Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
"Well you know how The Strokes sound like tantantan tantan taran? They seem to have
"Oh?" I wasn't sure I understood.
"It's not bad. I mean all bands have their sound, you know?"
"Oh, right. I get it."
"Yeah, but it's over. The Royalty is next and you'll like them. You'll see," I nodded and
"How many times have you seen them?"
"This is the third time. Last two times were at Tricky Falls, but we weren't that
"What do they sound like?"
"I don't know, kinda No Doubtish, but not all of it, like their first album, Tragic
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Trying to break the doughy mass into pieces seems out of reach as you continue to try to make a an air pocket between you and the bread, as you push your tongue against the back of your front teeth. And just when you are about to reach into your mouth, with your fingers to pull the doughy mass that feels like it's about to kill you, it comes free.
You chew it tentatively, then a little more excited because you're free of the bready mass. You chew harder because for some reason you are angry at the bread for making you feel as if you are about to die. When you swallow you are a little sad, because you realize it wasn't the breads fault. It was your fault for making a ball and pushing it against the roof of your mouth. The bread didn't do anything out of character. That's what bread does. It absorbs.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
I gave them a sentence and they decided what would happen to the characters situation. Here is what I managed to write. I'm posting without editing.
I wish I could have kept some of the stories they wrote from the prompts because their talent continues to awe.
Prompt · While I was pumping gas a man came up to me.
Prompt· When he woke up the dead dolphin was there.
Prompt· Mom, don’t throw that knife!
Thursday, November 15, 2012
"When you look in the night sky, you see a million stars.
They are all there, seemingly blinking.
At times one looks brighter than the other, but in reality the stars are all working together, that's what art is."
Sunday, November 11, 2012
sunday's i sleep in late. i wake from a sleep so deep and heavy it's as if my bed, with it's thick gold comforter and numerous pillows have wrapped around me in a warm embrace. i'm surrounded by warmth and an arm that reaches for me while dreaming in the middle of the night to pull me closer.
half the day is spent in this overstuffed bed. only rising because the rumbling in our stomachs demands it. this afternoon? spinach and mushroom omelet with a garlic cheese middle, roasted potatoes, two strips of crispy bacon, steaming french press coffee and homemade agua de sandia.
the rest of the day is spent in the living room. it's a carpet camp out. coffee table pushed to the farthest part of the room. blankets and pillow stretched out and puffed up in a makeshift bed. i can watch the shows from the week. nap. work a little so tomorrow won't be overwhelming, but just a little. snuggle deep in the fluffy blankets. now that it's cold? it's a sunday blanket cave we only leave if we have too.
and for the rest of the day? i don't think we have to...
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The music starts. The rhythm bouncy. The kind of bouncy that has shoulders swaying, guests dancing in their chairs, as hips swing on the dance floor. The accordion player, also the singer, sways his head and rocks his body as fast as his fingers move across the keys.
Timid dancers make their way to the floor, but in seconds match the incessant rhythm. The numerous members of the band combine their chaotic strums and drums to make hips swing left right left in a sinuous circular motion. They dance too, as if the beat created is too much even for them to contain.
The floor? Now packed. Couples move back and forth against one another. Hands clasped and released only to be pulled tightly against one another. Moving. Swinging. Swaying. Around one another, away, and back. The beat, infective. Children move on the outskirts of the dance floor. Little girls try to pull their crushes to the floor, dance, then run away blushing. The bride and groom? Moving between guests, smiling and hugging, stopping to dance with one circle of people, moving on, but still keeping time with the music.
"Y la que sige, se llama "La Murga" a moversen!"
The beginning similar, a moment to catch a breath, before it starts all over again Moving. Swinging. Swaying. Glistening sweat slickened bodies move in unison, become a living embodiment of the notes and strums, the beat of conga drums in celebration.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The theory behind music. Who would have thought there was a theory behind the music. That there is thought behind the incessant beat we can't get out of our minds. An ear worm that embeds itself deep into our subconscious before we even know it. And, when we hear the song, the Zeppelins and Hendrix of our lives, we believe the song was written just for us. The artist somehow knew what we were feeling and they wrote it for us.
