Constancies

One girl I feel like I'm holding back from her full potential, while the other I urge to move forward. One I hold on to dear life, while the other I tell her she can find someone better, someone who'll give her all she wants in life and all she deserves.

How can I tell my friend she deserves better when I don't even give better to the one I love?

May cause some insanity

Paranoid. Struggled with my own sanity. Focus man, focus. Half of my life I wanted to please you and keep you happy. I want to love you the way I did in the past. Now you're just broken and I'm the one who dropped you. I'm sorry. I really am.

Artistic indifference

I should've gone out for photography (some material NSFW; sign up might be necessary).

Suicidal

Sometimes, I feel like just killing myself. The only thing that stops me, however, is a simple question: Who will piss off people if I killed myself? It's really counterproductive.

The Final Days

Today is one of those days when life is just not worth living. I'd like to imagine a girl out there, several miles away, thinking the same thing. I'd also like to imagine her hanging herself. What's more morbid is, I secretly want this girl to live next door to me.

Father

My father isn't an enigma. There isn't really anything to understand. He loved my mother and he loved his children, it's just that he loved his addiction more. A day that doesn't go by when I don't reflect on one thing: No matter how much I try, I can never live down the fact that I am just like him - a man who hangs onto his addictions no matter what.

Disagree & pseudo celebrity

Guy in front of me at the courthouse auditorium looked a lot like Judge Reinhold. Apparently, however, Hidalgo County doesn't think that online college courses are exemptable excuses. Because, as the deputy district clerk said, "They can be taken whenever." Wrong, missy. Like all courses, online classes have a time frame for quizzes and tests. Fucking idiots.

Teeth

Horrible dream: I was eating some sort of food substance when my teeth began to crack and fall out. I picked out the shards with my fingers. I know I have terrible teeth - it's no secret - but I hope to at least keep the ones that aren't broken.

Marijuana St. Blues

The problem with today's culture is that the media lies to us. Not news networks, no. That's not the media in question: Television ads are. It's one thing to make a quick buck conning a few stupid people, but to con people who are at their last string in hopes to beat a disease that is slowly killing them is just immoral.

There is a third in this category, however. Public Service Announcements (PSAs) are supposed to be informational and not filled with misinformation, am I right? You wouldn't expect a PSA from the tobacco company stating that their cigarettes are, in fact, good for your health and might even allow you to live longer, would you? No. Plain and simple. So when a government entity allows PSAs filled with misinformation about cannabis usage and its effects, aren't we being a little hypocritical?

In no way am I suggesting that teenagers should be allowed to spark up a joint. Unlike with tobacco and alcohol, the long term effects from cannabis are very low, in fact, healthier (in comparison). I say that the Above the Influence PSAs should be removed from television and the organization behind them should rethink the concept.

Shot

It was suppose to be something exciting yesterday, but it wasn't. Wasn't anyone's fault, really. Jyg was in pain, feeling rather sick and Monica had oral surgery that morning. However, for a birthday, even though it wasn't exciting and I had all this energy that just wasted away, I still had a good time.

I want to write a male response to this

Not against it, no. Merely, writing a response to it from a male's prospective. A homage, if you will.

Fish for Lent

In a place made up mostly of Catholics, one would think that putting up a sign that reads "Fish for Lent" or "Tuna for Lent" would be asinine. Apparently, Subway didn't get that memo, or have any rational people working for them.

Men with Women

El Senor and I were coming home from Art Expressions (in McAllen, TX), when the conversation of relationships came up. In short: We're two men - assholes - who are lucky enough to have two women who love them.

A good teacher

I learned my high school freshmen theatre arts teacher died in a bus accident in Mexico. The news, even though I haven't spoken to him in years - and I'm certain he didn't really care much for me - still depresses me.

Visual Effects

What part of us survived the car crash that was our love? I hear your voice, it sounds only vaguely familiar.

Forgetting the past

How exactly do you want me to forget my past? Photos, like relics in a museum, are just the visual effects. Throwing them away merely erases the evidence, not the memories. I've been to places, seen other people. I cannot live my life apologizing for not "letting go," when I have let go. I am with you: You are the victor. The rest are simple memories. You cannot ask me to erase them.

One thing before I go to bed

What is the deciding factor when it comes to love?

Morally Blank World

It is not God who kills the children. Not Fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. [...] Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.

Watchmen

Lack of faith in me, isn't it? That's why she breaks up with me. Lack of faith in myself leads me down to the point where I can't love myself either. I wonder if it's her doing. If she's the reason I hate myself? Or maybe there's something more that I'm not seeing.

The world is decrepit. Dying on the street with pollution, crime, politics - capitalism - a human cancer that spreads across its body. Soon the trees will be replaced with factories spewing smoke into the sky. The asshole with the Hummer drives too fast. I can only imagine him hitting a kid, his kid, and then blaming the industry for his stupidity.

Weren't we promised changed? A child-rapist gets off because he confesses? Are we now living a world there slaps someone on the wrist for something so heinous? He's punishment includes being restricted where he can and cannot go or live. Cheap shot punishment. Fry the fucker.

When the tumor is visible, shouldn't we cut it out? Treat it? Wipe the body clean of it?

Meanwhile, the child is forever scarred. Her nightmares are filled with his deeds. Where's a Rorschach when we need one?

The Girl

A speech. They knew that beside beside is colored like a word beside why there they went. That is a speech. Anybody will listen. What is romantic. I was astonished to learn that she was led by her head and her head was not with her head her head was leading when her heart stood still. She was certain to be left away with them. Dear Christian you are very sweet without hope. Hope is for you.

Gertrude Stein, How to Write.

The girl is self-conscious. She needs to be treated right. In the mornings, before going to school, she dresses in front of a mirror. She wants to make sure that she is beautiful enough for the world. Wouldn't you like to hold her and whisper, "It's okay?"

Stepping stone

The Lover Pleads with His Friend for Old Friends

Though you are in your shining days,
Voices among the crowd
And new friends busy with your praise,
Be not unkind or proud,
But think about old friends the most:
Time's bitter flood will rise,
Your beauty perish and be lost
For all eyes but these eyes.

W.B. Yeats, A Poet to His Beloved: The Early Love Poems of William Butler Yeats

Feeling blue. Is that cliche? Feeling blue? Spent most the time wandering and wondering around the house. I felt wasted. Defeated, even. Smoking was something I longed to do. I have an addictive personality - I've only smoked a few times in my life, all about 10 or so years ago. Sad, ain't it?

I miss my friends. Can't get over what was said. I feel I should apologize. I feel I should make amends rather than burning bridges.

Waiting is the hardest part

I don't know if I did it wrong, or if the wait is longer than I anticipated. Either way, I'm growing anxious.

Restless mind

Close to four. I'm not sleepy. I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight. I'm going to attempt.

Fragmentary

Last night a friend and I had a talk about our loneliness. It can be summed up in a sentence: "We're a couple of assholes, you and me."

Another friend and I had drifted. It's mostly my fault. Our minds used to be so in sync. Now I'm sure we couldn't play rock paper scissors and land on the same item.

One friend asked me why it was we don't talk or hang out anymore. My response was simple, "Because you got married."

Times change, I suppose. And I can't seem to let the past go. Why can't I return to childhood and start all over again?

It's been four years now

I don't drive. I still get a kick out of it when people freak out that I don't drive. That doesn't mean, however, that I've never been in a car accident. It was four years ago. Jyg and I were in the car going to pick up her little sister, when a truck decided to dart in front of us. We, what the doctors at Edinburg Regional called, were in a T-bone.

When we made impact, I didn't close my eyes. Sometimes at night, I still have nightmares about it.

Girls on the side

"How to Kill a Cheerleader" is the title (well, working title) to the YA piece I've given myself to write. It probably won't stick because it has nothing to do with the plot, but I liked it because it's catchy. I read in a magazine (and I've been told by a few of my writing mentors) that I have to write outside of my comfort zone. YA is out of my comfort zone. Hopefully, it won't suck.

While penning out the idea, the first draft, I thought about all the girls I had crushes on in high school. I wasn't your typical guy, I suppose. The only cheerleader I had a crush on was in my senior year and she was a freshman. She wasn't your cheerleadery type - it was more of a thing her parents forced her in as she wanted to play guitar in a band (as she later did in life). No. The girls I liked were more social outcasts, except one. I won't go into that story.

