Coming up to the City of Clouds, coming up to the City of Emeralds, to get away from the City of Angels. It’s my time to relax, to relax from the usual life that has haunted me all too long. The life that I have been so bored with for some time. It was time to get away. Away, far far away from the Angels of the city. I found another Angel up in the clouds.

The clouds, so fluffy and withering white, floats so listlessly up in the sky, monoliths just moving with the breeze. Just moving with the breeze; going where ever the wind blows. It just goes. So peaceful and so pure, so white and innocent. Clouds of nature, a collection of mist that was gathered from tiny particles that came from every where and goes every where, a collection of every thing and nothing at once.

It flows and flows. Going with the breeze, so listless and so full of life.

It looks so peaceful in the sky, so milky white and pure; tainted an eerie fiery glow from the setting sun. It moves on, hiding its secret from everyone. It moves on.

Day turns to night. The sun is set and billowy white turns to the nightly steel gray black that we are so familiar with. Night’s out for the secret to reveal itself.

The clouds of cumulonimbus letting us have it. It pours and pours and pours out its secret for all to see. It cries and cries, cleaning itself, killing itself and freeing itself from all of the pain and frustration that it builds up and collects from everywhere. It cries for all; everyone’s pain and everyone’s frustration. It cries, no longer able to hold all of the painful secrets it harbors. It cries, letting the water flow, crying all night, crying.

When it runs out of tears, it is no more. It no longer exists. The clouds are only here to collect all the secrets and bad deeds that everyone does. Once it has its share, once it has collected all it can, once it gets the final secret that breaks its dam, it is time for it to go. It is time for it to cry. It is time for it to die.

It is no more. All cried out goes the song. All cried out. I’m over you.

That’s what it did when I was down there, that’s what it did when I got my answer, when I got my reply. The sky cried. The clouds could no longer take the pain that was inflicted and it cried for me. I had no more tears. No more tears for you. I couldn’t cry over this, over you anymore. I just couldn’t. So the sky did.

It rained all night, the next day, the next night, and the day after. It cried and cried. It cried me a river.

Moving on, flowing like the clouds, going with the flow, where ever the wind blows me. That’s what I’m going to do. That’s what I intend to do. No longer going with a purpose, no longer making plans, no longer doing things for the sake of doing things. I’m just going to do things when I want to do things because I need to do things. I have to do things.

I will just float on, float on, cause that’s what I need to do. That’s what everyone needs to do, float on.

To be free to float on, going where ever the wind blows you. Just flowing like the mighty river Thames, following the current, riding the ride, just going along. Just going along. That’s how life should be, no purpose, just living, going with things. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, then tough bananas.

Sitting here oh so alone with nothing but an old man a few tables down from me, I gaze, gaze out in to the great beyond. Out side this little bridge, down there oh so far below, life wanders pass. It passes me by as I sit here oh so silently typing away. Cars, pedestrians, cats and dogs all zoom by. I sit here wondering do they even know that I’m up here looking down on them? Do they know that we were a part of each others’ lives there for that split second that they passed me by.

I gaze down across the corner. A mother and father push their little infant in its stroller. They wait for that familiar blue man to give them permission to cross safely. There they came out of the blue. They are gone just like how they came, silently and distant.

Looking down into the coffee shop just a floor down, students sit at tables flipping their many books and their many pages cramming for the test they so want to pass. Thinking back, I was there once. Just like them. Just like that girl in the red. Flipping through my notes, double checking the figures, relearning the rules and theorems that I so panicky think will be on the test. I sit and sit and sit and read up on everything until my mind explodes. Hours and minutes. Days and weeks pass before I would be able to come to understand what was written in those thick overpriced textbooks that I once worked hard to peddle not so long ago.

Oh how time changes. Cars zoom by. Motorcycles, pedestrians, and oh yes, cats and dogs. They all zoom by one after the other, one after the other. They sometime come in sets, fleets, armadas of life that passes me by.

Damien Rice sings that Older chests pass me by…, I’ll be fine, Just give me time; and time is all I need to feel the way that I need to feel.

A little tot drags his tot toy behind him sleepily as his father drags him across the street oh so safely to get his little boy home for his nightly rest. It will be a while when he will do the same with his own child. Years, decades.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads, black haired, all colors and all sizes, pass me by below. They walk by teasingly, hey look at me with my nice girlish figure, they pass me by with their floral scents that drives men bonkers. They are so in to the game that it intimidates novices like me. They walk by flirtatiously, even though they don’t know where I am, they still do it to tease. That is their game. That is life.

Cars follow the rules and regulations set forth by the lawmakers and the National Transportation Board to protect the safety of all. Left turns only when it is green, whether it is a arrow or if it is safe to do so. Right turns on both greens and reds. Turning to get to the destination they need to go. Home, work, significant others, parties, movies. Places to go, people to see.

Looking down the deep pathway of Westwood Blvd. It stretches far beyond these eyes can see. It comes to a shiny little red point that fades so perfectly into the black night. It goes and goes and goes. Where it stops, another path will continue. It is like time. Pathways are never ending. They continue and continue, always leading you somewhere, always leading you forward.

