tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15009477140083843762024-03-07T21:06:00.180-08:00The Line of Best Fit.Satellite to satellite, station to station- points of varying amplitudes yet all interconnected kinetically.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-89071904414670797852016-08-04T22:36:00.003-07:002016-08-04T22:36:56.080-07:00"You always want to be someone's perfect day."<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is a scene in Rawson Michael Thurber’s </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Central Intelligence </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">that I haven’t been able to shake. </span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-437b006c-5931-c771-1aab-48147d29cfe0" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: yellow;">In the film the Rock plays a former fat awkward nerd who has grown over the years into a CIA badass mountain of a man, but he has retained his high-school excitability and sense of wonder. Among what he's carried as well is his affinity for Calvin “The Golden Jet” Johnson, played by Kevin Hart- the wunderkind who was supposed to go places. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: yellow;">The two are in two engine plane and after a tonally awkward scene, the camera cuts to The Rock and that darkest-night-lighting smile fixes on him so softly, and he asks </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="color: magenta;">“You doing okay, champ? You've been struggling a bit, I can tell.” </span></b></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: yellow;">In that moment it's Bob Stone asking his friend but in a way he’s asking me, sitting in a theatre dusted with popcorn and salt and the rationalized comfort of loneliness. In recent months I've been feeling the weight of all things figuratively and literally amount. The days have seemed longer and the nights sober fewer. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: yellow;">Just the other day my dad asked me for money as he will be out of work a few weeks after a surgery to remove a malignancy. Not a lot, just “a little help, you know, since I'm not making as much that month as usual.” It took everything in me not to bawl all over my work clothes. He asked and I had to let him because I couldn't just tell him he didn't have to ask for a thing because what he needs he gets. It was a moment where for one second I got to shove off the world and powerbomb it and all my confusion and sadness and worry through every table I'd ever put up. </span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Central Intelligence </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">was a fun enough movie with a subtle heart to it- a warmth much needed and appreciated in the cynical and dire days we’re in. The conceit got me too- even though it was through the help of CGI, Robbie Weirdyck becomes Bob Stone but remains his true self. If he could do it, I should do it. I still don't know why that stuck with me so much- usually only the sad Russians or the second season of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You’re the Worst</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> hit as hard as one scene in a 100 minute movie did that day.</span></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: magenta;">But it meant a lot. Thanks for asking, Bob. </span></span>Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-25155480089031827572015-02-17T00:05:00.002-08:002015-02-17T00:05:32.497-08:00People Eating Fruit.We were spent. We glowed in the light of one another's eyes although we were both supine. The bed was like a raft, not as much as due to the sweat and the effort we left on it, but in how we drifted. Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, up and down.<br />
<br />
We talked about Caribou- well, I did, you just listened, and you laughed at the parts I wanted you to. You seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. Your eyes responded with a flare of delight when I equated music to sunlight. You told me not to be so hard on myself and I told you you were right.<br />
<br />
I drove you to your car.<br />
<br />We exchanged numbers.<br />
<br />
I liked the sound of your voice and how eager you were to please.<br />
<br />
You said this was the first and last blowjob of your career.<br />
<br />
I can respect that. I believe you when you say I was the first person to ever go down on you, and that's a tragedy. It was fun and so were you. You definitely seemed to enjoy it.<br />
<br />
You walked off into the night, I caved to some Jack in the Box which I'd regret the next morning. The only thing I would.<br />
<br />
We'll likely never talk again.<br />
<br />
I hope you'll remember me too.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-8347555508936884372014-09-05T17:09:00.005-07:002014-09-05T17:09:53.365-07:00Cover to Cover.<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">***CROSS POSTED FROM THE FACEBOOK DOT COM***</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">Tagged by DA GAWD </span><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=43101605" href="https://www.facebook.com/ulises.farinas" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;">Ulises Farinas</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;"> here are 10 Books that have stayed with me. Some of them literally, in that I brought them with me from Florida, but mostly figurative. I'm gonna do this without comics bc those beautiful things deserve a list of their own. A LOT of these were Russian or assigned reading but I am a beautiful soul who read EVERYTHING.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">Outside of #1, the order is arbitrary. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">1)<i> Lol</i></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;"><i>ita, </i>Vladimir Nabokov<br /><br />For my money, the greatest novel in the English language. Nabokov, a native Russian, set out to write this as an experiment- to see if he could turn something so ugly into something so beautiful through the lense of language. And he fucking did it. Nabokov always regretted not writing it in his native Russian- he translated it in 1965, but had he done it originally it would likely be the most perfect prose ever written.<br /><br />2) <i>The Great Gatsby</i>, F. Scott Fitzgerald<br /><br />I was sad and straight-edged in high school and girls didn't like me- only one of those has changed. I must have posted about that fucking green light all over LiveJournal. I look at it now as more of a cautionary tale than a manifesto.<br /><br />3)<i> Buddy Holly is Alive and Well on Ganymede</i>, Bradley Denton<br /><br />Probably the biggest inspiration on my imagination. I read it when I was 8 and it warped my mind, the idea that context and history could be fluid. It has also inspired many a delightful pun.<br /><br />4) <i>Lord of the Flies</i>, William Goldman<br /><br />Where I learned to be mean. This book opened my eyes to the idea that happy endings don't always happen and that you don't truly know a person until they have nowhere to hide from you.<br /><br />5) <i>A Hero For Our Time</i>, Mikhail Lermantov<br /><br />Shout-outs to my optimists. It's a collection of short stories all involving the delightfully downtrodden Pechorin, a guy who could use a pick-me-up. Came into my life at the right time, like a satellite signal, a perfect bounce.<br /><br />6) <i>Crime & Punishment</i>, Fyodor Dostoevskii<br /><br />Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevskii is the king of consequence. The prototype for my favorite movies. I recently just saw the unbelievably great <i>BLUE RUIN</i> and this is all over that, a gorgeous shade of it.<br /><br />7) <i>Catch-22</i>, Joseph Heller<br /><br />Nails it. Absolutely fucking nails it. The humor is knife-sharp, the growth of the characters is organic. Essential for anyone who ever wanted to write humor or really anything. Shout-outs to Nately, you dumb fuck.<br /><br />8) <i>Flowers For Algernon</i>, Daniel Keyes<br /><br />So good. It's a bit of a potboiler, which is fine, and curse it to hell for making it okay for garbage like I Am Sam to come out. Keyes is great at the subtle revelations without manipulation and the meta-textual meddling is superb. Probably my favorite last two sentences in written history.<br /><br />9) <i>Fathers and Sons</i>,Ivan Turgenev<br /><br />Introduced the first nihilist in Russian literature, our boy Arkady was considered a madman instead of a practical one. One step down from the Russian identity of “What is to be done?” This book proclaims “Why bother with anything?”<br /><br />10) <i>Heart of Darkness</i>, Joseph Conrad<br /><br />LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR. </span>Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-32850705831461089912014-08-13T18:57:00.002-07:002014-08-13T18:58:07.364-07:00Covalence.This week can get bent, so rather than let it break me, let's break the silence.<br />
