Sunday, Oct. 14, 2018


Morning pages:

I had 2 dreams last night..

One was about hopping back on the bus when I shouldn’t have.

The other I was in some futuristic city. I was doing DMT with some friends. But then I couldn’t find it. I look through the drug box excessively. I went back to my friend’s place.  The whole place was rearranged into a ritualistic artyspace. The women who did it says she’s into gophering..

Gophering? Interesting.

Biomimicry art.

Turns out the DMT was used up by P’s chick. She used it as fuel for her car. That totally befuddles me.


All of a sudden, just right now, as I was morning paging, I had this thought,

Why not return to the Choose Your Own Adventure page, updated


Maybe you were wandering..


I think I have to start out meta, like I’m reading your mind..


I think I’m ready to start a new beginning

in Pervette


Dear You,

check back on this week.

I’m planning to get really obsessive about filling it in..


This Olli app is a game changer…




From what I can remember on Friday the 19th



I woke up thinking that today might be my only chance to capture all the blooming plants in the backyard before its too late. Tomorrow P will be home, Tuesday I have class then we take off for LA, then we’ll return two weeks later, by then who knows how the maple trees will look, and the stevia and the hydrangeas.

Today is the day.

So I set up the canon 5D in the backyard and captured myself going for a soak in the hottub. I angled the camera from a different position, that way I can capture the spot where the dead tree was removed and now the jasmine is dangling.

Then I captured myself doing some stretches in the sun, angling the camera to capture the green.


What motivates me to record is the thought that this might be the last time. .


This might be the last October in this house. This might be the last time I’ll to see these hydrangeas grow this tall.


I call up Neighbor and asked for the fellow who runs the Hanged Man

He comes on the line. he remembers me. I ask if he has time to give me a palm reading today.

He says yes, at 4:30



I record myself showering. I haven’t showered since Monday, I think. It’s a new thing I’m doing. Not showering too much. It’s the more Asian or European way. And I think my dreadlock hair likes it better that way.


I record myself doing pushups. I’m feeling quite weak these days.


The large white orchids that I bought 2 weeks before Burning Man are in full bloom in the orgy room. They look so elegant and pretty, it would be a shame to not capture them in their full glory. So I record myself playing on the silk in the orgy room surrounded by the perfectly arched orchids.


I’m just trying to capture what I know will be gone tomorrow.


I’m so glad I did, because it hurts a little when I don’t.


I hate living in regret.

I rarely have regrets.

But when I do

It’s usually because I didn’t get to record

That perfect moment

That will never ever happen again


P laughs at me

It’s like it never happened

he says

It’s true,

it feels that way

For someone

who believes their life

is meant to be shared


I thought I was going to record myself making egg avocado tacos but I decide not to, the kitchen is a crazy mess.

I make myself some yummy egg tacos and eat it outside on the grass.

Or did I make myself a salad?

I’m pretty sure it was tacos.


I’ve been thinking a lot about S and this #metoo movement that he’s seemingly up against.


I record myself cleaning the kitchen and washing the dishes.


I decide I should go strait from the palm reading to picking P up at the airport at 7:30.


I throw the poison ivy covered pink and black Nikes (that S gave me when we first met) and throw them in a trash bag. I throw my Burning Man playa dust-covered shoes in another trash bag. I think there’s a laundromat near The Hanged Man. Maybe I can throw these shoes in a laundromat washer (because that’s what laundromat washers are for) and get them washed while I get my palm read.


I should’ve recorded myself hyper cleaning the round table, which was filled with my watercolor and calligraphy and stamps and stamp pad stuff. I tidied up that table so quick. Then I ran out the door.


I was 8 minutes late to my reading, I didn’t have time for the laundromat.


I went into Neighbor, my hands were feeling dry, and I don’t want to be self conscious about my hands the whole time it’s being read. I found a lovely tube of tester lotion and put it on my hands.

