E tenebras, lux dormiens

I am not a good poetry writer, I guess I'm always confined to the idea that I must write in structured verse, with potential rhyming at the end of each line. I guess to my perception, poets who can do that, along with being able to provide deep meanings in those very poems are excellent writers.

Here's a structured poem, "haiku."

this here is my school
there, the university
my home's right between

Here's something unstructured, "free verse."

Everyday, I commute to this place
Which teaches me, prepares me for working,
For a career that I too must commute to
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth
What provides the variation,
The unpredictability to the routine?
What else but social life? What else, indeed?
But this place is taking up my time,
Being a place for commuting, I cannot live there
People cannot. Most of them hail from home,
Apartment, a separate residence far from this place.
I must look for college residency, learn to do laundry
All by myself, with help of friends.

I know both of these poems are uninspired. They're just talking about a dull topic. Actually, a great poet can make great things out of everyday life. Maybe I should just stick with prose. Every time I try to write, I always get old poems stuck in eternal loops in my brain: Shakespeare, Emily Dickenson, Robert Frost, etc. I remember bits of lines: "For whose dear love, I rise and fall." "Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me." "Whose woods these are, I think I know." "Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove"

When full eclipse of powers
Do engage in making wrong
And overthrows in short hours
Progress made in so long.

As these flowers which weeks may show
To grow sweet petals that will bloom
May with a shear alter the way they grow
And so they wilt, as we to what may come.

*SIGH*

I can't believe it, I swam with my left-ear hearing aid on. Damn. It's ruined, the $1,500 piece of machinery designed to help me hear better, ruined by a moment's stupidity of getting into the water too soon. I don't think it's waterproof.

Well, at least I didn't ruin my right-ear hearing aid as well. I didn't wear it because I have a pimple in that ear. *SIGH*

Sometimes I wonder whether I should be learning how to swim, but I felt better when my ASL professor, told me to tell the group in order to "have them learn more about Deaf Culture." I guess it happens pretty often that people just forget to take off their hearing aids before they go into any place with a large pool of water to swim in.

Alan

Gosh, I really haven't talked about my families, right?

I live in a house with my mom and a stepdad. I love my mom, no matter how much she complains about me. I don't really have love for my stepdad except in the sense that he has greatly made my life convenient. We don't talk that much, not like with Mom, I talk to her all the time.

So that's it. As for friends, I don't have that many, don't know how, don't know why. It could be because I'm deaf and gay, and both of these personal qualities shied me away from interpersonal contact.

I love reading blogs. Of course, some blogs aren't that interesting, and other blogs just grapple me into a person's life so deeply that although that author doesn't really know or care about me, I'm the one that does the caring.

I finally remember why I didn't post for a long time, because the computer kept on crashing, restarting, or not restarting, and I decided to leave it alone. I wasn't thinking about blogging, only about understanding the reason the computer was crashing.

Well, it seems to have stopped, and seems to have been because I was using it too long and too often. The problem is not to my opinion fixed, but apparently, after leaving it off for one day, the computer's back in a happy mood.

I don't understand why a computer would be doing that, especially since being made of unambiguous bits and bytes that cannot be altered, the idea of it needing to rest when the fact is that they can endlessly loop a command is definitely laughable.

I saw "8 Mile" today, on rented video. It wasn't bad, I like the plot, which is based partially on Eminem's real life. Very inspiring.

I sleep now.

Nothing much to talk about. Either that or a topic that I might as well have posted simply went over my head.

So nothing's wrong with the old car, just a spark plug (unrelated to the smog check) and the idea that letting the car idle means that the smog check would undoubtedly distort the reading. I think it feel a little different. The car's accelerator is stronger, more reactive . . .

I had a Chemistry Test yesterday, it wasn't hard. It wasn't easy, either. I think the new professor is being easy on us for the first midterm of the quarter, but I believe she'll suddenly jump on us with a test that is nightmarishly difficult, to culminate in a totally-designed-for-flunking-you final exam.