<br />
My brother recently got married to the love of his life and I was honored to be chosen to be the time-traditioned Best Man.<br />
<br />
I got to hang out with one of my best friends and spend the day in the glow of true love and it was amazing. I was asked to make a speech, which I had to severely abridge due to personal and public impatience for the open bar.<br />
<br />
I quite liked it though, and they did too, but like all authors, we sometimes want to share the carcass where our platters came from, so without further do, here is the entire proposed wedding toast I was going to give, with a bonus joke.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">We're here to talk about bonds.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">We're here to celebrate a union, a joining of two people and in turn, two families. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">We're here to eat this fancy food and wear these fancy clothes and look our best and shower in lavishness, all because two are becoming one in the eyes of the Lord and the state of Florida. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">-Serge and Marly appear to have a storybook marriage- he's a doctor, she's a nurse, and they met briefly in pre-school, only to drift away as things do and find each other years later. To add to the balance of the equation, they are both of the same ethnicity and our families were less than a half-mile away. The concept of love and the Hallmark ideal of it is based on this ideal, of having someone whose experiences and interests mirror ones own- seems like some things are meant to be, after all. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">That's not to say they are a fairy tale. Fairy tales have trials and tribulations and deceptions and sacrifices, which real life has far more of. There are no fairy tales because they end on the last page, in-medias-res, with no follow-up. No one ever grows old in a fairy tale, they don't see their love bloosm and swell and temper and settle and evolve. They have happy pauses. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">Life ends, all things do. It's written in the stars and in the words that Sergio and Marly were asked to recite to one another, as if it wasn't already imprinted in the way she looks at him when he holds Prince or in the timber his voice takes when he asks her whether she thinks something is cute and as to why that is. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">Sergio and Marly are their own people with their own goals and yes they fight, and yes Serge can and will and always is stubborn and perhaps Marly can be particular as well, but on a basal level, this too echoes the atoms around us- like particles repel, while opposites tend to drift together.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">And it brings me back to bonds. Covalent bonds- share electrons while retaining properties of a full cell</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">-Atoms aren't always equal, and like in all relationships, a covalent bond allows for two molecules to find one another in the ether and bond and overcome their negativity while sharing and strengthening one another through their positivity.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">These two have formed a bond, combined with the love in their hearts they form a nucleus, and a nucleus attracts the protons in an atom- all of the positive life and light that then gravitates around that center- much like all of us gathered here today. Some have already found it, like you couples out here and Sergio and Marly, and some are constantly in flux looking for that other bond to be shared, but ultimately we are all atomic and in search of a center- in search of someone to make us whole. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">BONUS:</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: magenta;">transitive verb</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">1</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">: to warm thoroughly</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">2</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: magenta;">: to make (as bread) crisp, hot, and brown by heat</span></b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
***DOUBLE BONUS*** </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I named the text file CRY WORDS because I think I'm hilarious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
LMK how much you hate it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-Raf</div>
Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-72792301618328558202013-03-19T23:56:00.003-07:002013-03-19T23:56:38.310-07:00Mallsoft, Minutiae and You.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The world is a largely empty place.
Literally in that most of Earth's surface is water, but in a larger
sense there is the pervasive idea that even though there are portions
that have become so populated that they're in decay and on the verge
of collapse, ultimately there still remains loneliness and the
expansive land that surrounds each of us. Even in lines and crowds,
you've got your personal atmosphere to think of and it remains
unfilled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><b>I'm A Good Person- Don't Turn Me
Into the Old Me.</b></u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've been thinking a lot about
loneliness. Everyone suffers it, and isn't it ironic that we all bond
over the moments where we find ourselves without others, whether we
make ourselves unavailable or the symptom is indicative of a larger
issue? I have flirted with the idea of depression since I was young
enough to understand it, but it remains a fling, an idea- a companion
that I get intimate with time and again but can't quite commit to.
Now please don't misunderstand- I am not advocating depression or
trying to romanticize it at all. It is a serious condition with
effects that can be reversed or treated and if you feel the genuine
fear or it then by all means you should consult help.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I struggle. My youth and young manhood
and manhood were rife with loneliness- you know the one about how
girls didn't like you and kids made fun of your voice and weight and
just about anything they could? CLASSIC. My sense of self-worth has
shot up rapidly since then, and especially in the last four months,
but if you're a fucked-up and possibly inherently sad individual like
me, you can't ever quite shake off the fact that you weren't always
this way... or the fear you'll fall back. By yourself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><b>Mall Day, Everyday</b></u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Although my life has been surged with
positive changes lately and the support of some truly wonderful
people, it remains a struggle, almost an addiction. Knowing that
things are going to change and having your patience tested day after
day when they don't-- it isn't easy and it isn't right and it isn't
fair. But I'm not the only person it isn't happening to. I counsel
and console dear friends and even absolute strangers all the time
about the inherent goodness of things and how we take your feedback
very seriously and here's what I might recommend, but that advice
doesn't bounce back as well. That's why I write blogs like this and
tweet out bullshit jokes and listen to mallsoft without a trace of
irony.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which brings me to mallsoft- a fake
genre with a very real impact. It started as a joke and is apparently
considered “over” by now. The idea is that it's downtempo,
unintrusive structuring- music to muck about to, to walk around
aimlessly as neon faces on the wall smile at you. Mallsoft's merits
lie on its dismissible nature- it's meant to be background noise,
music to not notice to. I once worked in a mall, when I was younger-
I know the feeling of staring at the grey and the familiar sights,
day in and out, the layouts that never change and the sounds of
consumerism, young unbridled ennui and obligation. My time in the
mall was brief, all things considered, but I'll never forget how my
mind wandered as much as the other patrons, and I found myself with
the same thoughts- it has to be better than this. It can't always
stay this way. I won't work in this fucking mall forever.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And it was. It didn't. And I don't. My
time there served as synecdoche- it would reflect my restlessness
with complacence, yet my internal desire for independence and even an
emergent sense of personal pride. Mallsoft takes me there, and it's
fascinating to me that almost ten years to the year I regress into
something I would grow out of, yet I find a beautiful vantage to it.
