“don’t take their cynism to heart”

“I could see you, as a young woman, loving the fact you were becoming a woman.

And when I say become a woman, I mean…

Most girls dream of being a princess, and you dreamed of being the princess, but could tell anyone what exactly you wore, and what your home was full of, in that dream.

You are normal.

 

And human.
And fragile.
Bitter is just the seething pain and anger that comes from this world of hearts and the world of breakers.

fact or fiction?

I have never felt more refuelled in the sense that i have retreated to my origins of marrow-like misery, as numbing as boiling points’ hot sauce for their spicy fermented tofu we would always used to get, a rise in temperature paralleling the warm fury stirring inside me, a toast to limbo chica, a toast to your newfound freedom that provides you fluidity to your liberated days, as if you hadn’t been liberating yourself the days i’d been up in the skies, up in the air is your attention taken away from the concrete vision of our future, a future in dedication to which i have taken up the skills and passion for cooking, cooking is therapeutic you know, i’ve never felt more release and reward than the moment i’d felt the searing burn from water splashed against oil at the highest of heat settings, that I learned of the understanding the philosophy of romance, which overheats over time, overcrowded, overcrowned, overruled – and yet when the world laughs at me for decisions invoked by my crises, the preexisting thorn embedded in my pumping organ scatters a little, the way you followed the misdirections of your own organs, you’d set the point of interest out of focus, your focus, your attention which fell receptive, by an itty bitty bit of hocus pocus, on that eve, the quickest of winds, and I said that’s bad juju, I get these forelight feelings, on that fort night, running in the wind of an endless melancholy parking lot reminded me maybe you’d always been receptive, to junk mail invitations by allure, to the junk in the thrill of it all, thats what they tell me these days, you taking in junk and wylin’ cuz you young, you out wylin’ as i give another toast to the asshole, a toast with the same old friends to the work i have been getting done without you, and you could get some work done without me too, but you have that option and you strike me through, and yet without you doesn’t mean i am alone, and that doesn’t mean you should be alone, because we chose to meet loss and lonesomeness eye to eye, because you chose this, you said, you did this, you said, as I was hustling through the leaves of autumn, granting me reprise, as your thoughts got a little clearer, and a little more v, I’d hoped you’d see the fault was not in our stars but if only you had remember to love me a little harder, i just mean i’d like to get you alone a little longer, and place your feet drenched in the dampness of my kenzo black canvas tiger espadrilles, when you decided to throw our tangents out the window, not despacito, but vamanos, into the rain, like the photos you would discard of, in a heartbeat, in an instant, an impulse, of no remorse, like the decision you had already made even prior to coming to see me. And that was the moment I knew. fact or fiction? (you’d always wanted me to write something about you).

The GSXR 600-Blenz Incident.

10/7 Update: Video clip from Blenz surveillance footage added (from comments – OP has deleted the comment post). If anyone has ID or license plate of the motorcyclist, please contact the Richmond RCMP non emergency line!

October 3 at 6:54pm (Original Post) – At Garden City Blenz (at approx. 1pm) today, a senior man bumped into a (5’8-5’10, mid 20s?) East Asian male motorcyclist holding onto his helmet. The motorcyclist reacted with hostility, trailing behind and shouting at the old man asking, “Hey, the fuck is your problem? This helmet cost me $1000!”

The senior man apologized at once, voice hoarse and trembling, “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t see, I’m blind”. The motorcyclist got increasingly belligerent: “It’s not MY fault you’re blind! My helmet is worth a lot of fucking money!”

Pedestrians and other patrons of Blenz including myself repeated to him that the old man said he was blind, “it was an accident, please let it go”. He snarled remarks at us before continuing to yell at the old man and gesturing/grabbing onto his cane: “I don’t care if you’re blind! What is your fucking cane for then!”.

The motorcyclist proceeded to verbally attack anyone nearby who spoke up for the old man (who nearly lost his voice trying to explain himself), still bleating about how much money his helmet cost him.

I tried to reason with him: “Yes, your helmet cost you $1000 but he could not see. He. Did. Not. See. You — the man is BLIND. He simply could not see you, and he apologized.” The motorcyclist decides to go off on me, claiming it was none of my business.

It’s almost morbidly funny that what tipped this guy over the edge was my one line in direct response to him dismissing the man’s blindness:

“This is not how you treat another human being.”

Hey buddy, guess what?

Trying to get some work done at my local coffee shop — is my business.

Trying to do my work in some fucking peace and quiet — is my business.

Overhearing obscenities targeted against a defenseless neighbour trying to get some grocery shopping done on a fine Tuesday afternoon — who is now walking off shaken and stirred because of your misconduct and tantrum thrown in public — is my business.

Walking up to you after you yelled from the parking lot that you will “fucking kill” me (with a handful of witnesses who heard every word you said, and the surveillance cameras that captured your aggression) for not minding my own business — is my business.

Looking at you in the eye as you made your violent threats, where the safety of the coffee shop I have been a daily regular at for the last 10 years has now been taken away (not just for myself, but I imagine the high school kids or parents with kids around who would have done the same thing I did), and having to consciously remind myself that you and your revolting, deluded sense of justice (for your thousand-dollar helmet) does not represent the rest of society, and shouldn’t discourage me from doing it all over again the next time I witness such absurdity — is my business.

