I can hear the silence buzzing in my ears. It’s a horrible sound. The last words I told her still echo in my head and I slowly feel stupid after I say them. We’re I’m in habit of telling her certain things, sweet things, I suppose, but it all depends on taste. I told her Sweet dreams as we were hanging up. She replied in the same manner.
“Always and only of…” and I held that upward inflection. What was she supposed to say? What was I supposed to say? In the past it would be followed by a you, but now what? Always and only of what we had before all this mess came into our lives? Before the urge to live a new life, a single life? There wasn’t anything I wanted to hear at that moment but I was longing for the you - the me. She always had dreams of me, didn’t she? At least the sweetest ones were of me, right? They were always of her, mostly, usually.
She just said goodnight again. I accepted it because I had done something that I didn’t want to do. This, what we have now, is all that I can expect. I shouldn’t expect more. I wish I could.
Philosopher and I were at Hastings on Friday and I saw this book. Religion has very rarely been a method for me to heal - it hasn’t been one since I was a kid and naive enough to believe that the world was created in only seven days in only a thousand handful of years ago. But Buddhism seems to come more natural to me than any other. I always said if I would allow myself to be naive and believe in something, Buddhism would be my religion.
I should’ve bought it, but I didn’t. Instead I opted for something else - a Soduku book that Jyg and I could share. Something we could do together and prove that two people can be friends despite the break up.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That last time I told her that we were still together and things were going well - well enough to stick it through. And the urge for affection is greatly needed. I’m sick and tired of being the bum friend, the writer with a dream. The person who doesn’t drive because of some inane fears. All these things were fine and perfect when I was a kid, but I’m in the real world now, aren’t I? And the more I start to self-analyze myself, the more I’m convinced that nothing short of an asylum is for me. Somewhere I can be locked up and forgotten.
Or perhaps, I’m just reading into all the shitty thoughts I’ve been having.
El Senor made his way back to the Valley and we hung out today. He drank a coffee and I took a Hot Chocolate - he’s been gone for over a month now, locked up for 30 days for driving while under the influence of acid. He, unlike many men who do crimes and vanished before serving their time, had a Socrates moment and decided to turn himself in and serve so he can clear up all his errors. He couldn’t in the past because he was on probation in Texas, but that ended last year. This trip was planned since.
So we sat there in Coffee Zone, drinking and eating two cookies each, when he asks how my job hunting was going. Badly, I responded and told him about an ad in the Edinburg Review about a part time typist. He nodded and just said it - “You know the problem with us? We weren’t made to work for anyone.”
I’ve often felt like this. I wasn’t made to work for someone else, from the ground up. I always thought of myself as the take charge sort of person. After all, wasn’t that why I decided to run for president of Sigma Tau Delta in 2006?
“Yeah,” I replied.
Before he left, I talked about starting our own editing business, nothing fancy and only for side cash every once in a while because we were going to be facing a lot of challenges in the writing world as the small guys. He said he’d look into it, as well as reopening the Nueva Onda, but only in another location and only if Amado’s willing to go through it again. This time, however, we’d make within the city limits and possibly have a better plan that won’t leave us bleeding money.
Upon his arrival, he was rethinking the business idea. What sells in this country more than anything, despite the economy?
And not just adult movies, but pipes as well. He asked me to join him in this business and - well, fuck, I’m a writer, how can this not be good? - I accepted. I’ll keep you all updated on what happens. Trust me.
I hate Full House and because ABC Family feels they have to torture me with it, I feel the need to do the same to you. At least with that little post there.
However, as I recall, I used to have the biggest crush on Jodie Sweetin growing up. I think I was hooked to the show because of her. Now, I can’t even stand the show and the little girl I adored as a child makes me want to blow my brains out. I suppose it’s not her fault. She never grew up and I did. Now that I think about it this whole post seems wrong.
Because you know, all meth addicts are bored when they started, right? I’m not a big fan of the drug, but I am amazed by how quickly it will deteriorate your life and your body.
Back to the original topic - I think the real reason I can’t stand Full House is because I can’t stand the Olsen twins and feel if that show never existed they would have never been so fucking adorable nor would they be around to this day.
Blah, forget it.
Yesterday was Philosopher’s little girl’s birthday. She three now and I’m in awe, just as I am with the other Munchkins in my life. You never feel as old until there’s a child in your life and I have several with another one on his way in July.
I could return to memory lane about the day she was born and how Philosopher vanished and we went to her house the next day with the Spock shirt because we wanted to know what’s up, but I won’t. Too tired and my mind is on no writing mode.