Through mallsoft I see that the doldrums of being single or even
being on my own don't always have to be depressing- these are the
moments that let me creep into my mind and shut down the dick jokes
and puns long enough to ask the questions I ask of everyone else. And
answer them. To take a stroll down the aisles of my life and see what
needs to be cleared, what's new to this wing and what isn't going to
survive the season.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's my time to take inventory, and
when I put it out like this, I hope that someone out there gets a
glimpse into themselves, or even if you think I'm a sad sack
fuckface, you're thinking outside of your own head and suddenly we're
not so alone anymore.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Everything must go, but the things that
matter we shouldn't discount.</div>
Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-18792023377438204632012-12-16T18:00:00.002-08:002012-12-16T18:01:06.107-08:00Diagnostics.<br />
The Long 15's never liked me. Something about this city, this state and the one I found myself in, feels like it's been forcing me out. The weather doesn't help either- popular music promised me that it never rains in Southern California, but surely someone lied to Albert Hammond Jr., too.<br />
<br />
Where we find ourselves at an impasse is that there isn't anywhere to go- things aren't going poorly, per-se, in fact this might actually be a banner year in terms of personal accomplishments... but why do I always feel like it isn't enough? I've sometimes felt that I was an inherently sad person, just one turn from spiraling out at any time- the kind that can get blue because it's too sunny outside, or that you care too much about the people you're with. That can't be normal, can it? In having a conversation with a dear friend who will know who he is as soon as I mention this, he informed me that when he was younger he was the only person he knew having thoughts of sadness and depression at an early age. I'm not saying I was/ am depressed, but I know that before I learned enough about the language to parse out what I was feeling (as I'm doing right now) I would just keep it to myself, because I was the problem and not them. It's funny, I always felt like I wasn't alone in this matter, but knowing that I wasn't hasn't really helped- in fact it just gives me a new concern that my mood/ severity is more unstable or volatile than everyone else's. No one's cross to bear will ever be as hard as your own.<br />
<br />
Back to the Long 15- the last few months haven't been the easiest, ironically starting on my birthday weekend, but the fact of the matter is that life hits and it don't stop hitting, and some days it gets harder to convince yourself you've got the gut and grit for that last punch, that one that you know is coming, even when it's just pouring blows. With my car breakdown it spiraled into a series of troubles, whether it be having to arrange a lift to work to not being able to afford a tow to a series of ever-expanding bad days that get drowned out in the sound of bourbon in a glass, and that's not even to mention the crux of the matter, the eponymous “girls, dawg” whose affection and approval and companionship I seemingly need more than anything in the world. The Long 15 doesn't care about any of that and it let me know that, as the entire world passed me by while I sat in the backseat of my own car and sweltered about what the fuck I was going to do now. I had time to think, seemingly the first time in ages, and it came to me.<br />
<br />
I would persevere. I didn't know how I would, or even where the first steps towards this would be, but I knew that just like the asphalt and the concrete that I was cursing left and right, I would continue into the horizon. The Long 15 isn't out to get you, or us, or anyone- it simply conveys you and your vessel from the point you're at to where you're meaning to be. While furious at my breakdown, I realized this isn't life doing this to me- I could have had my radiator checked sooner, gotten tune-ups and conversely I started to think of all the things I could not have done- could not have had the money to call a tow company, could not have had someone to give me a ride to work, could not have had the fortitude to continue on.<br />
<br />
I'm not here to tell you that life is a highway, and I assure you I don't want to ride it all night long- that song is garbage and fuck that. What I'm here to tell myself is that life mirrors the Long 15, but worrying where this route is going will close you off to other avenues- as of late I've been making many changes internally, many I've known I needed to make, and these alternates are the ones you don't think about when you're coasting- call it personal velocitation. It closes you off, keeps you on the idea that you take the same road every day for a reason, until the day you break down on it and you never want to see those fucking overhead signs ever again.<br />
<br />
It isn't California or the city of San Diego or the Long 15 that was trying to keep me out- it was me, looking at my map and not knowing where to even jump on. But now I've got my directions.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-61165814289808826952012-08-12T03:33:00.003-07:002012-08-12T03:39:37.230-07:00Rafael Gaitan in, "EATING MACRO"Things were not better then. You were just worse at knowing they wouldn't last.<br />
<br />
"LIKE" THIS POST IF *an unexpected error has occurred.*Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-12018206020101788692012-03-27T03:25:00.000-07:002012-03-27T03:25:02.871-07:00Take Care.I drink and I bare it all. That can't surprise you.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-55982032352110415462012-03-07T18:49:00.000-08:002012-03-07T18:49:12.014-08:00STOP CALLINGIs there anything more condescending than calling someone out on their awareness? <br />
<br />
"Oh, you just did or said something now? Where were you when..."<br />
<br />
Uninformed, dick. But now I know better. Shouldn't the goal be to inform people and then allow them to choose what to do, or if to do anything at all? If you wanna sink to your level, the time spent criticizing others could be spent being active in this oh-so-passionate cause of yours that you dedicate every waking moment to.<br />
<br />
Conversely, reblogging or simply posting about something without becoming informed is the equivalent of "thumbs-upping:" ineffective gestures just for show, and that's almost as bad.<br />
<br />
Fuck this, what's one more smarmy, feelings-drenched scream into an ocean of indifference?<br />
<br />
React any way you want, as long as you react.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-11467331081066609892012-02-20T03:49:00.000-08:002012-02-20T03:49:45.455-08:00No Me Queda Mas.Cada corazon estraña como comunicabamos.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-41140028879256815392012-02-09T16:22:00.000-08:002012-02-09T16:22:42.101-08:00Heartbreak Season All-Star Status.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-65768913438630711992012-02-06T02:59:00.000-08:002012-02-06T03:02:48.579-08:00Why Would Anyone Pay to Feel This Way?Comics, everybody.<br />
