I’ve been absent from blogging, haven’t I? It’s because there’s nothing much going on in my life and what is going on is difficult for me to talk about without wanting to curl up and bawl like a child. I suppose it’s not exactly the imagine on has of a guy, but I’ve never been a stranger to let my emotions overwhelm me. It takes a tougher man to let them out than to be cowardly and keep them in, right? Well, I’ve never been one for being manly or tough or whatever, and cowardliness is my practice. I don’t know now to ask for emotional support even when it’s offered to me on a daily basis. This year’s been shit from being hurt to hurting to all the other shit I’ve done that wasn’t nice or cool or proper. I’ve been quite the bastard this year, more so than any year that proceeded it. In fact, I can almost say my years with my ex were better than this year.
That’s all beside the point. My mother is going into surgery this week, Thursday to be exact. In my shit life, she’s always been a constant and I suppose that’s to be expected from a good mother, right? And I guess it’s that whole child’s approach of thinking your parents are indestructible and superman-esque. They can surpass anything and everything, but when realization hits you like a ton of bricks, you are left stricken that parents, too, are human and anything is possible. Jyg did the research that I wasn’t willing to because I’d rather not know what my mother will be going through. She said that most patients stay within the hospital for three days after the surgery. And I plan on staying all three with her and more if I have to.
The surgery comes in the week before the Xmas lunch/dinner that my mother and I host. My brothers divided the holidays since there are three of us and three of them. Older brother gets Thanksgiving, I get Xmas and the middle child gets New Years’. This year my mother planned early on what we’re going to do an whether or not she’ll be able to cook. I’ve limited to no, she cannot and she will probably only supervise and I’ll do most of the cooking. I have enlisted Jyg, my older brother, my sisters-in-law, my nephews and possibly niece to aid me in making the main course of the meal and I’ll work on the side dish. We’ll be having the lunch/dinner regardless of my mother’s condition (she wouldn’t want it any other way).
But things will be alright. I keep telling myself this but sometimes my words don’t reach my own ears. I don’t like to think of the what ifs. I really don’t.
I had a vision I could turn you right
a stupid mission and a lethal fight
I should have seen it when my hope was new
my heart is black and my body is blue
And I’m losing my favourite game
you’re losing your mind again
I had this dream the other night that caused me some discomfort. It’s wasn’t too good of a dream. It’s waning down to the 18th. Want to know what’s wrong with me? People tell me that sometimes when you’re at your lowest you have to reach out for help. What if you’ve never been good at reaching out to others but don’t want to be left alone? It doesn’t matter, right? I’ll manage.
My mother’s going into surgery later this month. It irks me. This is the woman who just took care of me over a month ago after my surgery and now the roles will be switched again. She needs the surgery, but because she’s diabetic, I’m worried. I worry a lot these days. I feel replaced and misplaced at times. My mother’s surgery is just the worry of the now. I feel incomplete in a rather completed cycle. Was anyone else left amaze at my turning back and running? I wasn’t it. I’m wont to let go of the past. That’s who I let people down. I’m prone to be a let down. Don’t contradict me, it won’t work.
So here’s to 2008, the goddawful year and a horrible experience that I never want to remember again. I hope to never look back on this year as anything but major disappointment save Barack Obama’s success. If anything, the country speaking for change has given this year a silver lining.
Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons, destined
to be shit out through wholesome
American guts.
Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.
Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.
Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.
Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.
Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.
Thanks for the KKK.
For nigger-killin’ lawmen,
feelin’ their notches.
For decent church-goin’ women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.
Thanks for “Kill a Queer for
Christ” stickers.
Thanks for laboratory AIDS.
Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.
Thanks for a country where
nobody’s allowed to mind the
own business.
Thanks for a nation of finks.
Yes, thanks for all the
memories– all right let’s see
your arms!
You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.
Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams.
Today, while you’re eating your bird or tofu subsitute, think about what today should really stand for. Think about the families torn assunder by a needless war. Think of the children orphaned by our terrible and downright god awful leader. Think about the homeless who wander the street in search for their next meal. Think about all the things we take for granted.