Seductions

There wasn't any intimacy with the first one, only random pecks on the lips and cheeks, hugs and holding hands. The second one was a pure imagination. There wasn't a physical connection, nor a metaphysical one; we were together for the sake of being so. The third one was driven by anger; she was angry with the world and I was angry with myself; we hugged, fucked, showed affection in public places - fucked in public places - but in the end there was no passion, just angry thrusts of our bodies. The fourth one was sexual - blow jobs in the back seat of her parents SUV, fucking in pools, hand jobs in theaters - but still we were angry - most of our sexual escapades started with fights of jealous rages, mostly by her; she was a control freak and I was a megalomaniac and these two forces of self-destructive people can never end well; we never attempted to love each other more than those moments when we were wrapped naked underneath sheets. The fifth one was intimacy; I've never made a solid human connection that made me regret my past mistakes; she became my balance; we made love rather than fucked; I settled down, I fought for her; kisses on the nape of her neck, behind her ears, gently and passionately upon her lips; I felt safe with her, I still do.

There are two others. Somewhere in the midst of the fourth one, there was her. We'd speak silently at night as if someone were to walk in our conversations. We never kissed, though we longed to. We never touched, though our bodies ached for it. And just once, and only once, did we whisper I love you when it was too late. The other one was a close friend of mine. Re-education was involved. While her body was familiar, the sense of intimacy upon it was foreign. Like a coward, I shied away, ending what could've been.

The reason I write as my artistic medium

Said to my mother at Barnes & Noble, 7 March 2008:

"I don't have to patience to do this [art]. You have to have an amount of patience to paint, sketch, alter books, mixed media. I don't have that patience. I don't have patience. You rush through it and you just wasted paper or canvas. That's why I like writing. If you fuck it up the first time, you have a second draft that lies ahead. You fuck that up, you have another draft. Go through as many drafts as necessary until you get it right. That's why I use writing is my art of choice."

Photographs

The only photographer I've ever been with was in high school. We weren't intimate. We didn't read our bodies like poetry. Never touched each other with a deliberate hand. I never asked her if the reason she like being behind a camera was owed to the fact that she wasn't in front of it. I wonder if I could recall what it felt like to kiss her, and how I rejected open mouth kissing because I felt I was bad at it. I also felt that I didn't love her. We never really love our first loves, do we?

Of Remorse & Poetry

My Secret Identity Is

The room is empty,
And the window is open

Charles Simic, The World Doesn't End

Last night, I read a poem by Yeats. It's from the only Yeats book I own. A Poet to His Beloved. The one poem that stands out for me the most is on page 14, "When You Are Old."

Last night, I spoke to a friend about emotions. We're both emotional wrecks. I used to show my emotions better, but lately I've isolated myself. How does one expect a simple apology to undo all the wrongs caused by his hand?

Afterthoughts

"We're a couple of assholes, you and me."

Damn thoughts of mine

This time last year

This time last year, I wanted to commit suicide. I was pathetic and suicidal. Now I'm just pathetic. I can live with that. I've accepted it. At least I have someone who loves me. It's the little things that make life seem worth it.

Office Mess

This is one of those I-need-a-digital-camera moments.

I applied with West at Home. I don't know what will happen now. I just need to do something that pays me, while I write for free - as it would seem these days. Again with the self-pity.

I looked around my study. I have everything I shouldn't have in this room. A television. Well, just the TV. Well, just the TV and a messy desk space. The website says it has to be well-cleaned - taken care of. This is why I needed a camera. I wanted to take a picture of my messy desk. I suppose I could use my camcorder - I do have a camera there, but the resolution sucks when it comes to photos and I don't feel much like uploading a video either. I can't have a camera unless I find a job. I can't score a job without cleaning up my act. I can't clean up my act because I have the urge to record my mess. I can't record my mess because I don't have a camera. I can't have a camera unless...well, you see where this is going. Damn vicious cycle.

I should really learn to edit

I picked up last year's copy of The Rectangle from the Sigma Tau Delta cubicle. I picked up a copy of The Sigma Tau Delta Review as well. In 2007, I submitted a story that was rejected. No qualms about it. Perhaps I should've edited a bit more, or tone down the language. Maybe split the story in two like I recently did.