<br />
Jacob Kurtzberg warned us- he tried to, at least, that this sequential art we loved so much would break out sequential hearts. It's an ugly business that's run by distant, disinformed "people" who couldn't care less about why we buy, as long as we do.<br />
<br />
Yet we do, and we do so gladly. I cannot count the times I have sandblasted any ambiguities of my character with the defense of buying comics. Supporting an industry that brings me such great pleasure... on the backs of so many dismayed. The heads buried in the hands, so plentiful and perfunctory in the business. It ain't right, it ain't fucking right, but, "What can we do as a consumer?"<br />
<br />
I DON"T HAVE AN ANSWER. NO ONE DOES. <a href="http://www.comicsbulletin.com/main/columns/lost-art-single-issue">MARK WAID IS RIGHT, AS HE USALLY IS</a><br />
<br />
As comics folk, we get ostracized, inflicted, shunned. Even worse, we become a novelty- someone's quirky friend who's "into all of that," as if it's too shameful to name. In a way it is, if you're the ethically combatative type, but rarely have I come across someone whose anti-comics stance is informed enough. /smuggo.<br />
<br />
I didn't intend to write much more than an esoteric sentence that I'd delete tomorrow, but I believe in comics. I am a sequential heartist. I want to follow in the footsteps of all these titans, these giants, these geniuses who saw nothing but the need to put down what they could shake from their dreams and visions, and were "lucky" enough to get a paycheck for. But like all invention, they expected to be kept in the loop, and were callously derailed. <br />
<br />
I once read or heard or imagined an interview where a creator said that no one gets into comics to make money. They do it because they love it. The funny part is, this person could not be more wrong. These creators, they went into this business because they saw the need to express their talents doing something they loved and to reap a modest reward. Except that the industry, struggling to survive, found the need to take figure and not people into account. <br />
<br />
These gibbons, these Gibbons and Moores and Anglos and Kirbys,they came into the business with nothing but love and stuck around as the object of their affections Charles Atlased them into submission. They <i>deserve(d)</i> to get paid for their work, as any of us would. They <i>deserve(d)</i> to be recognized and acknowledged for their efforts, because they're not just names on a page- they are and were people with lives, families and needs. And the singular corporate need to survive overtook the social need to persevere. It was the unforgivable sin, yet it slid. That's what the love of comics does to a person. We, the interested parties, know the stories and tell the tales, swearing it won't happen to us, but then we find ourselves grinding and grinding to make it, to print our work, to get it noticed in the hopes of what? To get Kirbyed? Why would anyone want that?<br />
<br />
And at long last, the answer to the question(s) posed. <br />
<br />
Because we fucking love it, we love it more than anything, and we couldn't fathom our lives with out it. <br />
<br />
Comics will break your heart. There's no way they won't. But the heart is a muscle, a thorough and tough one, one that adapts- it <b>must</b> be broken in order to be rebuilt. Once it is, though, it's damn near impenetrable... unless the circumstances are correct.<br />
<br />
Why do we pay to have our hearts break, you still might ask? <br />
<br />
Because heartbreak helps. In times of joy, in sadness, in boredom, ad nauseam- heartbreak helps. It's a fucked up industry that's built on twists of knives and lie after lie, suit after suit, but it's ours, groddamnit. It's ours.<br />
<br />
No one gets into comics to make money. The ones that do, the misguided tourists/ weekenders rarely reach beyond the entryway. But that's what keeps this industry limping along (let's not kid ourselves) and will likely do so for a while. It keeps on kickin', though, because of us. I believe in comics because I believe in happiness and I believe in following dreams and I believe in expression in any form... and I believe in comics because I fucking believe. <br />
<br />
You take the good and the bad, and these creators, they taught us as they did with their work- their hardships don't go unappreciated. As much as we love what they drew and did for us, we have to take them as cautionary tales- it may not be what they intended, but they're far from martyrs. They're saints- they worked miracles and have been publicly canonized. It's not financial restitution, and it's far less than they deserve, but it's a start.<br />
<br />
No one gets into comics to make money- they do it to make a living out of what they love. And is that really so wrong?<br />
<br />
Why would anyone pay to feel this way? If you read comics, - you already know.<br />
<br />
If you don't, it's never too late. <b>Especially if you don't.</b><br />
<br />
PS: Fuck BEFORE WATCHMEN. Great talents being coerced into beating a dead horse. No rancor for them, as they're wonderful talents who take what work they can get (and also JMS,) but <a href="http://www.comicsbulletin.com/main/columns/okay-fine-ill-talk-about-watchmen-prequels">C'mon, son.</a>Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-77422514996093448082012-01-30T00:26:00.000-08:002012-01-30T00:26:39.419-08:00New Adventures in Emotional Esotericness.We'll always have that look and those words, even if we can't have each other.<br />
<br />
Well, I always will.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-36252791698470097052012-01-28T17:53:00.002-08:002012-01-28T17:54:23.438-08:00TWITTER < / 3 BREAKRather than spam your feeds with maudlin, esoteric Tweets about how atrocious today has been, I've decided to compile a bunch of musings into this blog since no one is reading. This is for release purposes <i>only</i> and not at all a call for attention or an attempt to appear woeful. I just hate everything today and wouldn't want to worry you beautiful people about it.<br />
<br />
-Life is full of disappointments.<br />
-I've come to accept I'm an inherently saddened person. I'm not incapable of feeling happiness... it just takes a lot more to make it last.<br />
-The cruelty of cyclical feelings cannot be abided.<br />
-What did you do when you were in my shoes?<br />
-I can't have anything. Not the things I want or the things I don't.<br />
-It can't always be "make it up to me."<br />
-Believe in the line of best fit. The belief is the function.<br />
-Sometimes you have to bounce the signal back, even if it's the only one coming in.<br />
-It'll be better tomorrow, unless it's not.<br />
<br />
I'll be right as rain soon, but for now I'll just soak.<br />
<br />
