Broadway Lyonel

Lyonel was a cross-eyed cat that wanted nothing more than to be in Broadway. He sang and danced day and night, but Lyonel was born too ugly. All the scouts in all the audiences just laughed when Lyonel would audition.

            “That cat is much too ugly to be an actor… better change careers, boy,” all the casting crews would say.

            Lyonel would cry and dance at night and when he caught his breath, then he would sing himself to sleep.

            He tried in every theater he could… everyone just laughed and turned their heads.

            One day Lyonel decided to try his chances in a different country and he bought a plane ticket to France. The minute he arrived to France he was greeted in a much different fashion. Everyone vowed to him and treated him as if he were royalty.

            When he arrived early the next day to an audition he had learned about the night of his arrival, Lyonel was thrilled to hear the director wanted to meet him personally.

            “I could not believe it, I had to see it with my own eyes… they said there was a cross-eyed cat around here and I wanted to see it for myself!” the director said as she entered the room. Then, removing her coat and dropping it carelessly on the ground as she knew her butler was right behind her to pick it up, she addressed Lyonel, “hello, kitty… you are absolutely gorgeous!”

            Lyonel couldn’t believe his ears! “Gorgeous, you say? But in America everyone says I’m the ugliest cat! They don’t even let me audition for plays!”

            The director was baffled! “Would you like to audition for MY play? Can you sing?”

            “Can I?” Lyonel chuckled… “I’ve been practicing every night of my life!”

            Lyonel sang a few notes and the director immediately fell in love with what she heard. “Lead role!” she yelled, “I have found my lead role! Why on Earth wouldn’t those silly Americans let you audition?”

            “Well, they said I was too ugly.”

            “Nonsense! Those silly, uncivilized Americans don’t know that in your breed, being cross-eyed is as good as it gets… you are of the finest of royal blood, my boy… heck, you are practically a king around here.”

            Lyonel decided to move to France and made a living touring European theater until his death at age 40 of a pain pill overdoze.

Amira of Iraq

            Last night around 2300hrs my squad and I went on a last minute mission issued to us right before we called it a day. I didn’t know why, but for some reason a little voice inside my head said to accept the mission. As Staff Sergeant, I am the only one with authority to refuse a mission. The boys, of course, were not happy about leaving the camp so close to dark… nighttime is when shit happens around here.

            “Saddle up, boys, we got one more before hitting the ‘racks!” I yelled out as I approached the two Humvees waiting for me outside the command post. Their groans were nothing new… these boys are lazier than a bear in hibernation.

            As we left the camp, the mood in the leading humvee I was in changed immediately when put a Metallica cd and turned the volume so loud both humvees could hear it.

            About 23 kilometers from camp we hit a roadblock. There was something that seemed like cattle in the middle of the road. I ordered my squad to wait for me as I approached the block on foot to investigate.

            Kneeling near the downed cattle was a beautiful young Iraqi girl yelling, “Please don’t shoot, please don’t shoot… I need help!” I hung my rifle from my shoulder and extended my arm to help her up when out of nowhere she pulled me down and delivered a strike to my jaw so strong and firm it knocked me out immediately. The next few minutes after that are just a blur to me. The next clear memory I have is of my corporal and medic kneeling over me with cover fire coming from the humvees.

            Still in a daze I looked to my left and saw my team shot down the woman who had knocked me out. I realized then we had been ambushed and we were still engaged in combat. I took another look at the woman and realized she looked familiar.

            About a week before we had some time off and some of the boys and I went out to a local nightclub. Nightclubs are still illegal or something around here… they sure are frowned upon. I met the most beautiful girl in the world. She said her name was Amira… it means Princess. We kissed and fell in love. I promised her I’d find her when the war was over and I would take her to America.

Now she lay there next to me covered in blood and bullet holes with a blank look in her beautiful brown eyes. I laid here in shock as bullets flew around my men and me, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even move. I felt a warming sensation down my neck then realized the blow wasn’t delivered by the beautiful woman, but by a bullet… most likely silenced and probably shot from across the field somewhere. Whoever shot it was a great shot… AND he wanted me to live.

Favorite Flower

I step forth and kiss your pretty lips,

And I feel the purple fire running through me

as your toxins animate me

in a way like nothing else can

Your lovely contamination hits every part of me in a combination Of feelings

Smacking me Like a shooting star

Exploding in me sending shockwaves to my heart

Skip a beat then it comes back to me

Sends a chill down to my back

And then 2 into the brain

It’s something I can’t explain

But the way  you ease my pain

Is the reason I stay sane

in this crazy ass environment I claim

to be my home under the rain.

Cheesy

Two-stroke bit the chicken Breasts,
While Cheena ate her pizza slice,
They both studied for a major test,
while watching reruns of Miami Vice.
Then Cheena dropped some pizza on her shoe,
and Two-stroke asked, “what would you like for me to do?”
“I want you to save your own,
Rise above and fight for yours.
Don’t let anybody stop you,
from achieving all your goals.
Aim so high,
that eagles must look up
just to see your standing pride.
And when your life gets tough,
Don’t you ever run and hide!”
“Yes, thank you for the advice,
but what to do about the pizza slice?”

Flower$! Ch.4 Borrowed Identity

I stood breathing heavily underneath a canopy-covered walkway in front of what seemed to be a recently closed-down nightclub. I had been running without direction a good while now and was exhausted. It began lightly raining somewhere around the time I ran through an underpass of the interstate. I began collecting my thoughts and decided to find a business that may let me use their phone so I could call the police to report the men mugging me.

                Thinking of how comfortable I would be in my bed if I could just find a phone somewhere to use, I decided to head up the street. As I walked past a few closed businesses, I noticed a bright light coming from a warehouse door cracked open a bit. I looked up and there was a hand-painted sign that read “Sanchez Appliance Warehouse” and, although I thought it was a bit odd for an appliance warehouse to be open at this time, I decided to walk in and ask if I may use their phone.

                I opened the door and slowly walked in. I looked around and very nervously said in a very low voice, “Hello… is there anyone here?”

                “Hey! What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” – A demanding voice yelled out from behind a few crates of the half empty warehouse. There were only a few refrigerators in the far corner to my right and about 5 stoves on the next corner directly across from me. A black Yukon was parked inside facing the garage door in the back.

                Four men dressed in brown and white quickly made their way toward me. One of the four was freakishly tall, and in a very deep voice yelled out, “Identify yourself, motherfucker!”

                The large one who spoke first clearly became agitated by my silence. He pulled out a gun, pointed it at me and yelled, “Are you stupid, ese? We’re fucking talking to you! What’s your name?”

                Exhausted and fearful, I stuttered my name as well as I could. “Ja… J-James… my name’s James,” I stuttered.

                “Jimmy? Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so? Don’t look so scared, man, I’m not going to shoot you. I’m Sobres, this is Ruthless, that’s Insane and that ‘joto’ motherfucker, don’t worry about him.”

                “Alright, guys, let’s go,” said the man just referred to as ‘joto’, “time for business… we’ll talk in the truck.”

                They all started heading for the truck then insane addressed me for the first time, “come on, ese, get in the truck. Let’s go!”

                I was extremely confused and had no idea what was going on. The men were obviously armed and dangerous. I did not want to make any of them angry. I made my way to the truck and in a low voice asked, “Do any of you have a cell phone I may borrow? I have to call the police.”

                They stopped cold all at once and quickly turned around. They looked at me as if I had said… well, I said I was going to call the police and they were obviously criminals… they looked at me as if they wanted to kill me.

                The awkward silence was sharply broken by the one whose name I still did not know. “Pinche vato has jokes,” he said then laughed hysterically for a moment. “My name’s not actually ‘joto’, man, it’s Otro, but these putos think it’s funny to call me ‘joto’… don’t ever call me that, you hear? Now, come one, get on the truck, let’s go.”

