WANDER

By
Todd Largo

This book is for those who love to write,

&
for the bittersweet love of him Family.

0
Intro
There was always a calming sensation in the early morning. You could hear
the birds before the sun even rose. The sky was always filled with beautiful
colors of blues and the horizon was always greeted with rich colors of reds and
oranges. Everything was all happening at once. People parked their cars to go
grocery shopping in the early morning, the early joggers ran laps around the
block, and the congested heavy traffic rid any peace or silences with horns and
sirens. Then there was me, parked on the side of the street, in the big city. Laying
in the most uncomfortable position in the back seat of my little grey Mazda, with
my legs bent and unshaken for several hours a night while staring at the dead
trees outside the window.
In fact, there was no space at all. The trunk of the car was full of clothes
and boxes of my favorite books that I had collected over the years. Frost
covered the windows and multiple blankets covered me. However, I finding
myself in a cold and shivering position, I tried again and again to reach a calm
state, to have hope and faith. Yet reality always seemed to knock the door down
and shatter any possible make-believed successful future of being somewhere
different. When one begins to think too much, it leads to a place one tries to
avoid. I had no idea of where to go, as a recent graduate from college, I was
homeless and living in my car, it was not the thing you would want others to
know, especially your family. Lies, heartache, and careless nights drinking. What
a way to spend your college years.
Although it's not as dire as one may think. I had fun in college, however too
much fun can be overwhelming and lead to somewhere one doesn't want to be.
Too much of one thing can have a negative effect on a person. I'm not sure what

the hell was wrong with me at the time, and to be completely honest I still have
no clue. I had gotten by on a thin thread which was ready to rip apart at any
second.
My family traveled over a thousand miles to see me accept a degree. I stood
on the stage wearing a black cap and gown, the grid of lights above and the
blood red tassel dangling from my cap blinded me from seeing anyone in the
audience. At the same time, my heart started to beat faster and faster within my
chest as the dean stood at the podium saying our full names, and with each step
getting closer and closer to accepting the paper that would say "you have made
it". My family sat within the crowd, all so proud. At the time a horde of thoughts
clouded my mind, although I was happy to reach this point.
I always daydreamed about completing my first novel of short stories.
However, events in life usually don't happen the way you want it to. It seems our
resistance gets the best of us. I remembered the nights Id lay in my car parked
on the side of the road, with the car turned off and towels covering my windows.
Id be awake past midnight on my laptop staring at a blank page, not knowing
what to write. How could I? I didn't know where to start or where to end.
Suddenly a reminder telling from my laptop telling me I only had 10% battery
life, which usually kept me from writing what I truly wanted to write. So I closed
my laptop most of the time without writing anything. And that was that, Id
write the next day, I told himself again and again. Alone and lonely I couldn't
cry, I had no sense of direction. I was broke and broken. Although at times I
would write nonstop, it seemed that a burst of energy from the Gods or the
universe would strike at an instant, and I couldn't help but keep writing.
A lot has happened within the past few years, at this moment I'm glad
that the events which had happened, happened. I say this book is for those who
love to write because, if you feel the need to write then write. Nothing is really
stopping you, except for your own damn self. I also say this book is for the

bittersweet love of my family because, it's those that raised you that make you
who you are. And the amount of difficulties one endures can have a major effect,
either positive or completely negative. I think of my journey as enlightening.
Overcoming and facing defeat over and over again, and being bold to do what
others only dream of. Not many know this story, however that is neither here
nor there. There is a lot more to be experienced in this life and definitely a lot
more to write about. This journey has been a difficult one indeed. Hopefully
there is life within the stories I am telling. I tell these stories simply because I
can. Having the freedom to leave a piece of yourself behind is the ultimate
freedom.
Fuck all the bullshit. Go for what you believe is right. Embark on an
adventure. Don't stop living and don't stop Wandering.

1
Placate

In truth there wasn't much to him. He was out of shape, had a bad haircut,
reeked of dirty clothes and dried semen, which he didn't seem to mind. Hygiene
was out of the question. He tended to be with himself, always had a book at
hand with the adventure stories of Jack London, Jack Kerouac, and Jon
Krakauer. He was a kid with aspirations and dreams of stepping out his comfort
zone and delving into the depths of the unknown. Mark Frommer was only 20
years old, self-centered and lazy. He never did anything for others, in no way had
a girlfriend, was still a virgin, was ungrateful, never traveled, and constantly
wanted to know firsthand about the visceral experience of being in the wild and
facing danger, just as the authors wrote in the books he read. He figured it would
teach him what he had to know about life.
Mark attended community college in Santa Fe, NM. He studied Econ and
Business. Roaming the crowded halls with a book at hand, he attended lectures
and got inspired, but never did the work. A C average student who was only 3
semesters away from an AA in Econ, because that's what his father did. He only
studied what his father did, because it would make that old asshole happy. He
never wanted that for himself. He wanted to study environmental science, travel,
and do something more meaningful. Thats what he truly wanted to do. His
mother had almost graduated with a BA in Literature and English, and then she
met his father. Then they had Mark.
She was a stay at home mother with an alcohol problem, she wrote from
time to time. It always made Mark happy to see her write, but most of the time

she was too busy drinking. Their marriage was unethical. Always had he wished
that shed have the courage to leave the relationship. He didnt blame her or
have any grudge against her. He hated seeing her so miserable or seeing anyone
miserable at that. It would be fine if she got out the house every so often, but his
father had her on a leash, and was over controlling. He found clarity in the
books he read. He figured the teachings of those great adventurers was the
foundation of what it really meant to be a "Man".
They lived on the north side of town, that's where all the upper middle class
seem to live. A typical day for him coming home would be him entering the
house and his mom would be listening to her Vinyl of Je Te Veux by Erik Satie,
while she finished a bottle of Red Wine. She would hear the sound of him
opening the front door.
"Hi honey!" she'd slur from the living room.
Mark would barely hear her as she had the record playing on full blast. He
didn't really acknowledge the sounds coming from the living room.
Hi mom, as he headed straight to his room, shutting the door to jerk off.
What an asshole he was. It was like this for 3 years, there was only so much
that he could handle before he became numb and stopped given a shit. He was
sick and tired of that damn song, his mother's addiction and unhappiness, his
father's sociopathic and controlling tendencies, and him not having a girlfriend,
not getting laid, everything. He felt like the weight of the world pressing down
on him as he longed for change. In his room he aims for the bed and decides to
sleep on it for a bit. The sounds of the piano and his mother crying would echo
within the halls and seep its way in through him door. The clock next to him
blinks a bright blood red, illuminating the room every second. He stares inanely
at the alarm clock, 4:36 pm. Too much thinking starts to make his eyes heavy, he
quickly falls asleep.

Suddenly theres a knock on the door. With line marks of the blanket and
pillow etched on his face, he gazes at the clock, 8:27 pm. 4 Hours of sleep. The
door opens.
"Shit", he sighs.
That usually meant around this time his father returned from whatever hell
pit he came from. It's not that he unloved his father, it was that the man's ego
was too dense, he would let nothing in or escape. Any idea or aspiration had to
have his approval of what was right in the world. Unfortunately, his father didn't
even know what was right.
"It's time for dinner, Mark Be down in 5 minutes. Your mother made a
delicious Goulash. She would hate for it to get cold."
"I'll be down", Mark mumbles, while his face is pushed into the pillows.
"Okay", he says.
All that's heard is his footsteps walking to the kitchen.
Walking into the kitchen, a beautiful array of delicious food is displayed on
the table. Each dish seemed to have its place. Neat, organized and routine. He
always wondered about how much work his mother would put into making food
like this. That's one thing that he was grateful for. Always eating.
"So, honey how was your day?" his mother says.
"It's been fine", his father says.
"I was talking to Mark, she quickly says, not acknowledge his father.
His father doesn't pay her attention, he pretends to ignore her and
continues to eat his Goulash. Mark looks at his father to see a reaction, nothing,
then looks at his mother.
"It was nothing to special, Mark replies.
There was never a genuine conversation in this household, it seemed
everyone refrained from how they felt. Mark also thought about how many times
he masturbated that day. Three times.

"How's your school going? You've been studying? You've only got 3
semesters to go. I don't understand why you didn't go to college sooner, Mark.
You would've been working on you BA by now." his father says, as he focuses
more on his food than on the conversation he started.
"You know I've been meaning to tell you guys, Mark anxiously replies.
His father continues to eat his food while his mother pours herself another
glass of Red Wine.
"I don't want to be a Business and Econ major, anymore".
"Excuse me?" his father says.
"But honey, you're almost finished. That would have been a waste of time,
and money", his mother says after a sip of wine.
"Your mother is right, for once. Do you know how your decision would
impact this family?"
"Well, Ive been giving it some thought lately. And it's not really something
I would want to be doing for the rest of my life."
The sounds of generic silverware and porcelain dishes clanking together, as
the rest of the dining room fell silent. They both stare at him in disbelief. This
was the only time Mark had ever disagreed with his family, especially his father.
His father grew angry rather than concerned. While his mother vacuously stared
at Mark, unsure what to think, the calmness of her expression made her seem
relieved, but similarly worried.
"Do you know how useful this will be for your future? Do want to end up
like those fucking homeless people on the streets?"
"Dear!", his mother says
"Excuse me." He says after, then wiping his mouth with his linen napkin.
"Like those homeless people?"
"No, Mark says, shaken.
There was a moment of silence, dead air filled the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry anymore, may I be excused?"

His parents say nothing. His father continues to eat his food, while his
mother looks at his father in fury. Although her expression isn't one painted on
the outside, but rather one that's been slowly building since the day they met.
They still say nothing. Mark gets up and leaves.
Walking outside to get fresh air, he looks out to the night sky and begins to
imagine the days when everything seemed normal. Ignorance really is bliss, but it
also teaches you nothing, except to enjoy the here and now. Wistful memories of
being a child, random images of enjoying the outdoors as his parents relish in
each other's company. He didnt like those thoughts, because of the present state
he found himself in. Quickly he heads inside to his room. Laying in his bed
staring at the ceiling above, with the occasional passing of cars as their lights
briefly illuminate the room through the windows.
The commotion of his parents is overheard through the thin walls. Mark
always had this grandiose vision in his head. What if he were to run away? Then
again would it even be considered running away? He was 20 years old. Thinking
to himself over and over, he shouldn't be in community college, expecting
different results after repeating the same things again and again. It was building
up; he began to think about the characters in the books he read. The great
explorers, frontiers men, men of courage and bravery. Men who didnt fear death
itself, men who had passion. With little motivation, he started to pack his clothes
and necessities. Was it Marks time to explore?
"Why the fuck, are you always drinking?" his father shouts.
The house stood silent for a bit.
"Am I that much of a fucked up husband? Why aren't you saying
anything?" he follows a bit more furiously. "Give me that fucking drink".
Get away from me, his mother screams.
Youre no fucking husband.

Okay, what am I, he says angered.

You son of a bitch. You fucking lying cheat. You know why I drink so
much. Because you ruined my life.
The sound of broken glass screeches through the halls, as it shatters into
thousands of small pieces.
"You're disgusting. Clean that shit up." His father says.
His mother says nothing.
"I'm going to bed." You could hear the footsteps of his father leaving
the room.
Marks mother doesnt clean it up, instead reaches inside the cupboard and
grabs another wine glass. Opening a new bottle of Red Wine. She then sits on
the couch staring at the shattered glass and spilt wine on the floor as she sips her
new glass. This shit always seems to happen. His father would grab the drink
from his mother's hand and throw it against some hard surface, in an impulse of
rage. Mark began to see piercing images of what his parents where and how he
saw it in himself. Rage, impulses, anger, selfishness. He couldn't take it at all.
Sitting in the darkness of his room, he looked out the window again. The
house was silent. His mother grabbed the broom, you could hear her sweeping
the glass as she sobbed. Mark slowly walks to the living room. Seeing his mother
kneel in center of the room crying, not knowing how to comfort, he walks slowly
towards her. The wooden floor creaks. Kneeling down, he gives her a hug. This
seemed to be okay. Tears full with black eyeliner drips from her eyes.
"Leave", she tells him.
In shock, he isnt sure how to respond.
"Leave. I hate being seen like this. Especially by my son."
"What are you talking about? No, I'm not going to leave." he says. She
wipes the mascara tears from her eyes.

