“Long enough,” Rafa said.
After clapping his hands twice and sticking his tongue out and allowing it to slither around his mouth and returns inside, he laughs.
“Tonight, we shall remind him of our presence.”
Phareeon shakes his head in agreement.
“Better yet, why not put him in the water and let me experience the cold.”
“Ah yes, he will surely fear that. He hates the water. He loathes it. All the dark ones do, which is ironic. You would think the dark ones like the water for they cannot see what is underneath them, therefore abandoning their life, willingly, to the shallows. Haha.”
“Yes, the dark ones are rather mysterious, but we must not lose track of our purpose. We must torment this man. For he has made an oath to himself, and the…”
“Shh…be not so loud Rafa, the Great One might hear us.”
“I’m afraid…I’m afraid Phareeon that the Great One is already listening.”
Rafa shakes his head in agreement but he slowly shakes in terror.
The motion to each other in a symbolic-sign-language making animal noises in-between intercessions, unbeknownst to the human ear.
They laugh. Cough. Howl. Their is no sound more terrifying than them.
Miguel, in his deep slumber, shakes and tosses. He is stricken by past memories of war and abuse.
Rafa and Phareeon shake his bed, dance upon on him like monkeys, and wave their hands and bob their heads like drunken monsters.
“Until the Lord returns from his exhile, we must wait patiently.”
“Why do you hesitate? Is there something you fear beyond your understanding?
“Rafa, why do you know? What have you heard?
“What do you know of this Me-si-Ca?
“You mean the chosen one?”
“Yes. What do you know of him?”
“But what if the Dark Lord finds out we are planning to go with the rebellion?”
When Michael returned home from work, he dropped his pack on the floor and quickly removed his shirt exposing the scars and marks his back.
He snaps open the door of the refrigerator, and notices that there are only two beers left.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
On his flip-phone, says “Its’ Me, Mom.”
“Here we go again…” Michael let the phone go to voicemail as he always did with his mother. He allowed her to the liberty to explain herself via the voicemail because it had a two minute limit. That way, Michael wouldn’t have to deal with the same bullshit story of why his mother need money.
“Hola mijo, como estas? Estoy horando para ti. Estoy horando que Dios te ayuda bascar tu novia. Bueno, Si, necesit tu ayuda mijo. Es que mi cuenta en Chase no tiene dinero y te pido que me ayudas y después te regreso en efectivo. Bueno, pasame una llamada cuando tienes mas tiempo. Te Amo. Ciao!”
Lucilla would always end her calls with the expression “Ciao!” because she believed it made her more Italian.
When the cellphone vibrated indicating that there was indeed a message left from Lucilla, Michael looks down at it but then resumes to turn off his phone.
“Phew, finally…All to myself.”
A deep sleep takes over him, and he passes out on his couch failing to once-again make it to his bed.
“Finally! The dreaded thing has taken slumber,” said Phareeon.
“Are you sure about this? Do you recall the last time we thought he fell into a dream he woke up rather tempered and started praying,” Rafa replied.
“Yes, yes, come. Come. Take a look.”
Phareeon pulls back the eyelids of Michael revealing he is indeed gone asleep in a deep state.
“Very well. What shall we conjure up tonight?”
“Oh that is a good question Rafa. When was the last time he dreamt about the girl?”
Rafa looks around and sniffs the house, and removes his cloak. His skin is glittery, but as it is exposed it simmers down and becomes light green with brown mix.
Sit there, and wait. Look at the screen, just look at it.
The screen is blank, and there’s a small little blinking cursor, pulsating, waiting for you to tap, maybe touch they keys…
That feels good don’t it? The availability to create words, sentences, and paragraphs, essays, and different stories, opinions, jokes, and commentary. Yea!
You like that don’t you?
Just sit there. Take your time, and breathe. The keyboard is at your command. Everything you own, everything that you find to be important is at the tip – the tips of your fingers.
Yea, control baby, that’s what it all is…
Write Drunk; Edit Sober.
Tonight I had the pleasure of seeing Keith and Kevin Hodge, two stand-up comics from Virginia, perform at the Hollywood Improv. The show was energizing, raw and personal! These set of twins really change the way I see comedy and now understand narrative as a way to make people laugh.
Keith and Kevin began their performance with the usual fart and grunt style antics ranging from past experiences to impulses initiated from the audience.
Although prior to their arrival on the stage the audience was cautioned not to heckle the performers, man of the “DO WHATEVA DA FUK YOU WANT,” a common slogan used in their online youtube videos, was spurred in the crowd by dedicated and loyal fans.
Without divulging too much information from their own personal narrative, I will say that the highlights of their stand-up was:
1.) Childhood experiences
2.) Relationship with the mother and father
3.) Life Before #Youtube
4.) Life After #Youtube
5.) And finally, several high points in their sexual expression with females before finally setting down with now wives. Note: Both Keith and Kevin are married.
There is only one that can satisfy the thirst and hunger of humanity;
There is only one.
There is only can that can bring balance to the force, bring the fight against good and evil to an end;
There can only be one.
There is only one that can faithfully marry and stay loyal to his first love and make her his last;
There is only one that can be first and last.
There is one who waits patiently as the world burns, becomes corrupted and perfectly times his entrance on the grand theater of the Earth;
There is only one act.
One marriage, one covenant and one vow, but who will fulfill it?
He will, but we already knew this.
I sit here typing while my roommate is having sex with his friend/friendwbenefits/co-worker/fling/NetNChill/whatever he wants to call her, and it’s frustrating.
I am frustrated because I am a recovering hopeless romantic.
As this man D’s down this beautiful woman, knowing that he is probably not going to commit to her let alone ask her hand in marriage, absolutely infuriates me.
As someone who prides himself on being loyal, generous and compassionate, it bothers me that manginas, feminists, and fake-macho men see this behavior as the norm. Now, I am no saint nor am I a virgin – I am far from it – but what gets me flustered is the constant complaint from both men and women in today’s society that there are no good people left, or good partners to be had.
Well let me tell you all something, if something is broke, you don’t just throw it away, you fix it, nurture it, take your time with such things as broken love, sex, and dating. I get it, people distrust the church; people despise correction and don’t like to be judge for their basic human behavior and impulses; people want to live their lives according to their own standards and by that, they choose to give in to whatever is popular, or whatever just feels right. People do not want to hear the truth because they are scared of it. Simply put, people just do not like to be told their wrong. I know this because when you correct someone’s behavior as a deficiency or something that might be considered immoral, they flinch, jump up, and even sometimes they’ll say they were “triggered.”
What the fuck!
I’m not lost. I’m found! This world is lost, confused and all kinds of broken.