They're Everywhere!, All Of Your Things, To Conquer The Ant, Feces Feline, Pissed Off Traffic, The Coloring Books, I'll Catch You With Nets, A Truce To Trance, Pale Nosed Girls, Jars In June, Fake Fight Fridays, Just Like Madeline, Cats And Dogs, The Poor And The Smiling, So She Says, No Strawberries Please, Bicycle Chase, Chickens Don't Fly, Behind The Shed, Cars In The 90's, Carl's Disease, Anthropomorphic Crush, A Cheer From The Waves, Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles,  The Floorboards, Suitcase Joust, Beneath The Forest, Myspace Meltdown, Call Me On Tuesday, Take Me Out To Pho, Grave Of The Cameras, Toothpicks And Cigs, Wax On Wax Off, Bad Days For Good People, Burnt Bacon.

Lives among us never change
the story remains the same
times don't change
and most importantly neither do we

Men come of boys
rebel against their fathers
love their mothers
and hate the world they've just inherited

Women come of girls
grow apart from their shame
and blossom complete and true
ready to tend a world loved by few

Sacrifices made
are for none
are for one another
and for themselves.

Risks are taken
rules are breakn'
Smiles of ours faken

We grow to love the lost
And regret
never realizing
how good we had it

until it

like life

is gone.

To whomever is reading this,

First off, let it be known that I do not seek attention, nor do I wish it even in the slightest. See, I most certainly do prefer to be on my own. The spotlight's far too bright anyway. Or at least, that's what I'm trying to tell myself. However, I still can't seem to shake the feeling that this could very well be a cry for help, and that somehow, these words are my last hope. But then again, it is just another humid night, and maybe I'm only writing to make use of my time as I've come to the realization that I won't be falling asleep at any point soon.

I thought I was doing better, I honestly did. I'd started talking to my friends again. Laughing, sharing jokes, maybe even throwing in a genuine smile every once in a while. I mean, I sure as hell knew that I still had a long ways to go, but, things were finally starting to look up for me. Or so it seemed.

What I've never been able to quite fully understand, is how quickly everything can change. In the blink of an eye, really. Life is not a constant; it's a rollercoaster ride filled with ups and downs and bumps and turns and highs and lows and scary moments. A good day can turn into a horrible day in just a fraction of a second, because that's just the way it goes. We're supposed to grin and bear it because, well, we have to. Things change and people change, and life doesn't stop for anybody.

But tell me, what happens when it's a bad day after a bad day after a bad day? What happens when your friends give up on you? When there's no more jokes to be told and a fake smile is the only thing that will force the corners of your mouth to curve upward? See, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe life really is a constant sometimes; because it seems to me that all I've got are constant feelings of darkness. Depression. Loneliness. Regret. Hatred.

I don't hate the world though, trust me. It's a beautiful place. And maybe, just maybe, if things get better I'll sail the seven seas and travel to all the different countries and just let the greatness of this world engulf me and swallow me whole. I'd like that, I really would. You see, I love this world. It's above and beyond anything I could ever imagine. I don't even hate life, for that matter. The very fact that we are here today has got to be the biggest miracle there is. But then there's my life, which is a whole different story.

Don't get the wrong idea though. I am not complaining about my life. I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat, clean water, an amazing family, and so much more. There are children in this world who I'm sure would love to be me; children who don't have the money to attend school, or even to eat a decent meal. There are people getting raped, assaulted, bullied, and treated poorly every day. I am so lucky that I don't have to deal with any of that. So, why am I so unsatisfied? Why can't I just be grateful for everything that I have?

The thing is, I hate myself. Not only that though, I hate the way I've chosen to live my life. I hate the person looking back at me in the mirror each day, and I hate these thoughts in my head; screaming insults at me every second, loud enough to drown out everything that is good. I've forgotten how to appreciate the little things; like the fresh smell after a day of rain, or long walks on the beach, or laying down on cool grass to look up at the stars on a hot summer night. I guess I'm just too preoccupied with the things I should have done or shouldn't have done, not even thinking about the things that I still can do.

I'm a disappointment. A failure. I have put humans to shame. Why am I still here, when I clearly do not belong in a world of such beauty? Everything I touch gets spoiled; even myself. I should never have been born, but I was. And here I am still, but for what reason? What good can ever become of me? Should I just end it all right here and now, or would that do more harm than good? I don't know...

What I do know is this: I used to have hopes and dreams, always wishing that things would turn out in the end. But it's different now. I'm plummeting down into a tunnel of darkness, and the light that once could be seen near the end is now burnt out. I have no way of escaping.