My father, the man who never had a role in my life, the stranger in the crowd, a phantom of a man, was an alcoholic and, so, by natural psychology, I am at risk of being one. I don’t drink. Never have and I don’t want to. It’s the only goal in my life that I’ve the pleasure to announce I’ve kept. When I was a teen, I never wanted to drink illegally. As an adult, I am the sober man at the party, the loner, the unfunny one, lifeless and devoted to his sobriety. It shocks people to find this out. I’m sure some of you are staring at the screen with uplifted eyebrow questioning my honesty. In fact, the only alcohol I’ve consumed is always a part of a recipe, and never out of a bottle.
This probably puts a lot of people who have read my stories to question them. All my characters drink. They hang out at bars and grow drunk, hating society, becoming shadow men incapable of loving. They drink to regain a certain ease with themselves. To become happier than they have ever been. But it is fiction. The accounts of the characters are neither myself or anyone I know.
And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made
And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “Make it go away!”
Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered “How can you do this to me?”
I lost my cousin to his addiction to alcohol. New Year’s Eve 2003 I went to bed. I woke up in 2004 to hear from my mother my cousin was dead. The medics said he didn’t feel pain. That his neck was snapped the moment he collided with the object he crashed into. The wreck was so bad that his legs had to be amputated. He was cremated, his ashes somewhere, forgotten.
At times, I still find myself thinking he’s not dead. I never saw a body. Never seen the evidence of his death. When I see a chubby guy with a scruff beard, I still think he’s around. I think it’s the guilt of knowing that I was the one that expressed that he wasn’t welcomed in my mother’s home anymore. I wonder if things would be different had I not said that. Would he still be alive?
When Teddy died in 2001, I think I was a little distraught. No one I knew had ever died before, not a friend and never someone my own age. I was in my BCIS class when the announcement that Teddy had not made it. He’d been in a coma for some time and was struggling to live through. I think that was the first funeral I ever attended where I felt this coldness growing in me. From that moment on, I never wanted to be associated with the substance.
I canceled all my friends who were drunks. I promised never to grow to close to them. So when I found out my girlfriend at the time favored the drink, I was distraught. Despite the fact that we probably weren’t made for each other, the one thing that was a constant for me was her passion for the drink. I didn’t want to stand around and watch someone fall into that trap, confusing alcohol for happiness.
Addiction’s held you back
But you don’t care
Cause you’re on a high again
And it’s not fair
Consuming alcohol
While I gotta drive
Take a hit from the drugs you stole
And try to survive
Since your life was over
You haven’t yet been sober
You have held me back so long
Everything you do is wrong
My brother, the middle child, named after my father, following in his footsteps, is also an alcoholic. I’ve seen him in and out of the system since I was a kid. And while I love my brother, I have absolute no respect for him. He’s wasting his life on the bottle. He’s a rotting mess. It depresses me that I don’t know how to talk to him, or what I can say to make this disease leave his body.
And the saddest part of the story is that my brother is painfully aware of his condition but refuses to do anything about it. Alcoholism, like all addictions, is an ongoing battle between the alcoholic and the substance. I’m sure my brother feels like he’s losing his, which was made clear to me when he asked me to kick his ass if he was ever a bad father - he told me this at 7:00 am as he and his friend were still up drinking from the night before. I told him I didn’t have the time and I’ll deal with him after school.
You are one of God’s mistakes.
You crying, tragic waste of skin.
I’m well aware of how it aches,
And you still won’t let me in.
Now I’m breaking down your door,
To try and save your swollen face.
No, I don’t like you anymore
You lying, trying waste of space.
Now I sit here and stare at this screen thinking how I came to this point. After swearing never to care about people who might be headed down the path of a bad addiction, I find myself compelled to take care of a certain person. As I told this person, I don’t want to be up at night fearing that the phone call will be someone telling me of their death. I worry enough about my brother, I don’t need to worry more about someone else.
I just hope that this person seeks comfort in something else instead of drink. That drinking shouldn’t be for the buzz. This, of all things, is now bringing me closer the edge than I have before.
I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you’re drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassions in my nature
Tonight is our last stand
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel
“Ava, you are one hot sexy woman,” exclaims indianmtnman of the Pic Hunter Forum. “I would give anything to be a photographer.”
If you’re not familiar with the alluring Ava Knight, consider yourself both lucky and unlucky. Lucky, because you have better things to do that cavorting on the internet looking for hot, younger women; unlucky because you don’t know what you’re missing.
I found Ava like I find most of my online friends: through LiveJournal. And while the main reason I added her was because she posted photos of herself, keep in mind I didn’t pay close attention to what she would later post. Ava Knight is a self proclaimed, though I can’t find the evidence to back this up anymore, porn star and as her online popularity escalates, more and more men are drawn to her.
With her Flickr account, her Myspace page, her Livejournal and her Wish List, it’s no wonder the girl is drawing so much attention to herself. A Google search alone gives you four hits of the lascivious young model.
But don’t you fret, I know some of you are wondering how this beauty can be anything but innocent. Ava sheds her clothing here.