The music gets under your skin and seeps deep into your soul until its twisted, combined, and changed your DNA. It's a memory of a first kiss or a caress and that won't change from the still in your mind. From then on that song will take you back to that place, the moment when you were happy, or sad, or...and you are friends for life.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Maybe things don't work out that way. And, at the end of the half-hour reality sinks in. But, maybe it's not about the going back to normal at the end of the half-hour, maybe it's about the half-hour. And, maybe I'm being overly optimistic, because right now I feel like I'm in that half-hour, but if we don't appreciate the half-hours then how do we deal with the rest? If in the grand scheme of things all we get our half-hours then, we might as well live in them whole heartedly right? Because if we don't well... what else are we left with?
Friday, October 5, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Because it's my last year of school, because it's things I worry about, because it's that person I just don't know how to deal with, because you don't know how to get the wording right, because what's going to happen in June, because, because, because, because...
Because as I think of all these things I blow another breath of air into the balloons in my mind.They continue to expand and grow until the red one is bigger than the blue one, and the yellow gets pushed to the side, while the orange one, it stay the size of a medium grapefruit. With each conversation, as the breath travels up my chest and out of the pink flesh of my lungs, and into my mouth that tastes like coffee, a breath is exhaled. My words are exhaled into the balloons. They get filled with the worry and the doubt and the hopes and the dreams about everything and anything that flutters through my mind.
And the bouquet of balloons in my mind? They float to the top of my skull and push and tangle with each other at different moments, until sometimes the pressure is too much and I cry or I scream. Some get flat and whither away to their wrinkled balloon death until they match the wrinkled skin of my grey brain.
My head though? One day will it float away? Will you look into the sky and see my shortly cropped head floating away in the distance, only strings hanging where my body used to be? And will you wave?
Thursday, September 20, 2012
The steps of a stranger interrupt. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.The dead animal soles echo.
He walks to the edge of the lake and stares. Brown eyes attempting to take in all the blue.
He looks at the trees, the water, the sky, and yells.
Loud. Hard. The scream bursting out from the center of his body, out of his mouth opened wide. Stretched to the seams of where his lips meet. About to stretch apart if they could. His stomach slowly sinking in on itself as all the air vacates his body. It goes on. Long. Deafening, until he can't breath. Till the scream turns into a hoarse whisper and only his mouth his open wide, gaping, at nothing.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
i've lived where it has rained for weeks on end, and although special, because i love rain, it doesn't hold the same whimsical quality.
i use this word for lack of a better term.
but today running through a river of rainwater racing down the depression in the mountain my campus sits in, the Sun Bowl, didn't cause frustration.
instead a bubbling of laughter rose from my core. squeals escaped as the down pour increased its drenching rhythm. the splash my sandal-ed feet made echoed with exaggerated suction as i pulled away from the rain insistent in encompassing me.
rain drops ran down my shortly cropped hair into my eyes, drops ran down my naked arms, splashed onto my bare legs, until i was soaked.
and still more laughter escaped me because of the fruitless effort of those around me carrying umbrellas and scurrying against the running water.
inside we all looked drowned and soggy; cold.
but in a place where rain is sparse, the unexpected shower seemed like a blessing in a typically dry unforgiving heat.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Now, I'm sure the way we dressed gave some things away, our scuffed Vans and low hanging pants, all hints of which group we belonged to. But, I was thinking about those gestures and how they change, evolve, and sometimes disappear. How the people in our lives help develop our mannerisms. Almost like cooking, a pinch of this person a cup of this one and WHAM! You've made them all your own.
How do we know what was ours and what we picked up? There is the conscious, "I like that I'm going to start doing it." An ex-boyfriend used to dissect my phrasing and he'd steal things like, "We're going to X, wanna come with?" He was fascinated with "the come with" for some reason. He thought it was cool and made it part of his vocabulary. I kept a light popping sound he used to make by smacking his lips together then open.
