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Monday, October 13, 2014

Love and Loss

      I loved her and she loved me back. I'd never tasted adulation like this before. When we were but friends we promised we'd never catch feelings for one another.

      By nature I'm a pessimist. She was an optimist. We went together like shoo-bop sha wadda yip-pity boom DE boom. For those of you who don't get that reference, before John Travolta became a Scientologist he practiced a little religion known as Greaser.

      It was the summer of 2011 when I first laid eyes on my blonde beauty in the church pews of my local sanctuary. Her eyes were as blue as the sapphires I wanted to place upon her neck. Her marble skin laid as soft as her demeanor. Her thighs ran like silk across the folds of my fingertips. Her lips danced like fire crackers across my physique.

      Every fiber of my body wanted her. But it was more than a lust. It was more then a sexual urging. I think it was love. This was a foreign feeling to me. I'd never felt such invigoration for another human being before. I would fight for this woman. I would bleed for this woman. I would write a series of erotic vampire novels for this woman.

      Aside from her physical allure I felt a spiritual connection in the same magnitude. She was an artistic soul, as was I. She was philosophical and psychoanalyzed those around her, as did I. Most importantly, we had communication, a vital necessity in any strong union. I entrusted her with everything and I felt safe in her arms. The classic teenage thought rang through my heart, she was the only person in the world who truly understood me.

      As our relationship progressed the pessimist within me seized to exist and the optimist emerged with utter merriment.  I had always promised myself I was never going to be that dopey head over heels buffoon and yet here I was.

      I couldn't believe the disillusions of grandeur I was having. I wanted to marry this girl. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl. Whatever college this girl was going off to, that's the college I was enrolling in. Whatever city, whatever state, that was where I would lay my nest.

      I've never really wanted children. I'm not against having kids. I've played around with the idea but in all actuality its not something I have set out for myself. But this girl wanted kids. And for her, I'd be a father. I'd raise the fuck out of her kids, man. Those kids would be so prim and proper. I'd go, "Who's your Daddy?" There'd be no hesitation. They would definitely point to me. They would know who their Daddy was. I mean if there was a Daddy Emmy's I would totally be the Matthew Mcconaughey of Daddies. True Detective. True Daddy. Right here.

      We dated for several months and I was on top of world. Everyday of my Junior Year I rode cloud nine to school. She was actually home schooled but she came to visit me a couple times. There was nothing I loved more then showing her off. She was my trophy wife. What could I say? Walking with my arm wrapped around her waist and her hand in my back pocket. I felt like a million bucks.

      But my insecurities soon got the best of me. I've always been very territorial with my friends. I need to be told that I'm your best friend and that you hold me in the highest esteem, above all others. I'm a first born son so I've always gotten an over-abundance of parental attention. I have a Christian mother who acts like a Jewish mother so I've been coddled for most of my life.

      With a bit of a silver spoon in my mouth I've become very insecure when I don't have people adoring all over me. I mean, thank God my parents are divorced because now I have four parents and honestly, I think I need twice the amount of love most kids get. But my territorial nature doesn't just apply to friends. I've learned over the years that my territorial persona applies to all of my acquaintances. I'm still convinced to this day that I was my therapist's favorite patient.

      But regretfully enough, it has always affected my relationships. I became very jealous and territorial over her. She was gorgeous and I didn't wanna share her with other man. But before we started dating when were close friends she told me about this guy in her social circle that she had a thing for.

      Well, several months into our relationship, he broke up with his girlfriend and oddly enough my girlfriend and him started spending a lot  more time together. My insecurities began to rise to the surface. I couldn't fathom the idea of losing her. The thought was like, it was like I was breathing underwater. And the more pictures they posted on the Facebook, and the Tumblr and the Twitter of the two of them hanging out, I felt like I was drowning in every pixel.

      I became jealous. I refused to let her hang out with this guy from this day forth. As if I had that kind of power over her. I knew she was into this guy. She had told me. She refused and their friendship continued.

      The last straw. The one that put an end to our relationship was when I heard that her group of friends, guys and girls, were having a lil slumber party. But she told me I wasn't invited. It was a close nit group of friends and only the inner circle would be in attendance. I didn't want her to go. Not if her little crush was gonna be there.

      I was petty, I was being silly. I know now that I was thinking in a irrational manner but at the time all I could think was, I wanted her all to myself. I just, I couldn't shake the thought that maybe there was something going on between them. And the thought of that, it shattered me inside.

      So we fought about it and eventually it tore us apart. It was painful. She had been my first love and what came next, I guess you could call it my first heartbreak. But time heals all wounds, as they say.

      I look back on that era in my life and I think of all the time she took from me. Years down the road I still think about her from time to time. But rather than a flush of melancholy, the thought of her brings a smile to my face. I'll always love her. She'll always have a place in my heart. How does the old saying go? "Is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all?"

      You know before I felt it, I was always skeptical about the concept of caring about someone that much. Its rare and it doesn't happen every time you share a pillow with someone. But now that I felt it, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. 

