ENNUI PRAYER
29 April 2008
06 April 2008
Sleep to be Awoken
My father, the man who never had a role in my life, the stranger in the crowd, a phantom of a man, was an alcoholic and, so, by natural psychology, I am at risk of being one. I don’t drink. Never have and I don’t want to. It’s the only goal in my life that I’ve the pleasure to announce I’ve kept. When I was a teen, I never wanted to drink illegally. As an adult, I am the sober man at the party, the loner, the unfunny one, lifeless and devoted to his sobriety. It shocks people to find this out. I’m sure some of you are staring at the screen with uplifted eyebrow questioning my honesty. In fact, the only alcohol I’ve consumed is always a part of a recipe, and never out of a bottle.
read more here...
read more here...
01 April 2008
Bashing my head open, I realize there's nothing left to think...
I didn't write this piece
the words already existed
I simply plucked them out
of the air.
the words already existed
I simply plucked them out
of the air.
27 March 2008
R.I.P. Gnosis
Gnosis, a cat I’ve had since the year that it snowed in the Rio Grande Valley, is dead. I found him under a resting spot in the front yard. It’s apparent that he fell asleep one last time before succumbing to his death. Gnosis is survived by his son, Bloo. He is preceded in death by his daughter Jean and the cat Snow Ball.
He was given to me by my friend, Philosopher.
25 March 2008
Men’s Resource Center of South Texas
Emiliano Diaz de Leon called me yesterday morning to talk about his departure from the Valley, which will happen in June. Emiliano and I met where I met most of my older friends, at the Nueva Onda Poets’ Cafe. I was a writer for The Paper of South Texas at the time and he came up to me and started talking. It seems, and I’m greatly known for this after a reading, I avoided all contact with him before hand. I didn’t do this on purpose, well, at least not to him. Most people who want to talk to me after a reading want to know my genesis and I’m not that sort of writer. At least not yet, or at the time, I should say.
More @ Ennui Prayer....
More @ Ennui Prayer....
21 March 2008
Birthday
As you all know, yesterday was my 25th birthday and I think I accomplished it rather well. Considering my brother (the middle child) didn’t call me, put me off a bit. No matter our feud with each other, we never failed to act like family when it comes to these “special” days. I love my family, and I don’t think I say that enough. I’m hoping to arrange something on Saturday so I can tell my entire family my plans for my future. I also want to discuss another thing I’ve been bottling up inside. I hope to tell my niece as well. If anyone needs to know about the difficult life on the path I’ve chose for myself, it should be her of all people.
read more here...
read more here...
19 March 2008
Wanna read my journal?
Naturally, The Ennui Files is actually the name I took for my journal that I kept in the spring of 2007. It later morphed into what I now call my e-zine. Last year, Jose Skinner had us keep a journal to chronicle scenes in our everyday life. Needless to say, I found myself becoming involved with my subjects that I chose. One, a young couple, of which was my favorite. I became so involved with them in my journal, that for a moment, I lost myself inside of them. I wanted to be them. Share their happiness. I now bring you, what I rarely do these days, a glimpse into the mind of chaos.
Continues here....
Continues here....
17 March 2008
I'm alone now
So Jyg and I are officially broken up. It's over and I think it's time I start gathering the small pieces of whatever life I've made for myself before I lose it all. I have no ambition in going back to school. I know a lot of you probably think I should, but at the moment school is the last thing I want to do right now. Perhaps, I'll just save enough money and go later when I don't have to worry too much about living expenses. Either that, or go to another university. I'm not sure at the moment.
Five long years and I've forgotten how it feels to be single.
Five long years and I've forgotten how it feels to be single.
Don't forget to keep in touch with me @ Ennui Prayer and don't forget to join Ennui Files.
14 March 2008
spread the word
The Ennui Files is looking for writers and photographers to contribute to the blog. Anyone with a WordPress account may contribute as long as they follow the rules. I haven't decided to open Blogger version of The Ennui Files solely because I dislike blogger and enjoy WordPress so much more.
So if you're a writer or photographer or know one who wants to show off their skills, please refer to the links posted above. To be added to the contributor list, please read the rules and follow the instructions provided.
Thank you,
Ennui Prayer
So if you're a writer or photographer or know one who wants to show off their skills, please refer to the links posted above. To be added to the contributor list, please read the rules and follow the instructions provided.
Thank you,
Ennui Prayer
13 March 2008
The Ennui Files
Behold, the power of Ennui.
Yeah, I started writing again, coming out of my cocoon. Anyone who wants to contribute to Ennui Files, just sign up for a WordPress account and then reply to one of the entries with the e-mail address you're using for WordPress. I'll have a writer's guideline as up as I come up with one.
Thank you,
Ennui Prayer
Thank you,
Ennui Prayer
10 March 2008
Case of my Missing (Long Lost) Daughter
The phone calls started sometime last year when I got the new cell phone. It was from Edinburg North High School, my alma mater (just looking for a reason to use that term). The phone call was missed, but the person left a message. I checked it out as soon as I was done with Gallery and as I was trotting towards the English department for Sigma Tau Delta business with the at-the-time chair.
You know the routine....
You know the routine....
08 March 2008
An Avenue Q type of moment
I wish I knew Gary Coleman, because then my life would seem better. It seems to make the puppets feel better, so I suppose it would make me feel better. So Gary, come and visit me. We’ll be the best of buddies.
continue reading...
continue reading...
