Friday, September 01, 2006

Cassandra's Complex

Cassandra's Complex

sillent hill

god we have been trying to get a copy of silent hill at the local blockbust for like a week now and nothing... the wall full of empty picture tempation!! BB has a monopoly on the recent dvd because they have put out the smaller video stores. i think a pirate version is an alternative at the

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

The Blue Whale


Sometimes there would be left over gizzards. When I worked at a convenient store I remember: I remember moping up and getting free soda pop drinks and a movie to watch after work. I usually get off of work at 1 or 12am. Sometimes I would drive the blue whale station wagon to an empty field and look at the star, drink soda pop and drag on a cigarette. I was in high school at the time. It was hard to sell tampons to girls that I know. I can’t believe that they were not embarrass to make that purchase while I was the checking them out. The hardest part was rejecting beers to my under age classmates.

August 30, 2006 Wednesday updated memories:

I remember the blue whale. It is a beast on four wheels. It was my car when I took the drivers exam. On the way home from the DMV, the rusty muffler fell off. I did pass my exam. My father drove the blue whale all over the place. He taught me how to drive in that car. I nearly crashed one time on high way 205 south of Canby. I was looking to my left as I was going forward and not slowing down. Father yelled at me. I had not seen him in fear for a long time. He used to drive that car everywhere. I help him load up the concession stand material for our food booth. We had to set it up at the General Canby Fair Day. He hid a soft pack of Marlborough underneath the driver’s seat. His key chain fob is of the Marlborough Bull. It weight heavy and golden, inlaid with incidental scratch marks gathered from being drop onto concrete or pavements.

We had a fun relationship with transportations. I use to ride behind him on a bicycle. I held on to a bag of soap and we deliver black market goods on bike. Father always wanted to make a business or own a store. In Vietnam, he started his own bicycle repair shop which later evolved into something much bigger. There is a snap shot of his bicycle repair shop. They didn’t have a camera around so each year; Father would hire a photographer to take a portrait. He is a handsome young man, before the eight of us were born. His sister is there. The rims of the wheel hang glimmering in the sun. The circles hang on metal folding door frames.

I know that he wanted a store similar to T-n-T. He always thought that I was lucky to get that job. I think so myself. He wakes me up when I have to open up the store before the morning commute. I sometimes ride the bicycle to work. Sometimes I think he longs for the lost store. But he was always starting a new enterprise and didn’t wallow in the lost of the previous adventure. The communist grazed down my Father’s store. It occurred soon after Saigon became Ho Chi Minh City. The city official wanted to make a park perhaps even a memorial park for the Party. We used to live above the store. I would walk to the artist studio next door to see him draw portraits, black and white death portraits of people. He works from a small wallet size picture that was provided by the commissioning patron. He then scores the photo into a grid. Their charcoal surface haunted my dreams. Next door was a watch repair vendor. He works from a small cart. A glass case surrounded him. I can see a loop propped into his eye socket as he scrutinized the detail gears of a gold watch. Glass bowls cover the spindles like a giant stadium dome. Small gears soaked in Petri dish. All those things are gone now, grazed leveled to the street.

I remember my sister C fell from the hammock and broke her arm. I went to the Herbalist with her. Father had taken her into have her arm repair. The Herbalist painted her arm a stain of yellow which reeked of putrid acrid fume. He adjusted and pull on the joints and then wrapped C’s arm in a cast.

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