Thursday, June 30, 2005

advice on writing...the only way I know how....

A note to a friend trying to overcome writer's block when in fact his mind is trying to jam a thousand squares into a triangular box.......

....it's like
trying to assemble a car and starting with the seatbelts.....a car
needs a chassis....wheels on which to turn...an engine to drive
it....a steering wheel, brakes, gas, seats, seatbelts...and finally a reader.

....think about it when you're trying to put all the ideas down on paper..

Sometimes I write where I skip to avoid writers block

And I hated every second of existence, every morning that I would awake, faced with a shower and a daily traffic pattern to work

I was searching for a ways out of the....

And she closed her eyes and felt as if the wish were coming true...that the prince in his shining armor was finally here to rescue her from the confusion of a fuct up adolescence...she breathed softly, inhaling his scent and registering it in her mind as the man she loved....

No...please...no...not again........I beg of you, I believe in you and your infinite mercy........his fists clenched in rage, his knees scraped and beginning to be covered in blood...a result of the haste with which he dropped in penitence...seeking to be forgiven from the one hope he'd always forsaken.....

And so ond and so forth...then I can expound upon the various ideas later when I have more time and attention to devote to them

And I've been at work for an hour
And I've accomplished nothing.

does it exist in the "real world?"

i did not write this.........but I believe in its truth.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

Monday, June 27, 2005

one is the loneliest number.

loss of a loved one.....

a break up with one we love or have loved for a period of time can be an emotional explosion, unleashing a fury of confusion, of a thousand unanswerable questions that need answered not with words but with affection from our significant other, our partner in crime. In the newspaper today, a story equated breaking up with the death of a loved one. Break-ups can emotionally cripple us to the point where we can't make a move without wondering and pondering the would haves, the could haves, and the should haves. Our jobs, our friendships, our outlook on life, even our bathing habits are affected. That person is no longer in our lives, no longer an extension of ourselves, rather a memory that fades into the distance, a wound that shall heal over time. Sometimes the reaction to such an event is acute, dissipating through conversation with friends, tea, and maybe a few "blow-out" weekends. And yet some of us react differently, violently, completely incapable of confronting the earth shattering loss without some form of medication. I chose drugs and booze and I went nowhere, fast. I spent too much, I drank too much, I smoked to much and I didn't give a shit what happened as long as I was able to depart from the here and now.

I witnessed this affliction first hand late Saturday night in the eyes of another, in his actions and his desperation, a man that I've respected for the year that I've known him, a man who controlled his alcoholism and his innermost demons through the help of his former girlfriend.

"She was too controlling," I was told by a fellow co-worker. "She was overbearing." "She didn't give him space to make any moves".

The reasons why she acted in such a manner became evident once I peered into his eyes this morning and saw through the false facade of hapiness. He was smiling and yet it was apparent that it was a lie honed after years and years of working in the very industry that exacerbates an innate affliction towards substance abuse.

I could see me: every instinct, every false desire to mask the pain, every excuse, every denial of my problems, of my hope to mask all fear as best I could. I knew they had broken up, not becasue I was told, but because he craved alcohol and drugs as a wolf craves the fresh blood of a deer during a winter famine. And it hurt. It hurt to know that without her he defaulted to the man he could not overcome, the dark, hurt human being who rebelled against emotional angst by destroying the emotional capacity of his mind through heavy sedation. And no one said anything or acted in his favor.

"Sometimes you just gotta face these things on your own," I was so wisely informed by a fellow employee of whom I otherwise respect. If, in fact, my friend in need were in his late teens or early twenties, enduring growing pains associated with self discovery, I'd file his actions under 'hoping he'll learn the hard way.' But this friend is in his late twenties and it's common knowledge amongst my fellow employees that he is an alcoholic. Not was or foremerly known as, HE IS and will always be no matter if he or anyone else denies it. He needs help. He needs guidance. He needs to know that running and hiding is not the answer and that he is harldy alone in this perpetual fight to overcome addiction as the only escape from a life chock full of hardship.

My God is it difficult to face fear and pain. Drinking is so much easier than standing tall and proud as your emotions rage violently, distorting and clouding all rational thought. Such feelings are not fleeting, they do not disappear by simply wishing upon a star. We are humans and we are flawed. We are a product of our environment, an environment that is not constant from person to person. Some are raised in love and yet cannot feel love, some are raised in confusion and manage to find a road out. Some of us are normal and do not comprehend the maddening feelings that surge through the mind incessantly, forcing one to act out of character and drown themselves in a bottle of whiskey and an eigth of mary-jane. And why do such people medicate in such extreme manners? Simply with the hopes of departing from the here and now, for NOW is what they hate, what they can't evade or escape.

It's difficult to walk a mile in another's shoes. The days are filled with so many distractions, so many people in need and so many mouths to feed that there's little time left to help every person that can't see the light through the fog. Antidepressants are the only reason that I've gained perspective on this concept. All too often ignorant people criticize those who choose medication as a means to an end. They scoff and accuse. They push their agenda on others when they in fact have no idea how bright the light of another's day may be. Antidepressants allowed me the ability to walk ten miles in my own shoes had I been born with a full serving of seratonin and smiles.

I imagine that antidepressants might help my alcoholic friend. I imagine that if he were to submerge himself in recovery he'd see that it wasn't his ex-girlfriend who stopped him from drinking, it was he. It was through her help but via his own control that he avoided the pitfalls of an innate desire to depart from reality through substance abuse. He, you, and I all have the power of active choice, the ability to make decisions which shape our future and define our past. And if we look past the stigma's, the judgements, the traditions and the ignorant opinions, and trust in the power of science and modern medicine and research and experience, we may come to the realization that we aren't right. Some people need a fire under their a$$ to see the light. Antidepressants have stoked the fire that long lay dormant under my a$$. I've chosen my poison and I've lived to tell about it. I hope that my friend can harvest hope from some deep chasm of his soul and realize that the answer lay not in a bottle of booze, an eighth of weed, or any other magic carpet ride, but rather in a calm, enlightened mind.

