duality.

The temptations of life are great. Too many to count, almost. As humans we almost idolize those who have given into temptation, as we go through life barely able to control our own desires. The subject is almost not worth writing about, as many others much more qualified on the subject than me have written at great length about it.

The greatest problem with temptation is the definition of it. Depending on who you talk to, what qualifies as a “temptation” varies. Some consider eating a bowlful of chocolates to be the greatest of sinful endeavors, whereas I would easily balk at the idea.

Would you consider over exaggeration a sinful ideal? What about drugs? Or sex? Or exercise? Or television?

OR is it just the excess that is the temptation? On top of that, what constitutes sinful? Should I even bring sin into the question?

Many questions to be considered.

Temptation does not only lead to sin and villainy though. Temptation is just giving into your weaker self.

A little temptation is not a bad thing.

In fact, I would argue that it is what makes life interesting to live.

It’s one of the great injustices of life that all the things we strive to have are so fleeting.

The great pleasures in life – the greatest temptations in life.

When I visited BC earlier this month I went to a restaurant on 4th Ave in Vancouver called Refuel with my friend AJ. We indulged greatly, feasting on pork cheek, bone marrow, and probably the best steak of my life, a 40-day dry aged 12oz rib eye. It was like nothing I’ve ever eaten before. As AJ said, “It’s called 40-day dry aged because you age 40 days after you eat it.”

Thank god for memories, because before I knew it the steak was done and I was in a hazy beer and meat dream. That moment is gone forever, but I will remember that steak.

The temptation to give in to your baser impulses will remain constant, and I think that most of us SHOULD give in once and a while.

I remain tempted by the darker areas of my mind constantly, and it’s so easy.

I am reminded of myself. There are many facets to every person. I wonder if, when you give into the temptation of depression or anger, if you are just turning your personal book to a different page labelled “MAD” or “SAD”. I don’t even recognize those people, but they exist.

Who is to say that they even exist? For example: if you see me on the street and I’m “mad”, I’m still teg. If i’m “sad” then to you, i’m still teg.

Frank Herbert had it wrong. Fear is not the mind-killer, self-perception is the mind-killer.

Dualities exist everywhere, but I don’t think they exist in people.

There are just so many facets, we may never find them all.

Listening: Stephan Bodzin & Marc Romboy – Luna

new morning, or The Life.

life is full of promise.

every day, from the moment we are born, we are bombarded with (permit me), the “promise” premise. from “coming-of-age” movies to the thousands of self-improvement books and tv shows, we are told that life is a path to glory. all we have to do is imagine our life in the right way and all our dreams will come true.

almost 6 years ago, i started making dinner for my family. as a life-long “picky eater”, they probably were just in shock, but encouraged me.

i tried the basics, and some other things. i discovered the wonders of risotto.

after a lot of “you should go to culinary school”s from my friends and a lot of push from my family, i moved to vancouver in 2007.

5 years, and 6 jobs later, i’m still in it.

in fact, “THE LIFE” has a grip on my life so hard it’s almost impossible to shake.

you have to have a bit of brain/body separation to survive the madness. how else could I? from my experience., a lot of the people I serve know as much about food as your family pet.

The world is filled with people who glorify kitchens as some kind of magical battle arena where there are no deaths, just delicious feasts.

In reality, it’s dramatic, painful, and bores a stress filled balloon the size of Michigan inside your skull. It’s a good thing there are many positive aspects.

But in the end it’s still just a job.

To all my friends and colleagues in The Life: it is The Life and we all love it, i think. But we all need something else. I truly believe that to express yourself in one way helps you to express yourself in another.

Imagine two puzzle pieces, floating in that huge plastic mess the size of Texas in the ocean. Their interconnecting slots are almost the same, but just different enough that they will never meet.

Every day you wake up with those puzzle pieces sitting inside your head, and most days you let them stay apart because you know, you have a full-body headache from that “brutal shift” last night, and you gotta have at least 3 cups of coffee and a shower before work otherwise there is No Way you will be functional in time for your 3 o’clock shift.

