Fluid Memories / of Ohio

Music is one of my favorite things in this whole blasted world because of the feelings I associate with the tunes and the accompanying lyrics. For those of you who know the Drew as best as one can know the brew the Drew, you certainly are aware Modest Mouse is my favorite band. Zeppelin and Nirvana are close contenders surely, yet it is with the Mouse I have had the most spiritual connection. I remember getting turned onto them (Note: it was during this time period I got turned onto Indie music as a whole though it has always been the Mouse whose words and melodies strike the deepest chords in my soul) and the band expressed everything I could not find the vocabulary or rhythm to express. The trilogy of their first three albums transversed a Midwestern landscape -- the pilgrimage to the American West which was a pinnacle site of exploration in the 19th century -- beautifully painting this world of alienation, uncertainty and absolute clairvoyance. One track off their first album, This is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About, has been an inspirational tune to me for quite sometime:

Ohio

(Note: lyrics are always my favorite parts of music, I love me some instrumental jazz and the such, but being a literary guy, the lyrics do it for me....and here they are - in case you cared)

Took a bus straight to Baltimore

On the way he took a nap

Dropped off a note that said "Im giving this note back"

PS there's a lot going on underneath

There's roots, there's pipes, there's drainage leaks

You're on, you're wrong

Truly sorry, I see clearly

Calmly crashing, I pace faster than anyone

Hinges rusting, they swing louder than anything

Truly lonely, this place is flatter than it seems

I;m upset and I leave the doors open wide

Our hearts are used up, cracked and dry

Pulled the scabs off of regrets

We haven't learned to read our conscience yet

Truly sorry, I see clearly

Hardly hoping, I spend it all on game machines

Calmly crashing, I pace and I figure it out again

One hand clapping, awake but napping

Rows of lights to illuminate lines

Why don't they turn the off and let us see night

Drove crazed, grooming my lies

You can't look in on one way eyes

When I first listened to this song in my adolescent years, it fueled my soul with the beauty of wanting to reach out and discover more. I never ventured far from my humble abode of North Carolina, regardless of how much I loathed the fucking state. I remember getting stoned in a room of my parent's house spectulating I'm worth more than this...eventually I will fly from here. Twas just last year me and two of my friends, Steven & Andrew, made arrangement to go to Cleveland, Ohio to see Foxy Shazam...and here's a clip by them, in case you were ever so curious:

The Rocketeer

I had missed them in Charlotte the previous Spring break and was fucking determined to see these guys live (Note: especially because I saw video footage of Eric Nally swallowing cigarettes on stage...alas he did not do so at the Cleveland show but there was enough to keep me entertained throughout the night). I put on Ohio on my car's stereo right when we got into Ohio and immediately it breathed new life into a song I had held dear for so long. This was the journey I had dreamed of in these wasted days and here I was making it a reality. I could go on and on about the 2 night venue of Foxy Shazam we saw up in Cleveland last fall, but that is a story for another time because just a few months later the meaning of Mouse's Ohio changed for me yet again. February 2014, I drove up to Columbus, Ohio to help my uncle move to Charlotte, NC for him to spend his last few months before the cancer took him away. When put on Ohio as Gregory pulled into Columbus, it no longer was a song of infinite discovery while rather transcending itself into a heapless mount of chords bent on the end of possibilities. I hadn't seen my uncle Tommy since I was 6, and here I was with my lasting impression of him this sick old man (Note: he was only 57) crippled on a couch spitting phlegm gasping for life.Out of my family though, he was one of the few who supported my decision in coming to China and that was the last thing I talked to him about and he told Gregory and my mum to stop giving me such a hard time about leaving the country...he knew the only way I would evolve would be in leaving behind the states and trying to figure out who I am. I didn't see him for a few weeks after that and our next encounter was placing his corpse into a van. 

I hadn't listened to that album for sometime with the memories I associated with that song, and it came on the other day as I walked to work. It no longer held the meaning passed down through years of constant play...once again I found new depth in a hollow place. If you read the lyrics to Ohio, there really isn't that much to the song, but I have transcribed so much context from it in the past decade. If it weren't for constantly changing, life wouldn't be worth what it's worth to me now. 

Heart Cooks Brain

My father is a huge buff for Budweiser which he crowns as the King of Beers. I remember once having a group of friends around; my dad asks the gang Hey fellas got any beers I can grab. We show him our fort the high gravity delights and he nods his head in disapproval saying What's with all this expensive shit can't I just get a Budweiser for Christ's sake? We chuckle and my soul brother, Anthony Zazzarino, replies How about you just water down one of these good beers, Mr. Peeples? Budweiser remains absolute watery rubbish in the beer world as a comparison to any decent brew (Note: living in Asheville for a few years, my beer snob attitude increased dramatically, though just two months in China have dwindled my fair taste in the fermented concoction and I am much obliged for anything that can take the edge off of life...my Irish heritage has taught me something I suppose...of course not forgetting the brilliant works of Wilde, Joyce, and Beckett). Here in China the beer quality is complete shit...if you have ever tried TsingTao that alone should be a fair indicator of what we are working with over here; there is also the baijiu (Chinese liquor) which doesn't taste completely awful but the inside lining of your stomach may just disagree with that sentiment come the next morning. My point in all this folly remains a certain longing for things I never noticed I enjoyed and honestly I still question if they are things I actually like or if it is simply the sake for remembrance of a world left behind. I fucking hate Budweiser, I only drank the stuff when I lived with my parents because my dad always kept himself stocked on the poison and didn't mind if I helped myself to a few (Note: to some extent, there were times he would get pissed if I drank the vast majority of a 24 pack he planned on saving for a few days). I haven't tried it here yet, but there are times walking down the aisles in the Grocery store or walking down the street passing by a bar with a Budweiser advert nestled in the window beckoning the longing of any perplexed American walking down that desolate road life. I spent three dollars on an Arizona tea a few weeks back (Note: Arizona only costs a dollar a can back home, and CVS normally has sales for buy one get one) though this was before I discovered there is Chinese sweet tea and the concept of cold, sweetened black tea is not just a Southern thing....oh the weight I haven't lost just because I supplement water from time to time with sweet tea.