And I hope that he, as I, can find true, epic love. "Love sets us free," an opinion I hold near and dear as I reach a clearing in the fog. "Love sets us free."


Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”

Inspiration for the day

from the late great Mr. Fred Rogers:

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers-so many caring people in this world."

one can only hope that the caring people outnumber the egoists, the neerdowells, and the incapable.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

air conditioning. is it worth the $$$

Don't Get Me Wrong, If I'm acting so distracted...............

What a weekend here in the windiest of cities....temperatures soaring to record highs, the Sox dominating the Cubs, hadning them their asses on a platter, Taste of Chicago starting, Gay Pride to be expressed in every shade of the rainbow tomorrow, the Tribune displaying Tom Cruise's mid life crisis on the front page (excuse me Matt Lauer, I've done the research on anti-depressants, I know), the nation's box office numbers in a "slump" (although Batman Returns on IMAX kicks a$$), gas prices at astronomical levels, rock and roll blasting from my stereo courtesy of 93.1 WXRT
Somewhere through the sweltering temps and humidity, I can smell a revolution in the air. IPOD's are everywhere making everyone their own personal DJ as IZOD's making it's "return" on the backs of the trendiest and the prepiest. Society is changing, growing technologically dependent, becoming drones to corporate advertising, downloading and burning music to their heart's content, because we can, because we're a free society, because we don't have our heads up our a$$es...because we believe in freedom, in artistic expression, in Rock and Roll, in phat lofts and fast cars, in hapiness, in revolution.

In support of the troops stuck in the hell hole that is IRAQ......


enjoy the weather.

Friday, June 24, 2005

one foot in front of the other.

In learning what it means to pray, to learn how to pray……….(Fourth Presbyterian Church Daily Lenten Devotions)

Once you allow yourself to make a beginning, it’s a lot easier to keep going.

In learning how to manage money, to make money work for you……(Rich Dad, Poor Dad….Robert T. Kiyosaki)

Too often today, we focus on borrowing money to get things we want instead of focusing on creating money. One is easier in the short term but harder in the long term. It’s a bad habit that we as individuals and as a nation have gotten into. Remember, the easy road often becomes hard, and the hard road often becomes easy.

And here I am on a scorcher of Friday in June 2005, doing research on what it means to take the first step....hesitating to do just that. I suppose we've all been guilty of such procrastination in our lives.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

these are things that I don't understand.

i wake up every morning with a longing to set the world on fire with my myriad ideas and yet I chase very few of them, in fact I chase none except the continual fantasy that is Jobe's world.......who does have time, though? Who would have time to chase every end that materialized in an instant of supposed revelation and dissipated at the distraction of a phone call or a car drifting into my lane.......I'd love to chase a butterfly into the vast expanse, plunging into the chaos of a world outside of corporations and conglomerates, with only a pen in my hand and a notebook by my side, all life's events and travel taken in stride, discovering the future, uncovering the things I just don't understand.

Finished The Brother's Karamzov last night: a story of loss, jealousy, supposed retribution, brain fever, questions of god's existence, mother Russia, the galloping troika........too bad I didn't write more book reports as a child......faith sets us free from the bondage of human interactions....i can only imagine how different the book would be if DNA testing had been around to proove Dmitri's innocence....to prove that Smerdyakov was as big a bastard as Ivan knew him to be.....even the fantastical can be realistic if broken down into a chain of disparate events......and yet tainted opinions and collective judgement prevail as the will of the people, the people, one pawn falling/conceding to the will of another and so on and so forth until there can be no other way, man is guilty and shall be punished....ignorance is bliss, ignorance is ubiquitous.....

ignorant to my own stifling progress, stumbling face first through a past I fear to unearth.


Wednesday, June 22, 2005

a friend in need.....

the friend in need........
everyone, ... will be thanked later, for their group therapy, and support of me throughout this situation.
If I don't know those reasons (why he can't get over his ex), then I can't explain them... but, it's only sometimes when the feelings kick in.
My doctor friends associate those feelings with those of physical addiction.

the reply........
It’s anxiety…it boils up inside of you and takes control of your mind, you react in fear and temptation, the need to fulfill a desire to make it go away, maybe you should call her, or maybe you should drink and party and then call her, only at that point the fear turns to anger and you say things you mean but don’t mean, things that need to escape but probably should fall upon other ears, then you begin to think about her being intimate with another man and it sets your synapses on fire, you want to see her and prove that she is doing the wild things you’re thinking, it begins to drive you nuts, you get quiet around others, you turn inwards and it hurts, but you’re a man and you’re not supposed to feel this way, you’re supposed to control your emotions or release them physically………..and you wake up the next day and don’t feel any better about yourself or life…….

Eventually you see that the source of everything expressed above is your mind…….

As Aristotle says: I count him braver who conquers his desires than his enemies, for the greatest victory is victory over self.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

a portrait of the artist as a young mang

another favorite I took with the magic of digital photography.... entitled, simply: Child's Play?

the camera falls into my hands as Boris learns of the vagabond who lost his finger fighting a sea tortuga of the coast in South America Posted by Hello

in touch.

I've been in contact with her again over the past few days…my heart is reaching out to someone I pushed away so long ago for reasons beyond my control…"she's the perfect girl at the wrong time in my life," I used to say, jinxing myself from any complete connection with a woman I adored and loved yet loathed for her incessant need to tell white lies, to hide behind false facades of hapiness and wholeness, knowing all the while that she was scared and hurting. I was of no help, I was a mental wreck, a wretch, a drunk, an addict, wallowing in my own sorry because it was easy, because it was the only way to express the violent emotions that never stopped overwhelming my young and senseless mind…I was hurting and I was numb….I hurt her with my words and pushed her away when in fact all I wanted was to hold her closer to be closer to her than 200 or 2000 miles away, perpetually thinking about myself, my own problems, how I was so worse off than any other man in the world….were there reasons? Sure, there were reasons….I understand why I reacted as I did…I understand that whether or not it was preordained by some omniscent being, I was a timebomb set to explode, aggressively progressing my disposition through self medication, through EXSTACY, through believing that the fleeting sensations of synapses combusting in a surreal rush of seratonin bliss for 4 mind altering supposedly transcendent hours a $30 headfcuk, a fcuked up state of being and seeing through the fear and terror of life, were actually insightful, were able to be harnessed and did not in face exacerbate a depression that had been rising to the surface for years and years….terrifying inexplicable emotional terror released in two hour fits of grabbing at sheets and pillows, saturating fabric with waterfalls of tears…..I had no right to be the way I was to her…and I have no right to continue to correspond with her….only know someone I love dearly is struggling with emotional pain on a level I understand and she's young, vulnerable, and lost……..I need insight from the girl I once loved to help save a girl I want to see grow to be a successful, fullfilled, happy woman. Full circle, not quite….growth…probably, hopefully, with a burgeoning faith and a blind hope, I prepare to wield a sword not yet forged to begin my training….to save another….

