I’ve always been fascinated with virtual worlds and this predisposition manifested in me an enduring infatuation with a world that I could somehow, mysteriously, exercise a degree of control; and further, I was determined to unravel the heart of its mystery. Acting is creating a simulacrum of reality; it is surrendering the solidified self to become a nimble shape-shifter. An actor hollows himself to be a universal container of substance; at once, to produce an effect, be effective, without being affected. The eagerness of youth gravitates toward role models to align its aspirations; my ally, is a malleable sense of conscience that lends me the ability to be essentially whatever I wanted, provided that I have the fortitude to endure the opposing forces, and the focus to be a self-catalyst for change. This self-induced invocation of change parallels the art of acting because when the actor assumes a role, the character consumes him for the duration. After the role expires, a residual imprint of the character remains, and it becomes to him an asset at his disposal.


What’s the difference between a ‘crazy’ person and a ‘normal’? The former is incomprehensibly ignorant of the fact while the latter matter of factually commits incomprehensible crazy acts in spite of cognizance; neither, can truly know each other’s condition. Further, one is normally crazy and the other acts crazily normal to attest his sanity. As for me, I am crazily normal under circumstances where normal people would be normally crazy, and I’m normally crazy, borderline neurotic, about the craziest normal things where normal folks would just be in their element. Does this make me crazy or normal? That’s right! Normal…because I’m fully aware that I’m normally crazy. So much so, in fact, that I simply tell these voices in my head that provoke me to do the normally craziest things to just all piss-off and leave me alone. Sheash, haven’t these crazy voices nothing better to do than to pester normal people?


There have been times when certain experiences elevate my being to an inspired state, whether the stimulus were in words, visuals, or a combination of sensory perceptions, I can feel a physical reaction that originates from the crown and descends internally through my body to the area above the solar plexus, expanding horizontally to fill my face, arms, and hands with an electrically-charged tingling sensation in its descent which causes my to shudder as if exposed to cold weather. Perhaps the best description of this condition can be defined as a “spiritual orgasm.”


For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been under a crisis of faith though, ultimately, I think this is conducive to my infinitely inquisitive nature. It isn’t that I am faithless, but rather I’m more invested in possibility. I am not comfortable under the constraints of any one religion and as such I extract the value from each and assimilate its truths into a general sense of awareness that enlightens my perception of the world and instills me with a lesser degree of bias in how the construct of the reality around me is conceived. I am simultaneously representative of the Mulder and Scully psyche. That is, “I want to believe,” but “is it rational?” Enter faith, which is an invisible bridge that connects the immediate reality and another intangible realm: magic, manna, aether, spirits, extra-terrestrials, gods, demons, guardians, angels, dragons, sprites, unicorns, magnetism, gravity, and the Divine. To varying degrees we can visualize these intangibles, believe them to exist, and by the virtue of believe, perhaps could manifest them into the collective reality if the esoteric universal mechanics are accessible to us, as it were. And so, the only points of division are along the degrees to which our imagination is able to stretch. Being that we are unique, the diversity of our capacities and predispositions are limitless, and if only we can imagine a world unlike our own and make belief that this is another lens peering into the universal perspective, then we may begin to harmonize our own visions with that of the collective. One needs not lose religion in order to be gain it in proper but rather a gentler approach would be to reconcile the construct of our own “house”, in which we are comfortable, and visually deconstruct the artifice into its most simple building blocks, then we can see at the base of every house of worship is a foundation that rests on one single earth. The only castles floating in the skies are those supported on our own shoulders held in place by lofty ideas stemming from a false sense of superiority, and still, at the very base, our feet are firmly planted in root of the earth. So if you ask me what my religion is/was, I will respond, “my fidelity rests in the providence of possibility.”


Through the course of life, I’ve observed, scrutinized, and have concluded, thus far, the following to be the most essential and core motivation of existence. I believe these to be the innate directives of all things and every action can be traced to these ends. They mark the source of life’s inspiration and the destination from which springs transcendence. They are categorically labeled as “Existential Imperatives”:

experience | endure | evolve


Synesthesia: [sensation produced at a point other than or remote from the point of stimulation, as of a color from hearing a certain sound]

Often while lying in bed, in the silence, with my eyes closed, and I hear the slightest of noises, simultaneously, I sense a jolt of electrical current run through the length of my body in the instant and a fantastical array of shapes and colors dance in my mind as seen through the lids of my eyes acting as screens to this cosmic show.


