toasty legs

yea buddy, thermals underneath jeans result in warm legs.

bhurin

playlist:
thursday - kill the houselights

airplanes, updates, and the internets

let's update!

its been three months since i've been in the city and now i'm back home for the thanksgiving break. its always strange to come back to a familiar city and navigate through the smells and memories that you inevitably leave behind. but its good to be back, a nice break from the hustle and bustle that is new york city.

a quick update, i've finally purchased http://www.bhurin.com. so hopefully in the very near future i'll have my personal website up with writings, music, and pictures. you know, extra stuff to clutter the internet.

please visit welovelancehahn.com if you have a chance. its dedicated to the memory of lance hahn, punk rocker and role model. i still remember when i listening to j church in high school and finding out that the singer and lead guitarist (lance) was asian. later on while at college, i met him at sound exchange, the record store that was right next to campus. he was a super nice and humble individual and has definitely impacted my life with his music and spirit. if you also have chance, definitely check out j church. drama of alienation is a killer album.

i leave you with a few things i've written.

observations on delta flight 1603
non-stop service to atlanta, georgia
1. i am sitting in seat 24b waiting for our delayed departure due to a fueling error. i cannot quite understand the miscalculation of 7,000 gallons worth of fuel that now needs to be relieved from the bladder of the plane. to put that into perspective, that is 7,000 jugs of milk. the phenomena of loading an extra 7,000 jugs of milk without noticing is beyond me. and yes, even i have limitations.
2. there is an ensemble of extremely extroverted children who have yet to grasp the concept of volume control and common courtesy. they sing in surround sound.
3. there is one child in particular who has already developed his own unique style that closely resembles a higher pitched arnold schwarzenegger cry from on of his earlier hollywood works.
4. two rows ahead of my sits a young family accompanied by two poop machines and an urgency to direct a new seating arrangement inspired by their convenience. the mother is playing an audible version of "tag" in her best witch/troll voice. this elicits a crescendoing series of cries from the child until he uncontrollably explodes with piercing excitement, shattering the eardrums of passengers within a thirty row radius of him. there are only thirty rows on this plane, no one is safe.
5. for the lack of a better name, mr. wiggles is suffocating in a sea of denim as he grows batwings in the cramped middle seat.
6. one of the flight attendants is working very hard to sell us the in flight culinary entertainment of cheese crackers, biscoff cookies, and salted peanuts. underneath her smile and cheery tone is a dying spirit that knows damn well that these poor excuses for snacks on a $400 flight do not warrant such deceitful lies. i take the cheese crackers just to be polite though.
7. one of the other flight attendants serving drinks stands at a whopping 6'5". towering over the seats with her head flirting with a collision course with the lavatory sign, she battles her way down the narrow cabin aisle, demanding undivided attention as her baritone voice rattles your insides, loosening your bowels. at that very moment, i realized where the sounds of thunder come from.
8. the woman sitting directly to the right of me across the aisle has just checked to see whether or not her breasts have fallen out of the unusually low cut shirt. much to our surprise, they are still tucked away.
9. i am sitting next to the jet turbine. the sound is deafening. i can feel my brain squeeze itself, trying to hold on to sanity, as the turbines soar into a rhythmic wave of highs and lows. there is a wavering tone that makes my eyes feel like their going to burst like grapes in the microwave.
10. there are no comfortable positions to sleep on the plane.

love,
bhurin

playlist:
bouncing souls discography
reggae radio channels on itunes

back from the swamp

a very huge thank you to everyone at sercaal for bringing me out to florida. i had an incredible time and met some very wonderful people. its great to be able to witness such a dynamic and passionate community of asian american students coming together and celebrating what it means to be themselves. i am truly honored to have been there through it all.

and for all of those that took photographs of the workshops and show... i want to see! i brought a camera, but totally forgot to take pictures. so if you have any pictures or videos, hook it up at bhurin@gmail.com!

and lastly, i'll be working on some new things and will hopefully be able to have some things posted here or at a myspace account. so check back for that!

until next time, take care and can't wait to see you all soon!

love,
bhurin

gots to get paid

i's gots a job. word.

bhurin

playlist:
thrice - digital sea and fire breather
practice recordings
refused - the shape of punk to come

eating good in the neighborhood

i've started working on thomas pynchon's v. a terribly fun read, but it'll take a little longer than usual to finish the book due to his playful and unconventional narrative style and the fact that i'm only reading it in bookstores to save some cash.