<b>TODAY WILL ALWAYS BE ENDLESS.</b>Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-33457239508604654442012-01-13T00:35:00.000-08:002012-01-13T00:35:54.942-08:00On My John Darnielle JawnLiquor store prices for liquor store people.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-71918522111460463292011-12-03T00:18:00.000-08:002011-12-03T00:18:06.831-08:00Offered without comment.Why touch so many hearts when I can't even hold onto one?Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-27782139208731789842011-08-04T17:35:00.004-07:002011-08-04T22:14:49.414-07:00One esoteric sentence and a heart.Most orbits won't hold. But a satellite, though- a satellite'll always circle.<br />
<br />
{okay, I lied about the one sentence. <3}Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-10371435562923931772011-04-20T01:49:00.002-07:002011-04-20T01:53:00.036-07:00"New York Telephone Conversation"Well, he did it. Young Based Gaitan finally updated his blog.<br />
<br />
Submitted for your approval, a story I wrote in a scant hour, but I thought about for a lot longer. What I'm hoping to convey is the feeling of a phone call with a person that one cares about a lot. Essentially, we've all had at least one interaction that we couldn't quite stop thinking about, for reasons that are ours to keep. <br />
<br />
Tentatively titled "Person-to-Person," but I'll probably just delete this tomorrow and post one esoteric sentence and a heart.<br />
<br />
When you've finished reading, comments are appreciated, but if you have the time, answer me this: what DOES the sound of a receiver picking up mean to you? What does that click make you think?<br />
<br />
With much further ado:<br />
<br />
"Person-to-Person"<br />
<br />
<strong>One ring, then another, each a heartbeat. A ringing phone had always been his pulse. If the line went dead, he was sure he would as well.<br />
<br />
Then the click. The one. Either he's about to send another signal, or someone's honed into his heart.<br />
<br />
“Hello?”<br />
<br />
The sound of her voice. On air, he was, in his own words.<br />
<br />
“Hello?”<br />
<br />
Many people have an immediate answer to this question. The Hero of Our Story never did.<br />
<br />
“Oh, um, hey! Hi- how're you?”<br />
<br />
Three greetings, zero content. The Hero of Our Story couldn't help but think about these things. What should he say next? Should he mention that the click of the connection was the sound of his troubles shuffling off?<br />
<br />
“I'm fine. How are you?”<br />
<br />
He told her how he was. And then he asked her again.<br />
<br />
“That's good to hear! And hahaha, you already asked me that!”<br />
<br />
Shit, he had. Play it cool, Hero of Our Story, play it cool. He didn't know what to say next. <br />
<br />
“So... how're you?”<br />
<br />
Now she did it! But he couldn't call her on that. Of course he could, but damned if he would.<br />
<br />
“I'm doing okay. Sorry for the call, I hope you're not busy! It's just been a while, and I got to thinking of the time.”<br />
<br />
She giggled, and his heart was never as kite-like again.<br />
<br />
“What are you sorry for? Haha. I can't talk for long, and actually I have to run, but it's so good to hear from you! Listen, can I call you back? I'm free tomorrow, are you?”<br />
<br />
For her, he was.<br />
<br />
“For you, I am.”<br />
<br />
“Okay, great! Listen, I'll give you a call, okay! I will! You take care now.”<br />
<br />
“Okay, b--”<br />
<br />
He told his friends about this call, he told them all the time, but he always wondered how it went.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
What would he tell her tomorrow? Would he have a better story? Would he tell her how the hang-up chirp was his troubles turning back?<br />
<br />
There's a world somewhere where he told her the funniest joke she'd ever heard. Where neither he or she were busy. There's a world out there where the Hero of Our Story talked away his whole day.<br />
<br />
There's a world where she called back, and one in which she didn't. In both he got the message. </strong>Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-82616805731044230642011-01-12T16:34:00.004-08:002011-01-12T18:15:56.534-08:00Derezzed.I've been thinking about connections. It's funny how applicable the duality of the term is- we talk all the time about getting the perfect signal, about having reception, about coming into contact. Several months ago, while woozy from the bourbon and what it brings out, I got to thinking about how many connections we have, how many we make, and how many we break. I suffered over my blinking cursor, trying to find the right syntax, the right set of words that could capture something so ultimately indefinable. That's when I remembered a quick note I had made in a small notepad, just a dashed-out bit of cursive written to waste ink and time. <br />
<br />
It said, in the sloppiest scrawl imaginable: <br />
<br />
<b>"Our hearts are satellites."</b> <br />
<br />
And they are- they really are! It's difficult to deny that we humans, among ourselves, we have something going on beneath the surface. We are all attune to each other. We can sense when something's wrong, we get a feeling about a place or a person or a thing, we get mixed signals from conversations and from misreading texts, Tweets, and emails. YouTube's slogan is "Broadcast Yourself," but don't we already do that anyway? The clothes we wear, the words we choose, the friends we make, the requests we approve or deny, they're all a signal we fire off, in the hopes that something or someone will latch on. We miss people, so we call them, or write them- synchronicity exists! When you're thinking of someone or something, how does that thought pop into your head? Physiologically it's firings of synapses, but something had to spark them off. LIfe is a constant stream, with peaks and troughs, and it's all in the amplitude.<br />
<br />
Conversely, why do we tune out what we tune out? What do we choose? How do we choose? What makes us decide when we want to change the channel, metaphorically or not? For the purposes of this moment I'm speaking strictly of the online experience, but it can be applicable universally. I've always been the type to try to please everyone. I think I'm amiable, friendly, and all-around a righteous dude. So why do I lose friends? Why do people unfollow me, or remove me from their friends' lists? Some people would rather not think on that level- they don't need to know or don't want to know when someone's retracted their interest: they might be the ones that are better off. <br />
<br />
I have unfollowed, I have denied friend requests, and in the past I have waded through and unchecked the boxes, but mostly they've been spam accounts- I usually confirm anyone I've met in person. But especially with the idea of removing friends, it's the pruning that does it for me- you had to go through your lists, you clicked several menus, and you confirmed I didn't matter anymore. What was it about me that didn't make the cut?<br />
