Relish

This morning I found myself walking across the piazza of the Grand Millennium Plaza after the gym, Green Tea Frappuccino in my hand, wearing my new, white trousers from Armani Exchange and a dark blue polo shirt hurriedly on the way to my design studio to catch up with work. I was everything I was brought up to hate. I blame Bob Dylan (or, more specifically, my childish interpretation of Dylan) for teaching me to despise anyone in a suit, anyone with money. It’s a defeatist attitude that allows people to dwell in dead-end jobs, in ill-fitting clothes, eating mass-market food from discount stores, with the defense that they are somehow anti-establishment. I was so hungry, I drank my Frappuccino with relish, hoping no one would notice me, till I caught the eye of a passing businessman while I was licking my lips, and I saw on his face “that looks tasty”. That scum, that over-paid, corrupted, corporate whore. I liked him. I wanted to be his friend.

Growing Up Excited

Hey G,
I’m up all night doing taxes. My insides are hurting; don’t know why, no stamina left. I used to have too much energy but now I’ve beaten it out of myself.
Did you hear the new Bob Dylan album? It’s insightful in an indirect kind of way. I haven’t heard the whole thing through yet. Usually after a few songs I have the urgent desire to commit suicide. Like a passion and hunger for the act of suicide, it’s unique to me. I think it’s just an interpretation of an overwhelming influx of ideas and unmasked truths. I used to get the same thing after Philosophy 101 with Jorge Garcia-Gomez in college. I didn't really understand his classes, and they brought my grade-point-average down, but they thrilled me. At the end of each class i just wanted to throw myself out the window.
I’m getting old. It’s a good age I think. I feel calm, but can still fuck.
I had a night of rum and cokes with MJB last week. He speaks well of you and Alex and wants to meet you if you come to HK.
Taxman’s waiting, I gotta go.