07 March 2008
Dicks on Windows
“Wanna go draw dicks on the dust of cars?” is probably the question that was asked when those fingers slid over the rear window. They had been erased by the back wiper, leaving the clean arc in the powder. The only reason I knew a dick had been fingered in was because the head of a cartoonish dong was still embedded on the dust. I laughed and pointed it out the Philosopher in Theory. She cackle with me, and her two year old daughter looked up and said, in her kid voice, “I don’t get it.”
Sex in cars here....
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Now playing: Dresden Dolls - Coin-Operated Boy
via FoxyTunes
Sex in cars here....
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Now playing: Dresden Dolls - Coin-Operated Boy
via FoxyTunes
02 March 2008
So you think you can handle this?
Overslept
I didn’t want to be pulled out of my dream. I can’t remember what I was dreaming, or if it was a good one or a bad one, but I do know I didn’t want for it to end when a close friend of mine, let’s call her The Professor, called me late this morning. She called to inform me that Blane - not his real name - had canceled on her. They were going out as friends later on, but something got in the way. I don’t want to give too many clues out here because this is the internet and it isn’t private or safe. Which is why I refuse to give out names. Anyway, the situation on Friday left her with smiles - I couldn’t tell, really, because it was a phone call and I didn’t see her face, but her voice sounded happier than ever. I suppose things happen for a reason, but what reason this is, I don’t know. I don’t have faith, nor do I believe in a destiny (well, not one that’s out of your hands), but some things just have to happen in order for you to grow and learn in this life. Why? I don’t know, go consult your beliefs.
More here...
More here...
01 March 2008
Getting Healthy
I’m not sure, but I think it’s physically impossible for my writer’s body–you know the stereotype body of one who makes a living, or at least attempts to make a living with writing: the Hemingway body, the nice packed flesh that is common with one who sits around and researches and doesn’t have a healthy diet, not that Hemingway was unhealthy - to bend in the way the Yoga lady and the Yoga man asks of me. I’m doing instructional videos, rather than dishing out the cash to take a course. Why yoga? I dunno, of all the calming physical activities that one can do - now don’t let the stereotype lead you to believe that yoga is 100% sweat free, when Darsow had us doing the Salute to the Sun stance, it was straining. I remember a bead of sweat dropping from my nose down to the wooden, supposedly waxed floor, puddling there as a warning - If you’re sweating from here, so are your hands. Not to mention that this piece of exercise, if you wish to call it that or not is up to you, also brought back a high school injury that I’m too ashamed to talk about here.
Continue reading....
28 February 2008
Just some thoughts
I started drafting a short story which has no working title. It's about a man who starts reevaluating his affair after finding the body of a dead child, two years old, floating in the Rio Grande. The child is inconclusively thought to be the missing son of his friend, Rigoberto. It stems from that premise onto the a more elaborate history of his affair, which started after his wife returned home from the hospital. Her now misshapen breasts are what influence him to start an affair with a yellow-toothed, white lady from the city that his Colonia surrounds. That's all I have right now. I'm still working on it.
Now onto my arm situation. For those of you who are confused and have no idea what I'm talking about, read my post here. The Doctor said it was a muscle problem, and to go back in a few days, which I'm more than likely going to because the pills he prescribed (well, gave me), Flextra Plus, are only numbing the whole body, but the tightening is still there, it's now numb.
I'm not sure if I should overtly worry about it because the pills do help. Only I'm asleep most of the day to even get to enjoy it. Right now as I write this, I'm trying to ward off the sleep from my system by eating--I'm hungry as well, so I guess that helps as well.
Yesterday, I got my blood work done. I must've looked like a junky as I walked home though. 7:30am and walking the streets, trying to keep my balance. It makes me happy, however, for people to think I still need a doctor's excuse.
The situation doesn't help me any. I fear that being this way only means my mortality rate is a lot lower than I expected. I'm not afraid of one day expiring, however, I am afraid of dying young.
Now onto my arm situation. For those of you who are confused and have no idea what I'm talking about, read my post here. The Doctor said it was a muscle problem, and to go back in a few days, which I'm more than likely going to because the pills he prescribed (well, gave me), Flextra Plus, are only numbing the whole body, but the tightening is still there, it's now numb.
I'm not sure if I should overtly worry about it because the pills do help. Only I'm asleep most of the day to even get to enjoy it. Right now as I write this, I'm trying to ward off the sleep from my system by eating--I'm hungry as well, so I guess that helps as well.
Yesterday, I got my blood work done. I must've looked like a junky as I walked home though. 7:30am and walking the streets, trying to keep my balance. It makes me happy, however, for people to think I still need a doctor's excuse.
The situation doesn't help me any. I fear that being this way only means my mortality rate is a lot lower than I expected. I'm not afraid of one day expiring, however, I am afraid of dying young.
27 February 2008
Holiday Catholics
Abby spoke about them yesterday at the Sigma Tau Delta meeting. Had nothing to do with the meeting, but none of us were Catholic, so it doesn’t matter. It’s true, what she said though. Catholics–most, anyway–bitch about Lent every year, but don’t ever practice anything Catholic to begin with.
read the rest here...
read the rest here...
26 February 2008
24 February 2008
I'm surprised I'm not dead yet
Again, I experienced a tightness in my left shoulder, armpit. It's not like a heart attack--I've read the descriptions--but more like a stroke. A small stroke. I didn't feel weird other than the tightening around the area and the scared feeling I get--the sudden rush of heat throughout my body when I begin to panic. After more research, it can also be caused by stress and anxiety. Cholesterol comes to mind, but last year, when I got my blood work done, I came out way below the average level. Doctor told me that I might be able to get it up, but I should at least try--apparently not only does high cholesterol cause--ahem--"man problems," but so does low cholesterol. I guess I must suck up pride and call my father to see if he can spot me money for a doctor's appointment. I need to check my blood and see if I'm dying.
