Sunday, December 26

Fountain of Youth

I got to see her off today. She's only 7 and has already been forced to see more than I have to in 21 years. She carries around with her a pure heart and a pristine smile. However, her mother had her out of wedlock with a boy, less than a man, confined to a prison cell. So, she's tossed from relative's house to relative's house while her unstable mother cares for a newborn infant from a new, allegedly abusive boyfriend in another state. The formal sentences only unstated that conditions that she'll have to realize. I'm fcuking scared as shit for her. What happens when she need stability, who's going to be there for her? What about the extraneous people in her life who are going to make her life more difficult: bullies, immature boys, messy girls, asshole bosses, etc. If only we had the luxury of staying young and happy forever. Who's going to support her endeavors? I want to, just like everyone else, but how do I know she knows. The days when she's alone in a room contemplating life. I'm fcuking scared. Don't be mistaken that there are people that take care of her. But she's already been divvied this weak circumstances. The world is a grim place. They had a conversation about who's house she's going to stay at after school. Why? Of all of my nephews and nieces I fear for her the most, for when someone breaks her heart, when someone makes here feel like shit, when she doesn't feel good enough, and/or when she wants to be someone else. Fcuk you to whoever hurts her in the future. She's fcuking 7, and she wants to be wanted. What stability do you expect her to have? So, this Christmas I kept her, along the other kids, company as for as long as I could. She kicked my ass in fruit ninja, and I beat her in vegsamurai. A:"I beat your score Travis!!" Me: "I know, you got lucky girlie." When she left she had a look of sadness; I wanted to cry. I am crying now. For the holidays I always distribute my time to the kids, that's all I ever need. It'd be uncomfortable to have a girlfriend around this time of year. So this one goes out to Hunter, Liem, Trenton, Hudson (my favorite), Quyen, Noah, Brianna, Maxwell, and Ariana. Hunter likes to when you bounce him on the floor like it's a spacewalk. Liem has cheeks that go down further than his chin. Lol. Trenton can hear wrapping paper when you open candy. Hudson is getting so big and smart; he's moved on from Thomas the train to Legos and the DSi. Quyen loves to play wrestle. Noah is nice but spoiled a bit. Brianna plays around like a dude and is killer on the hotel dash game. Maxwell like it when you wave in his face like a fan. Ariana will play the iPod touch for hours with you and watch Taylor Swift videos as we sing. Two more are on their way. We're going to share a new niece or nephew soon NIKKIE. So, God bless their lives, and may they be fortunate to not observe the shortcomings and tragedies of life. Let me know who I have to kill if they dare harm you in any fashion. I'm fcuking scared for them and her, especially. God grant us serenity and stability.







What I love about writing is that there is always something for someone, no matter the subject matter. Someone appreciates it. Motion picture blog coming up next Jennifer.

Friday, November 26

Travis' First Letter to the Vietnamese



Dear Vietnamese,
Moi ong chu thinh ong ba cha me va quy vi.


Silence. For just a moment. Maybe more than just a moment. Maybe a whole life time that I’ve pushed my Vietnamese culture to the side. That kind of silence. Moments when didn’t want to be just another minority to report and for that I apologize. I apologize for the slightest identity crisis and not living up to my customs on levels higher than bamboo shoots. I apologize and I will apologize more than One Republic has sang, will say, will be played swiftly quickly or digitally delayed. Hold it. I’m sorry for not being able to hold a decent conversation with my Ba Noi. For being too afraid to try thit canh because they don’t offer it at pizza hut. For every time I choose a Cheese burger over ca cau tho. And knowing more lyrics from Biggie and Pac than Duy Manh and Lam Truong. I’m sorry for treating every question asked about my culture as if it were a rhetorical one. I plead the fifth. My absence without leave, silent Vietnamese aside from my talkative tendencies. Damn it’s missed. And the most proud I’ll ever been of being Asian is winning 30 times bonus on baccarat at imperial palace casino, as if it’s Asian owned. And I feel bad every time shreds of dialect from my mouth come out misinterpreted and drowned in stuttering murmurs of mumbo jumbo to relatives. For using the foreign diseases as an excuse for not stepping foot on our motherland, when really, I’m just afraid to be labeled foreign in Vietnam! The pointed fingers, snickering remarks with words I can’t understand. Sorry for my silence. See my native tongue is an English one. See Vietnamese is my second language, but it should never be second culture, not even in the same vicinity.

However, I’m proud to be Vietnamese. I’m fighting racism. Saying anything racist with your chap lips, I’m might hit you in the mouth and hope your chop sticks. Or I might hit you with a radio for a stereotype slur. See some treat ethnicity like a competition but our race ain’t an arms race. We’re just different, something to be proud of, nothing to look down on. We may not always relate, but we can incorporate. The world may only see everything as black and white. See me being yellow it adds more depth into your color spectrum. My eyes are brown, my hair is black, my lips are pink, my skin is yellow and teeth are eh well an off white. That means you can get a glimpse half the color wheel just looking at me. So you can spare your kaleidoscopes. So I’m proud. Not many are fortunate to be Vietnamese. To be smart in math or have a cousin who is and let you cheat, too smart to get caught. To get monetary tenders from the elderly every Tet and Phap Tham Suc. To eat the finest of food in the smallest of holes in the walls. To have an assorted array of foods, even the best French pastries from Dong Phuong. Shout out to Kevin. To stay at a size 2 on rice alone. Nouc mam smells like piss, but nouc mam is the shit. And my eyes might be small, but that just means it takes half time to send winks at the girl that you’re crushing on. And we stay fresh. We know that Dong Khanh has a new rice crop out after Thanksgiving. So we hurry up and buy. And that Hong Kong Supermarket has cheaper salmon than Sam’s. And I’m bach so I eat pho on Sunday’s. And that rocks because I’m hung-over on Sundays. So that we have the fight racism, introduced the color wheel, make the grades, get money, wink faster, stay fit, eat fresh, and have the cure hangovers. Like damn… Reasons to be Vietnamese.

But I’ve been silent. So I’ll wear a back brace just to carrying on the little bit of tradition that I withhold. Even if it means coloring 3 red stripes on my body to show them where our flag went. Like yea we’re still here. Even it if means dulling out as many pencils necessary bubbling in the circle that I’m Asian on standardized tests. Even if it means adding “nguoi yeu oi co biet anh yeu em nhieu lam” into my wedding vows. Even if it means being buried in dep ga with an ao dai and koi fish tattoos underneath. Or even if it means to start with just ceasing my silence.

Like by saying I am Vietnamese searching for the American dream using southern hospitality, an improper native tongue speaking wannabe immigrant. I’m not here to give you reason why being Vietnamese is the shit, although I’m should. I’m just proud to be proud. Praising Alvin Lau, Jiles Le, and Kelly Tsai because they bring the Asian in me. Then, Dat phan and Bao Phi because they bring the Vietnamese in me. So, to the Vietnamese I’m sorry for my silence. For maybe more than just a moment.

Sincerely yours,



Travis Tran


Other Videos:






P.S. Here's an easier link Thao and Uyen: http://justtravistran.blogspot.com/search/label/Novella

Wednesday, November 17

"It's good to know that you are doing well"

Semi-update: I haven't been writing. Maybe because I've been occupied with extracurricular activities. Maybe it's because I'm more lazy. Maybe it's because I've been reading instead, informally and formally. Reading is like doing homework so that I can be a more creative writer. I'll get to writing everything I proposed, but for now i have to write something of content for LASO's poetry event by tonight so I can memorize it by Friday. Sigh. On another note, one of my cast members has sent me an offer to be an extra in a movie. They contacted me today!!! The movie is probably low budget, but another foot in the door. Oh yea, I have a performance at Xavier University. Sweeetness... Doing theater is pretty nice.

"Do well for yourself, but do good for others."
The word well is an adverb, so "doing well" means that whatever you do should be done to your best ability. Good is a noun, so to "do good" is performing the actual benevolent actions for someone.

Pictures from Crowley, LA:

Stage being set-up early for rehearsal the night before.


The theater before morning performance for middle school students.


The Rice Theater before the evening performance.



Found a song I like by the band Travis (only the best name to grace a sheet of parchment):

"What's a wonder wall anyway?"

Thursday, October 28

"All the time talking about what to do to me or with me!"

The next acting tour date is coming up in a couple weeks; Crowley, LA here I come to spend the night. I thought I'd put a few pictures up. Thank you all for coming: Truc, Tram, Johnson, Huy, David, Mike, Terry, Jamie, Quincy, Tap, Nancy, Ha, and the fam. Thank you for making me uber nervous.

My monologue


The Best MTFering cast to ever graced the planet Earth.


After performance Dinner with the fam. Picture taken by Tap or Nansay as they are not pictured here.