Hope all is well on your end.

Much love,

Ridley

Allisa Rodriguez tilted her mango mojito for the ninth time.

Sitting alone at a table with both palms on the table and not making an eye contact.

The Puerto Conejo runs it's business like most casinos in Nevada, Lights were dimmed, No windows and clocks. Low cost drinks are poured down by beautiful women. Yet unlike any other high roller bars near the Mexican-American border; Management was kind enough for them to keep the reject-the-client-if-you-want policy.

Slouched and yawning from time to time and emitting mannerisms like a 12 year old girl; who wasn't taught a thing or two about a girl's proper etiquette by a mother. Portraying nothing but the air of shyness and calm; with her dreamy eyes and a much paler complexion to be hispanic. Out of the picture like those unattractive school girls that were always shunned with monoblocks during junior proms, Of skanky cheerleaders and varsity jocks will always occupy the dance floor.
Seeing her colleagues do their rounds.
Allisa could see them throwing side glances at her. Half were patronizing, half throwing that just go-home-little-girl look with a grin.
The way they plagiarize the seduction of Eve like lap dogs at those butt crotched white collars. Considering her no threat to the competition.


Still, she wasn't startled when somebody came near her table.  She then fixed her gaze on a mid 50's women with a fiery red hair wearing a thick make up that weren't enough to conceal the creases on her face and unbalanced eyebags that would make you wonder if she sleeps with only one eye alternately. Her fur coat always emitting a strong scent of nicotine. It was "mother mabel" one of the the wife's owner.                                             "Alissa sweetie this is the fifth time this week!  You won't get clients at that rate" Giving a huge effort to put warmth in her hoarse voice.                              
I'm sorry senora said alissa apogetically, looking at the  corporate pigs with a half loosened necktie and two unbuttoned sleeve laughing while pinching a girl with a huge ass. Mother mabel then put the almost empty mojito that she gave alissa on a tray.                                                 She was just leaving when she paused and turn her head around  to say something.  "It's a shame how an innocent angel like you ended up in here". Saying that as if recalling something while Alissa just kept her head bowed down.                                                            


Two mexicans wearing suits that strongly resembles casts from the movie godfather suddenly came.                                             The owner of the club, Don Sancho an almost bald man with a thick gray mustache entered a panic state that had him scold the waiters and Mother Mabel

One of the mexican with a huge scar on the side of his neck was busy talking to senor juan as the other with sunglasses went to the bathroom.
Como estas Sancho? (How are you Sancho?) Asked him while trying to light a cigarette as he sat on a bar stool.
Muy bien. Gracias gracias (very good. Thank you thank you) replying anxiously
Quieres una tequilla, senor parco? (Do you want a tequilla, mr parco)  Sancho didn't wait for his answer but beckoned a waiter to bring a bottle and pour it down on a glass.
I come on business again this month but of different matter
But senor, I...I..don't know why they didn't show up there are very few of my girls lately. Business has been bad give me till next week to come up with money.
Lucky for you I'm not asking you to cough up, like I said I come on a different matter. Sancho
Senor Parco looked at the girls on the table along with the many men, And whispered something to Pancho. In a few minutes about half of the club was in disarray, most girls were coming out of the bathroom. And another manager has piled them up in the next room.
Senor Parco was shoving what seem to be peanuts on one hand from a tin plate and drinking on a little glass with another.
"Now, Among the 11 of you...Only Four  will be lucky...You need not work... for months after this"


A lot of coffee cans on the pantry.
Alissa was once again left in the room

Use clumsiness to put poison
Picks up by two guys blindfolds girls
Tojeros hitman need nickname



Cuantos anos tienes conchita? (How old are you? Little girl)
No sabes hablar el ingles? (Do you know how to speak english?)


To be continued...

You wanted to learn
from the book of my life,
so here is a tale or two
that made me the way I am.

When I was about 12,
I was a man of the world
with all the knowledge
I needed to know
and nobody could tell me I was wrong.
It wasn't until a fateful night
with a good friend of mine
that I knew how wrong I was.
No child should ever
have to be exposed to death,
but that is a fact of life that one can't escape from
and on that night
I was no exception.
To come home to my mother in tears
was anything but reassuring.
I asked her "What's wrong mama?"
with my reassuring tone,
not a doubt in my mind that
any problem afoot
was nothing more than
a small speed bump.
It was when she told me to speak to my father
that a worry arose.
I stepped into his room, and the silence struck me;
a hit that could have knocked a hole in a brick wall.
But I was stronger than a brick wall.
Or so I thought.
"Hey pops, what's going on?"