After December's Micturition syncope episode...read the rest here.
After December's Micturition syncope episode...read the rest here.
22 February 2008
Last night
I loved it. We had a good turn out, a few of Emmy's students made it to the audience, along with a few other old and familiar faces. It was a pleasant day because all I kept thinking about was being there with familiar faces. I read four poems: "Freudian," "Mental Cage," "Untitled (aren't we all?)" and "Lost Child." I was weary of reading the last two because they have deal with my brother's drunkenness. My mother and his son were in the audience. Mom's always at my readings because she shows her support that way. I looked on to her and it looked like she was hit by a ton of bricks. I wrote "Untitled (aren't we all?)" after his court case. It's actually a rough draft of the last poem I read, which came to me after listening to a Smashing Pumpkins' song.
Writing it was a long process of remembering a lot of painful memories. Things that I had stuffed deep down inside the bowels of emotional regret. I took it with the intention of reading it, but nerves made me think twice before performing it because I hadn't gotten it down right and because I didn't want to screw it up.
I felt that I was the center of attention at times because Amado constantly brought up stories of me and how I was persistent with contacting him. He also told the story of my performance night, the day that his cooks had quit on him. There was almost no performance by me. The cafe was close to closing that night because of the situation, but had managed to persuade someone to come work for him.
It was a good night. After Rolando comes back from Ohio, we're going to move into phase two of our plan to reconstruct the Nueva Onda--with Amado, Richard and Anne. Amado has an idea, but I have my nonprofit organization for teens. I'm not sure if I should mention this or not, but the idea that I had was to have an organization that will help teenagers in middle to high school express themselves through an artistic medium, whether it be writing, painting, music or the like. I'm around looking for people who'll volunteer their spare time to teach. Anne said she'd help out with the writing, so we've got that in the bag. (On a side note, Dr. Anne Estevis's book Chicken Foot Farm will be released on March 31st.) I'll need to find other people to help run it while I do a little grant writing to make sure we have the funds to continue on.
Other types of mediums would be dancing and film making (but those will come later on as the program grows). I suppose that's all I have now. For meantime, I realized I haven't been true to my blog's title.
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Now playing: The Smashing Pumpkins - Blank Page
via FoxyTunes
Writing it was a long process of remembering a lot of painful memories. Things that I had stuffed deep down inside the bowels of emotional regret. I took it with the intention of reading it, but nerves made me think twice before performing it because I hadn't gotten it down right and because I didn't want to screw it up.
I felt that I was the center of attention at times because Amado constantly brought up stories of me and how I was persistent with contacting him. He also told the story of my performance night, the day that his cooks had quit on him. There was almost no performance by me. The cafe was close to closing that night because of the situation, but had managed to persuade someone to come work for him.
It was a good night. After Rolando comes back from Ohio, we're going to move into phase two of our plan to reconstruct the Nueva Onda--with Amado, Richard and Anne. Amado has an idea, but I have my nonprofit organization for teens. I'm not sure if I should mention this or not, but the idea that I had was to have an organization that will help teenagers in middle to high school express themselves through an artistic medium, whether it be writing, painting, music or the like. I'm around looking for people who'll volunteer their spare time to teach. Anne said she'd help out with the writing, so we've got that in the bag. (On a side note, Dr. Anne Estevis's book Chicken Foot Farm will be released on March 31st.) I'll need to find other people to help run it while I do a little grant writing to make sure we have the funds to continue on.
Other types of mediums would be dancing and film making (but those will come later on as the program grows). I suppose that's all I have now. For meantime, I realized I haven't been true to my blog's title.
----------------
Now playing: The Smashing Pumpkins - Blank Page
via FoxyTunes
My Autobiography as Christ
I’ve started writing poetry again. It’s been about a year or so since I seriously wrote poetry, but after last semester’s creative writing course, I decided it was high time that I start writing again. I’ll be experimental, crossing hairs with poetry and prose poetry (perhaps some flash fiction shoved in there).
I’m not sure what I’ll call it when I’m done, but I’ll worry about that at the end. So far the pieces that have been written (and are in the process of being edited) are “Evidence,” a piece of Ekphrasis prose poetry, and it’s sister “Father, Son, Holy Spirit.” Both pieces are based on Marilyn Manson’s artwork (”Someone should put hearts over her eyes” and “Trismegistus“). However, are not tied in anyway to the portraits. They brought out memories of sex with our love and being raised Catholic.
I suppose the whole tie in would be my life as Christ (oh good lord, he’s being blasphemous–I say get used to it!). My life is on a runaway train and I need to sit down and write something before my mind explodes with all the shit I’ve been reading.
The poetry will be factual, but told in slant. I want to do this and make it my project to work on for the rest of the year. Hopefully after all the shit I’ll write, I’ll have at least twenty good pieces of poems, ten good prose poems, and one or two flash fiction. After that, I’ll sort them out and see what goes and what doesn’t. I’d also like to publish it online, rather than have a hard copy, but that’ll be much later on. I’ll have to find someone who is good with Flash and then we’ll see. Not only that, but have to find a reviewer/editor and work closely with them before I make a fool of myself for all to see.
I’ll post a few rough drafts here as .jpgs, but we’ll see.
19 February 2008
Just on a side note
Most of my thoughts were really rushed during this post. I apologize if my non-linear structure has confused you.
I hoped you like it, though.