26.
bullet shells fall like tear drops
from smoking machine gun chambers
each one of them
wishing it were somewhere else
born something else
other than metal messenger home wreckers

27.
stop motion photographs
of jet streams on rolling concrete
cataloged for every kid
hungry for seven ply maple
served over urethane wheels
catalytic reactions to
sounds of crisp tails
warm rubber soles
and leather skins
gliding across sand paper tops
on wooden backs
standing still at busy intersections
taking a moment
for the moment
to pop

i visited a designated texas bar for this past weekend's football game. it was incredible to see the entire bar filled with people from texas, wearing orange and white, and screaming at the wide screen televisions as colt mccoy threw his second interception. home away from home indeed.

bhurin

playlist:
feist - let it die
battles - mirrored
strike anywhere - change is a sound

go get it

yesterday, i met some of the cast from heroes, notably sylar, ando, and micah. it was a pretty entertaining experience. the writer, comic artist, and a new cast member were there as well.

finding cheap food around new york city is finding hidden treasure. it seems you can't get a meal here under 5 bucks... unless you're in chinatown. very nice!

24.
your voice
could cure cancer
had they not been behind train doors
they could perfectly align the universe
immobilize the world's toughest armies
and powerful men would finally understand the meaning of humanity
children would no longer live in fear of boogie men
because you
could syncopate their breaths
and vaporize their bodies
into a string of paper cranes
ready to take flight over mine fields
dropping seventeen syllables of itself
woo hidden mines
and romance them into trees
for fatherless children to climb
so they could know what it is like
to pierce the empty skyline with laughter

25.
to the local subway emcee
i salute you
for understanding your own greatness
showcased in your public apollo performances
of headphone rap songs made vocal
i salute you
for understanding our daily ailments
from carpel tunnel desk work
can only be cured by off key productions
of your favorite songs
administered on
overcrowded rush hour subway cars
i salute you
for the wealth of your work
because smiles light up
in the minds of others
too afraid to show it
they hide it in discontented brows
under heaving sighs
but in their green stares
its a yearning they feel
for your ability to command wall street crowds
to liberate their spirits
dipped in beautiful memories
of a quieter place
i salute you
for doing things we all only dream of
without a care in the world

bhurin

playlist:
thelonious monk - the columbia years
thrice alchemy index studio videos
battles - mirrored
boris - pink

hungry hungry hungry

so yesterday i stopped by the stella adler studio of acting. i was nervously sweating cold bullets, as they had me stop by for an interview. turns out, it was just an informal meeting with the registrar to see if we were a good match for their workshop. i'll hopefully be starting classes in a few weeks.

22.
my anticipation rests
on the precipice of bubbles
sweating graffiti dreams
along the back of my neck
my wallet is panting harder
than a labrador in the thick of summer
and free dinners are a treasure
in true romance of friendships

23.
a yellow guitar pick stares at me from the floor of a street side cafe
it seemed to have lost its way
from worn guitar cases
and empty pockets of musicians
but the local hipsters don't seem to care much
their minds forging new ways in trends and bargain bins
packed with cigarettes and chucks
and every other person here
could pass as morrissey
when the smiths were still a band
each carrying a toxic air
behind headbands and thick framed glasses
but we know better than to judge
because each one of us is just like each one of them
reflections of thoughts and dogmas
fuming from complex commercial atmospheres
feigning deafness
in the presence of you and me alike
as if we don't care at all

bhurin

playlist:
bouncing souls - maniacal laughter
mogwai - mr. beast
mouth of the architect - time and withering

LA burrito

walked around williamsburg today after traveling a total of 3 hours to and from the bronx for an interview. nice people, but the daily commute will be killer.

21.
there's something visceral and unpolluted in warm tortillas
a network of modal train stations
spray painted on the walls of each four chambers
that arrive not a minute late
a sea of tofu and bacon collide
marking white t-shirts
an empty canvas for fashion nightmares
orange tangerine soda bottles pop and lock on my table
as a pitcher of horchata leans on a broken counter top
and waits for the picadillo to catch the next flight home
egg yolks late for track meets
walk sideways over foil
past the mountains of red beans steaming in preemptive salsa volcanoes
rupturing from shifting ceramic plates and attacking plastic butter knives
under full moons of metallic grins
that are hungry for this meals evening harvest

