A Damn Accurate Gift

The perfect physical gift, in my opinion, is a thing you'd use the shit out of but one you might've yet to muster the guts to go out and buy on your own.

Last year, for my birthday, Navjeet, John, Tori, Ashley and Jamahl chipped in to get me this classy AF Montblanc pen. Nav did exactly what I'd always daydreamed and wished my family would do: Really pay attention to what moves me and join forces to get me a thing I'd never go out and get on my own. I'd imagine my mom and dad and cousins tossing in a few bucks each to get me a camera, for example. Like "hey dude, you're talented and we believe in you. Stop wasting your time at a cubicle selling insurance and go make art." (Yeah I used to work in insurance.)

It's not the idea of the thing that moved me. I don't care much for things. I have like three or four items I'd maybe want to save if my apartment caught on fire and even those I could easily replace. People drive me. Individuals, coming together to work towards a greater purpose.

I might be the only person in my extended family who gets along with every other family member. Most of my clan is on varying levels of not communicating with each other. Factors include the passage of time between interactions, geographic limitations and just classic ole' bullshit family drama.

I am just seriously loving my life and have no desire to leave this world any earlier than I absolutely have to. But I also don't fear death. When I speak of spirit and source, I'm not just talking out of my ass. I really do have faith that we are connected to a greater consciousness and that the end of this life is not the end of existence. If I did have to leave Earth early though, the last thing you'd see on my face would be a knowing smile. Because my last conscious thought would be that my funeral would bring out all my family who didn't get along with each other while I was still around.

Unless I got killed by a shark. Then I imagine it would be a lot of gargled screaming and I'd probably soil myself. I don't think I'd go out like a hero if a shark ate me. That shit sounds horrible. Did you know sharks can move both their lower and upper jaws? That's some terrifying bullshit right there.

But I digress.

The life of the artist can be one of crippling insecurity coupled with delusional confidence in the insane idea that there are people out there who actually give enough shits to consume things you've created which, by the way, can often dance on varying levels of narcism in nature. Stories that are often regurgitations of one's own personal demons or images which are totally subjective to one's own world views. Arting is hard-ish. And most cultures generally have a love/hate relationship with artists. Once you're on TV and making lots of money, people will support. But many out there don't really want to see how the sausage is made. The years of fine-tuning one's craft. The falling on one's face over and over till something clicks. Finding one's creative voice. That shit takes time because prodigies are far in between.

Everyone in my family has done the best they can with what tools they've had at their disposal. When I was little, my brother used to bring me extra paper from his office at the City of San Diego so I would have a limitless supply of sketch paper to draw on. So I could keep drawing that damn Ninja Turtle till it started to look less and less like an egg with teeth. I have multiple sketchbooks laying around which my cousin Shabnam has given me over the years. And I can confidently credit a couple of books my cousin Kourosh gave me as having a powerful impact on my journey. Little pieces of energetic support from multiple people can be found in my belongings.

But I'd always also dreamed about how magical it would be if really 'seeing' me and what I was trying to do was a thing that brought my family together, even if for a few moments. Partly so I could feel some more support on this uphill journey I've been on for so long. But primarily, I think I daydreamed about my family getting together and buying me something because I wanted to see my extended family be together. To get along.

I tend not to have 'nice things' for fear of losing or damaging them, always seeking detachment of material things via my dime-store Buddhism. So when I received this amazing pen, my first feeling was mild panic. So I hid it away. I told myself I'd begin using it when I get my own office. And only then for special situations like signing important documents. I played with it a couple of times and carefully placed it in a safe space.

A couple of days ago, Tori asked me if I use the pen that Nav was so insistent they get me. That's when I realized a year had passed and I'd barely touched it. So I took it out from its hiding spot and began journaling.

Here was this daydream I'd had since I was a lad, that multiple people who loved me would chip in to get me something very personal. Then the dream came true and I still didn't believe. My mind found a way to not accept this reality because it was too good. This was me not seeing the abundance in my life. This was an internalized energy of poverty.

I. Am. WEALTHY. I mean wow! Look at all the love, talent and opportunities in my world. I wonder how many other dreams of mine have come true which I've been refusing to see.

I write all day. I've been writing by hand more in the past months than ever, preferring to mentally work things out analogue before hitting the computer. I spend a great deal of time with myself, untying mental knots and assessing the next steps in multiple projects. A good pen is a damn accurate gift.

I received a pen last year for my birthday but it took a whole year for me to truly accept the gift. I sure hope I don't lose it like I lose every damn pair of sunglasses I've ever owned... But if I do, I can now see that the true gift was not the physical thing, but the passing of the energy that it represents.

You know the best part about this post? I know that Nav got a notification that he's been tagged on a post and then saw that it was one of the novels I periodically write. I imagine he's looking at his phone and mouthing the phrase "oh my god, are you fucking kidding me? I'm not reading all this shit, you asshole!" And I'm absolutely laughing as I write this last bit, considering the possibility that the visual is an even better gift than the pen.

This year I think I was handed more gifts than I'd ever been handed before on a single birthday weekend. As if having opened up to the abundance which exists in the universe really manifested into my physical reality. I am so grateful for my family and my friends. Every one of you is an angel, sharing in this journey and guiding me/us towards that place in the light. And sharing this story is my public commitment to truly see all the wealth and abundance all around me.

I get it. But get out of the way.

We are all creators. We are all meant for something. We all have a magic power that simply needs to be honed and all that jazz. But this isn't going to be one of my woo woo posts. This is a rant. Just some shit I want to get off my chest.

Connecting people and facilitating collaborations is a natural part of my mental muscle memory. But I am a professional artist and I want to see some attempt at professionalism in other artists.

As long as you describe and treat your art as your side thing, it's hard for me to take you seriously.