Cleavage is nonexistent over here; The skimpy skirts and the whole affair of showing off one's buttox are still in fashion here (Note: being a committed assman, one would presume this suffices as no problem for my person, yet alas we want what we cannot obtain...thus the entire premise behind this post). I saw a Russian woman showcasing huge knockers yesterday and I could not help gazing upon the bosomful display. I digress.

I want some damn cheese quesadillas....a go-to meal during my college deals considering the simplicity in such preparation. Ramen noodles still remain a corner stone in the Drew Peeples food pyramid, though cheese has somehow escaped my diet (Note: nobody eats cheese in China :( ) resulting in infinite melancholy. I was asked by my adult class the other night what kind of fine cuisines they could find in a visit to the states? I simply explained to them most American food is a bastardization of more diverse, cultural foods then went into detail what American Chinese food tasted like...they got a good laugh though still curious if I was actually telling the truth or if I was just pulling the legs of these older Chinese women. Speaking of food, tis time for me to grab some lamb bbq at the stand resting round the bottom of the hill...

Back to the topic of long lost beers, my favorite variety of beer is a good old fashioned Indian Pale Ale and my hopes of grabbing a sixpack here looks slim. At a bar the other night I nearly paid 8 USD for a pint of the stuff just because I haven't a clue where else I can grab a taste. What do I want after I find a decent supply of this desire o mine? Live music, preferably a band I fancy quite a bit. The reality of that happening here? Slim to none. Something so common in my everyday life back home, yet here a near impossibility.

I did not come to China for the things I 'left behind,' but rather to further explore myself and the vast world existing out here and the roundabouts. To end on a corny note, as I most often am accustomed to by this point, I would like to address the thing that doesn't change regardless of location: friends; comrades; companions, lovers, coworkers, and the list goes on and on. There still remain good people, myself included, regardless of where I am placed and that is what makes the whole mess a splendid time. Sure, an IPA would be opportune right now, yet everything else that is going right makes these little things unimportant and slowly, but surely, I am learning to stop caring if the little things are going right (Note: not giving in to my constant anxiety, the one I attempt to rid myself of allowing smokes and drinks to clear the mind) and rather making sure the whole picture becomes a beautiful masterpiece.

Trickle in Time

The early morning of 10 am thrusts through the window emanating radiant beams speaking those nurturing words of time to wake the fuck up. I've been trying to wake up early, but on days off, it is hard convincing myself leaving the bed is the best option for the day's folly. I normally ponder on days such as this should I remain here in my cushion-esque shell all day...why not abandon life just for today. Persuasion for leaving the bed comes in the form of making coffee...sweet aroma dark ooze soothing nostrils, taste and all. Twas not any meager coffee, but coffee mixed with Jameson...Irish coffee as my ancestors called it while they slaved mongst the potato fields sprinkled in famine and Jesus. I accompany my dear friend with a smoke following the daily ritual we call Radiohead:

The National Anthem

Time passes as Yorke sings his sweet melodies, time passes as the days follow through beginning to end yielding passage a day following somewhere in the mix; time passes bringing the seasons' changes summer clothes packed away anticipating the harsh winds o' winter; time passes here feeling more complete as a day reaches its conclusion...everything feels more complete I can remember all of these individual experiences I've ventured through in the past two months, whereas my last year in the states remains as a consistent series of work and the same old thing. Time well spent with friends can be taken from this, and there were plenty of exciting adventures held with these special folks, but nothing felt as a whole and it was if I was existing out of sheer necessity.

The other day some mates came roun my apartment and we worked on our character creation for a DnD campaign we are setting up. For those of you who have never played dungeons and dragons, you are certainly missing out, but all you need is the pdf of 2nd edition and some creativity...so get on that. The world we are building consists of a preapocalyptic society in the 17th century where the major desert religions are determined to slaughter the heretics (those who don't follow the same creed they do) and our clan of outlaws and all belongs to a dogmatic practice who worship Skrooj, God of Greed. The characters we have thus far: a conjurer, a bard, a ninja, a druid, a ranger and an illusionist. There is more to the backstory and yadda yadda yadda, but I will continue on this DnD discussion once we begin our first chapter a week from the upcoming Sunday.