18 February 2008
A letter to the nation's leaders, present and future
"Here is my advice as we begin the century that will lead to 2081. First, guard the freedom of ideas at all costs. Be alert that dictators have always played on the natural human tendency to blame others and to oversimplify. And don't regard yourself as a guardian of freedom unless you respect and preserve the rights of people you disagree with to free, public, unhampered expression."
----Gerard K. O'Neil, 2081
Dear sirs and madams:
In the last seven years have seen atrocities done in the name of freedom. Wars have been waged, political icons assassinated, civil liberties denied, amnesty hold ups, imprisonment of the innocent, attacks on free speech, attacks on religion, attack on our moral fiber. I don't think my generation will ever see something as horrific as the gross attacks we experienced on 11 September 2001. I fear that my generation will look back to this time and say, "We failed. We failed ourselves; we failed our children; we failed on the dream."
Each day, a young man or woman, most just out of high school, enlist in the arm forces with false information. The war we're fighting isn't for our freedom. It isn't even for the national security. Each and every day, I hear that I should support our troops because they allow me to have a voice in this country. I no longer will stand for such chicanery. We have accept the truth. And we want a change in our nation.
On 4 November 2008, we will march and we will vote for the one who is most likely to lead us out of the mess that this last administration has gotten us into. We will see to it that no Republican, or Democrat, or any political figure, will ever deceive a nation during its weakest moment.
Today is Presidents' Day. Schools across the nation are learning the history of the two most important figures our history has to offer. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln are remembered for their part in shaping the country; they both led wars against and enemy who wanted to steal our natural, and to some god-given, rights.
We have lost our way. We have lost the reason why this country was founded. We have witness that the First Amendment means nothing to those in power. Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom to speak up in a public crowd and disagree with the President of the United States of America.
We've witness mothers being ignored for the death of their sons; children sacrificed for oil; politicians use the media like Fox News, CNN, a ton of other outlets as marionette puppets, hurrahing a pointless war effort; a PATRIOT Act was established and signed on 26 October 2001 in order to protect our national security. No congressman bothered to read the ACT before voting it in.
The irony of the PATRIOT ACT is that it managed to eat away at our freedoms. The people in charge--we, as well, for we turned a blind apathetic eye towards the system because of fear and ignorance--have failed to protect us and continue to fail in order to access some personal wealth, personal vengeance.
Ward Churchill wrote:
"On Sept. 12, while seeking to explain the reason underlying the 9-1-1 attack to the American people, he has explained that it's because "they hate our freedom." Thereafter, in apparent acknowledgment of the power "they" possess, he and selected congressional leaders team up to abolish what little remains of freedom in the U.S..." (254)
No one else comes to mind on the subject of freedom like Martin Luther King, Jr. On 28 August 1963 he stood at the Lincoln Memorial and made the now famous, possibly then infamous, "I Have a Dream" speech. Violence was never the answer to the pains of suffering. The word was mightier than the sword, the pen the excaliber of Camelot. He stood there and proclaimed, demanded, shouted, professed for his freedom. They had marched to the capital to "cash a check." The monetary funds was freedom. They would not accept the excuse of "insufficient funds.
"When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." (650)
What freedoms have we seen? What amnesty has been created for my brothers on the other side of the border? A new zeitgeist has been sweeping through the valleys of our nations, creating hatred, where there should be love. And our politicians act on this to gain their momentum.
Freedom is our right by birth. Nothing the unlawful harming of others, of a society, of a human, child, woman, man, brother, sister, mother, father, uncle, aunt, grandparents, etc. shall ever take away such freedom.
As Thomas Paine said, "ignorance, neglect, or contempt of human rights" begets "public misfortunes and corruptions of Government." (119). We, as a nation, vow to no longer to ignore the government, its policies and its wars. We, as a nation, vow to no longer neglect the rights of others and of ourselves.
We have "sacred rights" that we must adhere to. And not just as a country, but as a universal whole.
"He that would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression." --Thomas Paine
We must call a "farewell to arms." We must lay down the sword. If you want to be considered Christians, then you must follow Christ's Sermon on the Mount:
"You have heard that it was said, "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth." But I tell you not to resist him who is evil; rather whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also....You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I say to you, Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you."
"War, always an evil, is sometimes the lesser of two evils." We shall remember this. War is only necessary when it threatens our way of life. Vow to never again lead us to war where no threat, no enemy of our freedom lives. We shall keep close vigilance on the capital for this.
"Politicians react to terrorism by limiting liberties, the West's most cherished possession, in hopes of facilitating the capture of the minuscule percentage of people who are zealots intent on perpetrating atrocities." No politician shall be granted permission to eliminated, liquidate, annihilated the freedoms of his nation, or any nation.
As Thomas Paine states:
"The Law ought to prohibit only actions hurtful to society. What is not prohibited by the law should not be hindered; nor should any one be compelled to that which the law does not require.
""No man ought to be molested on account of his opinions, not even on account of his religious opinions, provided his avowal of them does not disturb the public order established by the law." (120-121)
We must protect our brothers. We must give a passageway for those hardworking who want to be here. In order to do so, immigration laws must be reformed. Militia groups like the Minute Men, who impose racism and violence, fear tactics to the brown colored women, men and children, guarding the border with fire arms shall no longer be needed. Racists and white supremacists have no part in our new free world.
I ask of you to bring down the ways that the government has been playing its cards. We must no longer allow mass genocide of children in foreign nations to go on, while we point fingers at abortionists. We shall no longer kill innocent civilians. We shall no longer bomb a country in the midst of night to flex our muscle.
A war must only be implemented on those responsible for attacks on US soil. No one else, unless back with proper and real evidence, shall shoulder the blame.