Oh shit that was actually some tan- tinted foundation thing.

Oh wait, here’s the lotion. I start rubbing it on my hands as I walk through the back door of the shop and into the garden.


M, the palm reader was watering some plants outside his magical hut when I arrived


He reads my palm..


Thursday, October 18, 2018 (10/18/18) 10:18am

Ocean Ave, Santa Monica


Dear You,

I know I know, it’s been a while. I’m in LA now. I just dropped P off at LAX.


He’s on how way to ATL.

We’ll meet up in NYC on Tuesday.


And now I’m finally alone here. With a cup of tea (Tibetan Magic eeTea, a new fancy tea I got at Dragon Herbs yesterday). But I gotta pack up and drive down to the OC in a minute to see my mom.

I should call her and let her know that I’m in LA now and I’m heading her way.


I’m gonna bring her all the fruit I got for us at the Santa Monica Farmer’s market yesterday (that’s the picture above).

So much happens in a day, so many observations, so much beauty, so many thoughts, so many things that make me smile and laugh, so little time to sit down and capture it all.

I wonder if I will ever be able to

to share it all

or at least find a way to share the essence of it


I hope I can.

Because it’s a alight nagging feeling not being able to.

It’s my creative challenge.

How do I do it?


I think my recordings will come in handy

at some point


Will I ever have time to go back?


They say to stay in the moment.

I totally agree.

But there’s something about capturing impermanence.


Since my Buddhist class Tuesday, I’ve been thinking about “my work” as an artist.

I think it has something to do with helping people see impermanence.



If  look up from this screen and just turn my eyes slightly to the right, I see a blue ocean beach.

I have to give it to P, he knows how to pick em.


I think about what C said when we first met, how Eros is the child of poverty and gluttony.

I think I’m Eros.


I skirt by with just the cash in my wallet.

My wallet was a gift from my sub.

The cash which is the tribute from my subs.

The money from my last session is all the money I have at every moment.


When you live close to the edge of nothing, it makes almost every thing a miracle.


I think there’s something about the tendering of cash. Handing it to farmers and cheesemakers, owners of little businesses.


What if money is the material form of karma?

How do you want it to go around?

Who do you want to support and see more of their passion/work in the world?

How do you want it to come back to you?


I’m thinking about the jar of black olives I bought at the farmer’s market and left on the stand yesterday.

I’ve done that twice in the past two weeks.

It’s okay.

It’s the things that make you remember.


Just called my mom. She was still alseep.

I’m coming home around noon I tell her.

I asked her what she wanted to do today.

She already went out yesterday to celebrate her friend’s birthday.

She says she’s too lazy to put on her face.

I tell her that’s fine we’ll just stay in.


I should pack up and head out before traffic gets brutal.



The OC


Dear You,

I’m home, sitting next to my mom on the U-shaped sectional sofa. She’s watching a period piece Chinese soap opera.


She just ate a jar of her homemade yogurt (her yogurt is the best, it’s plain and tart and slightly sweetened with condensed milk, just like how rthey make it in Vietnam).

Now she’s eating half an avocado (a new daily ritual) because she heard somewhere that it’s good for your health.

I asked her where she heard that from, she said the news or television.

I’m always curious to hear what prompts her to do something different. Whatever I suggests, like going to bed early (she goes to bed around 3 or 4am), sleeping more (she gets about 4-5 hours a sleep per night) and cutting refined sugar out of her diet never seems to stick.

I guess eating half an avocado is easy enough.


The protagonists in the Chinese soap opera are two kids (boy and girl) around 10 years old. It seems like they’re constantly getting punished and caned by their aunt (their caretaker). And she sometimes locks them up in a cage.

The boy has has some magical flying power and swoops the girl up from the torrential downpour.

My mom laughs in disbelief.

I remember watching these soap operas with my mom and sister (and my dad before he left).

There was always corporeal punishment and some humiliation.