bhurin

playlist:
four tet - rounds
tegan and sara - so jealous

grocery stores and laundromats

20.
we travel slower with constants by our side
unknown to us all rests a giant
gently breathing in anticipation
and curled so it fits into our hearts
there's nothing to fear as long as he's there
breathing, dreaming, wandering
always searching
like a patrol of summer children surveying busy streets
they make noise and watch walls come crashing down onto glass ceilings
with lungs and legs to chase after
mirages of ice cream trucks and secret hand shakes
outside this window
away from tumbling laundromats
the new york skyline offers me wings to stand on
to catch lightning bugs in the park
swallow them
and watch my belly burn bright
an incandescent glow
a hunger for longer subway rides home
and shorter walks to bodegas
this morning my feet spoke to me
as i lay there half awake
we're each armed with more than we will ever know they said to me

lately, i've been missing mexican food dearly. so for dinner i visited the local mexican corner deli that is no more than 20 yards from my front doorstep. i am proud to say that they will have my business and support in future bushwick dining experiences. i ordered a delicious torta with milanesa de pollo. i think tomorrow i will try their al pastor taco and maybe, just maybe, will try to order it with the very limited conversational spanish i know.

i hauled a week's worth of laundry to the laundromat a couple blocks away. don't underestimate the weight of dirty laundry.

bhurin

playlist:
minus the bear - planet of ice
four tet - rounds
engine down - engine down
jeff buckley - grace

the locals stop by to say welcome

the night i arrived, the locals decided to put on a show to welcome me to their hood. unfortunately, i slept through the festivities, but my roommate managed to capture the event in its entirety.

on sunday morning at 3am, there is commotion from the streets outside our window. 2 cops with batons stand beating the sin out of a man while a woman is screaming hysterically with no regards to the sleeping neighbors. immediately afterwards, an unmarked black van flies in and comes to a screeching halt. 2 enormous men, who look like their diet consisted solely of red meat and little children, jump out, armed with blunt beat sticks and arms the size of tree trunks. they dove head first into the mess and joined the cops.

"that's what you get! that's what you (expletive) get!" screamed the enormous men as their beat sticks ravaged what's left of their targeted man. i found out later that they were undercover cops who played very convincing roles of scary new york thugs.

soon, our street is packed with patrol cars and officers. after the celebratory welcome beating fizzled out, the cops tazed the man for good measure, arrested him, and placed him in the back of a patrol car. we all hope he goes to a better place than where he was 15 minutes ago under a rainstorm of batons.

bhurin

playlist:
rilo kiley - more adventurous
the nightwatchman - one man revolution
these arms are snakes - easter

the bkny

thanks to everyone for wishing me well in my new home and new adventures.

love,

bhurin

and now for some more

listen to the sounds of memory by sekou.

more recent ones.

17.
safely hidden in a shoe box
alongside postcards and letters
from crushes they never knew
a message you've kept
preserved bodies
filled with picture perfect memories
that never took place

18.
empty wine glasses
and fresh laundry tumbling on new quarters
we stare at the floor when we have nothing to say
you play with your hair
and watch me shuffle my legs from beneath me
how fast we must've grown
but still things never change
too afraid of what might become of it all
so we pretend
like toy soldiers
and plastic dolls
we stare
and wait
for chance to explain
our aching ribcage

19.
you make me sick
i'm at your mercy
every time you call
a simple task becomes terrorizing
and each time
you breathe fiery tales
have you no mercy
as persistant as a spoiled two year old
you call me out
out of the depths of my sleep
so that i can negotiate myself
from the foot of the bed
to the toilet bowl
you chip porcelain
like water pressure treatments
but be warned
i've found a new hope
like a prince from a desert planet
quickly ushered into heroic adulthood
these small pills
and pink potions
i lay my faith in it
i hate diarrhea

bhurin

playist:
the impossibles - return

the sounds of memory

Sekou Sundiata, 1948-2007.

Excerpt from the 51st Dream State by Sekou Sundiata.

What if we were Life
Or Liberty
Or the Pursuit of something new?
Between the rocks below
and the stars above
What if we were composed by Love?

And what if we could show
that what we dream
is deeper than what we know?
Suppose if something does not live
in the world
that we long to see
then we make it ourselves
as we want it to be

What if we are Life
Or Liberty
and the Pursuit of something new?

And suppose the beautiful answer
asks the more beautiful question,

Why don’t we get our hopes up too high?
Why don’t we get our hopes up too high?
High!

a long long time ago

from an old dusty notebook.