Sorry for the lack of post, I haven't had the habit of blogging repeatedly.

Two posts today.

I just got a fucking parking ticket because I forgot to get my parking permit in the car.

Here's the story: I have a new old car. My uncle gave it to me. But because of the California law, I must submit it to a smog check. Uncle already smog checked it BEFORE giving me the title, as the California law dictates. Then I must submit it to a smog check AGAIN before the car is officially mine.

The car is also a stick-shift, meaning that I have to do the work of changing gears. Because I never drove stick-shift before, I had to learn. So after driving it for a while, I was scared because this car takes so much energy. I have to focus on all my driving, pay attention and everything in between. That means that I stopped driving it for a while, both because I was nervous about driving to school EVERY SINGLE DAY and because my mom was not comfortable with my driving.

The car, a Toyota, being older than me by one year--I'm born in 1984--failed the smog check. We speculated on why the smog check failed when Jeff's smog check passed. We settled on the explanation that not driving the car for a long time causes the gas not to burn well because the gas gets worn out. So we made a practice of driving it to get rid of the gas so we can wash the gas, clean the carburetor, and replace the air filter. I also drove it every day because I had to drive it to burn the gas, because my mom forced me to.

So I drove every Saturday, gaining more experience. Eventually, I drove to school every day.

The smog check failed again. The main problem was that the car emit too much HC. (I think HC means hydrocarbons.) The previous smog check shows the problem was at 2500 RPM (revolutions per minute), too much HC was emitted. This time, at both idle RPM and 2500 RPM. My car was then labeled, "Gross Polluter."

Being worried about driving a Gross Polluter because I am an environmentalist, I was conflicted between whether to go back to driving the family car, which is a Honda and automatic shift, or to continue driving the Gross Polluter car. The first day of school, I drove the Honda, nearly forgetting the permit so I put it there. Then the second day, I decided, "No, I want to continue driving the Gross Polluter car, I'm more comfortable now."

So when I drove to school, and parked my car, and go to school doing my business, a parking bureau officer saw that there was no parking permit and put a fine on it.

Damn, damn, damn. This is not being a good week. I wonder what warning is the Power(s) that be in heaven trying to give me. Yesterday, I almost crash. Today, I got fined. What tomorrow, what Thursday, what Friday? What for the rest of my life?

I can think of one reason, though. I am super-tired. Since the Daylight Saving Time two weeks ago, I've not been sleeping at the new 11 o'clock, instead staying up late to 12 or 11:30 because I didn't feel sleepy. I've been doing this for two weeks now, so, I'm as groggy as all Hell. I'm sure my mind is not thinking clearly. I must sleep at 10 tonight, or even at 9, to recover the stupid loss of sleep.

Should have posted yesterday . . .

4/21/03
I did the stupidest thing today., which was running through a red arrow light and nearly crashing with other cars going the opposing way. The red arrow didn't even turn green. I'm going to go through a lot of self-invection by saying "Fuck!" Shit, what a goddamn asshole am I. I coulda gotten killed. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? CAn't I drive fucking carefully? The worst is, this validates all the adjectives about me that my mom always unloaded in every single one of her bitter nagging complaints about me. All my goddamn faults are listed in the stupidity. This is so beyond the idiotic of all idiots, that I cannot even capitalize the "g" to take God's name in vain, because this is not worthy of Him. Of course, if I got killed, and do go to the Judgment, then I probably would have rated His attention. I do not pay attention to the fucking traffic light, my own fucking traffic light.

I'm finished, now to explain why this happened:

I was at the intersection of Springlake St. and Washington Ave. It is a three-way street, with the Springlake being the end of the road. I was on Washington, ready to turn left onto Springlake. There is a red arrow in front of me. The Washington traffic lights were red, Springlake was green, so cars could go from Springlake onto Washington into any direction. The Washington Ave. has two lanes for each direction, so that's four lanes totally, along with my short lane for turning left onto Springlake, which has one lane.