I haven't been great about sitting down and writing recently, the only cardinal sin I find important in this secular living of mine. Alot of the time its sheer laziness coupled along the ever persistent thought of it amounts to nothing and then I remember this is my therapy, this is my creed scribbling (edit: typing) across blank canvasses watching the thoughts of mind create a subsistence that now breathes life no longer an entry of a memory always slipping away such a hard thing retaining knowledge of this and that when you have those to worry about. Luckily I have a concoction that helps me in putting these pieces together:

Exploration and the inspirational influx of walking giving way to new ideas remain the passions of mine that allow my easygoing nature of life. Constant interpretations the world revolving around me and my cynical observations of this person and that developing situation hiding over there in the corner waiting to be addressed perhaps even subtly demanding the attention. Today I attempted finding the police station I was driven to my first day here. Didn't take much with the clues of knowing it was near Kunming jie and there was a sign that seemed to say there was a police station 200 somethings to the right. My Chinese hasn't developed at all, but I have been meticulously perfecting my art: the nomenclature of pointing and the universal language of smiling. The smile never leaves my face so long as I travel through the world outside my little nestled abode. I enjoy watching people arguing in the streets over matters of driving. Have only seen a couple of accidents, but it is a display where the masses gather round and anticipate one dude punching another dude in the face...we leave in despair, no violence here today it stays in roun the H.K. Speaking of punching, a five year old boy in my class punched another of the students smack dab in the face this past Saturday. I looked over in the instant this demon child slammed his clenched fist into the mouth of the victim and I immediately ran over to diffuse the situation. The teacher's assistant had left the classroom so here I was explaining to a five year old Chinese boy he was in some deep fucking shit. The bastard starting crying as if he had done no wrong the fucking spoiled brat, expect nothing less from an only child spoiled his whole miserable existence constantly being reminded he the saint of some greater plane destined for anything regardless of the intelligence of willingness to become something...doomed for nothingness, perhaps rioting in the streets, something actually obtainable and practical for the violent twat. I moved the child's chair to a corner and he refuses to oblige then attempts to leave the classroom. I attempt blocking him but after a few seconds I realize I will not be able to calm down the child and there are fourteen other anxious/confused students in the classroom that I must attend to. I get out of the child's way and he proceeds to run down the corridor.

Moments later the teacher's assistant arrives back in asking what happened, and explaining to me how bad it looked the kid left the classroom without anyone since his parents are nearby watching. I explain that's a load of fucking bullshit, and that the kid must be psychotic if he's a five year old punching another child in the face. The assistant is shocked by my claim and asks if I'm positive the demon child punched the alleged victim in the mouth. "Of course I'm fucking sure, I've got two eyes don't I?" She asks the alleged victim and obviously he agrees yes, that demon child punched me in the face. Following class the father of Damien -- Note: I'm not an idiot and going to post this child's real name on the internet, so the alias arises declaring the child of our little story as no other than Damien...like the omen. Also note: I don't typically go around calling little kids bastards and demon child yet when you punch a child in the face and then try to act like I'm making shit up and I'm the asshole...I'm going to think you're a bastard, end of story -- asks me why his child was placed out of the classroom. Sadly enough, the demon child's father spoke English so I couldn't just walk away. I explained everything, then proceeded to wait 5 minutes (during my 20 minute break where I still had to walk 5 minutes back to the school since I was at the kindergarten down the street) as the demon child voraciously cried weeping deceitful tears and the father keeps saying Damien apologize to Mr Drew, Damien apologize to Mr. Drew and it goes on and on I bite my tongue wishing I had had a pot of coffee before work instead supplementing my elixir with a mere cola, a 20 ouncer if you will, and not even a cigarette, biting my tongue and counting my time wondering when will this sick nightmare end and will this happen again next week because certainly I will say good day to you sir talk to my employers for further disclosure I have somewhere to be you shant have me wait here again for the same old folly of last week.

In other news, work is actually going rather well, I just had that run in this past weekend and it really fucking irritated me mainly because this father thinks I should give special attention to the demon child when there are 14 other students in my class and none of them go around punching children in the face. I could go on and on about the positives/negatives of work, but I have to deal with that at work, so praise work and praise Mao, and now I shall enjoy my home stay for the evening as I continue being merry on wine and writing this selfrightous gibberish to be passed down the millenniums, so I digress from the altercation of this past weekend and continue onto a more...somber discourse, a conclusion where all the points meet together and conclude amongst themselves.

Nearly two months have passed, and I already feel completely immersed into my environment. These two months have been filled with memories, moments and experiences that shall continue to develop and they will persistently build me up as a more self-aware and globally consciousness individual. I don't have a camera, nor do I intend to buy a new phone until my old shitty one dies so I apologize but eventually I will bombard you folks with photos galore inviting your eyes and minds into the beautiful (relatively speaking) city of Dalian, so until then...read national geographic, I suppose. It's been nearly a month since my last blog post, and I have plenty of other material I can write about, so check back soon I'll try to get back on it as a weekly thing

Or not...only time will tell...as it passes

A Walk

I lusted for a burger and a few tequila sunrises last night; a night resembling American outings of those drunken debouches from my isolated state into a world full of decent expectations. There would be days I would go seeing no one but the book and pen at hand, and I needed these times amongst peoples to feel there was some deeper connection that kept me going...going on. The thing I treasured most in these days of constant woe was not the relationships held between my mates and I, but rather twas those desolate walks through nowhere my mind flourishing a cloud of communications the nature always evolving around me a beautiful thing this fickle life those trees erect tall sprouting bosomy buds the late of Spring and their death forthcoming the eve o Winter. It gave my thoughts moments to reflect on the totality conjugated life, though all in this mast while so predictable these congregation of seasons following the earth rotating as it shall surely one year to the next climate the only pending factor our alienated existences.