15.
waltzing undercover
trampling hearts in disguise
it breeds to be seen
because I swear
you can dissect it
no need for undiscovered recognition
twisted by design
slanted perpetually
by foreign eyes
because it waits
to be exposed naked
like the truth it be seen
and just between you and me
i used to be the one
who flaked it off with uncertainty
but certainly you see
it creeps slow
until we can smell it in our palms
sweating lies
before we can read between the lines

16.
this is for my grandfather
a poet
from china
to thailand
to america
he spoke
his early morning exercises
in spotlights of yellow sun rays
penetrating window glass ceilings
he danced rhythm with words
and pushed rhymes with his brush
that moved to the souls of his feet
traveling halfway across the world
in a page
he spoke to soothe the coils
in his fist
that became soundtracks
for the unconducted and noteless

bhurin

playlist:
chuck ragan - los feliz
fugazi - end hits

older and newer

11.
this here tonight
within these four walls
is a fire burning sleepless for our entire lives
running marathons over land mines
chasing dreams our parents once had
but we sometimes soon forget
in the absence of family portraits
that the things we need to say
are the things we need to hear most
to be able to say
to each one of you
how much it means
to know that you don't have to carry the weight of the world
as long as we're together

12.
because somewhere
out there
tonight
sits a hungry child
draped in yesterday's news
of has beens
and what nots
of forgotten headlines
and tear drops

13.
for dorothy

how do we look back down the corridors of our paths
and know that we did everything right
that we stole our own hearts
and traveled around the world
leaving tattered ribbons
so we may know how we got here
how do we know that when the last grains of sand fall
we have nothing to regret
that regret is only a figment of our imagination
that could never possibly exist
because we know that we're full
off the friends we drank
and we could never finish half empty
how do we stare fear in the eyes
and make it taste its own medicine
to never realizing its full potential
to cower at the foot of possibilities

dorothy, you held the world in your hands
a raven perched on your shoulder
you carried her

14.
surrendering to constellations / the sun crashes into the waves / tides washing up warm footprints that fade too fast to save / i bang my head to the cadence of this exhausted march / cause its got the best of me this time beaten from the start / maybe questions are better left unanswered for a while / an elected excuse to play the fool / good enough for another mile / i've wrecked myself in this nervous habit and its not helping much / a case grass-stained and starving for just an honest touch / letters paint forgotten scenes and photographs read like a diary / hits too close to home and breaks the bones that cage memories / and i am choking on the dust that kicks up when nostalgia sets in / a broken heart with bandaid fixes that bleeds for just a friend / the black labrador's coat coloring the endless stellar sky / lacquered and polished interrupted only by planes passing by / gracious bodies speechless / pressing hands an innocent crime / victim to becoming another thread woven through the fabric of time / the felicity of that one night fuels the burning adoration / as skies the stale shade of gray dishearten summer expectations / packed up but far from giving up / no resignation at versailles / i'll swallow this package whole and harbor it in my stomach that's leather lined

bhurin

playlist:
the get up kids - the ep's: red letter day and woodson

thepenismightier part deuce

these are older, found them on my computer. and poetry is meant to be heard, so read them out loud.

6.
somewhere in all of us is a note
that our heart holds ransom
destined for vocal realization
trapped behind macho sighs

7.
only if we could crawl beneath haunted beds
lined with old chewing gum
paper stars
and jump rope dances
shake hands with velvet monsters
who are just as afraid as we are
of algebraic unknown uncertainties
we would see as lucid
as a dreamer's dream realized

8.
close your eyes
and listen
can you hear it
if you listen closely
you might hear it
there
the old playground
gravel rocks, giant swings, and metal slides
gravel rocks, giant swings, and metal slides
and there
between your toe and shoe
gravel rocks wait for your attention
to draw it away from war games you and your friends played
portraits of next generation politicians and complacent voters

9.
so let's greet death
with smiles and open arms
knowing that when the time comes
we did everything we could
to fill our lungs
under beautiful texas horizons
paint buckets of mixed emotions
swirled
picking out each line of poetry
with drum fills and steel strings to match
we'll hop on our bikes
and ride grass stained jeans
down half pipes
into bullet holes
of those who died to let us live
so we can finally feel comfortable in our own skin
then stack popsicle sticks
collect wasted time
and put them in mason jars
with leaves and broken twigs
so we'll never get homesick or hungry

10.
there was a time
where we spoke in the language of dreams
where our imagination screamed down barrels of shooting stars
and where we didn't know what the word fear meant
there was a time
where we slid off of turtle shells
launching ourselves onto canvases
exploding watercolors detailing vibrant worlds
unknown to bank accounts and war
and we would run down dark and mysterious pathways
faster with each footstep
towards the pulse of the unknown
and we were never afraid of what we might discover
because we knew
it was only ourselves
we would find

bhurin

playlist:
eva cassidy - time after time
the dillinger escape place - miss machine

thepenismightier

as requested by chang, here is the beginning of poetry/writing/stuff i've been sketching out and working on in my notebooks at home. pretty much all of it are excerpts from free-writes and notes. they are works in progress.