So then another day passes.

You finish work, have a beer or three, get home from work dead tired because this and that and so many covers and don’t forget about that goddamned pot that almost broke your arm off (or felt like it was about to, anyway).

Watch an episode of television, barely able to focus, and crawl into bed because you know you probably should.

You wake up again the next morning (or afternoon), those two pieces quietly nagging you from miles away. But this time, do you ignore them, or let another day pass?

All they need is a minor alteration, and will forever be locked in harmony.

But this time, all you need is to put those pieces together.

Listening: Mister Critical – Funky Coffee mixtape.

rooms within a room.

a thousand words? words can’t even come close.

Listening: Pinch – Fabriclive 61

in a lo-fi land.

“The emergence of an image is an extension of the processes of memory and conceptualization. Imagery introduces metaphorical language and personalized communication.”

outlets. you need to find an outlet.

i’ve touched on this subject many times.

all my life: teg, you need an outlet. you need to channel your energy.

it’s like i’m a goddamned human lightbulb. “just plug in!”

the list of possibilities reads like a telephone book.

one thing you learn when you’re alone a lot is that you can’t go through life going to work, going out, going home, and doing it all over again the next day.

the monotony of even a job you enjoy can drag on your spirit and make life a terrible, boring, uninspiring place to be.

part of the reason i even keep writing on this blog is just a way to take my energy and put it somewhere else. sometimes it feels like i’m going to explode if i don’t do something.

sometimes you just have to do something. doesn’t matter what it is.

a life spent repressing your feelings and distracting them with media, alcohol, and people. this is an ultimately fruitless life.

i do not profess to know any answers, but i do know that i feel better after expressing myself on “paper” or canvas. one is more specific representation of my insides, and the other, i don’t know. i like to think that my convoluted paintings of coloured lines are like a painting of the inside of my brain. like an MRI with no technology.

so really the question is: what is inspiring you? what NOT inspiring you?

what’s keeping you inside yourself? where is the key?

and where is the lock?

my bottles of spray paint look down from the shelf expectantly.

it’s time to turn on the radio.

and this time, it’ll be in stereo sound.

Listening: Matthew Good Band – Underdogs

MTA.

find yourself.

FIND yourself.

find YOURSELF.

your self.

self.

to find yourself is supposed to be one of those important life events.

One that defines who you are. your beliefs, your views on life, and gives you the inner strength to solidify your world.

I have had various conversations on this. many differ on how exactly this comes about, or if it does at all.

One friend in Vancouver claims we are all monkeys, acting out some grand sociological opera unbeknownst to all of us, and that we are just behaving in this way because of our ape ancestry. makes sense. a lot of us act like monkeys and do little more than throw shit, fuck, and make money.

Another claims that we are just alone always in our life, even while with others. you could be in the wilderness, completely alone; or in a big city, surrounded by others. the result would be the same, if your insides are not strong enough.

a lot of spiritual writing is on the need to find yourself, to be okay with being alone. i’ve done a lot of thought about this, mostly by necessity.

if you spend a lot of time alone, you spend a lot of time thinking about being alone. it’s just the Way Of Things.

but by the latter argument, you spend all your time alone. god knows i have spent countless hours in the company of others, never feeling so alone in my life.

ten feet to the south, a crash sounds.

i guess The Question is, when does it end?

Two of my favorite cookbooks have fallen to the ground.

I made the argument that you cannot be of use to others, in friendship or otherwise unless you are accepting of yourself.

The front cover has nearly broken off. The cat sprints into the other room.

It doesn’t end, I guess.

I’m not alone, if I believe in ghosts.

sometimes it just seems like life is just a long series of confusing events, made worse by my ever-increasing sensitivity.

That shelf makes me want to scream. I had one other one. I stripped one screw and broke the other. Fuck home depot. I guess even home furnishings are back in the laundry room, alone.

Forgive me my emotions, for they know not what they do.