I get it. It's hard. It's an emotional struggle. It doesn't pay your rent. Your parents don't get it. You don't think that last mix is quite good enough to release. Your logo isn't quite where you want it. You can't figure out how to make a website so you end up just chillin with the crew for the rest of the day. And then you feel bad about chillin with the crew the rest of the day but you just can't find the motivation and that sends you down into another guilt spiral.

I. Get. ALL. Of. That.

I've been there. I'm still sometimes there. But there are some really basic things you can be doing if you want to be taken seriously by professional artists and professionals in general. And that is to take yourself seriously.

And to be honest, it's totally fine if you don't see what you're doing as part of your career path. But when you don't take your shit seriously you're hurting all the rest of us. You contribute to the image in society's heads that artists are all flakey and it's not a legitimate way to make a living. You're making it harder for younger artists battling depression and loneliness as they try to find their way in the world. All this half-assing hurts the field as a whole. Sometimes, when I'm feeling impatient, I want to yell the same thing I yell while I'm driving in traffic and someone's been signaling for five minutes and hesitate on changing into the lane they're trying to get into: Make a commitment or get the fuck out of the way!

Let me clarify what I mean by "seriously." Because, oh my god, the last thing I want to do is take anything "seriously."

What I mean is stop making it difficult for people to find you and promote your work and give you money. Stop waisting everyone's time taking forever to respond to emails. Stop making me look bad when I recommend you for a gig and you don't have a press kit to send over or, when you do, send a bunch of instagram photos. I know you have better photos. You're not sending the better photo because you think you look fat or you don't like your hair in it. So you're sending the shit ones someone shot on their phone at a random event because you think you look more fuckable.

Stop hating every step of this. Stop convincing yourself that because you're really going to enjoy that DJ gig, it's not a priority because your desk job is the priority.

Stop canceling and rescheduling your photo shoot. If you're scheduling your shoot for Friday afternoon because it's the end of the week and you need the rest of the week to get all the "real work" done first before you're allowed to enjoy something, you're communicating that you don't see value in your brand. And your art.

But also... Stop obsessively redesigning your logo if you haven't even released a track or two yet. Stop drafting your marketing plan if that's stopping you from creating the art you want to create.

If you're a writer, start blogging. If you're a filmmaker, start shooting. If you're a musician, make some god damn music.

And put it out there!

Every little piece of this stuff is a puzzle that comes together that makes you and everyone else's lives easier.

Make the art. Do the work. Make it easy for people to find you.

If you're art's not up to your standards yet, it's fine. Let me see you work through it.

If you're work isn't amazing yet, it's fine. Make it consistent so I know you won't leave a crew hanging if we book you.

If your website isn't responsive, it's fine. Give us a centralized place to look you up and see your art and your work and be able to send you a god damn message.

"Where are you from?" she asks.

"Um, San Diego?"

It's been a while since I've been asked that question so it really did catch me off guard. I wasn't being intentionally snarky. For once. So after we go through the dance of clarifying that what she means to ask is my ethnic and cultural background, I give the answer I always give:

"I'm Persian. My family is from Iran."

I think she didn't hear the second part. "Oh honey," she responds, "Come on... Persian... This isn't LA - no one falls for that shit. IRANIAN. You're IRANIAN."

I found myself immediately feeling incredibly sorry for the dude that was hanging out with her.

San Diego has been home most of my life. I was born here and moved back to Iran for a short stint as a small child. In 1989ish we re-immigrated to the United States. Growing up speaking little-to-no English in east county, we often fielded the question, "where are you from," which I guess sounds more polite than saying "what are you."

Most Iranian-Americans I knew back then would say Persian. The topic of how to answer this question was a common one among the tiny Iranian-American community back then. A girl I knew would say, "well... Persian makes people think of empire and cats. Iranian makes them think of mullahs."

My mother disagreed. "We should never hide who we are," she would remind me, "we should be proud." And I mean of, like, everything. If you're familiar with the overly-proud of everything dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding you have a frame of reference of what Iranians of my mother's generation are like. "You now Iran invented math!"

So in my upbringing, I was taught to respond with "Iranian" when asked. After we clarified what they meant by "where are you from" in broken English, of course. This response did illicit a very welcome dialogue as it encouraged the inquirer to ask more questions rather than making assumptions, even if said dialogue most often revolved around clarifying that we're not simply mis-pronouncing Iraq.

I don't remember when I adopted my current response. But it's probably the most accurate to say that I am Persian and my family is from Iran.

Here's a super half-assed history lesson I kinda see in my head as summed up by Sandra Mackey in her book, The Iranians. The area where Iran and the ancient Persian empire sat was referred to Iran-zameen, which translates to the Land of Iran. Various tribes battled for control of this clump of Earth and the Persian tribe edged ahead because they were good at firing arrows while riding horses; the ancient equivalent of a B-52 stealth bomber, I suppose. Guided by one of history's first known monotheistic religions, this tribe develops a society that becomes the world's first superpower and paves the way for the first universal declaration of human rights. Then a whole bunch of other stuff happens. Cue someone commenting on this post with "well actually..."

Empires rise and fall and the world moves on to develop more advanced trade routes and communication technology but can't seem to agree on what to call the little country. Some called it Persia and others Iran. In 1935, Reza Shah Pahlavi (the Shah-you-know's father) decrees that the official name of the country is Iran. He wanted all citizens to see themselves as children of the same motherland regardless of ethnic or tribal lineage. Then his son kinda backed down on that as he did with a lot of things. And then a whole bunch of other debates arise from various Iranian intellectuals around the world; you don't even want to start going that rabbit hole. If there is one thing Iranians are good at is endless but extremely polite debating.

Today, the official name of the country is the Islamic Republic of Iran. The most recent stats from the CIA World Factbook are from 2011 (I think) and the ethnic breakdown for Iran is as follows:

51 percent Persian
24 percent Azeri
8 percent Gilaki and Mazandaran
7 percent Kurd
3 percent Arab
2 percent Lur
2 percent Baloch
2 percent Turkmen
1 percent other

I tried explaining all this to the lady at the bar but she'd already moved on to The Real Housewives or some shit.