A man looks out a window, not focusing on the book that is in front of him. I wonder what is he studying, what is he thinking of? Is it Nietzsche or is it Kant? Does the Bolshevik revolution cloud his mind or is it simply the derivative of a simple calculus equation? What are the odds of two people in that same room thinking of the same thing at the same time? I would have to say the odds are pretty good. I would put my life fortune down and reap in all of the mula.

I sit here on this bridge oh so high, trembling as the wind slightly blows its soft breath. I sit here thinking it is the next big one to hit and I am doomed for all eternity, falling into oblivion. I wish I could scream back into that endless pit like my dream girl did in that movie after New Jersey, but I am not brave enough, and I am oh so alone to actually do it.

Speaking of dream girls, I sit here wondering when will my next one arrive? Who will be the next girl that I just feel so comfortable with; when will she come and totally take me by surprise? I guess if I think about it too much, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Who knows, it could be one of those girls crossing the street right now. But looking at how they dress, they are far too fashionable for me.

Cars line up with places to go. My car is parked in the garage, waiting to be started. It takes a rest for I am tired of going to a destination in which I am not familiar with.

Another left, another right. Turn turn turn as the Byrds sang oh so long ago. Life will go on, time will always tick away.

More girls that pass my path, more cars, more pedestrians. Cats and dogs.

Others feel lost and in despair for their way back home are blocked by the steely doors that came down oh so long ago. Where do they go? How do they get back they wonder to themselves. I think to myself, easy, take the long way around. Go down the stairs and cross the street.

The man walks endlessly around in a circle in a circle as he patiently waits for his shift to be over. Circle and circle, round and round he goes.

Lights, pairs and pairs of pale amber lights that shine so brightly below pass me by. Red orbs that gets smaller and smaller away from me and amber brightness that looms largely down the street.

Walking down the street, walking across the street. Just walking, walking to one’s heart content. One foot in front of the other, making pitter patter noises as it hits the pavement, like the beat set forth by the beat of your heart. Thump thump, Thump thump. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

I sit here listening to Stevie talking about “reflections on the snow covered hills” gazing out the windows that are before me. They show me what life really is. It is all around me.

Left turns, right turns, straight ahead, side to side. Movement all around, but I am here all alone in this lonely dark skybridge as I type my little ditty for all to read. I chose to be here. There are open tables below inside in the warmth aromatic coffee shop, but I cannot get close. Too many people, too many distractions. I need to write, to jot down my thoughts. I cannot disturb those down there who are out for legitimate reasons of sociology, psychology, geology, Nabakov, Vonnegut, and the oh so elusive Salinger.

No I am up here like Vonnegut and Salinger would be. Away, distant, yet involved. Watching. Taking in the scenery, taking in the people, taking in life.

A passive participant I have become as people come near me only to go away because there is no exit behind. All roads lead ahead of me. That is the only way out.

A young woman comes sauntering, jaunting her little body towards my way only to turn to the exit before them. They are here not for the bookstore that is just in front of them, but for the theatre that is on the other side of the mall. They find their exit, cross in front of me down below, and are on their merry way.

Pushing the button to see the blue man, to hurry the blue man, to get the permission to be active, to go ahead, to walk ahead, to go, to leave, to go, to leave, to do what it is they need to do, to reach their destination. They push the button, they push and they push. I hold it down.

There they go, walking across the street down below, heading toward their destination. The young girl still saunters, still teases as she skips her way across, as she dances her little moves to draw one’s eye. There they go, they disappear.

They come into my life and they leave. That’s how people are, that

The lunch break, a big thing that really means nothing to me. It just takes up valuable time in which I could be sleeping. Sleeping my life away is pretty much what I do. I sleep sleep sleep. I peel my eyes oh so slowly open to see nothing but blurriness.

I’m sitting here typing away, listening to the tunes that are on my computer. I just don’t know what to do. Obessiving my life away. All I do is just obsess. I need to stop my stalker tendencies, I need to stop everything.

I need to just stop my poor heart from beating. It’s been taking too much beatings. It’s been beating away through habit, it’s been beating away cause it can.

I’ve just been asked if I was a liar my whole life. Thinking back, I think I am. I think we all are. We all lie to ourselves, we all lie to everyone that we see. We lie. We lie.

Just trash.

I really don’t know what to write here tonight. I really don’t. I thought I had something to say, something to put down for posterity, but I guess it just slipped my mind.

Tonight, while sitting in my oh not so secretly writing spot at the local mall beginning my new script, I told myself that I would write an entry. A entry about love, loss, happiness, general philosophy of life. That’s what my new script is about. The general philosophy of life and love.

What is love? Do we need it? Is there such a thing called love or is it just in the figment of our imagination? Let’s just say I didn’t get too far in my new script. A whopping page and one-eighth. I got one scene down and I was quite surprised by it. To me, it turned out well, but I guess everything I write turns out well at the time I wrote it, but in hindsight, opinions start to change.