And after you think about all the wrong in the world, you can truly and finally count your blessings. Because without the ugly rearing its head into our lives, we might not stop and take a look at all the beauty. So enjoy today in any mannerism you choose to and be happy with what you have – be thankful for good health, good times and future blessings.
There’s a lot of debate again in various blogs about internet porn. I’m not sure if that debate ever really died down, but there’s a lot of hate going around by people who think porn is a danger to our society. And that last sentence is going to drive a lot of people to probably comment (if they read it) on how it is the seed that causes rape, that distorts real relationships and so on and so forth. I have to, however, disagree greatly because what they’re saying is what someone else said in the past and they’re just repeating like parrots on the shoulder of their one-eyed master (trust, I meant no pun by this, although, it would be something I would say).
So, is pornography a danger to our society? Unless porn is out there holding guns to the backs of rapists forcing them to submit women and take them any which way, the answer is a flat out no. Does rape exploit women? Again, unless producers are holding guns and making women take it every which way, the answer once again is no. Does it distort the minds of young Americans about sex? That’s a gray area. A lot of people like to blame the mass media for our problems. School shooting? Let’s blame Marilyn Manson and a few movies. Girl gets raped? Oh, that must be the influence of pornographic movies. But what about priests molesting altar boys? What then do we blame? The only thing they touch, theoretically, is the Bible. Does the Bible practice underage sex? (Please, don’t answer that.)
You can’t go around telling the government to remove sex from the internet because your children well get to it. The government isn’t your babysitter. It isn’t an entity that is supposed to wipe clean your house of filth. That is your responsibility. If you don’t want your child watching porn online, then take the measures yourself. Buy some parental control software to hinder this from happening. That’s way simpler than whining online, signing petitions. Or you could do the old fashion thing, oh I don’t, be a parent for a change.
All these people come around and they want someone else to raise their kids. They don’t want their kids to learn about safe sex in school, yet don’t bother to sit down with them and tell them it’s better to wait than to jump the gun. This isn’t the 50’s, by the way. Sex is everywhere and if you prevent your child from learning the precautions, you’ll wind up like Sarah Palin and nobody wants to wind up like Sarah Palin – she’s a fucking moron!
But I digress.
My mother said something to another parent, or perhaps my aunt or some relative about my choice in music. My mother used to buy me Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Korn, pretty much anything with a parental advisory sticker on the jewel case. When asked why she allowed me to listen to such filth, she simply said, “If I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This left me with very little to rebel against. Now, I’m not saying you should just let you whatever-teen year old kid look at smut online; I’m just saying, you should put down the work responsibilities and be a parent once in a while.
My mother also once told me that a person who doesn’t have time to do a hobby – she said garden as we were talking about a mother of one of my relationships – then you’re spending too much time working. My mother is far from a lax person. She’s worker and I wonder why it is that didn’t rub off on me. She works hard and works long hours, but she always finds to do things she loves to do. And one of those things was being my mother. She didn’t look to the government to raise me and what I can and cannot watch, she did it herself. Call her old fashion (she’s been a mother since the 70’s), but she was far better a parent than the ones who whine about internet porn (which she’s against, but doesn’t think it should be removed).
And gray area, in which distorts the values of adult relationships, is what most people like to fling at others who support pornography. If you cannot tell the difference between reality and fantasy, then you have serious issues to look into. It’s unhealthy and has nothing to do with porn itself. Seriously, there are people who commit suicide because a WoW character was killed off. There are people who go to shopping malls and for no apparent reason, start shooting it up. There was even one guy who had a car chase because he loved video game. That is unhealthy. It has nothing to do with parenting or viewing things; it has to do with how one’s mind works.
Now I’m not saying pornography is healthy. It is, in small doses. There’s a whole theory behind addiction that Marilyn Manson (yes, I’m using him) wrote in his book. If you’re using drugs (cos that’s what he wrote) and you’re paying for them, guess what! you’re addict. Chuck Klosterman said something about drug addiction and CD jewel cases. If there is ever a chance that you simply don’t care about which CD case you grab to snort coke, then you’re addict. I think the same rules apply with pornography. If you’re willing to buy it rather than just get off on some porn website that holds free videos, or getting off to really fucked up porn, then I’m sorry, you, sir or ma’am, are an addict and should seek help.
