The First Time I Met the Devil

It wasn’t raining. It was the second time. I looked out the window; the rain visibly shattered everything around it. I was among friends; we had gathered there after school on the final Friday, beginning winter break, but where I lived, winter break only meant heat-filled days without the protection of school’s central a/c, the comforting insulation, and the shade coma that was the roof and four walls.

That second time the sun was down, the moon ran high, but the night belonged to rain – rain and the devil. I looked out my window, noticed a shadow that had not been there before. Being an insomniac since infancy, I made it a point to know my shadows. The trees were like yarn, flagpoles like shattered gravel, but there was a new one. It was humanoid in shape, and arrogant in posture. It wanted to stand out from the rest of the darkness, because it wasn’t just darkness. It was light of the soul of darkness.

But there it stood, dressed as a man, with the pride of a demon. His eyes never wanted to show. All that sailed through his ocular pits was black, and perhaps a faint twinkling in the back, but that could have either been rain, or a reflection from my side of the window. He peaked from beneath a tree branch, looked right at me, and dipped his head, thinking that I knew I owed him something, but if I did, believe me, I didn’t.

But the first time, no, I don’t expect to ever experience anything closer to that first time.

Sparks

I've enjoyed Hemingway, Graham Greene, Camus, and the ones that are supposed to be considered important. But, I'm not going to love them because people think I should. So far they've lived up to their reputations at one point or another. Dickens, at first a chore, but I first tried him at a young age - 10, I think. I had to live a little before willing to take him seriously.

My college advisor kept pressuring me to pursue education because I am Hispanic. That career is as close too a "sure thing" as one can get around my area. I grew up living that life, and did not enjoy it. I adapted to a nocturnal convenions at a young age.

There was alot going against it, but I avoided a full commitment to it, because at hear there was no love; only dead weight with a brain.

Motivation

Any time I'm down, whenever I want to quit, I go back and I read Greg Rucka. I relive the experiences fantasized when ripping the next Michael Moorcock story that had been written a decade before my birth, and yet still destroys any modern day word stringer.

Warren Ellis is my window to and through the future. Rucka keeps me grounded. Moorcock encompasses all that is good and bad, and is the nucleus for my purpose.

Women To Know

To any interested in female leaders, Victoria Woodhull. Looker her up.

Selling Soul Insurance

Currently reading the biography of Kate and Maggie Fox. They introduced the sensation of spiritualism into America back during the 1850's.

One part that keeps itself with me is the knowing that after Lincoln's assasination, and shortly before the Civil War ended, spiritualism became a novelty instead of the need to know more about the unknown. It became a way for the loved ones of the fallen soldiers to escape rather than discover. I guess it this has just been a trend for America since nearly the very beginning.

Coming Around

Sundays. I have never had an affinity towards Sundays. Maybe it's a forced Catholic thing, or because as a kid, and now out in the working field, you know it's your last day of freedom. When I worked regular wage jobs, I enjoyed working Sundays. I didn't like being home. Nothing was ever on television - not like anything good is on now - and the day itself just seems too quiet. It is the day God supposedly rested after all. The whole thing just seems eerie.

Been sitting here, workng on an art project, a photo reference piece which is coming out as my best ever, but I still hate the fingers and the face, which in turn makes me hate the whole thing. It's all good, or none of it is good.

Sometimes I find that I push myself too hard, so much that I always end up nowhere, staying in the same place. It's like running on a treadmill, only instead of sweat, it's frustration pouring out of me.

I applied for a freelance gig at the local newspaper, one which I can find at least two misspelled words in the damn headlines every week. It's a piece of shit paper, and a disgrace to journalism anywhere. I keep saying that I want to work there to gain experience, but really, I yearn to tear that place apart from the inside out; get some real writers in there, and editors that actually read the news pieces before sending them to print.

Shoot me, stab me, kill me, just don't fuck with the words that I love.

Bleeding Gut pt. 2

Checking back. It turns out Coca Cola released a statement claiming that they have never done business with the Sudanese, yet they refused to name their ingredients. Pepsi is the company that buys from the Sudanese. So if Ukec is serious about his threat, Pepsi will crumble while Coca-Cola reigns supreme.

There goes my hopes for embalming soda circles.

Checking In/Bleeding Gut

Haven't been in for a while, as if anyone reads this anyway. I'll tell you why - I just stopped caring. I had to sit back and look at things for a while, had to wonder where I stood as a person, a writer; still I'm the only one who thinks I am any kind of writer, and came to the conclusion that I don't care. I don't care what anyone thinks, feels - though I am embellishing a bit, but still, there are very few people on this planet whose opinion I care for.

Things of note:

John Ukec Lueth Ukec, the Sudanese ambassador has threatened to make gum arabic disappear from the American world. Gum arabic is one of the main ingredients in soda. It is transformed into syrup and is used to fatten up the world. He has made this threat because the U.S. has sanctioned him and his country with accusations of genocide, and supporting the Janjaweed militia.

So if America upholds its sanctions, no more soda; the U.S. could take a step back towards good health, and sheer insanity. Racism, greed, name any sin you want, America is full of every one, and the thing that will tear it apart, forching its people to rip and claw each others' stomachs out is the loss of soda. I can see it now, thousands upon thousands of people killing one another, propping the dead upon embalming tables with bleed tubes acting as straws in order to suck that last bit of lasting sugar out of a corpse's gut.