Attached is a photo of the motorcyclist and his ryd3 (left, face not shown – this pic is all I have). I post the photo to warn others who may encounter him in a fit of rage the next time.

/

Update: Last night I received a DM from another CLAIMED witness with “details” that question the credibility of the old man’s blindness. I understand where this may be coming from – how do we know for sure that he was actually blind?

Well, I’d like to ask if that really matters, at this point, when the perpetrator obviously induced a violent and abrupt loss of safety around the area.) As unbelievable as this may sound, I noticed the old man when he walked past my table on the patio, because literally less than 10 seconds before the altercation – another East Asian male in his late 20s (@ earlier comment asking why I felt a need to include the perp’s ethnicity – I’m not trying to generalize nor imply any commentary on stereotype discrimination) actually assisted him to step over the parking curb and onto the platform. Full on body contact support, all smiles. The old man wouldn’t stop thanking the younger guy, which admittedly took my attention away from marking student essays.

So yes, I do 110% believe he was visually impaired, but the matter is very much beyond that. It was very heartwarming to see one stranger help another as it happened. And then the helmet situation began, as my line of sight returned to grading papers (I was actually sitting at the table furthest away from the door area, where it all happened).

FYI: I honestly can’t remember if the motorcycle was red or orange – I had assumed it was a bright red motorcycle until someone pointed to me the red model vs. the orange. I still couldn’t tell you.

As already mentioned by another comment post, I didn’t mean to describe the perpetrator’s appearance to single him out and publicly shame him (but from reading the comments there seems to be some kind of consensus that he was in the wrong??)

In all seriousness, I just hope this message gets across to him somehow so he can read the things I so wanted to but failed to say in the heat of the moment.

high tides

The wind outside sounds like tidal waves if you pay it enough attention. If you are still sad, you are attached to something from your past merely because your world is only so big at the moment. Growth means learning to adjust & detaching sentiment from your wounds. Broaden your perspective; love through big deep breaths. Waste not another second sulking in your biting flashbacks. I genuinely believe my 90-year-old self will tell me the same thing: be kind, to yourself & to everyone you encounter. Love gently. Drink lots of water. Listen to the tidal waves outside your window.

thoughts on the train

The 21st century seems to be all about magnifying, to the most minuscule detail, an episode of extremity. Literature about trauma. Art about movement. What has hurt us and what moves us; every story formerly untold… has now become that recurrent sob story. Yes, we feel. Now what?

There is such worry for extracting away the excessive; attraction steered towards what’s taboo. We get it – shit happens.

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. (Thank you, Ms. Stein.) Choices! These all are. Could individual contentment lie within just b e i n g?

Let nature & balance of the cosmic world take a chance on you. Allow the moon to take a chance for you.

Do what you must,
and then just be.

visage

My thoughts have grown crummy. My words often venomous; mind you, not by intention. I am a woman consistently starved, routinely soul-shaping. Carving the souls of others whom merely desire a speckle of attention from me. My heart holds no wonder, and it takes every aching muscle in my body to summon up feigned tolerance for people with too much to say. Talk to me about the constellations or your preferred bottle of whiskey and I might give you a minute of my day; no more no less. You would be wasting your time, and mine, in an attempt to discuss with me restrictive concepts such as friendship and freedom. I detach from people more easily than I inhale breaths of fresh air. Haven’t you heard? The only way to reach me at all is to let me go.

how to belittle a mermaid without killing her

Say no more than five words a sentence to her. No more than three sentences a conversation before you cut it short out of no particular reason.

It’s going to require your patience.

If you can’t learn to be patient for her, you don’t deserve her time.

The more attention you give her, the less she’ll crave for it. When you’re hungry your stomach grumbles for food, yes? Let her desire for your love come as naturally as your thirst.

Manipulate her by leaving her be for more than 24 hours. The point here is that those 24 hours of restraint are 24 hours in a row.

Demonstrate your care for her within the five words a sentence.

Never voice to her that you care until she is on the brinks of life and death.

You have to make it known that the love you have for her is there, but that it isn’t hers to claim.

You have to be as condescending as possible, without giving her any reason to directly call you an asshole.

The best response, is no response.

You can never win her affection by giving her anything.

Making it known that you have something she could get, but doesn’t have? That factor, (the reason why your attention is -not- in her hands), will be your only way of keeping her around for more than a conversation at a time. It’s almost like a math formula. The shit that makes the difference is in brackets.

Never talk to her… until she talks to you.

///////

The only thing that challenges me in life is the enigma of how to slither into the gleaming mind of my best beloved.

Every day I am taunted by this, like every day you hate her because you still love her. But this strife is the only reason life is worthwhile, past the age of reading buddies & play dough. Everything else is secondary.

////

Lastly,
Say no to her.
As often as you can.

When she sets ablaze her morals and previously deadlocked demons for your attention; assistance; affections,

“No.”

Not tonight.