Be not mistaken, I can see through your opaqueness. When you’re going through hard times, I feel. I know who you are and who you are not. What you try to conform to and your approaches are familiarities. I don’t judge; I never did. I don’t doubt where you’re going, support. Still I say nothing and do nothing, as I watch passively. For that I am sorry. I don’t present when you're lying, but I know the gestures that abet them. Conversations give me insight; your eyes put me in sight. I can indicate when you change your personality to cover your insecurities, and when you speak of them I’m aware of the magnitude that’s compressed. If only I could be there for you as you would like me to be. I know your story and sentiments. I should be your best friend, but I would never want to bestow that upon you. You’re an island of such great complexity. Still I say nothing and do nothing, as I watch passively. For that I am sorry.

Of all sports to get a neck injury from, I get it from tennis? Who gets tennis neck instead of the customary elbow? I wonder if Nadal had this sort of predicament. Flag football intramural is fun. Signed up for the Mardi Gras Marathon today.

Monday, October 25

"Drop beats, not bombs!!"

BREAKING NEWS: Brave New Voices 2010 is now on HBO. Well I watched, after recording, the finals. Holy shit they were nice. Although, winners from 2007 are my favorite: Fear Philly. There was no Josh Bennett in this one; I guess he's too old. Sigh... Wish I did slam poetry and was a part of the New Orleans team when I was younger/ignorant/less poetic. I think I'm going to do a slam one at Loyola's poetry even next month after talking to Carolyn. Working hard on that one. This one is not a slam poem, but a dedication.

She lives in the autumn of her life. The blooming of spring is long gone along with a summer filled with sun-bathing and basking. She now dwells in the proximity without time, so she paces with her pacemaker. Only there to see the fads fades, the trends transcend, the once illuminated dimming, and soul maturing. Silently staring and reflecting on a living world, crouched in an unforced fetal position, near and dear to the winter of her discontent. Labels added to her chart to let her know her body is progressively deteriorating: diseases, symptoms, prognosis and several words consisting of more than 4 syllables. The endorphins and serotonin levels are headed towards the end of their half-lives, making it unbearable to taste even the slightest sweetness of life. Her occupation of a wife and laborer has been terminated. Having handed the pink slip on many occasions, she has her load lessened, the ones she once complained about. It's been a long time and she longs to be longed for. After retiring as the caretaker for her kids and her kids' kids, her position within the company has been terminated alongside the declining economy. For while resting in an abyss of her own, her religion keeps her lightness, the levity. Palpitations pitter pats, with her heart dilly dallying with diabetes. She's too old to be told what to do. Her sensitive ears make the music we listen to too loud. Our unfamiliar habit s has depicted that time is now owned by the youth and their recklessness. She doesn't dance, but her biological clock ticks, her skin waves, and her joints pop and lock as she gets up from coin drops. Bones are now brittle with softened tendons and weary eyes, immobilizing her often enough not to see what is in her future. They were supposed to collect antiques and classics and be astonished in the presence of, not do away with. They're supposed to be more priceless to pass on. Wisdom gone with teeth decayed from gingivitis. So her smile is rarely seen, as she turns grim for the reaper, steadily pushing the bucket. She now lives in the autumn of her life, for the earth is a cold place to rest for the winter.




Upcoming blogs - Motivation (requested), next novella, culture slam

Friday, October 15

Trust Exercise

Going to start a sayings book for kicks and giggles. Wished I looked more presentable today, might have been life altering. Here's another requested one filled with babbling.

Personally, I despise the word "trust." Trust is word used by the insecure as a defense mechanism. Often used in a manner to prevent oneself from being hurt, an excuse. When people feel like they're losing something, they embed the word trust into whatever they have to prove. "I trusted you." Now, once used in the past tense, conversations will arise about gaining that trust back. Where does it say that trust is a bargaining chip for one feel secure again? Isn't that too much to ask for? To get someone to trust you again, to watch your every word and action from then on as if you're not human. People should know when they're not trusted, they shouldn't be constantly reminded or complained about. It's like knowing that you're not liked or desired for. Notice how trust is rarely used in a positive outlook. It's a label people can freely use to reinforced thoughts of actions. When haven't you used trust as a scared tactic? They treat trust as if it's this monumental dispensable gift, like a trophy in your case. Don't get me wrong trust is vital. But for some reason, if ever said, it seems to always come with contingencies. When really, trust should given unconditionally like love. You don't threaten someone by saying you'll lose my love and have to gain it back. So, why do it with trust? Now-a-days it's used as an arsenal to unload during desperate times to bring upon relational warfare. How can you say you don't trust them if you like/love a person? It comes with the territory, but should be banned from the English language. Because, trust has now become a leverage for one's selfishness. It was made for those who complain, who need to rectify unexplainable events. For example, "Look what you did with my trust!" Trust is a guilt trip waiting to occur. Even when you tell someone honestly that you do trust them, doesn't it make you feel like your in-debt from having any human error with all that pressure? So what good does it do it you say the word trust? So me, I say fcuk trust. Fcuk a person if you uses trust as a weaponry like, "I don't trust you anymore." You should just rather say I don't like you. We should cease making rules, restrictions, consequences, and promises with one word. You're not supposed to work to be trusted or liked; it should be present or not. That's the meaning of unconditional. No matter what faults will occur I'll always trust you, but I'll never need to say so. So, saying trust is like pronouncing your lost of faithlessness in mankind. Why don't you just say just that? Don't tie someone down with trust, because honestly it shouldn't be compromised or disposable.

Tuesday, October 12

Close call

Ever feel like time is almost up for you?

Between helping Carol with her pharmacy interest paper, Jthan with his English paper, and Quincy with his theology and interest paper, this will be my short break from writing/typing, a simple sentence with two songs.

Someone needs to learn to play these songs on the piano or guitar, so I can sing along. =P


Saturday, October 9

Curtain Call

I have several works that are half way done. However, I have to go through this filtration process in order to determine what should or shouldn't be published. Sometimes I wish I wouldn't have to so I could go on a publishing frenzy. Should start a separate private blog, no offense followers. Hmmm...

Well my overall acting performance was so-so. I wasn't proud of it as I would want to be. Dry mouth = fail. I loved it though, missed a small line in the morning performance. However, it killed the cue for the next person's dramatic exit. Lol. Furthermore, my monologue was way better in the morning than the late night one. I guess it's because I performed in front of friends at night. Thank you for the support. My heart stops pounding heavily after my monologue is done. Just have to worry about other things like ad-libs. I hate how I use my right arm constantly to emphasize something, bad habit. Singing wasn't one of my strong aspects so I may have murdered that a bit, but if you can tolerate it my hat goes off to you. Not a bad first experience though. It's a learning process. Well, I thought it would be neat to put down some points I learned throughout for those aspiring young actors/actresses. Everyone should try it if you're not easily stage frightened. I know I'm not super knowledgeable so don't hold these to me, just food for thought.

1) Diction/enunciate - Working on diction is an attempt to rid all accents and lisps. It makes easier for people to understand you clearly. Enunciation is vital especially with words that are not used common conversations, such as as·tro·naut. Those kinds of words must be said more slowly. Also, people are sometimes lip readers so it's very useful if you're thought is not heard completely. Tongue twister helps with this and also warms up your mouth prior to performance. Listed are some tongue twisters I use:

She sells sea shells at the sea shore.

Whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot, we'll be together
whatever the weather, whether you like it or not.

Black leather, yellow leather.

New York is unique.

Betty Botter bought some butter,
"But," she said, "the butter's bitter;
If I put it in my batter,
It will make my batter bitter;
But a bit of better butter,
That would make my batter better."
So she bought a bit of butter,
Better than her bitter butter,
And she put it in her batter,
And made the bitter batter better.


2) Position: You must be always have an open stance, unless otherwise directed. For, example, during a dialogue I turned my back to the audience. So, to adjust I switched which feet was forward so everyone could see my bodacious bod. Also it's not always preferred to talk and walk at the same time. Direct attention to audience members. Get to your spot and cite your line. Rapid movements or distracting motions are frowned upon, unless otherwise directed. Avoid infamous, nervous gestures, such as: anguish penguin arm motions and rocking back and forth.

3) Character: It's very difficult to get into character. So do some research and/or attach personifications to your character. Get an overall background of the character or if you must make up one, use your imagination. Don't think about how you would feel always, it's not bad but think how he/she would feel. Try not to associate many of your gestures or emotions towards the character as it'll seem like just a deviated version of yourself. Blocking out different paragraphs to associate each emotion is preferably. Such as, 1st paragraph he's mad, then sad, etc.

4) Stay in character throughout: from the body language to the ad-lib. Ad-libs are very important as to revealing your reactions. Don't fidget but react to other characters instead of standing coy with some motions, such as those of revolt. Don't laugh at points like I do. -_-

5)Prepare: Be relaxed. Some people do light yoga, meditate, isolate, or simply do tongue twisters. Dry throat is common during monologues or dialogues, so be hydrated. I guess that's why we do tongue twisters, because with a dry mouth it's hard to enunciate.

6) Lessons from a director:
You must be seen, you must be heard, and you must understood; and if you can act, all the better.

You have 3 instruments: your voice, body, and imagination.

That's all for now. I probably forgot some other standards, rules or restrictions, but it's all good.