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
     It’s been 4 years since Mom walked out on us. And now my father is getting remarried. And soon enough, he’ll forget all about me. Only so much love to go around, right? I used to be the most important woman in his life. I guess those days are over. Everything was going great before Barbara showed up. I hate her! I absolutely hate her! I…I…wish…she…were…dead.
Yours Truly

Dear Diary,
    I was able to get in contact with Mom. I’ve been staying at her boyfriend Tom’s house for a couple weeks now. I’ve been trying to act helpful, make myself useful, you know? But I was doing the dishes the other day and Tom came up behind me. He put his hands on my waist. He said things. It…it made me feel really uncomfortable. I don’t want to be here anymore. I think…I think it’s time to get my own place.
Yours Truly

Dear Diary,
    It’s been years since we’ve spoken. I just wanted to tell oyu, the hospis called last night. Mom’s gone. It was Hem-C. All those years of going God knows where, stroking dirty needles in her arm…well, it finally caught up to her. But as I revisit your pages I remember all the horrible things she put me through. And it still hurts.
Yours Truly

Dear Diary,
    I met with Sharon yesterday. She’s really the only medium I know, and she helped me to talk to Mom. She said, she was sorry…for everything. I forgave her a long time ago but I don’t know if she’s forgiven herself. But in time, she will. We all have. She was always one to hold a grudge though. (Laughs) But I  know, I know…she’ll come around. In time. She just needs some time.  

Yours Truly

The Books We don't Often Read

      You know how they always say, don’t judge a book by its cover? Well I propose a new quote, “Why the hell does it always feel like there are a few chapters missing?” I mean our lives are really just a song, a movie, a book per say and some of those books are more “interesting” than others.  

      Rarely when you first meet someone are you informed that someday you will be holding their hair back as they puke into the toilet. Little do we know that when we first become acquainted with our future best friends that we’ll soon enough were going to be oozing out our heart and souls to these poor bastards.

      We’re their emotional pillows but thank God they don’t know that when they first meet us or we’d run away screaming. It is very rare that when we first meet our friends to be that when they shake our hands for the first time they greet us with, "Hey I'm Robert. In about 6 to 8 months from now your gunna call me at about 4am in the morning sobbing into the phone as you grief over your latest heartbreak." 

      Just like my alarm I’d really like to hit the snooze button on you right now but you give me rides to the airport so unfortunately I have no choice but to listen to this psychological torture. I mean, I would totally give you advice but I know you’re not going to listen to it so why bother. 

      But no matter how many trials and tribulations they put us through, we still remain by their side. We know that they’ve seen better days and we hope that tomorrow sunshine will smile upon their faces. Just as soon as that hangover subsides.

      I had many acquaintances throughout my High School career but none quite like my friend Gabriel. You know how we all have that friend who can say the most ridiculous and mundane statements and still somehow you find yourself lost in a thunder of laughter, well that was Gabriel for me.  

      Gabriel has had a deep impact on my pop culture throughout the years. He turned me onto rappers like Ludacris and TV Dramas like Breaking Bad. I never used to play sports until Gabriel got me into basketball and from then on the entirety of my school lunch periods were spent on the court. 

     I've always known that Gabriel had more going on under the surface. He sometimes referenced living in Mexico. Later with a little bit of idle goading I discovered that he spent the first decade of his life there. I wanted to know more.

      He lives with his grandparents and I was curious as to where his parents were in the picture. Gabriel is a private person and I never received any of the answers I desired. What is his game? Did he like being all mysterious and what not? I surmised that his life was going to be one of the books that I never got to read.

      But while Gabriel remains closed-off, I've confided a lot in him over the years. Like the fact that I've seen Miley Cyrus's Wrecking Ball music video half a dozen times, and I maybe kinda sorta rock out when her music comes on the radio. Um what else, oh I sometimes pee sitting down but only when I'm writing a tweet or playing candy crush on my iPad.

     Oh yeah, the biggest one, when all my friends were talking about Heath Ledger when he died and they were talking about his best performances, while everyone was talking about Batman, I was secretly thinking about the time I sat in my room alone and cried my eyes out watching Broke-back Mountain on Netflix.

     Four years have pasted yet Gabriel still wouldn't tell me how he went from Mexico to California or how where his parents were in his life. But all that changed recently when Gabriel Neocheo enlisted in the US Marine Corp. With both of us going into our separate lives, Gabriel said that since he may never get another chance he’d tell me his life story, which he always knew I was curious to hear. 

     In the prologue Gabriel’s parents Terrah and Francesco met in Israel. They were both college kids at the time, only there for the week on vacation.  They were both young college graduates looking to get a little taste of the world.

     Gabriel's Dad was a tall well-bred sophisticated olive tanned man with swagger in his step and a silver tongue in his mouth. Gabriel's mother was a dainty catholic butterfly with long cocoa colored hair and emerald jewels between her pupils. Francesco was a lady's man and well, she hadn't had many men at all but polar opposites attracted and miraculously enough love blossomed.

