Doubting Clarity

how do we begin to doubt love?
something that stems from vulnerability
in its purest form
its honesty
in its totality
that can bring great joy
but absolute sadness
to ignite all types of emotions
to create such physical pain
without physical touch

its intangibility causes distrust
hesititation that such a force exists
the uncertainty of emotions
that create, yet destroy us
the fear of loss before we've gained
the unease of distruction at the peak of happiness
an unforgiving force, an enigma
consuming us whole
filling the spaces between our atoms

a suffocation of sorts
an energy that can't be contained
revealing our deepest secrets
shedding light on our darkest past
something that can't be controlled
but controls
leaving us unable to explain, to find words
to express such a force
that exists, but doesn't at the same time
is it there?
is it not?
is this how we begin to doubt love?

---------------------------------------------------

Dudando de la Claridad

¿Cómo comenzamos a dudar del amor?
algo que se deriva de la vulnerabilidad
en su forma más pura
su honestidad
en su totalidad
eso puede traer gran alegría
pero tristeza absoluta
para encender todo tipo de emociones
para crear tal dolor físico
sin contacto físico

su intangibilidad causa desconfianza
dudas de que tal fuerza exista
la incertidumbre de las emociones
que crean, sin embargo nos destruyen
el miedo a la pérdida antes de que hayamos ganado
la incomodidad de la destrucción en la cima de la felicidad
una fuerza implacable, un enigma
consumiéndonos todo
llenando los espacios entre nuestros átomos

una sofocación de tipo
una energía que no puede contenerse
revelando nuestros secretos más profundos
arrojando luz sobre nuestro pasado más oscuro
algo que no puede ser controlado
pero nos controla
dejándonos incapaces de explicar, de encontrar palabras
para expresar tal fuerza
que existe, pero no al mismo tiempo
¿está ahí?
¿no lo es?
¿Es así como comenzamos a dudar del amor?

The Evaporation of Love

We were different, we always were
We wanted the same things at different times
When we were different people
A constantly changing organism
Adapting to unfamiliar environments
But isn't that the cycle of life?
To adapt to the unknown
In order to survive?
And I did it,
To survive with you.
We kept running into brick walls of communication
Hurdling over clouds
Sinking into quick sand
A black hole of sorts sparked with our energy
Positive, negative
A combination of both
Sucking us into eternity
Into a possible end or beginning
I venture with numbness taking over
First in the tips of my fingers
Traveling inward
And lastly, my heart.
Another constant organism
Adapting
Painfully changing it's beat
Until it's nothing but a whisper
Of what was.
We fell out
Two clear cut paths
And we let go watching each other walk away
Our love floating above us like bubbles
Pop, pop, pop
As sprinkles of us drizzle the path
Evaporating into the universe
Leaving marks of a distant past.