We ask you to remove the troops from Iraq so that no mother shall ever have to go through another child's death.
We call for change. We call for peace. We call for truth.
Which of you is willing to answer?
16 February 2008
A Chronicle of Depression, right?
Wasn't that why I started this blog? To keep myself in check? Today was my niece's and nephew's Birthday (born two years apart, and are cousins). My brother, the older one, brought my niece over. I came out to wish her a happy birthday, when I see this ogre of a boy standing in front of her. The boy!
My niece is 13 today. She was sexually active which we thought was rape in Thanksgiving. This boy, this thing, this beast, stealer of innocence brought to my mother's house? I can't even fathom the disrespect my brother just brought down upon us. If I wasn't so beaten by my ailments, I would have taken my bat to that fucker's head. I don't care if he's a minor, I'd just do what my brother failed to do.
Blah! I don't even want to talk about it.
My niece is 13 today. She was sexually active which we thought was rape in Thanksgiving. This boy, this thing, this beast, stealer of innocence brought to my mother's house? I can't even fathom the disrespect my brother just brought down upon us. If I wasn't so beaten by my ailments, I would have taken my bat to that fucker's head. I don't care if he's a minor, I'd just do what my brother failed to do.
Blah! I don't even want to talk about it.
Letters
For those of you who are wrapped up in the world of the Internet, I assume you've never written a letter in your life. When I say letter, I mean pen to paper, let-me-see-your-bad-cursive letter, not an e-mail. Something that actually took some time to write, revise and correct as you go along. The strike-out words that didn't quite seem right when more thought was put in it.
Writing letters was my introduction to the world of writing, serious writing. All my thoughts were poured upon the page; each emotion carefully examined as I wrote to the girls I had crushes, or those that I loved. Letters from a friend would cheer up my day, and a return letter did the same for them. When a friend was low, I'd write them a letter inquiring what was wrong, how can I help.
But I haven't written a handwritten letter in years. I took up pen-paling in order to revive my deep love for the written word. Technology, however, has gotten the better of me. My wrist is too worn out to hold a pen for too long and my thoughts don't come as easy as they did before. I think I've gotten too tainted by the fact that I can receive an e-mail minutes after I send mine. Snail mail is now on a decline, at least in my world.
But then I stumbled upon Samara O'Shea's book, For The Love of Letters, and I was blown away. It brought me back the memories of scribbling the words I wanted to tell to people out loud in high school. The book led me to her site, Letter Lover, where I not only discovered she was by far the hottest author on my bookshelf (though the author's photo on the back sleeve hinted to this), but how passionate she really is about the subject of letter writing.
In the section, Letter Therapy, she writes:
And it's something you can never get with an e-mail, which can be quickly sent without a second thought.
I keep a journal to collect my thoughts. The latest entries deal with the very real visualizations of my death. When the plastic bag becomes my enemy, I write down my thoughts before I lose myself within them. Writing letters to myself--past, present and future--I can keep my mind at a steady ease. I don't wish to kill myself, and, like I've said, I don't think I have it in my. Suicide, for me, has never been the answer and is the most cowardly thing to do. Seeing this over and over is what reminds me why I don't do something to end myself.
I write letters to myself in upon these pages so I may never forget myself, and who I was. Not only do story ideas sneak their way into my journal, but words I cannot say out loud and wish I could. At times, I feel ashamed for thinking of death and dying. That's now who I am, but I can't seem to reach out and say it out loud. As long as I keep it in, I can assure myself that it's not there. But who am I kidding?
I don't know if it's me or if my mental health is on a decline. I try to keep myself supported by positive thoughts. And for the most part, they work. I suppose, aside from these thoughts, the only thing that keeps me going is my writing. Now that I feel unmotivated to do so, I fear that my mental health will take a even more problematic blow. I guess I'll see in due time.
Writing letters was my introduction to the world of writing, serious writing. All my thoughts were poured upon the page; each emotion carefully examined as I wrote to the girls I had crushes, or those that I loved. Letters from a friend would cheer up my day, and a return letter did the same for them. When a friend was low, I'd write them a letter inquiring what was wrong, how can I help.
But I haven't written a handwritten letter in years. I took up pen-paling in order to revive my deep love for the written word. Technology, however, has gotten the better of me. My wrist is too worn out to hold a pen for too long and my thoughts don't come as easy as they did before. I think I've gotten too tainted by the fact that I can receive an e-mail minutes after I send mine. Snail mail is now on a decline, at least in my world.
But then I stumbled upon Samara O'Shea's book, For The Love of Letters, and I was blown away. It brought me back the memories of scribbling the words I wanted to tell to people out loud in high school. The book led me to her site, Letter Lover, where I not only discovered she was by far the hottest author on my bookshelf (though the author's photo on the back sleeve hinted to this), but how passionate she really is about the subject of letter writing.
In the section, Letter Therapy, she writes:
"When writing, you set aside quality time with yourself and end up examining your relationship with the soon-to-be-receiver. Before delivering the message you'll confirm that, yes, this is in fact how I feel. Sometimes seeing your thoughts out in the open offers a consolation in itself, and you realize it was you and not them who needed the clarification. Other times you can reread what you wrote and thank [g]od you never sent it because it was written hastily and in a moment of fleeting anger. Herein lies the solace some people get from keeping a diary or journal."
And it's something you can never get with an e-mail, which can be quickly sent without a second thought.