<br />
I don't mean to turn this into a "woe-is-me" rant about losing followers or denied requests on social networks, because these things have and will happen again. I'm just fascinated with the dichotomy of the treatment of connections and friendships. It's just a a thought, just a new experience brought on by the new American loneliness- when we can hide behind the anonymity of the internet, our actions don't give us pause. Imagine it translated to real-life: how often do people actually end friendships face-to-face? Usually the catalyst for something like that is an unforgivable trespass, but rarely do we think about someone we haven't talked to in years, only to say, "We're not friends anymore." How horrible would that be- what a bad taste it would leave in people's mouth? But behind the screen, we can reach out and cut our losses, quell our numbers, and not bat an eye, because no one will ever notice. <br />
<br />
Whether romantically or platonically, we want someone to take us in, to tune in, to care about who we are and what we're about. Feelings are a messy business, and some people tamp them down better than others. It's a frequency that's hailed me for some time. I spend my days jotting down these aphorisms in my phone, on the back of envelopes, on whatever I can get my hands on because the data doesn't stop. We all need people, whether we admit it or not- we sign up for these networks and we make our choices because we want others to notice, to latch on, to accept the signals we give off. We put ourselves on display and sum ourselves up in clever little descriptions because we want to be. We need someone to listen, to notice, to like what we like and us for who we are. Somebody to tune in.<br />
<br />
Our hearts are satellites, and we're all just looking for receivers.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-47924776199340546962010-06-23T21:23:00.004-07:002010-06-23T21:31:13.573-07:00"There's Always A Way"Cross-posted from the Spectrum Culture blog:<br /><br />Musings by me, on one of my favorite series, <span style="font-style:italic;">All-Star Superman<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">WARNING: MAD LONG, AND FULL OF SPOILERS, SORTA</span><br /><br />There’s nary a person alive that doesn’t know Superman. In both the fictional universe he exists and in our realm, he’s easily the most famous man on the planet, maybe even the entire solar system. He’s achieved all the feats that a man can achieve in his time or any time at that. But have you considered the opposite? Though Superman’s name is commonplace, he most assuredly does not know everyone alive. How could he? Even with his stellar powers, what mind could process that type of information?<br /><br />Humans are an inherently self- preservational: although we maintain our illusions of the greater good and of being kind to one another, most people truly look out for their own best interests. There is not anything wrong with that mentality, but it is not unheard of to be an insular type, unconcerned with any of the world’s problems but one’s own. But who isn’t, you ask? Who is the one person in the world who can put the needs of everyone above his own?<br /><br />Superman.<br /><br />Superman has been presented as a savior, as a Christic figure, as mankind’s last hope. But religious ascribements aside, he’s really just a super man, and Grant Morrison sees this. Longtime comic book fans tire of the character- they see him as a boy scout, as an outdated, overpowered relic of Golden Age fantasy. Lest we forget his original incantation was as a villain, Superman has always been the Superhero Gold Standard. People the world over debate every aspect of his powers: can he outrun the Flash? Is he stronger than the Hulk? Would he and Captain Marvel have a chin-off if they met in real life?<br /><br />In <span style="font-style:italic;">All-Star Superman</span>, Morrison and artist Frank Quitely take a refreshingly new perspective on The Man of Steel- they write him the most human he’s ever been. They cast the fan boy arguments aside and treat the man like a normal person, who just happens to be able to fly. Bear in mind that Superman draws his powers from Earth’s yellow sun, and that he is, for all intents and purposes, an <span style="font-weight:bold;">alien.</span> Were he back on Krypton, he would not stick out- he’d have some fame, being the son of that planet’s greatest scientist, but ultimately he would not be as recognized or revered as he is on our planet. On Earth he has to disguise himself as Clark Kent, and Morrison writes this version as the costume, contrary to other writers who prefer to focus on strictly his abilities. While the man’s powers do make for some cool reading and events, ultimately what kind of a story could be told with a one-dimensional character who does the same thing every time? I, for one, would (and did) get tired of just reading stories where Superman got his ass kicked around space or Metropolis for 20 pages, only to kick back in the last two. Other writers have tried to “spice” him up with radical redesigns and extreme new powers, but Morrison and Quitely realize that a character as iconic as Superman is more compelling when they investigate what truly makes him tick.<br /><br />The most important part of writing Superman as a human is his giving him humanity and the creators of <span style="font-style:italic;">All-Star Superman</span> manage to make him accessible like none before- they make him confront his mortality. While saving a scientific expedition to the sun that has been led astray by Lex Luthor, Superman’s cells are irradiated by sun rays, overloading them with more than he can bear. He is literally dying for the first time in his life. (“Death and Return of Superman” doesn’t count, because he was straight-up killed, and it sucked.) While green Kryptonite used to be the one thing to bring him to his knees, Morrison and Quitely present a Superman who has experienced a lifetime’s worth of living. As he’s aged he’s gotten stronger, even growing resilient to his former poison. However when his cells are dying, he begins to slowly lose even the powers that make him Superman.<br /><br />Confronted with the knowledge that he’s coming undone, Superman finds himself making his peace with his former friends and lovers. At the end of issue one, he reveals himself to Lois Lane, who endlessly doubts him, and contradicts her own theorems about Clark Kent’s strange behavior. In the most memorable story in the series, “Sweet Dreams, Super Woman,” Superman presents his beloved with his greatest gift of all: his powers. He synthesizes a formula that will allow her to be as he is for exactly 24 hours. They spend the day flying together, fighting crime, and just experiencing the world through his eyes, until the time traveling troublemakers Samson and Atlas show up. They try to woo Lois, and one of their gifts is a necklace stolen from a pharaoh, who shows up and promises to end her life if Superman cannot answer The Unanswerable Question, which is one of the 12 Feats of Legend that he is to complete before his death.