My journey began almost ten years ago when my childhood ended. Everything else from then and now are little more than a collection of memories. Shared with others, they become stories to everyone else, whether private or otherwise.
Each story is in essence a lesson. Upon hearing them, they come to life by our own interpretation, and with that comes a gift that is precious. A story can instill a thought, inspire an ambition, or prompt an emotion. We delve into them as an observer and what their measure of worth may be is determined only by our ability to grasp or contemplate its meaning.
The best kinds of stories are the kind that compels an audience. The kind which, for example, stirs up a nod or the crack of a smile; other times, a lump in the throat, a pit in their guts – a reaction, alive and beautiful, that is a reminder of some private moment within our individual lives.
This is the story of a memory.
It is the story of a furious heart, caught in a furious world, set upon a furious age, and a story of furious struggle. It begins with uncertainty and ends with a profound moment of discovery. It is a story of growth and wisdom.
This is a story of virtue.
It is a story of decadence, a kind which is addictive and like a drug equally destructive. From rich indulgences, the pleasures of the flesh, to the freedom of an open mind; it is a story of late night foods, conversations, and the materialism and values. It is a story of friendship, of valor, and self-sacrifices. This is a story of tattered flags and the hands which continue to uplift them.
This is a story of honor.
It is a story of broken hearts and compassion, of camaraderie and kinship, and the sympathy of strangers; a story of betrayal, of defiance, and of rebellion. It is a story of a quest for redemption, a pursuit for justice, and forgiveness. This is a story about community and a kind of spirit worth fighting for.
This is a story of integrity.
It is a story of endurance, of hardship, of trials and errors, and of self-realizations; a story of selfishness and jealousies, of differences and ignorance, of apathy and kindness. It is a story of ironies and hypocrisies, of white lies and whole truths, of identity and obsessions. It is a story of scars and injuries, and of ugliness and inner beauty. This is a story that revolves around the kind of inner courage which challenges the world entire and endures.
This is a story of respect.
It is a story of unspoken conversations, of knowing glances and quiet grief, and of embrace and firm handshakes. It is a story of patience and impulsion, of tolerance and prejudice;a story of a lost generation, the Old Guard and the New, the prodigies and the forgotten, and of the fires that lit the way. This is a story of worn leather vests and highways to new horizons.
This is a story of travel.
From the cosmopolitan heart of British Columbia to the neon landscape of Washington, the green paradise of Oregon to the steel empire of California; from the cold of the Nevada desert to the radiant fields of Utah, from the windswept mountains of the Colorado range to the urban jungles of Illinois. This is a story of a modern odyssey across a continent into the heart of New York.
These are not the tales of a gentle kind of folk.
These are not the tales of a fictional breed.
These are the stories of a different kind.
These are after all…
TALES OF A MASKED DEVIANT
COMING SOON 2015/2016
It’s hard to believe it’s almost a year since the completion of that great adventure. To all my friends local and abroad, I cannot thank you enough for all your inspiration and guidance. This entire venture would not have been possible even from the start if not for your genuine help and concerns.
Tonight is another night of a party. What better to celebrate a memory than to indulge than by living? I hope to see you there.
The Flag Still Stands