I keep a journal to collect my thoughts. The latest entries deal with the very real visualizations of my death. When the plastic bag becomes my enemy, I write down my thoughts before I lose myself within them. Writing letters to myself--past, present and future--I can keep my mind at a steady ease. I don't wish to kill myself, and, like I've said, I don't think I have it in my. Suicide, for me, has never been the answer and is the most cowardly thing to do. Seeing this over and over is what reminds me why I don't do something to end myself.
I write letters to myself in upon these pages so I may never forget myself, and who I was. Not only do story ideas sneak their way into my journal, but words I cannot say out loud and wish I could. At times, I feel ashamed for thinking of death and dying. That's now who I am, but I can't seem to reach out and say it out loud. As long as I keep it in, I can assure myself that it's not there. But who am I kidding?
I don't know if it's me or if my mental health is on a decline. I try to keep myself supported by positive thoughts. And for the most part, they work. I suppose, aside from these thoughts, the only thing that keeps me going is my writing. Now that I feel unmotivated to do so, I fear that my mental health will take a even more problematic blow. I guess I'll see in due time.
15 February 2008
Non-Writing
Writing, it's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? Sometimes I think my plans have strayed. I'm thinking that the whole writing scene isn't for me. I know it's just thoughts that are bellowing in my head, but I'm beginning to feel this self-loathing every time I write something. The Shemshemet piece I wrote, at the moment entitled Vision Quest, went rather well, but editing it is another thing. I suppose getting a job at a daily would be beneficial as David suggests, but I'm not sure if it's for me. I don't know if writing for the underbelly of the beast of McAllen is appropriate. I can't stand them. I don't like their writers, or their bias. I'm a writer of culture and arts. I'm not out there to make the news. I thought I could do something to change the face the word of the written media, but now I think it's no in me.
And as for the whole MFA in Creative Writing? I've gotten over it. I could've registered for Washington, but without money and without any experience in the workforce, I don't think I'll make it. As for Pan Am, the for sure shoe in--well, I just down right don't like the people who have been accepted in the first round. These people went in thinking that they are writers already (though, I suppose only a small percentage are possibly). I suppose the whole thing isn't so bad, but what really got me was when they went off and attacked EGO/EMO and then--and get this--Sigma Tau Delta. I'm not sure if anyone else noticed when Jyg and I went to that meeting, but I was really pissed when I left because the high and mighty MFA'ers decided that they're little copycat organization was better than EGO/EMO and way better than the INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH HONOR SOCIETY!!!! We were referred by the fat white one and the fat brown one as the "other " English organization. I have some news for you porkies, we ARE the English organization.
I'm sorry, what's going to look better on a resume, or in anything, Sigma Tau Delta, an actual recognized organization, or a two bit thief job like the Writers' Block. You know for an organization of creative geniuses they did lack creativity in their actual group name.
Anyway, enough bitching. I went off topic with that, but it's something that is still bothering me. I don't know why I can't write these days. The energy isn't in me. I was able to write a small piece, but nothing too big. I've been trying to get back to my roots of writing a poem, but the words aren't coming right. The imagery is all shot. I thought the depression was what once inspired me to write, but now I realized I'm not the same anymore. I suppose it was time that I outgrew my light and I refuse to be a shadow stalker.
I wish I could write, though. There are a thousand ideas all stemming within my head that I haven't been able to write a single line of words. I haven't been coherent. I haven't been concise. And now with the slow decay of my friends, I'm beginning to think I won't make it any further without breaking. Not that I'm mad at them, I'm not sure where we're headed for anymore.
All I know is what I really need is a job.
And as for the whole MFA in Creative Writing? I've gotten over it. I could've registered for Washington, but without money and without any experience in the workforce, I don't think I'll make it. As for Pan Am, the for sure shoe in--well, I just down right don't like the people who have been accepted in the first round. These people went in thinking that they are writers already (though, I suppose only a small percentage are possibly). I suppose the whole thing isn't so bad, but what really got me was when they went off and attacked EGO/EMO and then--and get this--Sigma Tau Delta. I'm not sure if anyone else noticed when Jyg and I went to that meeting, but I was really pissed when I left because the high and mighty MFA'ers decided that they're little copycat organization was better than EGO/EMO and way better than the INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH HONOR SOCIETY!!!! We were referred by the fat white one and the fat brown one as the "other " English organization. I have some news for you porkies, we ARE the English organization.
I'm sorry, what's going to look better on a resume, or in anything, Sigma Tau Delta, an actual recognized organization, or a two bit thief job like the Writers' Block. You know for an organization of creative geniuses they did lack creativity in their actual group name.
Anyway, enough bitching. I went off topic with that, but it's something that is still bothering me. I don't know why I can't write these days. The energy isn't in me. I was able to write a small piece, but nothing too big. I've been trying to get back to my roots of writing a poem, but the words aren't coming right. The imagery is all shot. I thought the depression was what once inspired me to write, but now I realized I'm not the same anymore. I suppose it was time that I outgrew my light and I refuse to be a shadow stalker.
I wish I could write, though. There are a thousand ideas all stemming within my head that I haven't been able to write a single line of words. I haven't been coherent. I haven't been concise. And now with the slow decay of my friends, I'm beginning to think I won't make it any further without breaking. Not that I'm mad at them, I'm not sure where we're headed for anymore.
All I know is what I really need is a job.
14 February 2008
A new way of life
I must speak of Adam Zuniga as a role model by all the times I've mentioned him in my blogs. Or at least some sort of hero. Is it possible that I'm giving off the wrong vibe to my viewers? My readers? I don't adore him in such a way that would make me question my sexuality, just to be clear. But I have realized that a lot of the time I make references to him that might suggest otherwise. Let's get this straight (heh, no pun intended) and out (geez!) in the open: the reason I refer back to him is because since Chico, no one has ever said anything to me that made me realize I don't have to be depressed.