The Rebellion: Ramblings of Travel & Self-Discovery



You would think that I was being impulsive. Something had to have happened in order for me to make such a drastic decision. Broken heart? Job? Life? I mean, sure, all of the above but it's much deeper than that -- there's a sort of science to the madness. I have always battled with the day-to-day routine. I am aware that routine is good, it gives life a form of structure and even purpose. You have something to look forward to, even if it's the same thing everyday, you know. At such a young age I was taught to go to school, get good grades, graduate college, get a good job, get married, have kids, yada yada. And it wasn't like society was telling me otherwise. It's the normal thing to do and you comfortably do it because you live life within those boundaries and are surrounded by people with similar ideas. But it was a struggle because these boundaries sort of felt like shackles. I was being shackled to this 'type' of life that I didn't want to possibly live. But with this 'type' of life comes a ton of expectations from people closest to you, as well as strangers. It's as if you are expected to complete each one of these levels in the order they have been given to us in order to reach the pursuit of happiness or some beyond. But what was I really working towards? A beautiful house with beautiful things and a beautiful family? I knew it was all false. The more beautiful it was the more damaged it was inside. A facade to show that society was right. Those 40+ hours a week, the unhealthy balance between work and life, the mortgage you were talked into that you're stuck paying the next 30+ years, the loans, that's what I saw -- imprisonment in a life you thought you chose but had been chosen for you all along. And I hated that I was on that path of destruction and potential unhappiness. It wasn't for me and I wanted out. Plugging numbers, sitting in a cube, essentially becoming a robot. My mind was rotting in Corporate America while ideas were flooding inside me needing to find a way out. It wasn't a matter of running away from things and/or being impulsive -- it was a matter of being awaken, aware, somewhat rebelling against the day-to-day business. I wanted something new, new adventures, people, environment, new me. I needed to reinvent, find myself again, being lost in such ordinary things. And to retract a bit, it's a scary place realizing this. It's numbing trying to play the part. I have a hard time feeling things, love. Love is what I was missing and is such a powerful force. My love for life, writing, people -- lost. It's meaningless in a way to live without passions, emotions. It's unhealthy because you glue yourself to meaningless things. A magnetic force of want and desire to anything that seems like a light at the end of the tunnel. A possible truth in a world of lies, for me at least. And I became naive falling in love with ideas of what could possibly be without it ever being. Half-assed relationships crumbling before my very eyes and actually thinking I was hurt by it but I wasn't, it's just that the idea proved to be false and there went my possible truth. Now I'm just rambling on my views of life but I really want people to understand the depth, the thought, the emotion that went behind it all and why this is so significant, so necessary for me. People were so confused with my decisions and it makes me laugh now. How? Why? Where? When? It was this idea that was sort of impossible to grasp because it was so out of reach, unheard of.
But what I've learned along this journey is that we all want to escape, we think it, we say it, but we don't act on it. We stay within the boundaries, our safe space. And of course I understand this lifestyle, these ideas do not apply to everyone. But as much as people questioned my motives and reason for being, I began to question theirs. Now keep in mind, these were all thoughts, ideas I had floating around in my head. None of this even felt real, nothing feels real unless acted upon. The process of moving out of my apartment, physically leaving my relationship, walking out of my job on that last day, saying goodbye to the people I love, that was real. It was as if my numbness, like a blanket, slipped off my shoulders, fell on the floor, as I stood there naked, vulnerable. As I sat on that plane, a one-way flight, I knew I was entering this new era -- I was starting the process of healing, feeling, living. What the hell was I doing? Where the hell was I going? Would I be ok? Would I thrive? Questions I've been asked along the way and shrugged off as if I knew all the answers. I knew nothing, I still don't know and that's the beauty of it all, not knowing. For once I didn't have to know. What I do know is that this world is mine. I watch the sun rise and set -- time is no longer linear but an expression of the world moving, changing -- daylight, moonlight, weather, age -- a visual thing. I lifted off, out of the darkness, into my new life. And it's constant growth and discovery. I am an ever-evolving organism floating on the outskirts of life trying to figure it all out.

Close of Business

Sing Hing restaurant on the corner of Lorimer
A laundromat away from Pho
A $10 combo ticket to Asia
Tide mixed with Bounty and a side of fried rice
The delivery guy comes back
From biking around Brooklyn
With his screechy breaks
A gym membership that pays him.
And the bike is at it again
Screeching away making its next delivery
Engines starting and horns honking and cars whooshing by.
A bus claims it's Not In Service but it looks fine to me.
Walked over gum all over the concrete.
Years of gum etched in the cracks
Imagine how much shit the street knows?
Mmm cigarette smoke.
A very old Buick
Duck taped to death, surprised it's still kicking.
A woman hailing a cab
Her arm must be killing her
I don't even think she knows
Because she's indulged in her phone
That arm must be killing her too.
A crushed french fry.
I wonder if it's from Sing Hing on the corner or from Pho
Certainly not from the laundromat
Or maybe.
But back to the crushed, stepped on fry
A birds dinner.
I better step away before I become dinner too.
It's raining
No umbrella, no bus, no fry.
Guy pulls up in his car with a huge dent on his back door.
Excuse me sir you double parked in front of the bus stop.
Is that not in service too?
A dog with a little jump to his step flops his ears around
A bunch of garbage bags become a urinal
He out pees the last dog
And then out pees himself.
Sing Hing restaurant on the corner of Lorimer
A laundromat away from Pho
I wonder who out pees who?

