Guilt and shame are established as two forms of conscience, developed specifically to determine scope of behavior, or, in other words, to limit it. Don’t go outside the cave after dark! is the rule and you are to follow it. Whereas in reality, the reason for this rule is both sound and based in logic i.e. you will in all likelihood be eaten by a large, long-toothed prehistoric feline if you do (go outside the cave), the forces of peril employed in teaching this lesson are far more immediate, and, in many respects, far more threatening i.e. because I, your parent, told you so, and if you disobey me I will become angry!

Guilt is slightly different. Guilt develops at a later stage, when the mind can abstract, particularly when it can create for itself its own set of personal rules—its personal code. When an individual violates their own personal code, a feeling of guilt may be the result.

As the session winds down, Rich offers us some some final impressions to mull over.

There is a watchtower, he says, in the upper mind, whose purpose is to ask: “What do I think about my feelings?” Guilt lives up here. It's a rational place. 

As for shame? Just because a feeling is real, he says, doesn't mean it is true.

He leaves us, as the minute-hand on the clock passes ten signifying the end of the period, with the following, on the off chance, he says, that it is useful. It is a set of questions that one might ask oneself during the guilt/shame response process, as follows:

1. Did I break a rule?
2. If so, what rule was it?
3. And, furthermore, whose rule was it?
4. And, finally, what do I think of that rule?​

We all carry around guilt, as well as shame, he concludes. Hopefully this mode of inquiry during periods of distress might free us from some of the toxic effects of our unprocessed shame, and allow us a greater sense freedom, to know that we are writing our own rules, and charting our own course.

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration
Song: IT'S A SHAME ABOUT RAY (Dando, Morgan)
Artist: LEMONHEADS

From the twisted weirdness of my warped mind, to you lovely people. Enjoy.
​
And a final shout-out to the fine musicians, artists, and practitioners who made up last year’s AFO. Please check out their links and show them some love; they are just brilliant people and fantastic musicians to boot: Tom Appleman (bass, vocals); Renée Dupuis (keys, vocals); Andrew Jones (drums); Dave Lieb (guitars, vocals); Elizabeth Lorrey (management & coordination); Elizabeth Geuss (producer).

Travel safe and talk soon.
​
-AF

Title Inspiration:
Song: ONCE IN A LIFETIME
Artist: TALKING HEADS

                                                                                        Enjoy! -AF

​This was a tricky year for me, I’ll be the first to admit; attacks of both the blues and the reds began with unprecedented frequency, then accelerated, in such heedless fashion as to imply a sense of vengeful purpose, to the point where the potential for full emotional meltdown became threateningly present on a daily basis, no matter what discipline, regime, or medication I was applying at the time.
 
On the upside, this has given me a great sense of empathy for the world in its current state. #topical
 
But seriously, it got to the point where I even began to feel a sense of envy for people whose moody “bad days” are as turbulent as it gets. Now, this is something I avoid doing at all costs: I’ve been on the receiving end of the “oh, it can’t be that bad for you” game, and the whole situation is both awful as well as fallacious. So I really hate that this is where my mind went at times this year, however, and unfortunately, it was probably the clearest, if least optimal, indicator of the nature and scope of obstacle that I was—that we were—facing. 

​Still, as the song goes (per image above): 
​

​I was told this year was to be a year both of and for innovation and new directions; for better or for worse both of these things would have to, and were going to, happen. I can vouch for this having been accurate (I think we all can!), in a year that appears to have tested the limits of our collective souls.
 
Some similar things can be said for the adventures of TeamPeh Enterprises in 2017. We’ve said hello and welcome not only to new life experiences, but new paradigms. We’ve said goodbye to an entire wing of our business, and have drastically altered, repurposed, and/or reconfigured several others. I personally have said goodbye to friends, in some cases entire groups, and have expressed tacit farewells to yet more family, in a continuing and thus far successful effort to release old relationships that are no longer working, and initiate, cultivate, or revive ones more aligned with who I am and what I value now. 

​Without further ado, here’s the summary: 

​The bulk of the operations of TeamPeh Enterprises for the past five years was taken up by TeamPeh Properties. This was a company involved in the purchase, sale, and leasing, as well as administration, of real estate. It was an exciting venture that we began in 2012, by purchasing a mixed-use property in Harwich Port, on Cape Cod. Another property on Cape was added soon after, and eventually the company grew to a burgeoning (for us, anyway!) four and a half properties: the mixed-use; a vacation rental and an office building condo, both on Cape; and an apartment building in Boston Metro—the half was a 50% interest we had in an another apartment building, also in Boston Metro.
 
Robert Kiyosaki would have been proud. And it was fun for us, in a way. We were learning a lot about real estate, about property management, in some cases even about law, specifically agreements. But after a few years the interest just wore off. Here’s some humble advice from us. A lot of people will tell you you have to go into real estate: You don’t. Go into real estate if you want to, if it really excites you. We have friends who are in the real estate game, and you can tell it suits them. They’re just really into it. And that’s awesome. But real estate is no panacea. It’s like anything else. If you like it, you will love doing it. If you’re not into it, well, like anything, there might still be reasons for checking it out, but in my humble opinion it’s really more important to know what it is you love to do and go and do that.
 
I’ve read the books. You know, the ones that say real estate will help you get rich for reasons a, b, c? It might. But it will also take up a LOT of your time. So, if you literally have no other passions or interests in life, then, sure, give it a whirl. Maybe that’s the dealio with all these “get rich quick” type authors: they’re not really interested in anything and all they want to do is play gorf. 

​Oh wait, I meant golf. Pity. 
​

​Anyway. All good. No harm no foul. For us, there is a LOT that we are passionate about, and I think I speak for the whole family when I say we might rather take our chances doing what really drives us and gets us going than, well, than just about anything else. So, after five years of walking this path, TeamPeh Properties is winding down. We’ve divested our interests from the Boston Metro area, and will likely be rationalizing all but one property on Cape (more to follow). Despite my little kvetch-fest there, parts of it were a lot of fun. I enjoyed learning various things, mostly on the subject of law, for example how to construct a lease agreement from scratch, random things that actually have had some applicability in other arenas (like I said, there are still reasons for trying this kind of stuff out, if it piques your curiosity). We’ve met some cool people as well, some of whom we continue to work with. So, much gratitude for all who came into contact with TeamPeh Properties; it has been an engaging and illuminative ride. 

​BlueDorian began the year with two goals: one, to solidify the AFO as an entity more integrated and aligned with the BlueDorian curriculum; and two, to take substantive steps to move the “Daughters of Time” line further to the forefront of its operations, both of which were achieved, though, as usual, not in the way that was at first predicted. The AFO’s uneasy relationship with the rest of BlueDorian stemmed from its reliance on me as both facilitator and frontperson, thus pulling a chief creative resource away from other areas, such as “Faerworld” or sound recording. This year, this was examined and reconfigured so that the AFO’s repertoire supported BlueDorian’s exhibit at the 2017 TeamPeh Expo (more to follow); rather than exclusively playing “AFO” material, it presented a varied selection, with tracks from other BlueDorian work in development, including: Open Mic; Continuity; and even Daughters of Time, with an original theme based on one of the story’s main characters. 

