Category: Me Myself&I

Watched Orange Is The New Black season 1 again. Such a great show.

I’m sad that I find a bunch of female characters so exciting when female characters shouldn’t be a thing, right? Well I’m happy too though. It’s so refreshing after Breaking Bad, damn. The cast, the characters it’s just kind of perfect and rich as hell.

The prison theme, yep. Because we all are in one, aren’t we. My prison? I don’t know. Not living with any black person ever for 34 years as a black dude? That’s kind of a prison. A tough one. That’s like my SHU.

Oh I feel you girl you don’t even know.

Not being able to speak English but having to write it on the internet while I have to speak in French? Prison. Not sharing with anyone what’s like to live half a year in a country and the other in another one? Prison. For privileged people but still, I feel alone and it fucks my mind up. I don’t recommend that situation. Game audio? Kind of another one (seen recently: a game company having all the jobs listed on their website but the game audio designer one, posted somewhere else like game audio is totally something different).

I guess any hardship that isn’t shared with people around you feels like prison at some point. Of course, even more so when it’s not shared with loved ones.

Like the show demonstrates though, people outside of your prison don’t give a damn about your prison.

Surviving here is all about perspective.

That last blog post was sitting in Live Writer. I was looking at it, feeling a bit guilty to express my anger, annoyed of feeling guilty and then it doesn’t stop. Is it going to cost me anything later? Sometimes it’s bad to speak up, I never know when to shut up once I started to express myself. I really miss boundaries on that. Maybe I shouldn’t have a blog.

It’s sunny for four days, which is great but makes my PTCaliforniaD worse. Whenever I close my eyes I see that city. I feel like whenever I was biking Los Angeles my brain was like, “RECORD THAT SHIT” and now that fucker binge-watch those videos every time I don’t pay attention.

I rode my bike. After months of walking it’s like I couldn’t stop my legs and didn’t even want to. I did some loops.

Five years living in a suitcase, five weeks in the dust. Oh hell yeah I want to settle down so hard. Breathe. Stretch. Breathe longer! Stretch to infinite!

Wallpaper: 99%

Ceiling tiles: 100%

Two fireplaces to dismantle: 0%

A small closet to destroy: 0%

Still the attic to take care of. Physically haven’t hurt myself too much for now, but I’d rather write some last will before the next time I’ll get a back and neck rub: that shit will kill me.

I’m not scared to be judged. At all. I don’t care about that, I care about the outcome of being judged. And that is absolutely connected to race, sorry for bringing that up again people of color. Y’all know.

Try to say to Trayvon and Jordan’s parents that chances are nothing will happen if you simply stand up. I triple dare you. They stood up. They were not doing anything wrong, they were heavily being judged and didn’t care about that. They stood up.

And then they died, murdered. The reminder is with a black president at the White House, mortifying. Humiliating, 12 Years A Slave winning big doesn’t change anything.

I don’t care being judged on my online gaming skills, it’s just that I don’t want to read/hear anything about “dumb ass niggers”. I did, doesn’t taste great, feels gross, let’s move on. In the real world outside work, being judged feels like danger and my survival guts hate that.

The respect earned from you claiming your ground is based on a broken social system full of BS. When you’re black and especially a dude, you sort of have to not do that and please everyone in this white world otherwise you are immediately filtered out as “trouble” in inconsistent and twisted ways. It’s quite universal on this planet. You need to fit more than people respect you because they never will respect you entirely anyway, so used to ethnocentrism. You can also stay in your community forever, warm and miserable because nothing changes this way.

I don’t try to please everyone I try to make things work, everything I can. Let me do my thing. The part where I don’t give a fuck about what others think? Oh, it’s been done and done son.

The problem is not to not please everyone, it’s to not get fucked or worse killed in Florida for being yourself and harmless.

You probably saw that article. Things changed, it’s pretty amazing how.

