Woozy From Fatty Food
Oh, my head gives me revision of how woozy it felt some weeks back after eating fatty meats, and while only a lighter reminder, it does abrupt me to shake my head and hold the back of my neck strained forward.
The feast of hours-old kebabs and dried meat was probably what brought on my sudden unwilling urges, the stuffy, ‘bloated-face’ feel that disrupts my ability to concentrate tonight.
I am feeling a little tired too but then, we are closing near to the end of the month and its motive is drawing to the ends of its prominent wits.
A Month Of Cascading Loyalties
This month has been a nice cascade of loyalties, and in enjoying myself outside of old insecurities, but it does seem banal to bring reflections in already when a lot more can still happen.
Seven more nights would be testament to that, of one whole week before we start fresh with re-pledging a winning attitude and commitments, and it will be more than worries blank and the writer repealed. I should hope so, as promise is an everyday reiteration, or at least it seems that way now.
Plans To Lay Low At Home
As we embark into the final third of reflection for the month, the story thins and the swagger grows as a consequence. A base of chronology remits itself from the fore, and anarchy is the usual answer, a follow of entries for the writer – who would rather forget when the significance of the plot slackens.
These days are a pacifier before the next round begins, a rest from the constant rallying of characters that are the fabric of my memoir’s content, where about my only action of the day is to wake and eat, work, then sleep.
One also needs their rest from time to time, and as my biorhythm cycles are not so appealing, these are wise times to hatchet down and contemplate the next course of action.
I go back to the basics then, thinking about paying off my bills, staying home to keep a low profile, and waiting out the next round of budgeting to plan ahead.
Budgeting The Bills
The bills have received a nice hammering back too.
While theirs has been a tethering onslaught over the last few weeks, the tide is starting to turn with my going through a personal audit to depilate unnecessary charges, like my service provider for example, and soon, my membership at the gym.
Once we manage to restrain the stranglehold to create an economical surplus, the month coming should be much more positive as better managed.
Forecasted Savings And Obligations
Next month will be a lifestyle thing, about buying up and upgrading on the little luxuries to increase my standard of living.
A printer should help me get a small move on, and the need to save away for clothes and computer upgrades, as well as stashing away money on my credit card should be the crux of new spending.
I have obligations as well; where the most obvious would be my mutual obligation needs to attend a job search training class, identical to one graced a year or so back supposedly to help me look for work.
In short however, all the cutbacks now should be some weight off my shoulders for next month, and really, it is a smart move, as the surplus stuff is hardly needed.
I just want to lap the sun up, keep visiting the beach with Tyler Grey and keep talking to the boys off the wall. The rest of my life will just fall in place. Well, maybe with an insistent nudge.
Keeping The Memoir Ticking Over
Another long night on my memoirs and then a longer one still reading up on old memoirs well into the earliest hours of the morning; today never saw me get to sleep until well after the morning news and subsequent shows.
I was just busy, pointlessly some would argue, but then when the revisions are done and my memoirs are finally printed out onto hardbound copies, the graft of time would have been well worth it.
Yes, so laboriously, my nine or so hours were spent preoccupying myself with by-productive work because quite simply, the writer finishing on his memoirs would have left me with an essentially worn thin asset.
Having no chronology would have endangered my pool of thoughts, per se, and so the early mark was an alarming prospect because it would then have either made me dependent on contemporary interpretations of my editorial process, or maybe it would have just caused my mind to run blanks, and my memoirs to suffer.
However, as Tyler came over tonight, returning my wallet, with talk that we should head down the beach tomorrow, and with Imad preparing to visit me in four days, the itinerary of chronology seems relatively healthy in my interim.
My memoirs would be nil if it weren’t for the interaction with others, as mine is not a creation of storyline but an embellishment of it.
Explaining The Duo-Innuendo Theory
Anyway, while there is still a need to prattle on with smaller irrelevance to fill some of the oncoming gaps, the theory of occurrence as working in a paradox of pentagonal link would be a nice addition here.
Like the duo-innuendo theory of meeting someone out of the blue before chancing across them again within your conscious next few weeks, until then the person vanishes never to be bumped into again – my theory of occurrence was closely thought on with this.
When restlessly waking myself up from bed minutes after finally getting to sleep this morning, the idea came.
I assumed that there is a formula for occurrence that would redefine our positions on fate or chance, a fixed but lenient line that would chart when and if certain events would take place subsequent to your first encounter.
I envisioned occurrence being pentagonal, where each angle was the beginning of a new linear phase, and in particular, my theory being relative to social occurrence, or interaction with your outward world, the physicality of occurrence had seemed to work in a system of fives, always in fluctuation and always circulating.
Your desires and disinclinations towards that occurrence recurring are constituents to the fluctuations that one associates as an inconsistency of repeat occurrence, but while the interference may either influence or deter a repeat event from its linear fashion, it could never defer the actual continuity of an occurrence.
In layman’s terms, if you had a social occurrence, say you met a new friend and talked, then chances are that sooner or later, you will meet and talk to that person again.