"what can I say, I'm good"

The night went off without a hitch…….she was as snug as a bug in a persian rug atop my lap in Mrs. P's new pre-certified BMW complete with halogen lights to light the precarious New Year's Eve road to yet another congregation of close aquaintences…My freshly purchased Playboy shirt, a campy attempt to set myself apart from the ubiquitos guidoesque gear soon to greet me, um excuse me sir, did Gadzooks just have a closeout sale?

But everybody knows me here, I'm comfortable, her presence justifies the years and years of turning down so many opportunities with all the wrong girls. Their reactions only solidify the thought that she is definitely the girl for me, not necessarily the one, but the one for right now. "Damn, is that Jobe's date? How the hell did he pull that one off." In a vague reply of a confident politician, "What can I say, I'm good." They didn't understand then, though, as they don't understand now. And why should one expect them to understand the fear that had always resonated throughout every decision, every step of my life. Fear that was soon to metamorphasize into a madness that would envelop the next four years of our promising lives together. "Five, four, three, two, one…………..Happy New Year…" A passionate kiss on the lips, two youths lost in the promise of discovering one another on such a momentous evening, naïve of the grand prize that would be presented in a mere two hours to one unlucky contestant.

Monday, June 20, 2005

what goes around comes around

i experienced a random act of violence this weekend first hand...it's sickening....to have the poison that is hatred boil from the depths of someone's soul in an instant, a flash, without any premonition, without any rational thought for no reason other than to take revenge for having rubbed shoulders the wrong way with another. and the perpetrator acted as a dog that knew it had done something wrong, something for which it was going to be punished, he cowered as I strongarmed him, leading him from the dance floor, the scene of the crime...yet all I could do was escort him out the front door, both his arms secured by a solid grip, a grip not of justice or retribution, but of feigned strength......I could not think clearly in the face of violence...I could not comprehend what would provoke a man to break a bottle over the head of another as his back was turned, as he was enjoying a night out on the town, I could not bring hatred or a need for retribution out of me for my anger was softened by too much medication.....I could only stand, dumbfounded, as he ran for "freedom" once I allowed him to cross the threshold of the front door and released him to the city streets.......I believe in KARMA: Hinduism & Buddhism. The total effect of a person's actions and conduct during the successive phases of the person's existence, regarded as determining the person's destiny. Someone will control his fate, his destiny....at some point, justice will be had, his actions will catch up with him, his errant behavior, whether or not it is a result of his poor upbringing, will lead him to temptation and deliver him directly to evil, and he will know fear, and it will be no one's fault but his own.

open up your eyes........

I saw an interwoven web of events, linked as if in a movie or a story, planned and revealed through my intuition and through fate, time, and the progression of entropy…

I saw the movie Closer and was in awe, inspired.....awe-inspired....shocked....moved..left wanting more...(Natalie Portman...Julia Roberts...Clive Owen....Jude Law...what a cast...would have loved to see the stage production)

I discovered that I am of a generation of whiners

I fell back into bad habits

I couldn’t fall asleep until 1 AM this morning

I’m happy.

I’m alive.

I’m not alone.

Neither are you.

Friday, June 17, 2005


Everything happens for a reason? Not necessarily. We find reasons to justify life's events. As we tend towards using these reasons as stepping stones rather than as excuses, we begin to grow and hopefully prosper.
I didn't always understand this, I wasn't always aware of this concept. Neither is important in explaining that when it's our natural instinct in a time of unworldly pleasure and unworldly pain, we either moan in a state of ecstasy or drop to our knees in an act of penitence and speak his name. "Oh god, I'm going to........"

And as you fill in the blank the meaning of life becomes evident.....Am I in and out of love, overstressed, or unsure of the circumstances in which I find myself? Do I believe, can I acheive, how should I perceive......

......Does god love me? Is he a vengeful god, or
is the vengance self induced? Is the world out to get me or am I out to get the world? Am I going to cum, am I going to die, or am I going to fall off the face of the Earth: consumed by consumption, headed towards destruction, a pawn in the perilous fight for
life and land, love and lust, hatred and retribution, procreation, recreation, and isolation. Begin, end, fall a little bit further away from the center of yourself and rediscover what's been hiding all along, just an inch below the epidermis of the shell you've built with the bricks of tradition, experience, and influence.

what is my 1 plan?

what a tough question...i don't know that I have one......maybe that's the problem....or maybe it's not a problem...lately my plan has been to read......to observe....to take notes and pictures....to wallow in my own sorrow for too long....to search endlessly for a ms. right....to implement my college degree....to daydream...to let drinking and eating catch up with me.....to not have much of a plan.....to talk a lotta talk.....to complain......to write about absolutely nothing for no reason.

what is my one plan

the subject of a novel in motion.....................................?