Flower$! Ch.3 Jimmy the Nut

Anywhere you go in the east coast there is one name that stands out above the rest in the underground criminal world: Jimmy the Nut. Jimmy was born and raised in Boston. He came from a good family and went to a nice school. Well, as good a school could be in that part of Boston. Jimmy was well known in many areas of organized crime, but his specialty was distribution of Marijuana. He started out in Boston after talking to a buddy of his at a hip hop concert and realizing how much money he could make. He made a deal with him that same night and began his career. It wasn’t long before Jimmy moved up the ranks of Boston’s most hardened criminals.

                Jimmy quickly outgrew his neighborhood and eventually Boston. He began taking trips from the border with Canada to Florida sometimes. His trips grew longer and the loads much larger. He could see his empire growing before him with every run he made.

                His empire grew so much he started making runs west of the Mississippi. He found himself in such cities as Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Little Rock, Kansas City and Chicago. Everyone wanted to get some of Jimmy’s weed, but no one knew how to get ahold of him. Rest assure, though, if you’re smoking weed ANYWHERE from the Midwest to the East Coast, Jimmy had something to do with it.

                Jimmy’s next move was to make a trade with the Mexicans. He heard the prices in South Texas were ridiculous, and he wanted to find out for himself. He arranged meeting a few Mexicans in a warehouse in Laredo through a few connections he had in Houston. He brought a lot of money with him.

*********

                Four men in a warehouse impatiently await the arrival of Jimmy the Nut. They were told to be at the Sanchez warehouse on 88^th Street at 8pm by a man on the phone claiming to be “Jimmy the Nut”.

“Hey, what time is this guy getting here, I’m hungry!”  Asked an oversized cholo Mexican dressed in brown and white from head to toe. He was wearing white Nike Cortez, white tube socks with brown stripes, brown Dickies long shorts, brown t-shirt and a brown bandana covering his forehead but leaving his slick, black hair exposed.

“Shut up, fool, you’re ALWAYS hungry!” one of the other four answered mockingly wearing basically the same uniform and it seemed as if the only difference between the two was about 275 lbs.

“Shut the fuck up, fool, no I’m not! I just like eating all the time.”

“That’s worse, pendejo!” A third Mexican interrupted with a much deeper voice than the first two, but he was as thin as a broomstick and taller than a palm tree. He was dressed much different than the first two, but still in the basic brown and white scheme. He was wearing a brown pull-over with a gigantic hoodie almost covering his eyes. The word “Ruthless” printed in white across the hoodie and “Familia Guzman” across the top of the back. The middle read Lane St and the bottom said “killers.” Most criminals don’t usually go around telling people where they’re from, but the Familia Guzman gang flaunted their territory and wanted everyone to know what set they were from.

The fourth Mexican just stood quietly leaning on a tall, wooden crate sitting on a pallet in the middle of the warehouse. He was the shortest but fattest of the four and also the quietest. The most input he contributed to their conversations was an occasional chuckle here and there. He was wearing a white shirt with a mural air-brushed in the front spelling out the words “Insane Guzman” in a sparkling, chrome-looking style.

“Do you think he’s real? Or do you think someone’s fucking with us?” asked “Sobre Guzman,” the oversized, hungry gang banger.

“Shut up, ese, you’re annoying me!” answered Ruthless.

The four continued cracking jokes and picking on each other to pass time as they waited for what could be anything and were starting to become extremely impatient. It could be a set up by the police or an ambush by a rival gang. There WAS, however, the possibility that it MIGHT be the deal of a lifetime and if the buyer was who he said he was, the gang had potential to make money in amounts reaching the millions.

Flower$! Ch.2 Shop Super Smart at Super Mart

                My Friday evenings weren’t like most typical Friday evenings kids my age had. Instead of being out at a bar drinking and socializing, I was usually stuck working the late shift at Super Mart talking to overworked single moms who know nothing about technology but are trying to buy a gift for their spoiled teenage kid who does nothing more than nag the entire time they’re there. There would occasionally be a pretty girl or two walking around the store, but usually too young and accompanied by their parents and/or younger siblings. Since Super Mart opens 24 hours, my shift usually ended around 2:30 or 3 in the morning and by that time I was usually too tired to go out.

                I got out of work last Thursday night and was a bit irritated when I walked up to the bike rack in the front and saw the front tire of my bike was flat. Since I only lived but 5 blocks away, I decided to walk home. It was a nice night, pleasant temperature and there was a nice breeze that made the mid-summer heat feel more like early Spring.

                I had almost made it home when I noticed two thugs standing at the corner of the street I lived on. They looked a bit shady, but I’m not really one to judge.

                As I got closer, I noticed they had begun walking toward me and I was instantly alarmed. My heartbeat sped up and I could feel my palms begin to sweat. At one point I remember tripping on a crack in the pavement. I decided the best thing to do in this situation was to take initiative and show them they don’t scare me and with that thought in mind, I quickly blurted out, “good evening, gentlemen.”

                One of the two thugs, the taller one with a really shaggy blonde mullet, yelled out, “yea, right!” and began laughing hysterically. The other pulled out a switch blade and growled, “GIVE US ALL YOUR MONEY, PUNK! AND THAT PRETTY LITTLE WATCH, TOO!”

                My mind went blank, and I didn’t know what to do. I stood there frozen without moving a muscle. I thought about yelling for the police, but even if I did, I didn’t think anybody in the neighborhood would be awake to hear it.

                The momentary silence was broken by the blonde thug, who was also much thinner and taller, when he walked so close to me I could smell the cheap whiskey in his breath and in a much less enthusiastic, but threatening voice said, “well, bitch, give it here… we want your money!”

                I put my hands about halfway up, just about in front of my chest and in a trembling voice I cried out, “h-hold on, here… I don’t have any money on me, I only use my debit card!”

                “THEN GIVE US YOUR FUCKING WALLET, PUNK!” – yelled out the fat thug, who I suspected was in a bad mood because he hadn’t been fed in an hour or so. “DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING HURT YOU!”

                Then, at that very moment, in the blink of an eye, my whole life changed with one decision which, considering I am now looking at death or time in prison, I still don’t know how to feel about it. I made a fist and I don’t know where the hell it came from, but I found the courage to deliver a cross punch to the fat guy and I took off running across the street immediately. I didn’t even look back to see if they were chasing me… I just ran as fast as I could, turned as many corners as I could and jumped as many fences as I could.

Flower$!: Chapter 1

I looked in the rearview mirror of the Yukon I was ordered to drive. I looked ahead as far as I could see, but it was hard to focus on the tiny white blur ahead of me: the white van I was ordered to follow at all cost.

Right before I boarded my vehicle, I was handed a silver 380 that sparkled like spring water in morning sunlight. I did not have a shoulder holster so I just shoved the gun in the back of my pants and covered it with my white undershirt. I was fine the first two miles or so, but the hard medal began digging into my back and it became very uncomfortable and annoying.

                We must have been on the interstate for about 30 miles before the target exited and turned east on a farm road. The rural road, vegetation, and the fact that we were getting away from civilization made me a bit uneasy, but I followed my orders and trailed the white van, which sometimes reached speeds of over 100 miles per hour. We traveled down this road for about 5 miles… further and further away from civilization.

                I pulled out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and put one in my mouth then began desperately looking for a lighter. Patience was definitively NOT one of my top qualities at this moment.

                I finally found a lighter inside one of the compartments of the dashboard, but as I quickly learned, it was out of fluid. I threw the lighter out the window and yelled a few profanities. I did not know when I would have another opportunity to purchase a lighter.

                I reached out to open the glove compartment in hopes of finding a lighter, but just as I was opening it I heard the worse sound I could have possibly heard at that moment… sirens! I freaked out a bit and jerked the steering wheel a few times before regaining my composure and straightening out the vehicle. Now I found myself in quite a pickle… on one hand, I was told to follow the white van at all cost by some very nasty people who don’t like being disobeyed and on the other, this is THE POLICE! I’ve seen on TV what happens when you don’t pull over.

                I could NOT believe I found myself in this plight considering 72 hours ago I was working at Super Mart as Team Leader in the Technology department… and didn’t even know what a damned cigarette tasted like!