Monday, October 4

Intruder Alert

It happened in a day’s time, no bullspitting. An indefinite date that I declared you unforgivable, unworthy of acknowledgement. They say, “to err is human; to forgive is divine.” With that quoted, I can only claim human properties. I don’t know what I despise more, seeing me in you or seeing you in me? Either way, I have to find a new personality, unique attributes without associations. I’ve stopped looking for reasoning, but my vast memory creates this immobile, hostile force against your justification, this false resilience. I abhor the quality of remembrance. At who’s expensive is it at if I forgive and forget? It could only be at mines, the forgiver. I spit at remarks of spitting images, as we share no resemblance aside from the indebted affiliation. Primarily, I offered empathy. Secondly, I exercised sympathy. Now, I pity. You’ve breached the system and knowingly tampered it to the point of self-destruction. One day I’ll catholically forgive you of your trespasses, as a lifetime is a long time. Enjoy your time, but you will be reprimanded, maybe not by me. You’ll be dealt with the divine powers at hand in the hour of your death. For now, however, as Tupac says “Fcuk you and the clique you claim.” Oh yea, and God Bless.

I want to have a child, maybe sooner than later. Especially after watching the movie Gigantic. Soon as I get my shit together. No rush though.
“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

Thursday, September 30

Just a Boy

Today was a Reasonable Doubt, Ready to Die, Life after Death, Blueprint, Me Against the World, Marshall Mathers LP, 2001, Straight Outta Compton, Capital Punishment, Lifestylez Ov Da Poor And Dangerous, Black on Both Sides, Illmatic day. Someone tell 'em what real hip hop is, because I Used to Love H.E.R. Wayne is weak, but the old Jay and Em are Renegades and Notorious Thugs. "So what's the difference between us? We can start at the penis, or we can scream, "I just don't give a fuck," and see who means it!"

On another note, today was also the last day of rehearsals. God I'm going to miss cracking intellectual jokes, loosely stated. Everyone was extra funny tonight, shoutout to them. Tomorrow is opening day/night!!! I am not uber confident but here goes nothing. The journey continues. Man I hope Nansay finds that dancing class. AHEM!

New piece that is not as serious as it sounds. Here it is:

I’m just a boy
a keeper of arrogance
subject to impure peer influence
proudly impulsive
briskly defensive
with misplaced loyalty next to the bad mannerism

I’m just a boy
a believer of self-centric ideology
conceived stubborn
completing competitive superiority
constantly inebriated
with colloquial conversations and broken sentence fragments

I’m just a boy
An attempt of an oppressed artist
Disorderly conducting
center finger toting
misunderstood prisoner
with condemnation immunity alongside relentless violence

I’m just a boy
A nonpolitical voting
second-rated citizen
objectively biased
revolting persecutor
with subtlety nitpicking from underdeveloped judgment skills

I’m just a boy
A debt practicing poor finance manager
calculating consolidations
splurge convinced customer
cosigning bankruptcy
with illegible penmanship for outstanding balances

I’m just a boy
A resentful scapegoat
Psychological tyrant
Slyly belittling
Discontent mutineer
With suspicious gestures accompanying persuasive manipulations

I’m just a boy
a blissfully ignorant based
carelessly overzealous
Religiously apathetic
indistinct infiltrator
with overconfident youth in addition to the faithless, humanistic atheism

Despite the age, titles, facial features, educational background, career occupation, and achievements,

I AM… just a boy.


Forgiving you will be the hardest thing I'll never do.

Sunday, September 19

Trick (Travis) lud the kids

Only kids and my mom hold the softest part of my heart, in the most masculine way. Lol. Kids age 4+ though; I sort of kind of don't prefer babies at all. As long as they can talk and retain that purity, I'll love 'em. Two of my most favorite/preferred are pictured here. On another note, I am my mother's son. Sorry for the laziness, referencing the sideways videos.


















Did her laundry, cleaned her car, went grocery shopping, sent an e-mail, and probably have a beer with her later. Simply Things.

I gave away $210 today. Feeling good.

Thursday, September 16

An Issue for the Ages

Hate having to scrutinize my monologue, so many emotions to depict. Hmmmm... to do this or not: http://www.groupon.com/deals/the-new-movement-theater-new-orleans?utm_campaign=UserReferral&utm_medium=email&utm_source=anonymous. If time permits I just might. God these fillers are killing me, but here is the next novella regardless. This one is all over the place, maybe purposely.

They sit outside of a coffee shop. He has, in hand, his guilty pleasured caramel macchiato, and she has her usual water. Past due is time for them to converse about their lives up-to-date. However, one’s always needs to be comforted and the other one is there for comforting. In this particular predicament, he’s the comforter like bed sheets. Well he’s always been the headstrong type, but never understanding the misunderstood. General questioning, such as how are you doing, absorb approximately 5 minutes before she makes an offer. She then pulls out a sheet a paper seemingly to be primarily filled with words instead of white spaces.

She opens with, “Would you like to hear something that I’ve written?”

He proceeded, “Hit me with it, but what’s it about?”

Looking down in shame and regret, she whispered, “Him.”

“Oh, I guess. Go ahead," he expresses with his sarcastic excitement. Then, he looks at his watch.

She reads, “Sometimes, I wonder if he knows.”

He kindly asks, “What doesn’t he know?”

She answers with a question, “Is it fair that I never told him that I loved him?”

“People love things all the time but are afraid to say so. It’s permitted and sometimes because it becomes problematic. It’s just the man in you,” he says trying to reassure her decision.

“Although I did, I swore that it would not leave the vicinity of my brain, never composed in the form of words. Those notes, for so long, that held a dark figurine, the ones I played best, were attempts to foreshadow and mask my sediments.

He sees if trying to change subject will sway her mind away from this treacherous sleet of parchment. He inquires, “Do you still play or have the passion to?”

Funny that he should ask that, as the answer inhibits the next section to her paper. Reading aloud in confidence no one around would analyze, “The passion slowly fades, but ominous tones seem only appropriate for such an ominous stature. Those elongated, melancholic keys accompanying a reoccurring sharp F would be the soundtrack to my very existence. Where melody and harmony synchronized never became familiar landscape for him and me. I feel, as each note passes, to remember upcoming notes as they approach, as they seem more vital to my completion. The endeavors to hyperextend the phalanges beyond my own physical capability made apparent that I should stick within a smaller, comfortable range.”

“Are you talking literally or hypothetically now?”

She sips her water bottle as she knows when large paragraph are vastly approaching. “Metaphorically.” Continuing, “Already forgotten are the individuals that stand for notes struck only once. Often I traveled through different octaves of similar keys in attempt to put me over this hill and somewhere over that rainbow. However, he was that God damned F sharp key. Oh, how we came into contact time after time. As if contact were informal conversations, it came with ease and effortlessness. Repetition is the father of retention, but retention without commitment left me in search of simpler keys.”

“You mean different people right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He exclaimed “It’s always so hard to keep up with you with all these metaphors and sayings. I mean I love the way you talk though, or speak as you would say it. No one “speaks” like that anymore, especially guys.”

“I’ll continue, this time without interruption please. Just need to get this off my chest,” she politely requests. So continuing she does, “With so many notes and multiple pieces, one could only imagine how easily it would be to naturally forget, especially with one’s curiosity. He was one of my loves, but only when love couldn’t suffice. I longed to be able to love long enough to no longer love other loves. He was better than the rest at one point, even better than the first cut. He was the nicest person I knew until I met others, but compassion he knew best of.”

Just to add in a bit of emphasis on her current sentiment she looks up and adds in, “Now when I request for anything, I always asks for a few instead of a couple, even if I means to get two items. It’s because I doesn’t believe in “a couple” anymore, as lame as it seem. It holds sentiment value.”

She constantly questions why she didn’t seize it when she could have. She frequently listen to songs to remember her exes.

Thinking that her last subject may have lost his attention, she rapidly continues so he cannot comment on her lameness. She cries out, “So often I there are renege of promises on his defense. As strangers approach with such blatant criticism at his expense, I felt I could no longer protect him as a newly estranged person. However, I vowed to counter the slurs regardless, but I’ve misplaced that role alongside notes struck only once. Fully exposed in the rawest form of weakness is what he was fortunate to watch, and I apologize for that. He never permitted any apologetic gestures, never seeing me outside my true self. He defended me even when my only accompany was my friends and their faithlessness that I know what I’m doing. Who could read me as well as he could? So he was my attorney during prosecution, master notes to broken pieces, counterpart for a couple, solution to the most tedious equation, and everything I couldn’t utilize. But you see I never needed them or was allowed to. He shall never know that he was once one of my loves. How I love the person he is.”

She places her paper into her hello kitty backpack in hopes that he doesn’t ask for it and rapidly says, “That’s it. I consider them issues. They’re issues making up a magazine of my issues.That’s just another issue for the ages. It’s just in my drafts folder in my e-mail account pending to be sent. However, the email replaces “you” where I stated he/him.”

“You should tell “him” that instead of sending it.”