I sat at my apartment alone yesterday, trying to write and finding no passion come half past noon need of the hunger no desire in curing the affliction; I asked a friend if he would like to spend some time together knowing he was supreme in giving me direction with all these fragmented thoughts and the folly associated. He says he works at the school til 7 then free once the clock strikes so. I twiddle my fucking fingers away on the gameboy soon losing any desire daydreaming upon my bed a state of meditation of what I want to come out of this expatiate life shifting into sleep a moment's notice. I awake half past five, shower my fat carcass, proceed placing headphones in ears and taking a stroll before arriving to meet my mate. He wears all black, no questions asked, minutes into walking he asks me 'you know why I'm wearing all black.'

I think this a queer question and respond, 'must me Johnny Cash's birthday.'

He allows a small smirk, both cunning laughter and pathos, and says 'My kitten died this morning, this is in remembrance of him.'

I feel odd, wearing my Modest Mouse shirt I bought a week before my cat passed on, purposely buying it because it reminded me of dear Shadow was not even a week past I sat in the vet's with my dear friend the bastard doctor telling me there was no hope they would kill my little buddy no questions asked. I never cared for animals, least the death of animals, but in that instance the sorrow of death overwhelmed me with sadness knowing I told this thing 'It will all be okay' and here I was a fucking liar as those sleek-suited aristocrats took the panther away for one last vaccination into his fragile body. Even with my loved friend I have lost in these meager 23 years, nothing compared to the devastation of this cat passing on and the Catholic guilt in me told me it was wrong caring more for a mere animal moreso than a one of these human entities. I still remember digging Shadow's grave this past summer and breaking down in front of my baby brother as I banged the shovel against the dirt and fell upon the tomb knowing I had failed someone I told I was the savior in his fatal condition; the night before staying up until 5 in the morning not have seeing Shadow in days (cats surely hiding the knowledge death soon beseeches them) knowing it might be our last moment together the couch we sat I gave him my full attention resting on my lap stroking his sweet fur speaking words he could not comprehend ever hoping it would lessen his fucking pain. Was not a preventable failure the hindsight following, thought it still did my mind injustice knowing I deceived the poor bastard on his fate the next morning. Looking into those dark eyes before they took him saying 'It will be alright.' He died, I carry the burden, such is life.


We follow our course of an American outing at the expat bar. Brooklyn, as we drink beer, liquor and they serve these long waited burgers. We eat with our hands the grease dripping onto the napkin exchange of smiles an understanding this is life. My friend, also being a craftsmanship in the art o dark humor, jokes occasionally of his cat's passing. Tis the point of humor regardless the content so dark, it eases the soul on the hardships around us and we laugh knowing not the humor yet aware of the situation. We speak of these waning relationships around us. I had English girl at this exact bar two weeks prior who was mates with him, and he tells me how she is now leaving the country...their encounter of such news is a mere handshake walking opposite directions never to utter another word again. We are intelligent lads to know this is the course of human interaction, and why we consider ourselves our own soulmates. Regardless of the heavy emotions experienced this course of life; ourselves being the only folks we make it through our birth up to the moments we breath that last fatal breath into nothingness dissolving grey apparitions.

We walk around going to another bar and then I go back to his listening to some music and sipping on red tea. We speak of our plans to start a dungeons and dragons campaign and that is the life focuses in our lenses. Such triviality an outside perception might say, but tis what keeps us moving in the perpetuity of normative existence. I thank that white-bearded god jerking his heterosexual hegemonic cock every day for regardless his existence there remains....

something to deviate from the nothing: the nothing for ever seeking a false absolute labeling this meaning knowing such an abstract concept is this.

I walk back from his apartment in the early morning near 2 AM. At my home, such a time is normally not befitting wondering the streets. I bring up this concern to my friend and he says 'you've got a prick,you're white and a big fucker, ain't nothing to worry about at such a time.' I take his word wondering the street knowing generally the direction lies this building I now call home. Took some time this walking listening to those sweet words of Cedric Bixler-Zavala & Kurt Cobain always remembering worst comes to worst...I can take a cab home having my address on the mobile, but I reflect on the world evolving around me and that is my main occupation during this walk. I breath in these gastrointestinal Chinese fumes and care not for the damage forever focusing on my mind's progression within itself finding a peace. We are not storybook characters out of the imagination those patriarchal solipsistic capitalist; rather we are creations of our own doing following a path unbeknownst to most creating a reality we see fit. Life is a beautiful thing,but death is ever more gracious because we cannot predict when that moment arrives and that used to scare the living shit out of me, but as of recent this unpredictability of my final moments, OUR FINAL MOMENTS,
have made this short life all worth the experience.  