Dreams of a Person Who Dreams of Doughnuts

Dreams of a Person Who Dreams of Doughnuts

As the morning break hit dawn and the birds began to chirp, little Timmy Toole dreamt away of Doughnuts and Shakes. Little Timmy had a sweet-tooth, a sweet-tooth, yes he had indeed! His dreams always felt real, but there was something more to this particular one. There was an intoxicating scent of maple syrup in the air. This made Timmy dream of doughnuts even more. The stronger that sweet scent became, the stronger became the pull from within Timmy’s tummy telling him to get his fat ass off the bed and put something inside of it already!

Something was wrong, though… this time Timmy could not get up as quickly as he once did before. He swung his right foot off the bed and “oh, shit, what the fuck did I become?” Timmy sat in awe as he stared amazed at the fact that his feet had gone away and become something that seemed to be a doughnut hole. Both feet, gone… the left one was glaze and the right one white powder sugar.

Timmy stood up and headed toward the kitchen. His balance was a bit off, but he could still walk considering he had doughnut holes for feet. He opened the refrigerator door and reached in for a plate that had a slice of apple pie on it. He turned away from the refrigerator and kicked the door shut with the nearest foot, but as he did this, he saw the reflection of his food on the aluminum door and almost dropped the plate. His calves had turned into chocolate bars. His left one Snickers and the right 3 Musketeers.

As baffled as he was by this, Timmy went ahead and grabbed a fork anyway… and dug into the pie shoveling huge chunks of pie into his mouth.

He dropped a bit of pie and quickly went to grab a towel, but as he took his first step toward the sink, he slipped on the same piece of pie he had just dropped, but he did not see it because his whole midsection had turned into a cinnamon roll. He also did not feel a thing when he fell and hit the floor. He just caught one last glimpse at his big, fat ass hitting the floor shaped like a cinnamon roll.

He awoke in a jolt back in his bed. This time he was actually awake. He got out of bed and headed to the refrigerator. He opened the door and saw a reflection of his face on the aluminum refrigerator door. He chuckled to himself and reached in; this time, however, he grabbed an apple instead of pie. Then he put on his gym clothes and went out for a jog.

Liaison Chronicles - Chapter 1

Getting closer with every breath and moan, the footsteps in the hall grew louder as I neared climax. I knew who was outside... I recognized his heavy steps, but somehow I could not bring myself to stop. The thought of being caught titillated me and such was the adrenaline I was filled with that I immediately took charge. I pushed Juan off me and quickly climbed on him. While I was trying to take advantage of the last few seconds we had before my husband opened the door, my daughter Haley's face came to my mind. What would she think if she knew what I was doing?

With the thought of my daughter's frightened and disgusted face in my head, I broke out in tears and ran to the restroom. The bedroom door never opened and the footsteps were now gone. My imagination had played tricks on me again. My conscience has not yet forgiven what I have done. Juan stood outside the restroom door for a few minutes pacing before growing the courage to ask how I was doing.

"Honey, are you ok?"

"I'm fine!" I cried out from within my porcelain stronghold. "Just, please give me some time. I'll give you a call later, please!"

"Ok," answered Juan, "I'll go home. Call me when you're feeling better, baby."

As Juan exited the bedroom door and his footsteps faded, I grew anxious and fretful. The thoughts that made me break down were not uncommon. I have had these thoughts before, but they grew more intense each time they reoccurred. It had been some time now since I last spoke with my daughter. She moved out at the age of eighteen, exactly a year after her father’s death. She said she couldn’t stand living in this house if her father was not in it. As for me, this house was home to my family and I could not leave it. Even without Haley, I could not leave the memory of my late husband. I was alone in my house, but not alone in my guilt. As my late husband's long-time friend, Juan knew exactly what was bothering me. He never mentioned anything, though. He never asked questions or push the subject.

Before finally forcing myself to get up , I laid on the bathroom floor for a few hours staring at the ceiling. A sense of unsteadiness took over me as I stood up. Once standing, I stared into the mirror as if to ask my reflection for answers to my unclear questions. There was nothing wrong with what I was doing, this I knew, but for whatever reason I was overcome with guilt and remorse. On I stared for minutes, but I could not find an answer.

The still and silence were suddenly broken when I let out a loud scream. Standing at an intimidating 6'5", a dark and ominous figure stood behind me and I could not move... All I could do was stare. The figure did not move and did not make a sound. It just stood there behind me... watching me.

Panicky and terrified, I smashed the mirror. I quickly grabbed the biggest piece of glass I could find and tried to lacerate my wrist. I had only one goal in mind... to end the suffering that so many days had haunted me. Tickling and awakening many nerves as it made its way down, I felt the warmth of my own blood drip down my arm..

"STOP!" yelled the prominent stature next to me. "You cannot do this! Think of our daughter!"

It was then when I realized the figure was my late husband and petrified I cried, "but, you follow me everywhere... you are HAUNTING me! I can't live like this! I live in fear that you may hate me and come back to seek revenge!"

"I could never seek revenge on the one I love," replied the figure, "baby, I'm not haunting you, I'm watching over you. Who do you think sent Juan over to see you? Yes, it was I. I made his car break down in front of our house. The way I see it, who better to take care of you than the man who took care of me most of my life. Go now and seek our daughter... she awaits you."

The figure disappeared and I was once again left alone only this time I was not scared. I was full of confidence and I could now rest easy. The thoughts that haunted me for so long turned out to be the work of my late husband. I did as he asked me to and went out to seek peace with our daughter.

When I arrived to her apartment, I need not say a word. Haley quickly embraced me and said she had been waiting for me. We caught up on the past few years and she dawned more light on her reasons for leaving our home.

“You became a paranoid freak, mom, and as much as I tried not thinking about dad, I just couldn’t go an hour without you reminding me of his memory,” said Haley.

It has now been three years since the incident. Haley accepted my new relationship with Juan and, although we still see my late husband everywhere, the three of us moved to New York City where Haley attends Columbia University. We are trying to build a new family… however hard it may be to live with the ghost of the one you loved.

Liaison Chronicles - Chapter 3

He sat there on a black-leather, Victorian chair, purposely placed in the far corner of the room, looking at her without saying a word. In his mind, he envisioned many things he would do with Consuelo… if only he weren’t married. Mr. Jones wasn’t one to cheat on his wife, but he saw nothing wrong in fantasizing about the maid. Twenty-two years… he had come thus far without cheating on his wife, and he did not intend to either, but Consuelo sure made it difficult for him to stay faithful. Sometimes it seemed as if Consuelo got a kick out of Mr. Jones’ dirty looks and mental fornication. She would tease him by wearing revealing outfits and “accidentally” dropping things around him.

Mrs. Jones wasn’t too concerned about the maid, however, as she was too busy snorkeling the pool boy. Poor Mr. Jones had his suspicions, but he had faith in his wife’s loyalty and faithfulness to him. He never thought she would cheat on him. He occasionally heard noises in the bedroom area of their three-story home, but he just thought his house was haunted.

“Could it be?” he asked himself. “Never! Karen loves me too much. I know it… I can see it in her eyes. I can see it in the way she cooks dinner every night. She makes all my favorite meals and we drink my favorite wine. Karen would never do that to me.”

Mr. Jones did have reason to suspect his wife, or should I say… widow, was sleeping with the pool boy. That’s because she was. What Mr. Jones did not know is he had been dead for the past 4 years… right before Mrs. Jones hired the new maid.

Guerilla Marketing Part 2: DIY Attitude

DIY Attitude... most people have lost this. I have previously written about Guerrilla Marketing, but right now I want to focus on the attitude of Guerrilla Marketing. What is Guerrilla Marketing? First of all, we have to define that a bit more so you can further understand where I'm going with my argument.

My idea of Guerrilla Marketing is a "hands on" approach to all or most of your projects and the idea is usually to find the most cost-effective way to do it all while still making an impact. You can read all about this in my previous post here.