​​As for Daughters of Time, the illustration work planned this time last year was completed in full, with a round of immaculately drawn and rendered sketches of the four main characters: Gwen; Cameron; Roya; and Anneka, which were presented in a DoT featured exhibit at the TeamPeh Expo. The original designs were created by BlueDorian, and artwork was generated and rendered by the able hands of: the Limetown Studios; and independent artist Kurt Chang. Also presented was costume design work, again developed in-house at BlueDorian, with sketches rendered and executed by Laurie Bramhall. The artwork will be curated properly over the first quarter of this year, and final selections will be displayed on the BlueDorian website. 

​Artisanal began its year with an cosmetic restructuring, changing the name of its primary legal entity, the effect of which being to clarify its two major brands (Artisanal Being, and Artisanal Healing) as existing under one administrative roof: Artisanal Innovations. The summer season was a banner period for Artisanal Being (AB); featured events included: an artist trunk-show featuring MKC Photography; and the much anticipated and highly successful “Christmas in July” extravaganza, as well as their annual BlueDorian artist-in-residence partnership, and presence and collaborations with local businesses Cake & Islands and the Chatham Candy Manor, during the Harwich Port Summer Music Strolls. 
​

​Artisanal Being ends the year with a larger restructuring, moving its principal operations away from the Cape in order to focus more acutely on other areas of the business, including the online store, educational program development, and potential brick-and-mortar expansion on the mainland. The Harwich Port AB store may, pending analysis, may return next year, in limited fashion, but in its original location (hence keeping the one building.) ​

​By far the most unexpected development of 2017 was the purchase of what is tentatively being referred to as the “Haven III Farmstead,” a 57-acre “gentleman’s” farm and surrounded woodland, in Ashburnham, MA (a by-product, in part, of rationalizing our Boston Metro properties). The word “gentleman” here seems to mean that the farm was previously used for recreation, as opposed to actual farming activities. And while that particular source of value, as a kind of rural vacation guest house, is evident from first glance, well, as mentioned, we simply aren’t in the property game anymore, at least not right now. 
 
We saw ourselves heading farm-wards as early as the late-aughts, we just never knew how to really make it happen. As such, February was a leap-of-faith sort of month, wherein we found ourselves gaining a real admiration for people who keep horses. We came across the “H3F” on our second viewing adventure, and it more or less had us at hello, even though we were probably a little overwhelmed by the acreage, and filled with no small amount of trepidation over what we would do with such a space this extensive (we have a bit of a thing about responsible use; it’s not just about the having). Within about a day, however, we had ideas, ideas that have gone on a mental (and, at some point, probably by necessity, an actual) list of maybe-do’s. The idea for now is to get to know the place—for starters, perhaps, where the effing boundaries are—and learn some of what makes it tick and what it might need from a steward and responsible owner. 

Oh, and also, the dogs go literally apeshit when they are there. It’s hilarious. 

​But, just for kicks, here are some of the thoughts we’ve had. First, upon the northern hillock (yup, there’s a northern hillock), there are a mass of wild (heirloom, it’s suggested?) blueberry bushes. Yes, you heard me. There is, indeed, on this farm, a Blueberry Hill. We tested the blueberries from the bushes from this season’s harvest and they’re pretty decent, typically as per wild: small, and relatively strong flavored, though not too sweet. One thing we noticed is they keep their shape really well, which can be a good or bad thing depending on what the goal is; it will be interesting to see how, or if, they jam. Numbers were small; we might consider populating the entire hill with bushes, if we can get a interesting variety, to up the quantity of production. Either way, we’re likely looking at secondary application, as opposed to raw blueberry production. 

​Secondly, on the south pasture (uh huh) there is a dale with a large field. In this field there are a number of mixed grasses, but also, wild strawberries. Indeed, once again, you heard me. There is, on this farm, a collection of Strawberry Fields. We’re not thinking about anything here; just thought I’d mention :) Next to it, however, is a little apple orchard that’s been untended to since at least the Nixon administration. Thirteen trees (one per... original colony?) but with room for the same number again, this was a feature that really caught our eye. I have been a massive “apple” fan ever since I was told on good authority (Grover, from Sesame St.) that they would ward off unecessary medical visits. Since then, I have taken to cider (from what I have no idea), which I’m sure counteracts any benefits I derive from my once-daily regimen of the fruit unprocessed. Ah well. Still, even with a lot of help the crop was meager both in size and aesthetic. We are told by our apple-man (not to be confused by AFO’s Appleman) that the time-frame for getting these “not-a-crook” specimens back to any kind of shape could be three or so years. This sounds like a worthwhile process, so we’re committed to seeing how to mend the orchard, so to speak. Should be fun. ​

​Finally, a melange of different projects. North of the barn there is a plot of land with seemingly no purpose whatsover; one that appears as though it might do well supporting crops of some sort, of which our interest, in this case, might lie in herbs. For both AB and AH there is a call for such light farming, with in-house herbs creating the potential for a variety of different secondary applications, from infused oils, to soaps, to teas, to various tinctures, balms, and unguents (which is basically the same as a balm, I’ve just always wanted to use the word unguent in practice). Birch trees abound about the property. That’s all I am qualified to say on the subject, but I am so told that birch trees contain a veritable cornucopia of natural remedies, so check out the Artisanal Being and Healing websites, as I’m sure they will have more to say on the subject, if not now then in the future!

​So, indeed, a big year of moving forward, shifting around, and shaking up. One thing I haven’t mentioned, rather conspicuously I might add, is a project upon which our focus was trained for the better part of the year; in fact, it is what motivated us, determined much of our decision-making on which initiatives we would focus on, and finally, drove us forward as we redoubled our efforts to complete each one of them in necessary sequence from day one. I’m, of course, talking about the TeamPeh Expo. The reason I’m speaking scantily about this rather major happening is that there will be a comprehensive overview and report on the event, on the TeamPeh website next year. We are currently in the process of gathering all the materials generated (images, sound files, screencaps etc.) from the evening, and will be putting together something that represents fully the event that took place on November 18th. We’ll do the rounds on social media as well, so there’s be coverage, for anyone who’s interested in hearing more about TeamPeh’s inaugural expo event: watch this space! 

​What a circus, what a show, indeed.

​You know, with this new theory that aliens, if out there, might well be viewing from a distance, observing humanity as a gamekeeper would an animal in the wild (or, as has been suggested, a mollusk in the ocean!) I personally find myself experiencing the following: Firstly, I’m relieved. It’s easy for me to feel an inflated sense of responsibility, as though I “should” be doing something super important, at all times, and if I’m not, my life is abject failure. If I am an oyster in the ocean, then I’m somehow absolved on that, aren’t I? And yet, at the same time, I’m creating a pearl, a thing of beauty, singular beauty some might say. So, I am grateful for that notion. I’m just an oyster. I don’t have to invent a means to sustainable energy single-handedly in my lifetime. Instead, I can create my pearl, so I fully intend to do that. 

​Secondly, and speaking of empathy, there’s a sense of forgiveness. The image of us, with all our perceived grandeur and sense of achievement, as seven-point-six billion, or so, adorably tiny aquatic gastropods, crawling around, just trying to find enough to consume until we reproduce and then die, really gives a sense of context, and puts into perspective just how “big” any of us, including the latest misinformed, bloated political provocateur, is, whoever it happens to be at the time. Tiny snails. We’re just tiny snails. Or clams. Or squids. And we’re just trying to figure out how to be alive. I can no more judge a process as fundamental as that as I can the exploding stars and colliding galaxies that made up this world in the first place. 
​
​I can, however, create a life that's as beautiful an adventure as I can possibly envision.