"You must. I've seen your room. The books you read, you think a mother
doesnt know where her son is up to?" She says drunkenly.
He thinks to himself, is this moment even real? Then he began to think if
he should leave or if he shouldn't. His mother gets up and walks to the counter.
She reaches for her dark red purse pulling out around 500 dollars. She walks
back over to Mark.
"Here", she says. Mark doesnt accept the money. he just stares at it.
What do I do now? he asks himself.
No I cant take that, he says.
Ive never wanted this for my life. I always imagined things would be
better and happier. But thats not the cards I was dealt. So here take it, I want
you to live the life you want and trust me its not here she says.
Where do I go Where would I go? he asks his mother.
Mascara streams down her face like black tears of pain. At that moment she
doesnt know either, but there must be a destination. All she can remember is
not where but with whom. A calming sensation appears on her face when she
thinks of the person she could trust.
Your aunt Melanies, she says.
In Utah?
Yes son, in Utah.
At this moment no words could be spoken. It was a strange mix of
emotions that over powered the room.
Listen son, I love you no matter what you choose to do with your life. If
its exploring the world, I dont care, as long as you are happy and know that you
are making the right choices.
Marks eyes begin to water.
Okay But what about you?, he says in a low voice.

Listen to me son, in life you youre given one opportunity. Ive missed
mine long ago. If I could have made it, I would of. But I didnt. And the choice
you make in life make you who you are. And if you have fear in your heart, itll
keep you in the same place son. You hear me?
Yes.
Ive been afraid all of my life, and for that I am here. I dont want you to
have that fear in your life. So you must go.
This was the only time Mark could recall having a cherished conversation
with his mother.
But Im scared, Mark replies.
Did you just hear me? Go in your room book the first bus to Utah and
leave.
He takes to the money. Heads to his room. Packs his bag. And heads for
the door.
A few weeks pass, he had set out on the open road. He had been on this
constant diet of stepping outside the boundaries of comfort. Every day he grew
more adventurous. He would release himself of any idea in which would keep
him in the same place. Courage, angst, failure, are all in which would take place
in indulging himself in embracing new ideas and arbitrarily meeting new people.
He grew and grew each day. Learning new lessons and embracing new ideas.
There really wasn't any goal beforehand, but only the guilty pleasure of seeing
what would happen, once plunging himself into the depths of the unknown. At
the end of the day something had happen, something in which he'd never forget.
In doing so, he would recall numerous times that the feeling of hopelessness,
guilt and loneliness would begin to be in charge of what was happening in his
body, as if he were trying to find something outside himself to complete himself.
Hed lose whatever facet of innocence hed have, it'd soon become tangible
like the night and the people. The faces would seem to fade, as hed over indulge

his body with alcohol. That's another thing all in itself, the fear of not having
enough, this fear of not experiencing the things other's around would be
experiencing. But then again, it is something to take in. It's a visceral experience,
stepping outside the calm state and luxury of your undertakings. Now a whole
new idea is digging its way throughout your body, and wanting to express its
own voice, a voice in which had been bent up since the day it was told to be
quite. He thought you would have to lose yourself, before you could truly find
yourself.
The night seemed to be another night, as the night before. Caught up in
him head about things that should not matter, ideas about where he should be,
feeling incomplete for the things he didn't have, and the places he hadnt been,
oh and the constant struggle of how others perceived him, it was all toxic, these
ideas. Every night, they'd seem to always come unwelcomed into his head, as if it
were some arrogant, obnoxious, and nagging person who only seems to bring
the worst out in you. That's exactly the entity, who was forcing its way in him
head. It was the collective mindset of everyone around me, or rather it was the
amount of caring he seemed to have about the ideas of how others perceived
him and how he perceived himself. The time was roughly 10 pm, as it said so on
him car radio.
The numbers shined bright blue within the interior of him car. he couldn't
help but wait to see the lights, which said 10:00, turn to 10:01. As if it had some
sort of significance, rather than seeing it as time wasted. A calming vibe had set
itself loose within him car. It was something all too familiar, something that Hed
known to well. At the blink of an eye, at the sudden change of 10:00 to 10:01, a
shift of awareness would begin to take hold. he didn't want this. he didn't want
to be alone any longer. Why is he in this state of constant struggle and
loneliness?

"I'm fucking tired of this", he told himself. "But I'm scared", he seemed to
reassure himself. "What if something were to happen to me, what if he is to get
hurt?" all these fucking questions began to pile itself one onto another.
"Aagghhhhh!" he gets out him seat and slam the driver door. And there he
begins to walk, into the unknown. Not sure what would happen, what people
Hed meet. But rather, Hed embark on a new journey, outside himself and begin
to take everything in and be but only patient with himself, to find himself.
Such a strange time to step outside one's comfort zone, however he believe
anytime is the right time. It's that it was a Monday evening.

2
Bad Habits

The room was dark, his curser flickered brightly on a blank screen. Tom sits
at the kitchen table in front of the computer. With disheveled hair and his face
shielded by a five o'clock shadow. Empty coffee cups scatter across the table,
along with stained markings of coffee rings. In a bit of frustration, his
appearance is fixated on the screen, not knowing what to write. Tom is a
struggling writer, the kind that wants to write, but doesn't really have the courage
to express how he really feels. His phone vibrates, the sound fills the empty
room. Reaching into his right pocket. An image of his friend Matt chugging a
beer, fills the screen of his phone. He answers the phone by accident.
Hey motherfucker, where are you?.

Fuck, he tells himself.

Hey, hows it going? Tom replies.
Why arent you at the bar? You asshole, the person on the other end of
the phone says.
Im just going to stay in tonight, I need to finish my book, Tom says.
Oh that fucking book. The one youve been working on for two years.
Dude just come out, grab a drink and write your book tomorrow. He slurs.
Yeah that fucking book Ive been working on for two years.
Tom leans back in his chair, thinking to himself why he answered the
phone. The only thing he could image was how much trouble and time he had
wasted being around this person. He also began to think that the only fun times
he had in his life where around this guy. His friend. An Ex-Coworker, back
when he used to sell insurance. It seemed that after every shift he and his friend
would leave work to grab a beer, then two, then not remember the night before,
only to go to work that next morning. It was a cycle of bad habits. Nothing was
going right in Toms life, he had only one goal. To finish his novel, at the same
time he couldnt think of what to write.
So you coming out tonight?, his friend says.
Tom looks at the blank screen, thinking.
You could get some inspiration for that book of yours. Come on buddy.
Okay, I could use a beer, Tom replies.
The sun shines through a small opening through the broken blinds of
Toms window. A war body lays next to him, he lifts the covers, an attractive
brunette lays next to him, still asleep. He walks over to his disheveled desk.
Lighting a cigarette, he turns on his computer. And begins to write.
Trust. So you want a bit more understanding. Its the idea of giving someone a bit of
yourself and hoping that they'll keep it. Its risky business. In some cases, youll meet those

people, who have nothing else in the world except what you have given them. Usually because
you mean the world to them, that you are something special in their eyes. Sometimes, this is lost.
And at the time, Ive never noticed it in other people. And at this moment, I realize it was to
late.
Looking at what he had written, Tom stares for a few moments. He presses
the backspace key. Erasing what he had written. A near empty bottle of Jameson
sits next to his computer. Again and again he reaches for the bottle. No one
quiet understands what I going through, yet the idea comes to mind, do he really
understand what others are going through? The answer is a mystery. He is too
lost and confused at the moment. He reaches for the bottle this time, because
sorrow and pain are taking a hold of him insides, they seem to be playing with
me. Or at least something seems to be doing so internally. He is sad for no
reason, he watches the beauty of life play out in front of me, He sits and watch
as a player who never gets picked. Again he reaches for the bottle searching for
something, asking for something, waiting for something to emerge. He waits for
some event to take place, to find a moment of clarity. These words are sad, he
believes we may all have these words within us we do not express, or at least we
are too fearful to express.
Why make things difficult for ourselves? He sees the women who is
homeless with two kids, struggle to provide for those kids. He sees the father in
another situation, as he's working and getting yelled at by his boss. The father
has made a decision to quit his job with no plan of action in providing for his
family. These decisions are selfish decisions. Selfishness is only good when
you're on your own, until you encounter someone who really cares and takes you
in. That is when you take off the mask. However, if you have a family be as
selfless as you can, show your young ones the light. As the famous quote by Yogi
Bhajan. He says, Travel light, live light, spread the light, be the light.

Looking forward to a time or place that doesn't exist, only a feeling that
reacts to the projections of the mind. Him mind half of the time is in a dark
place, he imagines situations and events that aren't necessarily true, and Im what
you would call delusional. Sometimes he acts out as if that voice in him head was
telling him lies that are true. For that he is sorry. he is sorry forever overreacting
and treating anyone negatively, negative in the way he talks or the way he don't
talk. He is mostly sorry for me. he hope that everyone he ever treated wrong
will accept and forgive not only in me, but themselves as well in the process.
That is the key to everything. That's what livings all about, yes? he think so.
he don't believe he was formed to be close to people, he don't think anyone ever
was. Wars arose from this, friendships deteriorated, people killed, kids chose the
wrong path. he know you can't ask too much from a person, and you have to let
the other know if they are asking too much from you. Each one of us has their
faults, as well as their strengths. For me, he find the best in life through solitude
and being aware of the quietness in everything. he enjoys the sun blessing him
with its rays, the bee's working hard to find nectar, a childs first laugh, two
people creating something from nothing, a selfless flower receiving energy from
the sun only to give its oxygen for us to breathe. For we are all god's creatures,
experiencing god simultaneously, as for everything is in his image. Everything is
god. God Bless. And if we can only trust in life, others, then can we truly trust in
ourselves.

3
Dull & Mad

What seemed to keep him so intact? He began to ask himself questions

while he looked out from his empty apartment building unto the busy street.
Why do we have the tolerance to build cities filled with people, build
apartments for people to live in, in which they are so crammed together? Traffic
of cars on freeways, people who never knew they existed yell at each other from
across the lanes. We seem so distant, yet so close. There is some fundamental
question here, which it seems to be hidden in our subconscious he looks away
realizes he has somewhere to be in 30 minutes. As he gets dressed he gets a
phone call from his mother. We yell at people who we don't know, we place our
problems in their hands. We make excuse and force the blame upon them, and
yet they do the same to us. To whoever gets the chance to read through what he
has written recently or possible when he am long gone from this earth.
Understand this, the human condition is all that we know. We have survived
many plagues, deaths, wars, famine, hunger, thirst etc. But yet we have surpassed
all those horrid aspects of our past, a new breed of humans, the ones today, in
the year 2013, can't seem to understand that we are the cause of those problems.
You can't be objective and say that your point of view isn't relevant.
At this moment he am confused, he am not quite sure what to believe, who
to believe at that. he am scared out of him mind, he try to be tough, he know
that greater things will come its way and cross him path. It always does. At this
moment he wish he had made better decisions, he wish he could of said what he
believed at a certain moment in time in him life. he wish he were happy right
now, but depression happens to everyone. Most get out and move on with their

life, but do they still hold on to what's so dark, deep down? While others can't
seem to move on and are only left with their thoughts, their minds, that aching
gap in their heart, which they believe won't heal. They begin to go crazy, they
lose everything. he am in the middle, he want to go forward and live him life, but
there are numerous aspects, thoughts, and people that keep him where he am.
he try and he try to forget .
Past people he adored, girls he wish he had started a relationships with,
sympathetic words that he could of told him loved ones. To the first girl he ever
felt a connection with, he am sorry but he know that our paths will not meet
again in the same manner, and he can't get past this aspect, but he don't know
why, but he try to forget who you are. he try to think of you as an imaginary
friend, a stochastic person in a dream. But he can't forget! he see pictures of you,
and unknowingly he tell himself how beautiful you are, because it is true, you are
very beautiful. he see how much youve moved on with your life. That you will
be expecting sometime soon. he am truly happy for you. As we meet great
people through life, some of them stick with you forever, and some that you try
to forget. he guess that this is only a phase in life. The world seems so cruel and
heartless from time to time.
I could tell you how he truly feel, he could tell you about him emotions,
him thoughts, him beliefs with all honesty, but what will it change? That moment
has passed us by, it left when he left. he was blinded to live life and believe that
little voice in him head telling him to explore the world. However, he have made
a decision. And that decision will probably leave him confused and alone from
time to time, a decision he will regret. But it's like everything in life, it tends to
happen for something, and it would seem to only lead us backwards rather than
forward.
I am simply speaking from a subjective point of view, these words describe
how he really feel at the moment. he am alone, some would say that it's a good

thing, that it builds character, that it creates a hard shell. That somewhere along
the line's you're going to meet someone whenever the moments right. But some
never do, some die and wither up alone only left with their thoughts. We can't
seem to ever get what we want in life! We always want more than we need, and
whenever we do get what we want, were fucking unhappy. Why! he do not enjoy
this feeling, he do not enjoy feeling empty, and he do not enjoy being confused.
Why do you do this to me! Why have you always done this? But tonight is a
night, the sun will exist till it can no longer burn bright. The waves of the ocean
will always be crashing on the shore, until something unimaginable happens to
life on earth; until we don't know how to live, then we become something long
forgotten, yet to be rediscovered. Again.
I've got to say, as a sophomore college student, one that attends an art
institute. The name of the school definitely defines it. So dull and meaningless
the name of the school. The more he think about it. Why could it be something
with more pizzazz?