In Darkness


A thick smell of humidity and musk rested in the air. It rested heavy causing breathing to be a lot more difficult as the air slowly entered into my lungs and rested there as well. Drops of rain being whipped around by the wind hitting the windows, trickling down casting shadows on my body. There were blotches of light that hit the floor but I remained hidden in the shadows, in the darkest part of the room. I held my legs as tight as I could, my hair falling over my face stuck to the tears that drowned my skin. Makeup smeared around my eyes trailing down my face, running down my neck soaking the collar of my shirt. I felt my eyes and lips swelling, my body subtly trembling. I had physically been there but my mind had been sucked into a black hole eternally disconnected from the world. I somehow managed to come back but had asked for too much again. My hands ran up my face stretching my skin as they grasped my scalp pulling my hair as hard as I could to move the focus of pain in another direction. Strands of hair twisted in between my fingers as my head hit the wall over and over again. Energy traveled inside of me through my veins causing my muscles to contract and release from frustration. Rage seeped through my skin and viciously attacked my mind. I pulled and pulled and my fingers dug into my palms painting my fingertips red. The smell of metal rose from my hands and sat as heavy as the musk and rain. I rested my head back as a pool of tears formed at the base of my eyes impairing my vision. Lightening struck illuminating my face that was flushed and blotched, bruised and smeared. There had been no conversation, no meeting, no communication. It was the silence that brought me there. Your silence rang in my ears, destroyed my mind, and threw me back in the grave where I died once again.

{'Hello Darkness, My Old Friend' by MadamePsychosis}

The 6-Hour, 26.2 Mile Pilgrimage

When you hear 26.2 miles you think 'oh that's a car ride away,' which, in fact, it is. But when you attempt to run it, as in a marathon, it turns into a complete mental test, a 6-hour destination. It's a chance to get to know a city we so easily avoid. 5 boroughs with 6 hours of intimate getting-to-know each other. Bridges we normally drive through become pedestrian pathways. People we normally ignore become our support system. We all become interconnected for the race of our lives. Humanity embraces what it means to be humanly human. And we embrace what it truly means to be alive.

This was speed dating at its finest. I was willing to get to know as many people as I could and possibly motivate them and change their lives. With only 6-hours I was going to conquer the NYC streets one high five at a time. I would stop at the top of bridges and breathe in the skyline of a city I had just been reacquainted with.

When I tell you I was completely terrified, that is just an understatement. I had failed in my running duties and not taking training too seriously. I thought, ‘hey if a woman can give birth and not prepare for that then I can definitely run a marathon.’ This, of course, coming from a girl who has yet to get pregnant. But we always tend to underestimate the powers of the human mind and body and I would be completely in touch with myself in this very moment in time to attain the unattainable for some. 

I went into this with full intentions of blocking the world out. I didn't want to hear anything but the sound of my headphones. But then I heard the roaring of the crowd, which was better than any song I could play. The world was my stage and I was completely consumed. Every mile becomes a milestone as I develop into a newer better version of me. The city becomes a visual influence as I strive to be as tall as the buildings I stand next to.

I would be lying if I told you I did not think about giving up. More than halfway done yet 6.2 seems farther than 26.2. My knee begins to throb as I wonder how good it must feel to be standing still, sitting down, sleeping. I think back to the beginning of the race, a handicapped man with prosthetic legs being guided by two other men as he hunches over to catch his breath. Or the woman with a shirt that said 'Blind Runner' being led by the voice of the crowd all the way to the finish. And how about the man who juggled his way through and the woman who ran barefoot. Giving up was no longer an option but an obstacle. 

His name was Nano. Born in New York but currently lives in Indonesia. 
Hey! How are you doing?
Image captured while crossing the finish line.
Honestly, TERRIBLE! I just want to finish this race, eat my cinnamon raisin bagel, possibly have a beer or 10 and go to sleep!!!

