An excerpt from a novella about a young man named Daniel who uses brujería to inhabit the dreams of Celeste in order to be with her.
The chatter of a thousand voices and accents sounded like they were mixed together my a DJ from hell. The buildings were tall and old. I decided that since they didn’t get earthquakes out here it probably helped to keep everything intact for so long. Still though, the crowds, the noise, they were soothing. It was as close to home as I’d been in months. My ears were at home at least. Being from Los Angeles, it is the norm to have people al around you who don’t speak English. Speaking of my ears, they were freezing. I felt like I’d been walking around for hours, no, days. Maybe longer. People popped in and out of shops with bags bigger than their middles and eyes wide at the sign reading “50% off” and another sign reading ” fantastic holiday deals”. Ahhhh. Christmas time. Consumerism, steady rain fall and the chill of Winter on a Friday afternoon. not too cold, nothing that a decent overcoat couldn’t fight off. I had been looking for this place for hours. I think I was close but I couldn’t be sure. To be honest, I had given up reading street signs. They put them all really high up on the sides of buildings so I had stopped craning my head up like some sort of awkward alien giraffe looking for food. In reality though, I just thought it gave me away as a foreigner. An outsider. Someone who didn’t fit in. An outcast. A nomad. An illegal. I had to bury that shit. I have to go into every pub, restaurant and diner like I own the place. Confidence is key. I repeated this to myself until I had a headache. I asked a stump of a man on the corner where I might find a particular Itlaian restaurant I was told would be more inclined to hiring someone in my predicament. Sideburns that’d make Liberace jealous, a gut that invaded anyone’s personal space who had stopped to ask him anything and a bright red face that he seemed to be proud of. He’s probably drunk but I just saw him helping someone else so I’m sure he can tell me where the fuck this place is. I’m tired of looking and I don’t care if I don’t blend in, I just need to find this place and get it over with.
"Hi, can you help me find this address?" I point to my phone screen and rain droplets collect on the face.
"Put that thing away!" He shouted, disturbing pedestrians and causing a jolt that made me laugh.
"Take tha first left ya see there. See the green and gold pub?"
Blinking through the rain, I nod and squint—wiping water from my brow and motioning to let him know I saw the pub in the distance.
"Good, yer eyes work!"
He seemed to only laugh at his own jokes.
"Now turn left at that corner and keep the pub to your right shoulder, make another left and then turn right at Dean St."
"Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."
I was off into the mass of people—fighting for space along the crowded side walk, trying to breathe amongst the desperate shoppers and tourists. I was near to the restauarant now. I gathered myself, wiped a fresh coat of rain off my face, tucked my ipod and phone into my bag. I didn’t want them to see them bulging in my pockets and gather that I had travelled more than thirty minutes to get here. I’m so paranoid..
"Here goes nothing.." I mouthed under my breath.
To be continued.
Fanboys are ruining movies. Every geek with a comic collection and an internet connection is trashing these flicks for not being 150% accurate according to their precious comics.
Can you imagine if this were the case thirty, maybe even forty years ago?
The Shining would have been trashed by idiots who hate that Kubrick changes the ending and took liberties that totally fucking work for the purposes of FILM!
Goddamnit, if you want something faithful to the source material, read the source material.
Shoes, shirts, skies and eyes.
Everybody showed up, only to find out they had already died.
No tears fell. Only bodies.
They stood and watched while the invaders partied.
Lights flashed and music started, the horizon was alight with exploding constellations.
The ground gave way to gaseous clouds of purple that shifted through the blood red sky like poisoned cotton candy ready to rip the soul from anyone who had the misfortune of inhaling them.
All in office proceeded to higher ground, higher ground was quickly reduced to rubble and ash. Not one single earthly representative was safe in it’s path.
We who survived, and that is to say the two of us have used our time to reflect, plan and most importantly, to move forward.
We never should have come here..
Is everything really relative? I mean a kid with no food. That’s not relative. Nothing is nothing. Wealth is relative though. Weird.
I pondered this for about 55 seconds while working on another piece of work and boy is it a piece of work. I sit here and think about just what makes me think what merit anything I’m doing really has.
Well to be honest, that’s just the thing, as long as it means something to me then it should be written right? That’s not to say every thought should be jotted down and that’s where we are in society.
Nobody can say or do something without it being documented. No one is discovered anymore. People can go out and show themselves to the people who can make them rich.
Cool right? I don’t fucking know. It seems that with an influx of people with access to cheap tools that allow them make art, we get a whole lot less art. The things that rise to the top and gain the most exposure continue to be the things that always have.
Let’s face it, sex sells and it always will. I’m rambling again. I’m not gonna sit here and act like I don’t watch porn but you are fucking lying to yourself if you think Katy Perry is famous for her oratory skills. Her talents lie elsewhere.
I had a cool note to end this on but now I’ve fucking lost my point in the haze of other thoughts and will re-visit this later on when I have things in order.
Until then, chaos.
The dead tree smiles knowingly at all the things man cannot see for it knows all the secrets buried deep that man can only keep once he falls asleep in the ground beneath his feet…
#sticker and #zine #production #explodingbuffalo #art #diy #vinyl
You know those two stretchy things that connect your bottom lip to your jaw?
Right before Christmas 2006, Johnny King — A friend at the time, punched me so hard that he separated my lip from one of those connections.
There was a large hole in my lip and the swelling in my face earned me the nickname “Kanye” that Winter.
I’m not a vengeful man but whenever I start to think I’m a good person, I keep in mind that I’ve wished death upon him about 57,000 times since that Christmas.
I think about what sort of payback would be the worst. I don’t think I actually would harm his kids if I saw them but the thought of how much pain it would cause him puts a smile on my face.
Why? I don’t know.
If I was a vengeful man and I did hurt him, he would have to know it was me…
Otherwise, what’s the point?