The drive home was easy, no traffic. It’s another very bright day in southern California, so bright it washes out all the color on the drive home.


I pill up to the callbox of the gated community. A giant white truck pulls up and is 3 car spaces behind me, possibly waiting for me to open the gate for it to slip through. I call mom up,

What’s the gate code?

Is no one  entering the gate right now?


Just as she goes to look for the gate code, a white Nissan pulls up to the gate and opens it, I follow behind and drive through the open gate. The giant truck that was behind me follows.


When I got in my mom came downstairs and ask if I want to to go to the new Japanesey plaza nearby. She needs to pick up some pastry for the altar. And I can check out the new space.

Sure, I said.


Almost all the commercials on the Vietnamese channel are about diet pills, collagen, fuciodon (some miracle Japanese herb), and reishi mushrooms/


I show mom the exotic fruit I got at the farmer’s market. She never seems as excited about new things as I imagine she would be. I guess she’s not me.


I put the goat butter and cheese away in the fridge. The fridge is filled with produce, condiments, old and new. Before I say anything, my mom says she’ll take care of it later. That’s not true.




I just got a text from X. She wanted to let me know that a mutual friend of hours, A (from our days at the Gates), has passed away. She died of a heart attack probably about two weeks ago in her apartment. Her daughter just called to let her know. Her memorial will be in two weeks.


I knew A as C (her domme name), I had to confirm in my contacts that A was indeed her birth name.

She texted me in Nov 2016, she wanted to hang out after the holidays.

I replied a month later, apologizing for the delay, saying I was in monk mode and I would love to get together after the new year.


A year later December 14, 2017 she texts, it’s been some time, she hopes we can connect in the new year


I reply on Jan 24, 2018 saying I would love to connect.

She replies on Feb 6, 2018

I hope you are well and 2018 is off to a good start. Much love and many blessings.

I never replied.


I feel bad. I never really connected with her outside of the Gates. And I didn’t invite her to my last birthday party (I was concerned that the invite list was ballooning out of control). I wonder if she texted on Feb 6 (the day before my birthday) because she heard about my birthday party and wondered if I forgot ab0ut her.


I wash the one pillowcase from the pillow I’ll be using, the hoodie I just dropped on the ground as I was carrying my stuff from the car to the house, and the underwear I was wearing.

I wipe down the bedside table in my room.

Mom sweeps with her microfiber broom, she does not vacuum or dust.


Mom is done praying, comes downstairs, asks for the remote, there’s a really good soap opera on now. She turns to it. The actress in this other period piece has a new radiantly cute look. My mom says she’s been fined by the Chinese government for $130 million dollars, for tax evasion. She has 3 months to pay or else she goes to jail. A lot of Chinese citizens wants her to go to jail.


Two hours ago, mom thought we would be back from our excursion before 4, so we can open the backyard gate for the gardeners. It’s 3:17pm right now, we haven’t made any movement towards leaving the house yet.


I realize now there’s no way I can capture everything. It’s endless. The way events and my thoughts and ideas connect and stream. I can get endlessly detailed about it.


I take a picture of Cutie and the exotic fruits and Cutie in my bedroom. When I come downstairs, mom is on the phone, when she sees me, she puts her index finger up to her mouth, and says with her eyes, don’t make a sound.

She’s on the phone with my stepdad. Somehow she doesn’t like to tell him I’m home when I visit.


It sounds like he invited someone to stay with him at his house in Lancaster, and now it’s becoming not such a great idea.

I can relate.


Isn’t he going to find out I’m home when he comes home tomorrow?

Then we’ll tell him you came home tomorrow.


My mom and stepdad also have a LAT (Living Apart Together) relationship.


R, my stepdad, comes home every Friday and takes off every Sunday.

P comes home every Sunday and takes off every Tuesday.


There’s so much to write about after we took off for the Japanesey market…


Around 11:33pm we heard a helicopter overhead with someone talking through a very powerful megaphone. It took me a minute to run to the open window to hear what was being said. Something about somebody who weights 160 pounds wearing a blue tank top.