4
Something He Already Has

It was a Thursday night on Venice Beach. Art sat in his car with the
windows rolled down. The sounds of seagulls and the ocean breeze filled the
night air. He parked his small dark grey car in the alley way waiting for a girl he
had recently met, to give him a call. She wanted to smoke pot and hangout. He
figured, why not? She gave him the directions to her apartment, but she needed a
little time to get ready. Art wasn't a pot smoker; he had only smoked twice in his
life. It wasnt for him. He sat there, unsure of what the night would bring. She
was a gorgeous lady, she was older by 7 years. Yet she still kept her youth, and
youth seemed to not want to give her up.
Parked, in his car Orion by Metallica played in the background, barely
making a sound. Drawing his attention away from his phone, he gazes out his
driver side window. There in the distances a homeless lady pushes a cart with
trash, clothes and aluminum cans with fancy cars passing by, never wanting to
stop. The beams of light from the headlights of passing cars brightened the
ladys appearance. Dirt from the beach and trash dumps stain her face. Art
couldn't help but to think of the struggles she seemed to encounter. Then a
swarm of thoughts filled Arts head, of all the obstacles one could endure, all the
struggles, all the little moments in one's life that would lead to a certain moment
like this lady pushing a cart. What could it be, he began to ask himself. The
phone next to him suddenly rings. It was her. Her name was Naomi. He answers
the phone.
"Hey" she said. "Where you at?"
"I think I'm here"

"Okay, park your car right in front. There should be a parking spot
somewhere".
"Be there in a bit, Ill be outside looking for you.
Okay, Art says with a smirk.
Its a bright yellow apartment complex, you cant miss it, plus he got some
really good bud.
Alright, he think Im here.
Parking outside Naomis apartment. It was right next to Venice beach. You
could see the ocean from her view. He began to wonder how much she paid for
this place. Then he thought to himself how she ever paid for it. He really didnt
know who this lady was, or what she did. It was all a himstery, he seemed to not
care, for he awed by her presence. He walks up the stairs to her condo slowly
and a little nervous.
A few nights prior, Art roamed the streets of Santa Monica, enjoying the
nightlife and getting lost, to see what would happen. People would be enjoying
their spirits, laughing and living life, all having a good time. This place was
catching with that lifestyle. It was a whole different vibe. Art didnt seem to mind
much. He lived in the moment.

Where am I? he know where he am physically, but him mind seems to drift

to a place that doesnt even exist. It feels as if he am lost. Many great writers,
artist and great people in general, who have left a bit of themselves through their
work, would say that we are alone on this earth, only left to experience this
world, either terrified or abundantly.
Do we make it terrible, by expressing negative internal emotions and
thoughts through the exterior?
Ive never been good with human relationships; they always seem to take a
part of him soul with every encounter. he am happy to experience a connection,
but sometimes they seem to always go wrong somewhere, we let our mind think
for us, we make excuses, we say things we dont mean or rather say things we
dont quite understand.
Maybe that is the whole scheme of evolving, do we experience these things
to grow? And for what reason or cause do we grow? So we can accept death? Or
to get sick of this world and wait for death?
If you ask me, death" is a beautiful occurrence, which leaves you
heartbroken and sad, but deep down you're a little at peace. Yet he dont wait for
it or want it, not now, but on a happy or sad day itll come knocking at the door
with roses at hand. We are not sure what's on the other side, when our eyes
close. Our souls may drift and enter the golden gates of heaven, or we may get
sucked into an ugly creatures body, or we may be reborn in human form, or we
might end up in an empty black room and we may simply exist, no longer. For
why do we need to experience these things in this physical reality?
Do all these questions have answers of virtue? Or are they meaningless?
he never found a liking in human relationships, for that is what he may
experience the rest of him life. Who knows? But for those who are quite fond of
interacting and socializing, it is the animal nature in you, you want to show
everyone that you are on the top of the food chain, that you are the most

beautiful and interesting animal to have ever existed, at least in your time and in
your pack, you want people to look at you, you want people to want to be you.
Then suddenly you realize something and you take a step back, you realize that
people are disgusting, they are hypocrites, disguised in a mechanical meat suit
walking around with this idea of always trying to be #1 and they lie through their
teeth to get what they want.
Then you take another step back and notice that you have become that very
thing you hate or the person you set out to fight. You have let hate infect your
body, your mind, and even your soul, that is if you believe you may still have a
soul. Then reality takes a hold, and you believe you are flying, but you are falling
from a cliff because you have taken your last step. However you can both accept
it and see the beautiful sky above for the first and last time, or you can deny it
and fall face first to the rocks below.
It is our very being to evolve that is why we are here. Reptiles wanted to fly,
so they grew wings and filled the sky and became birds. Subhuman primates
wanted to take things without frustration, so they made words. Flowers wanted
to keep their beauty and sweet nectar, so they decided to one day eat and digest
insects. We may not know the questions to our future, to ourselves, to people.
We walk this earth confused, horrified, and scared that we may never find the
right things or people to make us happy and whole.
Human relationships leave him alone, distraught, sad and incomplete rather
than together and at one. It is quite interesting and entertaining when you get to
know someone, and understand who they are, but after a day, a week, a year, ten
years, we get lost, and abandoned, and angry, not at the other person but at
ourselves. We are angry because weve let ourselves become angry. Relationships
in Humans is something that he don't understand, not today, nor tomorrow, it
has saddened him very being. he am confused. But hopefully one day he will
have an understanding, and hopefully then it won't be too late.

For he want to discover this earth, him home, him mother from which he
was born, through him own eyes. he want to climb the highest hill and cry at the
pure beauty of the view. To see the bluest of seas, the greenest of lakes, the
flowing of fish off a waterfall. To swim with the jellyfish. Watch a herd of
spooked deer run gracefully and freely. Ride a caged bull in an empty field, for it
is his last ride before he is set free. Get lost in the woods and make a cabin, then
write a book and leave a treasure map for people to find it. Go to a poor country
and overpay for clothing made by poor people. To not find out the meaning of
life and live

he am simply a lost soul searching for something he already have.

5
Peeling Paint

The ceiling above, with dried white paint, peels. As it uncovers a yellow
interior. he lay here wondering why it's painted yellow. Why did the people
before him paint it yellow? Maybe it's because when they painted it, shortly after
their landlord got pissed and forced them to move out. Or they probably had
kids. he don't know. I'll stop thinking about it. I'll admire it for what it is. That
is, paint fucking peeling from the ceiling. Now I'm staring at it for no reason.
Maybe it's sheer boredom, laziness, or maybe this is what he was meant to live
for. Maybe he should get out of bed, but even moving a centimeter of him
body is a struggle. he don't want to release himself from this comfort. It's the
only thing, feeling, that keeps him living. But the paint waits to be peeled. It's a
slow process and he feel he am as slow. Not serving a purpose. But only to
shed. like this paint.
Yet as he lay here, a thousand things rush through him head, shoving
useless ideas and emotions into him skull, fucking up every memory and sensory
that I'm experiencing at this moment. It always does this, and when it's gone and
I've continued with him day, it always leaves him broken and confused. Why
does him mind do this? he tell himself every morning, as he look at this fucking
ceiling. To make it worse him neighbors always fuck before the sun has even
risen. he lay there and listen, because I'm too cold get out of bed, and he can't
even sleep after that. he lay there and hear him neighbors wife or girlfriend
moaning and screaming; sometimes it gets on him nerves, sometimes he lay
there and think that it's him in that room, doing him neighbors wife a good deed

and fucking her brains out, and most of the time he want to yell at the top of
him lungs,
"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to sleep!"
But he don't. I'm too passive to do such things. Fuck, I've never yelled at
anyone like that in him life. I'll focus him attention to the ceiling with peeling
paint, and continue to listen to him fat sweaty neighbor fuck his wife or his
girlfriend. Who the fuck cares. All he know is that him day has started out bad.
Things like this annoy me. You hear it all the time in books and movies and
great works of art, the artist is always annoyed by something. Whether it'd be
from his or her political grounding, to human intelligence, themselves
sometimes, or the love of their life. Most of the time someone else's. Either way,
that person is annoyed. he find himself the same way. When he think of people,
he seem to only look living their lives, and then he look at the next person and
see the same thing. Fuck he look at pigeons and dogs in the park and see that
they're doing the same thing. They're all living their lives. Maybe I'm too caught
up in him own head to realize that I'm not even living mine, and that's what
fucking annoys me. he can't help it, it happens. I'm a chronic thinker. he always
thought when him teachers said,
"You must think a lot."
I always took it as a compliment. But that's not the case when you get older.
You then realize that you're a bullshitter. When you're young, you don't
understand half of the things anyone says. You think for yourself. That was me.
Hed always thank the teacher or be too shy to say anything.
"Thanks teach, yeah he do think a lot."
The teacher would smirk and believe he knew the answers to the fucking
universe. Hed stand there and smile and went on thinking even more after that.
School, those where the days. Now I'm in him 20's. he got bills, rent, a job, and
responsibilities. he haven't fucked in like 3 months. Man, he wish he could meet

some girl, like how it is in the movies. he would be the protagonist. Then one
day Hed be so mesmerized by the sheer beauty of some girl that completely
stands out from all the others. Then Hed have the balls to go up to her and ask
her out. Then Hed have more balls to tell her everything, and not be so scared
of her turning her back on me. That's another thing too. Relationships scare the
hell out of me. he mean, you meet someone special, you spend a lot of time
together, and you get to know each other. You figure out what the other
person's story is, and then they figure out yours. Suddenly they know who you
are, you notice the same thing, and then you're both looking straight through
each other. Judging. Or at least that's how he see it. Maybe that's why him
relationships always end up in a horrible downward spiral.
There was this girl, her name was Sam. She was cute, she was a little
taller than me, she was always wearing bright colors, she had a slanted smile,
which gave her more character, and he guess it was unique. Because when she
was younger he remember her getting Bell's palsy or something like that. Half of
her face was paralyzed and she was gone a whole week from school, till she was
normal again. Anyways, that was the cause of her always having a crooked smile.
But he thought it was cute, she was always filled with life and he was taken by
everything she said. She was smart. It was during him senior year, he was getting
ready to graduate and she was a sophomore. Hed always have a thing for her.
We'd sit on the bus and talk about the weirdest things. We'd have conversations
about life, the universe, how horrible teachers were. Sometimes we'd make fun
of the bus driver. We'd sometimes sit in silence, and Hed draw in her notebook
of whatever she told him to draw. She had beautiful eyes. Hed sit there next to
her trying to pay attention to what she would say sometimes, and stare into her
eyes. Hed get so lost into them, that Hed forget what she was talking about.
Hed then come back into reality, because she'd get a little upset and hit me.
She'd say,

"Are you even listening?"

Hed lie. Hed sit there for a moment in silence and stop breathing, because
he usually couldn't find the right words to say. Hed say something like,
"Yeah, sorry no, he got lost".
But the thing that sucked is he never really told her how he felt. he think
she'd always take him as a friend that never listened to her. he can admit that he
was t6hat friend, but he had good reasons to why he wasn't listening. Like
getting lost in eyes, her crooked smile, her bright colors. Anyways, there he was
sitting with her. This would be our last bus ride together before he took off to
another city. he really wish he would have said something to her when Hed had
the chance. That was the last of our High School experience. These are things he
think, which all force its way back into him skull, when he stare at this ceiling.
Watching as the white paint peels slowly. he need to get the fuck out of bed.