It’s possible to get addicted to several things. Porn is not just the ugly head that rears into our lives. There’s other addictions. Some of them are perfectly legal, such alcohol and cigarettes. Those cause way more harm than pornography does to our society. I have an addiction to books. It’s harmless, the only thing that suffers is my bank account. I also have an addiction to caffiene. It only harms my body. I’ve heard people who have addictions to masturbation and don’t use porn. There are a lot of things that cause addictions and problems in our society – are you going to outlaw all of them? Good luck.
We live in a land where people are free, just as long as they don’t hurt anyone, involve a child in it, or a beast, to do what they want. That’s the joy. That’s the pride. We can take safety of knowing we can look online and see several naked women or men doing things we only fantasize about. And that’s the key world. It’s fantasy. Again, not saying it might not cause a problem, but just as long as you can avoid getting hit by a fucking car, you can avoid getting addicted. Small doses, remember?
So let’s go over this, shall we? People should stop looking at the government to do their parenting. Parents should parent, end of story. Now, I know for a fact that some kids, teens, are looking at porn. Get parental software. However, like dear old mother knew, your kid will gain somehow. And this is where being a parent pays off. Talk to you kids about sex. Talk to them soon. Tell them the difference between fantasy and reality. Tell them how porn isn’t made for them. Tell them and set boundaries.
My dreams are humble, lean as arrows
Streetwise, ready, and fair
As we bum rush the ages tied to the rails
On high seas not fit to be sailed
Whatever we’ve taken does feel like heaven
But baby, we just look like hell
I keep having the same dream where one of my two frontal teeth falls off. The dreams feels so real that I can feel the sting shooting through my gums and can feel the empty space where a tooth once clung to with my tongue. This is probably the dream I’ve been having for most of the month, off and on.
I woke up early today, not because of the dream, but because I fell asleep way earlier than I normally do. It felt nice to see the sunrise rather than feel the pangs of its rays as they intrude into my room. I got up and made sure both of my frontal teeth were there, sighed and went to brush them. Thankfully dreams are just that.
I need to clean my study. Books are piled everywhere. I also need to clean my room. Sometimes I wish I could just be organized, but that’s a dream in of itself. A cooler weather pushed in and it makes me want a cigarette. I never habitually smoked in my entire life. I’ve never done anything habitually. An occasional cigarette in high school, but the moment I turned 18, that pretty much died off. But now, all I’m thinking is I want a cigarette and a cup of coffee – two things I deeply hate the taste of, yet they go so well together. Once, a few years back, I was at the beach with my mother and my aunt and cousins from Midland, Texas. My aunt made coffee and I took a cup because I need a strong caffeine in take and coffee was already made available.
My mother saw me drown the cup in sugar and milk because I couldn’t stand the taste of black coffee. After a moment, I said, “This tastes of cigarettes.”
“How do you what cigarettes taste like?”
Mind you, my mother’s care had ceased to exist in the sense of I was now 19 or 20 by the time this incident happened. But nonetheless the crimes were committed before I turned 18. I felt a little busted but I told her that it was something I did back in high school. It didn’t matter much because I hated the taste of them and I probably wouldn’t pick it up again – my grandfather, her father, was a habitual smoker and wouldn’t ceased even has his life depended on it.
However, I never smoked at parties with my friends. I hated smoking for the sake of smoking more than the thought of smoking itself. What I mean is, sure I smoked with my friends once in a while (actually in a huge span between each cigarette), but I never did it because I thought it made me look cool. I did it because I thought normal kids had to rebel in some way against their parents and because my mother was so lax with rules, I didn’t have much to rebel against. So sex, cigarettes and drugs was pretty much what I can do. But neither of them seemed like much fun because there wasn’t any punishments awaiting for me other than a look of disappointment.
Perhaps I should add that I was the family’s last hope. My oldest brother graduated high school, but never went off to college. The middle brother, in true middle child stereotype, fell hard into drugs and dropped out of high school. And me, I was the last chance. I wasn’t about to fuck things up.