      Terrah and Francesco had split up shortly after Gabriel was born. He spent the first 9 years of his life living in Mexico with his father while his mother lived in Portland. It wasn't until Francesco the tall well-bred sophisticated olive tanned man with swagger in his step and a silver tongue in his mouth died of AIDS after so many years of promiscuity that Gabriel was returned to the womb that bore him.

      But Portland wouldn't have him. His mother was a distant stranger now. It was too late for them. She was already a neurotic woman with diagnosed anxieties of her own. She couldn’t handle a basket case when she herself was one.

      She had already started a new family. With two children from her new husband, they lived in their white picket fence and Gabriel regretfully didn’t fit into the story-line of their book. He was now the black sheep of the family.

      He couldn't speak English and he couldn't fit in with his brother and sister. His mother didn’t want to tamper her new life with the old sickly one she had left behind in Mexico all those years ago. He was a ghost from her past. So he was passed along to his grandparents like some stray puppy in the rain.

      I always complained about how Gabriel could never hang out because he was always working, working, and working. Well it turns out he was chipping in for his old grandparents though because he never engrossed me with details I assumed he had a job somewhere doing construction or something. His mother’s side of the family was Italian after all.

     But I mean it always seemed like he was busy. I was going to a new school in a different neighborhood. I barely every got to see my best friend anymore, so yah, it was really frustrating. I mean, how many chores was one teenager expected to do?

       I rarely ever do my own laundry, let alone do my own yard work. But like I said he was the black sheep of the family. He had to make himself useful. He had to make himself worthy of being one of them.

       Even now Gabriel is still trying to prove himself to these people, these people who are supposed to be his flesh and blood and yet they can’t even see the potential in their own grandson.

     But despite Gabriel’s best efforts to feel like he belonged there were off-handed semi-prejudice remarks sprinkled here and there. “Well I don’t know how they do it over in Mexico,” his grandfather would gripe. As if there was a superior American way to clean up kitty litter. 

     Though comical and ridiculous from a spectator's point of view, to Gabriel, it was a constant reminder that he didn't belong. No matter how hard he tried he was always going to be the outsider.

     Gabriel told me that his mother had this preconceived notion that for the rest of Gabriel's life he'd simply live with his grandparents, working with them in the field.

       Partly out of a deep seeded patriotism and partly out of a fear that his mother was right and he would never amount to anything, Gabriel Enero joined the US Marine Corp. And on top of that he applied for Art School at the base he will be stationed at for Boot Camp. He's going to be a combat correspondent. In other words, a professional writer, a man after my own heart.

      I can't say where the road ahead will lead my friend. But I do know this; he has tenacity unlike most people I've had the pleasure to be acquainted with. When someone tells him they can take him on the basketball court any day of the week, he spends the next 4 days training at Van Nuys Park. When someone tells him that he's never going to be a talented artist, he's at Valley College the very next day signing up for an observational drawing course. And when someone tells him he's going to amount to nothing, he'll take the world by storm.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Pricks of Pompous Pose

I whistle waver and wash-away.
The pain I knew but yesterday. 
Yesterday started with hearts held high. 
Only to be shattered by arrows of fate. 
Mountains of overwhelming abhorrence from every rose. 
The best girls of the garden already picked by pricks of pompous pose. 
No rose left unpicked. 
No girl left unspoiled. 
The pricks of pompous pose. 
Enjoyed pleasures. 
While I sat in silence. 
What good is living if not for joy and jubilation?
But heartache rejoices in toying with my alienation. 
In alienation I lost my mind. 
But found truth and wisdom. 

And now I see that the goal of living is to gain understanding. 

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Emmanuel's Story

             Finding social groups has always been a strong suit of mine. But there’s always that one friend we remember. The one we make an effort to keep in contact with. In this case that friend for me is Emmanuel.

        We made jokes at one another’s expense and played basketball after school. He was one of those types of friends who spent the entirety of Spanish class whispering grotesque japes in your ear hoping that he could get you to blurt out laughing hysterically in front of the whole class which he was often successful at. Nobody could make me laugh the way Emmanuel did, and truth be told, he could say the most ridiculous and abhorrent things and yet somehow it made me laugh, he had that kind of effect on me.

         But just as easily he could turn off the comedy switch and listen to my gripes and my grumbles about my latest break-up and heartbreak and in turn he would often bring his latest lady troubles to the table as well, and we played off of one another like that for two years until I changed schools. Though we still kept in contact, it was a strange transition to see your best friend everyday…to less than once a month.

         Now were both recent graduates with a lot more time on our hands and I see Emmanuel a lot more, few times a week actually. We used to bond over a game of Yu-Gi-Oh, now we go job-hunting together on the weekends, boy how times have changed. But through all of time we’ve spent together, Emmanuel has always remained very guarded with his personal life. He tells me little about what goes on at home and what his life was like growing up. He tells me he just doesn’t like opening up and though I’ve had him over to my place countless times, I’ve never been inside his house, still to this day. Like I said, he’s a very guarded person.

