happy to let it. I feel like cracking the layers myself, and inviting it into the world in sudden and ceremonious occasion. But I believe it, just like the chick, would best be allowed to crack them itself. I just have to stop hardening the layers as I have.

Ah, snow. It just began to fall en-masse again, like in a giant snow-shaker. Millions of dancing fairies, traveling pilgrims, sparkling floating angels, falling stars, dust, cold *embers*, magical glitter...
and that's just around me, and that's just right now. Ah, you magical world. I want to dive deeper into you, know more of you, for I know so little of you. And through you, I seek to know myself.