6
The Angels Are Gone

The morning started out with a haze, dark clouds filled the sky. he awoke to
rain droplets on the window. he didn't want to release himself from the ground
on which he was sleeping. he had only gotten a good three hours of sleep, that
amount of sleep could save a life. It was cold; he started to shiver; for this would
be the last time Hed experience this room, this apartment. Today is the day
Hed move out or as Hed like to think, the day Hed take another step into the
unknown, and out of him comfort zone. There were so many great experiences
and times that had happened in that apartment. So many laughs, and yet so many
tears, heartache, mistrust and regret. he started living there out of fear of what to
do next, and no idea of where to go next.
Him great friend invited him in, I'm not sure if she knew what she was
getting herself into when she'd agree to him moving in. It's a strange feeling
living with someone you barley know especially when you're quite some distance
from family. You begin to realize so much more, you become more aware of the
people, things around you. And he believe that the most important part of this
process is beginning to understand a bit more about yourself. The good, the bad,
and the ugly. Today he set out for a journey to find himself, where ever the hell
he am. he do understand that I've made a lot of mistakes, he guess whatever I'm
experiencing is part of the process for him to become a more evolved version
of himself. Heartaches a bitch sometimes, you sometimes set yourself up for
failure. But he guess its all fine, we have to keep living he suppose, move on to
bigger and better things.

We all want to experience that part of us that's not us, what he mean by this
is that voice in our head which only knows greatness. It's the place inside, which
holds our dreams, positive thoughts, ideas, it is us, but not us. We all strive to
reach that state of mind, but somehow we lose ourselves along the way. We do
something out of premature gratification, unconscious regret, blinded by instant
happiness. And once that something has happened, it's a snowball effect, a
simple action can tumble down toward a more fucked up outcome. Once we're
there, with nothing to give, beaten down, and looked down upon. Something
clicks, at that instant, you hear a distant whisper of "what if". I've seem to come
to this lonely isolated state from time to time. Especially when he have done
something out of selfish reasoning and the guilt of hurting those around me,
those who care. All because he wasn't content of what was going through him
mind, him body, he wanted the easy road to instant happiness, Hed be so
blinded by this concept it mars all relationships.
When one finds himself unable to return his previous state, he is left there
only to ponder about why he is in that state, he sits alone left with his thoughts.
Left there to analyze what is happening in his body, fully experiencing the aches
and pains, the clouded and foggy information one can't see in his head, the slight
breathing, everything he notices. His body is slowly shutting down. However,
something clicks again, he understands why, he starts to breathe again, oxygen
rushes into his blood stream, his blood flow regulates, and light shines through
his head clearing away all the clutter. He is now enlightened, he has a greater
understanding to why he was depressed. And after everything that happens in
ones experience, good or bad, light and dark, expressing and depressing, he
leaves with one thought. It's all part of the process.
7
Zen Sort of

It was 10:30 on a Saturday morning. It seems like all the good times have
passed. Tony wasn't tired, but he wanted to spend the rest of the day in bed with
a numb feeling, while the sensation of emptiness was overshadowing him. All he
could think about was the happiness he once felt. For him, it's seemed like it was
forever ago. Covered within the thick blankets of his bed and consumed by
unwanted thoughts that pierced through his skull at every second. Everything
seemed over analytical, and bullshit. Memories of a girl he once loved. At a time
where everything seemed alright. Remembering her light brown hair, green eyes,
and her smile. She always wore shades when the sun was out and bright.
Looking above at an empty white ceiling, all he could think about was the
drive they took up the Pacific Coast Highway. Passing Santa Monica, Malibu, as
they kept going north, not wanting to stop. Still lying in bed, he was wishing for
the smell of the endless ocean, imagining the beautiful reds that merged with
blues in the evening sky. One could live an eternity there, by the sheer beauty.
She sat in the passenger seat, with the wind blowing through her hair. He
couldn't help but to always look over and see her smile back at me, if there was
anything to be addicted to, it was this. It was a time where life wasn't so
miserable. Tony needed something, a miracle perhaps. Why didn't he appreciate
the time he had with her? Now I'm left with only the memory, he thinks to
himself.
The black phone next to him rings. It rings and it rings. Not wanting to
answer it, he lets it ring a few more times. Finally he picks it up not saying
anything.
"Hey honey. How you doing, it's your mother?"
With the phone in his hand, he stays silent.

" Listen, he want you come to dinner tonight. Your sisters coming back
into town, she's on break from school. And he would like for the whole family
to be together." his mother says.
She always had this sadness to her, you could hear it in the way she spoke,
and it was always a bit uneasy and concerning. That something within her time
had changed her perspective on how she viewed everything. But she always tried
to make the best of everything.
"Oh that's great. Okay. I'll be there"
"Great! Be here around 5" she says.
"Okay", says Tony.
"I love you dear... Get out. Get some sun."
" Love you too. See you at 5".
He hangs up the phone.
Tony pulls a green bottle of Jameson from the cupboard and a rocks glass,
and then pour whatever's left. It fills half the cup. He leans back against the
counter staring out at the street from the window in the middle of the kitchen.
Not much was happening, usually you could hear kids scream and yell at each
other in the apartment above or cars that never seemed to stop passing by.
However there was a cold silence throughout the apartment, it seemed empty.
You could only hear the sounds of sirens pass in the distance. Taking the time to
drink the whiskey, with her still on his mind. The whiskey and the thought of
her, seemed to both burn slowly and take a hold of his insides. It was still was a
bit early in the day. His body was sore and aching from a night of drinking.
Another round of Jameson would numb the pain. The bottle was empty. He
brushes his teeth, looking into the mirror, searching for something. He couldn't
find anything. He finally releases himself of any comfort to buy another bottle at
the nearest grocery store.

The emptiness of the liquor isle was a bit soothing. Rarely would you get
another drinker this early. It was him and all the booze. he see the green bottle
of Jameson. For some odd reason this brings him happiness. The green bottle
stands from all the others. At the cash register a young lady in her early 30's
awaits to cash him out. She's always there in the morning, and for some reason
I'm always buying alcohol when she's there. However at this moment, the feeling
to care is far from what he feel.
"Getting the day started he see." she says.
I smile, "Yeah. he guess he am".
She wasn't bad looking. Matter of fact, she had this distinct feature that only
a special few could see. A girl like her was rare, a bright smile and dark brown
eyes, it seemed she always enjoyed the moment. She was gorgeous. he never
had the courage to ask her out.
She scans the bottle. "Alright, it's going to be 30.62."
"You don't need to see him I.D?"
"Ha. he think he remember you" she said sarcastically.
We both laugh for a moment. he hand her him debit card shortly after. She
scans it, it's approved. She gives him a receipt. he wonder what her life's like.
What she does outside of work, her hobbies, the things that make her sad, and
the places where she finds happiness. he was interested.
"Okay, have a good day. Drink responsibly" she says as she stares into him
eyes and find himself doing the same. She puts the bottle in a brown paper bag
and then hands it to me. For some reason him shyness overcomes me. he look
away not saying anything. he grab the bag.
"Thanks. See ya."
She still continues to smile. The people behind her seem to be in a rush,
buying their breakfast. Eggs, bacon, grapefruits, and 2% milk. he stop for a
moment as he pass the exit of the store and begin to think about the shitty

feeling he seem to be in. Everything rushes into him head all at once,
overcrowding and forcing its way into thoughts, making him curious if he were
to turn around and ask her out. Soon the numbness is starting to fade, because
he find himself running from what he want. At that moment, he wanted to drop
everything, the sorrow of him past relationship, alcohol, all the fucking
depression, and ask this gorgeous lady out.
The people buying their groceries laugh at something one said to another as
they pass him at the exit. It's now or never. "Shit." he whisper. The decision has
been made, he turn and head back to the register. It's her. No customers. Him
heart begins to beat faster and faster, soon he begin to feel it out of him chest.
"Back again, he see." she says.
"Hey listen,
It's a shame sometimes, to think about what you don't have. It seems to get
the best of people. They slowly repress themselves from everything that's
happening in their life, as if appreciation becomes some sort of material good
that you can buy at your local market. And they stand there holding appreciation,
but they're not appreciating it. It's not an object, it's a feeling.
The night was cold and cloudy. Him seat could only recline so far before
the laundry basket in the backseat stopped him from going any further. he sat
there for a moment, and told himself, "another night sleeping in him car". Now
that's another shame.
Finally he awoke fully, he got out of him car and stretched, and tried to
figure out what events where going to take hold for the day he had. But can one
ever really know what's going to happen to them? What people they'll encounter,
and the infinite number of conversations that could be experienced. There are
so many things to learn. Clearly that was not what he was thinking of at the time.

All he could think about was what next? There really was no plan, hell I'm
going get some coffee. Pretty sure something's bound to happen.
I arrive at the coffee shop. he drive him car around for a bit, all the parking
spaces have been filled. he begin to feel a little unease about the situation, him
muscles began to contract and stiffen, but he try to not let this happen. So he
drive around a bit more, 7 minutes later, a shiny car thats been washed recently,
pulls out. he wait for a moment and look in him rear view mirror. There he see a
line of several other cars waiting for the same thing I'm waiting for. A parking
spot. But as the person who's now leaving, and parking spot I'm about to park
him car for a bit, strangely he enter some realm of Zen and only think about
how the others behind him are experiencing this moment right now. he am not
too worried about himself anymore, but rather him focus has aimed itself toward
that of others. Maybe one person may be mad at the situation, angered and
frustrated at it, because he could not get what he wanted at that specific
moment. he guess the same goes for everything, he lose track of what ever
clutter that was forcing its way into him head and sending signals of distress
throughout him body. he sit there still, silently in him car waiting for the lady to
pull out, and thinking about how the others were reacting to waiting. The person
has pulled out, he now enter. This feeling of stepping outside him head comes
and goes, as if its playing some sort of game, however it comes at the greatest of
times.
Now that he got him coffee, he sit for awhile looking out, cars are passing,
people are coming and going. Sometimes you see angry people honking their
horns at others, because those people are not properly following traffic
regulations, or vice-versa. As he sit there, he am still unsure of how I'll spend
him day. There is really nothing he have planned, there is no set agenda, no
itinerary. Right now at this possible moment he could literally do anything he
want, or he could pursue and thing that he would want to. But now, he want to

enjoy the moment. he guess you could say that I'm appreciating the moment.
Then all of a sudden judgment fills him head again, he begin to think about all
the things he don't want to think about.
I need some sort of goal, to make things interesting. he begin to think about
s
It sometimes blows him mind, and when I'm not thinking about holding
appreciation in him hands, great things begin to happen.

8
Confessions of a Manimal

It's an insane thought, to think that him body has the same intelligence as
him brain, and that sometimes he think of the brain as some sort of dictator and
is responsible for everything he experience. But it's not really that, he believe. he
mean, him body is made of particles that have been in existence for billions of
years. At one moment, a star, light years away, decided it was going to implode
it's guts upon the galaxy, and through that it would form clumps of molten rock,
which would eventually begin to cool. Soon organisms would come into
existence as some sort of glitch within our system, some sort of miracle.
Through time and space, it would then multiple and expand itself throughout the
cooled molten rock. Soon it would gather enough of itself to form something
else, duplicated itself and duplicating itself, then it would do so over and over,
until it was something the universe had never seen. It would take on new shapes,
expand itself and continue to grow and in some way this would be its way of
expression, which was concealed since the moment it was created. It would
create as well.
It then would become conscious, then see everything in a new perspective.
Somehow it would eventually detach itself from the world, the universe,
everything else that was created from that spec, which miraculously appeared
millions of years before it. Somehow this creature would evolve, and then it
would outgrow and outsmart those who existed before it, and so would the
generations after it. It would begin to understand more of its surroundings, it
would start to have an intelligence of its own. Soon it would grow legs, then
arms, then fingers, and eventually these species would become lost within itself,

thinking that it was somehow the center of everything, and that it was not part of
anything.
It would put labels on everything that it saw, and it would begin to have a
hunger. Curiosity of this hunger grew, and it began to ingest substances near
itself. Its awareness would become sharper, it would begin to recognize what was
digestible and what wasn't. By doing so, it would begin to understand what was
violent and what wasn't, and somehow it would avoid those which were too
dangerous. It would then, separate those around it, it would chose its enemies
from its companions. A disease had spread from this, and eventually millions
would suffer the consequence, it would turn on itself, due to false ideals and
perceptions. Depression, sadness, loneliness, isolation, it would spread like wild
fire. Man would see himself superior to even his own species, to the world, to
the gods, to the universe, to the very thing in which he was created from. He
would not listen to calming collective, which is balance within the universe. Man
would not be happy with living.
Now that he have written enough about being unhappy, something took
place today that has changed him perspective on how he see himself, the world,
and how everything is somehow simultaneously happening moment to moment.
he am wanting to take practice in being as polite as he can to people, and get out
of him head, the place in which thousands have fallen victim to. he want to
experience kindness, gratitude, love, and possibly something beyond that. he
guess you could say that he am embarking upon a quest, one of spirituality and
humility, and one that impact him perspective, but hopefully will have a greater
impact on those around me. It is an experience, one he don't know the words
too, but it's been an experience to see few people overcome and flourish.
However most seem to entrap themselves into their thoughts, and believe that
the clutter going on in their minds is somehow a vessel for their emotional state.

