we are all whores

Essence Jackers are the people I deal with on the daily. They jack my essence, corrupt it, as they themselves are unsure of what they are jacking, then they sell it. I am left holding an empty bag.

At the same time, i find myself sabotaging lucrative schemes, because the fake nature of most of them repulses me. The essence jackers are insulted. i got friends who tell me: all artists are broke till they die.

easy for them to say.

I will be heading back to the USA very soon. I need the fresh air, the trees and blue skies. i need my people. i need appliances that work, water that's drinkable and a wide variety of choices. I need different lies. I need conversations that do not revolve around how good I speak chinese for an outsider ...

I need to build up a base and bring my chinese homies to the states, so they can breath my air, eat my food, drink my water and look at me with new and glowing, knowing eyes. I have done this in their land. I want to repay them. So we can all be multi-faceted crystals, copied by glassmakers, sold in baskets at a trinket market in "foreigner street."

My membership in the river lake crew keeps me breathing. We struggle together. Without you, my people, I would have doused my head in ashes and worn sackcloth a long long time ago.

Mayhap I still will.

The other view:

A pirate with no boat, a hippy with no cause, a rebel out of laziness. In your own mind, you have built up a tribe with no land, no blood, no moorings ... a creation of dreamscapes and might-have-beens. With which you console yourself, hating those who live in the real world, because its not your world. It requires such things as responsibility, effort, determination and a slick eye and tongue. You sulk in a corner and justify failure with your pithy art. You wrap yourself in darkness and unconsciously retreat into the role of a victim every time hardship comes knocking.

You are a fake man, screaming "REAL" to all that pass, holding out a battered cup, resenting the quarters that jingle hollow in your brain. You are building your own fate: dying in a dream, leaving behind whispers of what might have been.

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i think this blog needs some pictures. Soon, I will replace Blogger with Wordpress. Blogger is WAK. Can't upload and format pics, can't format articles and any of that and its blocked in China, weak everywhere else. When i make the change, I will holler.