From what I can tell, the police are out looking for some suspect. He’s potentially hiding out in our gated community somewhere.


I was trying to tidy up all my apps on my phone. Time to delete apps I never use. i had toopen some to remember when they even were. One was called Olli. It’s an app that takes pictures as paintings through something called vectorization (I think). I’ve never used the app since I got it (a few months ago).  I take a picture of my mom on her ipad. This is how she is at home for 80% of the time..

What I pout inside me: lemon water, a giant plantain pancake P made before we wen to LAX, Tibetan magic Tea, goat cheese of two varieties (from the farmer’s market), flaxseed crackers, a piece of banana mom roasted, Dragon Herbs Longan tea, a che fruit,  jujubes (they’re so yummy), raw chili pistachios; a nibble of a ajitima egg, shrimp tempura, blah noodles, steamed pumpkin fromt he Central Tokyo market hot bar with mom (her idea); Korean BBQ marinated shortribs, salad, kimchee, bonchan plates at Gangham House, a piece of fluffy sponge cake at Cheesetela.




Friday, October 19, 2018 11:22am

Dining Room – Folk’s House – The OC


Dear You,

Once I start writing to you (like I did yesterday), I feel like it sets in motion a way of seeing the world, more observant I think,  asI move through my day. I get more inside my head. I think about how I want to share this moment and that moment and this thought and that idea with you.


And then I think will I remember to?


I woke up around 7am this morning. I can’t remember the dream I had but the message was “there’s a trade-off” to everything.

Maybe it’s speaking to my dilemma, of how much do I spend going out and experiencing the world or how much time do I spend sitting here and recording all of it.


Like, do I want to go visit and walk around the neighborhood of the apartment I used to live in from age 1 through 7 (and film it) as well as my old elementary school and high school, or do I sit here and work on Pervette?


I think I want to go out. Besides I need to go supercharge the Tesla.


I was scattered when I wrote my morning pages, my mind started to wonder. I can feel myself sweating under my arms. Maybe it’s time to finally shower.

I haven’t showered since Monday.

But before I shower, I should do some dirty work around the house.

I cleared out the dangling cobweb that was hanging from the kitchen ceiling in front of the refrigerator with the metal extendable shoehorn or backscratcher that I found in the snacks and fruit bowl. Then I got the other cobweb hanging in the corner of the family room. I wiped down the ledge of the giant window by the stairwell.


I remember my mom used to say a house with cobwebs is a poor house.

Does she not remember that? Or does she not care?



I went into the guest room and looked for the Dyson handheld, to plug it in to charger. That way, when my mom wakes up, it’ll be fully charged and ready for me.

The guest room is insane. It’s a dumping ground for my stepdad’s compulsive shopping sprees and my mom’s costco hoarding. There are two coat racks with 30 or so hats hanging from each hook. There are piles of new and worn clothes thrown on the daybed. Shopping bags of stuff are everywhere. I tried cleaning and organizing this room a year ago. The transformation was remarkable. I was so proud of myself.

Every time I came back to visit and check up on it, it not so slowly regressed back to the heaping mess that it wants to be.

Found the Dyson. It was sitting on a glass table my stepdad’s fancy belts (all coiled up) and next to a mysterious something that was covered with an old white washcloth and it had two sunglasses cases sitting on it.  I couldn’t find the charger. I thought it might be charged to the wall behind it. When I looked, there was a different charger plugged in, I followed its cord. The charger was connected to the washcloth-concealed boxy thing that was making a mechanical rotating noise underneath.  Why is thing plugged in to only be concealed? When I took off the glasses cases and lifted the washcloth, I found a faux leather case with a glass window and inside were 3 Rolex (looking) watches sitting on these circular pedestals that rotated (hence the mechanical sound) 


Oh is this why mom is so concerned about keeping the gate locked yesterday? Were these the valuables?