Sometimes the victims are the ones closest to you, sometimes it's your parents,
your siblings, and even worse yourself.
There was a time, not long ago when he wasn't so trapped in him head.
Childhood for example, children always seem to be in this blissful mood, they're
characterized by random moments, and random acts. They enjoy the moment
more, they do not perceive the world to be the cause to their problems, for
them, there is no problem. They enjoy living. But somewhere along the way,
they seem to attach themselves to an idea, that they constantly are need of
something. This neediness is somehow interpreted to bad behavior, greediness,
neediness, and somehow the parent thinks something's wrong with their child.
The child whom is now watching and learning through the actions of those
who raise them, absorbs every reaction and every non-reaction, like a sponge
which is placed under a sink then suddenly left in the scorching hot sun, whose
rays absorb every last drop of moisture, and repeating this process until it is
nothing more but a used sponge . A child doesn't all of a sudden become this
person, no. This child is a reflection of those that surround him, language, body
language, fears, emotions, everything that is bestowed upon this adolescent, is
the doing of people in which surround the child. We are all guilty of this, some
accept it, and most do not, because we are all a product of this. Until we realize
we are not our actions, then a shift begins to take hold. We are becoming more
aware, we begin to realize that we are not our body, we are not our mind, we are
part of the grand system or intelligence. That's all we are, is consciousness within
itself. Now how we decide to live this earth, in this body and mind, it's our own
choice.
The idea at first, seemed to filter itself through what knowledge he had at
the time, as some sort of random bursts of numbers and characters, as if it were
a foreign language that he had no desire of understanding. Instead he did the
exact opposite, and seemed to elude himself away from this idea. "Thinking" and

having a false sense of belief that through this irrational arrogance he said to
those who provided some sort of information as, "Yeah, he know".
I can't recall the moment, when he saw himself for who he was. he can't say
that he truly know who he am, but he know what he am. Now, as I'm conscious
and aware of everything that is happening at this moment, he am now wandering
why now, why am he writing this? We all go through some crisis, one way or
another. Some have to deal with it a lot worse. he guess at the moment, sudden
realization takes hold that he am entrapped within him own thoughts. he am in a
bit of shock, it seems that as if I'm peeling off another layer, from whatever state
of being he found himself in prior. As I'm going deeper into something else, the
transition to something more. A slow crawl happens, back to the beginning, to
whatever state that everything and anything we understand began from.
The moment is a bit saddening, yet there's something to learn from this.
There always is. Now all he can think about is everything I've experienced, all the
happy moments, sad moments, and grieving moments, liveliness, confused,
enlightened. All the people I've met, the people I've grown up with, those
who've had an impact on me, and those I've had an impact on. There's so much
to being alive, and conscious. It takes its toll on people and people take its toll
on it.
There was a young boy, amazed at everything that was placed in front of
him. He was always the great times with those who enjoyed his company.
Shyness was only an implication of first interactions. And what came after that,
is a whole other world in itself. He seemed to always have a common ground
with everyone he met. Although the circumstances in which his parents dealt
with, weren't always under the best. He seemed to make the most of what he
had, it seemed like. Sometimes, it would be too much for him to bear, and at
times he'd seem fully content. His parents were divorced, his siblings and himself
included, where always placed under the possession of their parents. As if they

were some object of theirs, which they weren't seen as the product of
themselves. At least that's how this boy saw it. He was looked upon as the
reasonable one of the family, the one who everyone looked up too. What a
burden to place on such a young child. All he seemed to want was to be an
example for others, to believe that they were the creators of their own reality, as
he thought he was for his own.
Although those around him, went out and ventured into the unknown. He
was always the one observing, the one too afraid to step out of the comfort zone
he always found himself in. He believed that if he didn't take risks, there
wouldn't be a problem, there would be no consequences. So he looked out unto
others for his mistakes, or lessons to be learned. However he knew what was
right from wrong, in his perspective. He didn't really want, or rather he never
understood what a true and deep relationships was, especially with people. He
always looked at the wronging of others, before he made his choices. His parents
were separated, and he saw that as a sign or love. He was blinded by his own
arrogance and ignorance, his ego masked the way he truly felt. This boy would
have friends, he loved his parents and siblings deeply, but somehow his good
friends always seemed to fade, because he was too afraid that he would be hurt,
by trusting others, by trusting himself. He never wanted to make a mistake like
those he looked up to as a kid.
The chances that he took, where ones that would be measured. He thought
of great things, he was always quiet, and too busy thinking and observing. He
enjoyed the company of books, he would tend to lose himself in the great
adventure novels he'd read. His siblings would always criticize him for doing so,
however he didn't mind. As a child he would be very close to his brother, since
he himself couldn't venture out on his own, because the fear of getting in trouble
was far too great a threat, he always depended on his brother to take him places,
places in which would make him see everything in a new perspective. He grew

attached the more he went out, but it seemed the more he became of himself, he
was put down. Put down by his brothers, his parents, and his family. He seemed
to always be intrigued by the idea of experiencing and traveling to new places,
embracing new ideas, and meeting new people. But there came a time when
everything he seemed to want or rather need, begin to blur and slowly fade into a
collection of miasma. The problems of others seemed to get the best of him;
what was such a good heart began to be mechanized by the brain and all the
neurons which sparked signals of distress throughout his body. He started to
think and think more, the more he thought the more was slowly being
programmed by the thoughts of others. It was a plague that had begun, it was a
disease of how those around him pointed their fingers at him, telling him he
wasn't good enough, he wasn't worthy of his own destiny. He was indulged by
the bleak gratification of guilty and short lived pleasures, he inhaled his first
addiction that would take years and years to overcome the false idea of "this is
cool", to truly understand that it was that which was slowly killing him, was
perceived as "this is what will make others like me, and enjoy him company".
"This is the way to live" he told himself, over and over, until he was judged
more. So he decided to take progress the ideas of this philosophy. Next would
be something, no child should ever be pressured into doing, he would swallow
the strong and bitter taste of alcohol. In his first taste, he would sacrifice
everything that was so pure in him, he would follow the path of those who have
failed before him. Indulging in the sins of his parents, and his siblings.
It's sad to say, for this kid he would be lost in his head, doing the things
others asked of him, the good things and the bad things, things he knew would
get him into deeper nuisance. Yet, with the idea of probity, morality, logic, and
rationality at the back of his head, he was always persuaded by what was outside.
All he wanted was for others to like him, he wanted to be accepted, he wanted to
be close to his family and do what they enjoyed. Such a burden to place upon a

child. I'm not saying that this is a complete adversity, however a learning
experience that would take time to develop for someone who hasn't yet come to
understanding and realization of progress one's own being. This sudden
realization would happen at the blink of an eye, with the gut feeling of doing
something, and following it through later within his life. Everything the child had
experienced, was misfortune, however fortune in itself. like all things, there is
duality. You cannot have the bad without the good and vice-versa. Days,
months, years would pass, this child would grow with concepts and ideas, which
would keep someone in the same position they've always been, mentally,
spiritually, however not physically. The more one believes that he is what he
thinks, that the thinker within his head tells him how bad everything is; that the
world is the cause of his problems, that nothing would soon be better. He
started to listen without acknowledging what was his gut was telling him to
avoid. He was persuaded by the falseness of premature gratification. Depression
would take hold and hed find himself lost and confused about everything that
had happened prior, he'd always be stuck in his head. His thoughts would be as
some sort of maleficent tyrant controlling his every thought. He'd become
distressed for some reason, about everything he's done, and for everything he
hasn't. He'd be remorseful for the actions of others, his parent, his siblings,
family, friends, and everything that everyone was doing what he considered
erroneous, would be too much for him to handle, for everything new was taken
into a more somber darker perspective, which was caused from his thoughts that
rooted from those around him.
These concepts of self-pity, guilt, inner resistance to express oneself fully
and completely, releasing his own image upon the world the way he wanted,
couldn't have been but the most difficult challenge he could possibly imagine.
Yet in time he would learn, to decide for himself. For that is all he ever needed,
and the experiences, people, judgments, would soon fade into memories he had

fully accepted and respected. Which would eventually make him a better version
of himself.
This idea of leaving behind what he thought he was, for something new,
was quite frightening to him as a child, and from time to time in his later years,
the old nostalgic feeling would arise. Only briefly however. He would become
the person he thought he was, he became and experienced the part of him, he
saw as lively, that little flame which was built up and congested by all his fears,
his envy, and himself, all in which he held as close as a child. It seemed to be as a
burden, one in which he carried on his shoulders, one in which his parents didn't
know how to handle. He'd meet new people along his journey, who would teach
him and lead him on the right path. He'd travel to places only those who he
knew from home, would only speak of, rather than take a chance and step unto
the unknown. He saw the world only as frightening as one made it, he didn't see
fear as something outside oneself. He saw fear as a barrier between not living the
life in which you and wanted, from one you lived but was determined by the
choices of others, rather from one you had to experience, one you had to get
right. This idea was the most terrifying for him. This is what led him to lose
himself, to eventually find himself.

9
Her

What was she searching for? What was missing? Love? Respect? Empathy?
But why did she need to search for those things? And once she obtained them,
was she complete? What reason did she need to be complete her? It wasnt a
subject that was worth the fight. It was a subject worth getting drunk and writing
about. There she sat alone at the bar top with a pen and notebook. She slowly
drank her third glass of wine of Cabernet which was near finish. She believed
that at that moment she was opened, and that the words which escaped from her
fingers unto the blank page were not only words of truth and honesty, but
something she found in herself. Words that had been caged for some time.
These words however, needed to be set free, they were words that kept her in
the dark. She took a deep breath and whispered, Okay. She began to write, Let
the wild animal free, and let's hope she is at peace.
It was a Monday night. What was she doing there? There werent too many
people in the bar, however the sounds of the very few people filled the room
with their glasses clinking together, followed with cheerful laughs. She takes a sip
of the red wine that's placed in front of her. She always chose the beginning of
week to go to bars. No one bothered her with cheesy pickup lines, and all the
college kids where in their dorms. This was time to herself, the only time she
enjoyed.
Minutes passed and her insides warmed. She had dreams and aspirations,
however old habits do die hard. She turned to the bottle, seeking knowledge and
power. It was all an illusion. The thick bold X's resembled hieroglyphs of some
foreign language spelling out "beware". She had never been a good decoder. All

she needed was time to herself. Suddenly she stopped writing. A groggy, empty
and hollow feeling slowly crept its way in from behind her. "Is there no truth?"
she whispered to herself, I miss you a gravelly deep voice whispers gently in
my right ear. She turns and looks around. No one is there.
She looks down on the counter top and sees the deep red colored liquid
which resembled blood, sit in a sort of calm state. And at that moment, she
started to think of the better times. Like seeing her family gather on a windy day
outside of the house she was raised in, which now deteriorates. Memories
pierced through her skull of when everything was okay, she began to write again.
It was near midnight on a Monday. The bars stayed open till 2 am. It was a classy
bar in Santa Monica, which was dimly lit with colors, and the florescent red
lights overpowered the bar. For she don't know much about the feeling or
emotion. She have seen a glimpse perhaps. he have been blinded by the
attractions of females, he have kissed and laid with them. But is that another type
of love? For let's say the love he have for him family? he do love him family,
unconditionally. Perhaps he am curious about love from a stranger. The love that
happens at the strike of a moment, like when him parents first gazed upon each
other. They were at one time two complete strangers that happened to meet at a
single moment within their lives. Did they know the path in life they were going
to take? The pain they are going to endure? The decisions they'd make? The
anger they'd have no idea they'd cause each other? Only to realize that they
weren't meant for each other, and to find out they wanted something different?
That these two people, at one time, never knew they one ever existed before they
met. Is it that love that everyone seems to crave? Which the couple holds hands,
then begins to argue, then recedes to making up, which leads to a possible
downward spiral of wasted time? But yet, out of such darkness, there are
moments where there is light. Perhaps the moment when you teach your first
child right from wrong, or when you're fully engaged when they're at play? You

