Friday, December 28, 2012

Peace over Truth.

Some may call it lying, but dammit if the truth just does not need to be revealed at some points in time. It just makes everything better for everybody. I've been losing my good memory so I am in no shape to become an full fledge liar, but telling the "truth" has not been getting the job done. Whenever we use our mouths for anything other than eating and pleasure, conflicting ideals arrive. Upsetting, conflicting ideas. We have lived two totally different lives, which gives us two totally different sets of morals and values. Also, we have two totally different sets of experiences, which translate to two conflicting sets of personal battles. I have seen glimpses of my own logic arise within you and seen you sort of question the same things. Some of the things that I have questioned on this very blog. I have witnessed you battled with the same question that has plagued (whew, very strong verb) me for two years now. Why are we together? Why are we so drawn to each other? And I have now realized the answer. Purple. The answer is purple because ice cream has no bones. Our union is absurd and against all odds but I cannot get enough of you. You detest things that I love and have loved for decades. One thing in particular that you reject like the plague (look at that, what a beautiful word that is. So flexible.) is vulgarity. I love things vulgar and to you, well, they're just obscene. But see, I get the beauty in the vulgar and I guess you don't. Dah well. I envisioned my break being a time of leisure in which I can just lounge and watch blurays, but that has not been the case. I've got work to do.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


I'll explode. I just hope that I'm in a room. Alone. Hold up, these new blogger settings make me feel like the most emo ass person ever. It's almost ridiculous. I guess everything in the world must adapt. Mature. Change, but fuck. Nothing is familiar. And whomever thought making the default font into typewriter would make it look cooler is fucking wrong. Dead wrong. I feel like a whining ass reporter from the 50's writing about the approaching apocalypse. Shit is not cool. I need hip looking settings to feel like I'm not a loser. Speaking of being a loser. I've spent a lot of years feeling like I was one. I no longer have the time to be. I'm the leader of men and young women, and I have to set an example. If your leader is a loser, then you're a following piece of shit. And a loser. So I need to fucking win. And win some more. I will. I thank God for making me, me. I know it's best that I hold in what I do, so I continue to do so, against the wishes of my girl, but shit, even she doesn't know what she's asking for when she says 'live for you'. I know what's best for me and everyone and that is to keep on how I'm going. If I blow my top and expire from brain cancer or some shit, at least people will have nice things to say about me at my funeral when they are talking to my ashes...

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

To the woman I fell in love with. .

As I contemplate when I was to reach out to you,

I saw you.
Outside a party.
at Ucla.
my territory.
slightly buzzed.
Fucked my world up.

After you spotted me, you said hello. I said a hug is appropriate. you agreed.
We hugged and you asked me how I had been. Not more than 24 hours prior I brought you up in a 1-on-1. Not more than 5 hours prior had I thought of you.

"how have you been?"
Alex, I think about you everyday. My true sentiments. From a drunk mind comes sober thoughts.
Otherwise I would have bullshitted.

Respecting her party time, I warned her of the conditions of the party and told her to be careful.
Avalanche of feelings.

What happens in between is immaterial.

I addressed you before I left.
Hugged you close. told you how beautiful you still are. and brought up the fact that it had been 2months plus since I heard from you.
I told you of the next party. you said it doesn't seem like a big deal. I said it never is.

Despite my lack of complete sobriety and crucial times speaking with you, one vital thought was not verbalized.

To the woman I fell in love with. .

I miss you.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Happy Father's Day

I care not when the world decides to appreciate their fathers. I appreciate mine whenever I communicate with him. Today was Father's Day.
Every time I pick his brain for knowledge I always come out 5 thousand miles ahead(of these hoes). I cannot not express how fortunate I feel to be able to call my pops, for free — as opposed to calling him collect, to a penitentiary. Each time we talk, it's usually some months that passed so we both have a bunch to tell each other. I told him that I was going to Puerto Rico and I signed the lease to my first apartment. Surprisingly, he found the latter more exciting, saying that that's "big boy shit." I told him about the time that I used the game he gave me and he told me.. —I love to hear shit like this—. . that the way I'm going is sorta like pimping. Pops is like, he'll tell a broad, "that monkey you got. That ain't bout shit. I'm gon make love to yo mind." Man, the shit is fucking killer.
He told me that my lil brother and sisters are down in the city doing gigs, rapping and singing. And while parts of me wondered why that couldn't have been me, (I, not more than 30 seconds ago finally understood. My dad/mom had a plan for me) I genuinely was excited for him. He's putting together a Lyons 5, Generation 2. His older bunch dropped the ball in the aspect of entertainment but the show must go on.
He said that my big brother, who was sentenced to life without parole always asks about me and has dreams about me, as do I of him, and wants me to write him. It sucks because this may be the third time hearing that he wants me to write him and every time I ask for his address I get the "I'll get it to you," so my brother is the one suffering.
Anyway, I got to talk to my dad today and it really topped off my day. What's crazy is, my dad and mom cannot coexist as of late, right? I talked to my dad for about an hour about everything. When I talked to my mom we talked for 5 minutes before she got off the phone with me for her dude. . . *looks at the title and realizes this is neither the time nor the post for this*

Love you, Pops!