The incident I was coming to before that break was one that happened at a high school party. I didn’t have much of a social life in high school because I kept it that way. I loved my friends, but I didn’t want to deal with them after school. I never went out except for a few times where I usually called mother to pick me up because I was so pissed off at my friends for their drug ridden ways. But my first party was a Halloween party and I felt that I should appear for two reasons. 1.) I love Halloween and 2.) because I didn’t want my mother to think I was a strange kid for not doing anything with my friends, and the same goes for my friends. I suppose, I wanted to be a normal kid who did what other normal kids did.
The party was at a friend’s apartment that smelt like cat shit which was explained the moment I saw the shit mountain in a much neglected litter box. The party was mediocre at best when it started until the plague got there. The plague was a group of four people, three of which were sleeping with each other. And because I have to assume that they don’t read my blogs or even remotely remember me, I’ll name them. The plague was comprised of Danny, Lucky, Ruben (the threesome) and Denis.
I was in my friend’s bedroom with Josh and Jorell talking things over when the threesome part of the plague entered the room and started talking. They had brought the booze and drugs to the party which was the beginning of the end for me. Because no matter what I thought I could put into my body, there wasn’t a chance in hell that alcohol was going to be one of them.
Upset by the turn out, I decided it was time I called my mother to pick me up because I didn’t want to be there anymore. After calling her, I sat back on the bed beside Josh, who was doing his best to avoid Danny’s homosexuality. My mistake was that I sat too close to Ruben, who was now in front of me. And in true plague fashion, he unzipped his pants and told me to suck it.
I had met Ruben before he was infected by Danny. I had met Lucky and Denis as well. I even met Danny before all this business. They were all great people (well, not the best people, but also not the sort of people who ask you to give them a blow job for no apparent reason, either). But Danny was the first to fuck it up and in true asshole fashion, he opted to take everyone down with him. But Ruben wasn’t that great of a person either, to begin with. He was awkward at best and him asking me to suck his cock wouldn’t be the first time he’d pissed me off.
I got up and left the room.
As I was pushing through the hall, Denis came inside from smoking. He grabbed and said, “Willie, I’m sorry.”
Bewildered, I looked at Denis. I have never heard him utter an apology in the time I’d known him, which stretched back to elementary CCD courses.
“About?”
“Your mom’s outside. She saw us smoking. I’m sorry if we got you in trouble.”
I smirked, “Was I out there with you?”
His face grew confused, “No.”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
I don’t remember where the hostess’s mother was at during this party, but it did make me appreciate my mother a little more. While my mother unknowingly took me to a drug and booze party, her mother was perfectly aware of what she was doing. And while it’s seen as uncool to have a good relationship with your parents like I did with my mother – I could go to her for anything, I could joke with her, I could cuss around her, so basically she was a friend than just a parent. She knew when to punish me if I didn’t go great in school because she knew my potential, but also knew I was lazy.
There was this one other incident, and I’ll end it with this, where my mother was asked why she bought me such “awful” music (I was into Marilyn Manson, Korn, and Nine Inch Nails) and she simply said, “Because if I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This will lead to my next post, which I’ll write later.
Jose Angel Pequeño was my grandfather’s brother and that is the extent of my knowledge of him. He was a old man when I met him, so he was always perpetually old. Today, I saw the first photo of him from his youth, a young man forever trapped in a photo. This is a man I never knew. This is a man I never met before. The Jose Angel Pequeño that I knew was known as Poncho (PON-cho) and he had a wife who reminded me of a lizard. When my grandmother died in 1997, most of the connections with my mother’s side of the family went with her to the grave. In 1999, most of the connections with my family were completely cut off. We became phantoms, I suppose.
My cousin Jason was there. I grew up with him. In fact, he was much more a brother to me than my brothers were because we were closer to age (he’s about 3 years younger to me compared to my 10 and 6 year difference between my siblings). I see him about once a year and every time I see him, he’s different than I remember him. At least this time around, he looked like the kid I grew up with. After grandmother’s death, I saw less and less of him until he was virtually gone from my life. I went on and did my stuff and he went on and did his. Seeing him is like staring at a relic of my past. Something that has never fully finished growing up, yet we are both living what lives we have chosen. He’s still the troublemaker and I’m still the cautious; I have never driven a vehicle in my life and he’s managed to go through four cars (all total wrecks, on even life threatening).