They look so riduculous in that box.



I showered and had a videochat with U. We’ve been meaning to connect for the past 3 months. We supposedly have a book project to work on.


He was at his mom’s house in Spain He introduced me to her over Facetime.

That’s so funny, I’m at home with my mom too, I tell him. We both sit in our bedroom and catch up.


I’m constantly wanting to clean and tidy up the piles of clutter when I’m home.


He had a very powerful ayahausca ceremony last week. The message was clear, he needs to work on himself, address his sexual, emotional, and physical trauma that he experienced years ago. He dated a dominatrix a few years ago that really fucked him up. He realizes he’s been living with PTSD ever since. He’s going  back to London next week to heal. Taking some improve and dance classes (that’s what I want to do too) and work with food (since there was food in his trauma.


I made 2 plantain pancakes with the batter P and I made yesterday.

Mom had some, she liked it.


Around 3:44, I went out to go charge the Tesla. I made a few stops down memory lane along the way…


What I put inside me: ACV, lemon water, Prebiotic Thrive from Dr. Gundry, Magic Tibetan Tea, Shaolin Power Tea, 2 plantain pancakes (mom had a few bites from each), pomegranate from our garden that mom peeled and pulled for me, 2/3 bag of mayan chilli pistachios, nearly a whole bag of Siete grain free tortilla chips, a spring roll (goi cuon) and julienned pork roll (bi cuon) from Kim Loan (our local old school vietnamese restaurant), some korean bbq shortribs and stew


Saturday, October 20, 2018 5:55pm

My bedroom in the OC


Dear You,

It’s been a long day. I have much to tell you but I’m a little exhausted right now. I plan to do something different. Such as go back and fill in the details of this week with pictures and (maybe) sound.


I most likely won’t be able to do it until tomorrow, when I get back to Santa Monica.

I’m deciding not to see anyone, except for maybe J, my friend/former lover who ghosted a few years back, then resurfaced a few months ago  and wanted to reconnect.

I’m just curious..what happened?


This morning I woke up a little scattered. My mind wandered as I tried writing out my morning pages. I google ab exercises. I tried to follow the 10 min ab video and did it only partially.

I feel out of shape.

And like I’ve been eating excessively.

Intermittent fasting who?


I forgot to reply to S.

How are you holding up? I ask.

I’m feeling very hurt.

This morning.

It comes and goes.

It’s because, I say I didn’t rape anybody. And there are all these other really minor attacks. A lot of them. And so many are untrue, or only half true. But i can’t defend myself from them because I have to use all my resources to fight the rape charge.

It’s like abandoning the villages to protect the city.

So everyone thinks I’m a monster. And even if they don’t think I raped anyone they believe everything else to be true.

That’s terrible, I reply.

It’s hard to ignore.

And I lost so many friends.

Really close friends, just believing the most horrible things. Without stopping to question, or wonder why we never had those experiences.

Sometimes it doesn’t bother me, and then other times it does bother me.

It’s like t hey think I’m admitting to the other stuff because I’m not denying it.

But I can’t engage in those arguments because then the conversation wouldn’t be about a false rape charge. it would be a strawman.

I reply, I wish we can create a forum where you’re actually in dialogue with people instead of this Twitter bullshit.


I try to avoid all of the noise, and stay away from Twitter. But I fail sometimes.

I would dialogue on a stage or something with M (the person who created the Shitty Men in Media list).

But one person can’t maintain an argument with 50,000 people, each of whom is focused on something else.

The argument also is that I can’t prove I didn’t rape anyone. Which is a weird argument. You can’t prove innocence.

I propose some forum literary like event and maybe in the end there’s some medieval public humiliation thing.

Maybe S can be redeemed through some absurd spectacle.

Very game of thrones, S says.


I love you so much. Thank you for not abandoning me.


A texts.