She Said

Today I was told a funny thing.
By a beauty there
that I had already seen,
but never did I ever really see this part about her.
She said to me in a hearty tone,
"let go of that evil,
The devil's got you all wrapped up
and tied around her finger,
but she's out doing her own thing.
She don't care about you a damned bit,
and you're here, there,
moping, crying everywhere,
sobbing up a poor ole story,
as if you didn't have the guts in you
to go outside your zone,
find love and conjure another.
You've got a good thing right in front of you,
and all you do is stare at her,
I've been sitting here, and there,
and dying to kiss you since we met,
and all you do is tell stories about her.
Quit your whining, boy, and get to kissin' me.
I know right now you're hurtin',
but that pain won't last forever.
If that girlie stole your heart,
then I'm gonna go out there and find her
so I can steal it back.
She mishandled what you gave her,
and broke your heart into a million pieces...
but that's ok, because I've got you...
I've got all the time and patience
to put you back together."

Sweet Night

Sweet night
sleep tight
sweet dreams of Shiner Bock.
Hold tight
this might
change the course of our lives.
And as long as
your eyes shine
as bright as the day we met,
I promise
we'll grow up
and make something great of this.

So sweet night, sleep tight
there is no reason to fear the dark
I know you'll follow my lead
I know you'll hold my hand
and I know as long as I'm near you
there is no reason to fear the dark

Cheers, Cowgirl

Cheers, cowgirl…
you're my favorite thing ‘bout Texas.
And although there's plenty of beauty to be seen
in this breathtaking, red state…
none compares to you,
and you remain my favorite part.

In this neck of the woods there were many first things in my life.
The first time I went to a house party,
the first time I bongged a beer.
The first time I tried many other things,
some I'd rather never say,
but my favorite thing...
my absolutely, positively, no doubt grittin',
you darn-tootin' it’s my favorite thing ‘bout Texas...
is all my firsts I share with you.

You and your smile, and those eyes,
and those lips, and that way you say those things,
and the way you hold my hand...
and place it gently near your hip,
and, although it stings just a bit,
I even love the way you push me away.

So, cheers, cowgirl,
drink another one for me.
Raise your glass then place your lips to it
And as the poison of the whiskey
Makes its way into your system,
Remember how passionately I kissed you
And made you a sucker for my wisdom.

So, cheers, cowgirl,
You’re my favorite thing ‘bout Texas.
You make me wanna sing,
You make me wanna dance,
You make me wanna put a ring…
of fire and jumping through it,
to leave them all behind
and trust our hearts to face it.

Those Sweet Days of Lion Memories

“Fly away, sweet dragon, dear,
fly away to your happy place now.”
The lion sees the dragon go,
And As he remembers all about,
That sweet dragon he once kissed,
And in some way helped her wounds.
He stands there alone, but smiling
Saying verses to the moon,
“I’ll remember you, sweet dragon,
always ‘til I die.
Those beautiful nights we shared when we
Played so lovingly and ignored the tide.”
None will be day that passes,
That he won’t remember when.
Those sweet days the lion and dragon shared.
In his heart they will remain.

I Had You Wrong All Along

I had you wrong all along, dear,
You are just not what I thought you were.
There once was a dark time for me
When I felt I was down and out,
Then you came back into my life and
Gave me stuff to smile about.
You put a pep back in my step
and made me long to step the frets.
Fell for you pretty hard, this time.
This time harder than the first,
But I was oh, so very wrong about you,
You were actually heaven sent.
I could’ve died without you or
Maybe ended up in the pen.
But instead of the life I was headed in,
I chose life led by a pen.
You’re the only gun I need now, dear,
 And your bullets are my words.
I’ll hold you tight and we’ll rain war on everybody
We’ll rain on them all our pain.
You bring out in me a power, dear,
that can never be ignored.
And just the right kind of inspiration
Brings a nuclear holocaust to them.
Filled with passion, love and romance,
And the occasional letter to Pent.
We will give everyone we ever come across,
A good reason not to forget
The one time when they once met
This sweet poet and his sweet pen.

Rhythm

Here's the rhythm
for the verses
and I know you're
wondering why
I don't just commit
to the flow
but believe me
when I tell you
that the tension
that I control
is much more
that I can show
with my words alone
which is why I
gotta deliver the words then
and the verses
that I'm writin'
with a beath in the back of me.

Google Your Own Site

One of the greatest advice I have been given regarding web and online marketing is, "Google your own site." Since you know your own domain name, it may sound counter-intuitive to do a Google search for your own website, but trust me, the results are magnificent. I started doing this with the website I developed for my fraternity's local chapter, thephikapsofthexas.org, in January of this year and since then I have noticed better results when I do a search. Now, as a web developer by profession, I am doing this for every one of my clients so I'm helping their traffic every time I work on their website.

It may sound like we're cheating Google here, but the truth is we are probably helping them. Google's main goal is to provide its users with the best content for their search so they are constantly updating their databases and if you continue searching your own site, you are showing Google your website is alive and providing useful information.

One think that peeves me about working with a few clients is when they want a website to act as an "online brochure." You mean you have the opportunity and ability to reach the world and all you want to show them is the same basic information about your business over and over? See, Google also cares about keeping its users current, so naturally, they will look for the most up-to-date content to deliver to their user, but if you're not going to update your site regularly then I guess the next best thing to do is Google your own site to let them know your live and providing relevant information.

The Pen is Mightier than a Sword, Not a Pistola

I used to think I was your boy toy,
but now I stand corrected.
"You ain't nothing but her bitch!"
the still and emptiness of night
join the cold side of my bed to mock me.
Disappointment never tasted so sweet
struggling with this everlasting tug of war
which I could never win,
but it's not for a lack of trying.
Maybe you just don't notice what you do
and the pain you cause
when you treat me like a beauty product
only using me to lift yourself.
It seems to me it is not my kisses you seek
nor my touch, OR my love...
which I have a vast amount of,
and although it doesn't mean much to you,
it's all reserved just for you.

Disappointment never tasted so sweet,
but even as I sit here waiting and stood up yet again,
I still think of you as infallible
and nothing you do is ever wrong.
YOU are the only girl I know that can demand anything you want
and you should get it,
because you deserve it and
any man who thinks is worthy of your company MUST comply.
No matter where you go,
you are the queen.
Most around you have to slit a throat to get attention,
but all YOU have to do is smile
and it seems as if by magic
the whole world is filled with sunshine
and we all fall at your feet,
but no matter how many servants,
how many lovers
or how many more times you're going to break my heart,
I still think of you as infallible
and nothing you do is ever wrong.

So, how will you know it's for you?
How will you know it's your name intended to be
in the blank of the insinuated pun
and overrated cliche I've laid down
on this paper of dreams that come to life
as you close your eyes and remember the taste?
Nothing I say can make it more obvious
than the mere fact that I've sat down and taken time to write this.
For all I need is inspiration...
and when it comes to inspiration,
Gorgeous Chocolate Chip Muse of mine has never failed.
If you were wondering, yes, I do still think of you, but
these lines are intended, not for you, nor for the other,
but for me and my new lover.
She has taken hold of me and I love it.
I can feel her through my veins as I walk carelessly and free.
God bless the mighty pen... for she sits in my right hand
giving me life and animating my thoughts.
My new queen, my new obsession... her and I, we're going far.

Inspiration Part 2: "That wasn't sex... that was naked poetry."

This post is a continuation from a previous one... Click here to read: Inspiration

As an aspiring writer, I can't help but admire Hank Moody. I know he's a fictional character, but a phenomenal fictional character he is. If you haven't had the chance to catch Californication on Showtime, please make some time to catch up on it, you'll be glad you did. Sometimes I feel like Hank Moody and I share the same brain. A lot of his lines, his delivery and the way he carries himself reminds me of myself. David Duchovny does a great job playing Hank Moody.

One of the lines that made a bigger impact in me was, "that wasn't sex... that was naked poetry." Lines like those inspired me to write. I have admired poetic lines like those since I can remember. I used to sit and dissect Aerosmith lyrics for hours. Sometimes is as if I'm in in love WITH love... or the idea of love. I crave the feelings described by others. I must admit, though, I HAVE been lucky enough to have felt feelings like those. Feelings that inspire writing.