Jason has more pressure on him than ever before. He’s the last scion, the final carrier of the last name and where the bloodline ends. Constant remarks were made during the last respects. I suppose the mortality of those living has now been realized and he is the last hope. Lucky me, I have my brothers, one of which has passed our bloodline to his two sons, and a cousin (amongst the others I don’t know and have never met).
I acted as one of the pall bearers, making this the first time I ever played the part. My uncle was always a heavy set man, since I’ve known him that is. The mortuary people did a bang up job on cutting his weight (I kid you not), but the old man was still heavy. Upon arrival to St. Joseph’s, we realized the door of the hearse didn’t close right. When we took him in, the priest started the ceremony at the end, rather than at the beginning. Catching his mistake, he apologized and started where he was supposed to all in English (my family members, at least those who still carry their faith, are all Spanish speaking people).
During mass, rolls of thunder started up outside, following a down pour that flooded Donna (Texas) streets. If you’re from Donna, or know the location, you know it doesn’t take long before a torrent of rain will flood the streets. Bad drainage due to bad politics and bad leadership over the years has left Donna a city with colonia appearances.
We waited until the rain let up before putting him into the hearse after the mass. We drove in silence, not like the first time, but some items of today will not be shared with you, fellow readers, because they are too personal for me to say out loud to strangers. As we placed Tío Poncho onto the base of what would be his final resting place. We heard the priest’s final words and the words and blessings of the funeral house director, we formed a line to place the first soil onto his coffin and watched him descend into that piece of land near his brother and sister in law.
Family who I haven’t seen in years felt more like strangers than people I knew. Words of comfort went only to his sister, the person who wanted to send her brother into his final resting place the same way the rest of her family was sent. Whether it was proper is up to your faith, but I sincerely think it was.
where is your heart? where is your heart gone to?
tear me apart
tear me apart from you
you laugh the light I cry the wound
in gray afternoons
My great uncle passed away last Wednesday at 7 pm in a bed at a McAllen (Texas) hospital. He was one of the last surviving members of his generation, leaving behind his sister (my maternal grandfather’s side of the family). He was a favored person in my family due to some allegations from when I was a kid. Nothing was ever proved, and I would rather not lead this post into that discussion of which the doors have been closed on long ago.
I know very little about my family’s history because no one ever wrote anything down, nor did anyone ever tell many stories except the tall tales and superstitions. My great aunt is the only surviving member of my grandfather’s siblings that I know of. Tomorrow is my uncle’s funeral in which I will act as poll bearer because the men in that side of the family are few, or live far away. There is no indication that all relatives will arrive to this man’s funeral because of the past or because of travel time. However, it is for certain that I will see family members I haven’t see since 1999, the two year mark of my grandmother’s passing. When she passed, so did every reason we had to keep in contact with my mother’s side of the family. We became ghosts and they became strangers. It’s a sad world we live in, and I’m just the bearer of its burdens.
I don’t think I’ve seen this man in years. To be frank, I’m not even sure if the last time I saw him was in high school or in junior high. After the incident, he became a stranger in our house. And sometimes I wonder if I will see my cousin Armando and if he would recognize me, or let alone remember me. I also wonder if Armando’s mother – let me make this clear, I believe, if memory serves me right, that Armando was an adopted child, and not biological as both his parents (my great uncle being a sort of stepfather to him) were old – will make it as well. My great aunt noted she wanted nothing to do with that woman and that she probably wouldn’t be coming to the services.
Tomorrow will also mean the first time I step inside a church since I was with Jessica (I note here that when I say church, I mean from a religion that has been around for years and years, not like the Mormon church which is just a caricature of religion which says a lot considering that all religions are just caricatures of something else). I should borrow someones camera. As morbid as it sounds, the burial will take place in Donna’s cemetery. I’d like to take pictures of the place.