I suppose there are gestures that are simply ingrained in our DNA. I frown in a certain way that I've seen only in pictures which show a dad I never really knew. I suppose we even keep things that we never really knew we wanted.
Where did this come from? Not sure, but perhaps thinking about the people I surround myself with and what little tidbits I have picked up from them. How they have become ingrained in my mannerisms, in me, even after they are gone, after you're not friends anymore, after years of being friends, and well simply just after. The ones that stay with you are perhaps indicators of just how important the people were to you. The ones that never go away, well stay.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
I enter and feel the breeze of fans touch my already warm skin. This is a basement filled with six other people all working together, whether consciously or unconsciously toward the same moment. That point in the running, stair climbing, punching, crunching, jumping, squatting... where you don't think you can go anymore. When the burn in your muscles doesn't subside and the burn in your lungs makes each breath hard even though they are screaming for it.
But, still, I punch.I punch the bag and wait for it to swing back at me to punch it again. My arms, brown, are slick with sweat. They look oiled and I feel the drops of sweat ribbon themselves down my head, my face, my chest, as I run up the stairs. Going down, there is a relief in the burn of my quads. My calves take the brunt, but they're a smaller muscle. Strong stubborn muscles. Back to the bag I punch, left, right, left, left, right. Take that bag, take that cop that gave me a ticket today, take that lady that makes my life difficult at work, take that and that....
Until I can't breathe and my lungs scream in defeat. I gasp trying to keep the sharp pain on my side at bay, when the bell dings, the light is red. I can rest, rest for thirty seconds until the next round.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
drum beats and rocks gods and
shiny things that keep your mind from standing still
to make a
r o l l i n g
until you can't keep track of where you started
and where things ended,
repeat and rinse,
but she's still there
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
A. You realize that your weekend is almost over and tomorrow is the beginning of the week. That's right Monday, and with that comes early morning and (hopefully) coffee, work and and and....
B. The lounge-y Sunday afternoon that lets you sleep in, tangled in cool sheets (hopefully), followed by a leisure brunch.
Today I am having B. I am having B and completely enjoying it, because although I don 't have a stressful summer I still have things to do like everyone else, but for now, today, I'll enjoy the warm breeze weaving itself though my house through the sliding glass doors, Luna curled up dozing, sunshine making the words I'm typing brighter and more meaningful, and if needed a conversation, with the one writing sunlit words, as well, in the other room.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Washington D.C. D.C. D.C.
I took an opportunity to visit and see your city.
The work the training really had nothing to do with me
(Boys and Girls Club apparently needed a girl. Thank you gender equality)
Long days with sneaky rogue missions to the meet the streets
The streets that hum and buzz with the plank plank plank of the souls of peoples feet, speak, and dreams.
Thank you musician man for strumming Jimi as I walk walk walk toward Capitol Hill
I'm just a bill, yeah, I'm only a bill, and I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill
Monuments, Why hello! So nice to meet you. How do you do Mr. Lincoln and Jefferson and King and geez simply all the history. My silent repects to President Kennedy and all the soldiers resting around you, quite sombering.
The smell, the green, the things that make D.C., D.C, you're all quite lovely. Rude? I'd heard rude, not with me, all smiles, suggestions, directions, hmm....perhaps it's the boobs.
Today I head home, back to Texas. No not Houston, or Dallas, but El Paso's desert heat. With smiles and laughter from lasts nights fun beats. This swank joint near 18th street? Worth the 3hrs of sleep.
And for now? That's it, fini, D.C!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
it would say that summer is too hot in el paso, too hot in texas, and just plain too hot.
today could not have really been the first day of summer. it's been summer since may.
it would say that my fb chats with my sister are always funny
my blog would talk you about all the things i don't say.
about past summer nights and new conversations
about wonderings and forgivings and grudges
it would mention that there are moments that even when i'm happy, i'm waiting for the other shoe to drop
don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
it might also talk about stars and the music i've been listening to under them.
it would talk about washington d.c. and kids and some dude i don't know named wally.
it would talk about dinners and pizza's and bandeja's paisa attempted while having sunday soccer sunday.
mexican food will always be the winner.
it would tell you about boxing and the scraped knuckles i have and almost wanting to yack from working out so hard.
it would talk about how i am hesitating on working on my thesis because i have to swim in a pool of memories i only want to dip my toe in at times.
last it would tell you that i'm smiling right now. and right now is all that matters.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Aside from the writing, I have a created a bucket list. Well friends and I have created a bucket list so that we can ensure there are adventures and perhaps a few more stories...