By being six months in a country and six months in another for five years, I can tell you how local online things have become. People retreat locally, even on the internet. It’s just weird how my sister didn’t even think in .com but .fr for her website when I thought that .fr was so hell no because everyone wants to have a .com right? Right, ten years ago.

The perception was connecting with the world. “the world”. The perception was to connect with the yet unknown, learn new stuff. Today it’s about connecting with your posse and people like you.

First consequence, it is hard to read anything personal, different online these days. Everything comes out of a machine or if not from a machine, intended to be read by Google’s robots. Ranks. Pageview. Ads. Click bait to oblivion.

When I try to decipher AAA game business or why game audio is so weirdly handled, it’s genuine passion, pure love. I want it fixed, upgraded, better. It’s not bitterness or flame war, it’s will. If I don’t speak up, I’m not willing. I feel like it’s the first step.

How we integrated censorship with app stores, I still can’t quite believe it. People don’t even know how their apps get refused or pass certification and aren’t afraid to build a business on top of that. We forgot what’s like not to have freedom of speech at all, which is dangerous. It’s the same slippery slope as the ISP dance with content providers. Next thing you know, everything is locked up and your rights have been downgraded.

We went from a bunch of kids in Sweden writing back to American music majors “fuck you” to ten years later, TPB’s last founder losing its appeal in front of the European Court of Human Rights for not following US laws, in his country, Sweden. See? Rights being downgraded for the sake of a broken copyright system. It means no country, no law, no nothing will protect you if a system thinks you are wrong and should be punished. That’s not really what democracy meant and you shouldn’t be OK with that.

So, ISPs are no longer treating the internet as a commodity (things always start in the US and then all countries copy, Europe is getting there) app stores are censoring, NSA and HR are sniffing your social graph and you become silent and bland, playing mind-crushing games trying to forget and downplay all that.

Damn, that looks bad.

Removing wallpaper: 97%

Removing ceiling tiles: 50%

Cleaning up the attic for insulation: 0%

Making room in the basement: 0%

Color scheme kitchen/living room: done.

Ikea kitchen 3D design: completed.

Too many tracks to finish: in progress.

Applying to jobs: in progress.

Fighting: on.

Eryka Badu comes out of my speakers singing how he’s moving to Hollywood (random playlist).

My computers are on PST, my phone is on GMT and Southern California pictures show up from time to time, all the time.

I feel like it’s late though it’s 9am and I can’t say that it’s jetlag’s fault.

I’m often confused waking up, was it a dream or am I really here or there or am I dreaming now?

Taking the same trains again reminds me of myself in my 20s, full of hope for this country. lol. I did my best.

When it’s sunny my restless legs want to pedal or skateboard because I think of L.A. but then I remember that I’m in Paris and actually, it will only be sunny for 20 minutes before some massive rain so…

Everybody’s late. In LA I show up on time, I’m the last one. In Paris I show up on time, I’m always the first one arrived and wait another hour before we start whatever. It’s always been this way, it just gets more and more annoying.

I can’t stand how people look down constantly, I hate the lack of eye contact. 20,000 people/km² will make you forget to be human. There are the most obnoxious and insufferable motherfuckers I have ever seen in this city, at some point it’s even funny.

My though process is way too global/American now to get a real sense of what’s going on politically or socially. It sounds useless or completely nuts (über and taxi cabs, Europe’s political decisions). It’s the weirdest thing to be a native and *snaps* you’re not. I wasn’t the typical French dude before CA but now I really am not.

I see more than ever how interracial relationships are non-existent in France. In another amazing blog post from Ta-Nehisi he writes:

If you begin from the proposition that African-Americans are fundamentally American, in a way that the Afro-French are not; and that America is, itself, a black country in a way that the other European countries are not, Barack Obama’s election strikes you somewhat differently.