Mama Domme!  I made an account on Whiplrand got a 24 year old blond sub. We are supposed to meet today. What’s the protocol when they misbehave and don’t please me? -Baby Domme


Another friend named A (also) texts me asking how can she financially dominate this guy she’s been subbing to for the past 5 years.


P texts asking what I think of his text to N.


I meet Dad at Brodard at 11:44pm

While we wait for our table, he has me login to his Fidelity account through his phone

The username and password is incorrect.

He said my sister set it up for him last week when she was here

I try multiple times, I’m locked out. I reset his password.

I login successfully.

He’s squinting, what does that say?



What’s 590?

That’s my retirement.




Try my sunglasses on.

You gotta get some like these.

See how dark it looks?

I’ve had this pair for almost 30 years.


Here take this.

He empties his pill tube and shoves all its contents (vitamins I think) in his mouth.

Put your pills in here, he says with his mouth full of vitamins.



Try them on.

I try his sunglasses on, again.

See it’s two color!


Dad comes back with another empty pill tube to give me.


Another 2 min later he comes back with a Johnson&Johnson white case to hold my tubes of pills.

It fits 4 tubes, he tells me.

I think this is the 9th or 14th white case filled with tubes of advil and tylenol he’s given me.


I better start driving befroe he comes back with yet another tube to give me.

I don’t know where to go. I just know I don’t wan tot go home yet.

I decide to head towards this Vietnamesey fruit shop my mom use dto take me to in Westminster.


Exiting the parking lot, I started to feel this deep sense of peace.


I have this new compassion for my dad.

I get him now.

When it sounds like he’s yelling about nothing, that’s him trying to give me “my life lessons”


His life lessons for me this week:

Don’t use the auto drive on Tesla.

People have died and they can’t sue Tesla.

They claim it auto drives but you still gotta keep your eye on the road.

Get sunglasses. Don’t wait for eyes to get damaged to try to fix them.


Dear Dad,

I know I have nothing now to reassure you this. So I’m not gonna say this until it’s a sure bet. But just give me a few years. And I’ll be able to take care of you. So you don’t have to worry a thing.  I’m gonna get you a place.

They’ll be one wall in this space that will be lined with floor to ceiling mirrors. That way you can dance like you used to. And see how you still got it..


Mom. I’m at the fruit store. Is there anything you want?

What do they have?

Umm..Jackfruit. Persimmon. Dragon fruit. Jujubes…

We don’t need any jujubes. One pretty dragon fruit for the altar would be good. And 4 persimmons. And some jackfruit, pick out the sweet ones. And that’s it.



When I got int he car. I teared into the jackfruit.

It was so yummy.

Have you ever had jackfruit?

You must.

As I savor each bite, I try to imagine how I can describe its taste to someone who hasn’t tried it.

I can’t.

You need to try it yourself.

Is this what the Buddha meant by direct experience?


I remember passing by a temple on the way to Brodard. It was on Newhope by Hazard. I’ll go there.


On the way there I found another temple to the left, I turned in.

Oh my goddess, then I saw her as I drove in.

I was so moved by the perfect sight, I could cry.




I decide I’m gonna stay the night at my folks. I’m in no rush, I realize. It feels right to stick around some more. And my bedroom is comfy enough.


Oh man. I think I ate too much.


R is on his fancy japanesey massage chair, mom’s on her ipad, I’m on my computer. We’re all together doing our separate things.


What I put inside me: ACV, Level’s Elevate via vape, 2 sugarcane shrimp rolls (chau tom cuon)pork and 3 grilled pork spring rolls (nem nuon cuon) at Brodard with my dad for lunch; 4 pieces of jackfruit I got at the fruit store, a fried sesame bread and vegetarian egg rolls from the Buddhist temple; lotus root salad, claypot catfish with jasmine rice, hot and sour hot pot with catfish, bamboo shoots and banana blossom, and vermicelli at Huong restaurant (day of yummy vietnamese food)

Back to my previous week