Also,
If you want more Punk and less of me indecent ramblings
Here's some Punk so FUCK OFF

Fat American Consumes Sweet Feasts in China Land ~ September 2014

I went to KFC today, and if you asked me back home 'hey Drew care to grab some KFC' I'd tell you to bugger off, but it is quite different here. Without the constant source of carb-heavy fried chicken and french fires, things like KFC are more attractive now because fried chicken is a scarce commodity rather than a thing you eat multiple times a week. Tender grease drips succulent apparitions of meals long since consumed...processed into tender cutlets flushed down transcendent wastes. Luckily, I've only been to fast food here three times in the past three weeks, and although I am too negligent of myself to eat properly, I have great mates here to mate to make sure the one and only Drewkowski eats a king's portion.

Enter September 2nd: My mate David brings me round this gal's Marcy, some expatiate cooking curry, and not any old curry, but some Japanese curry. Do yah wonder what that deliciousness looks like? Here's an image, you bastards:

We sat round Marcy's table for quite sometime speaking of our introverted extroversion (or is it extroverted introversion, we don't really know...the folly of such prerogative terminology). She informed me of Amazon China where you can buy cheap liquor and have them deliver it to your place with the payment option being that of cash on delivery. I have yet to follow through with this option, yet it rests on the table when the time comes; the time should be arriving soon with the bah jiu I've been consuming in the past few weeks. I don't drink that poison often, but when you want to have  a quick, steady buzz...the snow beer and other Chinese beers just don't suffice. I felt at ease in our conversation knowing the expat community in Dalian was well connected and growing at a steadfast rate. What was even more soothing in our handing out was the desert that followed dinner...that sweet sweet tart, and not the sweet tart you pay for on a street corner in Thailand.

A great night indeed spending time with new friends and hearing from my friends who have been here for years and have flourished immensely in their submersion into Chinese culture. Fast-forward a week later following a heavy night of drinking with my friend Dustin...

I wake up early...9:30 am after going to bed past 6 am...and David has invited me to a gentlemen luncheon round his apartment.  I assumed it would not be possible to wake up early enough for a lunch at noon, but my body knew there was no taco bell near by and a feast of David's caliber would certainly supplement my need for the American filth. I arrive, explore the content of his apartment, and he offers me a glass of Arnold Palmer...Allah bless that man. The drink stuck in my throat cultivating soothing embraces the Southern Suburbia left behind. Chris arrives, the first time I met this lad, and I must say he may in fact be the most charismatic, hilarious guy I have met in Dalian...which honestly pissed me off because I wanted to be the charismatic funny dude! I guess there can be more than one smmmmmmmmmh

David, a true American capitalist, prepares food reminiscent of our country's standards. He, as I, praises the Velveeta Mac and Cheese, one of those rare things in China as is the fried chicken. Back home you don't think twice about something so awful and ever so great, but here it is treasured as the tomb of King Tut (though that guy wasn't delicious, cheesy goodness...so fuck him I says). We talked, surely, had some great chats about being an expatiate, what brought us here, and yadda yadda, but like the Chinese, food is more important to us than simple chivalry so let us get right into the feast that was and ever shall be.

That looks rather delicious, yet those of you twiddling eager fingers back home are probably wondering just how scrumptious such a meal appears. Well let me supplement ya'll with my film experience. Zoom in, says I:

All that food on top of a couple of Arnold Palmers alongside some good folks was really too much; I promise I can't stomach anymore. Luckily that is all on the table...but wait there's more if you eat now in the next 30 minutes. Chris unveils the divine peach cobbler and the erections reach their limit stiff as a Burroughs-esque figurine.

I cum on command ejaculating on mere memories the Western food I thought had been abruptly stolen from my person now realizing it persistently continues...it is going on and so am I as I travel through this foreign wasteland complete with expatiate culture emerging feasts of feats thought to be discarded and here they rest on plates before my eager eyes and a stomach much smaller than the lenses' perception.

Another week passes, I eat out, enjoy Korean food on the weekend and Ramen noodles and dry fruit during the week, and Mr. Andy has returned from his vacation. Andy: fabled hero of culinary arts, a Chinese man who hath perfected the art of Western cuisine more so than the bastards on the food network and that feces of folly. I go to Andy's place the following Wednesday for a dinner party with a group of our mates and get the chance to meet him and Shannon. Great lads, I could talk about them for a full blog post, but we all know everyone wants to hear and see that food consumed and the presence of peoples is merely background noise. I told Andy I was ever so excited stuffing my fat fucking face with whatever he offers my way, and his modest self says that he is not the cook these fools imagine him to be. Too modest he was, he made a Western feast that would have my Irish ancestors running to their Christ-ridden hills in fear an Chinese lad could prepare a better feast than he. He tells me pot roast is on the menu for the evening and I am left with contempt. I rarely enjoy pot roast, tis a rare thing for me to say 'oi this pot roast has done me a great favor' Normally, pot roast is like the ugly girl you shag where afterwords you still got laid and don't wanna be an ass so you say 'was good' and then never bring it up ever again. Yes, I just compared pot roast to a shameful one night shag. Glad getting a Literature degree helped me with my comparative prowess. I had to eat what was presented because I couldn't be rude to someone I met for the very first time, but what happened next took me by great surprise; when I took a bite into that pot roast I soiled my trousers with juicy jissom and my O-face shined great lacerations. I fell in love with those moist carrots, beef, and potatoes drowning themselves in tempting gravy and the bread/veggies accompanying the feast beckoned a further call of absolute Western nirvana,,,remembering those days at grandma's kitchen table being surrounded by family and feeling a sense of comradeship while filling faces full of godliness. But don't take my word for it, have you eyes do the judging:

Again, the drink and food has done me all to well and I must end my eating for nothing else could fit this meager stomach of mine. The keylime pie materializes before us and I curse myself for not wearing a diaper.