          But a couple weeks ago, we went out to celebrate the start of a new chapter in our lives, the end of High School and the beginning of our enlistment in the Marines, and after that, we’ve both expressed interests in pursuing our careers as writers. It was if our pages had been printed from the same tree, a patriotic passion to serve our country diced in with a bit of liberal arts to keep the pot stirring with possibilities.    

          We were out all night celebrating the official death of our adolescence. Sometime around 2am in the morning Emmanuel says he’s had enough of the jokes, it’s time for some real talk. I can do real talk, I’m good at real talk. But that the kind of guy Emmanuel is, he can’t just let the conversation transition into real talk, there needs to be an official beginning to when real talk has started.
           So we get into it, I start talking about my problems, you know whatever problem happens to be on my mind at the time, like am I ever gunna be a successful writer or will I pass all the Marine tests, you know? And he can relate, he’s headed down the same path, like I said. But once it gets to Emmanuel’s turn to talk, after I’ve been going on for like 40 minutes already, Emmanuel tells me he’ going to tell me the story of his life from top to bottom. I mean, for a guy who’s never let me in his house, I’m interested to know where all the stand-offish since comes from.

            In every other aspect this guy seems totally extroverted and free and welcoming and yet I know there’s this shield up because unlike now, this is the first time I was even going to hear anything about Emmanuel’s past. He told me he hadn’t told many people the story and since he’s shipping off to the Marines soon, I ought to here the story now, since I may not get another chance to hear it, at least that’s how he rationalized it.

            Emmanuel’s parents met in Israel, of all places. His mom was from Portland, his Dad was from Mexico. They were both young college graduates looking to get a little taste of the world. Emmanuel’s Dad was a tall well-bred sophisticated olive tanned man with swagger in his step and a silver tongue in his mouth. Emmanuel’s mother was a dainty catholic butterfly with long cocoa colored hair and emerald jewels in the windows of her soul. He was a lady’s man and well, she hadn’t had many men at all but polar opposites attracted and love blossomed.

             He left his life in Mexico to live in Torrance, California with his new American lover and for a while Ying and Yang were inseparable. Emmanuel was born in Torrance but after his birth his father moved his new family to El Salvador to be closer to his mother, so that Emmanuel’s mom could meet her mother-in-law. But she had fallen for him to quickly, she didn’t realize what she had gotten herself into. This man was not the man she thought she knew, he was something different entirely.

           Over time he became something different, he was no longer the smooth talking suave Latin paramour she had once known. He said terrible things to her. He told her once the child was born and could live without it’s mother, she would be out on the streets and like any honorable man, he kept his word. So there she was, out on the streets of El Salvador.

            It took her several months to get back to the states, where she moved to California, where she made a promise to herself that someday she would get her son back from that vile creature that she once thought herself infatuated with. Emmanuel’s childhood wasn’t easy. With his mother gone, his father was able to return to his playboy ways, bedding men and women at the bar, whatever he could get his hands on.

            They couch hopped, with each new love affair providing room and board for a time, until it all went South and it all went South eventually, once they realized that he was. A deviant, a monster, a mosquito only there to suck the green right out of your wallet but he had his silver tongue and the bar scene was always chalk full of new victims. But from time to time the trail would run dry and when he couldn’t get his claws into somebody, they were forced to stay with his mother.

             Emmanuel’s grandmother was a kind woman but she was oblivious to what the demons laid within her son. He had never done much to educate Emmanuel, he never went to school, he never read a book. He was an ignorant child absent a proper upbringing. One day when Emmanuel’s father was at the club to party, his grandmother was babysitting him. But as fate would have it, Emmanuel’s grandmother took a horrible fall, was she having a heart attack? Had she broken any bones? Emmanuel didn’t know, all he had heard was a loud thud. It scared him; he didn’t know what had happened.

             As she laid there on the floor she called out to her grandson, “Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Call 911!” She repeated it over and over and over again but her illiterate grandson didn’t know how to read and he sure as hell didn’t know what numbers were. He panicked; he knew his grandmother needed his help. In a wild frenzy he began tearing out the yellow pages while holding the home phone in his hand. None of the numbers made any sense to him and he didn’t know how to type 911.

            What the hell were 911? She continued to call out to him, “Emmanuel, what are you doing? Call 911?” Emmanuel looked at his grandmother, then back at the phone book. It was all too much for him. He fainted; right then and there he fainted. He wasn’t passed out for long, he awoke soon after but all the yellow pages on the ground were gone and the apartment was back in order. He realized it at all been a terrible dream. His father walked up and towered over his 6 year old son and smiled. Emmanuel smiled back and said, “Dad I had a terrible dream.” His father replied very nonchalantly, “Emmanuel your grandmother’s dead.”

              Emmanuel couldn’t believe it, he had killed his own grandmother because he couldn’t work the fucking phone. With his mother dead, Emmanuel’s father had to find them a new place to live. He took them to his brother’s house. Emmanuel liked it there. While they were living in his grandmother’s apartment they had always had to ration themselves. They ate conservatively and Emmanuel was a very malnutrioned child. Emmanuel’s aunt was skilled with a pair of oven mitts. She was a tall gorgeous Mexican woman with blonde streaks in her hair.