I am broken. The things I do, I love, with passion, and that I love is a salve that mends my spirit. And once again, I am whole, with love, in love, and all in the name of love. But is it for the love or lust of life that drives me? Perhaps they are two poles of the same sphere?


I behold the male and female forms equally as beautiful. Their reunion, is divinity.


I am a slave to conscience; let it be known that no man is more tortured by it.


I’m a Fire-Water Elemental or “The Crimson Sea.” Most of the time, like a placid lake, I’m tranquil and at peace; or when in motion easy-flowing as a river sliding effortlessly downstream. But under certain circumstances when the Fire fuses with the Water, the energy released can be quite catastrophic for those within vicinity. Further, I’m Libra, which is an Air sign; thus it follows that when the Water is heated beyond its liquid threshold, a transformation into steam takes form and eventually condenses into Air- sailing smoothly as a gentle breeze. In any form, Water, Fire, or Air, there’s a destructive potentiality especially when catalyzed by the volatility of Fire. However, if this force is channeled through a creative conduit, it can be a powerful propeller for revolutionary transformation. In the same respect, I think the same force nests within us all, and while there’s a diverse spectrum manifested, it serves us to remark that we can shape our destinies in varying degrees based on our own level commitment, diligence and patience to endure the trials on the journey. “spirit is life, mind is builder, physical manifests.”


I love eye-gazing, doesn’t matter if the subject is male or female, feline or canine, or whatever the variety. For me it’s like going skinny dipping in the bloody abyss of the entity’s soul.


I am, divided.

1] physical self (material manifestation)
2] mental self (reconciliatory bridge)
3] spiritual self (metaphorical energy)
4] collective self (omni-lateral awareness)
5] unified self (gravitational synergy)
6] oneself (quintessential reunion)
7] selflessness (paradoxical existence)


It’s difficult to sheath our weapons and lay down our armor because we’re not only fighting each other, but also our own instinct to survive. If we view existence as a self-survivalist, “every man for himself”, “to the victor goes the spoils”, then inevitably this leads us down the path of self-destruction. Our only redemption here is to implant our sacred trust in another being without expectation of reciprocity. If this is impossibility, then the children of this earth shall never inherit the fruits of peace. Inversely, one maybe considered to be naive by the body cynics if they have the capacity for unconditional trust.


I am moved to tears every time I see the crippled, the famished, the weak, the meager, and the unloved. Why? Because in this brotherhood of man, all is my own flesh and blood, and their suffering is my suffering, their woes, mine. And why should it be any other way since every action I execute impresses upon the world its consequences, and the ripples traveling far and wide, eventually return to the source changed by the lives it has touched, and ultimately, I am changed by it. John Donne said, “no man is an island unto himself.” I concur.


Love is Life is Poetry
by Kyjin

the pulse of my chest pounds
with the melody of your bosom
and our bodies flow like
rhythms of poetry,

between the silken darkness
our frictionless breath warms
the brine expelling from
our body’s interlace

in this moment
we are wholly captured
by the original womb,
our contours blur and
we become

a symbiosis
one breath,
one soul

love is an intercourse
buried in the exchange
of our chemistry,
our blood,
and our sweat

no taste of sweet liquor or
scent of earth’s blossoms
can measure at length
to one love’s sacrifice

for only in death is life renewed
and its gift spins nature’s resolve
as the law of life ordered
in the cosmos

to be
born and
to die,

as rupturing stars,
with illuminating grace

for this reason
a lover declares,
“i would die for you,”
and thrusts into descent
toward love’s embrace
for love he dies,
in love he is reborn

and within this fleeting repose,
celestial bodies at once
hold their breath;
the universal eye
blinks to capture
an epic still frame
of evanescence

then, in rapid exhalation,
we emerge from ecstasy;
heart palpitating,
body rinsed with fluid and
absorbed in the intensity
of our collision

rampant flames unclothe our flesh
with a feverish caress,
and we bathe in the tenderness
of its arresting comfort

in this furnace of lust
our desires burn, its ashes
blanket our unassuming form and
we, as crashes of lightning,
split the naked earth

rapt in a capricious trance,
all reason alludes and reality is
the frolicking space of fantasy;
our experience, purely visceral

life and death, only distance
time and space, merely concepts

and love,

love is life is poetry

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