My point however is that with the originating occurrence, the weakness or the strength of its continuity is based on a pentagonal system, meaning that in my theory where an occurrence is always followed by four repeat occurrences before a resolution of the initial occurrence is determined, the phase of five-pronged occurrence relates to determine whether a subsequent run of the pentagonal phase will be incorporated, or whether, in fact, a negative influence causes the system to conclude its rotation without resumption.
Set Man And His Social Interactive Behaviors
The whole theory may seem to crap on with jargon but the pentagonal system is only a base theory for how to relate occurrence and its staying power to a formula.
I do not assume that occurrence is all at a rate of five tenure steps but it does make for a nice quaint theory.
Try it out some time in a practical though but be sure to note that neither angle is perfectly with the other.
The only solids of my theory are that once initiated, things happen in fives and are considered requisite, until at least the end of the phase. One may ebb or sway within the pentagonal system with weak or strong magnetism towards the occurrence but only until after that cycle has finished can the theory of its occurrence diminish.
Yes, you may say, “Well, I can quit whenever I want,” but in many series of continuity, how do you know what angle of the phase you are supposedly quitting on? A pentagonal system could continue after the other, and the other, and the other, and the other… and so the actual conclusion would be blurred in all its continuity, therefore, casting an aspersion.
I may be wrong too but it is cause for good argument about the behavior of set man and his social interactive behaviors, is it not?
Forging A National Identity In Australia
Even older stale bread news now, it would be fair of me to bore you with the influence that television has made on me over the last few nights, in particular, the news, and so more in particular, the way that Australians are starting to come out on top. and with a spot of their own patriotic pride since the events of September the eleventh.
Our own sense of country has blossomed in this last few years where it may have seemed vague before then, as events like our sports stars winning international prestige and other facets of our community – like actors also now kicking goals overseas.
I believe that our country is starting to sense the inaugurations of self-worth and identity within a world community, swayed by our opinions within crisis after crisis or whenever certain affairs cause us as a whole to think.
Reconciliation was one of these factors, but to begin with, the word was more taboo and divisive, playing on our fears and the unknown prejudices. I would tend to think that our national identity began forging within our Olympics, how we were confronted with the issues of the day through our one loved avenue, sport.
The Olympics were the birth of our distinction from the rest of the world. Then it was the national election that again, divided and brought together our powerful inward looking ways.
I never really thought about my way in this country or this country itself before the Olympics and all this started to occur. Our relations with other countries were never strong enough to proudly hear them namedropping, but now they are, as we built ourselves up as a sporting force, send a contingent of local-bred actors to collect on award night, even our politicians, singers, scientists, and so on.
I am proud of that now, and how despite the detestation of how we treated the Tampa and refugee issues, we have begun to make our notable mark on the world.
Being Proud To Be A Writer
We are now an influential country, or so it seems that way, and soon enough with my memoirs, it could be my time. My memoirs are my potential achieved, and what the education minister said a few days back about the need for some people to find their small pond while other sardines try to swim upstream, sounded right to me.
I was never one for climbing ladders and going up in places, and about as up as the writer would like to go is where he is now, plus a bit.
I detest the idea of starting down the bottom to work your way up because mine is not like those sardines that want to keep pushing shoves up at the fore. My memoirs are enough for me, and it is not a settling because of a lack of social ambition either.
I am just following what in my heart I know I am good at, and the education minister agrees that not everyone has to study and study and work and work to be part of the rat race.
Money isn’t everything, or at least not to me anyway.
Writing About January 19, 2002
Fresh from some reminiscence on all the glory that was the true millennium project, we should finish off the nineteenth about now and get it out of the way, before heading to the beach with Tyler tomorrow.
One day after my birthday and in no need for long recovery, the nineteenth was a day out on the track, galloping. As planned, it was to be Tyler, the instigator of my notoriety as the mobile magician in Bình, and then me of course.
Cruising With Tyler and Bình
Tyler drove over an hour before midday to pick me up. Having disturbed my sleep the two nights before, it was easier for me to warily wake up when hearing his car out the front.
After a two-minute shower and a quick spot thinking on what to wear, we were out the door and into his car ready to roll.
Bình was there in the front seat prepared to ride a horsy as well but he was far from likeable to start.
Being in my usual winning form fresh from waking up, the reactions were only as fast as my lethargic thinking, but it made me appear more relaxed rather than my usual hyper. Being so long between seeing each other however, Bình just assumed he could aim his fanciful patronizing at me when speaking.
Dealing With Bình’s Contempt
“So, what have you been up to,” he wondered as Tyler stopped at a red set of traffic lights minding his own.
Growing acquainted, I responded, “Oh, just doing this and that… and keeping myself happy” artlessly casual.
“How about you,” I then wondered.
“Oh you know,” he smirked conceitedly, “just doing this and that… and keeping myself happy.”
I wasn’t about to sit there and take his shit however.
Ever since the fallout with Shawn Lee, my own voice has never bent for the insolence of others.