“But I can hide behind what I write. Plus, I don’t know if I still love him or can love him. I’m sorry to say but I’m still living in the past.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s all good.”

“That’s exactly what he would say.”

The minority of the conversation was then concluded with a bunch of “It’ll be okay” and “It’s just trial and error,” common advice she no longer believed in. Why does she even bother asking what to do? She willingly agrees to propositions just to terminate the whole process as she knows no one understands her completely, maybe the guy she’s written about. However, he’s long gone by now. Presently, she walks around consciously wondering if people stare because they see the deposits of what left of the wasteful heart, possibly on a silver platter for the world to see. She contemplates if her actions are backed by an organ or an attempt to unravel a solution to a problem, which mathematicians and engineers couldn’t resolve. Parts of her heart are occupied with different people. She only questions to which one does others see is suitable for her versus the one she see herself suitable with.

Monday, September 13

The Wanderer

A lot of the time I am allotted a lot of time to be less and less sensible, particularly through self-expression by means of creative writing. This will be the sixth post in September alone, getting a bit carried away are we? How is anyone supposed to keep up? Additional, recent compliments and comments were well appreciated. Interview in Baton Rouge tomorrow at 9 A.M., nervous much?

And he proposed her two things: forever and a day. When light would turn dark and light again pearls arise in the velvet sky, night began. Dwelling in a realm of a new dawn, among hot gases in space in time. Smelling the dew in the morning, the aroma awakening the soul. Whimsical posture and acute impairment of his limbs. Wandering about in quest of reflection of self in the spirit of others. Wheezing in despair of lack of restlessness through perseverance. Where colors connect lines on the circumference of Mother Nature, the only kin he knows of. Shadows and debris foregoes. Already forgotten are the moving images plastered and its beauty, as beauty devalues with age.Specific heat capacity of liquid sets as a precursor to outside conditions. Scenic appreciation depreciates with the descending sun. Reoccurring thoughts hidden beneath breaths of questioning dissipates more rapidly than the next oncoming idea. Trying to find the keys to his organ, notes to his heart.

Saturday, September 11

What's Old is New

Performance day is rapidly approach. Here’s another requested blog that probably was waited for or forgotten about. It’s not specific or great by any standards, but this is all that I could conjure up. Wish I could’ve written it better, because you would have deserved that. Damn, guess I’m getting lazier.

I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Back in the day when my loyalty to you was so immense that I would often withhold myself. Times weren’t much simpler and it’s just as complicated as it has always been. I can’t recall how we got so close. Everyone routed for me, but I wasn’t anything special for anyone to adore, so below normal I remained. Because of you I got myself more involved. Back then I was more social, so I spoke with everyone about it. I remember when there were different instances where I turned down people’s interest because it felt like I was cheating on you. Everyone saw what I had for you; it was undeniably evident. Time spent was recorded by the second. I was trying to be the best and exhibited kindness. Till this day I can still recollect moments I store deep in my treasure chest holding my heart. We did the little, everyday things. I still have pieces that I wrote that bear your name across the metaphors. I remember the day that you reach out to me wanting to reciprocate. I was already with someone that treated me like shit, but still I stayed with her. It could be classified as the worst timing one could ever have. I guess 2006 was the year I shut the door of opportunities. Being with me isn’t as special as an opportunity, but I guess I gave up by then. Don’t we wish time and place would coincide like is should, but I’m a bit glad it didn’t. It would’ve been the death of me and I would search no further. We progressed, so I learned to live my own life eventually. I gained my independence. We share an astronomical amount of commonalities, but there are days I us as black and white, sometimes with shades of gray. Since then I guess I’ve taken you down from the pedestal, no longer seeing you as flawless. However, you’re better than most people I know and always present. I do a lot for you, and I’ll never stop at it. You’ve done tons of things for me as well. I don’t talk to you about a lot of problems with you anymore, but I guess that’s from learning to keep it to myself. I don’t see a future for us in terms of boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, but there are still those moments where you shine like gold. Although we get along so effortlessly I didn’t retain any of those “in love” feelings. I tried to get them back, but just like all things forced, they’re forced. People still route for us, but I don’t. When people say something over and over, we learn to do the opposite. Guess I’m experiencing specificity when it comes to personalities and attributes I prefer. I’m not “exploring;” I just know that kind of relationship is not what I want for us. God I’m feeling a bit nostalgic from writing this. You’ll be one of the greatest friends never heard of. I’ll love you till the hands of time are too tired to revolve, maybe even longer than that.

Moral Fiber

Here’s another request, an odd one at that. I have to define moral fiber. I’ve been told that phrase is subjective in terms of connotation. Sorry if it’s not as interesting as you thought it would be. Lol. It feels good having blogs saved in drafts to publish. Doesn’t feel as much pressure to hurry and publish the next.

Mor·al Fi·ber (mawr-uhl fahy-be)
-noun

When I think of fiber I think of bettering the digestive system and peristalsis. So fiber is basically a helper for incessant actions, so fiber could metaphorically be anything of aid. Next, morals ethically determine right and wrong behaviors. So it’s subjective within itself, which people personally set in stone. They should abide by it, but slippage or forgetfulness does occur.

Anyways, the collective term of moral fiber, to me, is any phrase or an action that exemplifies good use of morals. However, it doesn’t stop there, only when one witnesses it and then practices it is it defined as moral fiber. Hopefully, you practice your own morals day in and day out. So when you’re experiencing slippage and notice someone else practicing good deeds or good use of decision making, it becomes more than just an aid. It become a necessity like fiber, or else everything will come out as bad shit instead of that good, firm, healthy, and well flowing shit. For example, when someone tells you good advice, as known as moral fiber, you should digest it so your shit, morals, are intact and goods are returned. Keep the bowel movements coming.

Not feeling the new Maroon 5 songs. Still listen to Songs about Jane religiously. Random thought: If anyone could listen to a band/group religiously wouldn’t the one best suit be Judest Priest. Hahaha. Dry, lame humor.

Friday, September 10

He versus She

Sorry Tap, I’m going to do the one you requested next blog. I thought of this one and ran with it. I left some comments of others’ blogs but don’t see them. Anyone else having the same problem? The calls are the cause for my eyes to ball. Hmm… was going to write something personal, but ef it, maybe another day. Here's my next piece in Brave New Voices. If you ask why I have that label, then search it up and see the young poets perform on youtube. BTW I know the he/she stuff gets redundant here, but that's just the capacity of my creative juices. This is made on various rhyme schemes and would probably sound better if I performed it live. I'm always thinking of new ways and what to write, but c'est la vie, such is life.

He would roam and roam, a rolling stone; she was home alone Macaulay Culkin’s role.
She’s leans towards logical, he’s epitomizes emotional

He searched for the love of life; she was the working type: home is life, husband wife.

He wanted to plan weekend ventures; cause she never planned doesn’t mean she never took pleasure
He believed so, but she needed no explanation, either or ever.

He’s a popular people’s person.
She’s a serene, civil servant.
He’s friendly; she’s family.
He’s sadistic and pessimistic; she artistically persistent

He travels; she cooks and cleans.
He’s mobile; she’s concrete.
He carries his baggage with his luggage on the plane.
She carries her head higher, hopeful, and full of faith.
He doesn’t see eye to eye, guess because he’s always looking down.
She’s always looking up, but I guess it’s not enough.

He wanted money and control, but that’s something you can’t control.
She doesn’t parade with her degree, but he always feels beneath.
He splurges for his memories; she’s 401k and pension for her kid’s degrees.

He wants to prove his importance in the world, so she watches and observes, never judges or slurs a word.
She’s consoling; he’s controlling and self-loathing.

Her fidelity is unconditional; there’s plenty in the sea, he grabs his fishing pole.
She found her religion; he found his women.


He stayed stern and stood firm, but she live and let learn.
He expects shit and regrets it; she accepts it and forgets it.
He always passes judgment; she’s passive.
She loves with a passion; he feels high above it.

He always nitpick at shit, doesn’t make her life a picnic bitch.

He wants to keep up with the Jones’, she doesn’t care who the Jones is.
He wants to show off all he’s done, she shows heart is where the home is.

She accepted simple life, he wanted extravagance to display, trophy-type.
He blames teammates; she blames herself.
He wants to coach; she teaches help.
He wants and flaunts to be the best, seeing losing is pointless.
She was always so content, competition is grotesque, only playing for her enjoyment.

He wants medium-rare lifestyle; she just likes hers well done, right ground.

Her humble meets his disgruntled.
She tried. He didn’t and searching for the new.
Good riddance, have I got myself in two?

Wednesday, September 8

Time's almost up for me

It's becoming harder to keep up with my blog. I have 2 computers and a phone where I scribble thoughts down, but I have 4 files all together labeled blog. They're all scattered around.

