Mirror Image.

I had someone wipe the kisses off my mirror.

Oddly, this was the first amount of pain felt, in regards to that chapter, in a long long time.

“la canzone ha rifinito ed ora l’annotazione seguente”

Ok Ok Ok, some sneak peaks.

Concept, Designer, Web Developer

Concept, Designer, Web Developer

Concept, Designer, Web Developer

Coming Soon.

Something Wicked Pt. 1c

Keep on running, running from my love.

It’s so funny how those words can sound so different, depending on what side of them you stand. This classic, awesome Stevie Wonder song has so many interpretations. Literally, some of the words, are “Some gonna get ya, Some gonna jump out the bushes and grab ya” Seriously! This is a blind man saying he’s going to find you, and grab you, even tho “all you wanna do is be a friend of mine” Crazy!!  Because he’s blind! (sort of kidding there)

But we’ve all been there. When the author was younger, and had no idea how to interact with women, he totally found himself in the friend zone zone zone (that’s a literary echo effect). Having been raised to be a complete gentleman, he would cater to every whim and wish, which of course was a complete shock to most women in general. But he didn’t know better and before he could realize he found himself on late night phone calls giving advice to these girl-friends about their boyfriends to be. For those of you that have been there, this is an acute form of torture.

But you trek on.

You forge these relationships and realize that out there, somewhere, there must be someone who can fulfill your needs. You want it so bad that invariably you begin to settle again and again because someone meets some of those things you hold so dear. And the truth is the author has been on both sides of that coin as well. Note to self. If you truly despise country music, skinny jeans and anything having to do with reality television, don’t attempt to date a  22 year old hipster from Nashville. If you think your city, Boston for example, is the best example of American history, and has the best sports teams…ever, don’t date a girl from Philadelphia, because the jabs will actually get to you. At first you’ll smile and compromise, as long as the head is still coming, but eventually you’ll look at the Eagles, Phillies and Sixers with contempt. The thought of those subpar teams being held in any tier similar to The Patriots, Red Sox and Celtics will drive you to sleepless nights, even if the sex is still mind blowing (see, another pun) If you hate cake, don’t date a baker, even if she thinks you’re the coolest thing since…sliced bread…

The author at this point feels he has digressed into two separate subjects here.

An apology is due to the reader, as it’s not fair to take you on a tangential adventure of this nature.

Did you know that tangent comes from the Latin tangens, the present participle of tangere, “to touch.” In other words, it means “touching.”

How does a man not settle? The author has thought long and hard, and after many many calculations he has come up with a complex series of equations that once and for all can answer this.

Are you ready?

You can’t.

You must settle.

Life is about settling. Some folks settle for first place, some folks say that you’re really really fine.

There is no other choice. You must settle for someone with things about them that you just don’t like. You’ll ignore them at first, for anywhere between 6-15 months, during the “honeymoon” phase. But slowly they’ll come into focus. A crooked tooth, a little too much fat round the waist, A penchant for contradiction, A whistle sound whenever a word has an “S” in it, I could go on.

I will.

The ability to have an opinion on everything, the thought that they actually understand baseball (this includes you Amalie Benjamin). Cutting your bro time in half, girlevery 2 weeks. Romantic comedies, Sex and The City (we watch it ladies, it’s called Entourage) And many many more.
Like chewing food like a starving horse, spending daddy’s money like the author smokes cigarettes,  having to be on the phone more than 4 times a day, needing to have that goodnight, tuck in call, morning wake up call.

Now before NOW burns the author’s house down, understand that most of the above are traits the author has been guilty of at one time or another and now hates about himself. Understand that, eventually, it’s not going to get any better, unless you hire a girlfriend experience, become a millionaire, you need to realize that any of the above things PALE in comparison to the love that you can find with that person.

Listen to me carefully, if you think you are better than any of the above mentioned, or anything in the same vein, you are retarded.

The author has thrown away amazing, or potentially amazing relationships because of this. And to be fair he has been thrown away as well for some of the same reasons. That’s not to say that relationships only fail because of this. These are just great to write about.

Some folks say that you’re really, really fine,
All you want to be is just a friend of mine,
But I know, the man your with gonna break your heart,
And you’ll be sad real soon, yea.