Now, I must say that
up to this point in time,
my father has been nothing but
a sign of masculinity;
the tree with which the apples grew from.
But as my father raised his head,
eyes glistening in through the darkness of the room
I could see the thick tracings of
the first real sorrow I've seen my father in.
He was broken, like the slurred words coming from his mouth
He's dead.
and as those words,
those horrible fucking words left his mouth,
the foundation that he had built
crumbled down.

He raised his hands towards me
asking, needing to embrace me.
And I walked away.
I left the broken man to sulk alone.
Now, I'll have you know that I love my father
and I would die for him.
But as he broke, I shattered.

Later that night,
I found him alone
in the grave
he had dug himself earlier,
and I hugged him.
I hugged him harder than I've hugged anything in my life
I hugged him, not for my sake, but so he could know how his father felt
when he hugged him.

. . .

By the time I was fourteen
I had found love.
It's funny to think how ridiculous this sounds,
but this love was an honest love. (for me at least)
We had been together for long enough to know
that in my youthful state of mind
I could picture myself with nobody else.
But, as the long line of history showed before me,
young love is never true love.
However, when I walked up the stairs,
to hear nothing
I was nothing but startled.

I can still remember that feeling;
when time slowed,
the world around me freezing as the doorknob
twisted in my hand
and the door swung up.

To say I was angry
would be wrong.
I wasn't angry.
I would like to say I
was hurt,
but to be honest,
I could feel nothing.
The natural Novocaine of heart-break
filled my veins
as I sway her lips with his,
fitting in the mold that I created.

As I descended the stairs
and walked past her mother, asking
"What's wrong love?"
feeling the sarcasm ooze out of her mouth
I laughed.
Laughed and laughed and laughed.
Not to hide the pain,
but just to feel again.
But my nerves were burnt,
and would stay that way for quite some time.

. . .

Fast forward to the spring
of my sixteenth year of life.
The summer was alive in me and in you.
I remember the sun shining in your hair,
and I remember the way the water flowed
past the rocks under the bridge.
I remember sitting in the yard
of someone else's house
when our lips first met
when the connection was there
and was there to stay.
And I remember laying in the grass
in your back yard
with our hands locked
and our eyes pointed up
at the sky above us
where our heads were.
I remember you asking me
if I knew what I wanted to do with myself.
I don't remember what I said,
but I remember thinking
that there is nothing I wanted more
than to do what I was doing
at that exact moment in time.

And I remember leaving.
And I remember never returning.
I remember the nights alone
waiting for your word,
knowing you were waiting for mine,
and never getting them.
I remember spending day after day
tracing your face next to mine in that grass
and making the record player skip
with the words you said to me.
I remember thinking of all the things I wish I said to you
while I still had the chance
and kicking myself for saying the things I had said to you.
And I remember wishing to hold your hand,
and kiss you lips
and thinking that I never could again.

. . .

But now I am here
where I never thought I'd be
And I'd just like to tell you
that once you have read this,
all other tales and stories I own
are now yours to hear.
My book is open to you.

she's sick of being made to feel
like a worthless
piece of shit

like she's not ever
good enough for anyone
or anything for that matter

she's sick

of her parents
trying to take away
everything that she loves

she's tired

of never being the best friend
of never helping enough
of never being worth it

she's exhausted

of being average
at everything
even the one thing she thought she was good at

she's sick

of her "best friend"
taking everything away from her
to leave her broken and crying

she's tired

of the one person she trusted
backstabbing her, not letting her forget
seeing her as something she tried to hard to leave behind

she doesn't want
to cry herself to sleep
every night

she doesn't want
to remember anything she did wrong
in those late hours before dawn

she can't put up with this
much longer

so she'll
wet her quill

and in that neat handwriting
the teachers always admired
she'll write the following:

"I'm sorry for being a burden"

and as her tears

r
o
l
l
down her face
and her hand shakes

she'll fold it up
in that neat fashion

she'll carefully tuck it into
her top drawer

and she'll climb
down

the stairway to hell

And if you think all is lost,
look again.
Surround yourself with happiness,
with love, peace, and good friends.

And if anger overcomes you,
look around.
Don't give into temptations,
pick yourself up off the ground.

And if happiness is what you seek,
don't be afraid to venture on.
While the world may seem so bleak,
paint a new picture, write a new song.

And if love is something you fear,
carry on to find it.
Never let your hopes disappear,
never succumb to the silence.

XOXO
For Beverly and Telma