brain's alphabet soup
movie idea.
So, Inception has been out for a little while now. I saw it when it came out, but on my flight to LA this past weekend, the girl sitting next to me with her obnoxiously large iMac re-triggered my interest. The in-flight movie was also shit, so I couldn’t help but pay her ridiculous 17” widescreen TFT liquid crystal display screen my unparalleled and undivided attention.
A dream within a dream within a dream?
How about a wet dream within a wet dream within a wet dream? The person in the third layer of that dream has the largest orgasm.
dropping starting lines
I like your smile. I like your personality, your spontaneousness, and sense of humor. I like you. I even like you when you’re drunk.
As you can imagine, I wrote this one for a girl. I’ve only met her a few times: mutual friends, but I think she gave that world a whirl, and crossed that line I was afraid to when – she said I have nice eyes. So here I am too at that starting line: ready to drop rhymes and already jumping to conclusions, praying to God this isn’t my heart taking off cruisin’ for another bruisin’ because –
A wise someone once told me to stop breaking my heart and sit these games out, to check myself before I wreck myself, throw in the towel and fall back south, but I’m a dreamer, a chaser, and a love fool on a mission too important to focus on what might really matter – because at this moment, I just have to engage her.
I’m no gardener; wasn’t born with green thumbs. Don’t worry, it’s okay Mom. ‘Cause I’ve been through a few flowers enough now to know a real rose when I see one. And I admit it, she’s gorgeous, the whole package, a keeper and every good reason that if things ever got bad to never leave her. ‘Cause I swear if this rose’s thorns pierced my skin, I’d only hold her closer. It’s like she’s got me so bad that I’m making these promises and I don’t even really know her. But –
No doubt – from the second when our lives made their first connection at the intersection where I’ll cross my heart and hope to die for the interception of hers – I struck a 110% match. How did I know? I just did from the way she laughed, and then got close. No joke, there was a spark, a click, whatever people and the experts call it – nowadays. And honestly, I don’t need to be one those nowadays people or experts to call it what it is – nowadays.
So here I am just hoping that this relationship might grow and keep growing into something bigger, something deeper. That this affinity, this serendipity that brought us together might go somewhere before either one of us decides to let it slip and go elsewhere.
But what am I doing? Who am I kidding? Why am I still wishing? When I can’t even get a break or catch a date with this 5’7” angel that I’m wooing. ‘Cause damn it, I’m still here at the starting line. And fuck it, I don’t even know her number though it doesn’t change the fact that I still want to call her.
snowballs
I was four years old, cold, wet, but at the same time, amused.
Welcome to the winter of 1992 or rather the snowball fight of the decade. Attentive yet unconscious to the battlefield around me, I watched in amazement. My eyes twinkled and lit up as boys massacred one another; it was a spectacle. Hues of white snow and grey slush clouded the scene; I would not have it painted any other color. The brutality was classic and inviting, yet I kept my distance on cold concrete steps; I was actually closer to the battlefield than I had intended. Apparently, the concrete steps of which I resided was territory; it was a fort. A four-eyed, Asian barbarian, “Eric Wei,” currently 24 and unemployed with a useless over specialized degree in electro physics, took the largest shard of ice from a nearby snow bank and decided to crush the intruder, whom at the time, was me.
There was a maniacal laugh. While watching a spectacle, I was interrupted. A large conglomerate of ice, snow, and bits of rock, which was thought to be Hailey’s Comet, came crashing down, shattering on my back and leaving my body almost lifeless and abandoned. The battle had stopped; the boys ran home. Blood trickled down my face where tears should have. It was as if my body was crying as a whole. Eric, his platoon, and the opposition left me there to die: four years old, cold, wet, and at the same time, painfully amused.