Springlake lights turn yellow, then red. Finally, because I was so distracted, I paid attention only to the other Washington Ave. traffic lights, not to my own red arrow. So then, I just drove and turned, only to find the other cars coming straight to me. What's going on? Is the lights green, and then I realized that I was at fault, I was not supposed to turn.

Why did I behave in this manner? I can explain. The habit of expecting the red arrow to turn green has been so ingrained on me that I just let my body go on autopilot while I can think of other things.

Usually, my red arrow traffic light turns red with the traffic lights for other cars going straight ahead. While the cars opposite me, they usually wait until the cars turning left onto Springlake finish, then the lights will turn green and they can go.

The problem was, this time, the red arrow turning green, didn't, but I looked only at the other traffic lights, not paying any particular attention.

Another provocation was my "territorial claim," which for some reasons happen only to men. I saw the other cars opposite me turning right onto Springlake. I wanted to stop them, saying that's mine. It's my turn to go onto the Springlake street, so I was in a hurry to establish my dominion. Outrageous, isn't it? Why do I behave like so?

*sigh*

Go to We Love the Iraqi Information Minister and rave for what many and even I proclaim as "the doctor of spin!" Some gems that Muhammed Saeed Al-Sahhaf has spoken that run into the face of blatant troops: When American troops invade Baghdad, M.S.S maintained, "There are no American infidels in Baghdad--never!" and "they are nowhere near the airport ..they are lost in the desert...they can not read a compass...they are retarded."

So full of hilarious invectives that I can more easily accept his charisma.

I confess this loneliness is mine
Which I can see, provoked to this state,
And provoke this state as well.
A cycle beyond my power to will
Out or in of existence.
How to stop this recoiling habitude
This turly-whirl, Where my bearing's got
Only at the precipice and the trough
A split of frozen motion
Before I fall or rise, trapped by elastic cord
To this epicenter.
I must as ellipses move.
Therein my body must minister
To himself.

I had a wet dream. I was in the garage masturbating and I ejaculate in pleasure, but I was still stroking my penis when upon touching it with my left hand, I orgasmed again. I touched it the third time, I orgasmed the third time. I stopped, but was trapped in between deep sleep and wakefulness. It was a mode of not really being asleep and not really being awake.

When I finally woke up maybe a few minutes later, I felt something wet in my underwear, and of course, I realized and remembered that it was nocturnal emission. So I changed my underwear, after wiping away what gave it that so familiar name, and went back to sleep. Of course, it took a while, but I was dead-tired.

---

There was a kind of blackout in our neighborhood. Maybe somebody did something, but it caused every house in our neighborhood at 1:45 to blackout until 3:00.

I am free from Furby's grasp, finally . . . but my psychology remains unchanged. The powerful boy crush that I had for him was so extraordinary that I'm not sure I could ever experience such a tightly bounded form of longing. I probably will because I am unable to fix the very thing that gave me this ability to experience a complex, enduring, and idealistic state of love. I will repeatedly, like leeches, attach and then physically and emotionally drain a person's health and psyche.

How did I obtain this freedom? which for two long years had taken me to the highest of the high and the lowest of the low, plunged me into depression and deep loss of appetite, and by the same turn, carry me up to Mt. Everest that I could live for . . . wait, though I had achieved a kind of happiness when he had time for me, the truth was that I was never truly happy, just grateful to have his acknowledgement.

I obtained this freedom by knowing another gay boy, here right around here in a city close to mine, Castro Valley. He knows, he knows who I am! I feel good to be so momentarily free that he knows. He even has a boyfriend, which means that, while he is younger than I am, he serves as a role model to whom I could aspire. As opposed to people who doesn't know me, this boy serves as the perfect foil to make me realize that Furby is just Firmino, no more, and much less.

