From April, 2016

Rainwalk in New Orleans

Sometimes taking a walk in New Orleans during rain-fall is necessary. The smell of sewage and funk serves as a reminder that not everything is going to be wonderful or flowery ,or how you imagine it to be. Things can be enjoyed despite their stench, *ahem, a lover’s stale breath* you just gotta “roll w/ it.” Advertisements

Trampled

I often find myself trampled, tread upon, disregarded. I see this and recognize it. Do I want to change this? Yes. But at what expense. At what cost. I am constantly subjected to this paradox. Should I stop being generous with my things (things: all included)? Yes. But, if I do stop, then what good is that? What good is it if I’m not at least attempting to brighten the lives of those around me? Its hard work, but I feel like I am charged with doing it. Who knows what type of sludge someone is trudging through? Who knows how far…

Receipts in a dead man’s pocket

Receipts in a dead man’s pocket… like journal entries cataloguing human life. As if the plastic, blotched-ink spattered slips composed of meaningless numbers and letters could summarize what a person stands for-stood for- more appropriately than any typical stretched eulogy ever could…Raw, completely raw. Raw as abraded flesh or, a sore soul…

Coatracks and Cacti

Flower on top of the cactus: is it worth taking the irritating pricks and stings? Is it worth climbing up, worth slowly progressing? Is it worth the struggle to eventually make a grab at, snatch at, that beauty? This concept of trading pain for pleasure, or possibly something nobler, is a curious one. I am intrigued and hung up on it, like a coat stuck on its rack- pulling on it is awkward: attempt to take the coat too quickly, and you get both your jacket and the cumbersome wooden skeleton. Yet, if you just let it sit, its aesthetic…

Snowday in Los Angeles

NOTE: This is a preview of something I will be starting on within the week A day’s worth of lag backs everything up. Today was one of those unusually sunny days in the dead of winter. Although clouds hung over head, bolts of warm yellow and orange fell in tight groupings on the snow-laden yard. Ice that had been forming over the past three weeks quietly dripped from shingle to drainpipe to concrete. Unfortunately, as the residents of this Victorian era remodel quickly discovered, the front door had been snowed in. This is incredibly remarkable for a few reasons. The…

Revisiting the Tomb of Youth

It is the same with everything in the room. What once were his became his daughters, his daughter’s became my mother’s, and now, this living piece of history became mine. It’s all living history, that is. A flaking door, a squeaking floor board. A hint of lemon Pine-Sol and the tickle of dust on the nares. Walk towards the twin sized bunk beds, gently run your fingertips over the top of Pop’s ancient handcrafted dresser. Feel each grove, each indentation in the soft-as-clay 70-year-old hand-me-down. Hear the clinking together of cheap medals won in events long past: Mar vista Park…

Degree of Distance; Stem from Dissonance

Burn me Bite me Do what you will my feelings are the same. I care for you, I miss you Oh darling, its really quite a shame. If only you could {                                } my pain. Then, oh sweet one, The world would be as right as rain. If we simply knew each other and how we are or how we were Then maybe Then this distance wouldn’t seem so far.

Lag

So its been a while, 5 days to be exact, since my last post. The weekend has been quite eventful with live music, great conversations and time well spent dotting the 4-day event. Squeezing 96 hours of joy into one single post would be the undertaking of the century, so I just want to post a little blurb informing those who’ve been reading that while I haven’t been writing everyday as I promised, I have however been experiencing the world in the right way with the right people. As heartbreaking as it is to admit that I’ve already shirked my…

Feeling pressured?

I would like to call attention to one peculiar thing that young adults face on weekly basis: internal pressure. Whether it be in the social scene, in the class-room, or even in the confines of one’s own head, this internal pressure constantly nags at us. Am I doing this correctly? Is this socially acceptable? Do my friends think I’m a square? I wonder if I’m just different…  As I have come to realize over some recent unfortunate happenings (understatement), when this pressure is dwelled upon, the enjoyment in life is completely drained. Not only is it harder for one to…