<br /><br />After freeing her and dispatching of her would-be suitors, her powers wear off and he lays her down to sleep tenderly, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. Although we know he’s falling apart on the inside, Superman has never had a more vulnerable moment in his life.<br /><br />“Funeral in Smallville,” about the passing of Jonathan Kent, takes place in the past, and has Superman at his most naïve. As he fights with other future Supermen to defeat a creature called the Chronovore, he suddenly realize he can’t pick up Jonathan Kent’s heartbeat. As he flies away so fast his hair catches fire, tears well up in his eyes as he exclaims, “I can save him! I can save everybody.” Such simple dialogue masterfully understates one of the defining moments in the development of the Superman character: the day he realized that the world wouldn’t always be kind.<br /><br />Volume 2 features the more exploratory stories including issue 10, “Neverending,” which might reasonably be the most important story since Alan Moore’s “For the Man Who Has Everything.” The issue deals with Superman’s life legacy in the diegetic world, but also doubles as a commentary of the longevity of the character in comics form. A near-death Superman spends the day settling his affairs, and in perhaps the most touching moment in the series, he comforts a teenager contemplating suicide. He embraces her and he utters, “You’re much stronger than you think you are.” With this little girl on the ledge of a building, Kal-El, the Last Son of Krypton, is unequivocally the most connected he’s ever been with humanity- he’s on the ledge of his own life, looking over, but with no one to hold him in their arms. He’s not going to be okay, but the girl is, and he knows- but he comforts her anyway.<br /><br />The ending of the series is much too important and touching to be summed in a few sentences, but what Morrison and Quitely achieve is monumental- with their book, they’ve turned the Man of Steel into a more than a Boy Scout in tights- they’ve made him a man. As writer Mark Waid postulates in his intro to Volume Two, “Superman achieves his power by believing in us.” In his youth and in his twilight, he always was the same kid from Smallville, who thought he could save everybody. The beauty of All-Star Superman is that even though he is Superman, and Clark Kent, and the savior of humanity, he’s always been Kal-El: the boy of two worlds who lost the center of both. Morrison and Quitely hit home the idea that he may be an alien, and he may be more able than us, but he’s ours. There’s always a way. He’s failing himself, but he’d never fail us.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">END OF SUPERMAN TALK</span><br /><br />Things have been going- let's just leave it at that.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-38877517395925770452010-02-12T04:25:00.004-08:002010-02-12T04:47:34.191-08:00This Property is Condemned.*The content of this post has been edited for time, alloted volume, and general reasons of reflection.*<br /><br />I miss you.<br /><br />[CENSORED.]<br /><br />Yes, you, [CENSORED.]<br /><br />My heart hopes you're happy, but my mind can't say as much.<br /><br />I'll always miss you.<br /><br />[CENSORED.]<br /><br />*The lyrics to "A Better Son/ Daughter" by Rilo Kiley go in this section.*Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-46984719773134371422010-01-12T01:13:00.003-08:002010-01-12T02:07:23.267-08:00Honour Among ThievesIn the spirit of new year and new changes, I will attempt to update this blog more frequently, and have more content-rich posts. <br /><br />With that...<br /><br />Lately I've been sleepless. I toss and turn with thoughts rocking about, uneasy with what spews from my mind. I'm sure this has happened to us all, so I'll spare the rhetorical bit and dive right into my point:<br /><br />Do you ever think about the ones you said you'd never give a second thought?<br /><br />Last night, as I lay in bed, my thoughts turned to one person: Honour Fisher.<br /><br />Honour Fisher was the only blonde in my summer school classes. The Summer Enrichment Academy was rife with pretty girls, and supercool dudes, but being South Florida, Honour stuck out like, well... a blonde haired, blue-eyed girl in a sea of brown haired, brown eyed girls. Honour was a commodity that all the boys hoped to trade.<br /><br />Every boy was in love with Honour Fisher. She was friendly, outgoing, and surprisingly down-to-earth for a cheerleader. Honour knew she was loved, and Honour valued this. It wasn't an accident when Honour would drop her pencils or knock over her books- it was an opportunity for the one of us who would volunteer to help her out. Honour would appreciatively smile, and reward her valiant suitor with middle school's prized possession- the ever elusive "kiss on the cheek."<br /><br />Most young Hispanic men and women will tell you that a kiss on the cheek is nothing more than an informal greeting- a way of showing familiarity and welcome. This wasn't so with non-Hispanics- any physical contact took on a much more sensual meaning. This is why Honour Fisher and her cheek kisses were so sought after. Then came the day that Honour Fisher asked me if I could help her gather her things.<br /><br />******<br /><br />Her books lay on the floor, and she sheepishly grinned.<br /><br />"Oh, I'm such a klutz!"<br /><br />"Allow me," I said, from just above the tile as I scooped her notebooks and papers off the floor.<br /><br />"Thank you, Ralph," she said to me. I hated being called Ralph, but Honour above all. <br /><br />"You're welcome, Honour."<br /><br />She leaned in for my reward... but so did I. That was when the tips of our lips touched. Innocently enough.<br /><br />"Thanks again!"<br /><br />She took her stack and took off. <br /><br />This had to mean something! That's when the word got out. When you're a chubby young Hispanic kid who had never kissed a girl, there was Honour to be upheld. <br /><br />*****<br /><br />She laughed when she heard. Laughed so hard she choked on her milk. She even snorted. It would have been a cute snort.<br /><br />"Eww, him?! I can't believe he's telling people he stole a kiss from me. Like I'd ever kiss a guy like him!"<br /><br />I had to agree, frankly.<br /><br />The teasing ended soon after, but I knew what heartache was. My crush on Honour grew, even though I knew she would never have me. Finally came the day where I bought Honour a birthday card. It was hand-picked, thoroughly thought-out, and contained the most heartfelt sentiments a second-language seventh grader could muster. <br /><br />She said she loved it. She loved it so much she left it unopened, along with the thirteen other envelopes from our classmates, buried in her purse beneath the teddy bear that Alex got her. She didn't have to read it- she knew how I felt, right?