The Trump in All of Us

I have enough lefty friends filling up all the feeds covering him so I don't think I've actually posted anything at all about Trump. Like ever. I generally don't feel the need to chime in on a subject that's already getting enough attention. But I just wanted to share with you that this exact moment is the one I've been waiting for: The conversation to legitimately shift to mental health.

This is where the conversation should have been from day one. And I'm certain many would say that it has been but it doesn't feel that way to me. We've had a sea of left-leaning citizens referencing his mental health as an attack, which, to be quite frank, I found at best sad and, at worst, insulting.

It saddens me that the subject of mental health comes up when people are angry and are looking for a way to fling insults. The public discourse was more focused on catty attacks. The liberal side has felt powerless because we have less guns, guts and bravado, so we turned to intellectual bullying. And we continue to be shocked that the other side of the fence is not listening to our "logic" which mostly comes at them packaged in Hollywood-washed late night snark.

The mental health conversation loses all it's teeth because we, as a society, are still stigmatizing the shit out of it without realizing it. It loses gravity when we only focus our intellectual triceps on those that are hurting us. If you are under the impression that you don't have loved ones in your life, at this very moment, who are experiencing the world through the lenses of PTSD, psychopathy, narcissism, depression, anxiety and a wide variety of other diagnosable levels of consciousness extremes, you're in for a rude awakening in the new millennium. We have loved ones, who have been important contributors to our life journey, at this very moment, who probably could have easily become a Trump had they had access to some of the finances and professional connections that he had. Easily.

It continues to be a source of frustration for me (which I'm working and meditating on regularly) that our culture dismisses these mental health issues as long as they're working in our favor. People seem to feel that there are people with PTSD, psychopathy, narcissism, depression, anxiety and a wide variety of other diagnosable levels of consciousness extremes out there... But they're just like on TV or something. They're not right here in front of us. And we continue to enable these mental health time bombs. And over time these people either crash terribly or, in the worst cases, rise to positions of power.

And their mental health challenges only magnify.

Have you ever used this phrase? "Yeah I know person X sucks and has done XYZ to X number of people... But they've never done anything to me." I'd suggest it's time to reevaluate some thought systems.

As with all things, the answers are absolutely not black and white. We all have our journeys, our families and complex relationships with complex people. My vision for our future is one where we learn to discuss these mental health issues, as a society, with less judgement. A future where we can look at these things, then look at our own biases and agendas, and make decisions about how best to navigate our friends, families and society by doling out even handed positive reinforcements. One where we can look at a person we think very highly of, who's presence has been the source of many rewards, and see their shadows not as something wicked or evil, but a part of who they are. A future where we have the guts to bring that shadow to the light rather than convincing ourselves that those shadows aren't even there simply because they haven't been cast on us. I promise you, reader, Trump has not been an evil man to his loved ones. He commands deep and passionate loyalty from his closes circles and that loyalty came from somewhere. He was not always this person.

And the process of being able to see our loved ones shadows, to be able to bring our awareness to it without judgement, to be able to see their mental health challenges with loving compassion... That process can not begin until we can look at our own shadows. The darkest parts in us. With love. With compassion.

Of all the gifts Trump has given the collective unconscious of humanity, this is the one I'm most grateful for.

Empathy is a muscle we have to work out.

And like all muscles, it can atrophy if we take it for granted. And since it's an organ of the mind that we can't physically see in the mirror, along with our biceps and hips, it's easy to assume that it's simply a matter of free will.

"I'm a better person because I feel compassion for people who's experiences I don't fully understand."

I spent a great deal of my life looking down my nose at people who didn't do this. People who only felt compassion for another person after it affected their own life experiences.

"Oh that's so great, [insert conservative homophobic Republican name], you NOW feel that love is love regardless of gender when it's affecting your own family but didn't when it was affecting the rest of the country? No. You don't get bonus points."

That's how I've felt the majority of my life. And now I see that that thought system was, in essence, no different than liking the band before they got famous. If I'm attached to the spreading of love and light only when it's on my own terms, that's not spirit; that's hubris.

For whatever reason, I developed stronger empathy muscles from a younger age. No different than friends who were gifted more muscular and attractive bodies from a younger age. There are some things we need to work harder towards and some things that come to us more naturally.

It's a shitty time in our history. But if we can't find our way towards a place of gratitude for all this darkness, to see that it's the God in all of us that's showing us the shadow of our collective human entity, then we will be doomed to repeat this cycle over and over. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

This is my resolve: to find a way to meet the darkness with love and to do this on a big scale. Everything I do is part of the long term plan to serve that mission. And I strongly believe that it's ok to have fun working towards a better world. We can't win the Superbowl by screaming at the television. I invite you to get involved in the way that most resonates with you and trust that your presence, your energy and the tiny little bit that you can do will absolutely have a ripple effect, culminating in the waive that which moves all of us in the right direction.

We build gyms to work out our biceps. Let's encourage each other to put more energy towards the institutions that work out the muscles we can't see. They're out there. Find the one that resonates with you and volunteer some time.

I don't know if this story is factual but it's sure as hell accurate. On a tour of the NASA facilities, John F. Kennedy noticed a custodial worker mopping the floor. He walks over to him and, in his folksy, politiciany way, asks the man what he's doing.

"Well, Mr. President," the custodian responded, "I'm helping put a man on the moon."

Today, I'm helping put a man on the moon by bringing my awareness to developing more empathy for those I disagree with. I'm going to give myself less brownie points for the bare minimum standard of not being overtly racist. I am grateful for the upbringing that I've had that made it easier for me to see more beauty in my fellow humans and I am doubling down on that. And I will have times of weakness when I'll momentarily forget this. I'll run out of willpower and be lacking sleep and will be frustrated at some personal issue and will forget. And when that happens, I invite you to remind me.