His name was Barry. Born and raised in NYC.
It was the crowd on 1st Avenue right?
I had started the race with him but managed to lose him on the way. Darting down 1st from the excitement and energy of the crowd. He knew me well, but there he was next to me.

My two angels gave me wings, lifted me and without saying much dragged me to that finish line. Lamp post to lamp post, street light to street light, walk D to E, run F to the Finish.

I don't remember my feelings at that exact moment. I'm pretty sure I thought about stuffing my face. I couldn't even manage to walk to the people giving out the medals as I extended my arms for them to come to me, and with a simple gesture a volunteer runs over and gives me a hug,
CONGRATULATIONS!
I left Central Park with new relationships and intimate memories of the city. A journey not even a car could cover nor a bike or a plane. A pilgrimage where thousands headed towards sacred land. A reflection of life itself.

The Colors of a Rainbow

The giant bird had landed safely leaving me an emotional wreck. I have yet to touch the land but being on it breaks down my walls and floods my face with tears. Part of the same planet, thousands of miles away from familiar land. A mutual ocean the only body we share. I don’t remember what my ‘home’ is like because I’ve found a new place to stay. Disconnected yet connected to another world. The air feels heavier here, the people a little darker, my heart a little lighter. I was ready to take it in, pollution and all. It was much nosier, the streets more crowded with colorful women, men, children, cows, elephants. A community, a village, a family. Vibrant colors radiating, a reflection of their souls. Smiles, nothing but smiles. The simplicity of a smile the extension of their affection. My arrival had no impact as they went about their lives but my presence did not go unnoticed. Eyes locked for a second and transformed years of my life.

Two boys sitting on the side of the road blowing kisses my way. Eye Contact. They flutter towards me—butterflies and a smile. I’ve smiled a million times in my lifetime but this smile came from the depths of my stomach, the pit of my heart, my entire being. With a blow of a kiss love is spread and smiles are found. Beggars. Left, right, front, back—Beggars. Food their greatest luxury. Communication: hand to mouth—hunger. I put my head down. No Eye Contact. Shameful that I can’t help them all. Humbled. I can’t even help myself back at ‘home’ but they don’t know that. 

Mosques, temples, churches reside side by side on a one block span. Acceptance. God. Unity. A world so divided but they manage to coexist. Swastikas a symbol of well-being. A symbol we've learned to turn our heads from. 

Touch. Touch as much as you can. As long as you can feel you’ll remember. Marble, dirt, water. People laying on the streets, on the sidewalks, on staircases. Heat. Boiling hot dry heat. Sucks the life out of you. Puts you to sleep. But arms remain extended out to a world that cannot save them. Rivers, a communal place to cleanse—mind, body, soul. Forgiveness. 

Friendship. I have made friends here that will forever be in my heart—Raj. A man said, “We don’t believe in war we believe in unity.” And I thought how silly since I come from a world that is in war and remains divided. And he continues to say, “Countries are all alike and are made up of people just like us—children, mothers, fathers.” I couldn’t believe how much sense he made in a casual conversation. Sense the world lacks but could use to change it forever. Sense that is taking us years and years to figure out. Sense I just learned in a casual conversation. I gave him a tip. He placed it on his head then raised it towards the sky. It must be a universal gesture because I heard his ‘Thank You’ loud and clear. Maybe not to me but to some greater power. A meal he can bring home to his family. 

Family. My family is scarce back at ‘home’. Hi Mom, Bye Mom. That is my family and that is the time I have with my family. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Life for us, it’s just there. For them, it’s everywhere. Mausoleum. The Dead reside 240ft above ground. A mausoleum of honor and love. A mausoleum of unity forever after. Their spirits celebrated with riches. I stand there in awe. A different world in the middle of their reality. Outside these walls, Beggars. Reality. 

Wedding. A population of billions, crowds of cars in between lines. In the middle of it all a celebration. Love always prevails. Music, fireworks, car horns, invitation. I find myself celebrating with the groom while he heads towards the rest of his life. I don’t know his name, age, wife but we’re celebrating together. Cars become more impatient. Horns overpowered by laughter. 