               Emmanuel learned to love her Panini’s and her soft warm tortilla rolls. His cousins loved to play basketball. He finally had other kids to play with. They loved to draw. They loved anime. They were in their 20s. They were good looking. His uncle was an international business man who worked in financing. His uncle was a hard working handy man who always came home with blisters on his hands and paint on his pants.

               He drank beer with the fellas after work and always made sure there was bacon the table for his children. He treated his nephew Emmanuel like his own child. For a while, things were good and Emmanuel found happiness in a life that had been filled with so much strife. He didn’t forget his grandmother but the paradise that he had here helped ease the pain of a grief stricken childhood.

               But eventually, like all good things, this too came to an end when his uncle, came to the same realization that all of Emmanuel’s father’s flings had to come to, that he was nothing more than a sponge, a freeloader just looking to manipulate everyone around him. So once again, Emmanuel was uprooted from his home, the only home he had ever truly felt happy.

               One day Emmanuel was walking through the house, trying to find everyone, they were all in his aunt’s room, cuddled up on the bed watching TV, he tried to come up on the bed with them, but they just stared him down like he was some sort of mangled stray dog they didn’t want around anymore.

                But why? Why did all of his father’s short comings have to come back to haunt him? Its wasn’t his fault? The irony of it all. He was a college man with a degree in psychology. He could be a successful man with the wife and the kids and the white picket fence. But he squandered his potential looking for an easy way out. Kicked out of his brother’s home, he took Emmanuel to the states where he spent some time in a shelter and they received medical attention.

                Emmanuel had half a dozen things wrong with him, with his malnutrioned boy being the primary dilemma. Funnily enough, Emmanuel’s grandmother on his mom’s side was working as a nurse when Emmanuel and his father came to her facility. It was unbelievable, but there he was. (his file came thru, the paperwork she was filing through the facility) Her grandson, that had been lost to her for almost a decade was right under her nose.

                During their time with the American doctors, Emmanuel’s father was diagnosed with HIV. All of years of promiscuity had finally got the better of him.  He knew the ruse was up. He couldn’t keep running forever with his kid tagging along. He had a bit of an epiphany. Using the help of Emmanuel’s grandmother, he realized, it was time to made contact with Emmanuel’s mother. “I have your son,” he said over the phone. ”And if you want him back, you can pay me for him.”
               Now, after so many years of being dragged around on his father’s crazy hair brained schemes, maybe he would have some salvation in Portland with his mother. But then, just like a star wars prequel, it all went wrong. Emmanuel’s father slipped back into Mexico with his son, and make contact with his ex-wife again, “You didn’t really think I was going to give him to you, did you?”He took a sick pleasure in listening to her sobs over the phone. With one of his last dying breaths, he had spited her once again.

               Two years later, his HIV finally got the better of him, and the only parent Emmanuel had ever known, was dead.

               There was a hole in the young Emmanuel’s heart, for so long it had just been the two of them against the world, and now it was just Emmanuel. He went back to live with his aunt again, and once again, Emmanuel found happiness in a world with little to give. He found contentment, for a time, until the walls came crashing down once more, like they always did.

               On one fateful morning the little Emmanuel was playing hide and go seek with his cousins when all of the sudden reporters with big yellow note pads began storming his aunt’s house. He continued to watch the frenzy of journalists scurry about from his hiding spot. A short rotund woman with bright red flocks of curry hair asked Emmanuel’s aunt where he was.

                She asked her children to find him but Emmanuel was a master of hide and seeks and his cousins failed to find him. Eventually, after almost a half hour of hiding from the journalists he finally revealed himself. As soon as he did, all the eyes in the house sharply darted towards him. The short rotund red headed woman, who seemed to be leading the pack, made her way towards Emmanuel.

               She put out a warm and welcoming hand, an olive branch to show the little Emmanuel that she came in peace. As she held his tiny hand in hers, she let a smile dance across her face, she crouched down beside him to introduce herself, “Hello Emmanuel, it’s nice to meet you, I’m your mother.”

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

When You Went Away

When you went away, I had no words left to say.
I thought you, a crown for a king
The birds blue, had only sad songs to sing.

When you went away, the world turned to gray.
But really you need not have worried, I was absolutely fine.
My emotions were long since buried, In fact I felt divine.

When you went away, I thought I’d rot and decay.
I wasn't hurting like I should.
I went back to flirting cause I knew I could.

When you went away, I thought it a shame. 
But in truth maybe you thought this little dance we did meant more to me. 

Yet in all honestly your a memory, a distant entity, a long forgotten legacy.  

A Very Sexy Valentine's Day

And you know what’s not a lie?
The fact that I die.

And I let out a sigh.
Every time we say goodbye.

Our kiss.
Its ultimate bliss.

You’re magnificently fine.
And you take me to cloud nine.

But that’s all the boring stuff.
I know how you like it rough.

And I think the angels cry.
Every time you suck me dry.

And the truth is, absolutely yes!
I love your double D breasts.