I can, and will, create my pearl. 

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration:
Song: WATERSHED (Saliers)
Artist: INDIGO GIRLS

                                    Enjoy! -AF

I started BlueDorian almost thirteen years ago. At present, my work has yet to truly capture the attention of even my own local community, let alone stand a chance with the zeitgeist. 
​

I have gone from being a young upstart in my mid-twenties,

to a struggling "responsible" adult in his early thirties,

to a man pushing forty with Reed Richards-style sides of grey.

I can think of a handful of people who would either brand me a failure (sadly, these include some of my family), or else who’d offer some sort of condolence for the fact that I haven’t “made it” yet, or (the implication would be) that I’m unlikely to make it at all. In fact, I chuckle as I write this, as I remember distinctly once being told by a musical “big wig” that it was “ok” that I was thirty three, because I “looked” “twenty three”, which was a more respectable age in the world of entertainment, and it was a boon that I could pull that off rather than actually appear my age. 

I remember at the time I sat quietly, as I tend to do, at least at first, when I’m in such a situation, listening to a person who has more experience than I do, holding my tongue no matter what I might be thinking, and being willing to do my best to really see their point of view; after all, a full cup never did any good to anyone wanting to learning anything. But I’ve had a few years to consider this attitude that I encountered, and I’ve come to the distinct conclusion that the thoughts I remember myself thinking at the time, but suppressing, were a relevant, if not appropriate, rejoinder to the situation I was experiencing: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for that backhanded compliment, and while I’m at it, I am thirty-three, and proudly so, so go eat a dick.

I’d call this person a douchebag, but it seems insulting to such a useful and medically beneficial device. 

I will thus have to reach back through time, into the recesses of my teenage mind (the ones that weren’t saturated with nudity) during my days in the United Kingdom—land of the origin of some of the greatest and most colorful (or is it colourful?) insults—to find the perfect term for this occasion; ah, yes, there it is: 

Recommendation to readers: DON'T BE A TOSSER. 

Note to self: SEE RECOMMENDATION TO READERS.
​

​I admit, though, there are times when I believe the tossers of the world, when I would look upon where I stand and call myself a failure. Why haven’t I built my house yet? Why am I having a hard time with this corner of the foundation? More practically, why did that artist bail on me, or that director? What could I have done better?
 
The reason I do this is precisely because I was directed, in my youth, that Adam not only “has” a problem, but “is” a problem. So I, very easily, internalize anything negative that might happen to BlueDorian or anything I do. Sadly, I’m sure I’m not the only one in the world who does this. 
 
My “friends” in the past (remember them?) would corroborate that:

• The problem with you, Adam, is you don’t have enough self-esteem...
• The problem with you, Adam, is you worry too much...
• The problem with you, Adam, is you take things too seriously...

 
If it weren’t for that, I bet you’d have won a <insert award here> by now, I mean, you’re so #talented! 

And I would think to myself: the problem with you, arsehole, is my foot has yet to make contact with your throat. 

​And also for the record, I’m not saying that there’s an inevitable correlation between “anything,” and “anything else,” if you get my drift (if you don’t, it really doesn’t matter; I’m not entirely sure I do either). What I AM saying is that I’ve experienced in too many friends and colleagues a strange obsession with “gatekeepers,” whether people, places, or organizations, and this obsession has, frankly, been kind of a dick to my personal choices, values, and interest in cultivating integrity and positive connectivity, in life, as well as through art and business. Whether or not I needed anything external to make me stand by my values and choices any more than I already have been: I certainly stand by them now. 

​I’m finishing up, I promise. The bottom line is, yeah, they’re probably right, these tossers, at least about some of these things. Because of my programming as child, I do indeed have incredibly low self esteem, crippling anxiety, and to boot, though unlikely related, I also live in a tenuous state where uncontrollable inner turmoil is just one trigger away, a state that, while treatable, will likely stick with me like luggage. 

What I acknowledge is that these things may never change.
 
What I also acknowledge is that these things are not failures. They are not problems.
 
I am not a problem.
 
And so aren’t you.
 
All of these are things I can find solutions for, or else find teams to help me find solutions for. I have low self-esteem? How does that manifest? Obviously not in expressing myself in blog form #circumlocutory, but perhaps in certain kinds of face-to-face negotiations or even just conversations. It’s known at this point that I would rather stick a fork in my eye than attend a formal social gathering. I would in fact probably rather eat raw suet than even have a one-on-one social conversation on any given occasion with anyone, that’s how anxious I feel before them and how drained I feel after (the exception is anything to do with work i.e. creative projects). So how do I deal? Well, create a team. That’s not easy to do, but there are people out there who revel in dialogue, conversation, sharing information in that way—I’m just not one of them. And the same things applies in all aspects and arenas. Find the people.
 
You are not the problem. Thinking that you are is.
​

​Whew. Alright, I’m done. And all this from “one day I went jogging.” As always, I mean what I say, and I believe this principle applies to others as much as to myself: any and all problems are temporary obstacles for which solutions are either available or somewhere out there, and so far as is implied to mean inherent, immutable, and inextricable, the problem is not you. ​

You know, for years ​I’ve rambled on and written these end-of-year sum ups; I’m still clueless as to whether anyone benefits from them. 

The truth is: the mission needs help. We--I--need help. I’ll dig into this a little more, probably, in a later blog, but just so you know it’s coming. I also meant what I said when I said I felt tired, frayed, jaded, by this decades-long process of assembling this organization and this mission from scratch—all the while seeing the idiocy of gatekeeper culture flourish and, in spectacular fashion, fall, while onlookers stood questioning why there wasn’t something different, something better even, that might exist in its stead. So consider this the preamble to a call to action. Without action, without participation, we, the mission, will likely stall. And if we do, quite frankly, I will probably have few choices available to me (in terms of what I can mentally stomach) than to return to Greenbow, AL, and settle down in Mama’s house: those lawns won’t mow themselves after all, y’know...
 
The mission needs help. And while I may feel that I am nearing the end of my rope, so much so at the close of this year that I am explicitly, and repeatedly, bringing it up, I’m not willing to throw in the towel just yet. BlueDorian just soft-launched its new website (#BDW3), and over the next quarter we’ll be working step-by-step to begin populating and curating its basic framework with awesome content in a way that feels both authentic and experientially satisfying. If you believe in this organization, if you believe in what we are doing: check in, visit, reach out, communicate with us—let’s explore how we can work together, to forward this mission, to create and develop conscious art that is as illuminating and empowering as it is entertaining, to participate in the transformation of the world into a more luminous, more enlivened place.
 
In time: light, and the magic will follow. For now, it’s just this:

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

I like to imagine, when for whatever reason over the holiday season I come upon a track by “Il Divo,” that, unlike the Armani-clad troop of caterwauling haircuts that presents itself to us (take that as you will), this band of quasi-operatic artistes-du-jour is actually a quartet of highly committed cosplayer-vocalists, dressed with impeccably deliberate specificity as principal characters from various Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals (with, perhaps, the singular exclusion of what inner circle-types commonly refer to as “J.C.S.,” lest the repertoire’s lyrics come to feel a bit self-gratifying), and putting on a command performance of “Christmas & Other Holiday Songs,” at, perhaps, the Royal Albert Hall, where an eager-hearted music-theater loving eight-year-old me is present, in full regalia (them) (also me, I suppose, probably). 