I’m taking it step by step, making contact with the asphalt with edges covered in tan weeds. It is primarily composed of bits of tar and white shells in plain sight. Whose idea was it to put shells in the walkway anyways? Bumps in the track lets me know that there were once heat pockets underneath it escaping, creating crack I now have to avoid. The basic process of one foot in front of the other in a comfortable pace isn’t so simple. Much thought goes into it. I mustn’t be too aggressive and hasty from the start, even though my legs encourage that I can. My tendency of only lightly stretching seems to be my nemesis, but oh how old habits die hard. I can feel it, my heart thumping especially in the lower region. That’s only momentarily, while I know that if I continue it will not be so bothersome. It’s true. After that feeling settles, I become aware of the sharp pain in my left ankle, soreness of my calves, and the pounding of knees, as I know running on asphalt is not the best for ligaments and tendons. It maybe my fairly wore down basketball shoes that cause such pains, but I continue to wear them. Perspiration is secreted through my enlarged pores, especially the ones created from acne on my face, falling or seeping into multiple garments. My brows engulf what they can, and I have to wipe away with my already moist shirt any drops of liquid that cause me any discomfort. The salty sweat the reaches my lip would probably taste better if sodium chloride wasn’t in its composition. I blow some of it away orally while I inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth. That’s a breathing exercise I’ve been accustomed to through all sports. The New Orleans’ humidity doesn’t help either, only aiding in my demise. Barely any wind as it is still technically the summer season. With every mile, 5-8 ounces of water are consumed from bottles. There are 4-16.9 ounces bottles reserved on the bench for me as a marker of the distance traveled. I could sweat out the most severe fever under such conditions. What am I trying to prove? There isn’t a goal set.

When will I hit the wall or an inanimate object? When my right legs move forwards so does my left arm cocked in sort of this 90 degree angle altering from horizontal to vertical positions. Those appendages become subject to pendulum-like motions. My empty palms are loosely clenched onto hope, without worrying about holding onto my phone or keys. My mobile device serves as my stopwatch music player. As I get text or calls I disregard them, but I’m rapid to respond when a distasteful song comes on. Trip or trance music seems to be most effective to persistence. “High on Life” by DJ Burnz is a personal favorite track on this track. Funny is the term track record. It seems like I’m ignoring the fact that others are also on the same journey as I courteously pass them, sometimes one by one and other in groups. Strangers on the track with a common purpose. If conversation were to arise, they'd probably tell me how they're trying to lose weight. Then, they shall proceed asking what's my purpose with my already underweight physique. So typical conversation I must resist to indulge in. I selfishly progress as if I'm more fit than they. However, I know it may all be over if I come into contact with that theoretical wall. So this is no competitive sport in my honest opinion. Jogging, all the while I’m contemplating if my intake of carbohydrates is adequate for me to continue this indefinite journey. The banana used to prevent any cramping is living up to its purpose. I look at the ground 5 feet in front because seeing the continuous track seems to discouraging. This sport in more mental than it is physical. Elevated levels of adrenaline beyond the threshold is not necessary, just the will in heart and determination in the mind. Such nerd-like thoughts of the muscle contractions from the use of ATP and exchange of calcium are in the back of my brain. As I continue, my body begins to breaks down causing me to hit the brakes. Without a goal failure is inevitable, despite the amount of songs, nutrition digested, quality of attire, or whether the weather is perfect. So I stop and walk to my car with my head down as it’s been the duration of the journey. I might feel the feeling of accomplishment one day. I’ll conquer you one day Avondale’s walking track, but failure is evitable

Tuesday, September 7

A Proposition for the Ages

It's almost that time that I've talked about a couple months ago. My clock is running out. I’m going to do a descriptive piece next. My writing is getting lazy and it shows. The idea and content are present, but the flow and scrutiny is slowly fading. Oh wells. I wrote parts of a song, that won’t probably be published.. If I were instrumentally inclined then I wouldn’t have it any other way then to play it. *clears throat* “A 5, 6, 7, 8.” Lol. Here is an untypical, one-sided conversation novella. These novellas are in demand. I’ll abide by the trend, for now.

They’re 4 months into a semi-relationship. She still doesn’t properly appreciate him enough. I’m not going to sugar-coat anything; they have their fair share of problems. Fights arise here and there due to their own uncertainty and lack of confidence. She’s cleaned his room for him. He doesn’t know, but she’s about to leave him in an uncanny way. She made sure that she’s taken away everything that’s her or resembles her by organizing his stuff. Into her little pink hello kitty backpack it all goes.

“Thank you for cleaning my room bay,” he says. She ponders on the thought of the time when they created pet names. She remembers that it was just about, never. “That’s a first. She questions, “Why’d you call me babe?” His explanation went on, “Isn’t that what you are? I mean I know that we never established whether we’re together or not. I kind of assumed, it being so long since we started talking and everyone sees us together now. Since we’re a little bit of public now I thought I’d slip it in unnoticeably. Fail.” He chuckles. He’s a bit glad that she does show him off and allows her friends to meet him. Such 3 lettered words for him to spew would be so difficult. She expresses, “I'm kind of confused?” He then inquires, “Sorry, you don’t like bay do you? Should I say hun? Or is it that we’re not boyfriend/girlfriend yet?” “I wanted to you talk about that,” she exclaimed. You could just see his eye lids raise duly out of excitement. Was this the declaration that he had awaited for? Would the months that he’s invested finally prosper? He has recently asked his friends and they came to a consensus that she should be his girlfriend by now. What is she waiting on? Her next eight words would change his life forever, “I have a proposition, one for the ages.” And so her one-sided conversation began.

“I’m going away for awhile, maybe more than just awhile for an indefinite amount of time. Years, decades, or half centuries will go by. I’m just not ready as of now. I’ll try to forget about you, supposedly move on. I’ll make consecutive mistakes with an array of guys from the modestly kindest to the most slyly arrogant, but they’ll all be given sufficient chances. I’m fair because some of them will be nicer and more talented than you and other won’t be. Oh will there be good looking, charming ones all in the convenience of our very own city. A little deviation from the ideal is something that I’m comfortable indulging in. There’s going to be a trend of a bad boyfriend which I hate to love, and then a good one I don’t love that gives me comfort and security. Some will treat me like a princess; others will treat me like a peon. Some will show me the world, and I won’t occupy any space besides a bedroom for others.”

“I’ll be used and abused or use and abuse. Slates will be wiped clean each time, without speaking of any past relations. I won’t attach one’s mistake onto another man’s innocence. There’s going to be days when I make it through and days when I can’t. This would be a pivotal time of my life. Boys or men, depending on their level of maturity, will be my independent variable in my own experiment where time is constant. This is all under the hypothesis (impression) that there is more out there for me. If you try to contact me, I’ll genuinely respond politely. Our conversations will be sweet but short, because I don’t want to get attached or for you to. After we break, please don’t make any last minutes efforts as I will see them as desperate and pathetic acts. I don’t mean to be so mean. “

“One day in the distant future I’ll come to my senses and return to you. I’ll admit my faults and fall to your mercy. I’ll be frank and tell you I’ve met others. However, say that you were the most suitable, but I’ll mean perfect, one for me. I won’t be lying. You were never overly nice, obnoxiously mean, the cutest, or most gifted. I liked how we were so comfortable and it didn’t need for you to take me anywhere to be content. You never took me to extraordinary places or been uber romantic, but what could I expect within the 4 month window. There are numerous attributes that I won’t be able to pinpoint your masterpieceness. I’ll cater to you this time around. You’ll definitely be doubtful, but I’ll be subject to your ever need. I’ll even propose marriage and profess my undying fidelity. By that time our careers will have been established. All of our dreams will fulfilled or in its motion, we’ll be ready to settle. Knowing all of that, will you wait for me unconditionally? Will you call me bay then?” Breathless and awestruck is he. Is he supposed to be excited or discouraged? Either way, he opens his mouth.

Friday, August 27

A Decision for the Ages

There’s more and more advice that I can’t absorb. I ask each person and they give me honest opinions because I think I look horrible. Fcuk, there was this girl who was so brilliant in her monologue that I wish I had half of her talent during mine. They love when I’m at rehearsal because I make it exciting and joke around. I missed one and they got curious. They’re pretty cool people and have characters outside of their character, like moi. LOL! I didn’t know it was a semi-musical when I got into it; that shit has some badass songs to it though. I even have to rap alongside the rest of them. Call me LL Cool T. The director has asked me to edit the script because I do a diluted version of spoken word. It’s so difficult to get into character, but the others do it so well. I’ll get it down before the performance. I’m always so happy when I leave the building and waiting for the next one. Probably going to try a type of dance with Nansay if she’s down, which I know she is. Don’t tell anyone I’m doing this kind of stuff or even that I LOVE IT!!! I do activities that I see and that I like. I try not to sit by and just enjoy it; I want to be it. Funny thing is that I asked my mom to let me go acting school after high school. She didn’t decline, but check me out now. By the way, thank you readers for responding via text, blogspot, or buzz. I only blog cause people read it or ask for it. Thank you. Here’s the next story to the novella. It’s sort of a quick and lazy one, might revise it later.