I'll agree that there were other things beside the CV boy. There were things such as Furby having a girlfriend, leading an unproductive life, and is stupid and boring. I shouldn't say such things about Furby; he is my friends after all. The problem is, apparently, a feature of manhood, my masculinity in psyche, which is forming friends of the road than of the heart. So far now, Furby is not participating in my life, nor am I in his. There are no economical or figurative reasons to pursue friendship, especially since I find that he is too busy to be friends with me. This shows a lot of man's inner thoughts, one of which is to disregard the little things.

Inevitably, he is changing, as am I. He changes, I changes, even when he wrote in every single things of notes: "Don't ever change." It is a shame that I for him would give up the chance to go to UCD. I admit it. He was a reason for me to stay, so I could keep in touch with him. Obviously, that didn't happen; we are further apart, and now I don't care. I regret making such foolish choices. Learning ASL at CSUH was not important enough, though I now have formed friendships with some people there, the problem is that I am not forming friendships in other areas, including Chemistry, Communication, Math, etc. I am also missing the experience of making friends with people in the Residence Hall, just stopping by to talk and communicate.

In retrospect, I doubt that Residentail Hall could have been as fulfilling as signing with people of the Deaf Community, but I realize now that I could have taught people how to sign so they could communicate with me. I could have learned how to sign so that whoever wants to talk to me, I could suggest whether they want to take the time to learn ASL and together we could engage in silent communication. Now, I feel that CSUH is probably a necessary step to enforce what was missing from SLHS. Now all my focus is on changing school to someplace far from my parents to find a better life and experience. I dare not say that CSUH was a terrible experience, but I would say that CSUH is not quite what I was looking for and does not have what I want (better scientific programs). Of course, science programs are virtually the same nationwide because they are accredited, for better or for worse.

I was told a long time ago by a deaf and hard-of-hearing specialist that UCD had some ASL program at an adult school. I could have gone there, and hopefully they teach from the same quality material that the ASL professor used. If not, I could have transferred to UCB and learn ASL there instead. Of course, the fact is that I will need to learn yet another language because ASL is confined in UCB to the departments of Linguistic Studies.

I've lost the purpose of this blog: to explain that I am free from Furby's hold on me. I must go now, having made this blog too long.

I've started running the Folding@Home client for the first few days without any problems, but lately when I started Windows, I wind up having my computer go through the Blue Screen of Death, where it automatically restarts itself without even saving. I'm not sure I understand it, but I can easily blame it on F@H. For some reasons, F@H causes some instability in Windows 98 that I cannot fathom. Perhaps the CPU load is too high, so Windows is unable to perform its basic function to stay alive because F@H is hogging some system resources. So for now, what I've resorted to is to take the F@H from the Startup group and simply start it manually after I feel that the computer is finished starting up so that I can then move on with my business. But I really want to know what the heck is going on, so please email me at luminus310@hotmail.com to explain the process. Granted, the F@H community does provide a forum board, but I hate having to go through the damn registration process.

---

I went with my family on the biological father's side to see my grandfather at the cemetery. We were celebrating a Chinese custom of burning fake money and fake clothes, along with incense to honor and mourn the deceased. I don't remember much about him because of family tensions between my mother and my father.

---

So far, I'm enjoying myself this quarter. I'm being exceptionally busy and tired, but that is offset by the fact that I can always have friends with whom to sign so I can communicate, whether it's gossip or purposeful, every Tuesday and Thursday. I'm glad to see that ASL Professor and his teaching assistants set up a meeting place at the University Union. It's the one place and time that I don't feel so left out. We meet every Tuesday and Thursday. I wish the meeting was more often, but I'll take what I can get at this point in time.

I know God must be laughing at me for being so foolish, but he has made me this way, and so I will live it out the way that I can, the way that would be me.

I have no life.

I'm trying to learn all those new things that have been popping up on the Internet. I learned HTML, I thought that was enough, but now they have Javascript, Java, PHP, DHTML, XML, XHTML, CSS, and whatnot. They'll probably go extinct in a decade, give or take a few years. Being 18, ready to turn 19 in the end of May, I feel too old for this.

I don't know precisely why. Why is it that all these programming terminologies should seem so complicated to my brain? Is HTML truly the easiest programming language, so easy that I can learn it, but when I come upon XML, my fettered mind reels against the oh-so foreign ways to write codes? How do you get started? I understand the concept, but how do I make it so that I can attach a meaning to a made-up tag?

I have the answer. I learned HTML through a tutorial that was really fundamental and hands-on. Dave's Tutorial was really the best. They had the intelligence to provide a box where I could practice my own codes and see what happened. Unlike WebMonkey, which requires me to open up a separate notepad file in order to tinker around, Dave's Tutorial was superior, allowing me to do things on the pages that I'm reading.

It seems I cannot wait even a day to post on this, but I'm REALLY proud of the American military troops for being so brave! Of course, it wasn't clear before, but now I can see that the American military might is great. So, now after three weeks, we can easily say that invading Iraq was the easy part, now we can watch what's more interesting and more against the tradition of the United States military. That would be seeing how good they are at peacekeeping, and establishment of a democracy in the Middle East.

I remember a time I used to paint my fingernails, oddly enough. It was ridiculous, but I think I know how that could have turned about.

I don't remember what age it was, but Elizabeth, a girl at my old preschool, had painted her fingernails and I got jealous. I wanted to copy her. Her mother babysat me.

When I got back home, I begged to have my fingernails painted. She said that I was not a girl, but after pressing her, she relented.

What happened? School happened. Although I was delighted to have my fingernails painted, I discovered to my shock, horror, and shame that boys don't paint their fingernails and I felt left out.

So by that night, I wanted to get rid of my fingernail paints as quickly as possible and sought to forget that moment of embarrassment as quickly as possible.

I didn't, obviously. And now I look at this as one of the many clues that pointed the way to who I am now.

A different topic altogether regarding the idea of abortion:

I am terrified that science will discover the means to remove homosexuality, to make sure the gay people are never born again. So what we will be facing is that the existing population will grow older and die out, trying mercilessly to clone themselves or to make gay babies in order to survive.

Abortion is a possible method, and I can only hope that women will by that time be enlightened enough to base their choices not on whether children are, to use an emotionally charged word, abnormal, but whether they feel the time and the circumstance are right to have a child.

If the permanent minorities had not reached the critical mass necessary to bring about changes in society before the means to remove them had come about, I fear that the world would have become like the world in The Giver, which describes a depressing utopian world. Jonas, the 12-year-old, was selected to be the Receiver-of-Memory, a position of high prestige and even higher burden. Jonas must remember everything, including the history that led to this state of existence where everyone is well-meaning, but unhuman.

I support women's right to choose. Yes, I do, although I would actively try to encourage them not to abort. It's not about the fetus, killing the fetus. I don't care about the fetus. That may seem cruel to those heavily focused on the idea of the fetus as a human being. Yes, I do feel that killing the fetus is an inhumane method, but I do not feel that it should be completely abolished. To have abortion be abolished would mean endless lines of women crying in desperation to get rid of the babies they do not need or want.

I believe it is more cruel to have women be suicidal. I believe it is more cruel to have women be abandoned by men who only wanted one-night stand without responsibility. I believe it is more inhumane to have an entire family suffer because the father doesn't make enough money to support another child.

What I am concerned about is the welfare of the women. For those potential first-time mothers, the lost baby may be something to consider more thoroughly in favor of keeping it even if having the baby might delay a career. The reason is that if you choose to abort, and have children later, I cannot seriously consider those children to be your first . . . If mothers so choose to tell their children that they had abortions before they gave birth to the children, the idea would belie the children's assumption that they were the first ever to be made in the mothers' wombs, except that they were first-born.

The abject potential feeling of disclosure creates a certain sense of helplessness, of lying in between two versions of truth and untruth.