I want to finish this script, I want to continue writing this script. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything substantial. It’s been a while since I’ve written a feature. May. That’s when I finished my last script, Tall Tales and Danger Pigs, the one that no one will read cause it is so horrible. At the moment, the new script is called Second Chance.

I think we all should deserve second chances in our lives. For everything that we’ve done and regretted. We should get a second chance. To make things right. But, if you fuck it up, that’s the last chance you get. Forget about it and move on. Move on.

Why does it hurt so much to like someone? Is it not real if it doesn’t hurt? So if you fell for a girl and you did your best to woo her and if things just doesn’t turn out the way you wanted and you move on without any problems, does that mean that it wasn’t real? I guess in my situation, all the pain has come and gone and my heart was just beating because it can.

Thinking ahead, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Thinking ahead, I’m not sure what is going to happen. Thinking ahead, I’m not sure where I am going to go.

Where should I go? Should I actually make an effort and find someone or should I take some time off? I’ve heard many many many advices but I really can’t commit to one.

Not too long ago, I met a girl at a party. It was an old friend from my previous job’s birthday party. It was Jill’s party. I believe I wrote something about it in my earlier entries.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I had a good time and I hoped she did too. The strange thing for me was that this was about a week or so after I left my previous job. I did something when I left, which i will not discuss, but it was so surprising for me to move on.

I talked with this girl. I joked with her. Things were going so well, and things were going so easy. Never felt so at ease conversing, socializing before. I’m sure the lot of alcohol I consumed during this gathering helped lower my inhibitions and made things more easy for me, also I am sure that the small intimate environment helped also.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I couldn’t get this girl out of my head. No, I couldn’t. Till this day, she’s still in my mind, but she’s fading ever so slightly. Her essence dims with each minute, with each keystroke. Fade.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked. I emailed Jill to ask her to forward my contact information to her friend. I haven’t gotten a response from Jill nor from her friend. Whether Jill forwarded my contact information to her, I’m not sure. Maybe she’s just not interested. Maybe she never got my contact information and she’s waiting ever so patiently for me to make the contact. Maybe she forgot who I am. Oh the possibilities are endless.

It’s funny how these things are just things and they really don’t amount to much or mean much. But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked.

So I sit here, waiting, wasting my time, thinking, contemplating, brainstorming and just clearing my head of all things so I could just focus on nothing. Wouldn’t that be nice. To just focus on nothing. Emptiness. Blackness. Void.

But I digress. I’m just going to play things by ear from now on. If I feel compelled to act, like what I did, then I will act. If I don’t, then I don’t.

I feel that if I write things out, I can forget about them. I can not divest all my mind money on these matters. They are put in a safe place for the void to contemplate on these issues that use to fog my mind.

Maybe when I finish this entry, this girl’s brightness will have extinguished in my mind. Any hope of seeing her again will have diminished, and I will be fine with it. It was a miss connection, two lines that meet at a point and then go on in their separate trajectories never to meet again.

The funny thing about this girl is that my other friend, Susan, who was there at the party, knew I would be in trouble with this girl. She’s intelligent, petite, brunette, oh so cute, filled with the girlish charms that all men will secretly wish for in their oh so boring counterparts. I can’t believe I met a girl at the party. I can’t believe we talked. I can’t believed we laughed. I can’t believe we joked.

But again, it was just another misconnection that either came too early or came too late. Two separate lines that intersect at a certain point in the space time continuum and will never intersect again.

Now, while sitting here, getting drowsy from the coffee I had earlier tonight at the oh so not so secretly writing place, I write and clear my mind of the things that I need to say and forget about.

I never thought that I would write what I wrote tonight in a public entry. Usually these things will be in a private entry, only for my eyes, so I can reflect on these past images and thoughts and drunken discretions during a time of my life where I am able to look back. But I guess I am wrong when it comes to the fact that I have nothing to write about and I let my fingers do their little dance over this keyboard.

Oh to be on that high that alcohol gives you. That little buzz that makes you teeter on the fine line of sobriety and drunkenness. It is a euphoric feeling. I get there quite often and I fall off quite often. I’m a cheap date, so it doesn’t take much for me to get to that high. When there, things just seem so much clearer, so much freer, and so much better. Now I’m writing like a alcoholic who is in some desperate need to join a steps program.

I joke about being an alcoholic, but I’m not. I’m far from it. I’m a social drinker. Once in a while I’ll have a beer or some wine during dinner, but that is not very often. I usually don’t get drunk, only when I’m out and I know that I’m not driving or when I know that I could stay over. If not, then I’ll get my buzz, maintain that buzz as long as I can, then I sober up again.

Sobering up means lots of water and lots of bathroom breaks. When you are Asian and when you have a pea size overactive bladder and when there is alcohol involved, you could pretty much set a schedule of bathroom breaks every 2 minutes. Go in, do your thing, come out, and then go in again. It’s never ending.

Well, again, nothing to write or I don’t know what to write. Sad that something that started out as sincere and thoughtful and intelligent ended up with something about my overactive bladder and alcoholism.

But I met a girl at the party. We talked, we laughed, we joked.