But I’m sorry, I know it’s quite a pinch.
That I can’t give you a 12 inch.

Does it make you somber?
That my hot dog isn’t longer.

But, you knew exactly how to maneuver my penis.
Honestly I think you’re a genital genius.

I’m sorry I couldn’t think of anything that rhymed with vagina.
So instead I’ll be making you a pizz-ah-pie-ah.

But listen, look.
I can’t cook.

But I can make you feel defiled.
I can shake you doggy style.

I have no hesitation.
To say you’re a heavenly sensation.

Please, say to me.
You’ll always be my lady.

You evaporate all of my sorrow.
Its happiness others wish to borrow.

If Go made you in his own design. Then damn, the Holy Father must be fine.    
But joking aside, just give me an everlasting promise that you always remain mine.

Because, your perfection.
Gives me a humongous erection.

You make me so grateful that I no longer have to jerk off, in a sock.
Because I finally have a place to put my cock.

And girl when you give me oral.
I lose all of my morals.

And your beauty is oh so divine.
And that’s why I’m asking you to be my valentine. 

Friday, June 20, 2014

Black Sheep

[Singing Stand By Me by Ben E. King}
JONATHAN GARCIA: If the sky, that we look upon. Should tumble and fall. All the mountains should crumble to the sea.
(Begin looking at the ground.  Give two measures of the beat you're rapping to, and then look up and proceed.)
I live in South Central, the gangster’s metropolis. It’s a poet’s apocalypse. Just a sixteen year old boy, with a glock in my sock. But I'm not one for Capone. I be chillin, with Whitman. More kindred to the words of Buddha. Cuz when I look in the mirror all I see is Neruda. While the rest of the homies, roll up blunts to blaze. I'm watching the Tonys, cuz I want to write plays. Me and my blokes, we slingin coke, that’s no joke. I just do what I do, cuz you survive with a crew. I'm not hard thru and thru, but I keep a gun in my shoe. Don't think me Gestapo, I'm one for Picasso. Langston Hughes is my muse. It's Plato, I'll choose. Though I'll go for some Homer, and soft rock blues. I think Rob Frost is my boss, in Poe I get lost. When you lower the curtain, the page is my purpose. The pen makes me Zen. And I'll keep rapping and rhyming, again and again. To shove off the pain, and break from these chains! I'm not some crook.  I'm just a kid in need of a new outlook. I don't know what you heard, but it's not all sun and smiles in the San Fernando Valley.  Gangs and drugs, it’s just the culture of Cali.
(Light a blunt while you narrate this; gesture to it when you say 'couldn't live without 'em.)
I don't go through it alone, though. Me and my friends have sort of formed our pact—to survive, you know strength in numbers and all. And sure, we tag and we sag, but we don't mean to hurt nobody, we just like to party with our shaddys. I mean, man, we own these streets. And when someone tries to come up on our territory….which they rarely do….we take care of it.
(A chilling stone cold tone when you say, ‘we take care of it’; it comes off  almost a bit frightening. As the scene transitions to you in bed, your mother is calling to you from the kitchen. Jonathan’s blunt becomes the mother’s cigarette.)
MOM: Jonathan! Get your ass down here! The cops are here again.
(Jonathan enters the kitchen; notices Detective Webber, a familiar face.)
JONATHAN: Detective Webber, didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.
DETECTIVE WEBBER: Stop getting yourself into trouble, maybe I wouldn’t have to.
MOM: What’s this all about officer?  
DETECTIVE WEBBER: Well Ma’am. There was a shooting in this neighborhood just last night, and we know it was the Alley Locos, Jonathan.
JONATHAN: Nah man, you got it all wrong. Those Radford Street Boys are all over this one. I know it.
DETECTIVE WEBBER: Is that what Emilio told you to say?
JONATHAN: Man, Emilio may run the crew. But he don’t put words in my mouth. I ain’t his lap dog. I’m just telling it to you like it is.  
(Tries to put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan shakes him off.)
JONATHAN: Don’t touch me! And I ain’t yo son, man! So why don’t you stop calling me that!
DETECTIVE WEBBER: (Sighs; Turns to the Mother) Ma’am. Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Jonathan?
MOM: Of course, Officer…Just wait till you father hears about all this nonsense.  
(Webber calms himself; he speaks with a warm demeanor)
DETECTIVE WEBBER: You got some new art there on your neck. What is that a Hamlet quote?
JONATHAN: You know your Shakespeare, Webber. Didn’t know you blue bloods had any class.
DETECTIVE WEBBER: You know you could do a lot with that head of yours, I hope you know you deserve better friends then the ones you keep now.
JONATHAN: Man, you don’t know the first thing about me! So stop trying to pretend like you got me all figured out!
DETECTIVE WEBBER: You’re wrong Jonathan, I do know you and I know when someone’s pretending to be something they’re not.
(Pop into the Father; stern, tall and aggressive. Holding a beer bottle as he reprimands his son) 