And so it began. “Should I tell him? Tell him that I don’t love him, or love him as much as I thought I would. My heart doesn’t beat for me nor does it for him. It beats, whether I want it to or not, harder at points and softer infrequently, ruining any sinus rhythms. I just don’t know if I can’t or don’t love him. Those dumb distinctive conjunctions. Shouldn’t there be a manual, tutorial, list, or regulations? Why didn’t Moses add those to the commandments? Thou is not in love or shall not love someone if so and so… I’m sure God would’ve mentioned it and he could’ve written down the conditions or maybe even one predicament. SOMETHING! What if we’re not married? What good does the 9th commandment do?

I don’t think he understands that, at any moment, I could have a relapse. He thinks he understands and I want him to understand, but he doesn’t. Hopefully he’s doesn’t have to feel it’s intensity or help me in the half-way house. Did you know that love actives the same area of the brain as cocaine? But I’d rather cocaine be the death of me because love is too much. I won’t be reliant on drugs or anything, but whoever took away love should receive the same conviction as those slanging cocaine. To be cocaine addict or love addict, eh, tough choice. Love is simply legalized cocaine in terms, but the police don’t take that away, only the heartless. The fcuked up U.S. judicial branch got the wrong criminals on trial. So I’m here with a heart not mended and someone to tend it. So do I keep it in fragments or do I wait?”

Her friend said, “How can you be amusing at a time like this? I’ve watched your heart break over and over again, almost like clockwork. There are minutes where you’re happy and hours where you’re not. There are days that feel like weeks, months on in. I’m always there with the decisions you make and the feeling that ache. I support you if you want your heart to be broken or healed. Sometimes you chose the former and sometimes you chose the latter, but regardless, I am support. Quit with the metaphors! I’ve heard them all from you, with the stringing him along like a marionette to your knight in shining armor. Tell me who he is to you and his relation, nothing more.”

Funny it is how we’re so headstrong one moment and weak-hearted the next. She began to tear up, not enough for one to fall and graze her cheek but enough. Not willing to show her emotions through her expressions, she nodded her head just enough so that her long locks would fall in front of her face. From then on, everything from her sounded a little muzzled.

Fully exposed now, she continued, “He’s everything I wanted. He could be as so close as it gets to ideal. I’ve come close, but he takes the cake. He’s so… He’s so everything that, I might be missing out if I let him go. You know the attributes: nice, calm, cool, collective, romantic, etc. It’s the temporal factors I’m having most difficulty.”

“Will it come in time though, your mended heart?”

“I don’t know. It’s been awhile as it is, and I’m feeling indebted to him the longer this progresses. Feeling like I owe it to be his girlfriend the more we do with every joke/word exchanged. He compliments on everything I do and supports as well. He sees me as perfect and that I'm a victim is something is ever wrong. And that's just not true.”

“You shouldn’t feel like you owe him anything. I’m sure he understands where you’re coming from. A girl can only handle so much.”

“I told you that he thinks he understands, but I can see it in his disappointed face when he wants so much more for us than I do. Is it wrong? To give him so little, when he’s investing his all, heart and soul. It’s been a fcuking while and I still can’t come to terms of giving in, to him or anyone of the matter. I don’t want to be missing out on him, but I don’t know if I can be with him. He is probably thinking of a timeframe when we’ll be boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s trying so hard and I don’t want it to be for nothing. I owe it to him.”

“You don’t owe him shit, sorry to say. Why not just let it flow and maybe it’ll happen later.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“What if it does?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his only occupation is to mend my heart and that’s all, not to be my lover or anything. I should’ve just been his friend, but I can’t act in that friendly manner. Fcuk I hate this part, knowing this day would come if I immaturely act rashly. Another one may just bite the dust. Please don’t hate me or judge me like the rest of them.”

Her friend concluded, “I would never.”

They hugged and kissed each other’s cheek like the grown folks do. Then off their separate way as she sighs. She’s back to square one, uneasy and beautiful. Still undecided is the decision for the ages.


Will there ever be another Aubrey Heburn? Just asking.

Wednesday, August 25

An Approval for the Ages

Every day I learn something new in rehearsal. I love it, my new passion. I'm the youngest and most inexperience of the bunch. Some of them have already come to surprisingly compliment me, and it feels great. There's some brilliant people there, and one person has been doing it for 61 years and others are on their 13th one! So much talent in one room. There are dancers in my group too. Two of them know contemporary, African, hip-hop, jazz, etc. Trying to get references from them. They know so much about films than I do. I need to get on their level of hierarchy. Yesterday I learned about practicing my diction. I'll be trying to speak in a proper manner. Here's the next story to the novella.


I grabbed him by his momentarily empty left hand, maybe a little more swiftly and vigorously than friends should. So he addresses me. “What’s up bro?” He asked. There it goes, a glimpse of his poised composure and statements of exaggerated relations to me. Fcuk he’s nice, not forcefully pulling away or acting in any offensive manner. This took away from the climactic scene that I would’ve expected. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pull you away,” I said while doing a run through of his nicely set ensemble. “I’ve always admired your choice of clothing, especially complimenting occasions.” “Thank you bro,” he thanked. Damn it, again with the exaggerated relation. There was an awkwardly paused moment. I was so mesmerized, like the others, that I forgot why I clenched him to begin with, and now I’m speechless. Snap back into it, you’ve come here for reason I reminded myself. Taking a breath in and recalling that I ate something with garlic in it, I attempted to exhale in a downward motion out of courtesy.

With all conditions aside I began, “You shall love her and love her well. People tend to forget that love is verb, an action word, not a noun or part of prepositional phrases.” I am aware that I’m sounding pretty psychotic and philosophic to him right now. Before he could respond, maybe about how psychotic and philosophic I was being, I continued, “I don’t mean to be anything but respectful in whatever I say, but there are things you must reminded of. I only ask politely that I finish.” “I understand and that’s fine,” he remarked. “I said let me finish!” I joked. We both laughed.

I began again, “Everything you do you do wholeheartedly and way better I could ever.” He commented, “No, not all; you’re far better in a lot of things.” He began with examples of this and that. So reassuring he sounded, but I know he’s got me fooled with false hope. I responded, “See… You’re better at being modest and complimenting than I am. But anyways, carry that wholeheartedness in you with her. I’ve seen your passionate and compassionate side, and because of that I know she’ll love you forever. Only God could have depicted such immense fidelity. Her love is of the rarest love, seldom seen and felt. Appreciate it, more than life itself if you haven’t already. Remember that her comebacks are quick and probably have to do with her insecurity. A beautiful mess she is. Reassure how talented and beautiful she is when she performs. Give credit where credit is due and even when it isn’t, that’s all. Keep treating her like gold and take her places. She probably wants to go abroad eventually.” By now he’s curious as to my relation to her. “You talk as if you've known her for so long or maybe you've been with her.” I lied, “No, not at all. I’ve just had a sheer chance of being one of the lucky enough to have witness an epic story. One that I’ve learned my lesson from, and out of pure advice I thought I’d tell you. I’ve known someone like her, and for her every day is a war. With every waking battle she endures, is a callus on her heart. The naked eye cannot see it, and the keenest of ears couldn’t hear it. One bad vision is all she needs so please don't allow her to see that day. As her medicine, surround her with you.”

I'm pretty sure he didn't need any advice from me, but at this point I couldn’t just keep complimenting him. I couldn’t come to terms of rambling about his genuine compatibility for her, at least my heart couldn’t. Every day I am dumbfounded by their commonalities; it is not always true that opposites attract. “Keep up the good work,” is all that I could bear to tell him. I couldn’t emphasize enough how lucky he was or how happy she’ll be. I could with every ounce of thin body, but I’m sure he’d to beat me at that.

“Lastly, don't tell her that we ever spoke. "Please don't tell her." you're the friendliest and nicest person I know. Let her be amazed by you and don't stop amazing her. Her being happy lets me know that you are and you will.” Then I formally apologized with an,”I’m sorry that I’ve taken your valuable time.” “Thank you. You know I might have one day forgotten these things if you had not spoke to me, he said. I concluded, “No you wouldn’t have. Reminding yourself would be merely a formality. Have a great day and best wishes to you both. God bless.” This would've been an approval for the ages. Yea, that’s how it would’ve gone, but he is already on his way to the altar. Maybe I shall save it for another time or just forget about it. I silently bid them adieu. Happily or sadly? I do not know.

Monday, August 23

Movies are like People

I was initially going to write about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind to add to my motion pictures labels. Frankly, I wasn't as fond of this movie as I thought I would be. I guessed the movie's ending at midpoint, blah. One phrase I do remember is, "Blessed are the Forgetful: For They Get the Better Even of Their Blunders." This like an addition to the Beatitudes; did you know that? Funny are the things that I recall. Motion pictures recreate the same themes, and I'm sure that you've notice that. For example, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is like The Forgotten. Instead of lovers, The Forgotten is about the outstanding immensity of a mother's love. Then, there is Billy Elliot which is similar to October Sky, both having mining father's that don't approve of such careers. Billy loved ballet; Homer loved making rockets. Because I'm a astronomy kind of guy, I rather October Sky. The Life Before her Eyes and Flashbacks of a Fool were alike as well. Life Before her Eyes was better. Now for the Feature Presentation:



This movie is, without a doubt, top 5 movies of all times for me. Just look at the directors, cast, and writers. Each scene has a different director and set of actors. I love the characters in this movie, each having a set of attributes, but connected uniformly. It's a real artsy movie with: dance, painting, acting, writing, and videography, which I am avidly in to. Here is my summary so if you would like to watch the movie do not read the rest.