For those of you who don't know me, Chico isn't the best person to receive advice from. He's a chauvinistic man who's sole joke is "I used to have a dishwasher, but the bitch ran away." But one time, I was having a moment, a odd depression had set in. He took me by the shoulder and said, "Stop it. You don't have anything to be depressed about. So get over and live life."
Harsh, words, I know, but the truth is, I don't have anything to be depressed about but still wake up some mornings wishing that I'd expire.
But Adam, and now I'm jumping back to my original subject in order to push my actual subject, told me, in an interview:
I didn't know what to answer, even though I was the one who was supposed to be doing the interview. Unlike most journalist--which I don't consider myself--I allow my subjects to talk and talk about things while I record it. That's the first interview. The second, we might have a conversation, I might ask a few questions that'll lead me to where I want to get. I run the risk of never being taken serious in the Freedom Communications' inner beast.
Adam knows the key to immortality, and that's to get his words, voice, ideas, out there in the world. That way he can live on forever in the fight to legalize and allow a person the right to choose. I mentioned to him the old Chinese thought of immortality.
And that is what I'm now setting out to do. I have been reading religious books since I discovered other options. Wicca is what I'm focusing on now. Before you jump into conclusions, I'm not hip for all that magic junk, however, I do like some of their thoughts and ideas. Next, I'm jumping into Judeo-Christianity, then Islam, then Buddhism, etc. I will dissect each religion, find the things that make sense and make a manifesto of all the ideas that I agree with. This will then be my way of life and I may share it with others, but I don't expect others to understand or respect it.
Am I willing to try cannabis as a sacrament? Possibly not. I've traveled that path in th past, not as sacrament, but still a user. And while I'm not saying Adam is a user, I feel that I may fall back into old ways. Will I allow it in my beliefs? Only if it allows the person who follows it a more clear passage of life. I won't be a religion, per se, but it will be a series of thoughts. For a better life.
Perhaps I have become mad. Perhaps my depression has poisoned me to believe that I can change the world. If I can, then I will. If I want to, then I'll try. But for the moment, it is only for me to know and report to you.
For those of you who don't know me, Chico isn't the best person to receive advice from. He's a chauvinistic man who's sole joke is "I used to have a dishwasher, but the bitch ran away." But one time, I was having a moment, a odd depression had set in. He took me by the shoulder and said, "Stop it. You don't have anything to be depressed about. So get over and live life."
Harsh, words, I know, but the truth is, I don't have anything to be depressed about but still wake up some mornings wishing that I'd expire.
But Adam, and now I'm jumping back to my original subject in order to push my actual subject, told me, in an interview:
"Plant life, I wouldn't debate it, because if you take responsibility of planting the plant, nourishing it, watching it grow, then fulfilling its destiny and that is the heal someone, that's the whole purpose. Maybe that will help you realize what your destiny is on this planet. What is your purpose? Is it to write an article and help people get their message out? Is it to use some sort of herbal remedy? "
I didn't know what to answer, even though I was the one who was supposed to be doing the interview. Unlike most journalist--which I don't consider myself--I allow my subjects to talk and talk about things while I record it. That's the first interview. The second, we might have a conversation, I might ask a few questions that'll lead me to where I want to get. I run the risk of never being taken serious in the Freedom Communications' inner beast.
Adam knows the key to immortality, and that's to get his words, voice, ideas, out there in the world. That way he can live on forever in the fight to legalize and allow a person the right to choose. I mentioned to him the old Chinese thought of immortality.
- Plant a tree
- have a child
- write a book
"And I understand all three, and I accept all three. Now do I agree with killing female infants? No. But that's their culture. But at a time, you know, I'm coming from a belief of reincarnation. Maybe at a time I was against that. In this life, I'm not. Because I realized something and Terence McKenna, if you're familiar with him, if not, then I highly recommend him. He did a lot of studying of shamanism, hoasca and mushrooms. He says that culture and ideology are not your friends. He says to build your own wage, which is what I've done because of his lecture. Create your own creation myth. Create something that works best for you. And I want to help people do is find that."
And that is what I'm now setting out to do. I have been reading religious books since I discovered other options. Wicca is what I'm focusing on now. Before you jump into conclusions, I'm not hip for all that magic junk, however, I do like some of their thoughts and ideas. Next, I'm jumping into Judeo-Christianity, then Islam, then Buddhism, etc. I will dissect each religion, find the things that make sense and make a manifesto of all the ideas that I agree with. This will then be my way of life and I may share it with others, but I don't expect others to understand or respect it.
Am I willing to try cannabis as a sacrament? Possibly not. I've traveled that path in th past, not as sacrament, but still a user. And while I'm not saying Adam is a user, I feel that I may fall back into old ways. Will I allow it in my beliefs? Only if it allows the person who follows it a more clear passage of life. I won't be a religion, per se, but it will be a series of thoughts. For a better life.
Perhaps I have become mad. Perhaps my depression has poisoned me to believe that I can change the world. If I can, then I will. If I want to, then I'll try. But for the moment, it is only for me to know and report to you.
The Placebo Effect
Lois Hope Walker writes:
I have never been on to disagree that religion works for some to be happy. I know a girl, Charity, whom I adore (not in the sense that you're thinking) because she's able to wake up everyday and find that there is a reason in this world. She's allowed herself to have such wonderful thoughts. But religion isn't for all of us. It certainly not for me.
