Friday, July 29, 2011

How can one

This is for Mr. Schwartz.

Sometimes we sit and worry that our current romantic partner is losing interest in us. But, as we sit and ponder we realize that only time and clear communication can unravel these truths.

How can one
for Mr. Schwartz

How can one
Believe in a thing called love
When girls don’t like boys
Just the sparkle of the diamond ring
As it twirls on her manicured finger
He aches to pull the trigger that will
Catch her for eternity

How can one
Believe in what cannot be seen
When love can’t be proven
Just another “taken on faith”
Propaganda infiltrating the speakers
Disintegrating their minds into
Cold disassociations with life

How can one
Believe in the institution
When it calls for sacrifice of
Justice and individualism
Between a man and woman
Who only want to explore,
Adore, and fall in love

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Chocolate Cake!

As you can see from this photo it's crooked and looks deadly. Update later on how it tastes.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Of Humor and Adultery

Some of this story NSFW but this part isn't.

1. Coffee from a street vendor

“One cafĂ©-con-leche con azĂșcar,” Jennie orders as the young woman behind the cart pours her coffee into a 12 oz styrofoam cup.
“You’re really not going to drink that?” Asks a familiar voice behind Jennie.
“Of course I am.” Jennie pays for her coffee and walks out toward the small patio outside her office building. She carefully holds the coffee cup in one hand, while she holds her violet purse close to her body. She moves with the security of a young, impressive TV host, her beige skirt and blazer outlining her body perfectly. “Nolan,” She sees Nolan following her. “Why are you following me? Aren’t you aware that we’re near a media building?”
“Jennie,” Nolan winks and holds her arm. The black of his two-piece suit is a large contrast like the tones of his dark tanned skin and her pale, soft skin. “Isn’t ironic,” Nolan runs his palm over her arm and onto her shoulder, “that this is the only place where the cameras are charging.”
“Idiot.” She says as she pulls her arm free and sits on the wire chair. Nolan takes a chair, places it next to her, and sits. He only sees her when he visits the studio for interviews. He has watched her show before and fell in love with her.
“Jennie,” He whispers into her ear, his lips playfully blow at her light brown hair. He always tries to tease, trying to break her barriers and ease his rumbling heart.
“Can I help you?” She gulps some of her coffee trying to ignore the way his dark brown eyes soften when he says her name.
“Want to be friends?”
“When did you lose your brain? Or better yet, aren’t you still married?”
“Married men can have friends!” He sits up as a producer walks by his attention to his cell phone.
“You’re hopeless.”
Nolan leans in again and whispers, “May I have your number?”
“Why do you play hard…” He asks, enjoying every minute her hazel eyes reflect silent promises.
“I don’t play,” Jennie stands up from the chair after finishing her coffee. She sighs and looks down at the confused Nolan. “I’m following you on Twitter.” She says, “if you follow me we can send messages to each other.”
“Message each other?” Nolan says to himself as he watches her walk away. After she walks two steps, he reaches into his pocket, opens Tweetdeck and sends her a DM.
Love your walk.
Jennie’s phone rings, she pulls it out of her purse, and reads it. She turns her head to him, winks, and waves as she walks back to her office.

Friday, July 22, 2011

All a Dream

It’s all a fucking dream. Noises come and go. They’re fast at first, but they slow down and disappear. Then they return fast and loud as if they were born anxious and ready to destroy. They’re destroying something.
I can’t see it but I can feel it. The last painful thrusts of destruction are the most agonizing of them all. The pain is steady as the noises rampage; the pain accelerates astronomically as the noise subsides. It’s a vicious cycle, and it just doesn’t stop.
So, I say to myself, it’s all a fucking dream.
But those words aren’t loud enough to go over the noise and pain. If this is all a dream, I want to wake up right now.

Last I remember it was Friday. I lit the four tall candles. I repeated the incantation for each candle then I lit 66 candles. Yeah, all 66 candles just like the instruction manual said. After I lit the last candle there was an explosion and then the noise.
And then there was the pain.
This is not a dream.
I wish it were. At least the noise is gone. I can sleep now.

Who are you?
I’m definitely dreaming right now. There’s a red-head giant and a blond elf standing in front of me.
“Yes,” the elf replies, “you’re dreaming.” The elf pokes at my chin. “And, I’m not an elf.”
“Just a tad short,” the giant replies, “and I’m just a tad tall.” The giant grins.

I’m fucking dreaming.
“Yes,” the elf replies, “you’re dreaming.” The elf points at the giant. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“Yes,” the giant replied. “Yes, you did.” The giant looks down at me. “What’s your name boy?”
I’m not a boy!
I’m Erick.
“Erick,” the elf leans over my face. “I’m Tabby.”
Get out of my face!
“So rude,” the giant pulls Tabby away from me. “I’m Ulysses.”
Great, what are you doing here?
Tabby wags her finger. “That’s no way to talk to your elders.” She grins.
Elders my…
“Anyway,” Ulysses puts a hand over my forehead. “We must prepare young Erick.” He looks at Tabby and she nods. Their eyes are dead serious like hot burning granite.
Tabby’s blond hair turns a golden pink. She put two hands over Ulysses’s hand.
An orange light appears as a Tabby recites an incantation. I recognize some of the words. ‘Use these words to call upon the immortal,’ the instructions had said. But, all I had managed was an explosion.

If this was a dream.
The orange light subsided. Tabby and Ulysses aren’t around.

“Small burns,” a nurse paces. A nurse? Hospital, I must be in a hospital.
“Yep,” replies a doctor. “This boy is lucky.”
I’m not a boy. Don’t they know that? They’re a nurse and a doctor. Don’t they read that clipboard or something?
 “We’ll give him another hour to rest before he can receive visitors.” The doctor says as he and the nurse leave my room.
If I was in a hospital, and I was unconscious, how the heck did that strange elf and giant get in here. Tabby and Ulysses, strange people in my room!
I move my right hand and feel a piece of paper.
I can read! I think I can, I raise the paper to my face, squinting to read the bad handwriting.

Dearest Erick,
You are hereby sentenced to trial for malpractice of rituals and magic. You stand trial in 10 days. Agent Tabitha and Agent Ulysses will escort you.
Blessed Be
Magic Council of the North Americas

Malpractice? I was just following the instructions from the book I bought at the old second hand store. If it was a dream, why are Tabby and Ulysses real? If only it was just a dream!

Excerpt from a very experimental story.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Pirate Ring

I had a very strange moment today. I accompanied a friend to K-Mart as she had to get some ridiculously comfortable sandals and a gift for her friend’s birthday. We were loitering around the women’s clothes and I stumbled upon a shirt that looked just like the one I wore on Saturday.

I stood in front of the display thinking to myself:

Gee, this looks just like the shirt I have. I must have gotten it at K-Mart.

I guess I totally forget more things than I think I do. Or, I’m just unfocused on what I’m doing that by the time it’s over I’ve already moved on to the next item. Either way, it was an epic moment. Nothing compares to standing at a store and wondering if you’ve shopped for an item there before. It’s just as epic as waking up one morning and wondering:

I used to own a pretty blue shirt. I wonder where it went.

Or, my other favorite:

I remember doing laundry, but I don’t recall adding laundry detergent. No matter how much I sniff the clothes, I can’t tell if they’re clean or dirty.

I bought a pretty “pirate ring” for 25 cents as we exited K-Mart. I’ll probably wear it until I forget about it. Just like my old ring I used to wear all the time. Life’s too short to remember everything, but sometimes I wonder where all those lost memories go.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Baby Showers

Some women want to have lots of children and raise a wonderful family. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. But, I'm not one of those women.

I'm probably going to enjoy life without children of my own, and spoil all my friends' children with costume jewelry, toy cars, and junk food. I went to my aunt's baby shower today and volunteered to take photos with my uncle's snazzy camera.

Most of the photos are on their Facebook page however, I have one of my aunt before the event on my camera (that I'm going to hide on my external). I also have a picture of the two souvenir-type-ribbons the hostess pinned on my sister and I.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Jewelry Photography

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no photographer. But, I'm the one who volunteered to take photos of approximately 50 pieces of costume jewelry. They're all so beautiful and I wish I owned them all. Most of the pieces are hand-made from Indonesia, however there are a couple from China and Korea.