regain that innocence or at least a part of it. You think to yourself, "I wonder
what you will see within your life, what decisions you'll make, what people you
will meet, and what you'll make of yourself". You will also have the courage to
wish him the best in life, and to be there for them when anything got bad for
him, for him to have a sense of security, to teach him the right ways to live.
That is what he am afraid of in love. the product. But as he grows, I'm
sure one will discover for himself almost everything has some sort of falseness to
it. he guess that's human nature. If this is love, then he do not know much of it.
Him parents divorced a week before him birthday. he think that is an event
he will hold onto for the rest of him life. he think it is something that will take
him sometime to accept, to understand, and to overcome the fear. Fear of
starting a relationship. The thing that holds him back is that he never quite
understood relationships. Here is why; him father growing up, lived a thousand
miles away, he worked as welder for a solar energy company in California. At the
time, he lived with him mother and 5 siblings in New Mexico. The living
conditions weren't under the best of circumstances, we lived in a double wide
trailer that wasn't fully paid off, with no electricity, and water that was on then
off because bills weren't paid on time. We were miles from any town or city.
Him mother made her ends meet working at a clinic, while she waited for him
fathers. He would send money every two weeks or so, he don't quite remember.
This was the living condition. We were like a floating planet left alone in space
with hardly any sunlight.
Three times a year he would see him father. Such joy he remember as a
child to be in his arms during those times he returned home. No love like the
love of a child they say. It is tough to experience this gap of not seeing a parent,
especially as a child. he am grateful for this. Him mother on the other hand, was
happy on the outside, but there seemed to be a sadness within that wasn't fully
expressed when he returned home. For their relationship he had no

understanding at the time. he had no understanding in the arguments, the

physical, emotional, and mental abuse, the alcohol, the miss-communication, the
making up. It was all a huge question. he was always curious of these things, it's
not healthy for a child to question these things. he remember one night he lay in
bed with him mother because he was too frightened to sleep in him own room
alone. he was afraid some monster, some demon, would show itself as it would
come out of him closet or caress him feet with its hands that come from under
him bed.
I remember one night specifically when he was 6 or 7. he hoped into him
mother's covers, as she slept alone. Next to her bed, on the right side her
window is open. he turn to look outside, the moon is full and brightens the
desert landscape, as stars shimmer and sparkle across the desert sky, as we are in
the middle of nowhere, the sounds of crickets chirp outside. he pull the covers
over him shoulder, and as he look out the window he ask him mother.
When's dad coming home?
Him mother turning to her side, then looks at the back of him head. She
then gently runs her fingers through him hair.
Soon... He's working, son, she yawns after.
Oh, is he coming back soon?
Yes son, real soon.
I still look out the window. he start to cry.
I miss him, how many miles is it from California?
In him mind he thought it was the same distance to the moon. That his
journey would take many months to see me, to see him mother, to see him
family. This moment he remember, how much he missed him father.
Him mother silent, she begins to cry. She pulls the covers more over him
shoulder.
Goodnight she says.

We both fall asleep.

That is all he remember of that night.
But here he sit in bed, writing this. he am 21 and a bit intoxicated from
wine. he am confused about this relationship thingy that seems to be so special.
For he am young, but as every young person experiences a lack of empathy. He
longs for someone or something to make him feel better. But I'm still trying to
wrap him head around this idea of love.
Him parents are now divorced. Him mother lives in a town 20 minutes
north of Denver CO, him father lives 20 minutes south of Phoenix AZ, and here
he am west living in Los Angeles CA. he get one parent who enjoys the cold,
then he got another who lives in the heat. Opposites are an amazing factor to
living, we can't live with it, nor can we live without it.
But for him parents, he find it amazing that they have found other people
to complete them. How could such a disaster of a relationship, make two people
realize so much. Him family is something, some would call us dysfunctional,
others typical, and even some normal. To him him family is everything that is
behind him and everything that is in front of me. he say this because, I've taken
everything that I've seen and everything that Ive experienced growing up with
him family; all the negative aspects of yelling, abusing, abandonment, loving,
caring, moving, which all make him more cautious in the decision he make. The
decisions in which he make for him future, are to better himself and to hopefully
make him family see more clearly. he guess you could say he learned a lot of
lessons.
Now, he have somewhat of an understanding, now that he have written a
little about him perspective on love. So here it is. Love, is the under lining
fulfillment each one of us tends to experience, love in your partner, love in your
child, in your nephew and niece, your food that is in front of you, the job that
enables you to obtain the food that is in front you, your parents, your bed, the

roof over your head, your clothes, the air you breathe, every aspect of your
being. If you are still alive appreciate the things that enable you to still live. Love
and appreciate the things that you have at this moment, but most of all love in
yourself. Realize that the things in your life are mirror images of what you think.
When you're angry at someone, you project this image in your mind of a
situation that isn't even occurring at that moment. You are persuaded by the
darkness within you; this darkness is the thing that is holding you back, it is the
thing that doesn't make us fully aware of our decisions.
Think about it like this, when someone asks you for something, be it a
question or a favor. When they ask you when you are in an angry state, we react
in that angry state. This leads to an event that plays out horribly. The
relationships you have with people who care about you, with the people who
believed in you, or with the person who is intrigued by you, begins to deteriorate
in some form, and the relationship's not the same. They sometimes end this way.
because you didn't see the whole picture of why you were angry in the first place;
you were weak, so you made weak decisions. Anger is a bitch. We may apologize
from time to time, when we really have a moment of clarity. But before we
apologize to the person we may have hurt, look at yourself and apologize to
yourself, forgive yourself. Because if you're not clear on why you are sorry,
you're headed down on a downward spiral.
But if we are in a upbeat joyous feeling, we react as that. Common sense.
Yes? So why don't we all do this, why don't we all realize this? he guess it all
depends on what you want in life, and how aware you are when you react to the
events that lead you to what you want. he guess that is all he have to say about
love. For now.

10
Hotbox

Rob awoke again in a hotbox, or at least it seemed, towels covered his car
windows, the backseat was small and compact and a night of comfortable sleep
was far from it. It was roughly 10 am, the windows were all slightly open to let
the warm heat from outside seep in and out. The sun was high above and
burning bright, giving as much rays as it possibly could. At this moment, the rays
from the sun leached through a tiny crack and Robs eyes opened. Instantly
forgetting what he dreamt. It's been so long since he could remember a dream,
and when he did, it was all a blur. It must have been all the stress he had been
dealing with. He didnt move, and laid there for minutes staring at roof of his
car, although the heat was too much to bear.
He didnt want to release himself from the comfort and sweat he had
established. It was disgusting to think about, but then again it was an experience
he had never thought to find himself in. Hot, sweaty, and sleeping in his car.
Rob gets up and takes the black towels down, the light from the outside comes
rushing in, instantly embracing all its grace, blinding him. Sitting there for a
moment Rob takes a deep breath. He gets up and stretches from whatever tense
position he endured during his sleep.
What was he going to do with himself today? Nothing. He couldn't think of
a fucking thing to do. What was he doing with himself, his life, what seemed to
happen to the goals in which he held onto so tightly? They all seemed to
disappear and hide, from a place within him that burned for adventure and
excitement. He felt like a failure and it seemed to take its toll on his lifestyle,
there was no purpose. His phone rings and rings, it was his friend. Missed call.

Moments later a text notice appears. Saying, "are you ready?". How could he
forget? Today he remembered a few weeks before agreeing to take a trip to the
mountains with him friends for a documentary on "Surviving in the Wild".
Later that day, Rob decided to release himself from whatever shitty street
he found himself parked on, to actually do something. So, as he sit at a table at
Starbucks, he try to figure out what to do with him life, by some miracle there
was a purpose. he suppose it was him fault that things in him life weren't as
miraculous as it could be, because him memory was in shambles. All that filled
him mind, him thoughts at that moment, was something that I've been craving
for, for some time, was that Hed have the opportunity to embark on an
adventure to the mountains and try to have a deeper understanding of whatever
he had experienced in him life. Today is the day he leave behind all the sorrow
and self-pity, and find something more meaningful.
With only a few hundred dollars in him bank account, he had dedicated
himself, him being to the mission of surviving in the wild. And he would spend
whatever amount of what he had, to pursue that mission. The idea of man vs.
nature has always been with him as something profound, something that has
always struck him as fascinating and something one must do to grow as a human
being, or rather to actually become something humane. To stretch one's belief
system and come face to face with your fears of actually being alone, leaving
everything one cares about behind and only being in tuned with what's in front
of them, with whatever they might have. Nature is the cure to healing mans
spirit.
There is a certain vibrancy one goes through when becoming one with
nature, it seems to take over one's body, and there is a visceral stimulation that
occurs. One that the city cannot offer. You begin to enter this realm of the
timeless, there is only day and night, it seems as if man's idea of 'time', slips away
and dissolves with everything that you've left behind. One can only imagine that

there is a constant rotation of the earth and the orbit it endures to the forces of
the sun. There is no other sense of priority or need of success, the only success
that comes with nature is the success of surviving, the success of being grateful
of living. It is you and it, you seem to become it, there is an ancient spirit that
seems to grasp you and teach whatever life is meant to be.
There he was sitting at a Starbucks table, only moments before he seemed
to be in the most melancholy of feeling of not having nothing or no one; at the
instant of a text message from someone he didn't even consider at that moment,
it would have the most profound effect on how he saw things and how grateful
for the people he had the privilege to meet within him life. However, this was
only the beginning.
The text wrote the destination and what time of departure for the escapade.
The time of exodus was 3 am, and the destination was the Sequoia Mountains of
California, which was only several hours away from Los Angeles, where he
stayed. Now all he could think of was what was needed for this trip, how could
one possibly survive in the wilderness and how could one do so? And with what
equipment? And the most valuable question was, how would it change a person?
Like the slacker he seem to be, he hurried and researched within the hours he
had before the trip on what was needed, and what tips he had to learn to make
such a commitment for several days. Him heart seemed to increase in circulation,
he become nervous and anxious at the very thought of departing the city.
However, he was more excited than anxious for the journey. The city has it's
pro's as well as its con's, it teaches the value of modern day humanity. The idea
of success is what's displayed on billboards, and the appearance one must look
like to become "normal" in this day and age. Magazines fill the sidelines of
groceries store cashier lines, which exhibit the lives of those who are "successful"
and present their faults, and the worst part is we may never even get to meet
those people.

There is humility, in a sense, that he mean by, there is community. There's

are a vast number of people as well as possibilities that can happen within the
city. You can be in a certain part of town and be a part of a certain culture, and if
you travel but only a few blocks you can experience another. You could meet a
random person who has the same interests, values and morals as you do, and
begin to connect and bond. However, you can meet someone who is the
complete opposite of what your belief system is and only learn from them. After
each sunset, there is always room to contemplate what lessons have been learned
throughout ones day.
The city for him has been a cluster of learning from what's wrong and
what's right. However those ideas are only left up to that person, we experience
many things. We tend to judge each moment, on what we like and ones we don't.
However each one of us is an adventure and we set out to have fulfillment, those
are the lessons we should be completely grateful for. We may depart and be
hundreds of miles from home only to find ourselves and come across many
ideas and meet countless people, yet to only take a little piece of everything,
which will become you. There he sat in the wooden seat at Starbucks, with a
smile on him face. he text him friend back, "can't wait". We meet later that day,
to set out for an adventure to an adventure store, which would be forty minutes
from our part of town. It would be him great friend Frank, who seems to be on
his own personal journey to find greater things in life, and Anthony, the one who
planned this trip, for it would be his first time in the wilderness.
We get in the car and set out to the Adventure store. he sit in the backseat,
excited, anxious, and he can't help but think of this as a dream come true. These
moments only happen on a rare occasion, it seems certain can only experience
this specific feeling. It's takes a lot for a person to accept the challenges ahead of
him, however not to look at it as something more terrifying than an adventure.
he suppose it's the fear that can get to most people, which they are only left with

that thought of 'what if'. he can't help but think of this as he sit in the back seat.
Now we have started driving. he sit in the backseat shaking him right leg, there
seems to be some sort energy within him that he cannot control. he have never
looked at the passing cars, the wide collection of trees, and the people roaming
the streets and waiting at bus stops, and even the odd shapes of the buildings
quite the same, before they were things. Now as he look at everything that is
passing through the window, there's a sort of authenticity, there is a moment of
clarity, the trees weren't trees anymore, and there was a connection between
him and them. The people weren't people, they had their own stories, dreams,
fears, and desires, he never in him life would have a connection to so many
people that I've never met. The cars, buildings weren't objects, they seemed to
have a spirit in themselves, they were once thoughts that had been kept in
someone's head, until they were brave enough to put theory to application. It
was everything all happening at once, it was everything being their own separate
thing, but at the same time the same thing, a part of the same journey.
We arrive at the Adventure Store, large crates and boxes sit atop pallets in
the parking lot. We exit the car wondering why there isn't any other cars in the
parking lot, except for large trucks. Once we reach the main entrance, a man
comes from the opened garage.
"I'm sorry guys, were close today."
"Ah, really", we all say. "Why?" we ask the guy. "It's labor day" he says. In
disappointment and futility we all look at each other and see it as a wasted trip.
However, this is far from it. he suppose that without this little adventure, he
wouldn't have come across the most important lesson in that one short car ride.
We all decide to go to a sporting goods store. It's a funny thing getting what we
need at the last minute. It's moments like these that he am extremely grateful for.
Now as we enter Big 5, boxes are stacked all across the store. It seems as
though they've been overstocked on their goods and are not getting as much

customers as they need to be. Or perhaps it's a bad month for people to go on
the Adventures they'd like to go on, or at worse, people are loosing interesting
in having an adventure. he am not sure at all, he need to get the basic essentials,
sleeping bag, rope, socks, fishing gear, a cantina, and a compass. We gather all
the things we need, now we seem to be a bit more prepared for the trip ahead of
us.