I could go on and on about how much I enjoyed the company and food over these past few weeks, and speak of my bbq experiences and 'eating out'....oh my....but I am drunk so I digress and hope everyone reading this gets sexually stimulated observing the food through their computer screen...I know I did. I end with a pictorial example of being surrounded by good folks while we all know the only thing we are really thinking about is the feast presented before us.

The Napkin Chronicles I: Dumplings & The Existentialist Threat of The Post-modern Psyche

Only in China can you sit for lunch and get two large beers and a feast of food for around 5 U.S. capital. This place has become my muse for writing & today marks the beginning of my napkin chronicles. Normally when I would sit around waiting for my stimulation, I would toil around on my mobile and either play games or chat on Facebook and call that going on. Here I sit void of communication & the tongue required to converse with those around me; a pencil stares me in the temple and the trials of James Joyce flash before me. I write today because I have nothing better to do...besides playing with my prick which I presume is not socially acceptable in a restaurant setting, but I digress for my need for masturbation. In a moment's notice, arrive the play: a bowl of rice complementing my shrimp and spinach dumplings freshly steaming and emanating greatness with each sniff and snuff. What a magical world is this communist country, says I to myself. I never understood how Joyce wrote a large chunk of Ulysses on mere bar napkins, but it all comes clear to me in this instance; this is life, not a room of one's own, but a mind for own's taking...making sense of these crippled thoughts through the vaccination of fragmentation. I am unwilling to take my view off the napkin or the food and drink presented before me, yet I wonder what the observers in this restaurant are wondering of my existence. I am some white guy toiling away on a napkin using my dreaded left hand and have created a shell around my Eden. A world where I am secluded for language barriers and cultural differences, yet I have never felt so complete in my thoughts and the direction my life is heading. Here, I have finally reached my seclusion amongst peoples. Strange to think I never feel accepted by people's praise of my writing craft and outgoing nature, all the while the hobgoblin of my little mind utters 'It's a trap my boy, these folks care not for you or your art...tis a simple rouse in this game we call chess, a meek chase of cat and mouse.' I nodded in obedience knowing the funniest thing in life being unhappiness.

I now sit in a foreign land totally realizing how hard I try in deceiving myself of any greatness, fearing if I fail, fail again, fail better then it will be the end of me. I doubt not the chemical imbalance of this fractured cortex, that is a certainty and the demons do speak with clairvoyant riddles and yet still I try...try to fail, fail again, fail better. I have released the chains of apathy, though its immanent materialization continues to inspire me in the totality of life. I order another beer; large beer with low amounts of the sauce celebrating my love of drinking and not general drunkenness. I am an American after all God Dammit: we eat, we drink, we fuck. The simplicity of life ever embracing the beauty forthcoming. I tried drinking last night in hopes it would transcend my mind into a greater sense of awareness and bring myself into a written nirvana that lapsed for page upon page...Twas done in vain. Today, hungover with no taco bell in sight persistently wondering how will I cure the affliction of last night's intoxicated addiction. Here is my solution...less greasy but not far off in context or resolution.

The beer settles well in my fractured stomach. I crave my nicotine fix though I have five dumpling, a cup of rice and a few shots of snow beer before my departure marks its arrival. It does my mind a great justice swiftly shifting between the stimulation options resting on the table. No phone to waste precious time searching for an emotional connection forever obsolete. The honeymoon phase rages hard knowing my downfall shall trip me flat on my smug face, but I have friends here and abroad who will help me pick up the pieces so the worrisome nature of what is to come deludes me not. This is the quintessential beauty and it shall remain a passion that will easily continue in this new life of mine.

One dumpling remains in the rubble the ruin my conquest, and a half of a snow beer to wash these remains down my eager throat...my time here almost completed. I feel excitement in what waits for me: cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, the dinner party of comrades this evening, and of course, typing this fickle napkin onto the internet for all to gorge themselves on my long last feast. I consume the dumpling and drown the beer in four swift motions across four shot glasses. The hangover has been grotesquely sodomized out of Gomorrah...my time to flee finally arrives and I anticipate the future unfolding. I carefully fold the napkin and place it near my bosomy breast. The dumplings are far from the greatness of Chinese bbq, Korean sushi (Kimbap as they call it because like the Chinese, the Korean think the Japs are all a bunch of bastards) and of course the cooking of my mates, but it suffices for a time of dire requirement; a moment of quiet desperation where I must dig myself out a hole built yesterevening knowing I shall soon descend back down into that desolate void I call home. I slam the finished beer with ease, say farewell......walk out onto the stubborn street I now call home.