I got tired of staring at my mini-hand-made studio light and my Kodak Easy Share ran out of battery. So I took a break. These two are one of my more favorite pieces. I'll be putting the final photos up online for sale soon so if you're interested in them just shoot me an email.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Homo Help

It’s not a secret anymore. The world is full of people who are gay-friendly people and homophobes. I had never really met, had dinner with, and hung out with a homophobe until recently. It’s kind of an eye-opener and learning experience, yet at the same time it’s disheartening.

In my disheartened state, and possibly a bit upset, I looked up some gay-friendly websites and articles. To balance out the “hating gay” vibes. I found a really great site, Homo Help, and picked out my favorite tidbits of help. The following are my favorite in order of publication. Yes, I spent a couple of hours reading through all the quotes. It was worth it!

You can’t choose your sexuality, but you can always choose better friends.

People who call bisexuals greedy are just jealous that they don’t get to choose from as many people to sleep with.

Each day you spend not being true to yourself is another missed chance for you to meet a person who will change your life. Coming out isn’t as hard as it seems. We fucking promise.

Why would you want to hang out with someone who doesn’t like gay people anyway? (or lesbians, or bisexuals, or transgenders, or any group of people, for that matter.)

Don’t hate against bisexuals. You can’t end discrimination from others until you end it from yourself.

Bisexuals do not become straight or gay when they start dating someone.

Be proud of who you are. Nobody else could be you as well as you do.

Bisexuality is like a herd of unicorns: fucking awesome.

The only thing harder than coming out is spending your life lying about who you are. Only you can decide when you’re ready to come out, but remember that things can’t get better until you do.

You can’t be unique without being you.

You are never trapped where you live. Even if you have to wait a few years, you will one day be able to move to a place where you will be happy.

If you like someone before you find out that they’re gay, why does it have to be different afterwards?

MM 11 July 2011

a short one this week

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Dylan Hair

I was sitting in the salon waiting for my friend to get a hair trim. I sat on the broken chair, holding a Rolling Stone magazine from May. I flipped through the pages, read a couple of headlines. Laughed at the Ozzy column, then I stumbled upon the Bob Dylan feature. It turns out Bob Dylan and I have similar hair.

Taco Heaven

Taco heaven at mini mexico.

Certified 4 AM Rambler

Today is a very special day. Today marks the “6th attempt” to submit a work for publication. Yeah, six attempts is hardly an outrageous number, unless you’re me. See, I don’t even know how I convinced myself to submit to other magazines. I’ve always wanted for people to submit to MY magazine instead. Because, that’s why I have a magazine. For people to submit their wonderful work and for me to read it.

Regardless, one thing led to another (multiple lectures on submitting my work to magazines, fellowships, residencies, MFAs, and agents) and thus I started submitting to places. So far, one of my short stories got accepted and all of my poetry got rejected. Tough luck for me!

I’m not ready to give up yet because if I do I’m going to get the “at your age you can do this-this-and-that” lecture that involves more pushing to submit to magazines, fellowships, residencies, workshops, MFAs, and agents. But, that’s exactly what hard-headed writers need.

We need someone who’s in the business to hit us over the head with quotes from some dead author’s journal, a list of authors to research (with quizzes!), a list of magazines to look through, and most definitely a good-old-pep-talk.

“I believe in you and want you to succeed.”

That’s all it takes. I remember when I confided in a couple of friends that I wanted to be a writer. I said something like “I think I want to be a professional writer.” Which led me to explain that I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to make money out of writing, I just want to write.

I devoted a lot of my childhood to “not wanting to argue and cause trouble” with my family that I used writing as my outlet. I have dozens of lost angry pages written in illegible cursive because the thoughts ran faster than my hands. Then, I worked 800% to give up writing.

800% wasn’t enough and thus the words crept back to haunt me. That was at first, now… I can’t go a week without writing. It’s like I’m a bottle lost at sea with a message so garbled that it jumps around in the bottle and if not opened the bottle explodes into a rant (oh dear I’m ranting), story, or poems. The more I try to quit writing the more drawn to writing I become.

Does this make me an impractical editor? Or just a stubborn writer? I've only started submitting to magazines after a whole year of weekly lectures on submitting to magazines. I still don't feel like I have a winning manuscript, but it's not about pleasing an editor. It's all about writing.