Honestly, the image, albeit one fabricated in the wispy, warped corridors of my John Dorian-like imagination, of--oh, I don't know, not that I've given too much thought to it--Rusty the Steam Train (deep cut); Che Guevara (obviously); some sort of Cat... let's  say, just to be topical: Bustopher Jones (the St. James St.—or, as he'd be known today, the “1%,” cat), and, of course, Monsieur le Phantom de l’Opera himself, is... is...

​Well, it’s an antidote, really, is what it is. 

Ah jk :) I don't mind those guys... But I tell you this, I’ve actually been on the development end of that sort of “packaged act”—on three separate occasions as it happens; this is something I’m probably not supposed to be particularly proud of, but whatever—anyway, so yeah, I’ve been at that table, and... well, let’s just say it’s a bit like “asparagus water” (#food.amazon.com): hard to take seriously, assuming you have the wherewithal to realize the whole thing is a bit of a ruse. 

Anyway, enough of this opening act. Welcome to adamfarouk.com’s 2017 blog season. (See what I did? I only ever seem to blog at the end of the year for some reason, so I’m calling it a “season”: Marketing. #marketing) 

​And now: 

​I started a run this summer. That is to say, "One day, I started jogging," not, "Over the summer I organized and sponsored an athletic event bringing awareness to an important cause," although, now that I mention it, that seems like a really good idea #AdamsSummerFunRun2018. Anyway, at some point along the way, I remember thinking to myself: I could keep going. I had just hit pace such that it gave enough back to me without seeming to sap any strength or endurance in any noticeable way #slowmo #vangelis. I figured it was illusion; of course I never fully tested it out, so who knows; had I followed through the world might now be graced with the presence of a "Malaysian Forrest Gump." (insert ANY joke about Malaysians here, seriously you don’t even have to try...) 

​But I eventually returned home and realized, yes, it was an illusion and now my shins hurt and I can’t get off the floor even though my dogs are threatening to slowly smother me with slobbery kisses, which are adorable, but seriously Terry I can’t breathe. 

Anyway, betwixt the puffs of salmon-kibble dog breath that were slowly fumigating my brain, I started to think about the last decade or so, especially as pertains to me as a musician, and to the organization of BlueDorian. And it dawned on me that there was a lot that wasn’t working. I was—I am—starting to get tired, frayed, jaded, and starting not to care anymore about this mission that has come to define me and all I do. Unlike the stride I had found on my jog, this ground was sucking the energy from me, reminding me of all the reasons I had been told I should quit my creative aspirations, for I would never amount to anything. #hopeless
 
And when I start believing these old voices, well let’s just say there are problems.   
 
Speaking of problems, that idea—that I would never amount to much, if anything at all—seems to have been a cornerstone of my family’s belief paradigm about me, that I offered (I use the past tense generously) little other than what might make them look good, improve their status, or validate them, usually with a strange combination of academics and appearances at the country club. I was never very good at the latter, and I was ok at the former but my heart lay in other, more fanciful areas: to me life wasn’t life if I was too far from either pen or piano.

​I was once told that my inability to “work with the system” was a problem i.e. a failing of mine. This one was not from family, rather some “friends” (I keep better company now) who themselves were achieving success in their various careers and endeavors, and saw what they understood to be my “failure” to do the same. So, of course, the problem with me was a... b... c. I simply needed to be better at “working with the system” and I would, like them, succeed.
 
I could list the psycho-spiritual reasons-to-dismiss, as well as the logical fallacies, that are involved in this sort of assumption-making, but the point of this writing is to acknowledge that, in this case, my “problem” wasn’t so much solvable through efforts to stop being myself as it was through being willing to understand what that meant (i.e. being yourself), as well as the consequences that might come with it. Being an outsider, as I’m sure both Susan Hinton and the Brat Pack could tell you, comes fraught with elements of peril, sometimes life-lasting ones. But it doesn’t mean that it’s the incorrect choice. 

...

​But I digress.
​
I do not accept that the fact that my work (the quality of which I firmly stand behind) has yet to receive much public attention has anything to do with any sort of failure, even though on my darker days, the thought does occur to me. Firstly, my choice to build from scratch a network of business models and affiliated companies that distributes and represents my work and my mission in a way that is authentic to who I am and what I believe, while a difficult endeavor, is one I will cherish until the day, should it come, I make like Forrest Gump and just stop running. 

​Secondly, my measure of success, I’m realizing, is at this point so far from accolade that I can barely remember how it felt to be flattered, let alone validated, by the prospect of any sort of external commendation. While I can appreciate there being benefits to such laurels and prizes and the like, such as exposure to the public of what might be an important message, the sheen brought on by the glamour of such pageantry is, to me, greatly diminished. What, I suppose, matters is the solving of the puzzle: the good science, if you will. How do I build a good house? One that is strong, one that emanates light into the world just by existing, and one that I’m happy with, that, when entered into, I feel at home, and filled with a sense of wellness. No one can judge that but me. That’s what’s important to me; that’s how I will feel I have succeeded.
 
Finally, and this I owe a lot to my ever-optimist wife, Elizabeth, who helps me, daily, shake off the bonds of the rigid and, I might hazard, tyrannical doctrines governing the families of my birth. If it is established that a problem is not a failure but a temporary obstacle, it must be recognized that the temporary obstacle is not you. It may be some thing you have yet to learn. It may be an aspect of yourself that challenges or undermines your efforts. But those are different from it being something fundamental about you. Rather, I wager that these temporary obstacles that we experience are always a collection of things that you can: i) solve; ii) create a methodology for solving; iii) or create of a good team of worthy people (key word: worthy) who will help you find solutions. 

Title Inspiration:
Song: WHY CAN'T THIS BE LOVE (Van Halen, Van Halen, Anthony, Hagar)
Artist: VAN HALEN

                                                                                                  Enjoy! -AF

The last time a big-drama period took place (this was, for me, 2007), I all but collapsed. Response-ability and proactivity went out the window; made a plethora of bad calls that took me years to extricate myself from. Could I avoid a repeat experience, could I make more of this year, and of years to come? Actually, forget all that. First of all: could I just survive? And if so, how?
 
All I had was a sliver of an inkling, that the key to even making it through the year at all in one piece would lie in staying on a particular side of a particular threshold. There isn’t really a name for this, at least that I know of, but it’s what could be termed the participation/commentary axis. Action/reaction is a simpler form of this idea, encapsulated by but not fully conveying what it means; in the recesses of my memory I can remember the terms “spheres of influence” and “spheres of concern,” which feel as though they relate to what’s going on here as well.
 
But it was no more than a theory, if that. Stay proactive, focus on what you have direct influence over, eliminate the sphere of concern from your mind: you have no control over it, and do do do. Visions and intentions are no longer enough. Take action. Participate. This was the hunch, and it was all I had to follow. So we did, knowing full well that, in life, as in both history and daytime television...

​Elizabeth and I both somehow knew that to stand a chance of survival, we’d have to dive deep, make major changes, and many of them, to our lives. It was one of those ideas we’d seen countless times on old episodes of star trek: flying into the killer energy beam without shields (That’s SUICIDE, Data!!!), so dive we did, and here at year’s end, is at least some perspective from what was sown. 

​After last year’s cryptic “sum up” (if you could call it that) of this project’s progress, I’m happy to report there has been forward motion sufficient as to be able to share with you at least a few parts of the process of development that has been taking place.
 