I most definitively understand where Hank Moody is coming from when he says, "don't sell yourself short... I invited you to come, you did all the rest" ... I know what his head is going through. In one occasion, a gorgeous girl I was seeing, which I consider my muse (she has been inspiring most of my writing since I was about 13 years old), she actually asked me if I was "on the spot writing" or an "impromptu" kind of writing because I was "delivering lines" as I stared at her. Apparently she noticed I was "being creative." Every artist has a creative spot. I've written about my creative spot titled, "Bipolar Advantage: If Your Eyes Could Only See." This "spot" is a surreal place... it's pretty much anything the artist wants it to be. That's where you go when you are imagining things and coming up with ideas.  Sometimes, when you think about something so intensely you tune everything out and go into a "zone." This "zone" is very similar to the Creative Spot except the creative spot CAN be tapped into willingly and when you zone out you usually do it subconsciously.

Another similar anecdote was a girl I was with for a long time. When we first got together she would tease me and make comments about my "lines"... it took her a little while before she figured out that she was actually inspiring these "lines" and I wasn't up the night before memorizing them. For a little while, she actually thought I would look up lines on the internet and just wait for the right moment to deliver them when in reality it was her and the moment inspiring those lines.

One kind of cool thing about those special moments is that a lot of them never make it on paper. Unlike Hank Moody, who is on-screen and all his lines are immortalized, some of the lines I've whispered have been "one timers." That, in a way, is pretty cool because I share a moment with someone who no one else will know about. Yes, that "on the spot" writing on air-canvas will never be heard by anyone else, but it adds to the "specialness" of the moment. To me, it's kind of nice knowing I have moments and inside jokes that will never mean the same thing to anyone else. Since I write a lot, I make it a point not to use the same "lines" with different girls. Every girl I've been with, which haven't been many, can be certain the things I said to them will not be said to anyone else.

The things I do decide to publish, though, have been so because I decided to immortalize the moment. I chose to publish those moments and feelings because I thought they made for great writing. I felt that feeling I so craved before pretty intensely and I wanted others to crave it as well. I have been told before that I inspire people to write because I'm so passionate about it, but the goal of my writing goes beyond that... I want to share these thoughts and feelings to inspire my readers to let go and take that leap of faith. Love and let yourself be loved. Watch a lot of Californication and take plenty of notes.


CALIFORNICATION Season 4 Episode 7 Promo And Sneak Peek Clips

Deuce!

I have finally reached a point
where I no longer need your drug.
I am happy all on my own now.
I have seen myself get down over thoughts of you...
and I don't like where those thoughts take me.
Sometimes they just drive me way off into space.
Discovering traveling waves disappearing at the speed of light.
These journeys have dawned new daylight in my scientific quest.
You are nothing more than burning ether in my world!
Although a rare kind of element compound,
space-filling gas is all you really are...
You're not really going to blow,
you're just going to "warn" me with your scent.

I have finally reached a point
where I'm no longer intoxicated by your poison...
Your Kung Fu has no more grip on me.
I can see what I'm worth for on my own now
not just in relation to the quality of work I do
when I'm drunk and high on you.
I'm glad I've reached this status, though.
For all this means is I can still love you,
but not hurt when you don't come around.

They say the first step to rehabilitation from ANY kind of debilitation
is coming to terms with the fact that you don't have a problem,
only challenges to overcome.
For all the lovin' I have given through this one way road to nothingness,
I tip my hat and throw a deuce at you, dear...
Challenge accepted!

STR and Kris Roe of The Ataris live Feb 12th, 2001 in Mission, TX

The Ataris... I remember it as if it were yesterday. I walked outside the cafeteria one day during high school and sat down with a few friends. Someone was playing a guitar near us and it still continues playing in my head to this date, "Last night I had a dream that we went to Disneyland, went on all the rides, didn't have to wait in line." I thought to myself, "what a nice dream that must have been... just hanging out with the girl you love in an amusement park doing as you please with no one around to bother you." I was so young and innocent that the idea of "Disneyland" being used metaphorically as a reference to sex didn't even cross my mind. I shot up from my seat and went over to the person playing the guitar and asked who wrote that song. He answered, "are you serious, man? The Ataris!" Judging by his tone I figured this was a band I HAD to know and I began searching for them immediately.

What I found was a band that spoke to me in many different ways. One of the things I like most about The Ataris is the lyric writing. I related to a lot of the things he put into his songs... AND the way he says it too. Their music kicked me off into this hopeless romantic personality that persists to this day. At the same time, they also had kick ass songs like "Teenage Riot" that just made you want to break something. All in all... The Ataris had an awesome combination of sweet lyrics, crunchy guitars and very catchy, energetic beats.

Fast forward to today... living in The Rio Grande Valley, an area notorious for having a shady music scene, I lost almost all hope for the local music scene. I was highly disappointed in the scene for a long time... most bands sounded horrible, looked worse and their lyrics were mediocre. Luckily, I was fortunate enough to hear STR one day. The first time I heard STR was at Monster Car Wash. I had been invited to the show by Tazzy, their manager. When I showed up, they were in the middle of playing Umbrella by Rihanna. They were playing it over crunchy rock guitars and a killer percussion section. I was amazed... first off, Rihanna is not normally a top artist to cover around this scene. They continued playing and went into some of their originals. When I heard, "I got it" I realized why I liked this band so much... because they reminded me of The Ataris a bit.

It's not so much their sound, but their attitudes and personalities that I find a bit similar... I don't know what to call it, but what I like about both bands is that they're hopeless romantics with A LOT  of attitude and they can still swing a bat to your head if you get out of line.

Now I'm fortunate enough to be working with the people behind one show I am REALLY looking forward to...

STR and Kris Roe of The Ataris live Feb 12th, 2001 in Mission, TX

I get to see both bands perform together... Not only do I get to enjoy a GREAT show, but I'm getting paid to enjoy a GREAT show... I love my life! More on this later.

The Importance of Love in History

I have heard before that some the greatest fallen leaders of history owe their fall to a girl. When I first heard this, I couldn't find the logic in the statement. It has taken me a few years to begin to understand what this means. At first glance I thought it meant some great leaders had evil wives who wanted nothing more than to see their husbands fail (by "great" I am referring to their impact in the world whether positive or negative, but I, in no way, shape or form condone their actions or beliefs); however, after a few years of letting that statement simmer on the back-burner and having gone through a few life lessons myself, I came to realize that this statement would be more accurate if it read as follows:

Some of the greatest fallen leaders of history fell in love.

I don't think it had much to do with their significant other or their significant other's psychological state. I believe these leaders fell in love and did some crazy things BECAUSE they were in love. I am setting out to see the importance of love in history and what role it played in key moments. Could certain things have gone differently if John F. Kennedy never met Marylin? Or maybe Hitler never meets Eva... what kind of world would THAT have been?

The Devil Wears Prada

The Devil Wears Prada is one of the few shows I've been to that had no lines for beer. It was mainly because most of the kids there weren't old enough to drink, but it was also because most of the kids attending are following one of the strangest trends I'll never understand... being "Straight Edge." It's all good if it's working for them, but for me, I like to enjoy a good beer while I listen to live music... maybe even a whiskey shot or two. The straight edge crowd is not the only peculiar thing about The Devil Wears Prada.

When I saw them in Mission, TX, they were even the only band that night that didn't ask the crowd to get violent. They were the only band that wasn't local. All the local bands asked to crowd to make moshpits and hurt one another. That was one of the most noticeable things to me. Most bands are very demanding when it comes to moshpits, but the guys of TDWP were not. It was almost as if they preferred there was no violence.

I have just recently become a fan of Devil Wears Prada. Up until about a year ago, I had no idea who they were. A friend of mine showed me their dvd and I thought they were pretty cool, but it wasn't until I LISTENED to them that I truly became hooked on their sound. Something about Jeremy Depoyster's beautiful melodic vocals just hypnotizes bringing a lighter AND brighter sound as well as a perfect balance to Mike Hranica's fire-breathing, brutal screaming.