Max: First time in L.A.?
Vincent: No. Tell you the truth, whenever I’m here I can’t wait to leave. It’s too sprawled out, disconnected. You know? That’s me. You like it?
Max: It’s my home.
Vincent: 17 million people. This is got to be the fifth biggest economy in the world and nobody knows each other. I read about this guy who gets on the MTA here, dies.
Max: Oh.
Vincent: Six hours he’s riding the subway before anybody notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices.

Listening: Cities Aviv – Digital Lows

sustenance.

i sat in the noodle shop by myself.

I had walked there in what seemed like the freezing cold from my apartment. I had been there for more than 24 hours, doing little more than watching television and periodically checking facebook. a recent hospital visit had left me without the energy to do much, and what little was left was obliterated by pharmaceutical grade narcotics.

although i kept to myself, i play a game with myself to observe others eating habits. in noodle shops it’s especially fun.

while i devoured my pho with zeal, i looked up to see a couple across from me carefully placing their noodles on their spoon, to be sure they would never be caught slurping.

apparently slurping is the “proper” way to do it, but in my opinion it’s just more enjoyable. probably they never heard that before.

dining alone you have a lot of time to think, and it never interrupts your eating.

well actually, doing anything alone you have a lot of time to think, and it never interrupts anything.

i left the noodle shop full and warm. it had started snowing.

one of the things about being alone is that you (well, I) systematically analyze everything that’s wrong or right in your life. checklist of doom.

destiny!
karma!
self-destruction!
Fear.
isolation.
Ambition.
Warmth.
Love.

in all those, imaginary scenarios play out in my head until I do not know what is real or imagined. the power of the mind is almost too much.

at times like that, i wish things were simple. i wish the truth would present itself to me.

at times like that:

i approach a dépanneur from a distance. the snow is falling lightly on the ground, and the yellow street lights illuminate the street with their otherworldly glow.

even from that distance i can hear the music, soft and charming.

the melody hits me first, then the light brush of the drumsticks.

a light trumpet fills the winter air with its potent but soothing sound.

jazz! it fills my head with such a a feeling of joy it’s almost too easy to forget all my insecurities and worries.

i walk past, and even as the music slowly fades in my ears, it gets louder in my heart.

sustenance comes in many forms – be it physical, spiritual, audio or visual.

some of these may be more important than others, but one thing remains:

the important thing is that we are getting fed.

Listening: Wynton Marsalis – Marsalis Standard Time

oneirology.

during r.e.m. sleep your brain goes through a process where your brain consolidates and re-enforces memories. dreams are a by-product of this process. you don’t remember over 95% of these, but basically it’s a way for your brain to organize and file all your experiences.

i almost never remember my dreams. but there is always a correlation. sometimes it’s immediately evident.

when i moved to Montreal, I had recurring dreams of being attacked and stung by insect(s), swarms and huge monstrous things. alongside, various dreams of trying to climb huge bridges and stairs, and being paralyzed by fear.

it’s funny that experiences you have while asleep, in constructs entirely generated by your own brain, have almost more of an impact on you than ones you have in “real” life.

i had a dream. i’ve had many dreams. you’ve had many dreams.

i don’t know very much about interpretation, but i think they help you figure out yourself. feelings you may not be ready to confront within yourself will be revealed and brought to the surface, even if you consciously don’t want them to.

the subconscious is such a powerful thing.

take your dream states to confront your fears in waking life.

“life ain’t easy when you’re running scared”

only forward progress can be made after realization.

let’s walk down that path.
not later, now.
happy new year.

listening: CunninLynguists – “Oneirology”

just the right amount of crazy.

as a rule, people generally shy away from craziness. if you’re a normal (read: boring) person, being crazy is pretty much the death knell for your ability to fit into neat little boxes and be a productive member of society.

ironically, normal people idolize people who are in effect, crazy. artists, musicians, scientists, etc. all brilliant people have something in them that sets them apart from the 99% (sorry, OWS, i’m taking your stupid slogan for my own).

i love and hate dating crazy people.