This year was very exciting for DoT, and for BlueDorian’s visual art and multimedia initiatives in general. We began the year with big zeros lining the x-axes: no work product, no network of collaborators to help produce it, and no experience or knowledge as to how to go about creating or finding either. After several months, and no small amount of elbow grease i.e. the seemingly endless trolling of sites such as deviantart and behance (still can’t pronounce that, please advise), we managed to put together a small yet growing list of artists, character designers, and illustrators, all of whom we hope to explore working with in the future. Currently, we are actively working with three, in various contexts:

​What we’re doing right now is, using the story scripts created last year, developing concept art for the main character(s) of the story. This is a pretty typical process—I don’t mean to make a “big whoop” out of it; in perspective, if we were developing a motion picture and in a major studio, this would probably take a matter of a couple of weeks, as opposed to the near year-long process we went through figuring out the basics. Still, I’m very excited about the progress we made learning to do this from scratch and am looking forward to when we can share some of what came out of this process with you. We’re not exactly sure how that’s going to happen, but will be sending out blasts and updates accordingly.
 
I’m beyond stoked about this project. It’s a story that gets me jazzed every time I work on it, and I hope you will enjoy these characters and this universe as much as we do. We’ll be keeping you posted. In the meantime, do check out and spread the word of the websites of the artists listed; there’s some wonderful art there and we’re happy to help provide some exposure any way we can (we’ll post other links as we establish professional relationships ongoing enough so as to be considered collaborative). 

​From 2015 one main idea emerged regarding the AFO, which was to create a larger squad—all of whom would be familiar with the same set of core AF material via a set of precisely notated scores—from which could be drawn rosters of various size and combination, depending on what a particular performance demanded.
 
Sounds simple enough ;)
 
In many ways it was. It some ways it wasn’t. Though, I’ve already started to forget those instances that made up the latter. Some things work out, some things don’t; what matters—at least so far as I currently understand—is to keep moving forward. We set out with this goal of building a master squad of talented and like-minded musicians at the beginning of the year, tapping into every source, every contact we thought we knew we had, cold-calling at times, reaching out every which way to see who’d call back, who might be interested in helping bring this music to life in this unconventional way. We'd hoped by starting early, in view of the myriad other projects waiting in the wings, that we might be done by the end of the first quarter. 
 
It took until early December, which might have been predictable. Still: we did it. We found, at least for now—and by that I mean that schedules are precarious things, especially for musicians, a wonderful cadre of artists willing and able (and in some cases, it seems, genuinely pleased) to work together in this way, focusing primarily on development, and reading and learning with great accuracy, deliberately and precisely notated scores.
 
This year’s primary starters, dubbed “Delta Squad," saw the culmination of their efforts at this year’s showcase event, this time a performance at the Lilypad, in Cambridge MA. We look forward to continuing to build the squad, and to bringing newer members up to speed, in the new year. Notation continues to be an important part of the process, and will continue to be so in 2017; the capable hands of Ray Tarantola and his able team now man the music preparation console.
 
The AFO does have its own page on this site, but here is the current complete squad list as of the date of this writing. Please do check out their websites (as usual, orange type means a link); this really is a group of "heavy hitters" (as Steve Latanision recently put it), solid folks with whom it is truly a privilege to make great music. Onward!

And this year's production superstars: 

​I’m aiming to talk about these more at the start of next year, but I’ve been so excited about them that I wanted to share in a sort of preview fashion. 

The first of the new projects technically already exists, in the form of a mostly unknown website and a bit of social media. So, I suppose, for those diehards among you, the term SymGastro may not come as new information. SymGastro, from the original “Symphonie Gastronomique” (yes, it is a play on Berlioz because I am just that much of a #nerd) which was an annual recipe book Elizabeth and I gave out to loved ones during the holiday season. The web presence isn’t much now, but our goal is to convert it into a bona fide hub for our “foodie adventures:” anything from recipes we adore to awesome products we might come across, to who knows what? We look forward to you joining us on this growing adventure. 

​The second new project, again, is not really new at all. This is an idea we’ve had for years, since the first time we put an ugly sweater on our dog and pressed click on the camera (it was an actual camera, and the sweater was not ugly so much as two sizes too tight). The amount of joy we derived from that image—admittedly at her expense, but I believe she’s forgiven us—cemented my already solid understanding that dogs are natural anti-depressants and that both the blues and the reds (take that as you will) can be warded off by even the most benign images of their merry antics. So basically, a photoblog with pictures of our four dogs (Australian Shepherds, who come with the motto: What, there's no official weirdest animal on the planet? Challenge accepted!)

​We’re currently doing very serious round table brainstorm-thinktanking on all of this, involving (as it should) no subtle amount of good cheese and prosecco. We’ll be posting more in the new year when things become more clear, or we become less befuddled, whatever comes last. Therein ends the update :)

​Big drama indeed. In the end the “hunch” proved to be more or less correct. It was the moments we fully engaged and focused on who we were and the direct impact we were having that we saw most success; conversely, the moments we slipped into reactive commentator mode were the ones that yielded the least. Challenges and demons surfaced regardless; it seems not to have mattered so much how were we feeling as it did our willingness to face these obstacles and be decisive in our action in response to them.
 
I saw a headline recently that read: “Slouching Towards 2017.” Clever… is I’m sure what the writer would like me to think. But no. Sorry. #Fail. That is no more incisive political satire than it is the choice I am making in the dying embers of a year that has been a whirlwind dynamo of epic proportions. I shall make like Le Bon (that’s not a misspelling) and “dance into the fire” that at times threatens to engulf me. For I cannot fear the fire. Because I am the fire. I am the sun that lights the world of my being. I do not fear what is me all along.
 
And, for anyone who might find my $0.02 helpful, let me make this recommendation. Ignore them, those armchair reactionary commentators. Instead: go, make your decisions, live by your conscience, grab your life by the lapels and take this opportunity to make it the most beautiful adventure you can. If you’re mad as hell and don’t want to take it anymore, go do something to make your life better; chances are the opportunity exists.
 
I don’t go to war with people or things—it doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense to me—but I know when I no longer have time for something, when something has served its purpose and needs to be gone from my consciousness. So I say goodbye to these people, these armchair reactionary commentators, so self-righteous in their cynicism who, just because the world didn’t live up to their every expectation, decide they’re entitled to stop trying, to stop getting up every morning and saying I am here, and I am willing to do my best, and who then demand that their opinion and approach be force fed to the point that it clogs the mindspace of others, who are actually trying, who do do their best, day in day out, and who might need a little pep, a little affirmation for the hard and noble work that they do despite whatever challenges and fears they might be facing.
 
So to those cynics, and on behalf of anyone who would wish me to speak as such, I say this: We understand where you are coming from. We understand you have frustrations, and that you have emotions and feelings that you feel. And we have compassion for you. And also, your voice is more destructive than you realize, more destructive, in fact, than all the happenstances about which you bemoan over your cups of hipster coffee, because nothing comes so close to extinguishing the human spirit as do cynicism and complacency. So please, kindly take both a step back from the edge as well as a deep breath, and let me direct you to a quiet corner of the room, where you can feel free to go fuck yourself. 

​On that note, let’s give ‘em hell next year. Who? No, not the cynics. They have their orders and I don’t really care to go to that corner of the room until I figure out who’s on custodial duty. I’m saying things like fear and doubt: let’s show ‘em who’s boss, and conversely, let’s take those dreams and positive intentions and show them that we care, and that we mean business. No more “Om,” now we drive it home. Let’s get up and shout at the top of our lungs that we are here, whatever it is that we are and want to be and want to achieve, and what impact we want to have on the world, and all that glorious stuff that fills our lives with meaning. Then, let’s, together, pick up that pen, or tablet, or keyboard, and one step at a time, make it real.
 