The Bucket List
1. Carlsbad Caverns
2. Visit a driving range
3. Wet n' Wild
4. White Sands Grilling
5. Horseback Riding
6. Downtown El Paso Ghost Tour
7. Concordia Ghost Tour
8. Strip Club
9. Tram Way ride
10. Western Playland
So far, we have only in the planning stages of the El Paso Ghost Tour. But, I have to say that with it only being June 13th I have already done a lot.
Neon Desert Music Festival. Snoop Dog. Tennis. Sunday Soccer Sunday. The El Paso Zoo. Teaching. Shakespeare Play. Cooking amazing meals with my Sous Chef. Music Under the Stars concerts. Boxing. Gym time with my now not so smiley friend. and and and.....
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Instead, I walked into a room with pictures taped on every surface. Pictures of what goes in the cabinets, pictures which tell you to close the bathroom door, arrows that were moved to show where the students were, and so on. The classroom included two large rooms and a kitchen. I wasn't sure what to think, until I looked at one of the little boys who wouldn't stop clapping his hands. I had never wanted to do special ed, not because of the special, but because I'm not qualified to deal with children that have special needs, hell, I'm not really qualified to teach anything but creative writing, and that's for people that pay to be there, but I since I was only assisting I thought, "Okay, I can do this."
The kids themselves look normal upon first glance, but little ticks give them away if you're in their presence for longer than a few minutes. Three of the boys don't talk, non-verbal, one Nicholas, is the most severe and he simply stares at upside down books and turns his head as you talk to him.
Yesterday though, I thought, "I can do this." I took in all the signs on the wall that said things like "Sensory", and "Rest Area" and made it through the day. It's only till next Wednesday I thought. Today, though, today was different. I played with Hector, non-verbal. We played in a make shift sand box filled with red sand and tiny Tonka cars that he simply shook off and shoved to the side. Instead he stuck his hand in the sand and when he saw the grains running out of my hand he placed his hand underneath and stared at me. The sand was cool to the touch, the way sand is, for him it seemed to be especially great. When I rubbed my hand on top of his so he could feel the grainy touch, the teacher looked up surprised, "Wow, Hector, you're letting her touch your fingers." He simply went back to what he was doing and I tried not to get too happy. I will only know Hector for a week.
For lunch we take the boys to the cafeteria earlier than the others kids, and I sit with Nicholas and one of the other boys. I talk to them, I want to believe they know what I'm saying, "Mmmm you guys are having spaghetti for lunch. Do you like spaghetti Nicholas?" He looks at me with light brown eyes against brown skin, they are striking against his dark lashes, he hasn't looked at me before, and I'm surprised by the knowing expression they hold, wise. We stare at each other and he smiles abruptly showing me his adolescent crooked teeth and he reaches up and smooths my hair down, twice. I wait, not knowing what to do, and as abruptly as he smiled it's gone and he's back to staring at the thing I can't see. I swallow the small lump that was in my throat, the lump put there by the gentleness of this little boy. I will only know Nicholas for a week.
It is the end of the day and I'm tired, but I feel happy. Hector let me touch his hands and Nicholas smiled and smoothed my hair. For these boys, this is good, amazing, considering they have only known me two days. It's hit or miss, and I seem to have made a hit. As we walk them to the bus, the other paraprofessional says, "Don't you wonder what's going to happen to them?" I couldn't answer. Instead I waved, walked back to the classroom and grabbed my bag. I waved at her and went to sign out. Then I quickly walked to my car, past the kids yelling and playing and flirting, past the girl with pink lip gloss asking a boy to sign her yearbook, to my car, and began to cry.