There's a story in The Rectangle that caught my attention. "Eighteen" by Alyssa Kopanyi. I've read this story before - I knew what was going to happen and what happened before the story began. Left me wondering why on earth this got published but mine didn't. Then again, it was probably well edited - though I did make mental notes in my head that may have made the story slightly better - wording wise, not story wise. And even though I knew where the story was going, I still read it. That says something, I suppose.

Johari Window

Arena (known to self and others) introverted, searching, silly, tense	Blind Spot (known only to others) accepting, calm, caring, clever, complex, dependable, energetic, extroverted, friendly, happy, intelligent, knowledgeable, logical, loving, mature, observant, trustworthy, wise, witty
Façade (known only to self) nervous, shy	Unknown (known to nobody) able, adaptable, bold, brave, cheerful, confident, dignified, giving, helpful, idealistic, independent, ingenious, kind, modest, organised, patient, powerful, proud, quiet, reflective, relaxed, religious, responsive, self-assertive, self-conscious, sensible, sentimental, spontaneous, sympathetic, warm

Dominant Traits

66% of people think that BBEP is complex

All Percentages

able (0%) accepting (16%) adaptable (0%) bold (0%) brave (0%) calm (16%) caring (33%) cheerful (0%) clever (16%) complex (66%) confident (0%) dependable (16%) dignified (0%) energetic (16%) extroverted (16%) friendly (33%) giving (0%) happy (16%) helpful (0%) idealistic (0%) independent (0%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (50%) introverted (16%) kind (0%) knowledgeable (16%) logical (33%) loving (33%) mature (16%) modest (0%) nervous (0%) observant (16%) organised (0%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (0%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (33%) self-assertive (0%) self-conscious (0%) sensible (0%) sentimental (0%) shy (0%) silly (16%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (0%) tense (16%) trustworthy (16%) warm (0%) wise (16%) witty (33%)

Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 10.3.2009, using data from 6 respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view BBEP's full data.

Birthday

It's probably my ninth or tenth birthday. I am happy. I have friends. I haven't grown up to be the disappointment, yet. I haven't hurt anyone, broken their hearts yet. Innocent, young me. My only crime is not knowing the person I'd grow up to be. Sorry kid.

Ten days until my 26th birthday and what have I accomplished? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Rather than doing something, I seem to bury myself in self-pity and expect the rest of them to fall in line. Our tradition of birthday week - which started in 2003 when Binx, D. and I started to hang out - is finally over. There won't be one this year because a rift has formed. Binx and I will still celebrate our birthdays - his is the day before mine - but D. is pretty much out of the equation in my life. To cure the ailments, one must remove the poison. I've vowed to remove all poisonous people from my life. There's only room for one self-destructive megalomaniac and he's writing this post.

The God Who Closed His Eyes

Saw Watchmen on Saturday. The movie didn't disappoint, at least not those of us who know the deeper meaning. Afterward, at Barnes & Noble, I purchased Watchmen and Philosophy: A Rorschach Test - the book follows the events in the graphic novel (well, as far as I've read), rather than focusing on the film. So far, none of the writers have actually touched on Dr. Manhattan as the god who closed his eyes when he zips off to Mars. Maybe it's brought up later in the book, or maybe no one wanted to make the argument. Either way, the book's good. The movie's great. But the original graphic novel is the best.

Egg Shells

I'm not sure if I'm an unstoppable force or an unmovable object. Not sure if it even really matters.

Lately I've been feeling lackluster and depressed, my life meaningless. I don't mean to be "emo" but that's how I feel. However, there are times - like today, for instance - when a sudden force pushes up from deep inside me and I feel jovial, if even for a minute. And in that lone minute, I treasure her.

It was a good thing

I can no longer separate fiction from fact. After a while, living in a world you created and designed, you tend to forget who you are. I know this is who I am becoming, but I hope I'll get passed it.

On my list

A job would be nice. I need to work a steady job rather than attempt this freelance crap. I need things - more like want things, but there are things I need. I need a place of my own. I need transportation. I need a clear goal and future. I want a typewriter (like the one posted above). I want a digital camera. I want to start my life with someone.

Three kids - two girls and a boy - just came to my house while I was writing this post. They came to see Fat Mike, our pet iguana. I don't personally like kids that aren't related to me. These kids smelled funny. I'm sure they thought the same about me. Exercising tends to do that to a guy.