So I've Always Loved Madonna...

Also cheesy, terrible Eurodance. And I think it had something to do with living under Islamic Republic oppression.

I hear the snickering in the back of the room. This is all totally anecdotal but maybe there are some ideas here that we could chew on. Just for fun.

We watch a lot of the violence happening on the other side of the planet from a very safe distance here. Isis hits us about as hard as the antagonist on a reality show. I even find myself feeling that way and I have a closer frame of reference than most. I was born here in the United States but lived in Iran for about three or four years as a child. Somehow memories of Iran are much more clear in my head than my earliest years after returning to the U.S.

Iran and Iraq fought a bloody eight year war. All wars are bloody but when historians describe Iran/Iraq they often throw in that descriptive. The death toll on Iran's side is estimated at over one million. Try to wrap your head around that. You can't; trust me. I saw it from much closer and I can't.

There are stories of things I've seen that I'd like to tell you but I don't wan't to start a debate. I think it's fair to ask that you simply trust me when I tell you that I have memories of a kind of darkness most of us have little frame of reference for.

Here's the part that people have the weirdest time consolidating: Life moves on. This was, of course, because we lived in the capital city of Tehran, further away from the western battlefront, but the entire country didn't just lay down and wait till the shooting stopped.

People go to work. Public transportation is active. The government tries their best to keep the country and public institutions together. There are house parties. People go to the movies. Sometimes, sirens go off and we run into the basement. We hear jets in the distant skies and then nothing happens. Then we hear stories of a bombing somewhere.

Human beings are resilient. The war was happening and it became the new normal. It turns out that when you look into the darkness long enough, your eyes adjust.

A thing that came out of this era was a deep desire for really happy pop music. The world around us was dark enough. We didn't need to give the darkness more crevasses to sonically seep into as well. Listening to fun, happy tunes wasn't something I remember being debated over endlessly as I see here.

I could write a book about all the ways in which we are privileged here. Only one silly little example is that we get to be snooty about our art. We can look down our noses at the low-brow pop music that the masses consume. We can point a finger at them, smirk at each other with a raised eyebrow and judge them for their shitty taste in top-40. We can be so proud of ourselves because our partying is just so much better than their partying. Ew.

But flashback to Iran, in the late 80s, during a war... A place where western music was made illegal and where we couldn't get our hands on the majority of what we take for granted now... The streets populated by so many scowling faces, many looking for a fight and all filled with uncertainty about the future... Now imagine inside of a house, people gathered around the television set, utilizing an illegally obtained satellite dish catching airwaves from Turkey... And on the screen is the music video for "Open Your Heart."

It was escape.

Flash forward to middle school. I'm listening to 90's Madonna and various other dance and pop music. But the escape now is not from the darkness of a war affected Middle-eastern country but the pressures of being a war affected Middle-eastern kid in suburbia. I was still pretty F.O.B. now that I think about it. I sat (and still do) sit with my legs crossed one over the other. Men in the east sit this way because it's rude to show the sole of your foot to others. And Rhythm is a Dancer was like my favorite song of all time. All this lead to a near constant barrage of other kids questioning my sexuality.

There is no shortage of us who've been bullied; I'm not claiming to be a more noteworthy victim than anyone else. Trust me when I tell you that I'm well aware of my privilege in so many ways. But I had a couple of bullies through the years who were quite successful in adding thunder to the storm of anxiety already brewing inside of me. Multiple times I had the experience of my headphones being snatched off my head while I walked through the halls. The bully of the month would hear Vogue and then throw the headphones back at me while yelling, "what are you a fucking faggot?" Dammit - I just really wanted to be left alone.

So what I started doing was recording my Hip-hop stuff on one side of the cassette and my dance music on the other side, so when this would happen, I could really easily flip the side the music was playing on. I've always loved all different kinds of music anyway so that actually saved me a lot of time switching cassette tapes.

Two years ago, in Black Rock City, I was with my friend, Kim Eisenberg, on a mission to get ice (I think?). While she was running her errand, I hear Rain (the song, not actual rain). I'd stumbled upon the Madonna Power Hour near Center Camp.

All they'd done was press play on a Madonna playlist. For the 15 minutes it took for Kim to obtain ice (seriously that's what we were there for, right?) I completely lost myself in an ocean of emotions, singing along with Madonna while surrounded by a group of beautiful dusty weirdos. Women, men, gay, straight, young and old... It's God damn Burning Man and none of those binary human avatar titles mean shit anyway. It's just a bunch of humans singing Madonna at the top of their lungs. We were all looking into each other's eyes with giant grins. No bullies here; everyone was the coolest kid in school and we were all, everyone one of us, in the IN crowd.

Kim finished her errand (getting ice??) and called to me. I almost stayed but I hadn't seen her all week and chose Kim over Madonna. As we left, I vowed to return next year (that didn't happen, btw). On the drive out to Saguaro Man (the Arizona regional Burn) with Rich and Rick, we listened to a couple of hours of Madonna and I decided I needed to experience that again at YOUtopia 2017. Then Cassa Frass and I chatted about it and now it's happening on Saturday at 6pm at the XSLounge.

It's not a big deal. It's just listening to Madonna for an hour and serving some drinks. But it's a new memory. It's writing over the old tapes which were songs infused with pain and sadness with a new memory of songs filled with playful laughter. This is what this community has been to me. Taking the experiences of yesteryear and making them fresh again. And it's a 1000 little tiny things like that that have brought me to where I am today, from a depressed kid who simply wanted to be left alone to a man who just fucking can not wait for all the awesome shit that tomorrow is going to bring. While listening to Power of Goodbye for the 98th time.

Only Sometimes...