Appreciation of the world. Water, liquid gold—luxury. Work, long and hard—luxury. Family, hungry but many—luxury. Life is luxury. But there is something beautiful about suffering. Something we cure with a pill back at ‘home’. And I can’t help but think, “How can they live like this?” But they have for thousands of years and many more to come. “How can they live like this?” Valuing simplicity over complexity. Community over privacy. The only people to truly find peace and are able to live united. To accept others. To accept life. To promote love. 

Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet. When standing alone they are nothing but solid colors. Put together they make a rainbow.

RedOrangeYellowGreenBlueIndigoViolet put together make India.


As I ventured back home I found myself struggling to put this experience into words. My heart feels heavy as I think about how their lives continue to move on as I remain frozen in a past that dances around me and is forever etched into my heart.

English Majors, Teachers, Writers & Readers Are 'All Knowing' .. Obviously.

I've been in numerous English courses and have been around numerous English majors. We usually have a lot in common: Our interest in words, literature, writing, analyzing, and viewing the world a little differently. But one thing I have noticed is our tendency to be a little pretentious and our excessive usage of the word, "OBVIOUSLY."



So there I was, sitting in an English class and my Professor is throwing around the word "obviously" after every sentence.
Obviously Holden Caulfield is going through an obvious crisis in being afraid to grow up .. Obviously. But he obviously doesn't grow up as he runs away from all his obvious problems.
Really Professor? Is it really that 'obvious' that we should clearly understand where you are coming from? This is a vicious attack on those who haven't gotten it because they are 'obviously' too stupid to see what is so clearly in front of them.

Let me define OBVIOUSLY:
In a clearly perceptible manner, evidently, plainly, manifestly; naturally, as might be expected from the circumstances.
In other words:
Of course, duh, apparently.
It makes it seem that we are 'all knowing' and whatever we are saying should be 'obvious' because it is so 'clearly apparent' that they should know too. FALSE.

The word is so mis-used in an attempt to sound intellectual. It's not like the person you are saying it to is like,
I'm so foolish! You're right. It is so OBVIOUS!!!
But, I have fallen into the 'obvious' bandwagon and have been stinging people with the word since the day I was born with my 'obvious' presence.

People just don't like it. People don't like me for it. They think it's obnoxious. Because whatever seems so "obvious" clearly isn't.

This goes out to all those English majors, writers, readers, and analyzers .. What may be 'obvious' to us is not so 'obvious' to everyone else ...

...OBVIOUSLY...


"Americans": The True Immigrants

The Thanksgiving Story

The Pilgrims sailed all the way to Plymouth Rock and came across Native Americans. The Native Americans taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn and other crops. Being inspired by the new harvest, both groups united together celebrating with a big feast to give thanks ... & history is born.

-THE END-




As children we are taught a false perception of history-- a clean, heroic, American way of history.
America the great, America the beautiful, but there lies a disturbing truth behind these stories that many people turn a blind eye to. Children are in a way brainwashed to believe history in the way that it has been molded to benefit the country. We live in a bubble where we do no wrong and figure that our interventions, past, present and future are always to better others and to help those in need. But what about the manipulation, the lies, the distortion of what we are taught throughout our whole lives? And for those who know the truth about the world, where does that leave us in raising children to, in a way, be against the educational system and what is taught? How can we tell them that what their teacher is saying is a semi-truth?

National Geographic Kids state,
"On the fourth Thursday of November, Americans celebrate Thanksgiving, a national holiday honoring the early settlers and their harvest feast known as the first Thanksgiving ... They played ball games, sang, and danced."

But when do we ever learn about the Pequot War?

An alliance of English colonies attacked the Pequot tribe made up of 700 unarmed men, women, and children. Those who survived were shipped off and sold into slavery.

It was a massacre.