1.
enjoy the decadence
of exploding eardrums
and fattening wallets
bound tightly by copper wire
and shrink wrapped for last year's store shelf
of musical suicide
and enjoy the sensation while you still can
before your mind blankets by numbness
from sonic deliverance
of plastic mouthpieces
firing off rounds that would make a GI jealous
and enjoy the lyrical lexicon
founded by third grade spelling books
rhyming itself to itself
for a call and response
to questions better left unasked
that provides clues
to how our generation of music
has become
a decadence of exploding eardrums.

2.
sometimes i wish
that i could wrap my fingers around
the very breath that escapes me
and squeeze tears out of it
like rain clouds pouring
i'd fill a glass
and let you drink it
until it fills your chest
until you could understand

3.
created out of ashy remains
of what we once were
reminders of rice grain footprints
carbon dated bookmarks
for interment journals
etched on weeping walls
hatched under full moons of
pax americana
applie pies
and baseball railroad tracks
crossing over the wrong side of the tracks
kissing bullets whizzing by
faster than childhood memories
while riding cotton dolphins
across cellophane oceans
a mix of your favorite colors
sitting at the foot of destiny
ready to shower ourselves in oceans of
knives
and pitchforks
to save burning witches
from unholy crosses
chanting our name
we're a miracle born disaster
drinking from the lips of the pacific
careful not to get swallowed whole
immigrated suitcases
unpacked
and left floating

4.
at the brink of the horizon
we each stare ourselves into disillusionment
our insecurities magnificent
until we only see shadows
blanketing our entire world
but to take that leap
a chance on chance
and to throw everything we know about fate
into a barrel of fresh gasoline burning
we'll finally be able to sleep soundly
knowing
we scraped by on hopes and dreams
and that it was really enough


5.
may 11 is independence day
from chemical wastelands
wading chest high through forty hour work weeks
desperately trying
to keep my sanity from drowning
and asphyxiating on exploding dreams
each day since then
has delivered new meaning to it all
bank accounts and frozen lunches
have never been this important to me
may 11 is the beginning of a new life
away from texas heat
and enormous trucks
it marks the day of
blue vaseline makeup
and eight bar patterns
you see
the last three years at a place
you never wanted to be
became a cornerstone
the starting line
the wire to ignite the dynamite
that will send me sending love letters
to myself
so that i can enjoy each day
without witnessing
creative paralysis that is a job
routine is crucial in a job
but spontaneity is vital to life
medical science and mathematical calculations
love the definite
the for sure
the one answer
but life
art
and music
breathe and feed on our ability
to be anything but that


that is all for now. word.

bhurin

playlist:
eva cassidy - time and time
from monument to masses - the impossible leap in one hundred simple steps

go go go.

so its been a while since i've last logged on and still 9 songs away from my goal. and what's great is that i think i'm the only one that reads this. muahaha.

i've been playing more lately. it seems everything i play sounds like the last thing i listened to. i'm a biological sonic copy machine that jams a lot.

bhurin

playlist:
the smiths - the best of the smiths, vol. 1 and vol. 2
pelican - city of echoes

loopity loop

so i'm in the market for another loop/delay pedal. and i'm thinking of snagging another line 6 dl4 for the job. been playing some lately, but the music is all over the place. i guess that goes with the different kinds of music flying through my ipod.

bhurin

playlist:
ipod on shuffle.

10 songs and go!

so its been a while since i've posted on here. after the project was over, i didn't really do anything else with the music. so i says to myself, "why not?" after a long discussion with myself, i'm planning on writing 9 more songs in addition to the one i already have and try to record a proper "album."

i've never really honestly tried my best at music. my last project with the myeverest dudes didn't really work out and it left a very sour taste in my mouth. so i'm going to try to go at it by myself. the inspiration is from jimmy lavalle of the album leaf. i remember watching a video documentary of his latest album and finally realized that he was the one behind all the songs. after that, i figured i'd give it a shot at musical poetry.

i'm going to try to set an achievable end goal for myself before doing a proper recording. the approach will be similar to the last song i wrote.

speaking of last song, you can listen to it here: http://www.myspace.com/organicsonicstry.

and here's the poem i wrote to help inspire the song:

somewhere
between the crash and where you rest
there is a place
where corn husk wrapped memories
served on break room table tops
wait
for the next time we meet

cheers.

bhurin

playlist:

sigur ros - ()
the album leaf - into the blue again
alkaline trio - all their songs on shuffle on my ipod