And if it sucks for the first decade…
 
You’re on the right path. 

I believe in you.

​-AF

---Title Inspiration: Watershed (Saliers/Ray), Indigo Girls---

                                                                      Enjoy! -AF

It was like this all year. 

​I felt like my idiocy knew no bounds. And yet still there I was, there BlueDorian was, persisting. But at some point, the voices, they started up again: Okay. I love you, you’re perfect, now change and go back to something safer. Be quieter. Stop believing you have something positive and worthwhile to offer to the world. Be what you were taught to be by your schools, your family: a small, quiet, obedient child-person. There is a “Chinese” (a hideously vague word when referring to the language, I know; I think in this case, but can’t be sure that, it’s Cantonese) word I heard a lot growing up and into my young adulthood. The way I heard it it was pronounced “kwai” (as in the bridge over the river). Transliterations in Chinese are odious, especially given the numerous dialects—in Mandarin I believe it would be “gui” (pronounced like “grey,” if you were a member of the British Royal Family; I’m kidding, it’s “gway”). 

​This is what I learned. Why am I talking about this? How dare I say this? This culture of which you speak is ancient and wonderful. This is slander.  Nah. It’s the rantings of one human being, who frankly you could easily write off as not being entirely there in the head. Hey, this guy has bipolar disorder, maybe he’s just having one of those episodes they talked about in that musical I saw on Broadway once; that was accurate, right? Right?! Yeah, exactly, it’s that. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, capisci? (<- actual spelling)

​And, yes, ancient cultures are fascinating, but I’m not talking about ancient cultures. I’m talking about static belief systems that seek to keep people in their place by the systematic suppression of their creativity. Go fish. ​

​Give up. Give up. Give up. You are small. What you’re doing will never be worthwhile. You will never be as big as we. We recruit people and make them ours and we own them. They become our servants, do our bidding, and their toil becomes our success. You will fail. You are a bad apple. A black sheep. And you are certainly not kwai. So those voices say. And before, it was the old compass that would guide me: Don’t worry about them, it would say. Be on your path, it would say. Not there now. I remember a lyric from a show I obsessed about as a young adult: “I raise my eyes to see the heavens, but only the moon looks down.” So it seems. And so as one more madman barks at the moon, the realization, this terrifying realization, starts to occur to me: you know what, maybe I'll just “be” the biggest fucking idiot I can be. Maybe I keep apologizing, keep being over-polite, keep dithering, keep worrying, keep doing every single one of those things, keep being laughed at for it all; anything, just don’t give up. ​

​As I mentioned, I’ve been this me before. He is laughed at, not taken seriously, is made a pariah by groups and communities of which he ostensibly is a part. He hates himself, is embarrassed by himself, doesn’t believe in his own ability to create and manifest anything worthwhile. He falls on his face time and again, and is mocked every time he does by people who claim to be his friends. I was this person on and off for the better part of thirty years, during the first thirty five of my life. I pried myself away from this hideous slave persona through sheer effort, force of will, and no small amount of help from at least one key person in my life who as far as I’m concerned is part angel. I do not want to go back. 

But to not go back is to choose from two options, neither of which I can now stomach. The first, as we’ve talked about, is to give up completely. Sell the farm. Or buy it, I suppose, in another manner of speaking. Just become small, as small small small as you can be. Hide from the world, hide from the universe, bury your head in the sand so much that you don’t notice when the weather changes. Then you stop feeling pain, you stop feeling anything. I’ve seen this. I know people who do this. And it’s tempting. But ultimately not for me.

The second option is a subtler, more pernicious version of the first one: to posture. Take all you feel and think and are aware of, any pain, any doubt… and go and do cross-fit until you are so buff they can’t help but think you’re hot. What? No, I’m not talking about personal alchemy, which is a beautiful process, but one that in my experience requires a compass; it’s when the compass is gone and you’re in the doldrums trying to rebuild it, that’s what I’m talking about.

​Posturing is something I’ve never been able to do. You know those people who run marathons and casually drop into conversation at the first chance they get the fact that they just ran the Reykjavik marathon or whatever? (A friend of mine claims it’s “all” marathon runners, but I’m willing to give some the benefit of the doubt) In any case: posturing. If I’m so buff, so hot, so hip, so cool, so able to run twenty-six-miles-and- change so many times, then I can pretend to the world, and thus, hopefully, myself, that there’s nothing bothering me, that I don’t have doubt, have fear, have moments when I want to fly to San Francisco just so the bridge I jump off can be a beautiful one.

Psych! This one is in Sydney (and, at the risk of being overly-macabre, not likely a fatal jump.) 

​I’m realizing as I’m writing this that this is as open as I’ve ever been in a blog post, probably more so by some stretch.

There is a chance this pattern may continue in future entries.

​I acknowledge that this type of open exploration may offend some people. It is what it is. It is certainly not my intention to do so. But I’ve offended so many people in my life for so many reasons, all of which stem from me simply being who I am:

• to many in my country of origin I am too international, which really means "too Western," whatever that means;
• to other muslims (my father is muslim so I am one by birth) I’m more or less reprehensible for about a dozen reasons (mostly the bacon, though);
• to certain British schoolchildren in the 90s I was foreign, and had, like the other “pakis,” as we were collectively called, the wrong color skin;
• to certain members of my own family it was my mixed heritage, including Malay and European, that made me an undesirable in one way or another; in one instance I was more or less ordered to "marry a good Chinese girl" so as to cleanse the bloodlines and "swing the genes" in the right direction. That's a direct quote, and I was twenty four and in a long-term relationship with my would-be (and very much not Chinese) wife. 

And this really is just the start. So I’m not sure if I’m super bothered by that kind of thing any more. Or rather, if it bothers you that I’m the way I am, you can feel free to carry that for yourself. 

​But more importantly: it’s okay. I’m not a victim. These are, for the most part, just stories; well, they’re true, but they’re in my past. In fact I realize all this judgment that came my way from others (and I haven’t even mentioned my parents lol) was just a mirror of all the judgment that I either was placing or would eventually place upon myself. Someone very recently pointed out to me that everyone thinks about how idiotic they are, only for some reason I seem to actually say it. It is true, I talk pretty openly, generally speaking, about the parts of my life that I’m working on, the parts I don’t prefer, and the parts I flat out can’t stand. I talk and I say I’m embarrassed and stupid when most would just pretend it never happened, whatever it was. I discuss. I analyze. I look for answers in my inner crazy. That’s just the idiot that I am. That’s the madness, the madness within.

And that might just be what makes me sane. 

Thanks for sticking with me :) -AF

Track #3 on the album “Magical Mystery Tour,” “Flying” is distinct, and wonderfully so, in the fact that the song is difficult to identify as a Beatles track, even by context and with deep knowledge of their style, without prior familiarity with the album and its listing. For those of you who haven’t yet had the pleasure, the song is a trippy instrumental jam composed together by all four members, following a basic 12-bar blues pattern, that builds with each head from bare-bones rock instrumentation to a multi-layered feast of retro analog sounds and strangely EQ-ed, vaguely choral vocalizations. 