Most people say my depression is due to my lack of religion. Truth is, I've always been this way. Since I was a kid, when I had great faith, I'd walk around in this coma state, just watching the other boys enjoying sports. Me, I just sat there, under a tree and accepted the fact that I wasn't like them.
I think I have no faith and doubt the existence of god solely because I'm this way and not vice versa.
On Ennui Prayer, I had a man named Russ quote a passage of the Bible, referring to my Buddhist Existential quote from A Buddhist Bible:
I love my life, even though at times I hate the emotions experienced on a day to day basis. What is it about me that I wake up feeling useless and sad. Is there a reason? Perhaps if I allowed "Jesus" to help me out, then I'd get a hold of things. But I don't work that way.
I believe religion is a poison upon our society. Now don't misconstrue this as me being an anti-christ. I don't care if you believe in God or Buddha, or Allah, or L. Ron Hubbard's bullshit Religion. But I do persuade people to ask themselves why they are a part of their church. Is it solely because they were raise that way?
That was my reason and being Catholic wasn't helping me much. I've lost my main reason. Somewhere in the clutter of random thoughts, but that's why this a blog for personal chronicle rather than being noticed for my writing skills.
I guess what I wanted to say is, religion doesn't work for everyone. Those of us with thoughts have this problem of doubting. Religion is just the metaphysical sugar pill that we pop in our mouths to rid us of the temptation of being human.
Man, I wish I could believe.
"God loves and cares for us. His love compels us, so that we have a deeper motive for morally good actions, including high altruism. We live deeply moral lives, not out of fear of hell, but out of deep gratitude to One who loves us and whom we love. We live not by impersonal rules but in relation with a Cosmic Lover, one who has out best interests in mind and is powerful enough to ensure that we are as happy as we are good.
"Secularism lacks this sense of cosmic love, and it is, therefore, no accident that it fails to produce moral saints like Jesus..."
I have never been on to disagree that religion works for some to be happy. I know a girl, Charity, whom I adore (not in the sense that you're thinking) because she's able to wake up everyday and find that there is a reason in this world. She's allowed herself to have such wonderful thoughts. But religion isn't for all of us. It certainly not for me.
Most people say my depression is due to my lack of religion. Truth is, I've always been this way. Since I was a kid, when I had great faith, I'd walk around in this coma state, just watching the other boys enjoying sports. Me, I just sat there, under a tree and accepted the fact that I wasn't like them.
I think I have no faith and doubt the existence of god solely because I'm this way and not vice versa.
On Ennui Prayer, I had a man named Russ quote a passage of the Bible, referring to my Buddhist Existential quote from A Buddhist Bible:
"...every one must bear the burden of his own sins, that every man must be the fabricator of his own salvation, that not even God can do for man what self-help in the form of self-conquest and self-emancipation can accomplish." (3-4)The quote above really didn't have much to do with the topic of the blog. For the most part, I was trying to address "90 Day Jane" and her stupidity for stating that as an atheist, she didn't see much reason to live for. Suicide and I have never been good friends. The thoughts have surfaced every once in a while, but nothing so serious that I'd actually consider taking my life.
I love my life, even though at times I hate the emotions experienced on a day to day basis. What is it about me that I wake up feeling useless and sad. Is there a reason? Perhaps if I allowed "Jesus" to help me out, then I'd get a hold of things. But I don't work that way.
I believe religion is a poison upon our society. Now don't misconstrue this as me being an anti-christ. I don't care if you believe in God or Buddha, or Allah, or L. Ron Hubbard's bullshit Religion. But I do persuade people to ask themselves why they are a part of their church. Is it solely because they were raise that way?
That was my reason and being Catholic wasn't helping me much. I've lost my main reason. Somewhere in the clutter of random thoughts, but that's why this a blog for personal chronicle rather than being noticed for my writing skills.
I guess what I wanted to say is, religion doesn't work for everyone. Those of us with thoughts have this problem of doubting. Religion is just the metaphysical sugar pill that we pop in our mouths to rid us of the temptation of being human.
Man, I wish I could believe.
13 February 2008
A Moderate Re-introduction
I suppose in many ways, the reason I jumped over to this blog from the original "In Our Time" Blog is because I wanted something to chronicle depression. Don't worry boys and girls, I'm not 90 Day "fill in the blank," or anything like the attention whore. This is therapeutic and nothing more.
I also have a writer's blog over at WordPress called Ennui Prayer, though that blog is slowly turning into a thought/philosophy blog on the current events of our society and the state of mind people have. I don't really know what I'm going to do when this goes public. A lot of my friends know that I suffer from depression, but there are many other people out there that I know who don't. Putting myself out there like this is something I normally do.
Anyway, the Ennui Files should be put up sooner or later so I can ween myself from the demon known as Myspace. I've been trying to do so since I discovered these more nifty blog sites. (By the way, I prefer WordPress more than Blogger, but hell, Blogger is my first "adult" weblog.)
So let's see how this goes. Thank you for reading this first post.
I also have a writer's blog over at WordPress called Ennui Prayer, though that blog is slowly turning into a thought/philosophy blog on the current events of our society and the state of mind people have. I don't really know what I'm going to do when this goes public. A lot of my friends know that I suffer from depression, but there are many other people out there that I know who don't. Putting myself out there like this is something I normally do.
Anyway, the Ennui Files should be put up sooner or later so I can ween myself from the demon known as Myspace. I've been trying to do so since I discovered these more nifty blog sites. (By the way, I prefer WordPress more than Blogger, but hell, Blogger is my first "adult" weblog.)
So let's see how this goes. Thank you for reading this first post.
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