Eulogies From The Parking Lot

They walk along the streets
looking for jobs on the floor
that someone might have forgotten.
Their wallets are filled with dead hope
and reminders of their struggles
as stale as its cheap leather,
while the children in the pictures fitted in between the emptiness
seem to frown
From the wrinkles maybe
or something else perhaps.
Something else.
They stand in the cold, shivering
in the hardware store parking lot
And they patrol
as sentries of patience
of want
of prayers
while the American dream blankets them from frosted morning
but nothing more.
And they cry
Oh, they cry
But they are nothing but a circus to sight
A circus, perhaps
But one which shows others
the truth
of living
to feed the young and feed the dream.
Allowing themselves to be exploited
like animals
they only return humble smiles
that stretch from sorrowful eye to sorrowful eye.
And on they go
with the pores of their skin crying loudly,
causing them
to leak their hearts down their faces.
Later, after sunset
They return to their homes
wallets still worn but
the table will be decorated with crumpled dollar bills.
Nothing more, nothing less.
For them
cracked backs and bruised hands
are medals of making the best
of what is just another day to the world.

Billboards As People

Everyone's a walking endorsement--
a brand name for an identity,
a cross-stitched tag for an image.

Wash with warm water, your indirect false worship.
Use mild soap to cleanse the marketing embedded deep beneath your skin.
Do not bleach the somber lies you blindly wear.
Iron flat your dreams, because you sold them to Calvin Klein and Starbucks.
Tumble dry low your memories, for you are a corporate slave-soldier.

Welcome to the dry cleaners of the omnipotent advertisement that is society.
Apparel is always promotional.
Too bad individuality isn't.

Oh, Misery Is So Beautiful

So this is what heaven is initially perceived as: this magical plane where one is granted eternal happiness, in exchange for the time served on earth carrying out model citizen duties. Behind the proverbial pearly gates is where angels will suck your dick for hours, while J.C.—at the right hand of God, the big man you've been slaving your entire mortal life to meet - shoots you a thumbs-up and a smile when you blow your load. And that's it right there. The golden finish line, the cherry on top of the sundae, and the standing ovation for the life you've made for yourself.
But as dedicated the hopefuls are to standing by this, as grand as they've all built it to be, and as tempting it all has been to eat it all up, it's bullshit; it has to be. The great landscape caressed by immortality is only a lie packaged in a box of propaganda, finished off with an illusionary, bright red ribbon.
What we’re really looking forward to…what this promise really grants…is an eternity twiddling our thumbs and enjoying the scenery.

If heaven truly existed, and was obtainable to those who fulfilled its requirements, then what lies ahead is no better than the lives we struggle with down here on Earth. Heaven, how I see it, is but a promise of a life with no purpose, no cause or meaning. There is nothing to work for, anything to strive for, nor work towards. Although that is the big prize – living worry free and not burdened with obligations – there is absolutely no stimulation. What makes life worth living is the human mechanic and downfall of never being able to be truly content--even if we aspire for the unobtainable, it gives us reason to wake up; to breathe. We bitch and we moan about how difficult life is, but if that struggle were taken away - if we were granted the key to “heaven”, or something like it - we’d only last a small breath, a tiny whisper before craving those very afflictions we detested.

So this, right here - our miserable, disgusting lives - is as good as it gets. We should all be thankful for the wondrous filth we’ve made ourselves to sleep in every night. We should give praise to the rapists, murderers, racists and terrorists for making life such a grand fucking adventure. A toast to all the moguls, high-society aristocrats, and celebrities for keeping that impossible wall for us to constantly climb, struggling with bleeding knuckles and cracked ribs. In the end, it all unknowingly plasters a grin on our faces that heaven could never match—because misery is so fucking beautiful.

So this is it.
Your heaven and your hell.
You can go ahead and call your mid-life crisis your limbo.
Your "God" might as well be that step-dad that put his hands down your pants when you were a kid.
There is no gold watch, necktie and farewell handshake.
Eat your shit with a smile, because eternal life is the toy in the happy meal that the Mexican kid stole from you.

It's A Safari In Los Angeles

The Zoo, ubiquitously controversial in the animal rights world, was a place I had not been to since childhood. I had played around with the thought of going, the idea jumping back and forth between giving into my curiosity and allegiance to the ethical beliefs that were common ground amongst fellow activists. I was stuck; conflicted. But I later decided that my beliefs on such things are my own, and that any popularized ideas related to said topics were but building blocks for a foundational structure one may or may not want to go with.