Sometimes I wish I kept an archive of some of the catty and bloody hilarious status updates and comments I've typed and then decided not to post.

Words have power. As I'm about to hit enter, I stop and think about who's feelings this could hurt, who's confidence these words could shake - even if for only a moment... I ask myself if I want to be the creator of this jab for a quick chuckle. I ask myself if I want to solidify this thought system in the software archives of my brain by writing it down rather than smirking at the fleeting thought and moving on.

If you're close to me, and we've shared late night laughs over whiskey, you probably know that I actually have a jarringly dark and twisted sense of humor. I'm a legit fan of those who can pull it off! My feed is filled with dark comic genius! But for me, personally, I've found that writing things down and turning the words into a visual language has a power that passing comments in person do not.

Anyway. Sometimes I wish I'd kept an archive. Because some of that shit has been freaking hilarious.

I don't talk about it much here but I assure you, I'm angry.

The thing that my kind, progressive, intellectual friends just can't seem to grasp is that their outrage sounds like the sweet singing of an angelic choir to Trump supporters.

It's ok to be angry. Anger can be fuel. Outrage, however, is a temper tantrum. And to Team Trump it is the most delicious desert they've ever tasted.

Many of us are crawling into the mud-pit and joining in on the hate circle jerk. Stop playing on their terms. Take action. Build. Work in community.

I don't talk about it much here but I assure you, I'm angry. And I know that outrage won't solve shit. Set goals. Work towards them. Be successful. And smile coyly as you casually move the chess pieces to a checkmate.

Operate with the belief that those of us who are lost in that bubble are not necessarily evil. Assume good intentions without obsessing about it. Many of us/them are beaten, broken, frustrated and hoping to hold on to what little power they can grasp. They've been manipulated by our darkest fears and motivations. You have shadows inside of your conciseness as well and you fucking know it.

Speak softly and carry a big stick. Work towards the future, one step at a time, and try to avoid the distractions. We can show the world what compassionate leadership looks like by building the future, not by railing against it.

Stop serving them their breakfast in bed. Build the restaurant so that they have no choice but to come to you when they get hungry. And then it's up to you if the only thing you want to serve them is a healthy vegan meal.

Our Uncle Passed Away

People often ask me if my dad is tall and I respond that my uncles and grandpas are/were. Yadollah Afshar was a big guy. He retired a colonel in a pre-revolution era narcotics task force which he described to me as being something like the Iranian equivalent of the D.E.A. In fact, his first visit to the United States was so he and some other members of his unit could take an F.B.I. led training course in New York City.

We called him Amoo. Amoo is Farsi for uncle; specifically from one's father's side. Amoo is also how my brother's son refers to me.

Amoo was a gentle and kind man. But he also had a lot of cool cop stories. One of his favorites involved going undercover as a villager through the northern mountains, near Turkish and Russian borders, in pursuit of cartels. He had told me he had a reputation as being the guy who'd fearlessly walk into rooms and bust heads when necessary. I believe his stories not have been embellishments specifically due to the fact that he was such a gentle and kind man. The confidence of a physically imposing alpha male who never needs to bark like a Chihuahua. The physical confidence that he can defend his family's honor. He was the kind of man any man could aspire to. The warrior poet.

As a seeker of truth, I've almost tried to find someone to say something negative about him and have, as of yet, been unsuccessful.

His calm demeanor was something I often mentally refer back to. His energy came through his every pour. He was a great example of how much more youthful a person can seem, no matter the number of decades they've spent in their human skin, when they actively maintain a positive energy. His philosophy was that "life is short" and that there is no logical reason to allow negativity to fester.

Amoo suffered a stroke and the last six months of his life was spent in varying degrees of silence. This was happening on the other side of the planet so it was, for me at least, difficult to feel a connection to what was actually happening. It was like reading a news clipping rather than watching the movie.

Amoo's human ego is no more and his body no longer animated. The energy that animated his body returns to the Godhead. The entity I refer to as Amoo now lives among the ghosts that roam the hallways of our minds and consciousness. I am reminded of Alan Watts' bit about the terrible relationship humanity has with death. About how our intensive care units are these drab, lifeless and depressing places filled with anxiety and sadness. About how silly it is to attach so much negative energy to an inevitability. Watts suggested that perhaps the death-wards would be so much less debilitating had they been designed to be cheerful places, with colorful walls and rooms for families to gather in order to celebrate a passing of consciousness... Where you'd have this menu of drugs you could take so that your final breath was taken through a euphoric smile. Now that would have been an interesting way to for a narcotics law enforcement professional to go.

We're told his final breath was as gentle as the way he'd lived.

I got to see him last year. We walked around Seaport Village and he tried on hats. We laughed together at the silliness of all the ridiculous reasons our family members quarrel with each other. This is silly... But I feel satisfied with the end of my journey with Amoo because he got to see the Arash that I am today. He got to see me with bigger arms, a smaller waistline and the confidence to walk the streets of this city like it's my city. It's hard to describe; it's a man thing.

I haven't cried yet but I'm sure I will. The body needs to process things regardless of what the mind says or perceives to know. And I'll shepherd this experience, as I do with all things, by creating art to interpret it.

I love you Amoo. Your essence continues on in everything I touch.

They Buy You

Jamahl Kersey and I collaborated on this minute-long short film last year, this one being the third in a trilogy. The goal was to market The Law Office of Jamahl C. Kersey, Esq. but we didn't approach like we were creating advertising. We knew from the get-go that people don't buy your product; they buy you. 

We'd kicked around a couple of ideas and were about to move forward with an ad but one day, while hearing Jamahl speaking so passionately and sincerely about why he does what he does, it hit me that that's where the focus should be. Not information about the law or explaining the services but Jamahl's own extremely eloquent prose. So I sat down with J and interviewed him the way I'd interview any guest on Burner Podcast or #CrappyAwesome. And from that recording, I isolated quotables from Jamahl's own words and constructed three scripts which he then fine-tuned.