DAD: You did what!?! You think I want to hear about my son…Mister Jessie fuckin James going around, like he’s some tough guy! I’mma tell you right now Jonathan, when your ass is sitting in some murder trial, I’m not hiring some fancy Jew lawyer to bail you out of all this!
JONATHAN: Dad, it wasn’t like that…
DAD: (slaps Jonathan) Don’t lie to me boy!
JONATHAN GARCIA: Dad, how much have you had to drink?
DAD: None of your god-damn business! That's how much!
(Mom lights a cigarette and takes a drag as she speaks.)
MOM: The kid's right, you know.  You shouldn't drink.  Alcohol can kill you.
(She goes into a coughing fit)
JONATHAN GARCIA: Mom? Are you seriously smoking again?  
MOM: After what you put me through with that cop, I need a cigarette.
DAD: See, this is what you do to us! You and your little boyfriends in that gang are tearing this family apart!  It's time to grow up and be a man. You can't live here no more!
JONATHAN GARCIA: Dad, please! Let’s talk about this later! When you've sobered up!
MOM: No, your father's right. You want to go be a big strong man, killing people? I don’t need that in my life.
JONATHAN GARCIA: Ma, it wasn't like that!
DAD: No, she's right Jonathan! You wanna go be a gangster?!? Go be a gangster somewhere else!
(Follow Jonathan with your eyes as dad, and move to intercept him.)
Hey! Hey! Where do you think you're going, boy?
JONATHAN GARCIA: I'm just gunna grab some shit!
DAD: Ah, stuff I bought yah, right? No, a man buys his own clothes! Pays his own rent! And doesn't go begging nobody for nothing!
JONATHAN GARCIA: Dad, please! I have nowhere to go!
DAD: Not my problem!
JONATHAN GARCIA: Not your problem?!? I’m your fucking son!
DAD: You are sure as hell no son of mine!
(Pop to Jonathan for his silent, teary reaction.  He turns around, and halfway through the turn, begins rapping)
JONATHAN GARCIA: I'm a sinner, I'mma a saint. Whatever picture you wanna paint. But anyway you figure, I'm not the boy who pulled that trigger. But oh well…Cause the father has already condemned me to hell. While I'm reading the words of Aristotle, you’re off dancing with the bottle. And this friend of mine named fate, has shut the doors of the Pearly gates. Though I’m not the one who took the kill. These forgotten nightmares haunt me still. And Dad….I'm scared. And completely unprepared. For the world out there. So please … Dad …tell me you care. And I’m sorry for my sins, I promise I’ll atone. But I’m still you’re kin, don’t leave me alone. Can I sway you from this volition? To give me abolition, remission, nutrition, condition, emission. And your ammunition of acquisitions, is a mortician of demolition. You’re slated with hatred that’s sedated my ambition. But maybe….You still see me as your baby. I don't know….is that non-sense? Am I wasting my breath with every protest? Maybe my wrongs have cut too deep. And a father's song has been put to sleep. 
(He turns around in the other direction. Pop into the teacher's posture—
flamboyant, enthusiastic, a little dorky.)
TEACHER: Jonathan, you’re quite a talented poet. Is that true, are you having problems with your father?
JONATHAN: Nah, course not Ms.B I was just fooling around.
TEACHER: Okay, well you know you can always come to me for help.
(Teacher extends her hand; giving Jonathan a journal)
TEACHER: Here, I want you to have this.
JONATHAN: Thanks but I got my own notebooks Ms.B.
TEACHER: This isn’t a notebook Jonathan. It’s a book of poems.
JONATHAN: Who’s the author?
TEACHER: You’re looking at her.
JONATHAN: You write poetry?
TEACHER: When I was your age I did.
JONATHAN: Why are you giving this to me?
TEACHER: I’d be honored if you would read my work and tell me what you think. Would you do that for me?
JONATHAN: Sure thing, Ms.B.
(As you pop into Jonathan Garcia, pushing yourself up, reaching to grab your bag, and starting to walk out of the classroom. Emilio stops Jonathan as he exits the classroom. Emilio has a slightly raspy Latino accent; this'll set him apart from Jonathan.)
JONATHAN GARCIA: Hey what’s up Emilio?
EMILIO: I heard the popo was at your house, man.  You didn't tell 'em nothing did you?
JONATHAN GARCIA: No, no of course not man. We’re in this together. Brothers for life, homie.
EMILIO: Yah, that’s all well and good till someone starts thinking they could make a little deal with the PD.
JONATHAN GARCIA: Look all I did was drive the car, man.
EMILIO: And you think that makes you any more innocent? Just cause you didn't pull the trigger cuz, doesn't mean you gunna walk away from this.
JONATHAN GARCIA No, I know that. Trust me, I know. But listen I'm going through my own thing right now with my parents.
EMILIO: Hey we all got our problems man.
JONATHAN GARCIA: You wanna talk about problems? I’m just tryin to keep my head held high. Not cryin about this pain stained lie. Just got thrown out of the only home I know. And truth is I got nowhere to go. Who made the clouds rain red and left a young boy dead? This scenario’s come over me like a catastrophic wave. I’m lost, and don't know to stay brave. When all that I see is this hollow shamed cave. And Emilio, can you hear my Harlem Blues? Cause the road that you choose. Leaves me battered and bruised? Painted as…one of the accused?