“Oh, you sound like one of those guys that repeat everything that someone says,” my reproach scoffed.
He was surprised to hear me bite back and was caught off from then on in, but that was his problem, as he grew uncomfortable and let out a muffled cough or two.
Allaying the situation by carrying on with some other quick conversation however, we just passed it off as a confused moment and swept it under.
He had more respect for me throughout the whole day after that however. Before, he may have been able to ridicule me in some elitist way but having grown up and taking no shit, his contempt no longer worked on me.
Tyler Picks Up His Little Sister
Anyway, still being polite and my normal self, we kept chatting sporadically while Tyler went to pick up a boogie board, and then his little sister.
She hopped in the front of course and was coming along for her umpteenth time to saddle up for the day. I think it made things a bit tense between Tyler and what he assumed but it was all part of the play.
She seemed to have a little crush on me but showing grace beyond her years, she hid it well instead of seeming so girly blatant. Paying no special attention to her however, I just treated her like she was one of us, talking here and there about things but never making a deal out of it. Perhaps the sly bothered Tyler however. Being her brother, he would have spotted her perceptively from the moment go, but it was hardly going to come out in anything other than brotherly loathe and cantankerous yelling.
Going Horse Riding
Anyway, when there, we filled out some forms and then sat on a long oak bench waiting for our little group to muster some more people before our turn out riding the track.
The hour-long horse ride itself was good. Mine was a sizeable white steed, tired looks, placid, and a bit older than the rest of the breed.
Tyler and the rest got to have their pick because they had been riding for a lot longer than me. My steed was more a handout. When heading off, it was mentioned that no matter how “giddy up” my encouragements were, the horse would barely muster a gallop.
Brushing past all the trots, the dopey way my feet kept slipping out of the stirrups and my almost falling off the horse on a rare chance to gallop, all we have to summarize is that we all had a great time.
The sun was out, the rolling greens and continuous hills were spectacular, and the chance to just relax atop a steed was refreshing.
After we came back in and sat back down, the camera came out to end the roll of film with three last snapshots. Then we were out.
Driving To The Beach
Dropping off his little sister, we headed to the beach after that, but it looked to be a poor choice when we turned up and dust storms were all the rage. Nevertheless, we powered our way against the wind onto the sands.
While wrapping myself around the head with a towel; the boys chanced a dip in the lukewarm ocean away from the sting.
My gist was to just sit on the beach and watch as usual, to my left, to my right, into the water at some babes. Hardly many were there however.
But after an hour, on our way out, we noticed the same young blonde with the huge boobs walking around with one of her friends. Apparently, she was looking around like some other unknowns that approached us beforehand for two guys they knew.
The three of us were spewing when we noticed the two girls we snubbed knew these other two stunners, but by then it was too late to make anything of it. It shows that you should talk to whomever, because you never know who they know.
Disappointed knowing we could have had the petite two girls after beeping them our sad goodbye, we left for home empty-handed, as usual.
“My camera,” was the only thing on my mind and how it could have been used as a smooth opener to compliment the girls with a few shots. Nonetheless, we were on our way home now, and tired from all the activity as well.
Home was no haven however.
Creating The Hip Hop Track – Mad Dashing
When back that night, I lay down on the waterbed chilling out and listening to music. Writing in my memoirs was about the last thing on my mind. Thankfully, when hearing an open field in a jungle of music through the new “Wu Tang” album, it was off to work my wonders over a bare beat coming near the end of the album.
There were only four bars of it at the end of a song but once hearing those four bars, my mind was abuzz with activity.
Influenced enough to write some raps, and eventually through the wee hours of the morning recording and waiting for my parents to march downstairs with their disapproval at my loudness, the newest flavor was made.
“Mad Dashing” was the latest addition, and fresh too.
Why Writing Hip Hop Is More Real
The snapshot of reality that raps make seems far more powerfully reflective a tool to me than the endlessness of my memoirs, or even from the poetry created years back.
My reasons behind believing the influential prowess of fashioning rhymes is because my raps are far more raw and emotive and real compared to confined blurbs or poetry or the blank verse of my memoirs.
Poetry is almost fantasy, and my memoirs are too bland of time-lasting points for it to be used as an easy reference to moral standings.
The greatness of my rhymes is that it incorporates the highpoint of my beliefs that come from my everyday way of thinking and embed them in an accepted style for all to see.
My memoirs force you to think when reading through, but my rhymes are like role-play for a movie.
The intent of my poetry was to just express the beauty of words rather than an actual expression, and while my poetical other world was encompassed by my so very-real life, the significance of the message was always obscured behind rosiness and the love of the verse.
I was more wandering and unconscious when writing poetry too, unlike the presence that endows my current art today.
The novelty cannot last forever though, and soon, even my raps will become victims to the “has been.”
The author of Diary Of A Mad Chaos from 1996 to 2018, The Lost Years book, Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘) book series, and Foreigner (华人) an exploration of race relations in Australia. Fluent in Chinese Mandarin, Macedonian, and English, the author currently resides in China, Guangzhou where he continues to make comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies.