It feels like time is spinning and spinning and I’m choked up to the neck with my day job but I’m on intellectual and creative fire. But today, Miles Davis and wine and reminiscing over some old writing circa October 2019.
I, too, have to act like a man to perform at my job. The forcible self-erasure across multiple dimensions is unfortunately a thing that many people have to live with.
There were a few crazy moments as I busted ass but I saved my senior, impressed the partner and got told I’m a beast.
(It’s almost kind of a pity to have said “I audited a $10b project at 25” and then go home to write LSD fuelled novels lmaoooo but what can I do a soul is a soul)
Onward.
In times of most pressure and dread I flourish the most creatively in writing. When everything’s bright and sunny I like to paint. It’s the in between that I despite the most.
The fact that the last person I talked to on a Saturday night is my coworker as we try and figure out journal entries says something about my life lmao. I see the downtown people still managing lives and then I realize that at the surrey office nearly everybody works til midnight every day (my team took turns getting sick, senior was in the hospital last year) and this has me questioning if there’s actually something wrong with this office, not just Big 4 ...?? I talked to a downtown senior about our jobs and she was like “they make you fight so hard just to get the job done” ... Like I haven’t seen ANY of my friends for three weeks. I haven’t run or worked out for two whole weeks cause we were literally counting in minutes. It’s legitimately depressing.
dark skin of a summer shade, madras south indian cafe, black muscle tee
sweet sativa mix - let’s call him SoCal for now ...
You know what actually kills me the most though, you know someone since you were both very young, so well that your souls once lapsed to the point that they remember what you forget, then fifteen years later you exchange cordial greetings as two separate couples at some gala. Because of the rules of society you can’t ever be as free as you were once you turn into adults. And getting any closer - reverting back to the form of children - constitutes as emotional cheating.
Idk why I wrote all this just now looking at a bunch of pictures of the ocean ...
I drove and drove today, until old tenement houses turned into the clouds overhanging in front of the mountains. Light flashing down the suspension cables of a bridge. I love my aloneness, even if I’m not. The only experience lives in aloneness.
I’m gonna learn art appraisal and pull off a new chapter in europe, then a new LIFE.
When my coworkers complain and I act professionally, but I actually wanna say “it’s ok man, you need to eat but I need to live a life.”
Driving in thick blanketed snow in the Canadian suburbia to old man Dariush crooning his sad sad songs is a mood
5 yrs turned just like THAT.
someone out there misses your soul, but you don’t even have time for yourself ....
Michael Kiwanuka makes for such great brainstorming music.
In 2021-22, I’d like to write about a social climbing, sociopathic Chinese gatsby at the turn of mid 2000s Shanghai. Glittering, glamorous, and insidiously dark and satiric.
I’d also like to write a short novella about an Indian father and son who lives deep in the Appalachian mountains who struggles with alcoholism. A self-contained Desi world/existence cut against the isolation and wild nature of the region. It’ll also be about a brand, a mixture of self-imposed “all-American” and Sikh stoic masculinity, almost like a Clint Eastwood movie.
I’d like to return to the very first novel I basically finished when I was 16, about a Chinese girl and her tenuous friendship with a Japanese-American high school all star who fell between the cracks of appearing whitewashed and the self-identification with rap and hip hop in the 90s. Set in Tucson, Arizona, there is also a strong Hispanic/voodoo/Catholic influence (I was obsessed with Brandon Flowers and Calexico that year).
I’d like to start and finish a psychological horror/thriller novella about a sugar baby who works night shifts as a nurse, in a self-deceiving relationship with an abusive, emotionally unavailable man (”Red”). She receives a patient, a teenage boy who has been muted in a knife fight one day, and begins to confuse the two people together in a blur, as her past begins to catch up to her ... Set in modern day Vancouver.
I’d like to finish the project I have right now. I’d really like to finish it -- expand it out as far as it can go -- then trim the fat. I’d like to see it to its closing credits, a cinematic sweep of an old Jeep cutting a needle thin line through arid land, the old growth forests on Vancouver Island, the silent statues on a rainy day in the MoA, the shade of a symmetrical garden in paradise, a blue heritage Georgian house with twin cherry trees ...
I want to shade somebody so bad rn but I don’t want to initiate another never ending roast of this guy