Folly of the Solipsistic Writer: The Ode to Alienation & The Inspiration Forthcoming

Growing up I had two outlets when the blues captivated my broken mental vessel: video games and writing. I still have a love for the gaming, but it was always the writing that made me feel like I was going somewhere despite the context of my words describing that feeling of complete isolation where locomotion has long since been lost in a past unknown to my millennial generation of fending for shit jobs and supporting endless wars and corporate greed. I was an angry kid trying to figure out the justification behind human cruelty that religion and capitalism advocated, and it took me until my late teens/early adulthood to discover the futility in rising against the grain and the writing waned and the alcoholism drowned the ambition in sweet brown amber as I continued to read the classics that got me into writing not able to find my own voice thinking the voice I possessed was a shameful echo of those great that wrote before my time.

I never gave up my passion for writing, but I stopped taking it seriously during my early college years and began fulfilling my calling for meaning with materialism and the search for masculine identity i.e. how much can I drink and fuck in a single sitting...it was all done in vain. The main catalyst in my China calling came when I decided the thing lacking in my writing; it wasn't my own capacity to write something great...or profitable as us Americans say...but more so the apathy of living consumed my everyday life and I was no longer suicidal yet existentialist crises flashed before my eyes no matter what I was doing and in the back of my mind I knew writing was pointless and I outta waste my time doing anything else under the black hole sun. Beckett did a great deal in inspiring me back towards the written nirvana I once found in writing, but even that was not enough to motivate me in spending a few minutes of every day tiring my hands as my mind exploded upon the empty canvas. Even Beckett couldn't give me the push I craved in finding my own voice and once again I borrowed the voice of another in combating the written folly of discovery. I came to China to help me find my own voice hidden in the West, and last night I took my first step since I arrived here in once again being ever so fucking diligent in the NEED for writing.

Last night a coworker of mine, Justin, invited me to his place after work and I first I declined because I wanted to be alone. I have not had a single day to myself since I have been here, and thought that was really what I needed in focusing on my art. I was absolutely correct in my assumption while being positively wrong if I did turn down his offer; we listened to jazz, talked about our love of writing and discussed the works that inspired us to choose a creative passion. I read through the workings of his latest novel and it reminded me the wonders that writing once had for me. The sweet tunes of Miles Davis filled the air as I transcended back to a time when writing and music sand smooth lullabies for a manic psyche that constantly demanded stimulation and could never find peace. There was the peace once again hanging in the blanket of night as the tea was brewing and the kittens ran with nature on the kitchen foyer. We read some Ulysses and spoke of the greatness of Joyce, the man who used Greek literature as a background for the greatest love story of all time. Joyce, Beckett, Burroughs, Vonnegut..all great minds of the 21st century who never knew their place in the structure of society though found writing as a means to bitterly attack the hegemonic institutions that be and discover themselves and humanity through the humorously dark ramblings of mad folks.

Justin reminded me that I didn't come to Dalian just to be a teacher for the rest of my life; I moved halfway across the world because I needed to seclude myself from the bullshit and trivialities of contemporary American life and figure out who I truly am, and from there I once again could have a chance to figure out where my writing could lead me. I claim to be antisocial but I have spent so much of my life trying to win the favors of others and it has been quite sometime since I have secluded myself entirely from others and spent precious alone time away from the vastness of technological enslavement and wasting precious moment through scrolling the facebook...as I am updated on people who I know not who they are hoping in some bizarre way I will better understand myself. My writing will probably not lead me to a noble prize in Literature, or a New York Times Best Seller, or even a bookstore near you coming this winter, but it certainly could help me better understand the short life I've got to spend in this otherwise dismal world and from there figure out what makes me happy. For now it is being there for these kids who need a decent person to look up to and learn from, but I yearn for something greater (since we all know teaching is riddled by politics finding face between authoritarian powers and parents) as my experience molds me into a stronger person willing to take on any feat in the name of personal and societal development. The world may be bleak but its the only world I know so take for what I can gather while the time still persists.

Going on: I will call this going I will call this on; this my ode to alienation, this my creed to the inspiration forthcoming...thanks to all of you joining the excitement and thrills persistently unfolding. Cheers and the likes my friends ~Peeples

The Real White Privilege: Western Celebrity Status, Expatiate Circles & The Flight of the American Socialist Atheist

China has been amazing for this past week; the honeymoon phases strides on full force no brakes necessary the time being. I've found myself lost in translation quite a bit, yet this has not deterred my experiences. A lot has happened in the past week and I could go on and on about it....so I will

I have still yet to do my grocery shopping, though going out to lunch with mates and having the fabulous cuisine of fellow expatiates I have been able to maintain a steady diet aside from my beer/cigarette candy intake (and I've already lost 5 lbs so let's hope that keeps rolling with my exclusive beer diet lol). My smoking habits have been fucking awful...it's rather hard when cigarettes are less than a buck fifty a pack! It also doesn't help you can smoke wherever you damn well please, and you can get to go beers and drink in public. Jesus, it's like a paradise...for the time being (cheers to that). Some things never change though, such as my addiction to nicotine and caffeine. It'll change, or so it goes.