The rest of the band doesn't fall far behind in the talent pool, though. The catchy hooks and killer beats leave such an impression on your senses that just keeps you craving more. The only thing that could possibly be better than listening to The Devil Wear Prada right now, would be listening to The Devil Wears Prada live... while drinking a beer.

KILL HANNAH- LIPS LIKE MORPHINE

Alan Jackson - Chattahoochee

Online Advertising

Who hates annoying ads? The truth is, no one does. The internet has reached an era when it's "ok" to have ads in your website. Well, it has always been ok, now it's just, I don't know, a bit of an industry standard. I can think of two main categories when it comes to websites. You have your websites with ads and your websites without ads.

With time, the internet has evolved into this huge compilation of EVERYTHING! Or as much of everything as possible. Even hoax and prank websites (although, at times, "Guerilla Marketing" is a GREAT way to go). At one point, every website owner is faced with the decision of whether or not to run ads in their website. Personally, I think it's a great idea and a great way to make money, but at the end of the day the decision should be a smart one. You should do a bit of research before you determine whether or not ads are good for your website. Here are four tips to help you decide whether or not you should run ads on your site:

1. Know Your Audience
While some people don't mind ads, others find them extremely irritating. You have to know who is visiting your site and, very importantly, why they are visiting your site. When faced with the decision of placing ads on your site, this will most likely be the biggest determining factor.

2. Know Your Goals
This is crucial to your site! You MUST set goals for your site and always keep those goals in mind. If your goal is to advertise an artist and protect its image, ads may not be the best way to go, depending on the audience of course, but if your goal is to make money with a website, whether it be via ads or in the form of a shopping cart, then I highly recommend you place ads on your site and either sell the space or sign up for an online ad program like AdSense from Google.

3. Have a Financial Route

This is one of the most important questions that people forget to ask when talking about a website. Keep in mind that running a website costs money and you have to be willing to pay the cost if you want to have a quality website that works for you.
4. Have Financial Goals for Your Site 
After reviewing these tips and asking yourself how they can help your business, do some research on these online ad programs such as AdSense from Google. If the programs you look into seem like they'd help you and they convince you, then go ahead and add them to your site. In my professional opinion, I think ads are a perfect way to make extra revenue on any site. I encourage everyone to use ads, but do advise you to keep your ads relevant to your content and please don't annoy the users. Use ads with caution and don't abuse users' good will.

Guerilla Marketing

For years now, I have found the concept of "Guerrilla Marketing" highly interesting and exciting! What IS Guerrilla Marketing? Guerrilla Marketing is a marketing campaign implemented or strategized in an unconventional or unusual manner usually omitting the name of the organization funding it. Like the truth commercials for example. Now, the goal of a Guerrilla Marketing campaign is not only to advertise the heck out of the product at hand, but it is also to do this in a powerful, impacting way.

Norah Jones - Painter song

In a Trench

Roadside, panicked, shaken, and faced down in a trench,
burned out, collapsing, overtaxed.
nothing is ever just quite good enough.

poor me, oh, look,
won't someone please cry down with me,
I can't awake like this again,
broken down, paralyzed
deprived of joy, happiness and/or blissful blithe.

as I come crashing down,
my pride relunctantly forces me to bring you with me,
and I am way too selfish to go down alone.
It's not that I like my ways more
it's that I don't know any other.
I have never had the presence
to take charge and take control.
Always I have been
in the shadows of it all.
Now that I'm allowed to shine,
I break down and run away.
I hide from all that's a challenge.
it's overbearing and I don't like this.
I wish I was more confident,
but confidence I cannot find.
Shall I seek a friend?
But my friends I cannot find.
They've all turned their backs...
and those I thought were there for me...
well, they all just point and laugh.

This is a great view from the trenches, though...
at least I can't go lower than this...
wait, is that an ant?

3rd Degree Burns

Hours passed before the lion came to the edge of a pond,
fell on his side and painfully laid there bleeding for a while,
3rd degree burns down his neck, down his back and beyond,
the trail of blood ran for at least 2 whole miles,
perpetrated by a life-like enigma of a creature,
a guest he'd invited to visit his kingdom,
past the wide moat and way past all the walls,
the tenant had dinner, had cake and drank from the lion's mead,
was granted a tour of every room and every hall,
and when the night came, the creature was offered a place where it could sleep.
As the lion laid there staring off into space,
he saw his reflection, boy did he look like shit!
as he abruptly remembered he was king of this place,
the lion rose to his feet, drank water and cleaned up his face,
he threw dirt on his wound and
embraced the burning sensation he felt on his back,
this was definitively not what the lion had in mind,
when he invited the creature for some dinner and wine,
but shame on the lion, this was not the first time,
he's been through this before, there's no need to rewind,
but the lion learned his lesson,
and knows how to get himself out of this bind.

When you play with fire,
sometimes it burns so that the wound actually bleeds,
and as the lion discovered,
it doesn't matter just how careful you are,
when fire wants to burn it will sear everything it its path,
char it down to the ground...
but the lion's too strong,
he's got too much to give up,
he's got a pride to feed,
and a kingdom to run.

Beautiful Mermaid

There once was a beautiful mermaid,
who ruled the whole sea and made all men obey her,
the time spent with her should have never been traded,
for her beauty was such that should not be degraded.
My inept, naive heart should have probably known better,
but it took just one glance for my heart to be invaded.
Although she said nothing, I knew she had to be aided,
as her eyes screamed in pain for somebody who played her.
Without hesitation, I jumped out there and saved her.
Now I have a great friend... and the grand fool regrets it.

Asterisk Eyes; Beautiful Chocolate

Certain things I understand, only by looking in your eyes.
Try hard, though, not to smile, love, sit back, relax and embrace the butterflies.
When you smile, it's hard to concentrate, and I need to focus now on the love afloat
to immortalize your fire in rhyme, body and soul.
When I look into your eyes, I need not ask a question,
for I know the answers to it all and I can read all the suggestions.
I can read you in any language, love, the message is the same,
You're my favorite novel... I can read you over again.
And again and again... it is beautiful and yet, so arduous to explain,
that with every line I read, I delightedly write one in.

"Noble novel novelist
contributes to the perfect novel,
Perfect cover, perfect ink,
perfectly fit for any King."

Beware the Lion's Heart

Breezy wind blows lightly around me,
as I step forth stealthy and strong-minded,
I watch the lion sleeping soundly,
my disturbance I picture smiling.
His lofty mane sways back and forth,
as he breathes deeply in slumber sloth.
Majestic coat and threatening claws,
a warrior's honor, dying at his paws,
for he's the king of all you see,
his land he rules bravely and free.
He rules the ground, the trees and sea,
all that you see is all just for him.

I creep on forth seeking his essence,
trying not to awake his eminent presence,
for his vile anger will wrath intrusion,
obliterating all with might and no confusion.

I'm so close now, I hear his heartbeat,
he seems so happy as if he's smiling at me,
the ground vibrates as he exhales hot breath,
and for this kill tonight I've arrived well prepared.
As peaceful as he looks for the moment,
I know the Lion is king and the king is tough.
I've seen tigers cry, but never a lion, though.
... and I inhale... ready to blast a flame at him,
just end it all... quickly and pain-free.

But what has happened?
He has awaken!
He must have felt my presence
as I walked forth seeking his essence.
A thunderous, booming roar,
a vigorous, violent blow...
then lights out!

I expected to be dead, this I admit,
but for some reason, my life the lion has spared.
He could have ended me as I laid on my side unconscious.
Since I broke a wing as I fell, he knew I could not fly.
Still the lion did not take advantage,
he did not kill.
He knew I was helpless and instead of a slaughter,
he licked my wounds and helped them heal.
The lion's heart is bigger than expected,
this should be kept well in mind, never rejected,
for I will never forget the lion who performed the unexpected.

