Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2011

Closing thoughts for 2011

Superstition dictates that wearing red should bring me luck for 2012. Red heels it is

Small gestures are sweet but its the grand ones that make the most impact and leave no room for words

If you think about where you thought you'd be this time last year and it's a little different than where you'd thought you'd be well then, it might not be a bad thing.

Roomies fo' life

Stepping stones are useful.

Beergarita te quiero or is it te amo? quien sabe! ;)

The friends you've had the longest are the ones that are most likely to keep sticking around. They've put up with you for this long haven't they?

If love is fickle then perhaps it wasn't really love, but all those other words we mistake for it. Lust, need, sex etc.

Moments are great, but great moments are better.

Just because you know the right decision doesn't mean you'll always make it. I continuously fail at this.

If new friends and those old friends get along well, you can be pretty sure that…


in between good-bye's and i love you's  i don't want you's, but i can't let you go's  there is the middle where two hands hold  with fingers intertwined

Scene 1. Act 2. Line 53.

I am told that I am good at writing dialogues. Perhaps that's the reason when it comes to interacting with people the words that I want to hear, the words I already have written in my head are ready, but when they don't come out I am often disappointed. What happened to that perfect phrase I had in my head? What happened? Why are they silent? Or, where did that come from? I find myself left with wanting more, or needing less, or simply being in a state of unfamiliarity. Why? You might ask? Because there are very few times when what I have written in my mind is translated well into real life. Real life is not scripted. Repeat. Real life is not scripted.

Recently I wrote about a true moment. A moment that I witnessed of a girl crying in her car. It happened. It was REAL. I didn't write anything but what I saw, and I was told in a workshop that the whole scene was cliche and needed to be cut. As a writer I saw what was meant. As a human I thought, "We can't cut this s…


there is a possibility that i will avoid my work all day.          a possibility that i will avoid texts and phone calls today a possibility that i won't be able to hold out and end up at dinner, or a movie, or .....    there is a possibility that i have writers block and that's why i'm avoiding my work  it's possible that i am stir crazy and i will be found under a pile of clean laundry there is a possibility that a conversation will never take place even though the words are ready to spill        it's possible that after next week i will be able to breath easy there is a possibility that my dreams have a meaning but i'm too dense to see it   its a definite possibility that i'm avoiding things by writing this blog a possibility that i don' know what tomorrow will bring            there is a possibility that plans fall through        possibilities that all possibilities will shift and evolve...

10 Reminders

1. holidays will never cause me as much stress as they used too

2. pride sometimes gets in the way

3. i need to use december to write new material...well after a few days off

4. sometimes you realize too late that you're in over your head

5. the best conversations are the ones you have while the sun is breaking through a dark sky

6. its hard to find people that love you no matter what

7. if you think you have things figured out, you don't

8. controlling the uncontrollable is just a way to drive yourself crazy. repeat.

9. there something about the smell of rain it seems to wash away all of life's messiness

10. friends, dinner, drinks, conversation

The Rantings of Insecurity

The security of a moment should always be appreciated simply because that security can be fleeting.

    Se-cu-rity is defined as:

Definition of SECURITY 1 : the quality or state of being secure: asa: freedom from danger :safetyb: freedom from fear or anxiety
I believe an amendment should be made to the definition and to highlight the fact that security is in fact fleeting. There is nothing in our lives that is completely secure and the constant shifting, evolving, eroding, ensures that. The idea that life had a level of stability is a veiled attempt to put people at ease. An ease that lulls them into a state of comfort then into a state of shock when changes occurs. They have existential crises and ponder if everything that they done up to now is truly what they wanted  or ponder if the road they already on is the road they want to remain on. The cliche fork in the road. Terms such as those themselves are made up to make change seem good, acceptable, a part of life, just like securit…

Portrait of an Artist

The paint was thick and still damp. I didn't need to touch it to know this. All over the concrete floor were splashes of paint and dirty white clothes where wet canvases leaned against the walls of the open space. In the corner sheets were rumpled in a bed he lay sleeping on, tangled. Dark hair rumpled against his pale face, arm thrown over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light. I walked back carefully not to make noise and lay down next to him, covering myself with the corner of the dark sheet he'd left available. 
I reached out to move the tousled hair from his face only to feel the the grip of his hand as he pulled me closer. I was somewhere in a moment as I felt long fingers and firm calloused hands against naked skin.To love an artist is to be in a constant state of unknowing. unbeing, but still somewhere. Hands held firm against you, even when they themselves, the fingers, the lines along the palm aren't sure why they're there. Even when skin tingles and …