Thursday, June 16, 2005

stuck in square one

I don’t have much to say today…the clouds may change but I continue to float in a raft of indecision, watching speed boats blow by me, desiring less and less to be on their path, to endure the wrath of the power struggle…the monotonous thrill ride of cheating others out of money for the sake of bettering my position in society…but I’m painting with a wide stroke..in fact I’m not painting at all, I’m writing….simply carrying on, much ado about nothing….so much terror and pain exists in our world…so many stories to be told to publishing houses and sold……beach reads and fresh leads…only if it bleeds…..an yet I don’t have much to say today. An Arlington Virginia husband, at this very moment, is watching over his 26 year old wife whose brain stopped functioning all of a sudden due to an undiscovered brain tumor. The USA Today article describes their competing against each-other in Monopoly and her victory dance whenever she’d “walk all over” her husband, their 2 year old son asking “where’s mommy,” his having quit his job to be by her, as well as his other relatives who have taken ill. His only hope is that the 21 week old baby she is carrying will survive another month, a symbol of her flame which is soon to be extinguished…..and was it not for modern medicine the candle would have been blown out by the breath of God. I could digress to a thousand different perspectives on this story and its symbolic representation of human resolve in adversity, the impact of science and medicine on our view of religion and everything happening for a reason, reasons why living and loving in the moment are so vital to our stories….but I can’t. I’ve to distract my mind with work, because work pays the bills so I can live, breed, retire, and die…..having climbed some type of ladder, having saved a bit of money, having taken a couple weeks vacation a year, having rinsed, washed, and repeated my soul until I’m completely worn out and broken, incontinent and finally able to read and write and travel and experience the Glory of God….if in fact (s)he even exists………god be with that man, his wife, his unborn baby, and their two year old son.


Wednesday, June 15, 2005

i wonder if anyone will read this....

The dream last night was intense. Leesa was the object of my affection and we were both lost and thriving off each other’s attention. She was radiant, with a timeless breathtaking beauty reminiscent of the actresses of old Hollywood: a kitty kat with the raw sexual energy of Natlie Wood the je ne sais quoi of Audrey Hepburn and the elegance and grace of Vivien Leigh. Oh how the paparazzi adored her, their camera’s fixated, flashing, exploding with praise and adoration….following her every move across the carpet…and yet my the collective camera was my gaze, my focus, my reality.

We were in attendance of an awards show with Uma Thurman and Kelly Preston, Meg Ryan and an Asian Stella McCartney. For a larger portion of the reverie, Leesa’s love for me was evident in her persistent acknowledgement of my being. One might describe the chemistry as the type of innocent youthful love where the fires of passion were stoked by the urge allow two to become one, physically, emotionally, mentally, playfully, as children do, rolling in the grass, locked in a daze, in a sacred dance, completely ignorant of all around us.

And yet the vision pivoted around a point that escapes my immediate memory. A sort of otherworldly reality set in, one which I’ve become so accustomed to in the daily gear grinding doldrums of life and the pursuit of happiness. In an eager attempt to ensure that she understood my infinite desire to hold her heart in my hands, I attempted a casual kiss, the type that says I love you not because it accompanies pomp and circumstance, but because it follows a glance or a laugh in which the moment wraps your heart in a blanket of warmth through which no thought of past or future can distract……locked in a Kodak sort of moment, time stopping for an instant, an expression of connectedness, of love, sealed with a tender, unexpected kiss. Instead of her lips, I was greeted with her left cheek. No longer did she love me and no longer were we together.

My entire life in an abstraction reminiscent of a Tuesday afternoon Lifetime made for TV movie. Only the struggle is completely one sided, the product of years and years of worries and fears, lost hopes and waterfalls full of tears. The manifestation of that perpetual mental battle I fight, in which I try and love those who take me for a joke or who don’t seem at all interested in that which I have to say. Maybe a large part of the problem lay in the fact that I place too much stock in others when others are just as flawed and as human as I. Or maybe there just isn’t that physical attraction, or I don’t have a large enough bank account, or my hair’s too long, my teeth too discolored, my mind and disposition too, well, different.

All too often friends confront me with, “you think too much,” as if I’m supposed to turn my mind off, take a break as I did in college by smoking away and stalling the onslaught of maddening thought and worry, never able to slow down, forever in a hurry. But thinking seems to be what I was born to do: to think and to analyze. To occupy my days dissecting that which grabs my ever fleeting attention. For so many years I’ve run from this turbulent state of emotional overload. It’s such a lonely state of being when one is best suited as being an observer who documents his inexperience for no one to read. Doubt has always existed deep in the confines of my immature mind. It’s hard to say whether this doubt is an innate flaw out of which I will never escape, or if it was a product of my tumultuous youth. A rather large part of me wants to the peark of a mountain and scream until I release all the negativity I allowed be absorbed from the “positive” influences of my youth: a grandfather who hated my father and who tainted his discipline towards me with visions of a man who I will never become. A father who was delusional, abusive, immature and unmotivated, who kidnapped me from the grasp of an innocent and loving mother for an entire fear filled month. A stepfather with whom I’ve yet to connect after 19 years of his having been married to my mother (and yet to whom I owe much of my scholastic success).

Forever focusing on the influence of my youth on the days and minutes passing by at the speed of life is quickly becoming a depressing bad habit. Why worry? I’ve finally begun to reach a state of self worth unlike I’ve ever known. Two years ago at this EXACT moment, I was informing my ex-girlfriend that I was walking the streets of San Francisco in hopes of finding a bus in front of which I could jump and extinguish the fires of mental hell which burned incessantly for months from which it was impossible to escape.
And now I’m on the road to success again. The only hurdles I see are debt for which I can work endlessly to discard and a hazy view of how I can best escape a conversion into a corporate drone.

So I’m off to begin my day at 4:00 in the afternoon. Kathy saw the real “drunk” me last night. Jamie has two pieces of my work. Barrett and Ben and Paul know I can, in fact, throw down some panty dropping beats. Nate and Jeremiah, Shannon and Rachel, Rashid and Timmah are all about to discover that I can go cold turkey on weed. Lust has begun to drive my mind towards thoughts of satisfaction through the touch of another and tomorrow is my first date in two months. All in all, I’d say it’s a good life.