Stronghold it All

Protecting a king, ever-breaking his falls,
an indomitable wall stands proudly and tall.
Fortifying, strong and always ready for all,
all that may come from these battles and wars.
Vile intruders attempt to perforate this partition,
for the king is inside of this mighty, grand wall,
but the king lies in peace as he chuckles aloud,
"Come to me, invaders,
have a try at it all.
I defy you to challenge
the most glorious of walls!"

Velvet Ride on Red October

I anticipate this ride and I can't wait to get on it.
For whatever long I waited,
I have waited for too long.
It almost seems as if the wait
lasted a decade and a month.
As I make my way through the waiting line,
The sun inebriates me like wine.
rays reflect off glossy paint,
making this ride seem pure and magical.
So much so, it takes away my dreadful pain
and brings me sunshine yet again.

When I'm finally next in line,
My heart seems to skip a beat.
I cannot hide the excited smile that has taken over me.
I am just waiting for my signal,
to be saved from something dismal.

Finally aboard, I can't handle the animation.
Enthusiastically, I await as I am helped and buckled up.
All inside me, I have melted
for this moment I have dreamed of for some time now.
For this so very occasion, something special has just happened.
I have been allowed the privilege, joy, and honor
to be the only one aboard.

So begins my Velvet ride,
well enraptured, high on life.
So delightful is the thought of just being me riding this ride.
And every turn, and every climb, and every drop,
it all adds to the feeling.
This feeling, unlike all others,
inviolable and sacred.
I cannot share, I WILL not share,
try to steal it, best not dare!
For the most part this is scary.
Pulling g's makes me so wary.
Try to ignore the vile anguish,
built by eagerness to vanquish.
Conquer everything about this... down to the last physics lesson.
My heart pumps faster than ever,
I want this ride to last forever.
This ride's given me a buzz,
lightning bolts run through my body.
Electricity within me, yet I dare not make a fuzz.
Oh, how beautiful the feelings,
ardently bestowed upon me.
Healed my soul from poisoned thoughts,
and gave me more than I sought after.

Salt-Water Rain and Acid Baths

What makes good days turn to pain?
What's the story?
What's the deal?
I thought you liked watching it rain.
Pour down on me, pull me under...
Salty thoughts you've brought upon me.
If the wounds sting just a little,
pour salt on the piece most brittle...
I promise you they heal.
When they scar, how they'll remind me,
of the times you say you love me,
until then, however, love,
if the wounds sting just a little,
pour salt on the piece most brittle...
I promise you they heal.
I don't care that you have cut me,
those incisions never killed me,
as it does when salt pours on me.
This time, though, I say it sadly,
You were not the one to gouge me,
you're the salt raining down on me.

Like Fondue

With ravishing eyes that pierced my soul,
she trapped my mind and won't let go.
Her lips entice thoughts in my head
which seem I've never thought before.
She's spontaneous, smart and funny.
With little effort, turns my overcast to sunny.
She's running circles in my mind,
but I'd be a fool to try and stop her.
Her smile in memory is better than having ever lived without her.
What's with her smile, her eyes, her lips?
She's got my circuit in a fritz.
A transient glance will dig my grave,
for I'm too weak to walk away.
This divine scene is but a rerun
of a sitcom love once ended with a spear gun.
It took too long to heal the wound.
Yet here we are again...
... again I melt in such a way which I could only melt for her.

Bipolar Advantage: If Your Eyes Could Only See

I have to walk on egg shells when around you
because I may piss you off with my words when I'm around you.
Forget what I said, it does not matter!
In the matters of what matters, your extinction's where your heart is.

But what if your life did not depend on oxygen?
If your feet were purple and everything you thought right, went out the door.
Now your colors of perception have shifted into what you have never experienced before.

But forget this, I'd rather go away and drift away, my mind so far away.
There are places in my head where I like to go from time to time.
I can't help it really, actually, it happens all the time.
Everywhere, all the time, where I go, my mind drifts all the time.

But is that wrong, am I to blame?
For the world I live on is a world too stale, so I conceive another world,
where my world lives and exists, but yet is different than the world I live on.
Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but it's a world I love to wander.
Seems such amazing paradise should be available on call, but nay, thou shall not enter!
This world is not a slave and may only open when your heart and mind are one!
There's a warning on my face to those who dare test, try and riddle,
look well deep within my eyes, for I lie awake and do not fiddle.
Every step I take, I take with heart in hand and words in mind
and my mind speaks loud and clear.

Above all, my propitious heart loves many beings,
many faces I have seen that have made me a believer.
A belief in such a love that only having loved ensures you understand.
To name them all would be demanding as I've seen such faces that inspire writing.
Still, as I search on for another life to write a book on,
I stop and think, "this is a nice line for me to poop on."

A Mermaid in Her Ocean

Such a mystery of a woman, no one knows quite what she's thinking.
I knew not what to write about, and now I'm writing without blinking.
With her sweet kisses of vodka and those lovely eyes like almonds,
she's a mermaid in her ocean... queen of hearts, spades, cloves and diamonds.

She can strike you if she wants to, no one's going to tell her not to.
Such a beauty no one wants to, disappoint or even argue.
If you look deep in her eyes and search deep within her soul,
you will find a world of troubles, her stories will make you blue.

The fire in her heart is not so easy to extinguish,
which is why it's such a task just to be able to distinguish,
if her smile is a gift of honesty, or if she's just trying to relinquish,
all those moments that she lost when her life spun with quite some english.

Now I sit here with my thoughts... my memories and feelings.
None were hurt, none were damaged.... there is no need for healing.
Then, why is there such an empty? ... why do I feel like I miss her?
It must be the way she kissed me or maybe the things she whispered.

The Way I Do

Does he know when you are thirsty?
Does he know when you're in pain?
Do you show him when you're frisky?
Hope you don't kiss him in the rain.

Does his flavorless tongue shock you?
Do his lips make you see double?
Do your knees get weak and shaky?
And does he know that you are trouble?

Have you lied yet to save face,
to the fact that you don't care?
Yes, we all hear what you're saying,
but that's not what's in your head.

I know you will remember me
with every play button you press.
You will remember all the music
that made you want to undress
and with those thoughts you will cry, babe,
'cause, it's the only way to express
those feelings that still lurk in you
as you seek one last caress.

You can tell me what you want,
but I know he doesn't love you,
doesn't miss you, doesn't lace you.
His vapid mind does not impress you...

... at least not the way I do.

You can say that he is funny,
and you don't see him for his money.
Yes, he might be entertaining,
but he doesn't make you laugh...

... at least not the way I do.

When you're scared he might stand by you,
and you might save the things he buys you.
He might know some things about you,
but he doesn't know  you well enough...

... at least not the way I do.

(COPD) Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease

Today I saw your pretty face.
Though I tried hard to look away,
all my efforts were in vain.
Like a mosquito toward a bug zapper,
a bad habit you can't kick,
a monkey on your back,
you try so hard, but you can't shake.
And on I stared...
... like a fat kid stares at cake.

Lovingly I remembered
all those moments that we shared.
You probably never think of me,
and I doubt you ever do,
but I think about you everyday.
Every morning, night and noon.

All these feelings that came back to me
they never went away.
I just learned ways to suppress them,
like cough syrup to a cough.
I'm fine for a few hours,
but then I smell your sensual scent.
Embedded in my brain,
your scent will never go away.
I see your face in water
and I see your name in streets
I wonder if I mattered...

...yes, I wonder if you cared.

Homewrecker

I walk into their happiness and
I want it for my own
my insecurities don't allow me
to allow them to have joy
I don't care if it sounds crazy,
I will destroy their dreams
and I'll kick and scream and shout and steal
and slash and gash and tear and pout
and I'll devise my plan
and fabricate new dreams
I don't care, but that there happiness
will then cease to exist
and their happily ever after
will then belong to me

Heartbreaks Suck

I feel like you can see my heart no longer
it hides behind band aids and bandages
blood clots and gashes,
bruises, back-stabs and back slashes

though I smelled trouble from the start,
I told myself to go ahead... and I let myself fall
Now I can only remember when the feelings felt right
I haven't felt that way again, and it's sad, but sad to say, I'm glad...