EMILIO: Hey man, did you hear me?
JONATHAN GARCIA: What? What was that Emilio?
EMILIO: I just said, I need my gun back homie.
JONATHAN GARCIA: You gave me that piece, Emilio. You said it was mine.
EMILIO: Yah, and now the pigs are gunna be lookin for my gat. So I need yours, its only temporary bro.
(As you transition and Turn, beatbox; when you turn back around, you're the Dad. Same voice, with the drunken slurring. Jonathan is fumbling through his drawers. His Dad stumbles out in a bathrobe with a beer bottle in hand)
DAD: Looking for this?
(Pulls out Jonathan’s gun)
JONATHAN: Dad, what the hell were doing going through my stuff?
DAD: What the hell were you thinking, bringing a fucking gun into my house?
JONATHAN: It’s not even my gun. I was going to give it back to Emilio.
Dad: Ooooh it’s Emilio’s gun, huh? Well why don’t you show me what Emilio would do if he were here right now.
(Points it at Jonathan’s forehead)
JONATHAN: Put down the fucking gun! You’re drunk!
DAD: Tell me son, when your out their on the streets is this how you hold it?
(Turns the gun sideways)
JONATHAN: Dad, please…you’re scaring m…
DAD: What do they say Jonathan? You know…before you pop’em.
(Dad presses the gun harder into Jonathan’s skull)
DAD: Do they cry? Do they beg? Do they get on their knees and pray?  
(Dad gestures him; using the gun as a strong motivator)
DAD: Come on son, why don’t you get on your knees and pray?
(Jonathan is on his knees; in the praying position. He closes his eyes and begins to rap. Get louder and more forceful as you rap—this should be the climax.)
JONATHAN GARCIA: Damn these cards that I’ve been dealt. Damn this hell that I have felt. Damn all these intoxicated intolerants that bother us. I'm riding the roads of my youthful revolution and the doctrines for my own constitution. I'm fatherin' my own resolution because here in these slums I won’t find my evolution. Why am I subjected to despair in a world of no opportunity? No fruition fossil’d in the 21st century. (Jumps back to his feet) 
This society’s systematical, irrational, impractical, radical and tactical.
(Teary eyed; Take a few deep breaths as you regain your calm demeanor. Melt to a more relaxed, composed you.)
So, there I was. Out on my own at 16 years old. Who knew a father could be so cold? I struggled…No job, no money, no education, no diploma. And just like Romeo in fair Verona. I was exiled…my happiness defiled. And I was a child, who no longer smiled. And I became my own father, when my real one no longer bothered. I found work, and I made do. And I found an apartment on 6th Avenue. Eventually, I got my GED.
(Time has past; You are now adult Jonathan.)
JONATHAN: You know Ms.B once told me I’d make a great teacher. Turns out now, she was right. And now, a decade down the road. I run an outreach program for inner-city youth. And I see myself in so many of their adolescent faces.
(Beat-box those two measures before melting into the rap)
JONATHAN: Do you hear that? I’ve built an empire, out of the ruins of blood and fire. All these boys of battered homes, we walk the same roads. But I can change the pain, and my struggle won’t be in vain. And maybe my tribulations and tragedies will be their gain. The passion of this piece of paper is more powerful then the guns of yesterday. But years of tears have brought me nothing but friends in the tombs that lay.
(As you melt out of the rap; Transition to Victor, a soft adolescent voice with a Latin accent. He’s holding a piece of paper where’s he’s written his poem)
VICTOR: Mr.G, can you read something I wrote yesterday?
JONATHAN: Of course, Victor.
(Takes the piece of paper from Victor’s hand)
JONATHAN: This is really good. Can I give you some of my poetry to read?
VICTOR: You write poetry?
JONATHAN: Back when I was your age, that’s all I did. Here, take it home with you. I wrote a poem for you, it’s in the very back.
(Jonathan hands Victor his journal; melts out of the conversation as he transitions to a Narrator position, speaking directly to the audience)
JONATHAN: I was really genuinely excited to hear what Victor thought of my poetry, but unfortunately (Sound of a gun shot; in the background) Victor never made it home that night. This is what I wrote.
(Jonathan emotional and teary eyed: reads his poem from a piece of paper. We hear police sirens and helicopters as the song Stand By Me by Ben E. King begins to play.)
Just like bombs burst, turning the world to vapor, this pen will forever fix
words to paper. 'Cause I'm spreading the gospel of peace, sire. Heading towards the gang war's ceasefire. Because one day we may finally see. The end to this infinite fallacy. The long awaited day when the bullets are a relic. The tethered and torn cry for a day so angelic! A day when we can speak of great history. And look back on our glorious legacy. And with honest sincerity. I ask for everlasting prosperity. As far as me? I’m not some crook, I’m just a kid…who found his new outlook.
(Rap fades out; Along with the sirens. Though the song continues)