I woke up from the strangest dream. I won’t get into it because I’d rather not share a large amount of the information and detail that might scar you for life. But a series of people were there or embodied in there. My uncle, my cousins and aunt, my mother, my nephew, Alice, Philosopher, Jyg, an ex’s father and a few others who I know were people I once knew.
Horses were involved. I knew how to ride one and we were left somewhere rural, my cousins and I. After getting off mine, the horse tried to attack me. I could see the anger in her eyes.
You know, cornishevangelist, some people – namely me – don’t seek answers in anything higher then themselves. Talking to me about god and Jesus as if I can take something from it, is like me trying to explain rationality to you.
When I jerk away from holding hands with you,
I know these habits hurt important parts of you.
Remember when I was sweet and unexplainable?
Nothing like this person, un-loveable.
I just want back in your head.
I just want back in your head.
I’m not unfaithful, but I’ll stray.
When I get a little scared…
Sad, are we? The world is shattered. I haven’t slept much. It’s okay. I’m never healthy. I watched The Dark Knight again, this time with the Kid and Mother. I told them I’d take them last week, but a certain force of mother nature disrupted that plan. I’m writing in my journal. Words that I cannot pummel you with. Little secrets meant for me. Maybe someday, when I’m old and gray, I will pour out my sentiments to each of you. Maybe one day, I’ll turn around and see the sun rising and watching the world illuminated in beauty.
Maybe someday, I will have the ability to smile and actually me.
I feel alone, even when I’m with my friends. I feel alone period. My mind hasn’t yet adjusted. My heart is not whole. My soul, if I believed in a soul, is missing. I’m alone. I’m not alone. I’m happy. I am sad. I am angry. I am not.
Dreams. Alice, a ghost of a girl that I could’ve been with had things been different, once told me that when you dream of those passed, it is a way for them to communicate with us so they are not forgotten. If that is true, why is it that I can’t make others dream of me? I never felt alive.
Alice once told me that it is human nature to believe in god. A god. Any god. Pick a god, any god. Put it back into the deck. Let me shuffle. I’m sorry, you picked the joker. The trick’s on you. What’s your Ace?
Take a walk. A bat almost flew down at me. I hate bats. Their teeth are tiny. One can bite you and it goes unnoticed. Two cats fuck. One cat is forced. Two dogs. Another dog. Dogs run freely in the streets. Sometimes I wish I could take a pellet gun and shoot my neighbor’s dog. Who am I to pass judgment over these creatures?
Can’t feel my arm sometimes. It goes numb. Where do we go after we die? Is death just a numb feeling that lasts and lasts? Our minds, do they exist outside of our body? Are they on going?
Hair’s getting too long. Too long. I sound old. I feel old. I feel stupid. I feel like I’m wasting my life on frivolous habits and dreams. Life isn’t about achieving your dreams. American dream. Fucking, eating, sleeping, making money. Fucking eating sleeping making money. Picket fence. White house. Good neighborhood. No drugs. No adultery. No misery. No school shootings. No me.
I need to get my head checked. I need to feel something again. I need to feel something. I need to feel. I need to. I need.
Scatter this thoughts, like my ashes, and watch the wind take them away. Maybe someday I’ll find it. Goddamn rainbow connections.
Yes, that was a joke.
Nobody likes to,
But I really like to cry.
Nobody likes me,
Maybe if I cry.
Hurricane Dolly finally landed on the Valley, knocking me out of power and cable from 2pm yesterday to 12pm today (really, I’m not kidding). Minimal damage across the area. A tree was rooted and covered the entire cross section of 15th and Van Week. Another one lied on the floor a block away from 16th. Flood waters on Van Week were normal. After the city’s done, there won’t be any evidence of Hurricane Dolly, who was down graded last night to a Tropical Storm.
My front yard is ravaged. Most potted plants aren’t potted anymore. My back yard is now missing half a mesquite tree, and the electrical cord – oddly enough not fixed by AEP (go figure) – hangs down. I’ll have to call them in later tomorrow because they are fixing on getting half of Hidalgo County their power back.
Today is my niece’s 2nd birthday. I’m glad we still have a house to celebrate it in.
rating: 5 of 5 stars There probably isn't anything I can say about this book that hasn't been said already. With that said, read it if you haven't already.