To this listener it’s a fantastic track in its unexpectedness. I love and still can’t get over the fact that it just "doesn’t feel" like a Beatles song. Yes, I could get really nerdy and talk about little giveaway Beatle-y things like guitar tone, how the snare drum is being mic-ed, and the general Ringo-ness of the 8-beat that’s being played, but why? It’s fun, refreshing, and light; a sort of Beatles “back to basics” before launching into the belle melange of the next two albums (more on that later, perhaps): indeed well worth a listen. 

​I love this song. I’m just a total sucker for it. I think, though, or rather I’m realizing, that I might just be a sucker for that class of John Lennon songs. It seems to me that Lennon consciously used similar chord progressions—even ones he had developed that were unique enough that you’d recognize them if repeated—multiple times in order to explore specific emotional or narrative effects, or else to mimic specific styles. This particular “ilk” was (and I’m using my own term now) the “vi-I” riff, i.e. the “6 minor to 1 major” riff, which may be of no more help, I realize. This song’s opening riff is something of a twin to an earlier counterpart called “It Won’t Be Long” (another good lesser known song, just not on the list). The way the two move from 6 minor to 1 major in their respective openings is evocative of each other, using this characteristic, and fairly unique, harmonic device.

But enough nerding out. There’s just some great stuff going on here. This is for sure worth many listens, as it grows with time and as details become more clear and obvious with repeated exposure. John and Paul trading riffs on the choruses is a first standout moment; ostensibly done because the second half of the melody was out of John’s vocal range, but the effect ends up feeling much more profound, reminding the listener (as least, certainly, this one) that this is a group with a powerful vocal bench, not constrained to one lead singer or one set of timbres. In the early days, John and Paul often sang together, in both harmony and unison, on the lead lines (She Loves You; Please Please Me etc.); by now this was less of a signature feature, so this moment stands out as a cool demonstration of their growing vocal individuality while still presenting them effectively together. 

The orchestration work is brilliant too for an early pop tune that wouldn’t have required it, with some fantastic bridge riff work doubling piano and 12-string guitar, devised by George Martin, and executed by McCartney and George Harrison. It’s just a super team effort, which stands to reason given its appearance on without a doubt the strongest Beatles album of the early era: “A Hard Days Night,” which might also explain why the track sometimes has a tough time standing out against the iconic powerhouses that surround it (A Hard Day’s Night; Ticket to Ride etc.). But underestimate this track at your peril. It’s jolly good craic and highly recommended by this fab four nut. 

Another selection from Magical Mystery Tour, Baby You’re a Rich Man is another oddball track that might be difficult for the casual or recently initiated listener to identify as a Beatles tune, though its recent inclusion in the film “The Social Network” might have increased its range of exposure beyond die hard Beatle fans. The song itself is an interesting animal, a portmanteau sort of thing, mashing together two snippets: John’s “one of the beautiful people” riff with Paul’s “Baby, you’re a rich man” chorus idea. They don’t really cohere super well, but that, to me, is the charm of the song. It’s very much the opposite of Flying, instead providing a window, a sneak peek into what lies in store when works like “The Beatles” (aka the White Album) and especially “Yellow Submarine” stylistically take full root. 

I’ve always just found this song super cool. The psychedelic vibe that’s almost over-conscious in its application just feels like an overindulgence of singular flavor, but in the right way, like one of those death-by-chocolate cakes, covered in more molten chocolate. I’ll take it. The song just sort of spins itself slowly into oblivion, similar in ways to something like “Tomorrow Never Knows” (ridiculously awesome song: too well known to be on this list) but with a little less to prove. That might in fact be the key to what speaks to me in this song, a certain lack of concern that I aspire to. And finally, one word: Ringo. Just take it in and feel the love. Incredible performance, similar—and this is apparently an opinion Beatles expert Ian McDonald and I share—to his unparalled rocking out on “Rain” (again, great song; maybe too well known at this point for this list). Have fun with this one!  ​

It’s funny; I just noticed the lack of George Harrison songs on this list, which seems odd given any list of "my favorite Beatles tracks" I seem to make have always included a "Harrisong" in the top five. Though that might be it, I realize in this moment. George went very quickly from underdog writer-in-training, to sitar-enthusiast-transcendental-world-music composer, to master of the near instant and bound to be ubiquitous hit: his later portfolio littered with household-name songs like Something and Here Comes the Sun etc. There's a decent chance even any future unseen hit lists that I create may struggle to include his work. Ah well. Too many good and famous songs? Not a bad problem to have :) 

Happy Holidays :) -AF

​Hi. It’s me again. 
​
And I’m not talking about those crazies, you know, the ones that seem to have swept up the world, again, over the last few years; I’m referring to that insanity that’s happily within and handy: the “madness” inside.

A little decaf perhaps...

​​I am an “idiot.” I am weird, and I do not fit in. I know this. I thought I knew how things operated, but moreover I thought that by now I had enough of an inkling as to the inner workings of change, that I’d be able to ride out any energetic shifts the world might throw at me with relative ease. We all know at this point how it seemed that a new set of “life guidelines” took over round about the end of 2012. But this year it feels as though that event has happened again, but rather than discretely, this time it occurs in continuous fashion. It’s the sort of exponential acceleration that, to me, feels like, what I imagine the shift from warp one to warp two must theoretically feel like. Perhaps in retrospect it will seem simple, but for now, the results of dealing with these shifts have been both fascinating and unnerving.

Steady as she goes... Weeeeeeee...

Through this I find myself reverting to an old state, one that, I’ll be honest with you, I truly hate. It’s the nervous, unsure me, the one who questions every decision, takes far too long to understand concepts, and waffles and dithers and does all those things I wish—I *thought*—I had left behind in the last emanation (#Voyager reference lol). The me who people make fun of for being over-polite, over-apologetic. The me who can barely rest outside his useless, fragmented mind long enough to run a simple two-hour rehearsal, only to return to it again and be at half-efficiency for the remainder of the day, if that. It gets to the point where I’ve considered massive and potentially destructive shifts this year, just to get out of the unbearable me-ness of it all. Please stop the bus: the driver is an idiot. I’ve considered strategies that would be career-ending (which is not I suppose much of a threat when you’re self-employed, but for those of you who know my commitment to the mission will get the implications of this), marriage-ending, life-ending even. And it’s when vehicular suicide once again starts looking more appealing than folding your laundry, that you really do begin to question certain things.

​I write this and I share it and maybe you’re uncomfortable. I do it because, well, it’s my damn blog, but also I would vouch that by now we have an elegant sufficiency of “top five times Chris Pratt showed us his bum” (or such like) articles. Not that I don’t like “top five” posts and I have little to no opinion on Mr. Pratt’s behind; in fact it (the former, to be clear) gives me an idea for a future entry. But for now, the terminally hilarious misadventures of this clinically depressed oddball continue with this thought:
​
Oh fuck.
​

Whaaa...?!

Why are we back here? We were doing so well. And, again, I assure you I’m not giving some sort of editorial on what’s going on in the world, though I might understand if some (not all) of you thought I was. To that end, I’m currently of the feeling that any sort of commentary on current events in this ever changing world in which we live in right now is probably above my paygrade, so I’m adopting more of an observer’s stance; a strange, “Good fortune, bad fortune, who knows?” kind of neutral clarity that seems to resonate right now, while I again work to sort out the morass that is my mind and do my best to do cool and worthwhile things. So, it’s funny. There’s ostensibly a crapload going on the outside world which doesn’t bother me, and seemingly nothing—to the casual observer at least—going on in my world, but it’s the latter what’s got me hung up.
​

Bizarro Gandhi for a bizarro world.

