Pass It On

When “i” was small

i remember holding a Walkman sporting oversized headphones and Trapper Keeper folders of drawings i‘d draw…of heroes and make believe figures i imagined myself to become and look up to

i was everything…

a dinosaur a robot, creatures i‘d create on lands i‘d conquer

A martial ARTIST

i was the rolly pollie i‘d keep in my pocket…the imagination of my own voice within me bumping through my headphones

Spending hours figuring out the power of minute details in drawings, my fingers on black and white keys, while my mom sat next to me patiently,

an out of body experience for her watching a part of her imagine

The communication of silence that fascinated and fostered more of a desire to feel and understand the human nature of decision, discomfort, danger…theatre

and why the consistency of the Bubble Gum just made it so much more fun than gum you just chewed

The problem with getting older, is the diminishing of dreams, the loss of an imagination we were given as gifts when we were children, to become geniuses, that we WERE destined to become but we shy away from, to follow others who follow them who follow him on a journey he’s on…

that’s not yours…

stop listening to the whispers running after people who run away…

stay, walk around, until you can run on your own

that Trapper Keeper leader who refuses to create followers, but develops leaders who lead others towards following their own make believe figures they’ve always imagined to become.

pass it on.

i am Lawrence Kao

and acting is my art, what is yours?

Napolean

My parents brought over Napolean yesterday…
For those of you who don’t know him, he’s an incredibly intelligent Dachshund who deeply perturbs you when you initially introduce yourself.  

“Hey little man!” ~YOU

“Who the fuck is this guy?” ~NAPOLEAN

 

My mother will accidentally call him “Lawrence” or “didi”, names that were given to me at birth, now loosely thrown at this black animal (yes I’m being racist), who only sun bathes and does nothing but.  

I’ve become slightly envious.

Stories of his bad behavior are centralized topics at the dinner table:

“Your mom cooked so much food.  He found his way onto the table and ate all of it in a matter of seconds.” ~GARY KAO

“Your dad couldn’t sleep last night.  Napolean kept complaining downstairs because no one would sleep with him.” ~AMY KAO

 

Nonetheless, my parents find a way, supernaturally easily, to turn his crimes into nothing less than modest incorruption.

Example: 

“I used my Subway coupons and bought a bunch of footlongs.  Napolean ate all of them while I wasn’t looking.” ~GARY KAO

        Retorts:  “Wow, he has a really big appetite.”
                         “It’s okay.  Subway is really healthy.” 

 

Image

Interestingly enough, Gary and Amy Kao aren’t raising Napolean to be or think a specific way.  They’re simply teaching him how to be himself.

and Napolean is fucking happy.
and I am fucking happy.  

It is all about perspective.
I don’t know where my parents got it from, but they have a good one.

On New York

On a plane back home to los angeles, seat 30B, surrounded by two women, one terribly older than the other, both religiously on their ipads.

Coincidentally I’m writing on one as well. Kudos to Tony Tran.

If however, I told the middle eastern tripod that they couldn’t sit together in row thirty-seven as a family of three, I would’ve enjoyed my transportation back to Los Angeles comfortably in an aisle seat.  But being sandwiched by Apple products, while acknowledging that I perpetuate the technological advances of Steve (rest in peace), is offering me some amusement.
I am not perturbed, considering I enjoyed myself thoroughly the last four days making adventure with Christina Glur in a city where America’s melting pot is much more apparent than in the west coast.
Let us recap, trace my monies, and understand why, mathematically, the ability to fork out rent for the rest of 2012 may not come as easily as it seems, due to a city called New York that takes your hard earned cash mercilessly.  Let’s not.
Our self destructive natures however, want us to go back regardless.
Despite its transportation costs, the city’s ability to expose my idiocy, solely humorous to me, in addition to the loss of two cellular phones, I had a great time, but not enough time, to experience the unforgiving city of New York.
Thank you Glurfriend, Nicole the unabashed DJ, Tones, and a peculiar cocker-spaniel for sheltering me in such a place where danger lurks.
The place is harmless.
If you are in the area check out Christina Glur & Tamara Levinson in a show called “Fuerza Bruta”.  It is…
http://www.theatermania.com/videos/dancing-in-the-rain-at-fuerza-bruta_292.html
I will return to New York and justice will be served on the side of chicken and rice.  Praise the Islamic culture for permitting the preparation of foods allowed under Islamic dietary guidelines to exist on trucks and stands throughout the city.  Halal food is devastating.
Although they were short-lived, a shout out to these special cameos is necessary: Kristina Bui, Janice Kang, Jeffrey Chou, Allison Vicencio.  Gracias.
There is much more to say
like I’m not a super-hero aficionado and the Avengers was okay.  Go watch Raid-Redemption.

My Father’s Baptism

It took me twenty minutes from my apartment to home.
As I pulled up, my dog, according to my dad, was helping him put on his shoes. I threw a sincere compliment at his haircut as I walked in to hug my mom, who held onto an odd energy of nervousness and pure joy.

We made three attempts to leave, having to turn the car around each time to grab things my mom leaves in the house. Camera, cell phone, a change of clothes.

My mother and I sat in the first row. My father, dozing off 10 aisles back to the right behind us, along with 79 others wearing white t-shirts.

Fast forward the message that was completely not in English and I’m holding a plastic bag with my dad’s shoes and wet clothes.

As my dad prayed at the dinner table, my God just made some shit go full circle, an ongoing process that has taken eleven years to complete.

And I’m at peace, thinking of creative ways to iron out my creases.

finding freedom, or lack there of, in thought

There’s this energy within me I’m not really fond of.
I’m using it despite how self-destructive it makes me feel.
The more older I get, the more power it has over my freedom and positive thought.

Sense of liberation seems foreign to me, when it was second nature a couple years back. I’ve been eating words I create for myself that I want to throw up.

I need a guidebook.
Something with a calender in the back that organizes my intentional thoughts, deciding for me when and where to think the things that I do, appropriately.

My hands are callous from moving these bricks.
A wall that is taking a humorous amount of time to remove.
Contradictions of me building it in the first place are tickling me to death.

I need that chalk-board she recommended……

Make me laugh, write me some jokes.

Runyon Canyon

A prayer box sits on the top of a mountain on Fuller.

It takes a good amount of will power to run to the top.

You can buy bottled water for a dollar at the bottom or muster enough strength to run up without.

It’s difficult to get up there if you don’t want to.

It’s tough to sit down and write some shit on a piece of paper and put it in.

But people do….

 

and it works.

Napolean on “difficulty”

5 cats surround my house at night, taking shifts around my cul-de-sac, each feline, specifically designed by God to terrorize Napolean, a black and brown wiener dog (human to my parents, more like my miscarried brother) whose “Napolean” complex refuses to throw out any signs of weakness.  To him, this is his destiny.  Stealing a few tear drops from these mammals means the world to him.  And if one cat lets out the slightest scream, he gets off harder than the top two best dry humping sessions he’s had in the past, combined.  His kamikaze acts of selflessness, if recorded at high shutter speeds, would be deemed synonymous to the fortitude of the Japanese during WWII.

I told him the other day that throwing his body against the sliding doors, although courageous and different, was probably not the brightest thing to do.  He turned around and said:

“Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in.”

and I snapped back:

“That’s fucking cheesy.”

And he went at it again.  Harder, faster, and stronger than Daft Punk. Throwing himself into the grueling surface of the sliding doors in front of him, leaving the cats unmoved, but him one step closer . . .

and then I saw what he was doing.

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  • "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." ~Marianne Williamson