Sunny and beautiful.
Hungover in the Park in Lincoln Square.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Dostoyevsky inspires 3 mots du jour


A celestial being having three pairs of wings.

seraphim Christianity. The first of the nine orders of angels in medieval angelology.
mentioned in Isa. 6:2, 3, 6, 7. This word means fiery ones, in allusion, as issupposed, to their burning love. They are represented as "standing" above theKing as he sat upon his throne, ready at once to minister unto him. Their formappears to have been human, with the addition of wings


The vault or expanse of the heavens; the sky

from the Vulgate firmamentum, which is used as the translation of the Hebrew_raki'a_. This word means simply "expansion." It denotes the space or expanselike an arch appearing immediately above us. They who rendered _raki'a_ byfirmamentum regarded it as a solid body. The language of Scripture is notscientific but popular, and hence we read of the sun rising and setting, andalso here the use of this particular word. It is plain that it was used todenote solidity as well as expansion. It formed a division between the watersabove and the waters below (Gen. 1:7). The _raki'a_ supported the upperreservoir (Ps. 148:4). It was the support also of the heavenly bodies (Gen.1:14), and is spoken of as having "windows" and "doors" (Gen. 7:11; Isa. 24:18;Mal. 3:10) through which the rain and snow might descend.


The highest reaches of heaven, believed by the ancients to be a realm of pure fire or light.

The abode of God and the angels; paradise.

The sky.

Of or relating to the empyrean of ancient belief
adj 1: of or relating to the sky or heavens; "the empyrean sphere" [syn: empyreal] 2: inspiring awe; "well-meaning ineptitude that rises to empyreal absurdity"- M.S.Dworkin; "empyrean aplomb"- Hamilton Basso; "the sublime beauty of the night" [syn: empyreal, sublime] n : the apparent surface of the imaginary sphere on which celestial bodies appear to be projected

Monday, June 13, 2005

really, I have no idea what I'm talking aboot.

I’m very much at peace right now. As much as one can be for having drank enough to kill a small elephant. Drinking like a fish when in fact a fish doesn’t drink. My head hurts, my writing is shoddy, my mind is not functioning on the straight and narrow and yet I’m at peace. I took a chance for once in a great while. I saw what I wanted and went for it. Granted my nerve endings were alight with fear. My mind was racing, I was hardly on point when trying to tell stories and yet I went ahead full speed. Whether or not I talk to Ansley again isn’t the point. That I remained focused, that I’m not sitting on the beach pouting or wondering if only, that I’ve made a mark on time and learned about another, a southern belle with an accent and a gumption for success that could make me wobbly in the knees, is the lesson learned. I’m not always right, I don’t always know the answer, I’m not perfect, my writing and my thoughts and my life need work. I’m easily distracted, I’m in love with the world and with life, I’m crazy yet sane. I’m a juxtaposition of ten thousand different ideas and concepts. I’m typing for no reason other than I feel I’ve something to say. I’ve so many interests and visions that life becomes extremely difficult to manage on any given Sunday, yet someday I will have discovered the feeling associated with infinite love so well that I will fear nothing. Not death. Not hurt. Not anger or temptation. I will have found my rock and will have built my church on it. I will understand that the delusions of grandeur which plagued my father can be harvested for all they’re worth even if they’ve no market value. How could they or why should they? Is the market not in an ever expanding state of disarray? My words are solid as granite. They have been spoken. Of course they’ll fade into the distance, becoming lost amongst a sea of nothingness. Of course no one might read and reread them other than my self. Of course they contain no great insight into anything other than my fcuked up mind. And yet the fact that I won’t have to worry about not having spoken my mind is priceless.

Whoisjobe.blogspot.com is not a sham. It’s not important to me that society has already confined the definition of a web log to a box with a proper definition, concept, and idea (political commentary). Journals have been documented since the invention of the written word. They are an important insight into the human condition. They allow us to know ourselves and the ones we love. Putting my journal online for anyone to see is my goal. I could care less if I only have two people reading as I know I can trust Nicole to continue reading in suspense. Writing is an exercise in which I need much work and yet I, for once, welcome the work which lay ahead in the years and hours until I end up dead, a fire extinguished in the blink of an eye. Releasing my thoughts is the only way for me to streamline and visualize mistakes, trends, penchants and meaning. Why this has only recently begun to make sense is amazing and beautiful. I truly could be sleeping with the fishes now but I’m not.

I believe in sentiment, in family, in growing as people, in uncovering and exposing every intricate detail of god’s infinite love.

I’m preaching and I’m teaching myself to live on planet earth. I’m not normal.

I am a direct descendant of Job.

I will understand.

I will love.

I will grow.

I will inspire and I will perspire, I will hurt and I will fear. I will be deceived, I will wonder and I will continue to live through blunder after glorious blunder. When the time comes for my number to be called, I’ll man up and accept that God is calling me.

I will shower my friends and family with love and insight. I will listen to their troubles. With them lodged deep in the depths of a singed heart I will pass through the sands of time…the melody of life aligning in rhythm and rhyme.

I will learn to ignore ignorance or file it under never.

People aren’t perfect and neither am I.

This is my creed.

This is my future.

whoisjobe? One Man, One Plan.

therein lies the rub.

It’s difficult to think of oneself as gifted or inspirational, especially when that oneself is moi…therein lies the rub, the reason why I struggle with so much doubt and uncertainty, why I’ve attained much yet feel as if I’ve grown little. I’m an engineer and an artist, although I give myself credit for being neither. I am not whining, merely observing recurring threads in my young life. There’s so much I want to learn and do and be and see that I end up do nothing, stagnating and wallowing in self induced loneliness, stoking the fires of a bad mood in a sadistic attempt to inflict sadness and madness. But this blog is a start. It might be art. It might even be an insight into something of consequence. Therapy, out in the open, an open book for you and me to see. The absurd thoughts, the silly doubts, the lust for something greater than myself for myself and others, brothers and sisters from other mothers. Whether one, or two, or none care to read, it’s still a step in the write direction. So thanks for your thoughts and thanks for putting up with my raves. As trite as the saying is, the best way to get er done is to, well, Just Do It.


(I had to take a two minute break from work which has become more endurable now that it’s summer in the city.)

