you're so it

Stocky. L e g g y.

Yummy. S e x y. Funny.

Smoky. Tasty.

Goofy. C u r v y. Slinky.

Silky. K i n k y. Witty.

J u i c y.

Jazzy. C u r l y.

Beefy. Dusky. S p i c y.

Mushy. L o v e l y.

i <3 u

The Confession -- Film Set Photos

A New Jersey shoot for my friend's film, The Confession.

Homeless Man

Just sneakily shot this 5 second vid of a homeless man taking a break from his daily grind. After lugging the bags and cart, he quietly sits near the fire hydrant and rests for a moment.

Right after i stop filming, he gets up, throws a milk carton into the garbage can on the corner, and leaves with his luggage.

it's a bit sad in a way, but for some reason i feel that he's found some sort of solace in this moment alone. i'm sure in the back of his mind he doesn't want to be in the state that he's in now but in this moment he has taken a step back, away from the cans that remind him of who he is, and is just one with the city; probably happy to be alive and knowing full well that he'd rather struggle to live on his feet than to give up and whither away in an alley.

i see that this man has a perspective. Even with the city continuously toppling over him, he has a perspective and the will to move on. True soul.

T

Had some amazing yakitori at the never-disappointing Oh! Taisho! on St. Mark. Tried to convince Kohei to have a bit of the takoyaki but he wouldn't have it. No one even wanted to try the chicken hearts. I asked but all I got were worried looks and 'no thanks.'

Kohei and I can't seem to stop reading each other's minds. It's weird. What if those 'moments' happen during very dramatic moments in our lives? Like, I wouldn't want him to know my worse "Number 2" days -- get my drift?

Well anyway, the waitress was cute, as always.

No Reason Why..

I can't get this chick Kaela Kimura out of my head. She's a cute Japanese hapa singer who has a very

sweet voice and a great sense of style and spark.

This song reminds me of someone, so I'm posting it just for the hell of it to get it off my chest.

Here are the lyrics:

"There's no reason why

Don't try to work it out
Cos you won't work it out
There's no reason why
Life kicks you when you're down,
it's just the way it is sometimes

He's in the day room sits by the window
trying to picture how she smiled
He's going over the ways he loved her
she made everything worthwhile
And there's no explanation no one left to blame
He asks a thousand questions
but the answer's still the same

He talks about her and drinks without her,
holding on to what has gone
He can't understand it,
the way it ended he can't go back and can't move on
Cos there's no explanation no one left to blame
He asks a thousand questions
but the answer's still the same

Nobody knows you can't explain, give it away..."

T

Conscience on His Shoulders

It was a cold and rainy Friday morning and I had just gotten off the bus where it had been cramped with disgruntled passengers, spitting out swear words in their whispers to unsuspecting patrons. With all the rain, snow and dark clouds over our heads, New Yorkers were feeling that very "lovely" tension in the midst of each other's presence. You could feel the steam rise from the heads of those you squeezed through before shooting back a menacing glare at you for carrying a full duffel bag.. and i was.. and for having the nerve to brush your arms against theirs as you slid through the long and humid bus. That's the worse by the way--when there's no AC. People become agitated; they become feral; anything that comes near their path, they'll acknowledge you just like any other piece of garbage left abandoned on the road and if you give them a reason, they will pick a fight.

Doesn't help that it's also Friday and it's shit weather out.

I sat my duffel bag down on the sidewalk, trying to put on my backpack, beside the rushing of pedestrians. Practically standing inches before the road, I was afraid of some looney cab to hit-n-run me but I quickly paid no attention to my surroundings when I reminded myself I had to call my cousin.

Sometimes this city makes me crazy. The people in this town has full affect on you; how you eat, how you think, how you react to things around you. It's probably one of the only cities in this country where being an asshole is practically a god-given right. Immorality, apathy and fear linger not just in the darkest of corners but also in dead sight on the streets.

They don't give change to the homeless, they gawk at schoolgirls' skirts, they give you a look and think to themselves whether or not it's worth it to take your innocence; this city, like almost any other, is dirty beyond dirty and to find someone who can walk through this mess with the cleanest of clean conscience is a rare find.

But after getting annoyed with the way a mother was talking down to her cranky toddler son, I couldn't help but think for moment, "what the fuck is this world turning into?" In my mind, in those few seconds, I rush past memories of my hatred toward the world and its inhabitants; I rushed past the thoughts of changing the world in the flick of a switch, the yearn to see no more immorality in this world and for the world to finally get the answer its been looking for. I was ready to burst out in anger, wanting to rid the streets whatever it was that was bothering me. If we're not getting an answer soon, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands. But in the instant of me reaching for the mantle, I noticed a person who may have been a sign.

He wore a dull green military-style jacket, buttoned and zipped to the very end; wore dark denims, a brown beret and aviator sunglasses and he emerged gracefully and with patience from the frantic souls around us. His posture was upright and at ease; his movement, without haste and his hands, behind his back holding at the wrist. He walked through the people without being touched and avoided eye contact, yet his mannerism seemed observant, surveying the world that he also has a connection to just as I.

But the most interesting little detail on him wasn't the jacket or the odd use of shades on a very cloudy morning or his calm expression, it was the brown leather gloves rested on his shoulders tucked neatly under the jacket's shoulder loops with the fingers pointing forward. It seemed as if some bigger-than-life entity was behind him, physically guiding the mute man through our world unseen, yet the only evidence of any such being would have been the hands rested on the man's shoulders. It was then that I thought the man was some sort of... angel. Some sort of clue to a possible answer to my soul's endeavoring questions.

Where could this man have come from? What has he seen? Who do those hands on his shoulders belong to?

I tried to avoid his presence by paying attention to a continuous ringing on my cell phone. The voicemail started but I stayed on and peeked around the bend of my frames at the man being guided by an entity. It was weird. He left not a trace, not one sound from his heavy brown boots, nor a scent of cologne. Nothing. He was merely a man guided by his conscience surveying the world just as I.

On the corner I looked behind me to catch a last glimpse of this mysterious fellow from the abyss and he was gone.

weird, huh?