Back to running, and the keeping on of it. You may not know it, but your soul mate may be the greatest person for you. You may not know it but the answer may be right next to you when you cry about how Ted, from the investment firm broke your heart. When James the poet, tells you that you have hemorrhaged his heart cavity and he must find orange-creativity in another shell of life, 2 things. 1. James is Gay, and 2. Who is that person you tell first? If he or she is of the opposite sex (or same if you’re into gay), then chances are you should really explore that option.

I did, and for almost 2 years thought I was the happiest man on earth.

Don’t discard the power of friendship. Don’t take it for granted.

And stop running. Please. You’re gonna get tired and some won’t follow you that far. The author almost did. Thank god his shoes weren’t expensive enough.

To be Continued…

Something Wicked Pt. 1b

The  author’s father is 82 years old at the time of this writing. He is essentially bed ridden, going in and out of consciousness on a daily basis. He is suffering from Dementia, Alzheimers, diabetes, and along with his leg having been amputated, the medical world has discovered 2 tumours, on in his lung.

Anyone reading this, remember the above paragraph, when you feel down about your circumstances.When you think “woe is me” or I have it so bad that I can’t afford a new Ipod. The author is not trying to negate your feelings of despair but merely letting you know that you need to suck it up and push on.

Born in Buenos Aires in 1926, the 12th out of 13 kids, father learned quick the meaning of making it happen for yourself. Working 2 jobs and going to school…as a 12 year old. Bathing in an actual barrel, meaning that if you were one of the last one’s to wake up…you got cold and dirty water. You’ve heard of those “when I was your age I walked up hill both ways, barefoot to school. Father wrote those.  At the age of 16 he joined the military and based on performance was promoted to personal guard of the President, and his wife. Juan and Eva Peron. The rumours of her being a slut…totally true.

He married his 1st wife and with 3 kids in tow he moved to New York, building a very successful business consisting of a full Queens block of stores. He was never a Yankee fan. He actually preferred soccer, surprise, and played briefly with one of the premiere teams in Buenos Aires.

He left his 1st wife after medical complications. And traveled the world. Met his second wife.  He was 53, she was 17. They had a kid. Whoops.

She left when the child was 4. She was 21. Whoops.

They reconnected when he was 21. She was 38. Too Late. But I digress.

Father trudged on. His small fortunes having disappeared through bad investments and a lack of financial planning. To make matters even more wonderful, he was was diagnosed with diabetes, which caused him to lose a toe, all while working 16 hours a day. Change was needed.

Father and Child moved to Massachusetts in 1987. They moved in with Father’s youngest son from his first marriage. He was an engineer at a missle plant.

This was bliss. 3 generations. 3 men. But alas..all good things.

Father, and his never ending entrepreneurial spirit continued and he opened many more business, each failing due to a faulty business plan or arson. Whoops.

In this time he met and married his 3rd wife having 2 children, at the age of 67 he had his final child. A boy. 3 wives, 5 boys 1 girl, 4 dogs and 2 hemispheres.

As his business failed, his health dove along with, and here we are. The author’s father was once the standard by which all people were judged in the eyes of the father. This was a man who would stand in front of a train if it meant protecting his children, wives and interests. But with each year, god, or whomever took away yet another function. His iron fist slowly became a crippled wrist. His booming voice, became a whimpering whisper. His stature became a myth. His  older children, previously guided by his strict rules and backhands, saw his youngest roam free with no fear of repercussions. Effectively the youngest has been teetering on the edge of throwing his life away because noone has been there to physically put him back in place.

The author wasn’t there either. He was to busy satisfying his ego and the other people around him. The author wasn’t there enough because he thought that is he didn’t think about it, it would all work out. He wasn’t there because he was ashamed to show his current friends that his family had been relocated to the slums, and showing them that would surely bring on some kind of judgement. He was a pussy.

Why is the author telling you about his father? Because with all that has happened leading up to these entries, it’s necessary to point out that even though everyone in  the author’s life has left him, for better pastures, easier lives, more control, due to fear of commitment, insecurities, pure evil selfishness. His father has always been there. And that is the true measure of a man. There was always a birthday, Christmas card in the mail, albeit with no money, nor Cartier watches in tow as his peers received, it was still always there. There was always a phone call. There was always a comment to making fun of the author’s weight, which he has grown to love (pun intended).