Friday, June 10, 2005

move this line here, shift that line there, rinse, wash, repeat

what drives one towards a paradigm shift?

what slaps a man in the face screaming wake up, now, your time has come.

it's time to embark on a crusade

it's time to stop settling for the norm

let them be

escape on a path running in tandem, parallel with the present yet diverging towards an entirely different future.

the answers are not clear

an opaque monotony visible in the mirror to my left

to my right, perspiration saturates a dimension I can't quite make out

what drives a man to wake up?

what drives a man to write?

le mot du jour

ingenuous \in-JEN-yoo-uhs\, adjective: 1. Demonstrating childlike simplicity; innocent; naive. 2. Free from reserve, restraint, or guile; open; frank.

It's a bit ingenuous to offer information to a reporter with a notebook in her hand and then expect not to be quoted. --Sadie Mah, "Quoting an interviewee," [1]Jakarta Post, September 17, 1999

In a sense, I'd like to maintain an ingenuous approach towards the creation of this blog site.

I strolled into work this morning and was greated with frustrated faces again. 3 out of 5 employees counting down the endless hours until freedom, until 5 o'clock on Friday afternoon. Nothing like the dull drone of computers in a poorly lit office to cheer ya up on a steaming June day.

There's a contest I've been pondering entrance to. The goal, to write an essay on what it means to be twenty something. Such a difficult topic due to the fact that being 20 something means many things to many people of all cultures, races, and dispositions. I've led such an obscure 25 years as an outsider/observer. How do I create an essay that is so seemless in its approach yet revolutionary in its concepts and ideas while handling the topic well enough to paint a spectrum to which the 20 something children of the world can relate?

I'm working on that, or actually I'm not, but I fool myself into thinking I am by, well, thinking about it. A goal and a plan, that's the first step.


Thursday, June 09, 2005

mon pere est disparu

mon pere est disparu
25 years of soul searching
begging for a clue

an answer from god that his existence was true
truly on my side….24 hours a day my invisible guide
through a terrain filled with anxiety, a unified fear
hopelessness saturating the world
escaping through a single, unified tear

a tear shed through countless hours and years of dread
dreading the days which lay ahead
a religious war fought on two banks god’s focus instead?

yet I longed and hoped that all my delusions were dreams

fighting, and crying, falling apart at the seams…
when life seemed unbearable, a commodity I was willing to sell, escaping anxiety

which burned intense as the fires of hell

….none of this makes any fcuking sense,

I hate myself, I hate the pain, my grip on reality forever fading through delusions,
illusions, manifestations of a manic depressive mind…….
"Be proud of yourself, son, you are in fact one of a kind"
A kind of man, which no one can stand, when lost in a perpetual reverie
synapses misfiring

flooding the straight and narrrow
through inattention's demands.

Demands of me which no one can see…."it's gonna be alright you just wait"…for who, for you to save me from this state of being

Hiding and running and fighting and seeing
the devil's wrath disguised in a dream, a youth with only seconds to live
the world to give
one jump, one last dance………..incinerated, never able to express
a heart burning and yearning, soaked with passion.

forever fading in and out of fashion
impassioned from inception, merely a seed
empowered to save his day, in a galiant way…

the way of a knight penetrating a dense fog of terror
wielding scientific and religious might.
could have, should have, would have, right?

Write and rewrite every wrong, a voice for millions to stand strong and fight
to rise above an absence of light
no longer left to forage for salvation

a pool deep inside an infinite forest of fright
relieve and believe
in themselves, their dreams and the goals they will achieve

…from the 40 yard line with a card hidden up their sleeve
.....once decieved by satan,
lead towards a dominion of desperation,
escaping through medication and therapy,
embracing flight gliding with the wings of a dove whose flight carries me out of perpetual night
towards a celestial utopia, a land of rivers devoid of fright, yours, mine, soaring closer to cloud number nine

The apple never falls far from the tree

when corruption destroys purity, destiny navigating the tumultuous seas

….a reason to happy existence didn’t exist when devoted to drugs and booze
wake up, you've the world to lose……at the tips of your finger….depression destined to reside and linger.

30 miles in the distance, a clearing, silently hearing, fearing, and

nearing the eternal light
through hope and love with caution and
trust, understanding, forever demanding to be lost in a rapturous
…..I must return to me, an ability to see
to hear the ominous call, a knock on the door
….timshel, mychoice, choose life over strife, but I've one more millisecond to stall
……to stagnate and fall
A Fall from grace, off the golden gate bridge my life forever erased…when all I longed for was the comfort of an embrace…..the voice of god, redemption for the entire human race…….
No more.

I can't take it.
I can't understand.
I'm merely a man
One in a billion grains of sand
passing through the sands of time
my battle, my struggle
aligning in the melody of a rhyme
For now is the beginning. the end no longer a worry
hurry and run
your life has just begun.
When two infuse.
As sanity falls over one.

carpe vita

Also known as "sieze life".....

Carpe Diem, Carpe Noctem, Carpe Vita.......live, love, grow to know which way to go, steering clear of sorrow, evolving (in my case, stubborn and slow)

Emysubel strikes again: "Look at the sky - it is different every single day, and our lives are meant to be like that. You have much to live for - seize the day! Carpe diem! "

I have to say that is one of the most inspirational quotes I've heard in awhile. How true, how very true, and how well it sums up my mind......

Every year I change the quote I sign my emails with....

last year it was Nietschze: "One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star."

this year it's a simple quote from Ben Hawkins, the embodiment of a Jesus type character on the magnificent and captivating Carnivale: "Everything's impossible, till it ain't."

Emysubel's quote deserves a spot on my food pour les penses list......

Grazi Emysubel

I'd write much more but I need to bill hours here...the path is revealing itself....just west of center, east of eden, slightly ahead and to the left of comfortable.

where's my nook?

Since no one is really reading this, I'm going to whine again.

Who gives a shit about becoming a millionare if in the chase for the corporate dollar one sacrifices their mind, body, family, dreams, and soul. Holy crap, literally, would that be a nightmare. How much fun to be incontinent by the time I can finally enjoy the fruits of my labour.