“Afro-French are not French”. He’s right. We’re just around raising babies or helping grandmas, cleaning up streets and metros or selling cannabis but we are not welcome more than that and trust me, born and raised by white people I see all that xenophobia and racism in HDR/X-Ray/WireFrame. I have seen it grow. I have seen it change, become nastier, even more hidden and it’s sad how as an individual I can’t do anything about it. I avoid it like a master ninja, disengaging conversations that could lead to pain or avoiding resentment because if I’m the Angry Black Man then I probably want to Keep It Real and then it Goes Wrong.

The good thing is, it made me prescient and in control.

I was born in Paris and I will not stay.

Hi, my name is Heyrold and today we’ll tear those walls off the sucker. I mean, today and a couple of other days too.

I’m not even going to tell you how my cousin, 45, was like “but have you ever done that before???” or my dad “use a steamer, I have more experience than you”. Whiny ass bitches, please.

First layer comes off with my fingers my Wolverine-like nails.

Second layer, thanks to YouTube comes off with water and still my fingers. I  I have used a scraper like three times. Don’t tell me it’s because my paper is old, I tried other techniques and the paper stays on like a motherfucker until I poke holes in the wall.

The annoying part is moving things around because I’m also composing and applying to jobs and developing and stuff. The good part is that it tests me on patience because the faster you want to go, the more you only get tiny bits at a time. Take your time, do it right and then bam, full sheet off (almost).

The wall you see on the right is what it looks like around now and it’s pretty depressing, it makes me wonder if there are needles and heroin hidden somewhere.

My name is Heyrold and I don’t fucking know where I am right now but it’s moving on.

68. Not that old.

That show started to air in France I think in fall 1991, I was eleven. Needless to say I was instantly hooked. That story sounds like mine, only I have white parents and no brothers and sisters! I’m from the “countryside ghetto”, another weird angle but the show’s “let’s try to make it all together despite our differences”, that I dug hard. Of course, Will’s wit.

Also, the father figure. Uncle Phil was acting and giving Will the same things my dad gave me except for hugs but that’s just how France is. His character in the show is described as “strict, gruff, kind of a miser” pretty much my dad too.

I was wondering if just a change of skin color would make things better. Of course it would have, because it’s not just that. when I saw episodes where dance is involved, I know I would have LOVED to be ridiculous in the front of the couch, shouting “popcorn!” with James Brown and dad. Damn, I dreamed of this and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air was delivering that part to my brain (family reunion episodes would always make me sigh so hard).

But it also made me conscious that you’d rather have a white dad that doesn’t really understand you, that no dad at all like I started. Or being a dad at 15, when episodes were talking about this issue in the black community. All that shit was running in my head while I was listening to harder and harder music (Sepultura 4ever), I guess trying to be as invisible as a black man as I could be in a white world.

So those 30 minutes of blackness everyday for almost a decade were super precious to me. And I knew who Quincy Jones was, that black dude who was making music with Michael Jackson was also producing the show. Nothing in my world was that black and that cool at the same time. And fucking everyone regardless of race loved that show. It made me feel good. It made me have hopes.

And Uncle Phil was awesome. RIP, Mr. Avery. Damn that’s young, pop.

If there’s a paradise, this is probably what James did to Jesus. (Do Not Fuck With Uncle Phil)

Website you ought to check out if you want to know more.

First African-American architect member of the American Institute of Architects in 1923. First certified African-American architect west of the Mississippi.

Orphan at four, he was the only African-American student in his elementary school. That stuff sounds familiar.

Like Chappelle says, “you might not want to be the first nigga to do anything in this world.” Paul did though. Most of his work is things people wanted, not so much what HE wanted. People would fight even with FLW to get what they want so obviously Paul wasn’t going to get lynched for an interior. No black man even today can say “Fuck you, I am the architect” to his clients.

I’m wondering what his output would have been if he had been truly free. I mean he did these:

And a couple other modern stuff. The dude knew his shit. Look at his own house, in Los Angeles:

Far from the classic Spanish or American colonial revival he did so often.

SUPER MASSIVE SIGH OVER RACE AND STUFF.