Tick Tack

      Be what you will; whatever life asks of you. Don't conform, don't try to blend, life favors the creatures that flow from one moment to another; it is art, don't for a second think that flowing means being unaware, or worse, uncaring about this moment, which is life itself. 

     When things come, watch them, feel them, experience them as if life, as if this moment is water in a bathtub: step in, lower yourself in, submerged to the bottom of it and stay there until gasping for air; air being the day to day of the same day, the things you do again and again and again without any form, without providence, without care, without soul.

     Be what you will, because whether you want, you see, or wishes, it is all that you have and at this precise moment, if you move your eyes from this screen and feel, you will notice that you are. You might not yet be what you wish you were but you are, and that is something; to be in this world is, in these days, unappreciated; preference given to what you want to be or think you ought to be. 

     But being is not a cul-de-sac, it's not a destination, it is a tick on the lifeline of every human; you never arrive at being. You live it day to day to day, and you tack here and there, make amends, cut yourself, cry, laugh, hurt, and die. And at that moment you cease to be, but you are not quite there to see.

     If you believe in life after life you will continue away from here: this plane, this place, this stage of being to something I don't quite ponder too much about. 

     I am busy being here, busy trying to be me; desperately trying to like whatever that turns out to be.

                                                                         

The Children in Each of Us.

      I recognize myself on the face of lost children; sad children, with eyes that beg an answer to unanswerable questions: why am I here? Where are you, mother? Why did you leave me here so alone? I am two years old, four, five, ten, twelve, fifty-seven. The questions are still there reverberating through the years but now I am certain there isn't an answer; or maybe there is, but it is not what I expected. 

     There is no rhyme or reason for anything that happens to us except for the magical explanations we created to try to make this life bearable. Desperate to feel nothing disturbing, others of my kind invented positive thinking, and they tell me sometimes: " I like to deal with people who are positive." I just smile. "I know" I think, but say nothing in response. 

     It hurts feeling life to its fullest so they need all the help they can get: alcohol, drugs, sugar, bread, coffee, positivity, visualization, God. 

     I hear and see and read in comments throughout the fabric of social medias. The "hurting ones" professing God's power and benevolence as the Los Angeles streets fill with tents and trash and homeless people. We have so much in common with the children of the documentary " A House Made of Splinters trying to make sense of their place in the world while every wall surrounding you reminds one of how immense life is. A child needs to be socialized into the common magical narrative of the community he/she/they lives; but orphan children learn only about reality.  

     I sit in my office in Santa Monica and watch people come and go, so full and certain of themselves, creating their Shangri-las. Some young, some old. 

     I watch them and I ponder if they believe it will hold for a lifetime;  the thin, brittle magic veil of delusion they wear to keep life at bay. 

the art of REYNOLD POERNOMO

(click on pictures to watch being made )

White Noise

The Robbit Hole Dessert

Apple Pie and Cinnamon Parfait

Chamomile Ice Cream with Popcorn

 

social contract @ the dark side of us

I was listening to one of the greatest songs ever recorder and thought of my absent father, who couldn't hear it without getting really annoyed; and once had the audacity to say: "this person is screaming."

Pink Floyd - The Great Gig In The Sky

I think I finally understand what getting old means; it's not when you can't enjoy a new art form or understand a new tech feature, it's when you don't give a damn about learning it. 

It's when you look at it for 2 seconds and think: "Nah, I think I'll go do just about anything else." 

How To Make Instagram Story Highlight Covers For Free: Instagram Tutorial For Story Folders

How to Use Instagram Hashtags for Maximum Exposure

How to Use TikTok - Complete Beginners Guide

How to Edit a TikTok

How to Clone yourself on TikTok  ---------------(really? 2 of me? why?)

Wipe It Down TikTok Tutorial 

Every writer in the world share a single secret, and that is the absurd searches we do when researching any subject. After watching these tutorials, I began pondering about all of these titles and a playful, rhetorical thought crossed my mind:  "Can I just die already?   

So I  typed my frustration into the magical search box because; well, why not? 

" Can I just die already?" And out came this...

This OLD MAN Will Not SURVIVE! - Just Die Already    

I watched almost 12 minutes of this video. I watched because I believe you ought to walk on someone else's shoes before commenting about anything. I didn't find a single amusing, endearing or funny moment in the entirety of this video game. Yet, the kid playing the game was having the time of his life. And the people commenting on it are as clueless as one can get.  

We are all connected in such a strange way.  I think that our social contract needs a serious revision. Or we simply accept that the world has become a very, very ugly place with some nasty, nasty people in it. 

( I debated whether or not to post this, since the whole research made me so depressed that I felt it would not be in anyone's best interest to share it. But I soon realized that the video above has a medical diagnostic function: to determine mental illness. If you watch it and find yourself laughing, having a good time, it is time to look for professional help. )

I am going back to my books,  and some coffee and croissants, while listening to some Zen music...and I will stare at this picture for awhile.

(click on the photo to join me...or don't. )

FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION...

 

Straw Hat

     

     From my window I can spot you, daily. You left your things behind; things you no longer need, things you outgrew, things you carried around and finally today, it became too much for you to carry.

    Your footsteps barely carry your weight; it seems from up here, where I watch you visit this café; an oasis for your kind: their kindness, their non-judgmental service of free ice water, as cold as the Los Angelinos came to be; with their supermodel stares, as they meet and greet each other right next to you ; praising each other dogs, while you sit listening, your presence not sensed. 

     Is there such a thing as hope inside of you? Any expectation for kindness, a "Hello" perhaps, a sense of normalcy, of belonging to this city, of making through the night.

     It's dark outside, as dark as the moment that parted you and yours. How long will your steps last when already burden by days and nights, by dragging yourself and your things across town looking for a place to rest.

     If the life of a homeless person is not a testament of how human beings are coded for survival, even in the most abhorrent of circumstances.

     At some point in your day, you seem to remember how they treat you here, behind the counter, the sense of normalcy and acceptance you must derive from this place to end up here nightly. Even if the reality is that we don't care; we don't acknowledge you, and perhaps it is the reason you come here. 

     There are so many homeless in Santa Monica now that our eyes have become accustomed to it; as irises adjusting to darkness. And if being around us, unnoticed, makes you feel less alone; well,  it is the least we can inadvertently do.

A Little Tulip