*note to self*

.....i'll have to finish this thought later....the monotony and rigidness of my full time job combined with the maddening knowledge that this will not change (and only become more of a pounding headache) are beginning to drive a lust for the pursuit of writing as a definite hobby and not just an outlet for my perpetually distracted (and sometimes repetitive mind)...

*end of note*

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

by the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings

In the big rock candy mountain

I'm a kid again only this time I'm not burdened with worry, I'm not always in a hurry to scurry and run to hide from fun constantly focusing on me as number one, the most difficult of differential equations, a problem to solve, absolve me of this quick.

I must be blessed. I'm typing away in the comfort of my 2000sf loft (rented), overlooking the entire skyline of Chicago, steel and lights, fireworks exploding in the distance, a soft breeze of cool air conditioned air brushing past my sore legs, $120 headphones broadcasting Down from the Mountain, cell phone at my side, medicine in the cabinet, a turntable (one of a pair, although I've not fully chased the dj'ing dream due to overwhelming anxiety and a perpetually distracted mind, if you can't already tell, although I've been told I'm not half bad........). My car sits on the street, leatherette heated seats, 1.8 turbo engine, powered moonroof, tip-tronic transmission, get up and go, all the bells and whistles, 0 to 60 for only $200 something bucks a month.

Someone's looking out for me, JC, a former agnostic whose mind tends to run and run and run, travelling down three highways that split into 6 that split into 9 divided by 3 equals one fcuked up ride......thank the lord for the power of lexapro to soothe the synapses, seratonin flooding my overwhelmed mind, laying the terror gently to sleep while still allowing the soldier an ability to play, if I could find the girl for whom I'm searching tomorrow if not today.

I'm powering through the Brother's Karamazov, gaining perspective of 19th century Russia, the overwhelming power of jealousy and greed, a search for God and meaning in life....basically concepts which percolate through my mind on any given Sunday as I long and hope for Monday to be forever deleted from the work week.

And I'm not so much alone right now. It's most likely the Wellbutrin I added to my daily regimen. I trust in the power of science, as the years progress, to uncover and discover methods in treating the depressives, those whose minds have been corrupted by some kind of devil, leading them out of the perilous path towards taking their own lives, uncovering a golden path out, onward and upward.

I long for a kiss
for a soft kiss from a tender soul and a gentle pair of lips
would lead many out of the dark cover
of tryst
as two souls connect

(or something like that)


Ciao Bella.


who is emysubel?

Not sure, but thanks for all the positive feedback.........

and here I thought the book was open

and yet no one cared to read.

back 2 the daily grind.

"Is this what work is going to be like 10, 20, or even 30 years from now," I shouted over the stall, hoping to gain insight from a man 25 years my senior.

"Same old bullshit, different day," he replied with a short laugh and a sigh.

20 years of this, no way, impossible, even if I've a fat 401K.


not me.
why she must be kidding....
I'm shackled and chained, surely far from free.

free to see and free to be, young and in love without a care burdening me...
it's been 25 years since I fell from the apple tree, a seed of knowledge lost in a tumultuous sea........

discovering power and harvesting hope
longing for lust and the return of passion
to survive
and inspire
answers locked in a chest
to which I’VE BEEN bestowed the key

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

a bit 2 stressed out.

All this commotion needs to be released or I’m going to go mad.

Welcome back to the grind, the daily rut, stuck, hoping for another chance at romance or at falling in love with being free

To see and comment on the human condition

The road to perdition

Exposure to myriad of “different” cultures and traditions

I’m supposed to submit my body and mind to hour after monotonous, arduous hour of work.

I should be happy that I’m not stuck making $4.50 a day, working for next to nothing, being treated as nothing, having little opportunity, being forced to become cargo in a human traffic ring in which greed and death prevail

I should be happy I have health care and paid vacation.

I should treasure these moments, my coworkers, yearly raises, a chance to escape from a poorly lit office

I should be working now.

all inclusive

It’s not altogether unusual that this trip materialized as such: 8 days in Puerto Vallarta with Pico and the Books, possibly staying at a three star hotel, all inclusive, for less than 50 bucks a night.

“All inclusive?” I asked Pico, incredulous that such a deal could be obtained.

“All you can drink and eat from 10 AM to 10 PM for less than 50 bucks a man. A triple,” Pico replied, eager to arrive so as to molest this deal for all it’s worth. “We’ll drink 40 bucks in beer in the first hour we’re there.”

We share a laugh and a sly smile, acknowledging that this could very well be the case. A case or two of beer, consumed with the intentions of releasing the pressures and anxieties associated with “growing up” twenty something in the world today.

(A world filled with doubt and uncertainty, surprisingly though, when society has is more advanced and connected than at any point in history. Cell phones double as personal stereos, virtual mailboxes, weather stations, 3 megapixel cameras, televisions, two way radios with a nation’s reach. Soon enough humans will carry their entire lives in a gadget the size of a pack of gum. )

Security was a breeze. We coasted through without incident. Neither Pico nor I had to submit to George Bush’s presidential prodding of our posteriors although something tells me Jeff would have enjoyed a 300 lb black man checking to see if my young friend had smuggled contraband in the bad place.

And the jet engines hum along, and the pixie haired stewardess has returned to take our coffee cups, and I’m peering over the seat in front of me. Meet Amber Avirill, a beauty of about 5’9”, impeccably dressed for the occasion. A fresh white wife beater over which a brown long sleeved top is tied in a bow just below her bosom. Her toenails are freshly painted, her lips full and soft, her hair luminous as a Pantene Pro V commercial, with freshly shaven legs peaking out just below denim capris. I first spotted her in the terminal. Of course her beauty was striking. She was traveling alone with two bags and a khaki satchel, sitting down just a row away. As she pulled out her apparently fresh leather journal and began writing, I was stunned, awestruck. A girl who’s compelled to write, if only I could learn every detail,…the who’s, where’s, and why’s of her story.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Soundtrack, The Willowz, I Wonder.

My songs, they mean things to me, even if you can’t see..and I wonder if it could be the same, if it could be the same.