Each of the three videos focuses on the characteristics of Jamahl's professional journey that we felt, when combined, gave the most complete story we wanted to be tell. The first is focused on his connection to the Spanish speaking community and was shot around Barrio Logan, the second is about the black experience and the third (this one) is specifically about his practice.

The music you're hearing is by the amazing Danny Green, whom I actually went to high school with. Jamahl and I are in total agreement about utilizing our own pool of talent so I just started digging through Danny's catalogue looking for a good tune. While multi-tasking, this song started to play in the background and my ears peaked. This was the tune! I minimize the window I'm working in and when I see the title of the song, any doubt that synchronicity was in full effect evaporated. The name of the song is "Second Chance."* Different sections of this same song is used in each of the videos.

We had Chris Reyes come in to record and master the audio. Having the freedom to bring in experts to do what they do better than we ever could was quite a liberating feeling as an artist and really elevated the quality of the project.

The videos were all shot on my old Canon Rebel T3i with the kit lens that came with it and edited on Adobe Premiere. We are so excited about sharing the other two chapters with you soon.

*The album, Altered Narratives, is available at dannygreen.net.

Ice Picks in my Ears

I used to hear them say "it's all mental" and "mind over matter." Then when I would try certain kinds of activity I would think, "the pain in various parts of my body attacking me at the exact same time WOULD DISAGREE, SIR!"

But I get it now.

We are consciousness driving around in these human vehicles. Every once in a while a gasket pops or it overheats or the engine works too hard. Not every one of us but a lot more of us than we realize are driving reliable Hondas and they're going to be fine for at least 800,000 miles as long as we do all the oil changes in a timely manner.

Today, I was running uphill in the cold rain on Hill Street by Sunset Cliffs and it suddenly felt like someone started jamming ice picks in to the meaty area under my ears. I've learned overtime that my body is extremely sensitive to air pressure and the temperature (which I recently discovered is due to Raynaud's Disease). I went back to the car, found more covering for my head & ears, put on gloves and ran the less elevated Sunset Cliffs Blvd corridor instead. The most common mistake in thinking that I've observed of my fellow humans is the thought that if we can't do something 120% then we shouldn't even try. It's like getting a paper cut and shouting, "screw it - might as will chop off the arm!" This even applies to political involvement - the silly thought that if we can't be career politicians then it means we shouldn't even attempt to get involved. This is in the political rant; it's an observation of a pattern of thinking. I understand now how the mental fortitude of athleticism translates to success in other areas of one's life. See Arnold Schwarzenegger for exhibit A.

Everything is connected. Reality is an illusion. Right now I am learning how to DJ and I am doing it by connecting it to the things I've already learned about photography. When picking up a new thing I've found that it works best not think of it as a new thing but a new angle of something I already know. Music and photography, for example, are both about manipulating waves - one happens to be light and the other is sound.

For me, physical activity has always been another form of meditation. I don't doubt that envisioning the finish line is a powerful tool. But what I find works for me is focusing on the moment that I'm in rather than my destination. And that helps me in physical activity because that's the way I see life in general. It is a natural instinct to try not to think of the discomfort - to try to leave the body and go to a happy place. Meditative practice teaches us that we can feel less pain when we dive right into the discomfort. To experience the full catastrophe.

It always comes back to this: I have yet to face a challenge the solution to which has not been awareness.

The human body is a amazing durable machine. Push it harder. We are not all created equal. Some of us don't have the knee and ankle and scoliosis problems my body does. Some of us have much greater challenges. And that's completely OK. The race truly is only with yourself.

God Complex

Continuing to search for God as if it is something outside of us is the very logical parts of our wonderful, complex human brains attempting to make sense of this whole 'reality' thing. Should we decide to come to the conclusion that we are the universe incarnate and our individual consciousness is simply a different face of God, we are able to move further past the parts of us that continue to seek the approval of our parents, our peers, our superiors...

Most of us decide to never walk down that road. Some of us walk so far that we lose touch with our fellow humans completely. Either way, the road has no end.

Kindness feels good because loving our fellow humans is the same as loving ourselves.

There was a time that I looked down my nose at those of us who understood God to be a petty, angry child who demands worship, bloodshed and chastity. I've since come to the conclusion that the God of Abraham is, indeed, the God in all of us. Because that capacity for darkness exists in us all - it's just that some of us have had the privilege of socializing our human brains differently.

Count your blessings if you've had the good fortune of creating a positive association with loving kindness and charity and not approval-seeking and hubris. I am so grateful for this beautiful little corner of the world I've lived. I am so grateful for the serotonin rush I get from watching people feel joy and succeed. What a terrible curse it would have been if my brain preferred the high of beating others down as that high is such a short lasting and disappointing one. The high I get from watching all you other me's succeed and win and find love and kick ass at life is so epic and long lasting and seems to have like zero withdraws.

I get that it's a symptom of my privilege that I get to think about consciousness this way. This version of me is not a starving child in a war-ravaged country who's primary concern is my next meal. But having the privilege to explore the tippy top of Maslow's Pyramid doesn't make the discoveries up here any less true.

God is you and you will see the parts of God that are the parts of you. That's where I've come to: A place where the different views of God no longer upset me. Your interoperation of reality is just as valid as mine and they need not clash.

I'm excited about the next level in this human video game thing we're playing.

The Element of Irreducible Rascality

"Human nature is a fundamentally good arrangement. Including not only our virtuous side but our also passionate side. Also our appetites and our waywardness. The Hebrews have a term, which they call the yetzer hara which means the wayward inclination. Or what I like to call: The element of irreducible rascality. That God put into all human beings. And put it there because it was a good thing… And so a truly human-hearted person is a gentleman with a slight touch of rascality just as one has to have salt in a stew. Confucious said that the goodie goodies are the thieves of virtue. Meaning that to try to be wholly righteous is to go beyond humanity. To try to be something that isn’t human.”