Love the artistic side of David; he's charming. Camille is my kind of girl.

Charlie Bartlett is in the movie getting drugs and gets laid, nothing new.

Ethan Hawk’s character is a smooth, witty conversationalist outside of the restaurant. He's a writer too. Man is he clever; it's not the things he does, it's his whole approach. He's not romantic but plain witty. My favorite character in this movie.

A woman told a servant, "No one so young should be so sad." She doesn’t know, but he used to see her sing in Paris. They probably were lovers in a lifetime before.

There’s dad who's not accepted because he's of different descent. Taking her to the park was very “nice.” I love how he does this sort of ballet/contemporary dancing, so strong and passionate.

Then, there's the artist. I guess it's true that an artist's work is of more worth posthumous, must watch to understand.

There’s these strangers who are in their 40's and 50's both of them are outgoing and humorous. They talk and have one sided conversations accompanied with a gentle moment. Favorite scene.

Next, there’s old couple that have mean humor. Gotta love moment.

Furthermore, a young couple makes a spontaneous decision to take a trip going to Rome. I've always wanted to roam in Rome and do as the Romans so.

3 couples either mention or speak of red wine. Red wine at the dinner table, red wine reference at the house, red wine stains from the night before. Guess that's what's used to woo others.


Saturday, August 21

"What's Old and What's New"

The night’s sky was too cloudy to see the meteor shower!!! MTFer.

This goes against what I stand for, but I’ve decided to uphold a blog’s request. I’m laying it all out because you asked for it with specifics. Probably wouldn’t have blogged for awhile if you didn’t ask. Dropping the bomb, long-style. I didn’t want to have to blog section by section every other day so here goes nothing.

I’ve always been insecure, because I’ve constantly have had reasons to be. Ever since I was young, I’ve never been the most popular and was never quite the cutest kid. There was always one close friend to accompany me, from Anthony, Dean, Tai, Hien, Truc, and Jonathan, each entering and leaving at different times. I was the kid everyone picked on, new kid on the block. Only now do I realize that being picked on was probably the best for me. Aside from the torment and bickering, I was happy. I was appreciative when I was accepted at seldom times, and it humbled me. I would never wish it upon myself to have been initially accepted to become uniformed with the “cool kids.” Having gone to a different elementary than the rest of my peers, I became quite the ill-humored extrovert among the blacks and the whites. Being social was my thing. Getting to know everyone without trying wholeheartedly to fit in was my thing. It would subconsciously carry on to my high school years. This made me okay to find other social groups and accept other outcast.

My home was always a safe haven for me. My family and I would have outings every Friday, from boomtown to skating. I don't even want to mention the annual trips around the United States. We all got along so well, and no one had problems we all couldn’t conquer with one another’s company. My relationship with my father is not at its best stage right now. Things that he has taught me I’ve exercised religiously, and others are negated by the actions he does presently. Moreover, I do appreciate his past identity, but there’s always that unconditional love for my mother. When it falls apart, I fall apart over and over again. Little did I know that I shouldn’t have berated such events and moments. This made me okay to know that family was all that I needed.

High school was when I became popular, if I could call it that. It was more like accepted, and I was always willing to make new friends, unlike the clique-out isolated groups. I achieved friends from almost every group in high school, from football players to members of the band. It felt good to be well-known Asian on campus. The childhood experience spoken above helped me with this. I remember being the only Asian to go to pep rallies, almost every football game, dances alone, etc. I was fine just going alone and finding someone to hang out, with my large array of friends by this time. Sounds kind of depressing going somewhere alone, but alone I was not. I loved it that I didn’t have to rely on others for my happiness. Being senior class president, leadership, key club treasurer, and MC at graduation in my senior year made it quite the year, even with going to prom dateless. This would still be included in the” never quite the cutest kid” time period. This made me okay to find serenity in large, productive social groups.

Since my teenage years I’ve loved someone who’s allowed me to, not exactly the same love throughout. That occupied a large part of my life. However, I suffer from the being lame syndrome, an ongoing case. I don’t have a track record of people I’ve been with as people would like to say about me. I’ve never had what you could even call a girlfriend. I was/am never good at relationships, if I could even call them relationships. They’re all short-lived and compact I shall say. Blaming timing or any exigent circumstances would be na├»ve of me, probably of my own doings. I wouldn’t exactly call them painful or unworthy. Some people break up after years of connection. Sometimes, I guess through lack of longevity, I feel like I need to do or be more to overcome this specific insecurity. This would good placement for the “I wish I were enough” statement. The malpractice of believing that there was always a better or more accepted method of approaching relationships was pretty counterproductive as well. To sum it all up, I am a buzz. I’m this ideal guy who does mediocre acts towards what I would think of norm according to relationship standards. I don’t do all the right moves, am not the most caring, am not the most romantic, am not the best conversationalist, and am not the best person to cope with. They all think I’m interesting at first, then that goes south with the ticking tock. Dwelling in such insecurities always provides me with food for thought. This made me okay to accept that I wouldn’t be perfect person to be in a relationship with.

Unlike everyone else, I’ve never had a talent, nothing worthy of recognition. I’ve tried basketball, playing the piano, playing the guitar, video games, and endless amounts of sports; nothing seems to work in my favor. Something for someone to say, “yea, that’s Travis, he’s good at this or that and he’s my friend/boyfriend.” I never was the best dressed or best looking, even easy on the eyes. Since high school and parts of college, my sociability has been on a decline. I don’t keep in at much contact, but would like to. I loved the Asian club by the way and allowing me to be president. Especially when I got to host Date Auction and made others happy attending events that they would think to regret. I’ve always wanted to be cool, calm, and collective, but all I’ve ever been was insecure, aware, semi-humble, talentless, and cerebral.I think that’s enough for now. Feeling kind of exhausted and like I really don’t deserve this much attention, or attention at all. So unless you have any personal questions or suggestions, I won’t be talking about myself for awhile. I find this, after rereading, UTTERLY BORING. But do tell, judge me now.

Monday, August 16

A Story for the Ages

Once and awhile I think of these situations of he says, she says. So to tap into the human psyche I imagine conversations that are a bit melodramatic, away from my actually he say, she says conversations. This time I decided turn it into somewhat of a low rate story. I apologized for my grammatical and structural mistakes, especially the misplaced indentions.

She screams, "This isn't what I signed up for…" Those three dotted lines are not sufficient enough to explain her tone of voice or even begin to describe her sentiment. This rendezvous will be a story for the ages. He replied, “I told you I wanted to see other people, that we needed a break. I thought we had an understanding.”

The dialogue then rested and the monologue began. She started, “I thought it was a phase. That you would wait for me at the end of the tunnel, that I was the light itself. I thought you’d be the type to wait, because I am and I would. Because whatever you were going though was a necessity for us to start again, like many times before. So that’s why I waited, for you to acknowledge that you’ve fcuked up. That time not spent and time apart was one of your life’s remorse.” Tears streamed hard and seemed endless enough for a reservoir, and her voice became laryngitis raspy.
Slowly and passionately spoken, “I‘ve given every piece of me to you, pieces that you decided to leave in shambles. Shards of my own pierce through areas of my heart reserved only for you. Did you not know that you were the thinnest film of wood and I was the darkest of inks? Therefore, together we wrote chapters in our book, a story for the ages. You were my story, embedded in every breathe of my peers conversations. I am better than anyone you could ever be with, aren’t I? Aren’t I? I held you everywhere I went; you were a ventricle. You constantly made up my thoughts; you were my cerebrum.” She pause because it seemed ever so much to endure and to transition parts she wanted to emphasize.

Hoping for even the slightest sympathy from him, he just stood there standing as poised as he did the first day she realized that she loved him. It would be easier on her if he were not, in her eyes, so God damn good looking. Her uselessness of a broad vocabulary and the thoughtfulness of her metaphors did not have such affect as she would’ve expected. Some of the words he could not even define, “shards?” Smooth and apathetic was his self-centered self. There wasn’t an immediate apology, just a “this is it.” The ratio of her ode to his three worded, delayed response still leaned in his favor, in terms of effectiveness.

Turning his head followed by his body seemed theatrical, like she witnessed this before. So as a last minute effort she grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close hoping that his heart would open and beat just as fast as hers. That he would gasp for air and make a proclamation of love seen only in movie scene. She kissed him and he left, simple and plain.