In the book, 'The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian,' written by Sherman Alexie, a Native American himself growing up in the Spokane Indian Reservation he states,
"I always think it's funny when Indians celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, sure, the Indians and Pilgrims were best friends during that first Thanksgiving, but a few years later, the Pilgrims were shooting Indians ..."
"'Hey, Dad,' I said. 'What do Indians have to be so thankful for?'
'We should give thanks that they didn't kill all of us.'"
Our view of History is essentially formed by the perception of the hand that wrote it.

And as time progressed and Americans grasped the idea of 'Manifest Destiny,' Native Americans have been pushed and confined into these small and extremely poor Reservations. They have been tucked away and paid off to keep their brutal past hidden from the new 'civilizations' growing around them.


Native Americans in Today's Culture

Football-
  • Washington Redskins

Baseball-
  • Atlanta Braves
  • Cleveland Indians

Basketball-
  • Buffalo Braves
  • Golden State Warriors

Hockey-
  • Chicago Blackhawks

Isn't this a form of Racism?
Aren't 'we' mocking a 'type' of person-- a stereotype?
Wouldn't this be a false representation of what 'we' perceive a Native American looks like?

Usually in sports a mascot is represented by an animal, then what does that make the representation of a Native American?

A kid in one of my classes says that it's okay for Americans to use these terms, even when the Washington Redskins received negative backlash for their name. He said,
"You just pay them off to shut them up."
Have we grown so ignorant and naive to believe that this is okay? America has grown to have this superior mindset, this 'we think we're so much better' mindset, this 'we live in America speak English' mindset, while the whole world sits back and laughs as we continue our lives living on lies upon lies upon lies.

Money.

You just give them what they need in order to conquer the land. Suffocate them in things until they say "YES." Use them then lose them. Come on guys this has happened time and time again.

So to sum up all this craziness .. America has deprived the Natives of their land and pushed them so far away. Their History isn't accurately taught, and their perception in today's culture isn't accurately portrayed. But there is a bigger picture here. One that cannot be written but processed in the mind.

I wouldn't be surprised if someone offered to pay me off to keep my mouth shut and delete this post.

{First Comic by Mike Luckovich}
{Second Comic by David Horsey 'The Truth of Thanksgiving'}

Can We Really Say What We Mean & Mean What We Say?


Suck was a queer word ... But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his hands in the lavatory of the Wicklow Hotel and his father pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty water went down through the hole in the basin. And when it had all gone down slowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like that: suck. Only louder. -James Joyce (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man)

What are words?

Words. Made up of letters. Made up of sounds. But what do they mean?
In 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man', James Joyce plays with the character, Stephen Dedalus, as he struggles through words and their meanings. Words are used in 2 ways:
  1. Actual Meaning: Let's use the word 'SUCK' for example. According to the Oxford Dictionary, suck means to draw into the mouth by contracting the muscles of the lip and mouth to make a partial vacuum.
  2. Figurative Meaning: As in to be a 'suck up', which means to pretty much kiss someones butt. 
The shift in words causes Stephen Dedalus to have a hard time understanding them. Does this possibly take away from their meaning?
Words are a funny thing. They are a way for people to communicate and a way for people to express
themselves. But we also use words and manipulate them & somehow lose their true meaning.

We give words so much power. Universally, everyone decided that the word 'FUCK' is a bad word. So we are left with the media censoring certain words that everyone agrees are bad. But we are forgetting that they are just words. Letters. Sounds. People are the cause of them being bad. We use them against others.

Humans are more complicated than words. Our feelings are this unknown, indescribable part of our lives and words restrict us to really express our thoughts, feelings, emotions as we are limited to happy, sad, love, hate and every synonym on top of that, that essentially mean the same thing. 

Let me create a scenario: Imagine a world with no words. We communicate visually. How would we think? What language would our thoughts be in? How does a person that is deaf hear his or her own thoughts?

The world is more complex than a 26-letter alphabet. Our emotions and our beings cannot be expressed with the simplicity of words. Such a mystifying thing holds no language, no definitions. It just is. No words can justify without the filtration. So can we really mean what we say and say what we mean as it had been processed and let out into the universe from our minds? 