11
Discount Adventure

These past few weeks have been the most profound and yet the most
weighty times. he am beginning to realize much more than he have within him
20 something years on earth. he have been awed by the presence of others as
well as annoyed, but all in all, these past few weeks have taught him the greatest
lesson of all. It happened one early morning, he awoke with a massive hangover
and a bladder that even at the thought of water, would have major consequences.
he didn't realize that he had only two days until him graduation. he had received
the whole cap and gown, which comes with the tassel and the gold emblem of
what year you had completed your studies of schooling.
However, he wasn't too proud of him accomplishments, he suppose it was
the thought of the current situation he found himself in, that being 1000 miles
away from him family, he awoke that way having no idea of what to do with him
day, homeless, alone, in him car, sweaty, and with a hangover. The first thought
that came to mind was that he really needed to relieve himself from whatever
him bladder was making him feel, and that was a major fucking morning piss. To
make it worse, him family had planned to visit him for him graduation. There is
a deeper and darker side to how him family operates, he suppose it's that same
deep and dark side that has placed him in this current position.
I walk in to the 99 cent store, there at the entrance, the automatic doors
seemed to accept him presence of being there, as it opens its doors wide open,
so it does with every person that walks in. There he walk fast amongst the store
trying to locate the restroom, he walk around with the unquestionable agitation
to urinate. he pick up the pace to him walking, he decide not to stop for a

second and ask the associates for directions, and have only the restroom be him
goal, and he would do everything within him power to find that damn restroom.
he look amongst the people and only see faces that he would not remember,
only in dreams that he would soon forget, because him friend told one evening
on a bus ride home from school, that we somehow subconsciously remember
faces and that they are placed in our dreams.
Finally, in the corner of the store, the part that seems, at first glance, not to
be a part of the store. There is a certain element to the corner of this store,
where even the employees would dare not to enter, there a sign that says
'restrooms'. he rush over. That is how he start the day. As he am relieving
himself from the thing that woke me, from last night's dream, a dream that he
now have forgotten. he stand there and look upon the tile wall, and only see
scratch marks of names he cannot make out. Oh, the time it took to mark on the
wall he wonder, then some sort of philosophical question comes to mind. That
is, "am he trying to do the same?" Then he begin to think deeper into it, as the
relief lets go from him bladder, "Aren't these markings only inscribe to leave
some sort of message", he think to himself. I've been in school for two years
now to follow this phenomena they call "Passion", as it is some sort of
occurrence only one could experience when one is in tuned with his true self, or
something along those lines. he begin to think for a moment, did these people
possibly feel the same phenomena, only to let other people know that, hey, this
is who he am, this is me, and he want you to experience me? Probably not. Now
he stand there at the urinal like a fucking idiot looking at a tagging on the wall.
he wash up, and leave the restroom.

12
Zephyr

Last night was a blur for Hector. He wished it was a faded dream one
experienced during a goodnights sleep left to be forgotten the next day. Good
time with friends, great drinks, the ocean air, the fire seemed to be comforting
on Labor Day. The night started out as a celebration. And it was so, till the end
of the night. he can't really recall what he had said to the people around him.
Lost and disorderly he laid there in bed looking at the blank ceiling trying to
recall anything he had done the night before. This state of mind was part of him
that wasn't him. The alcohol brought only truth out, a drunken man's words are
those of his truest desires. Logic and reasoning have no place in a man's actions
when ones intoxicated. This unconscious truth tends to peak its way in and out
whenever it wants. It's as if this impulse is the very animal at the core, in which
that releases its self from its cage and its slumber when he least expected it.
Labor Day, the day most who work celebrate it, when they don't work, and
those who don't work decide to celebrate it otherwise. It's rather a day to
embrace one's own gratification for being employed, and enjoying the company
around them with all their accomplishments and work ethics. Whether it's been
labored over blood, sweat, and beers, or beer and, beer sweat. This one seemed
to have a stagnant stench in the air, only that he could smell. What a beautiful
place to meet with friends, and our friends friend, the cool ocean breeze from
the pacific graced us with its gently zephyr. The crackling of pre-ignited
chopped wood one buys from 7-2-11. There everyone gathered around the fire,
smiling and having a great time. he decided to bring him guitar, dressed as late
90's grunge kid who looked as if he hadn't taken a shower in a week. Him

concern for dressing appropriately for the occasion, was out of the window. It
seems he didn't plan it well enough, he wanted to lose himself in the bosoms of
lady alcohol and forget the rest of what the night. It was not that.

13
40% Green Bottle

There was always a choice, most of the time, the wrong ones would be him
mistake. For some reason he always needed some sort of thrill. As exciting as
sitting alone in him living room was. All that was going on was what was
happening outside, which would be the sounds of passing cars, kids screaming
and people yelling. he had to have some sort of enjoyment. And lately, he wish it
was something more positive, more constructive, but one has to stumble a few
times before learning how to walk. he wanted to drink, he wanted to drink a
lot and stumble.
The night was boring and dull. It was a few days away from Halloween, and
he recently moved to the city of Los Angeles about a month ago or so. he didn't
know that many people, only those from work. he worked part time at a
restaurant, serving tables and occasionally bussing whenever money was scarce.
he moved to the city to follow him passion, to write short stories and novels. he
had a dream. A dream to get published. But lately, striving to do anything was
too difficult and tedious. The city and its rules have that effect on people. he
didn't really live in the best neighborhood either. How could one really know
where he is when it's his first time there?
For some reason there was always this bizarre stench in the night air of
Mid-city. It was unbearable and perilous. Homelessness, trash, sewage, burnt
rubber, puke, smoke, and smog it was too much to breath and at the same time
the toxic air would already be flowing through the body. But rent was cheap.
People walked with grocery carts filled with laundry, trash, and aluminum cans.
There were also the cracked out people standing at the street corners yelling at

the top of their lungs, sometimes they'd be one in the same. he don't want to get
too much into why this place was a shit hole. Yes, it does seem to have its
moments, but most of them are appalling when the sun has set.
A decision had to be made, for once. he could sit here and listen to the
terrible noise that leached its way in through him thin glassed windows. Or, he
could get the hell out of him little box of comfort and roll the dice, and see what
would happen. he still needed a drink, he got up and walked to the fridge. Only
condiments, water, and molded cheese. No beer. I've made him choice. he close
the fridge. he look at clock, 10:26 pm.
"Shit." he sigh at the clock.
In a alarming area like this, it's almost impossible to find a liquor store open
passed 11. The streets of La Brea seemed to never die out, no matter how late it
was. There were always mad drivers on the road, honking their horns whenever
they got the chance. Like an impatient little kid being told to stand still by their
parents, they were always upset and angry. he was wandering the night away, lost,
disorderly and wild. There really was no goal, only to find the nearest store that
sold cheap booze. And trust me, when you're in a place like this, it's a lot tougher
than you may think. Gang bangers, sketchy and degenerate people roam the
streets, so the stores tend to not stay open as late as others.
I was a bit frightened, but more so curious. "Shit happens" they say,
sometimes we have control, and other times we unknowingly lose our grasp on
that control, especially when we try to have too much of it. A strange paradox,
but thats all it seems to be sometimes, everything has a contradiction in itself.
Yin and Yang. We lose bits and pieces of reality, slowly but surely we stray from
the path of morality and righteousness, as it if it were someone else's fault rather
than our own. he suppose that's the story one must tell, to go beyond
themselves, travel uncharted land, stepping outside the comforts of one's life,

taking chance's, going through hell, only to return, either changed for the
better or the worse.
Walking the street of La Brea, oh the desolate view of it all. he couldn't help
but feel as lost as the people who had to live in the streets.
"What the fuck am doing?" he begin to start a chatter in him head.
"And what do he want to drink?", he tell himself shortly after.
I arrive at the bus stop on the corner of La Brea and Rodeo, he didn't want
to walk the extra mile through hell, but waiting at the bus stop in itself was hell,
even riding the bus was hell. Plus the store would be closed by the time he
walked there, might as well take the bus. At the bus stop there was only one
homeless lady layered in jackets with a filthy blanket covering her, while she held
the bible. She was looking at the smog infested night sky that showed no stars,
talking to herself or someone else.
"What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be
against us?" she says looking up.
I'm not quite sure what to believe or think at this moment, everything was
so surreal, it seemed you'd only see the dismal, gloohim side of people in movies
and magazines, but it was real. Then again what did he know? It was all a movie
playing right in front of me, a visceral experience, you seemed to lose yourself in
it, not really knowing what the hell other people were going through, it was a
sickness. Yet again, the same thing was leisurely happening to me.
I moved to the city to get away from everything that bothered me. Family,
disloyal people who displayed themselves as friends, even the money, there
wasn't enough of it. It was simply letting go of everything he found comfort in.
Maybe the city wasn't the smartest choice, he was eluded by the fame and
fortune displayed in movies and magazines. It wasn't that. Usually the rich and
famous were assholes, especially when you were nice. Family is where the heart
is, truly. But sometimes the heart can only handle so much. Heartache, lies,

failure, uncertainty, all these feelings lead him here, alone, waiting for the bus
with someone who may have lost their mind, or maybe followed similar
aspirations.
"Why did he choose here, this city?" he asked himself at the bus stop, as he
sat next to a lady talking to herself as she was repeating scriptures of the holy
book.
The things he seem to be running away from were all catching up to him
faster and faster. Observing this lady, gave him a clearer picture of what could
happen. The bus arrives, he get on and pay him fair, the lady at the bus stop
stays seated and continues to talk to herself or God. What did he know? The
bus driver wearing the dark grey metro uniform seems not to care, for his shift is
only a few hours away till he can go home and sleep, he yawned every minute
during that bus ride. The bus only ran only a few more rounds on this street
when it was this late. he get on the desolate bus with a one way trip to hell. he
look around and try to find a place to sit. Everyone on that bus looks tired and
miserable. he don't want to pay too much attention to them. he decide to sit in
the front near the door, so he could reach the exit faster.
I sit and look straight ahead. There in plain sight a young lady. he found
him place, and tonight seems to be alright. All I'm thinking about now as he sat
across a girl, who had dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, was the beauty she
seemed to encompass. She seemed to be the kind of gal that destroyed hearts
and had a liking to it. She knew she was beautiful. It only takes one look from a
beautiful girl, if she glances at you for a seconds and smiles, it feels like luck.
Now I'm glad he got out of the house. She looked to be the same age as me,
early 20's. She wore a grey sweater, with large red letters spelling USC. he
hoped that, while on this shitty bus ride, if there was by some chance, a miracle,
of at least having whatever time he had on the bus with someone who appeared