I was actually hoping to do a better piece of Ava, however, with time as it is an my mind ridden with sickness, I’m afraid this will have to be it. Perhaps, if she reads this, she’d be so kind as to give me an interview. One can hope.
For more Ava Knight visit Sex Wednesdays or, if you’re at work, SFW Wednesdays (this actually has her wishlist posted in a widget form).
Emiliano Diaz de Leon called me yesterday morning to talk about his departure from the Valley, which will happen in June. Emiliano and I met where I met most of my older friends, at the Nueva Onda Poets’ Cafe. I was a writer for The Paper of South Texas at the time and he came up to me and started talking. It seems, and I’m greatly known for this after a reading, I avoided all contact with him before hand. I didn’t do this on purpose, well, at least not to him. Most people who want to talk to me after a reading want to know my genesis and I’m not that sort of writer. At least not yet, or at the time, I should say.
After the usual small talk, Emiliano, business like, got down to the chase. He’s leaving to Austin come June and he wants to leave behind a strong board of directors for the Men’s Resource Center of South Texas. As a nonprofit organization, this means board members should not expect to get paid, which is fine. I need the volunteer work and community service because that looks better on an application to the Peace Corps. However, he also gave me the skinny that they’re looking for a grant writer. Bingo, this is what I needed for that job experience. I’ve talked it over with The Professor in the past and it’s something that I wanted to pursue, however, like with all things in life, experience is needed for a lot of grant writing jobs.
Again, a nonprofit organization who cannot, sadly, pay its staff, which Grant Writer would fall under. Okay, fine. This added community service/volunteer work can fluff up my resume and my application to the Peace Corps. Not to mention give me the experience I need for the profession and an all paid expense trip to Indiana with Emiliano for more information on the “fatherhood” grant. This trip would happen in April with an online meeting at the end of this month, so I need to play catch up as quickly as possible.
I know it’s not the best book on the market, or even the less insulting, but I needed something to give me some sort of insight, and goddamnit! if it’s made for idiots, then surely I can understand it!
That and because it was cheap as sin, so that played a great deciding factor on my decision of buying it.
I’m going to meet up with Emiliano this morning, which means I should really be going to bed instead of writing this blog, so I can see what I’m going to be getting myself in if I take the job of grant writer (which, by the way, is only a 10hr/month job, for seven months). I’m also interested in the board of directors, no doubt, however, this just means I’ll have to find my way to Harlingen every so often.
But we’ll see. The deciding factor is tomorrow because I don’t want to waste the organization’s time with my indecisiveness and my empty wallet.
I wish I were a better news writer, but I’m just too self critical. That and because I think news writing is the lowest piece of literature, right below technical. Not that I look down on these people or anything, but it’s not right for me.
I took a test for teleperformance today. I hated it. Not sure if I passed. And had it not been the fact that I felt like shit, I would’ve stayed for the interview. I scheduled one tomorrow.
I saw Jyg today. I even invited her to my get-together with my friends. We’re having it this Friday at Casa de Binx. It’s not our usual stuff, but we’re celebrating the end of birthday week. Tomorrow’s Binx’s and Thursday is mine. I’ve invited his sister to our function and hope she goes. After all these years of knowing each other, I never knew she was a kindred spirit.
But Jyg coming over was big. It was the hardest thing for me to do. I mean, I love you all, my friends, but no matter how close we are, she’s the only one who has seen what I’ll call my “soul” because I’m feeling metaphorical. It’s the hardest thing to go through when you have no one to talk to because the person you trusted was the one who brought on all this pain. And my absence in her life wasn’t helping her either. I can’t imagine to be the other person right now, seeing the pain of the one you considered the closest person in your life knowing you can’t help it because it was brought on by you in the first place.
I still love her, and I think I always will. But I have to accept the fate I brought upon us. So this I ask of my friends, don’t hate her. Don’t treat her any differently. Don’t think you cannot trust her. She’s the same person she was when we were together.
Just as the title states, I think I maybe a lesbian, but I don’t like the fact that I will never again have a sexual use for my male genitalia. However, I can just be full of shit which is probably more likely.
For those of you horny guys who strolled in here, I’m so sorry to disappoint. I am a male and I do have a penis. And no, I’m in no way gay. I tried the whole let’s-see-if-I-could-write-gay-porn-reviews-for-$400-a-pop (no pun intended) life choice. I watched the porn, puked a little in my mouth and thought, shit, some guys would do pretty fucked up things for money because you know that not all guys willing to suck cock, fuck and be fucked by a guy are gay. Some of them are just as straight as you and me.
But to be a male lesbian is to be something completely opposite. You still have relationships with a female, but you just don’t use your penis to pleasure. Looks like you get the shit end of the stick, hu? I don’t advise any of you to try it, however, for those of you who proudly admit in most jockish voice, “Oh, I’m a lesbian, huh, i like to fuck girls…huh huh,” that’s what you’re proclaiming.