i’ve had many conversations about how i appreciate the right amount of crazy. enough so it’s interesting and special. enough so you know that the other person has a bit of the brilliant in them as well, but not so much that you hate your life and them as well.

i think it’s a very fine line.

as george r.r. martin said, “madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin”.

i’m on the line, constantly.

no one knows usually, since i can’t express myself, and anyway i don’t know how to describe the duality of personality i feel on a daily basis. on one side, an overwhelming sense of frustration and isolation. on the other, ironclad belief in myself, my resolve, and what i can accomplish.

i’ve written many, many, many entries on my angst and bullshit anxiety about cooking (and life, blah blah). i just still can’t figure anything out.

“to work here, you have to be crazy” – alinea cook

how do you balance the two sides? mine fight over a desire for a stable, normal, happy life, and a hunger for success and excitement.

maybe i’ll never figure it out. probably not. but i’ll keep trying to.

life is a constant balancing act. you need the sane, boring parts to keep your stress in check. but you need the excitement to activate your enthusiasm and passion, whatever that may be.

fine lines within fine lines within fine lines within fine lines within fine lines.

razor’s edge.

listening: Forest Swords – Dagger Paths

changement.

you can feel the season changing, a bright summer smile about to unexpectedly walk into a industrial flash freezer. a million people sit watching at home, waiting for summer to finally fail, “I told you so.”

one week til vacation.

thank god.

my body is about to fall apart, and my head feels like someone planted a million chinese firecrackers inside and are setting them off one by one.

i may have contracted a mild case of the melodrama along the way.

it’s like i need someone to tell me that i’m doing good, to believe it. i guess things are all good, mostly. kurt vonnegut called them the “bad brain chemicals”, and mine try to lie to me constantly.

despair, doom, depression, desperation. inevitability.

fear is the mind-killer.

it’s my constant companion. dragging me down. it takes all my energy to maintain. i have nothing left when i hit the end of the week. so much so that i can barely get it together to write this.

vacation is in one week. like a mantra in my head. keeping me focused after a week/month/season of insanity. vacation… and THEN we’ll decide what to do.

listening: modeselektor – boogy bytes vol 3

on the importance of never saying never.

after an afternoon of reading eggbeater (an excellent blog btw), i feel a bit better about my life. almost everything she says is true.

i have some serious problems every time someone asks me what i do besides work. I usually say “oh, i don’t know, hang out with friends, drink beer, whatever”, which is essentially true. but the truth of it is that anyone who works in a kitchen has a really hard time leading anything close to what could be considered a “normal” lifestyle. here’s a list of things that make it so:

i never go to bed before 2:30am, ever.
i haven’t been on a date in over 4 months
because how can you when you finish work at close to 1am?
girls who are willing to accept a cook’s schedule are rare
i feel too tired to do anything on at least one of my days off.
i literally live paycheque to paycheque.
and there’s not much i can do about it
cooks are broke as fuck.
what, exactly are labour standards? i’d like to know
what’s this “overtime” you’re talking about?
i like it when people come to eat at my restaurant
because likely its the only time i’ll get to see them
same goes for meeting me for beers at 130am.

the only meal i’ve cooked at home in the past 3 months is pasta.
sometimes with sauce, usually just cheese.
guess why.
because any food that is fresh, doesn’t come from a can or box
goes bad.
because i’m not home to eat it.

i’m too wired to go to bed.
every day.
people say “teg, relax. you need to do yoga. or sports.”
i’m secretly afraid that if i relax too much i’ll lose my edge
which i desperately need.

if i don’t have the edge, i’ll have nothing left. a lazy, relaxed nonentity.

relaxing is failing.

but you know, maybe i don’t know how. and if i learned to relax, it’s possible that i’d come out of it
faster
more accurate
mind like a razor
and easier to deal with

but, i guess you never say no to possiblities. relaxing, maybe i’ll see you one day.
until then
i remain
teg

listening: Talking Heads – The Name of This Band is Talking Heads