-Alan Watts speaking on Confucianism and Taoism

***

The most “enlightened" people I’ve known, those who have journeyed to the beyond and returned to tell the tale, have mostly agreed with the messages I keep receiving: Go play. Enjoy all the fruits life has to offer. Indulge in passion and pleasure but for love’s sake stop taking everything so damn seriously. Love unapologetically. Know that hurting others hurts you because you are them and they, you. Dive into service and doing good in the world. It feels good. It makes life more fun.

Beware of scoundrels and charlatans disguised as gurus and enlightened beings who demand they be respected. Who see laughter as a sin and are offended easily. We are all specks of stardust.

Go play.

Darkest Before the Dawn

When people see things as beautiful,
ugliness is created.
When people see things as good,
evil is created.
Being and non-being produce each other.
Difficult and easy complement each other.
Long and short define each other.
High and low oppose each other.
Fore and aft follow each other.

-Yin Yang from the Tao Te Ching

***

The universe, reality, God... Consciousness. We are it’s breath, it’s manifestation, it’s dream. Our hearts may not always beat in sync when we chose to see at life at a micro level, to see life as day-to-day rather than the big picture, but we are specks of stardust in a grand multiverse. We are one. Every one of you is me and I, you. We are all God in drag. One consciousness who happens to wear all these different skins and masks.

Our physical world, this living breathing entity that we think is outside of us, is doing some shadow work. It is looking into it’s darkest corners in order to grow it’s love and light.

We humans feel like we don’t get to consciously choose when that shadow work begins and it is for this reason that it creates such suffering. But if we knew we had to touch the flame in order to understand what being burned feels like, would we do it? How many of us would purposely chose to get punched in the face in order to break the fear of physical injury? We actively avoid pain at all costs; that’s our biological programming. Yet growth is always prefaced with some kind of suffering.

We tear muscles to build new ones. We fall so that we may rise. We touch the flame as children and learn to respect fire.

We will embrace our fellow people. We will come at our brothers and sisters with love. Those we disagree with about the nature of reality and society are simply us having been raised in different circumstances. Do not give in to fear and anger. Let us not further divide ourselves from each other. Really think about what “love thy neighbor” actually means.

It is always darkest before the dawn. I am very much looking forward to watching the sunrise with you.

All of you.

Oktoberfest Wisdom (From Podcasts.com)

So you wanna start your own podcast? I'm happy to share any and all of my experiences with you. The secret to a 'successful' podcast experience is not about tech or numbers. You can and should record on whatever equipment you're most comfortable with. This is the long game. You won't be walking the red carpet because of your podcast anytime soon so you might as well get comfortable where you are. Podcasts.com sent out this email today which basically broke down exactly the input I give people when I'm asked for advice on podcasting. I may start sharing some of this advice via YouTube in the near future. For the time being, I found this to be pretty perfect. The text from here on is from Podcasts.com: 

While another year of Oktoberfest successfully wraps up, our team looks at 5 characteristics of this fall festival and what takeaways you can use to improve your podcast.

1. Consistency is Key

Oktoberfest is celebrating its 183rd festival this October. For over a century, Munich has hosted this beloved event, making it a cornerstone of German tradition. Follow suit and stay consistent with your schedule. Whether it’s weekly or biweekly, your subscribers expect and look forward to your show, don’t disappoint them! Produce episodes consistently and watch your show become an integral part of your listener’s daily routines over time.

2. Keep Tradition Alive

What nuances of your podcast are unique to your show and only your’s? It could be something as simple as a weekly segment you adhere to or a variety of playful sound effects. Oktoberfest is known globally for its lederhosen and traditional German garb. Find out what makes your show special and emphasize it. If you’re having a hard time thinking of what it is that makes your show unique, it’s never too late to incorporate something new!

3. Give the People What They Want

Each year, thousands of tourists flock to Munich’s Oktoberfest for adult beverages and good food. What is it about your podcast that your subscribers particularly love? Figure out what attributes of your broadcast your listeners particularly enjoy, and cater to those. Look through listener feedback to gain insights or send out a quick survey to find out.

4. Pace Yourself

Eleven days of beer and bratwurst might sound like a much needed vacation to some, but rest assured it’s a long time to go. While many podcast purely for the love of it, there’s a lot of work that goes into producing, scheduling and promoting a successful show. Avoid burnout by setting reasonable expectations. Be honest with yourself and commit to a finalized hosting schedule based on your available time and resources.

5. Don’t Forget to Have Fun!

With the amount of energy and effort that go into producing an engaging podcast, it can be easy to give into stress and forget why you started in the first place. As is true with one of the most widely celebrated festivals in the world, don’t forget to have fun along the way!    

Sand Empires

I appreciate people who are willing to draw a line in the sand. We should all stand for something. Having strong convictions is to take pride in life. But it's important to clarify weather we're making a stance for life or for simple pride.

It's easy to rail against our political system. The more conservative among us good-ole-days the 50's, while the more left-leaning groups romanticize Europe - but neither of these examples are without their own unique set of flaws.

Many of our friends are taking a stance this election. We feel disenfranchised. Our vote and voice don't seem to matter. Every year it's the same 'ole two party option. Taking a stance is a good thing. But if you're drawing a line in the sand for this November's presidential elections, chances are you've missed your mile-marker by, like, acres.

Drawing a line in the sand for the general elections and going for a third party vote at the last minute is like doing a handful of pushups then demanding a spot in the Supebowl.

There are a million ways to get involved in our political system. I, for example, was among the original co-founding group that formed the Iranian-American Democrats of San Diego, back when the Iranian-American community was mostly Republican. (My claim to fame was coming up with the name, mostly, but that was about it.) It's boring shit. You might be given a clipboard or you might work a call-center or your brother might be the first president of the club which leads to the county chair remembering you if only for your funny name. Hypothetically speaking.

