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I finished Bangkok Tattoo this morning. The idea of a detective aiming to find balance between the world of criminals where he works and the world of spiritual enlightenment where he aims to dwell was the perfect motivating factor for me on this fine day, the first out of the last eight when I'll be able to concentrate on my own work before I'm off to see the kiddies.

There are always rewards for our periods of struggle. But conversely you have to struggle to appreciate rewards. Making the decision to take any road less traveled is a choice of throwing most instant gratification out of the window. As I now refuse to live a life where I'm trying to be anyone other than Kenji, chasing after trinkets and debauchery to ease the pain of living in a fucked up world only ends in blown dough and repetitive laments in cyberspace. The last time I really meditate I found myself staring at me as an infant looking towards someone. Just last week I came across the photograph of me that resembled what I had seen in my head almost a year ago.

It looks like the WGA strike is finally over by the way. So I just might be able to make money again. A second pass and a polish of this script and another look at my last one and I'm hoping that God and orisha will put me in the winner's box for the first time in a long while. So much of my antsiness has come from that Jimmy McNulty feeling of being stuck on harbor patrol when I'm supposed to be working murders. Maybe now some fresh bodies will start piling up for me to pin killers to.

Hence I am now using The Secret, the keyboard and the ikin to see a future where Negarra and I are doing lamb chops with my signature whiskey sauce, Prosecco and maybe some Vietnamese eel cooked in bamboo (I've been watching too much Anthony Bourdain). Or would it be lobster, grits, kale and champagne for a nice Sunday brunch? Dreams of a celebration to be can always relieve the monotony. But right now, I gotta go to work. Out.