#mockblog

@tickleafox

R4D5, UN1T3!!

T-minus 15 Days.

“This is my story” -- One of the most cliche’d starting sentences in the history of recorded writing (though it could be used pretty effectively like Tidus’ en medias res monologue at the beginning of Final Fantasy X, which not only cemented his voice as the main protagonist in a sea of interesting dynamic characters, but also hints at the impending twist that his existence is a mere manifestation of the Dreaming Fayth and compounds that issue by insinuating that his own self and identity are defined by a narrative he tells not us but himself, which is a pretty deep Descartes-ian issue to bring up in a video game if you really wanna think about it, but I digress... yes, dear perceived reader, there will be digressions) but it’s the only way to start a mock-blog.  You see, 11 days ago, I decided to quit my job, leave my family and friends, and essentially doom myself to an unfortunate LA return rife with poverty and ditch-dwelling to move to the Bay for a couple of months (or, at least, as long as my savings can sustain). “Why?” friends have asked, sometimes with an exclamatory “What the Fuck?!” tacked on for good measure -- “For the job opportunities,” I tell them... “For the drugs,” I add, depending on the audience. “Everybody’s DTF,” and with that, I usually inspire something like a resigned head-bob of consideration. I never want to admit the girl. When I told my father about the move, his shoulders curled over with wary dismay. “Ayyy...” (Filipino onomatopoeia, akin to verbal load-up) “I can’t help but feel like you’re hiding some other agenda.” 

What kinda fucking sorcery? I thought. But maybe it was his imprecise wording that failed to register the gleam of lie in my eyes. The girl... wasn’t so much the objective of a hidden agenda... more like a driving factor.

When we were dating, it was always like she had her mind in a separate space-- cold, dismissive, didn’t consider herself even remotely sexual... but when she moved out to SF, it was like an Olympic flame ignited in her soul. It pained me not to have set it, but at the very least I wanted to bask. Jealous of her psychedelic imbibing, her copious coitus, her verve...

Seeing it made LA feel like this choke-hold of a city... and my face does not look good in blue (I’d make such an ugly Na’vi, even that tree wouldn’t fuck me).