Category Archives: Writings

Ch..ch…changes

I still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I’m much too fast to take that test

I moved to Tumblr because of the perks and have slightly more freedom than WordPress offers. I don’t know if I’ll be releasing the blog link any time. It’s supposed to be kept as a log of the events that are happening while I’m writing and collaborating with a friend. We’ll see.

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I Wrote something

I wrote something.  Actually, two things. Two poems. I’m gonna go work on them. Edit. Edit. Edit.

I need legal pads and post its.

“You will risk all their lives and their souls…” (Muse)

And Beg, you will beg
You will beg for their lives and their souls.

I was asked if I felt sad earlier. I didn’t then, but I’m beginning to feel sad. I should sleep. I should not think about the things I’m thinking about. I’m reliving last year again, this time I’m doing it on my own. Every emotion, every betrayal, every word uttered is being written on the page. I think it’s time I wrote something that matters for a change.

I started on a whim. I wrote 1659 words today. I just sat down and let it all spill out. Not sure what I’m going to call it, but we’ll worry about that later. It has a working title “Final Product.”

My word of the day indolent. Look it up.

Just cause

Ol’ Biker once said we should do something. We were sitting at the cubicle in the OSD – I was probably drinking some sort of soda or tea beverage to stay away – and he was sitting across from me attempting to read his books. One thing that should be obvious, when I’m around, very little work gets down, unless I’m working too. Anyway, Ol’ Biker said we should do something – was it tacking stuff on the cubicle wall? – and I replied, “I don’t think we can.”

“Oh, we can,” he said, “we’re just not allowed.”

I looked at him. Ol’ Biker, much like El Senor, has his moments when everything is technical. We wouldn’t be English majors if we weren’t. I shrugged and muttered, “You know what I mean.” He nodded. “I did. But just because we’re not allowed to do something doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

“And just because we can,” I smiled, “doesn’t mean we should.”

I’ve broken that rule on my blog – I got mighty blog happy. I tried to stop myself, but last year was full of events – love, life, bees, sickness, death, pop culture, politics, bees, assholes, morons, writers, poetry readings, stalkers, lovers, bees, to name a few – that my blog became a vent place and a place where every funny little thing, interesting thing, dumbass thing got posted up here. And why did I do this? Because I could! I had a world opened to me through the internet that I just went wild and rampant with ideas that range from heartfelt to complete nonsense.

But at least, as I scroll through the past, I realized, just because I could didn’t mean I should’ve written about so many inane things. But if you don’t believe me, then perhaps you should believe a more professional writer:

Once-a-week blog entries turned into every 11-or-12-day blog entries. Coherent posts turned into rambling personal stories revolving around pop culture and my Netflix queue. And I became a little too obsessed with the notion of being able to post 1980s music videos featuring Rick Astley. My clever Kevin-ness wasn’t exactly exploding across the ‘Net as I’d planned. It was imploding on my career.

“So … I read your blog,” my dad said while I was out visiting him in San Diego.

“Yes,” I said. “And?”

He paused. “You’re not drinking during the day, right?”
[Alexander, Kevin. “This Writer’s Life”. Writer’s Digest June 2008: 20-21.]

I wonder if my ranting, ramblings and derailed train of thought has brought me to the point that I’m at now? Maybe. I could fix it, and I probably will attempt to fix it. We’ll see.

The girl always wins in the end

As I recall I know you love to show off
But I never thought that you would take it this far

There was a lesson I learned when I was a kid. In the end the girl always wins, despite what the viewer sees.

I think it’s about time that I realize that I’m nothing more than an ashtray of lies. A part of me is empty and the void is filled with…

Grab the shovel. We’re going digging.

La Joya is my main character. Or at least I’d like to think she is. She’ll be the woman in the story. I know what’s going to happen, I just need to see how it  happens.

Oh, and Jenn, if you’re reading this, I’m still waiting on some feedback. No rush. Just nervous.

I <3 the new dashboard

Normally I don’t have anything nice to say about the geniuses who man WordPress because I think they’re a bunch tight assed prudes who cry at anything adult related and pray to their nonexistent gods, but they finally pulled something out of their asses that is worth while. So kudos, WordPress team!

In other news, I haven’t been writing here because I’ve been writing several different things and I’ve got sidetracked. Sorry about that. I’ll keep you posted on all my writing projects when I’m done with them.

You Looking at me?

I’ve been busy working on “Outside the Diamond.” I like the way it’s coming out. I’m trying to take a rather banal subject like working outside the baseball stadium in the summer into something far more interesting. The follow is actually a conversation I had with one of the baseball patrons last year. Only rather it being a woman, it was a guy. And instead of it being all too serious on the visitor’s part, he laughed when I started telling him all the things I wanted to tell everyone else. He was a friend of several of the workers inside and befriended me – hence, he got in for free all the times afterward. I’d sell him one ticket and he kept it until he lost it. Then he’d buy another one. Told him it wasn’t necessary, thta it was merely a scam job that the Edinburg Coyotes played on their fans.

A car pulled up and Cool Breeze strolled up to it and asked for the two dollar parking toll. The woman, in her twenties, gave him the look that both he and Soulfly knew rather well. “Two fucking dollars, are you serious?” she asked.
“Quite ma’am. Us parking attendants don’t joke around like that,” Cool said.
“Are you kidding me? Two dollars?”
“I wish I were, but that’s the fee.”
She looked ahead at the parking lot closer to the stadium. “How much is it over there?”
“Same price,” he said. “Better to park there and have your car smashed in by a baseball than to park way out here and walk.”

He parked in parking three after my warning of baseballs smashing car windows. He only parked in parking one or two when it rained. On those days, I was kept up front.