You can get involved in community organization. You can start attending weekly meet-ups. You can volunteer for your third party of choice. You can (gasp) run for a local office. You can start a newsletter or a podcast. You can make money and host political fundraisers for candidates you like.

The coming four years are gonna suck regardless. An ugly dam has burst onto our society and it's going to get worse before it gets better. If I was a betting man though, I'd bet we're not gonna have a nuclear holocaust if Trump wins. But the amount of shit he'd get us into would be no picnic either.

You absolutely should draw a line in the sand. The problem is that by voting third party or simply not voting, that's not sand you're attempting to draw a line in - it's concrete. The time to make a stand for this round is long past.

I'll be voting for Hillary. I don't buy into the "this election is too important" line. They've all been important. Everything we've been through has gotten us to this point. Our apathy for the past two decades led us to exactly this mess.

This is politics. There has never been, nor ever will be, a world or society without some sort of political maneuvering to be made. If you don't like it, get involved at the factory, not at the grocery store. Because, after all, it is our damn factory.

Quitting Smoking

As of this most recent Burn night, September 3, it has been one year since my last cigarette. 

Many people in my life never even knew I was a smoker. I was never a heavy one. Never was one of those people that needed to step outside, alone in the cold to light one up. It was mostly social. Mostly. 

Sitting at a cafe after a long day, with a coffee and a Sherman MCD was pure heaven. Lighting one up over drinks with friends was even better.

I was smoking the most when I was 19 and working as an insurance agent. Was totally miserable about life, my body and my future. That was the only time in my life where I NEEDED to take a break from work to puff on some Dunhills. 

For most of my life, Sherman MCDs have been my brand. The higher quality tobacco and cleaner taste perhaps kept me from full on nicotine addiction. Or maybe I had it and didn't know it. Either way, I remember the moment I realized it's really time to quit. It was on a Wednesday morning run at November Project. I'd been running more on my own with the intention of not being the very last person in the pack anymore. That's all I wanted at first. But then I got a little better at moving my body. Better than I ever thought possible. And then it hit me: I'm running up a hill and I find my body still having enough stamina to keep going... But my lungs were quitting on me. 

I smoked maybe a half a pack per week. I realized the lacking lung capacity was not about the handful of cigarettes but due to the decade-plus accumulation of filling my lungs with smoke. So I decided I'd either quit after Burning Man 2015 or YOUtopia 2015. 

But then Burn night came in 2015 and Black Rock City was so bloody dusty that every cigarette was like smoking half the playa. I remember taking a puff, looking at the cig and thinking, "nah... I'm done." Gave the rest of my pack to some friends.

A week went by and I ended up at a party. Everyone stepped outside for cigarettes. I followed. This was the real test. I hung out. A cig was offered and I politely declined. It wasn't that big a deal. 

Then another week. Then another week. 

My cardio got better. My meditation got better. I'd watch friends falling apart from hangovers and coughing up a lung while I woke up refreshed and with renewed energy. 

It's been hilariously easy. I'd made the resolution to populate this new chapter of my life with more activity. I decided I'd show my body how much I love it by honoring it and treating it with more kindness. And my body rewarded me at Burning Man 2016 in glorious ways. I danced for hours. I walked like a damn machine from one end of the city to the other. I felt powerful and beautiful. Here was this thing, my body, which had been such a burden to me for most of my life... This Burn was about really appreciating this wonderful blessing that is my body.

Energy in, energy out. What we put into our bodies has deep meaning. It is not a curse to have to avoid that last slice of pizza. We show our body that we love and appreciate it by being selective with what we put inside ourselves (oh grow up, whoever is snickering back there!). 

It doesn't bother me in the least when someone else lights up around me. We can make a decision. We can choose not to whine about it. We can replace the habits that no longer serve us with new ones that do. 

But man... It did make me look kinda cool in photos. 

Already Successful AF

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882) 

American Essayist & Poet

#selfie

People get really riled up about selfies. Every other week, there is some new study going viral about how it promotes narcissism. In Sugar Land, TX, there might be an angry mob on its way to set fire to city hall because they recently installed a public art piece depicting a couple of friends taking a selfie. When people talk about people taking selfies, they snarl. 

I'd like to submit the following... 

This is how people used to do photos before digital photography became an option: 

Step 1) Person A decides they would like a photo of themselves in front of a particular backdrop

Step 2) Person A asks person B to take said photo

Step 3) Person B takes one or multiple photos

Step 4) Person A takes photos to develop

Step 5) Person A picks up photos from development

Step 6) Person A decides which photo shows them in the best light and shares with friends via photo album, stuffing away all the less desirable images in a shoe box

Then came digital photography... 

Step 1) Person A decides they would like a photo of themselves in front of a particular backdrop

Step 2) Person A asks person B to take said photo

Step 3) Person B takes one or multiple photos

Step 4) Person A deletes all the less desirable photos and keeps the best one and shares with friends 

Then came the flip screen option on our phones... 

Step 1) Person A decides they would like a photo of themselves in front of a particular backdrop

Step 2) Person A takes the damn photo 

Step 3) Person A shares the damn photo

All we're doing here is deleting the middle-men, folks. 

Seriously. 

And this, by the way, is where ALL technology is always going: We're finding ways to get from point A to point B faster. 

I Was in Love With a Dream of You

I was in love with a dream of you
You with fantasies of what I might've been
A tango of chess and combat
A trace of hope
I came crawling back at thousand times just to dangle a blink of honesty over your head
Are you there?
Are you there?
Do you watch from a distance like me?
It isn't fair

I was in love with a dream of you
You with fantasies of what I might've been
We danced a dance
Dances end
"Things sometimes end," you said to me

It wasn't fair
What I asked of you
It wasn't fair
Not your burden to bare
Nor mine, your cross