So I decided that, even if I had chosen to be firm about any opinions towards Zoos (much like Circuses, but there’s no question that nothing will change how I feel about them), I should at the very least go to observe and fully understand what goes on before forming any final decisions. And hey, I love animals--plain and simple. I go and tell myself that if I see any of what had me against Zoos in the first place, I can witness the accounts firsthand. I do, however, know the other side of Zoo keeping: preservation of threatened/endangered species, breeding, conservation, etc., and hope to be more captivated by that than by anything else. And hell, it was a fun way to spend an afternoon with my girlfriend on our anniversary.

The Los Angeles Zoo was, quite surprisingly, not ghetto. I have joked about picturing a rundown lawn lined with rusted cages housing miserable animals that chain smoked – stupid, yes - but there would be some truth between those words. The establishment seems well maintained, runs a decent program along with involvement in many conservation projects and has adequate housing (although I’d rather see them free). Not too shabby, I must say. Honorable mentions include the California sea lions, mouth-gaping hippos being fed, beautiful girlfriend to explore with, and fresh kettle corn.

Breaking Back In

I haven’t updated in quite some time, since my life has been…well, busy. I can’t remember the last time my life turned into this series of left and right hustling, but it’s definitely a great one-eighty. All of the things I’ve placed on my plate as of the last two months have not only been productive towards my life, but immensely rewarding. I’m not sure where to start, but to record as much as I can muster, I’ll start from the most noteworthy and go from there.

This decision is surely one that draws the most criticism, and the ever-so-popular shake of the disapproving head. I’ve moved out of my last apartment and into a new place that I now share with my significant other, Kathleen. This is a definite first in my book and - not so surprisingly – has been far from overwhelming (at least in the I-want-to-rip-out-my-hair sense). Other than for the better, it hasn’t changed nor deterred our relationship. All hands on deck, no regrets whatsoever, all chips in, and I couldn’t be any happier.

With going back to school coming up, the internships I have under my belt, my book and all else that makes up my quite stimulating life, I left my last job for one that was a far better fit for me – actually, this could be by far the best one I’ve ever had. And again, I couldn’t be any happier.

Now, I had a (massively interesting) back story about the newly acquired group of friends I’m about to mention and was going to blog about it, but felt that too much time had passed since (I’m just lazy, really - maybe I’ll still go forth with doing so after this post). I love how they’re mutual friends between Kathleen and I, and although only knowing them for such a short amount of time, I’ve really come to see them as genuine friends I’d know I’d hate losing. Either way, I enjoy their company and the time we’ve spent so far.

So, it’s summer now, and the aforementioned group of friends and I have covered making the most of it by beach hopping, gallery viewing, ghost hunting and torturing poor Denny’s servers. All’s left is going to shows, and as it’s concert season, I should start buying tickets.

Well, that's it for now. I swear, I'm going to get back into the habit of posting regularly, especially with new work/pieces. And the content is going to be a lot better - apologies for the poorly written blog.

Talking To The Moon

I am absolutely enthused; today, our radio program's producer, Rita, gave me my first big assignment: read author Noel Alumit's latest novel, Talking to the Moon, and then interview him on-air.
This is something I'm definitely going to anticipate and prepare well for.

Funny enough, she gave me the assignment unbeknownst to the fact that the author is Filipino-American, with the culture strongly tied to his story. I see it as an opportunity to at some point bring the conversation to common ground, and aid me in avoiding asking the ever-popular tiresome and generic questions. After all, I don't want to look like a feeble-minded simpleton in front of an author who just recently added an LA Weekly award under his belt; I want this interview to do his reputation good justice.

Only digesting a thin layer of the first part of the book, I already enjoy the novel - and the author. I have definitely grown much respect for him and his writing so far. It's someone like him that makes an aspiring author like myself feel like having a shot at really making it.

Feel free to enjoy this small excerpt from the book:

The Final Descent

"What...what is this?" he cautiously asked.
His hand slowly came up to meet hers, outstretched and beckoning for his grasp.

She had carried him away into what could only be described as the whisper of beautiful oblivion. He trembled in her arms, and when he turned to look at her, only a quiver of his lips was what he could muster as speech. She nodded with knowing eyes, and her soft lips spoke words that he could not hear, for ringing in his ears was the rhythmic tune of the marriage of their beating hearts.

His eyes darted back and forth in confusion, and his breathing grew erratic. Smiling, she cupped the side of his face with one hand, and with the other, drew a finger over his mouth, slowly starting to hang open as she calmed him. An inexplicable warmth greeted him, and their gazes met and locked in place, not faltering for a second as they both were flung into the mosaic of all that they were.

They embraced, and breathed into each other for the last time.