And the next time you say "I love you," think about how meaningless those words mean. In writing we use the term, 'Show don't Tell'. So maybe take a step back and try to really capture your feelings even if the words you are saying do not make sense. Or better yet, use your actions to express what is happening on the inside.

 

Writing Tip: 

 

Use this in your writing and you'll see how you can make a paragraph from showing what a simple phrase as, "I was sad," can turn into a full paragraph or even a full story of what sits behind those 3 simple words.

The irony in all of this is that we are still using words to 'Show' & not 'Tell'. But, we are putting more meaning behind them and creating our own interpretive definition.

{Image by Alex Eylar}
{Comic by WatchersWeb.com}

A Life Changing Dysfunction: TMJ

For the past 2 months I've been having a serious problem. Maybe it's because I talk too much but I have been waking up without being able to fully open my mouth and having to pop my jaw. I literally move the bottom half of my mouth to the right side and "POP" I'm able to yawn normally. So of course I immediately go to Dr. Google to see what is going on and "I" have diagnosed myself with TMJ (Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction).

I tried avoiding it and putting aside going to the Dentist but then the symptoms began. It began with my jaw popping, then it moved down to my shoulders. I would find myself sitting at work popping my shoulders to a consistent rhythm. The popping moved down to my legs and I began walking with a little hop. It happened at random times of the day and there was no stopping it.

Just when I thought the popping was a problem I began thrusting my hips ..


Occasionally going on the tips of my toes ..


This one time I was walking to the car and did this little kick that turned me around and I began moon walking ..



And that was when it hit me.

It was a 50/50 chance of getting one or the other. I had already diagnosed myself with Temporomandibular Joint Dysfunction that I had exed out the other possibility. It was clear that I had TMJ (The Michael Jackson).

It spread quickly like a virus. I would occasionally blurt out a "HEEEE HEEEE!" and when I would sneeze I would finish it off with a "WOOOOO!" It was a severe case.

My hair began to curl, my pants were rolled up so my white socks were visible, and I found myself constantly wearing a fedora.

And then one day I was washing dishes and I slowly whispered, "Shamone" and a white glove appeared on my hand and then I knew that the transformation was complete.

It was official. I was the King of Pop.



& to think it all started with a popping jaw .. TMJ.


{ECard from Someecard}
{First & Third GIF from itseulonzobitch}
{Second GIF from eae-brou}
{Michael Jackson image from International Business Times}


Is Ignorance Truly Bliss?

Recently I have done a lot of research on Celtic ideology and found it to be quite interesting. The Celts were viewed to be these barbaric, uncivilized people, but in reality they were finding a way of escaping post colonialism and the new reality of what their life had become.
Celtic Traits (The Fairy Land):

Idleness
Ignorance
Wilderness
Stagnating
Child-like

But, maybe escaping the depths of your mind and living in a perfect Utopia doesn't seem bad at all. 

I just finished watching 'Pleasantville' and fell in love with the whole notion of living in a perfect society that only sees in black and white.

Pleasantville:

No color
No sex
No toilets
No fires
No war
No fighting
Basic emotions
Nothing new
Nothing changes
But everyone is always happy

And then I began to think:

Would living in Pleasantville be a better way of life than what we are living in now? Maybe the problem lies with the many distinctions life gives us or in reality the destinctions that we create. We have to many emotions, colors, changes, wars, and fighting so if we stripped it all away would we live in a more peaceful world? 

Throughout the movie we see changes in Pleasantville as certain things and people start to develop color and they are segregated as the 'Colored' people (oh, the irony). As more emotions develop, more teens are having sex, which causes a huge revolt leading to riots, burning of books and new developments in the society. Sort of what we live in now.

But before that everyone lived in a perfect world.

So maybe ignorance is truly bliss.

You know where I'll be booking my next vacation ..
  PLEASANTVILLE HERE I COME!

{Kermit Image by Paisdelocos.com}

The Day I Broke It Off With An Author

I have a problem. I'm not completely psycho, but just a little. If I were to diagnose myself, I'd say OCD. I'm a clinger, a needy person, a collector. I come across a book I really enjoy, the words touch the depths of my soul and it's no longer about me and the book, it's about me falling in love with the author.