In all reality, I think it’s really not cool, so perhaps I’m not really a lesbian, just going through a lesbian stage so late in my life, because Geb knows that I’m not gay because, yeah, gay sex can be slightly uneasy - not that it’s bad and I prefer lesbians because I’m the almighty straight guy, but because it’s not for me - same thing for lesbian sex, by the way - and blah, I’ve lost my train of thought.
Change of subject. Today I did the unbelievable. I applied for shitty telemarketing job at Teleperformance. I did it to pass the time. I mean, I already pass the time at home, but I get paid for this. And the fact that my mother left me twenty dollars yesterday - injuring my pride - didn’t help my self-esteem for the blow that came next. (As I write this, it is still Monday, by the way.)
Besides, I think I’ve made the decision of going into the Peace Corps. I’ve contacted a recruiter. For those of you who are already thinking I went against your advice, I’m not running away from my problems. I’m not escaping Jyg. I’m not escaping at all. I want this for myself so I can figure out who I am, what I’m here for (non-godly of course, but I still believe people should have a purpose in life, and I can’t seem to find it on my own) and what I’m supposed to do. I love you all, but you know the Valley isn’t for me. I’ve outgrown it. Or perhaps, I didn’t grow at all. Actually, I think everyone around me has grown up but me.
It’s sort of like that clip from Clerks II, where Dante and Randal are driving back to work:
Dante Hicks: Why do the Go-Karts help?
Randal Graves: I don’t know, it just reminds me of a better time in my life.
Dante: Like when?
Randal : Like when we were young and the world was still in front of us.
Dante: We’re not that old.
Randal: I don’t know, man. Sometimes it feels like the world left us behind a long time ago.
Only, I don’t have a partner in the mix. I suppose that would have been the binx had he not grown up before me..
I love my friends. I love the old ones and the new ones and the ones I probably will never meet in the Valley. But you’ve all grown up.
We’ve gone from this (we were never really this stupid, though):
To this (also not really, but you know, I fucking love the Pumpkins, man):
I’m not sure if I’m making myself clear, or I’m just confusing you. I know what you’ll say, but I thought it over. It’s not about running away. It’s about finding my place. So if you don’t have words of encouragement, please just stay silent.
I was watching The L Word earlier and it came across the quote that writers want to experience things first hand. I think this is true, though I’m not sure how much of it is in my case. While I want to see what goes down in the night life at a certain adult video store, I do not want to partake in the sex that may or may not happen there.
And during this break from Jyg, I know I’m supposed to do something drastic like get a job and experience the working world and I have every intention of doing so. However, I think there is more to life than just sitting behind a desk and working for wages, hating every single second of your life because no matter how much you lie to yourself, you aren’t really happy. Money is important in life, I know, you can’t survive without it. But it shouldn’t be what drives you in the morning. Your passions should. I think if things don’t get better with us, and I have this impending fear that they won’t, I’m going to save money and just vanish.
I’m not running away, don’t start with those accusations. I’m simply getting up and leaving to experience something else. Let’s face it. I’m the lone guy now in my group. Everyone around me has surpassed me in life and now it’s left me questioning my future. My three closest friends are either married, married with children or simply have children. That leaves me the only single, childless guy. And while that may not be so bad now, things won’t always be as easy. Kids grow up, becoming a certain age that Friday night outings will fade into obscurity. And I’m not writing this so my friends can feel bad for growing up, because I couldn’t be happier for them. I’m just learning how to accept the fact that we’re not always going to be the same four people we were in the past. And no matter how close we are to each other now, and how close we’ll always be, we have to accept certain fates.
I don’t belong here. I may not even belong to wherever this road leads me. I don’t think I’ll ever belong anywhere. I did once. I did before the break. Before the accidents. Before the depression. Before the children. Before the husbands and wives. But don’t belong here anymore. And I think that’s what is getting me down.
I can’t write, again. This happens every so often when the creative tap has run dry. I think it’s really because I’m bored and I have nothing to write about. I’d go to sleep, but then that would just leave me restless later on tonight. To be frank, I went to be bed pretty early last night. In fact, the moment I got home, I took my shower and then just went to bed, falling asleep before my usual time - way earlier, I may add.
I woke up around 9:30 as usual and I still feel as if I didn’t get enough sleep. And now I just stare at the blank sheets of paper in front of me and I have nothing to write about. I took a stab at working on The Wastelanders, but I just wasn’t interested in continuing the story. I don’t want to discard this draft yet because I think I can go on with it. Speaking of which, when I say draft, I don’t mean the stage of writing it’s in. A draft for me is an elaborate outline (so to speak) and notes I’ve taken down for the story. It contains some description and backgrounds of the characters and setting and a few lines of dialogue.
I’m gonna go read Ten Little Indians now because writing this is still not getting the gears going.