Sunsets in Sunset

The orange arms of the sunset embraced them from behind. They sat on the porch of a house on Prospect St., edge of the neighborhood, right before a brightly lit downtown. Their beers sat sweating on the round faux glass patio table where they both had their feet up. She wiggled her toes covering the Bank of America building with her big toe.   “Do you remember that bit from SNL?” “Which one?” he asked. “Remember, they did that thing with their fingers and they’d crush someone’s head. They’d say “I crush you!” She turned to him mashing her index and thumb finger together her voice deepening in an odd Slavic like accent giggling.                 “No, dork!” He laughed and shook his head.   He reached for his dewy Heineken. She watched his profile, the Adam at the center of his neck rolling up and down as he swallowed. It was almost the end of summer and much of their time had been spent on this porch. She reached for the rainbow colored glass pipe and lighter on the table, the sou…


where do i begin and where does it all end the places faces that encompass my world they wait they see for the next thing that waits to defy me, surprise me,  ultimately crush me the love the heart that thing that follows
we wait and we watch as we check mate ourselves into this auto feeling oblivion a place where we all dance, we talk, we walk  into an unknown something new

the s p a c e s we create

we create the space around us

that keeps                                              strangers
                                                                                                              from invading our space.

the space around us that keeps    peoplethatcouldmatter                                                                   from invading our space.

                     there is the space that we create after thatcloseness has already happened and we                                                  

b                             a                              c                              k

away into our corner. becauseweareuncomfortablewithbeingclosewithsomeonethatknowshowtohurtus.

there is the                                                   space   that we share with the peoplewelove and we don't pullaway from their touch

there is the simple space.              my space.                 that i choose  to share      or         n o t.



the soft palm of his hand against my face, long thin fingers reaching into the edge of my hair, as i look down. the shadow of my eyelashes hiding the expression that i don't want him to see. the expression that says that this wasn't me anymore. that perhaps the fire from earlier had simmered only to a few burning embers. a look that said i was ready to go...

Week in Phrases

"Boo!""Two's company. Three's a crowd."
                                                                  "Isn't it Prozac?"
"What are you doing?"                                                 "Definitely awesome!"
 "Fucking stress!!!! I hate UTEP HR!!
"It's like a box you know? I can't be put in a box."  "Did you get some rest?"                                                            "I think maybe I just need to stop."
                               "Your presence is requested this Friday."
"Lol! I think you should do that anyhow!"                 "Totes see you in a few"
         "Werd!"                       "What are you doing?"                "I have some observations..."

                           "Ugh I don't feel good."                    "What do you have going on tomorrow?…

day in snapshots

Today as I drove I found myself being privy to images.

As I sat in my car on the access road, sun streaming in through the windshield, making me squint even with sunglasses on I stared as a small man walked from car to car begging for change. Usually I am not struck by this, and I always turn my face when they walk past my car. But today, I watched as this old emaciated man shuffled from a sapphire blue truck to a white beat up Buick, with one handing holding his faded black jeans up. His bony body swam in the pants and they came up far above his waist. What amazed me was that he still had his washed out polo tucked into the pants. The last shred of dignity perhaps that he could control? He looked like an old little boy with hollowed out eyes that life had taken. When he walked to my window I couldn't turn away this time. Instead I held out the only money I had, a handful of quarters, dimes, pennies. His hand smaller and more withered than mine struggled to hold what had fit just …

Cherry Chap Stick

The kisses were sticky and tasted like cherry Chap Stick and mint. His lips were wet and the kissing noises sounded loud in her ears, but she kept kissing back, his moist tongue darting in and out of her mouth.  In the living room she could hear her friends watching MTV, the volume loud and muffling the giggles she knew were being giggled. She would have to face them after.  She felt the hard pressure of his center being pressed against hers and his hand grabbing her right breast through her Radiohead t-shirt. In Utero was playing in the background, but it sounded distant as if it were also in another room. She kept thinking about anything other than the boy between her legs and his heavy breathing as he pushed against her. She didn’t quite get it, him pushing against her crotch didn’t feel good, but each time he breathed a little heavier and made little noises that sounded foreign to her, so she breathed a little harder too.
Earlier that day she had spoken to him on the phone while sh…

that thing, you know that thing...

this week i have a writing assignment, to write about a character who wants something, but in reality really wants something else. we've all been in this situation; unconsciously, consciously. it all comes down to that thing, you know that thing that we really want, but can't seem to get it, or once we do it's not really that great. that thing that we pined after, dreamt about, coveted, really isn't that great at all...we've all had this lesson at one time or another. i recently experienced it...but, what keeps our eyes on that one prize? what happens to our peripheral vision?

as it comes to a close....

this summer has been filled to the brim with new experiences, new people, and lessons that i might not have learned without further ado... this is my summer in a recap in no particular order...

when new friendships are forged in a matter of minutes compared to others don't question it just go with it. it must be in the cards....

grand gestures are for movies only, and if you wait around for them, you might be waiting awhile

i need to travel want to travel more need to travel more

late night chats with friends keep your sanity

the guilt is not worth the fun

amores de lejos amores de pendejos

london stole my heart but i can forget paris

inadvertently i create crazyness around explained to me recently, i can no longer state "it's not me!"

sometimes the best evenings are spent on a porch with a glass of wine, good company, and conversation 

dresses in the el paso summer are a must

i look like a halloween costume version of myself with long hair

tattoos don…

the simplicity of words

Words fall from lips 
         bounce off my deaf ears                     and onto the floor 
                         They repeat and create                                    smalls steps of                                              excuses from                                                          your mouth                                                                 Which help                                                                         carry you                                                                              out the                                                                                                                            door                                                                                        .                                                                                         .                                                                                          .

So There's This Band...

Humid air against my skin as more and more people trickle through the entrance. I stare at the door guy with envy as a continuous cool breeze musses his hair. I want to be his hair. I look out the tall windows of The Percolator, and I feel like a fish in a fishbowl of sticky people and perfume mingled with the sweet scent of sweat. Outside I see a group of people smoking, talking, watching, as a slew of instruments and sound equipment makes way between the guy with Buddy Holly glasses and giggling girls in ballet flats.  

Although I'm at the very back we talk, my friends and I, that we have secured the best location. There is an invisible line between the seated and the standing, our tall stools keep us at the same height of the standies, but much more comfortable and not sardined against the other moist people inside. I listen to the chatter as people walk by. 

"Is this seat taken?"         "I think its Johnny Costello then Mexicans at Night, then Jim Ward, I think..…

forgetful hands...

What is it about human contact? The brush of a hand across your back... or the long arms of someone folding you in them as they pull you into their chest for a firm hug. It makes all the difference in the world and somehow you don't notice it until there isn't the touch or the brush of hands....sometimes without it you forget.

The End of Summer

Heat waves danced like snakes being charmed from the curvy sidewalk ahead of us. We walked along, two kids following a long chain link fence that kept us away from the shortcut to our left of our school’s crab grass soccer field. The cuffs of our jeans dragged on the pavement, as we talked about nothing in that painful awkward way that only happened when you were sixteen and everything you said was life or death cool. “Let’s cut through the field,” he suddenly said. “I can’t jump the fence,” I said as I looked down and tugged at the ends of hair curled around my ear. “You can go under.” We walked to a break in the fence and I stared at it for a moment, looked back at the 7-11 we had just come from and looked down to the tall building nestled in the nook of the Franklin mountains where I was supposed to be at summer school. I crouched down and shimmied under, trying hard not to get too dirty. He waited till I was almost on the other side, then hopped the fence with little effort, and held…

Fate said Ink

This weekend I got my first tattoo. A small ouroboros behind my left ear. Right now it's black, the skin behind my ear tight and scabbed. I've forgotten its there and accidentally touched it. Shocked, I moved my hand away from the raised skin surprised. Then I remember "Oh yeah..." and I smile a smile for myself.

"Why the ear, man?" 
Because its for me. A small reminder. Since my birthday I've waited to get it. In London, I wanted to get it. And, Friday I left it up to fate. I'll go I thought, and if he can do it, its meant to be. I walked in and fate said ink. Buzz of the needle in surround sound against my ear. I lay staring at the industrial sized Saran Wrap they had on the shelf in front of me. Listening to the buzz.
"Okay, all done." 

The Act of Summer

Heat and sticky skin. Gazing up at the sky, but there are no clouds of relief. So we wait, wait until the sun sets and outside the people move around a little easier. A little less sticky. A lot more cool.  At night the cool breeze of the desert gives us some relief. So we can sit on porches and feel the cool breeze kiss our face, our hands, our legs. We can feel the heat that made our day long dissipate, and we can enjoy summer. We can enjoy the kind of summer we remember when we were kids and it meant excitement of what might happen next. Enjoy it even if its just at night, when most things can fall by the wayside, to worry about tomorrow when the sun rises. The act of summer is something sweet, fleeting perhaps, but while it's there you can enjoy it, bask in it, and know that at least for a little while you can let the light feeling from your youth be remembered.

Boy meets Girl that has Girl... Wait What?

Social norms have taught us that relationships are supposed to work in a certain way. Boy meets girl. Boy girl either fall in love or they kick one another to the curb and repeat with different people. Lately though, there has been an influx of unique situations that I've stumbled across. I'm sure the title is a hint of one of them. But, also I've heard about general ones that aren't as unique. Girl loves boy but boy doesn't reciprocate. Neither boy or girl love one another but they're in it, for what reason I'm not sure, and both stay although complaining about the other to confidants. Girl wants to love someone but like shoes can't find the right fit, so she branches out to expand the possible matches. The list of things I've encountered recently can actually go on and on, but I'll stick to these.

I'm not sure if I'll simply loop myself into some sort of pretzel, but this has been rolling around in my head for a bit, and even discussing…

Excerpt from "The Pink Shoes"

This weekend I read a portion of this short story at the Border Senses release party. Thanks to the people that came out and Eurydice for the great photo...

            For my grandma’s third fifty-fourth birthday her ex-husband Réno took us out to celebrate. My grandma and he had been separated as long as I could remember but they remained friends. In fact, my grandma had remained friends with some of the other men she had been married to. I imagined that she was a bright light that they couldn’t stay far away from, but like any other light she sometimes shined too brightly.             She took extra care getting ready that day, and paired a beautiful pink angora sweater with black pants and small black wedges.  I was very excited as we got ready and left the house. For the celebration we were being taken to dinner at a well-known seafood restaurant, Villa Del Mar, which my grandma loved. We drove down to the Bridge of the Americas and parked her big Buick. We walked over to Juarez a…

Planes, Trains, and Taxi Cabs

i landed in a wonderland of places, faces, and public transportation.
      my mind is filled with a kaleidoscope of images i wish the world could see
                        voices overlapping, aching feet, and tasty beers
                                                  people all around me, snake dancing, stolen kisses, and spouting Shakespeare at the end of the night
                                                                             jack the ripper tour guide you were so wonderful
            the cool sprinkle of the rain on my face then
                      heat induced slumber upon that Paris bus, but i saw Notre Dame
                                                                                            and smelled everything the heat brought with it...
this bus terminates at Cockfosters
                          and don't forget to mind the gap please
                                                                          fish and chips and…

a rose is a rose is a rose

Yesterday as I was dusting I smiled as I came across two glass bottles, one green, one translucent, that have been with me since I was fifteen. They have moved with me from place to place, carefully wrapped in numerous pages of newspaper, so they wouldn't break. Each time I unpacked them I looked at them and smiled because they are filled with memories. I forget about them from time to time, but when I remember them for more than just a decoration, I remember petal by petal what sits inside of them, and why I've kept them for so long.

Their story began as a simple one. Two empty bottles that were given to me and at the time I had no clue what to do with them. I was fifteen after all. At that age I remember a friend of mine that seemed to be in constant dance with a new boyfriend, each that was ever so generous to buy dozens of roses for her. I had never received a dozen roses at that age, and I was always surprised by them. She was that girl though. The girl you give flowers to…