Although she replayed this conversation subconsciously over and over, she failed to mention about the walls he torn down, the one’s she laid down and the foundation that they put up leading to their future household. How she was the wife and he was the husband in premeditated circumstances. Each battle and misunderstanding would be the hard labor of construing such a bond. When he wouldn’t let her go out to strangers with misplaced intentions to embezzle her from him and she loved it. It was part of their proprietary rights in relationship standards of accepted jealous and selfishness. Does he remember those clauses or past feelings? She thinks maybe if she had mentioned this that the outcome would be different. Maybe this was only the cause of time constraint and that maybe he would return to her, love stronger than ever spectated, a story for the ages.


Don’t know if I’ll shall continue making it into a novella or start a new conversation? Or… Should I terminate this whole type of writing? What would you like? Honest opinions only accepted.

Sunday, August 15

"People know that they're going to die, but still go on with their lives"

I'm only blogging because it's asked for by multiple people and it is my mothers birthday today. It's unfinished and I wrote a few months back, not too long ago. It was an attempt to write, in a narrative style, descriptively. I should call it a failed attempt but here it is:

I awake. Just as I've recently began to at 5, 6 o clock in the morning. Reaching for my phone lying next to me is my first gesture, knowing that no matter the time is I'll be up for good. There it read 5:47, with my newborn eyes filled with eye booger. The wind then blew. Stepping out into the amidst pier wearing the same polo shirt and cargo shorts from the night before. I could feel with each step in my souvenir shop slippers the wet sand, but walking I continued. No forks or other utensils in the road, just half broken seashells from pockets of kids who attempted to over-collect them, only allowing for them to end up crushed by tourist tires. But without any hesitation to pick them up, I continue walking. I'm no meteorologist or anyone with credibility, but it feels like 88 degrees, cloudy with a chance of isolated rainstorms. The humidity initiates the profuse perspiration, overworking last night's deodorant. So I leave my arms slightly separated from my torso to air out. Left under these conditions to find solitude at a beach filled with shirtless guys and half naked women. Contradicting that is, to find one's peace among public strangers.


I like the title of this blog. Got it from a show I watched recently. It was said in a happy tone; I feel the same. "I don't think I gonna go to LA in anymore. I'm not sure that I ever could."

Happy Birthday Ma. I love you like none other, bar none. Have to wake up for church early tomorrow. LOL! The things she would like us to do with her on her bday.

Post scipt: I got the part!!! Will be rehearsing soon!!!

Saturday, July 24

Only Time Can Tell

Has anyone seen my watch?
I’ve seem to have misplaced it
It has 1 face, 2 hands, a bezel, a case, a band, a crown, and 12 numbers
It’s just like any other ordinary secondhand watch without a second hand
It stops for no man, not even for me
I can stall it, the batteries can run out, but eventually I’d have to synchronize it
So I’m trying to find the time before it runs out or at least in a timely manner, since everyone is trying to kill it
This doohickey of a gizmo to simply tell time indefinitely means a lot to me
Do you know how difficult it is to buy time, especially to spend on quality timepieces?
Beginning dialogs about this analog
You would think it was a cocoon, how I’m check-in time and to see if it would fly
They say, “I’ll find time, in due time. Just watch.”
But it’s not just a watch, nor a swatch; it shows me what I’m losing, always honest to me
Am I wasting time searching for a time teller?
Now it seems as if the new pastime is searching for past time
I guess what I’m trying to say is that:
“I am in search of lost time”

“Even a broken clocks right two times a day” Jay-Z

Thursday, July 22

It's Been Awhile (Edited)

I appreciate our drunken Thursday texts, three weeks and going. Here is another lazy blog, trying to meet my 4 blogs a month quota. A piece that I finished after I performed it. Inspired by the lives of two, the edited version.

I think I'm becoming more comfortable publishing some of my works. I'm probably just ready to let them go; holding onto these are like holding onto people. So here's "It's Been Awhile."

It's been awhile since we've last spoke,
Since you've listened to my last bad joke,
Been awhile since I've tried hard enough to tell bad jokes
I mean I'm funny ain't I, at least I try to be,
I don't care that she pretends to laugh,
The fact that she lies doesn't bother me,
I mean I don't really care for the sound of laughter,
Just wanna see her smile hold its position for a few second more
As she chuckles is what I'm after
But it's been awhile

It's been awhile since I've seen her,
What's worse is she doesn't even know she's pretty,
Wouldn't believe it you if you told her,
You could sing it in a song, or text message her in bold words
You could waste 160 characters, all your free weekend minutes,
A filled voice message system, e-mails, postcards, mails without the E
All the letters, words, and verbs trying to convince her
The Pope could tell her she's pretty and she would swear that he's a sinner
But it's been awhile since she's been told that

It's been awhile since I've asked her about herself,
What she really likes, things that she prefers,
Favorite song, color, number, hobbies,
What turns her on, what gets on her nerves
I'm not sure that I even know her, so maybe it hasn't been just awhile
All I know is she's cool, calm, collective, honest and modest
If you put her in a situation she would have a guilty conscience,

The only thing I know that she doesn't, is that she's fragile
So handle with care please, when you get your hands on her
You can make her cry, treat her bad, as long as you don't damage her

It’s been awhile since she’s held on
To anything worth holding on to
She severs this and whatevers that
Pushes to pull away, she is left the way she was left
That’s not right,
So if you are and if you can, do so accordingly
Because it’s been awhile since one has given her a fraction of what is due

It’s been awhile since she’s done anything for herself
Everyone heads the list that she is second on
And I reckon one shouldn’t be cumbersome
Or anything less than number one
It’s been awhile since she’s won

For her, it should NEVER be awhile, it should always be assured
Because she has been through some things, and she doesn’t know her worth
Anyone should offer you forever and a day
Sorry that it has to be awhile, even seconds in a day.



I'm watching videos of your story online so that I can further my understanding more than it already is.

Tuesday, July 20

All for one, 5 for all

All for one blog, 5 subjects for all to read

I couldn't quit. So in return for going back on my word, I've decided to do 5 blogs in one. This is for you Nikkie, since you got on when I thought I quit. It's also for my avid readers like Tammy, Tu-Vy, Jackie, Nancy, Tap, Christy, Susan, etc. Y'all ROCK!

Writing Wrongs: Close to You

After literally 9 states, 2000+ miles, 30+ hours of driving in the past 3 1/2 days, I'm where I want to be, not home but not too far away at least for now. Got an audition Sunday, am going to sign up for the run, and figured out the present, which present though? Huh?

Brave New Voices: Kickin' Punchlines for My Sassy Girl

Thought of some things during the continuous driving. Thought of little clever remarks that I wouldn't say because it would be too corny, even by my standards. At least I enjoy thinking them up and reading them. These thoughts are genuinely from me, which I am true to.


It's always something, it's never nothing. Spend some time, spend some money, lend me your mind, and I'll spare you mines. Run through my thoughts and I'll jog your memory, and pick my brain like guitar strings. That will be the beginning of our wedding band.
You'll give me your two cents, and I'll use 5 to make cents of it all; then we'll be sensible.
Show me your scars, and I'll be your neosporin, stitches, mederma, foundation, and concealer.
I'll eat candy prior, just for your warm whispers of little sweet nothings.
I'll bring you to life, but be the death of you. Then I'll rest a few and wait for you peacefully. I'll be the beginning of the end, like the first chapter in Revelations.
Through postpartum, postmortem, post-graduation, post-martial, postcards for each stepping stone you hoped for. Oh, what a beautiful sight to watch.
Limitless Calculus, undisectable Biology, in broken English only Chemistry.
We'll have that alphabet love, no consonances just wedding vows, particularly "U" and "I." I would replace "I" for "U" in my life, so it would spell out my lufe, if that's how it's got to be.
Try righting anything valid is strong, just use lyrics in entries. *That was pretty clever. Lol.*
Picture perfect and my eyes are the camera. She is the Panorama. God as the artist, her body, the canvas. I want to romance her, with flowers and candles.
You'll be the compilation of the ninja turtle artists. So that means you're equal to sixteen Sistine Chapels, seventeen School of Athens, eleven Last Suppers, and many Madonnas. We're all just slaves to the masterpiece.
We can converse about asic things adidas a kid.
We'd be in a complimentary circle, your red to my green, your yellow to my violet, etc.
I'll help you through the hard times, those straight to the heart times. All the way from the vena cava to the aorta. Through all of your lives, the whole nine.
I want to light up your world, we can paint the city, if you spark my interest.
And you'd be happy as the people at the cross-section of St. Ann and Bourbon Street.


Tracklisting: People are songs: A person, a song
























GG: Funny Story

Yesterday while driving, my low gas light came on. There were no streetlights on the interstate, and I tried 3 gas station on two exits, all closed and horror-filmed looking. Finally after about 20 miles and almost on empty, I found a Texaco. Thinking, "What a relief?" I encountered the gay cashier. I say "the" gay cashier and not "a" gay cashier because he was "the" only one in the store besides myself. So my original prayer changed from please let me find a gas station to please let me die first if he wants to rape me in the middle of no where. However, I payed for the gas and left, rapefree, fuelfilled, and blessed. God is good.

Bullspitting: Nasty but I lamely thought it up. -_-

If our course was on the interstate, would our state be on intercourse?