I wonder about all the commotion in my mind. I try to write about the trip, but it feels as if it’s forced. Big whip, there’s a beautiful woman sitting in front of me, apparently intelligent, well put together, organized and most likely from a good upbringing, unless of course I’m the only one who is struck by her spreading out her paper dinner napkin on her lap before digging into the Salisbury steak. She’s watching Bridget Jones Diary, The Edge of Reason and I’m wondering what to write and wondering why it is I have no gumption to bother her, to ask her what her interests are, who she be’s with, things that make her smile, what numbers to dial. And yet this is all practice.

Or is it? I’m not going to find the yin to my yang, the south to my north, the Angelina to my Brad if I don’t man up on this vacation. Luckily I’m traveling with “one of the girls” and Books, aka Borskin, aka the Hungarian Hot Buttered Love aka Sex Books aka Marta aka da Trees, aka “Are You Warshing”, aka the most foreign sexual closet pimp white socks with sandals wearing eddie van halen wanna be nicest guy when he’s not frustrated guy I’ve ever met. Books is a guy who I could call out of the blue, stuck in a rut, desperately in need of help and help would materialize. His intentions are true, his mind is focused, his future is certain, certainly filled with abundance as he gravitates towards positivity, not deterred by the devil’s playground….although we’ll have to see about that these next 9 days.

Monday, June 06, 2005

living in america

so I'm back in town.

and I'm rested albeit tired

I'm ready to start to change for the better, for the greater good

I'm ready for serendipity to work it's magic

I've forged stronger bonds with close friends

I've indulged my appetite for the past 10 days.

Summer in Chicago is staring me straight in the face

A sexy vixen with a heart of gold and a good head on her shoulders

A sweet future

I'm about to embrace

(and lame poetry too, hey whaddya want, I'm tired and wired from flying all day.)


Wednesday, June 01, 2005

met a sweet georgia peach.....

a glimpse into the workings of a trip in Mexico..an escape from reality while the reality of my morals are tested.......

I’ll probably never see her again. The sweet Georgia peach whose lips I was within inches of as we grasped to hold each other tighter. For me it was a grasp of understanding, acknowledgement that she was a woman of whom I had gained an understanding. I felt a certain trust existed, and trust, as I had indicated at the pool earlier that day, was the basis of a strong foundation, a tower, the peak of which is the distribution of a family seed. I’ve not known my real father since I was four years of age. I am a child of divorce in a society that condones divorce as a “way out.” And why not? We have free speech. We have the constitutional right to do what we want when we want it, as long as it’s in the realm of civil law. Yet moral law is a free for all. It would have been against my morals to act on temptation, to have shown her that the French indeed do understand love and lust. And yet I’m not of that variety of man. That’s the fcuking struggle. I am not a player in any way shape or form. I can not live with myself knowing that I am the source of strife in another person’s relationship. Nothing good can come from cheating, from giving into temptation.

And yet it could all be bullshit. My morals could lead me to nowhere but solitude. People question whether I have faith. I have faith that I’m making the correct decisions because that’s how I was raised. If a relationship is not working, break it. Move on. Then chase lust for another.

I’m drunk and I’m a mess. I’m unlike others and it seems to have taken a quarter of a lifetime to come to this realization. I want so badly to love and be loved but I’m so afraid. I’m afraid of abandonment. I’m afraid that my love will be trivial to another. That although I work hard to obtain what I lust for in life, I don’t have the gene in my DNA which allows me to throw my brethren under the bus. And I’m always the one going home alone. And I’m always the nice guy, the complicated one who’ll listen to anything they have to say, stand for being accused of being gay, try to provide advice for as many friends I can and expect nothing in return. It’s an odd philosophy in today’s age. Maybe it’s an odd philosophy for any age. Maybe this holding out is all for naught.

How the fcuk am I supposed to figure that out? There has to be a fcuking path. There has to be a way.

I’m fcuking tired,

I want to indulge and play.

What does it feel like to be twenty five? It’s horrible. I’m alone. I work until I’m more fatigued than I could have ever imagined. I make money and yet perpetually chase happiness. I believe in true love and yet search in all the wrong places. I want to understand what it means to be holy and yet I fear cults. I fear mass gatherings of narrow minded people. I want to find the answers on my own, or with my female partner in crime.

“I’d like to give you a piece of advice,” she whispered in his ear, sweat dripping from both their bodies as about fifty gyrating teenagers danced about. His heart was racing, he was nervous, she was sending so many mixed signals that he couldn’t read. It wasn’t as if he had any intentions in meeting her out. Being greeted by the girl he’d grown to know in three short days was all he had hoped for. Seeing her out of the element in which their conversations had flourished was sure to produce some laughs, possibly even some insight into whether she was dangerous on the dancefloor.

He wiped his brow again and again with his search as she began to explain…..
“The guy always leads, a guy should be strong and confident.”

His heart was beginning to race, the anxiety medicine had long worn off. He was a victim of his own racing consciousness. There was no doubting he was strong. Although the indolence of ten days in paradise had set in, the outlines of a former fitness were still visible. Confidence was another story altogether. How could he be confident? Trusting others was the most difficult battle he had fought his entire life. From the young days of his delusional father, verbally abusive grandfather, on through his step father who attempted to help but was only driven to vice from his inability to understand why nothing would help this young boy see the light and change for the better. All his understanding of life was passed on by the women he loved and trusted. He was protective, although almost to the point of being controlled by jealousy. Women were sacred creatures. Men had a tendency to walk all over them, to think they were superior. I’ve seen a similar attitude. Racism. I’m better than you when in all actuality we’re all victims of consequence. Luck may be the residue of good design, but good design is the result of chance, of being born to a healthy family, with a strong gene profile, and enough cash to keep one from falling into poverty.

There exist so many issues in this world that chasing after a woman who’s already contemplating marriage with her boyfriend will produce nothing but frustration.

I was tempted. I’m not sure whether or not I could have made a move.

I didn’t and now I’m writing this letter to no one for no reason whatsoever.

It’s all a bunch of hot air.

It’s my mind on booze.

Timshel…time to choose.