I’ve been working my way towards the center of my experience by first limiting, then eliminating, things like the “news” (such as it is), then doing the same for things like social media (#shamelessplug), from which I took a LONG break from February to arguably this present moment. With the barrage gone I find myself able to more fully focus on what’s happening, particularly what’s happening inside, and the main observation is that whatever compass I was using before as my primary guide-to-life has pretty much vanished. The resulting not knowing which way is up or down, south or north, is likely what explains the doubt and fear from which all other symptomatology stems (the apologetic-ness, the over-politeness, depression, etc.). But what is the result?

​You have a large energetic shift, the by-product of which for anyone paying attention (which I am told on good authority—Reader’s Digest—is more and more of us) is that old assumptions are no longer relevant, and that what might have been working perfectly well in your life, for your life, may in dramatic fashion turn out no longer to work at all. Depending on your personality you might: i) deal with it without a hitch (lucky you) or ii) collapse like a dying protostar into a black cluster of self-doubt, fear, and loathing.

Not I. I iz at one with the universe.

​Assuming the latter (because honestly, if the former, you probably spend most of your time in your home, giggling and thinking: dang it I’m SO happy!) what happens next? Because the loathing in itself is not the end goal; I’ve spent most of my life living with varying degrees of self-doubt, fear, and loathing, so what’s the big cheese here? What’s the outcome we’re looking to prevent? Simple: giving up.
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This is the edge I’ve teetered on for almost this entire year. I have not felt so close to giving up all I care about creatively, professionally, and personally as I have this year. I can honestly say that. And I hope I never come this close again, and moreover I wish I could guarantee it, because it was, it is, awful. You’ve possibly read about the sense of both commitment and joy that I feel towards the mission of creativity and positivity that is BlueDorian. I started it twelve years ago, and it persists, still, at this point mostly self-funded and with a miniscule staff (I could use the word “both” and it would apply), and with very little by way of things like recognition or else validation. But it does persist, holding vigil as it shall, until we have the resources such that by our words and actions we make the stars align to our will. Yes, that BlueDorian. This year, for nearly all of the year, I have wanted to throw everything away, even to have it all physically destroyed, just to make the world make sense again, so great was the distance I needed to reconcile between what was and what is, so much I felt in need of guidance, of the old compass. 

"You gotta be effin kidding me."

​Oddly enough, I experienced my first momentary “uptick,” meaning it was a period of a few days when, for the first time in the year, I didn’t want to throw my creative studio into the compactor, and saw a glimmer of hope, in, of all times, early November, which was an interesting time to be in this part of the country and feeling celebratory :) but, hey, like I said: good fortune? bad fortune? who knows?

To be continued in Part 2...

---Title Inspiration: I Won't Last a Day Without You (Williams/Nichols), The Carpenters---

                                                                 Enjoy! -AF

I’ve been told that this year would have everything to do with power; that the world as a whole would grapple with the notion of what it means to have power or to be powerful. While I don’t believe everything I’m told, looking around, the evidence does seem to fit the theory. I actually find it a helpful explanation—and a strangely reassuring one at that—for the collective temper tantrum that seems to be being thrown by, one would surmise, every single one of the institutions of the world traditionally seen as emblems of external power. Going into detail doesn’t seem necessary, I’m sure you know of several if not many examples of such meltdowns and how they’re taking place; at the close of the year, looking forward into the next, I’m finding myself curious as to the why of it all. 

​My theory, and I don’t imagine this a particularly groundbreaking idea, is two-fold: firstly, that these institutions are simply part of an outdated system, made obsolete and being replaced by new ones (systems) taking its place. Understand I said new ones, not necessarily better ones, at least often times not initially. In the same way that, on the individual level, the millennial generation did away with a hefty bale of customs and conventions held dear and in place for fifty years by the baby boomers, so too is this happening on an institutional level by the upstart economic and political structures of the emerging post-2012 era. Unfortunately this breakdown sometimes involves no small amount of social devolution, but, as I’ve been told, and this time I believe it: there’s always a way up. 

​The question of whether these changes will be productive, and beneficial to us as a global society has, at least in the mind of this writer, much more to do with you and me than it has to do with any commander, preacher, or “make this country great”-chanting plutocrat, but more on that later. Another question, that of why this year was such a banner year for change in the form of both tragedy and moronic public behavior leads me to the second point, which is: it is possible some of the chaos we are seeing around us is the very grappling, on a macro-scale, of a world figuring itself out, going through a sort of pubescent process of defining what power means on a planetary level.
 
So, you might wonder as well you may, is this merely my long-winded way of saying: don’t worry, be happy? That we are merely bugs on a surface, caught in the wake of an immense moment of celestial transition, powerless to do anything about it? Well, I suppose letting go of anxiety and finding happiness are always good things, but really what I’m saying is the thing I’ve been saying to myself all year, which is: You matter. I matter. We all matter. We matter because, in the spirit of what this year is ostensibly about, we are the singular most powerful force on the planet. We are powerful because we are, all of us, creative beings. We can build and shape and sculpt our world, in our mind, ergo in reality, into any iteration of a planet inhabited by sentient beings that can possibly be imagined.
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​​Through the sheer force of our will we can do this, plus a buttload of perseverance and effort, granted, but still, it can be done, if we submit that it happen. I was told as a child: man proposes, God disposes. This is a steaming pile of nonsense, and a great way to give up your power, to rationalize complacency, to relinquish your responsibility for creating your own reality, all under the guise of pretending to seem zen and at peace with the universe. Bullspit. I say: 1) intend an outcome, 2) align yourself, if you wish, with whatever non-midichlorian based cosmic intelligence you desire, and 3) MAKE IT SO. 

​You matter. Somewhere down the line, this message gets lost. We’re not told it enough in our lives. Because, I suppose, we as a society don’t believe it enough (at least not yet). At some point in most of our lives we’re told to forget this notion, that we are indeed worth it, that we matter. So what happens: people who have forgotten to know this become parents. These parents forget to tell it to their kids. Those kids forget to know it. And the cycle continues.
 
Meanwhile there’s another branch of people, who believe the world revolves around them. And so sure are they in this belief that they convince us to believe it too. And we end up spending a lot of money and time enabling those people--egoists, narcissists, sociopaths; the people who have basically run the world for the past ten thousand years, maybe more--instead of nurturing our awesomeness within. These types have no truer sense of their worth than we do. Theirs is the previous definition of power, power as stature, influence derived through force or the threat of it: might makes right, as some say. And not only do they seek it, but oftentimes they get it, because in a world whose primary curriculum is that of inferiority, even stolen light can shine. 

​In many ways we’re the lucky ones. Those types seek power from without, because they feel powerless within. In addition, so caught up are they in their own drama, I would posit they can’t see the actual important work they are doing, which is to expressly, by their actions, pose the big questions for us, you and me, to answer. When we see an idiot at a podium spouting bigoted vitriol, we are each given a valuable opportunity, to decide whether this is behavior that works for us, to decide whether we as individuals carry on with this or make a change. People drink the sand because they don’t know the difference, I’ve heard. But this isn’t the way anymore. It certainly doesn’t have to be. And the best part is, this is not about “taking back” anything. There is no conflict involved. Only personal responsibility. Only the simple act of seeing the light inside, and stepping in.