... because heartbreaks suck. I think I'll have mine removed.

STRIPPED MUZIK: Something To Remember

Check out Something to Remember of McAllen, TX in a STRIPPED MUZIK session with Sun Fish records.





The first time I heard STR at Monster Car Wash in Edinburg, TX I thought to myself, "wow, these guys are pretty cool." I didn't know it then, but they are now one of my favorite bands. The first thing that stand out is their vocals. TJ does an amazing jobs keeping those vocals nice and pretty. The seconds thing that stand out is the quality of the lyrics. They're not just playing love songs... they're lyrics are clever, playful and deep; however, they are not afraid to get grungy and aggressive.

The rest of the music blends in perfectly. TJ's guitar playing is augmented by Fabian's amazing leads, fills and solos. When Fabian steps into the spot-light for a solo, however, he becomes the center of attention and takes over the show like a true Rock Star. He can make his guitar sing, scream or crunch, but they are made to sound even tighter thanks to their glue-like rhythm section, Robby (drums, who also does background vocals) and B (bass).

Their unique and powerful sound is wonderfully matched by their VERY alive live show. The heart and passion they spill onstage is definitively something that makes this band worth checking out. Their studio work is amazing, but this is one of those bands that you MUST check them out live. They deliver live what they lay down in the studio. Overall, I give this band a 9 out of 10. Great music and a "must check out" live show. Do yourselves a favor and check these guys out live as soon as possible.

Like a Dream

I can't get you off my mind,
so I'm putting you on paper...
good thing I get paid to write
because I can write about you forever.
This poem may not be the best,
but what inspired it is heavenly.
This time, it's not about a kiss or a smile,
or those two beautiful eyes that melt me when they look at me
and make the dark days all worth while.
Don't get me wrong, my dear, I love those things about you,
but the reason behind these lines today
is to tell you how I feel,
when my arms are wrapped around you.
It is pure, beautiful and magical.
It's almost like a dream,
filled with sugar-free and a bit of alcohol,
mocha drinks and lot of attitude.
Hear my breathe and feel my heart-beat,
I feel like I just won the lottery.

The Spill Canvas

The first thing I think of when I hear The Spill Canvas is that feeling you get when you see someone you love walk away. I can really feel what the singer is feeling as he professes his feelings and spills his guts out. Although I hear a bit grungy guitar in there, their style isn't very "in your face." It's more of a laid back Maroon 5. This is definitively something you want to pop into your car while driving on a long road trip or on a day at the beach.

Secondhand Serenade

Check out Seconhand Serenade. Great band! They have a great sound. Very mellow and aggressive at the same time. The energy and emotion driving their sound clashes perfectly in perfect harmony of a melodic grand piano and some pretty "in your face" crunchy guitars. I loved every second of the song Fall for You. This is a download that MUST make its way into your play-list.

Kris Roe of The Ataris - Performing at Smokin' Aces February 12th

From a fan's point of view, one of the most disappointing things about their favorite artists is losing connection with them. "Don't forget about us when you're famous," friends often tell me, and I'm sure many other artists hear this line often as well. Thankfully, there are artists out there like Kris Roe of The Ataris. Kris actually maintains his own Social Network sites and answers his messages and comments. Yes, that's right, if you're a fan of The Ataris on Facebook, you are definitively talking to Kris himself!

Kris has been on tour lately and, luckily, T-Union Productions booked a show on his tour. He will be performing  on February 12th at Smokin' Aces with Hit the Lip and Angela and The Ex's as his supporting acts.

Kris Roe, who commented on Punknews.org back in October says this regarding what some kids have been saying about his new tour:

I have no interest in pleasing anyone and I write what is true to me. I could care less what anyone expects of me. Punk rock is not a fashion show.

Which gives us an insightful reminder of what Punk Rock is all about... or at least, what it set out to be originally. Roe was responding to fan's crizism of him doing smaller venues and taking a more hands-on approach to his music and tour. He was pointing out their cinicism as these were most likely the same kids who called him a sell-out when The Ataris were doing bigger shows playing songs that were getting airplay.

As rough as this comment may seem, I think it's great hearing artists get real. Think about it, this isn't an agent speaking for Kris Roe or some random Web Developer hired to maintain a social network blog. This was Kris Roe himself saying this... and all he is saying is how he feels and why he feels that way. It's just very "Punk Rock" of him to come out and give everyone a big FU like that. Personally, I'm behind Kris on this one as he was trying to get a message accross, and his message did so. He just wants everyone to know he DGAF.

Using Scales to Play Solos - The Pentatonic Scale

This is going to be a research post about using scales to solo. Not only will I be helping other aspiring musicians, but the research for this project will help me improve my skills as well. I'll continue to update this regularly, so check back for updates. I'm also going to be posting about other scales and I'll dive deeper into more guitar techniques later. First off, we're going to start with the Pentatonic Scale.

I don't know how many musicians feel like me, but I like using the Pentatonic Scale because it's easy to work with. Blues scales are nice too, but the Pentatonic just kind of flows easier for me. I don't know, it's probably just personal preference... Of course, when you're writing a song you're going to use whatever scales make your song sound better. Remember that one of the most important things about being a musician is feeling and emotion, so follow your heart when you're writing. Learning theory is extremely important, but at the end of the day, play whatever feels right to you.

Inspiration

What inspires me? What causes my inspiration? Apparently, inspiration is one of the most popular topics to write/blog about. Since this is such a trendy topic, I decided to share my 2 cents worth.

There have been many different things that inspire me, but for some reason, love has been what inspired me the most. It might sound cheesy, but despite all the writing I do, I think my best work has been the stuff I've written about love... or inspired by love. I've written poems, songs and short stories dedicated to or inspired by love. Yes, my non-fiction work is decent, but honestly, I like my love work better. I think it has to do with the emotion I put into it. The passion... or maybe just emotional attachment to certain memories.

One question I was asked recently, "what do you think of when you sing this song?" It was a question regarding a song I wrote about a girl. I didn't answer the question right away, but after thinking about it for a moment I answered, "her smile." It's true, that song was inspired by her smile and every time I play that song I think about her smile.

I do have a pretty cool anecdote about how one of my short stories came about. I was doing homework at the UTPA library when I noticed a couple walk in, sit down, and share the computer at the row directly in front of me. They looked awkward... as if they were just getting to know each other. Each of them walking on eggshells trying not disappoint the other, yet they could not keep their hands off each other. Although I was working on my own stuff, they were sitting right in front of me and they couldn't exactly be ignored. I paid a bit of attention to them in part for research and in part because I had just been recently heart-broken. I caught absolutely no audio, by the way, I had headphones on blaring The Devil Wears Prada, if I'm not mistaken.

20 minutes went by or so when I noticed their body language begin to change. There was distance between them now and he was getting aggressive. He wasn't getting violent, just a bit worked up about something. The arguing continued for a few minutes, then she tried to leave, but he was standing in her way. As she struggled to get away, he moved in and tried to force a kiss on her. At first it seemed innocent enough, just a desperate guy attempting a desperate move to patch things up with his lady, but the situation changed a bit.

My guess is he was offended by his girlfriend not wanting to kiss him, but remember, I have no audio memories of this. He became irritated and aggressive again and now he was holding on to her arms... and it looked like he had a pretty tight grip. The girl looked around for help and just as I decided to get up and ask him to be a gentleman, she looked straight at me. He turned to me as well to see what she was looking at and at that point she got out of his grip and left. He stood still for a few seconds then ran after her. I never saw either one again.

Immediately after all this went down in front of me, I began writing. I just typed away my thoughts and feelings on the matter. Then, after letting my thoughts out, I let my imagination take over and began writing a story. I didn't plan it or decide anything. I pretty much just began writing and the story came out. I titled it, "Douchebaggery and Hoebaggage." After writing a little on the matter, I actually began feeling a bit of sympathy for the douche-bag in my story. The one in real life, not so much... but he did give me inspiration for some good material.

read: "Inspiration Part 2: "It wasn't sex... it was naked poetry."