<br /><br />*****<br /><br />That was the day I learned what seventh-grade heartbreak was. There had to be a reason Honour and I touched lips, right? But then why was she so cruel? If she never kissed anyone so closely before, then why was she so keen on Alex? And what were they doing behind the school during lunchtime, or in the Jurassic Park arcade game with the curtain at the bowling alley?<br /><br />I swore I'd never be suckered like that again. My feelings were mine to control- I'd know if a woman was playing me, and I'd know when she wasn't interested.You can believe a lot when you're young.<br /><br />I recently tried to look up Honour.I might have her name misspelled, or perhaps she's fallen off the grid... but what if she knows I was looking for her? The seventh-grade side of me suggests I spelled it right- how could I have forgotten?<br /><br />I'm not in love with Honour Fisher. This may seem like the case, but it's not. Honour just popped into my head recently while thinking of this long, strange trip I dare to call a "love" life. She wasn't the first girl I liked, or even the first I noticed, but she was the first that made an impression. When I met girls in middle and high school that I might be interested in, I judged them on the Honour system. I made sure to accentuate the negative before I could accept the positive. It worked on the one girl I dated in high school.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Last I heard, she and Alex were still together. Granted, this was roughly a decade ago, so things might be a little different. If y'all are still together, good tidings to you, and Alex- no hard feelings. There never were any. Thanks for that wallet though- it was pretty awesome.<br /><br />Love, be loved, and spill your satisfaction into the material world. Your gut feeling is usually much better than your overthought instincts. Every one of us has had or will have our stories like this. As you lay your head down when you do, you'll probably think of a time like this. Just promise me one thing, please.<br /><br />Don't put your Honour above all.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-87576004020523631112009-11-05T16:12:00.004-08:002009-11-05T16:27:44.076-08:00Heaven at NightHey everybody,<br /><br />I made it before another 12 months rolled by! If I keep this rate up, I might have some semblance of an update schedule... but I wouldn't worry- I'll be back to thinking of updating instead of doing it in no time.<br /><br />As for now,<br /><br />I'm back at work! I had a brief (like two and a half week) stay with Target, but on day two I remembered why retail jobs are so readily available, and why I swore I'd never cotton to a job where I get lotion on my hands. How can people stand looking at diapers and Advil bottles all day? They're the real heroes... except for the actual ones.<br /><br />Currently I'm working in an office in Carlsbad, which is about 35 miles from San Diego. It's supposed to be a call center, but we haven't had a single call in four days, so I'm essentially getting paid to tell you fine folks about it, makes jokes with Graham Linehan on Twitter, and read forums about movie mistakes. <br /><br />You know, things are actually working out quite nicely. I'm not feeling the guilt-ridden pangs of being unemployed anymore- dare I say I'm actually happy? If not happy, then definitely on the road in that general direction. <br /><br />Oh yeah- and for those not in the know: my insurance debacle was finally settled back in July. I have a new car- a 1995 Ford Mustang convertible. I have dubbed her the Green Hornet, and I am aware it is a bit of a misnomer, so please, just run with it?<br /><br />What else can I briefly update you on... I'm still DJing for KSDT, and with this job, it means I will be able to stick to the schedule. Please tune in this Saturday from 12:00 p.m to 2:00 p.m. PST (3:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. EST) to hear more stories, synthesizers, and severe banter. <br /><br />I really have got to start writing more. Be it here, for my personal interests, or even for creative and potential endeavors. This time, however, I don't intend it to be an empty promise. I have a story I'm working on transcribing and then editing- perhaps I'll post it and maybe you fine folks can give me some feedback?<br /><br />Oh, Pre-Post Script- thank you to all of you for the birthday wishes. My birthday was a lovely time, and it ended how I always dreamed it would: drunk in the 1970s in a red leather booth, with hamburger grease on my paisley tie and a heart of helium.<br /><br />Til' next time, please, continue to love each other as I do you.<br /><br />-Raf<br /><br />This is what I've always wanted.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-87964543982171805442009-08-25T02:39:00.003-07:002009-08-25T02:47:34.956-07:00Years of Refusal.Sometimes I felt like I would never come back. Sometimes I thought I'd visit every day.<br /><br />I'm still here though. Just thought I'd remind you all of that.<br /><br />See ya when I see ya. <br /><br />PS: <br /><br />4540 54 St Apt 12<br />San Diego, CA 92115<br /><br />Who doesn't love a good mail surprise?<br /><br />Also, still DJing. Saturdays at 2pm PST/ 5PM EST.<br /><br />http://ksdt,ucsd.edu<br /><br />PPS: I have more news to share, and less time to share it in. AU REVOIRE.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1500947714008384376.post-88546389886668759742009-03-24T23:17:00.003-07:002009-03-24T23:23:35.632-07:00Boombox.So, I remembered this thing existed, and was saddened to know some of you still check it for the bi-annual update. <br /><br />Here it is.<br /><br />Though in real news, I will be DJing for KSDT Fiercely Independent Radio on Sundays from 7:00 a.m to 8:00 a.m. PST (10:00 a.m to 11:00 a.m EST.) It's internet radio, so please listen. The other shows they have on there are some good stuff too. Check it out:<br /><br />ksdt.ucsd.edu<br /><br />The show title is Some Folks Call It A Bear Surprise, and it should be really awesome. I plan on synching up this blog to the show, i.e. maybe writing on topics I might bring up during the show or taking ideas from my updates and working them in. I would love it if you would all be a part of it...since most of you who might even listen are out in Florida. <br /><br />BTDubs, the best album ever is "Incredibad" by The Lonely Island. Too bad I can't play any of their songs on the radio.<br /><br />Anyways, soon I'm going to write a real post about my obsessions of '08 and of late (808s and Heartbreak, Battlestar Galactica, Punisher: War Zone, etc.) so it will feel like we've been in touch all along. Won't that be nice?<br /><br />I do miss you all though, and if you're in the Gainesville area from April 30th- May 3rd, then act like you know and come see a brotha.<br /><br />For now, I gotta go to bed to wake up for my job I don't like, much like a lot of you. Sorry :-/<br /><br />Laters,<br /><br />Gaytown.Rafhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18037219801365086543noreply@blogger.com1