I wind up needing to read every piece of writing that has ever been created by that specific author. And it begins to consume my life and becomes the topic of every conversation even if someone is talking about food, cars or sex.

My recent obsession: Chuck Palahniuk 

I remember walking through Barnes & Noble and seeing the cover of his book 'Damned' and thinking, "That's a bad-ass cover. I'm gonna read it." I know, I did what we learn not to do our whole lives .. I judged a book by its cover .. there I said it! So I take the book home not knowing anything about the author and I automatically fall in love. I went through:
  • Invisible Monsters
  • Survivor 
  • Cannibal
  • Rant

I couldn't get enough of him! Our relationship was stronger than ever. We even exchanged tweets on Twitter like:


As you can see, we clearly had something special.

I wound up going back to Barnes & Noble recently and where do you think I'm immediatey drawn to: Section Fiction- Letter P. I purchase two more Chuck books: 'Fight Club' & 'Invisible Monsters REMIX'.

Let me remind you I already have 'Invisible Monsters' and the REMIX is just the way he intended the book to be with a few more chapters. This obsession had gotten out of control. I didn't even know who I was! I was lost and had become a product of Chuck P. He was the food for my soul, he filled the emptiness inside of me, he had full control. I had to do the unthinkable, I had to break it off.

It was time to experience new authors and new styles. So I did it the only way I could:


It must have been hard on him because he never wrote back.

I'm sorry Chuck.

PEOPLE: The True Pitbull

Working in an animal shelter really opens up your eyes to many things. I think I've seen it all: starving, abused, beaten down, broken, unloved animals. Families coming in willingly giving up their pets because they barked, or bit them, or pee'd on their 'expensive' rug-- stupid reasons that with time and patience can be easily fixed. Give them a chance! These are animals that have never had a home and if they did it was filled with abuse and abandonment. But people expect them to automatically become accustom to their lifestyle meanwhile they are still adjusting to their own after being saved from a harmful environment and learning that not all people or households are the same.

One thing that struck me being around these animals are how friendly, lovable and mushy Pit bulls are, or shall I use the correct term: The American Staffordshire Terrier. The term 'Pit bull' comes from 'Bully in the Pit' a phrase used for dog fighting. So, let it be known that these dogs were forced to kill one another while the peanut gallery cheers them on, injects them with steroids, and locks them back up in cages playing doctor so they don't get caught. And somehow they fall into being some sort of monster that people fear because of people themselves who throw them into these deadly situations and make money from their death.

People, the ones we assume have some form of morality, of logical thinking, of common sense.

People, the ones we assume know what's right from wrong, have superior intelligence, and are civilized.

These same people, or shall I say monsters find pleasure in the pain of these animals. These innocent animals.

And now they forever hold this negative connotation in the eyes of uneducated people. They're blinded because of the aggressive advertisement of these animals. Ignorance.

So who is the true 'bully' here?

I will never forget the day my boss called me and told me that whatever I did that night to try not to cry. I couldn't wrap my head around what I was about to walk into. I knew we had just rescued a pit, but how bad could she be? I hesitated opening the door to the back room but I took a deep breath and walked in. There she was a beautiful blue nosed pit, nothing but skin and bones running right towards me, barely being able to keep herself up. This poor animal, the starvation, the abuse she must have went through. She ran right up to me and rubbed her head against my leg. As I placed my hand on her and rubbed her chest, she licked me. Deep down inside after all the pain she endured there was still hope for love. The reputation these dogs have causing people to fear them, but no one takes a step back to see the true monster that would do such a thing to an innocent animal. To have stripped it away from food, from love, from life. But here she is, trusting another human, trusting they aren't all the same as humans assume they are. And with open arms I embraced her allowing myself to give into my pain and cry. 

Her name is Hope and that's exactly what she is-- Hopeful for a better tomorrow, for love, for a home. 

And she finally got it.