Work has been smooth so no real complaints on that front yet. I love working with the kids and playing games, it really does warm my soul seeing those little ones get so excited whenever I introduce them to a new game. We call this edutainment (and apparently that's a real word according to blogger) over here and the kids go crazy for it and unlike teaching in high school you actually feel like the kids are having a love for learning: these kids go to school all week and are drilled with boring activities and once a week they get to spend time with crazy ol uncle Drew while he plays games with em and continues the love of learning.

This past Sunday, the 7th of September, I went to an expatiate bar with some work mates and this was my first experience of the Dalian night life...I was reminded with full force the celebrity status bestowed upon me simply because of my white American skin. I had been social with some folks before this outing, yet this was my first time immersing myself with the locals and getting pissed with my coworkers. For a few minutes, I drank my long forgotten white russian (which always perpetuates a crazy night I may add!) and soon I had a couple of Chinese girl come up to me and begin to flirt with me. For all of my straight dude friends back in the states, we can all agree this shit never happens with White women. My friends who know me I have plenty of arrogant confidence, but when it comes to actually instigating conversations with women I am normally lackluster and freeze up with where to bring the conversation..which is mostly due to the fact I'm a huge fucking nerd and my hobbies include video games and writing, two things that are normally difficult in striking compelling converse unless the said female in the situation also fancies these nerdy activities. Regardless, I was overtaken with bewilderment that these girls were absolutely fascinated simply because I was an American and the fact I was a teacher allowed for me to talk about myself (something that isn't hard for this arrogant bastard...after all I am writing a bloody blog which is in itself me jerking myself on the internet for all to view). Over here in China, teaching is a profession that is respected much more so than in the states. I still have no game, for sure, but I'm still that funny guy with a passion for writing and apparently that goes a long way. I could go on and on about how cool I think I am, but let us continue on to the following section.

I want to end this post on perceptions. Back home in America, I'm just some white guy, I may be a damn funny white guy who many people love, but there are millions of people who look and sound just like me. Not the case here in Dalian. There are several people I have met who have never met an American before, and they think I'm cool as shit just because they have only heard my accent in movies or television shows, and although many of the Chinese people I've met can barely understand when I'm talking, they are still fully engaged in the stories I tell despite not being able to truly follow along. I see China as the land of opportunity, whereas these Chinese folks think America is the land of the free and their country is oppressing them. What's funny is neither of us is wrong, both countries have their faults and both countries have opportunities. When you're in a place for long enough, you begin to see all that is wrong with it and begin to believe anything will be better. That is one of the main reasons I came to China and surely I will be homesick in due time, but for the time being I am glad I now live in a country where my religion and political ideologies are the norm instead of being labeled as some crazy godless socialist. I also enjoy getting drunk with my American buddies over here because for all of you who really know me, I love to complain about the American government and if I did that with anyone who isn't American, I would lose face and that would be a tragedy within of itself.

I could write about many more things, but I don't want to talk too much about work or anything so I can save some material for my following blog post. So look out next week during the middle of the week as I continue my plunge into writing about myself and my travels.

P.S. I outta take more pictures, but I'm not a picture kind of guy. I promise by like October or something I'll buy a digital camera to accompany my posts, but I don't always keep my promises especially ones made on the internet so we shall see what happens.

On a Bus Bound for Nowhere

It's been a full day in Dalian thus far; due to jet lag I went to bed yesterday round four in the afternoon thus why I reside awake at such an early hour. Yesterday went smoothly with some help from locals who assisted me in getting my residence permit, finding my way to work via bus and exchanging my American cash for yuan (Note: the exchange rate is .16 american dollars for every 1 yuan; Side Note: cigarettes are about 10 yuan a pack so only about $1.60...there goes any hopes in quitting). I haven't done much exploring yet besides going to a great street-side BBQ with Rik last evening, but I wanted to dedicate this post to my bus ride home.

I got on bus 505 back to my house and spent most of the time standing up and quickly realized I had been using my left-hand which probably came off as disrespectful to the locals. It was odd looking at all of the places the buses passed because there were many American 'landmarks' such as McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Starbucks and a Burger King. I also visited an underground shopping mall prior to getting on the bus where I shopped at a knock-off Walmart (Note: all I bought was a large bag of tea powder and a Coke-Cola). The bus came to its final destination where I got off, awaited the following 505 bus and continue on with my journey. All the while, I was quite scared I had taken the wrong bus because this seemed to take an awfully long time. It also didn't help I couldn't ask the bus driver if I was on the right track because I didn't remember which street I lived on and the bus driver couldn't speak English. Usually, I could use my mobile device in assisting me for directions; the holy grail us Americans call google maps. Due to my lack of mobile data, I had to rely on my gut knowing that worst came to worst I would arrive back near Shane school and could just ask for directions; although, this would take me an eternity to actually arrive home. I noticed labour park and at this point the landmark reminded me I was in fact going in the correct direction, and soon enough my stop emerged from the distance. The joy was overwhelming, I went inside and smoked a cigarette while I drank a cup of deserving hot tea.

I promise my future posts won't be as dull as this especially by this weekend when I've ventured from my residence somewhere and succumb to less tiredness, but for the time being I thought a post regarding the language barrier and the reliance on technology was a decent precursor to the adventures waiting this eager American

Cheers Mates
~Drew