normal. To talk about basically anything rather than the dreadfulness of one's
life.
She's the only bright thing about the night. We make brief eye contact,
feeling a bit on edge and mercurial, he quickly look away, as did she. With a
slight smile he looked back again, trying to be discreet, she does the same.
Making eye contact for a little longer, the night doesn't seem too dire. All he
want now is to spark a conversation. Suddenly an arm reaches over her
shoulders, not knowing that someone was sitting next to her the entire time,
maybe because he didn't care or he unintentionally blocked out any peripheral
imagery. Like the flame of a candle in a dark room, she was gently blown out.
Now back to reality. The guy and he now make eye contact. He gives him a cold
stare. One a prowler would give its innocent prey.
"Aye, what you staring at?"
I look at him, then at her, now both as a whole. She stares at him now with
a slight grin. For some reason, he begin to chuckle. he kind of feel bad at the
moment. he wouldn't want to be in that guys position. It was truly beauty and
the animal. he say nothing.
"Yeah. That's what he fucking thought" he says smugly.
I sat there quietly, as much as he was scared, he was more so angry. he
want a drink. he look out the window and slightly smile. The couple looks at
each other with puppy eyes.
"Now arriving at La Brea and Adams" the bus tracker says slowly.
I pull the bus cable that lets the driver know where to stop. Now I'm not
too worried anymore about starting any conversation. Now it's about getting to
the liquor store. The bus slows down at the corner. The couple across start to
giggle. he get off the bus. That was that. he walk a few blocks down Adams St.,
in the distance a large yellow sign labeled "Holiday's Liquor" is all that's visible in
the smog infested night of Mid City. A warm sensation runs through him body,

like a kid getting a birthday present or even better when whiskey has ran
streamed down to your stomach. As he entered the convenient store, he looked
across and see the fridge full of alcohol. It was paradise at that moment, so he
decided to pick up a 6 pack of the cheapest beer. he figured why not, it'd do the
job.
"That's going to be 7 even boss and I'm going to need to see some I.D."
said the store clerk.
I got asked that quite often, he think by the time he reach age 50 people will
stop hollering about him I.D. he was a young looking fellow, he was 23 and
didn't even look 21. he pull out a 10 from him wallet as well as him I.D. He
hands him him change.
"Alright, 1, 2 and 3" the clerk counts back.
"Appreciate it", he say.
"Stay safe out there" he hear the clerk say as he walked out the store. he say
nothing.
Now all he have was 23 dollars to him name. he figured Hed walk home
after to save an extra dollar. Again he figured why not, as long as Hed have a
few drinks in him system. he start a journey home at 10:55 pm in Los Angeles.
Cars seem to never stop passing in the streets. he open a bottle of beer and drink
it like water. The night was as cold as it could get in Southern California, 65
degrees. Another reason why anyone moves here. People go into a sort of
hypnotic trance from the perfect weather, it always seems to be summer here.
Always a good time to wear shorts and bright colors. But he walk the night in a
dark grey hoodie and black jeans. Walking tends to have a huge impact on
people's thought process, it gives us time away from the norm, experiencing a
moment of clarity. To analyze our thoughts and emotions. But it's hard to do
that when you're catching a good buzz. It's you and the moment. Even if it's in
one of the shittiest parts of LA, where bums, crack-heads, and drunks fill the

streets, it seems to give you time away from it all and to paint a clearer picture.
Like reaching for some sort of enlightenment, and enter a state of Zen.
he finish him first beer, so he decide to open up another one. Now I'm
beginning to feel a bit more adventurous. The alcohol has entered him
bloodstream and like a puppet master and it's puppet, him strings are now being
controlled. Down the street there's a little bar where indie-bands occasionally
play. Luckily tonight is one of those nights. As he pass the bar, he can hear the
strumming of the guitar and beatings of the drum play out to some semirhythmic flow. So he decide Hed have another beer and enjoy the night, even if
it's in not so great of an area. Music and melody have that effect on me.
The city has a strange modus operandi. There's always a popular location
within a lousy run down area. Anyways, this was one of those places. Who would
have known, there'd be so many fucking college kids here enjoying their night
and the music that came along with it. Cool kids litter the sidewalks outside the
bar smoking American Spirits, he walk up and ask a kid who knew how to dress.
The hair, vest, tie, tie pin, and a leather belt, everything matched.
"Hey man, don't mean to be a bother. But do you think he could buy a stick
off you?" he said, as he walked up with a pack of beer in him hand. Ready to
reach in him pocket and fetch whatever chump change he had in him pockets.
"Buy? Nah man. How about he trade you for a beer?" he said.
Holding the beer in him hand, he felt generous and plus he really wanted a
cigarette.
"Sure why not", he said as he pulled a bottle from him pack and then
handed to him.
"Here man, here's three sticks" he said, as he too was feeling drunk and
generous. "Ah thanks " he said.
I pull a lighter from him pocket, light the cigarette. The noxious smoke
enters him lungs and it feels good.

"You guys enjoying the night?" he say.

"Yeah, made it out to support him bro's band. he think they might be
coming on after these guys." He says.
"Cool, well he might check it out" he say.
But the thought of only having a few dollars to him name, was not a idea he
thought would be responsible.
"Thanks" he say to the guys.
I walk a little ways down from the bar and as he light him cigarette, he want
something else to happen tonight he tell himself. he want some sort of
enjoyment, an experience other than the norm, a moment he will always
remember. he don't want to go home and drink by himself. But then again he
need that extra 20 bucks for food. he open another bottle and drink it all at that
moment, ignoring all the chatter going through him head. With only two beers
remaining, he made him decision. Stashing what beer he had left in the alley next
to the bar, he finish him cigarette, getting rid of any odor of alcohol from him
breath and clothes. he walk up to the entrance of the bar.
"How's it going chief? Need to see your I.D" the bouncer at the front says,
looking at him kind of funny and suspicious.
I think he knew he already caught a good buzz. he didn't seem to mind
much. he reached in him back pocket to pull out him worn out and tattered
leather wallet, with the threads almost spent. he give it to the man and all he can
think to himself in this semi euphoric state is,
"What next?".
The bouncer, looking at him I.D. looks back at me, then back at the I.D.
"Alright, you're good."
"Thanks." he say.
he drop him I.D. on the floor like some klutz, the bouncer doesn't take his
eyes off me. he don't care, and seem to not pay too much attention. he enter the

bar, there the energy is too much to handle, something begins to happen to him
body. The loud music of the band, the movement of the drunks on the dance
floor. he walk up to the dimly lit bar, standing there for a moment the bartender
nods.
"What will it be him man?" He says.
"A shot of Jameson and ginger" he say.
"You got it".
He grabs the green bottle, and there's enough in the bottle to fill the shot
glass.
"Looks like there's enough, huh boss?"
" It might be fate." he say.
He places it gently in front of me, alongside a glass of ginger ale. he can feel
the butterflies in him stomach as him eyes came in contact with the dark colored
whiskey.
"Cheers" he say as he hold up the shot.
I quickly shoot it. The burning sensation rushes down into him stomach,
now the butterflies have released themselves making him stomach even warmer.
he slam the shot glass down.
"Whoo." he bellow, as the whiskey burns him insides.
"Good stuff huh?" said the bartender. "Another?" He said shortly after.
I think to himself for a moment, "I really shouldn't". A second later
"Fuck it. The night is young, why not?", a quiet thought rushes its way
into him head.
The Bartender grabs him shot glass.
"You're god damned right, another", he hiccup after.
He opens a fresh green bottle. He pours another drink. he look at the shot
for a moment. The music gets louder, the people get crazier. he hold him hands

around the shot glass. For a moment, it's that. he shoot it down. Again the
liquid fire rushes its way into him system.
Now the night starts

14
The Wood Box

It was pitch black in the living room of him grandparents house, all you
could hear was the wind gently blow outside on the thin glassed windows and
the sound of the clock ticking followed in some sort of rhythmic tune of the
early morning. The sun had not risen, the fire was not made, and the only thing
that was awake were the embers in the fire pit that stayed lit to keep us warm in
the winter night of the desert while we slept in its comfort. Encased within the
thick quilt blankets laid out by him grandma, he seemed to not want to release
himself from the nights rest of vibrant dreams, which he don't remember. Shht
shht shht, was the sound of him grandma's slippers sliding across the cold
concrete floor as she slowly walked from her room to the living room. It always
amazed him how they always woke before daylight, even in the winter. It was a
set routine as long as he can remember. Maybe that is something that comes
with age. They always told him that whenever the sun rose, it would bring you
the greatest of fortune, but you'd have to wake during that time. he didn't seem
to care, he wanted sleep.
She idles to the cramped wood box and searches for the first piece of wood
that would burn into the morning blue horizon. As she does so, she starts to
make fresh coffee for everyone in the household. "How does she do it every
morning" he ask himself while he lay half asleep on the couch. Moments later
him grandfather wakes from his slumber. You could hear him get dressed,
putting on layers of jackets to face the cold morning air outside. It felt good to
be home. he moved away four years ago, a lot can happen in that time, a lot has
happened in that time. As he laid there he couldn't help but to think of

everything I've experienced in this house. That some things here are nearly the
same, although the position of the couch has changed, as well as the electrical
system in the house, which was not convenient at the time he lived with them.
Usually to get power, wed have to have hook a generator to the electrical
system. That lasted, but the loud hum from the generator would interrupt any
type of peace within the house. . The early mornings and nights were lit by oil
lamps that left black ashes on the ceiling from burning. This was him home.

15
Fields

Annoyed at the moment as he look out the window of the backseat of the
car. Crops of corn, old houses with warn out paint, and birds that fly in
unpredicted patterns. Far beyond that on the horizon are the mountains of
Colorado. Sometimes he fantasize about the life he use to have. Late night with
work colleagues and friends in a city where everyones quick to judge and call
you a friend. Always on guard watching him back. Yet at the same time, enjoying
the smooth burning sensation of dark whiskey. It begins to act on the body,
allowing you to somehow pay better attentions, feel happier, and more at ease
with the people around you. In this state, everyone seems to enjoy the moment.
I come back to reality. Ive seem to have lost all of that. Lost. Wandering.
Always wandering. Searching for himself over and over again. Wanting and
needing to be away from it all. The people the fame, family, issues of the world.
Being somewhere Ive never been, and to live with the culture and the people.
Thats what he fantasize. Anything he say at the moment gets mocked and put in
a drawer which eventually becomes smothered in gasoline and contracts flames
and ignites by those closes to me. Never to be brought up again. Selfishness can
be the last thing a person can do, before being consumed by its all-consuming
grip.

9
Allured Dolor
What was she searching for? What was missing? Love, respect, empathy?
Why did she need to search for those things? If she obtained them, was she
complete? What reason did she need these things to complete her? It wasnt a
subject that was worth the fight. It was a subject worth getting drunk and writing
about.
There she sat at the empty bar with a pen and notebook, slowly drinking
her third glass of wine, which was near finish. She always chose the beginning of
week to go to bars. No one bothered her, with cheesy pickup lines, and all the
college kids where in their dorms. This was time to herself, the only time she
enjoyed. She believed that at this moment, she was opened. That the words
which escaped from her fingers unto the blank page were not only words of
truth and honesty, but something she found in herself, and words that had been
caged for some time. These words were only words that needed to be set free
from deep within, words that have kept her in the dark. She took a deep breath
and whispered, Okay. She began to write, Let the wild animal free, and let's
hope she is at peace.
It was 30 minutes from midnight on a Monday. The bars usually stayed
open till 2 am. The cars seemed to never have stopped passing by in Santa
Monica. However the music from inside was calming enough.Slow blues and
jazz always play at that bar. She decided to be a bit adventures, with a lot on her
mind. The bar was a bit classy. ight on Pico Blvd, it was dimly lit with colors or
red that over powered the essence of the bar.

There she sat alone at the bar top on a Friday night. What was she doing
there? People in the background laugh and cheer each other as the sounds of
their glass clinking together. She found herself lost and singular in a city where
she knew no one. All she needed was time to herself. A groggy, empty and
hollow feeling slowly appeared from behind her. Grasping its long pointy
nebulous fingers around her neck, as it guided her to the dark unknown brick
road ahead. She began to write,
Left with thoughts that pierce through the happier memories, slicing with
ease. She had dreams and aspirations, however old habits do die hard. he turn to
the bottle, seeking knowledge and power. Its an illusion. The thick bold Xs
resemble hieroglyphs of some foreign langue spelling out beware. Ive never
been a good decoder.
Minutes pass, him insides warm. Illusions again. Thats all it ever is. Is there
no truth. I miss you a gravelly deep voice whispers gently in him right ear. he
turn, look around. No one there, he look down on the counter top and see the
golden dark liquid sit in a sort of calm state. And at that moment, he cant really
think of better times. Like seeing him mother and father and him siblings gather
on a windy day outside a house that now deteriorates. We had a cookout. As he
go to find a seat to eat, the wind comes gushing at that exact moment taking him
food with it. Maybe there is some lesson there. Maybe not. Or that moment
when he built up enough courage to ask a girl on the first date. And know that
she like him as much as he liked her. Suddenly (to be continued).