This, combined with the events of 2009 have made the author melancholy, real, and happier than ever.

To be continued…

New Wallpapers.

Created using CS4. contact me if you want a high rez version.

Something Wicked.

An Excerpt. Enjoy.

This is not a success story.
This is not a story with a happy ending.
This story has no ending.

Yet.

This is a wake up call received 29 years too late, but nonetheless received.
This is a story of tragedy turned into viciousness.
There is no moral. There are no answers.
There is no right way to do anything having to do with emotion, or love, or hate, or coldness.
This is merely a short story of how one person went from feeling significant and satiated to insignificant and motivated. How one person went from thinking he was the king of his realm, to falling, at an alarming speed, and hitting the lowest low he never could hav¬e imagined.
This is a story of how rock bottom leaves you bloody.
Unconscious.
Contemplating the unthinkable.
How rock bottom leaves you empty, soulless and pitiful.
Disgusting, and vengeful.
This is a story of how one hand in the dark reaching for you, a quite unexpected one, is all you need for a second chance.
A story of how the hands you expected to be there for you, will always leave you when you need them most.
This is a story of will power, and the discovery of such a thing.
The sheer determination needed to change your life.
The sheer hatred fueling you into becoming who you, nor anyone, could have ever imagined.
This is a story of someone.
Someone who was everything but had nothing.
Someone who became nothing in order to have everything.

This is you.

1.

Thank you to the 6 people on this earth who have shown me that nothing is permanent. Thank you to the 6 of you who will forever be grouped into a year that will never be forgotten, however many attempts are made.

The full consummation of pain realized, that is felt throughout a body as love rips its ways out is hard to describe. A lumbar puncture, birth, passing multiple kidney stones, or even an amputation seem to pale in comparison at the complete and total annihilation felt by love lost. This is something that the author has yet to be able to fully understand. We have either been through it, or know someone, or even been through it multiple times. The feeling of no light, complete darkness, exhaustion, suffocation and helplessness are but just the surface.
You scream, and no one hears you.
You long for, and no one is there.
You replay vivid memories that were, one day, destined for a scrapbook of happy times, over and over, retracing your steps trying to figure out what went wrong.
You begin to hate their former lovers, wondering if they’ll be on the agenda now that you’ve been discarded.
You think of every little thing you ever did to make the others life easier, ever dollar spent, every bus, train, plane ride. Every now insignificant material object purchased, tiffany necklace, black dress, camera, it all becomes an unfortunate waste of money.
The hours, days on the phone answering every request, calming every nerve.
Gone, only immortalized on an electronic phone bill in the depths of your inbox.
You shut yourself off to Social Media used by the other, in hopes of disappearing.
You hate the fact that you shared friends, and start to remove yourself from most of their lives.

But most importantly.
You begin to hate yourself.
You begin to hate yourself so much that your eyes sting at the sight of anything reminiscent of the past.
You begin to swallow the venom, and it begins to poison you, slowly. Songs, movies, colors, pictures, ideas shared become ulcer causing agents that you start to systematically destroy on sight.
But you still have self hate.
Some people wallow in it.
The author decided to use it to change.

At the age of 29 the author found himself out of a career, and without the one thing he thought would last forever. Her.
At the age of 29, the author found himself the largest he had been in 7 years, with a very unhealthy lifestyle.
At the age of 29, the author found himself making very little money in a part time job.
At the age of 29, the author found out that at the end of the day no one cares about you if you don’t.

This is not a success story. Yet.

To Be Continued…

Scouting the Museum of Science

A Butterfly fell in love with me/my bag. Watched Chickens hatch. Had an awesome time with Ms. Scout.

This South American Beauty would not get off my bag for about 15 minutes. It was amazing. (also about 3 hours later I realized the unintentional humour in the previous sentence)

My Museum Visit on Flickr.

The Truth set Me Free.

If we haven’t seen each other in a while.

Paint.

Today, after years, i started painting again. I started 3 new projects, and whoa..look out.

I forgot how much i can release when it’s just the canvas and I.

I have my first “art show” at a coffee shop in August, so I’ll be letting everyone know.

“You can sheer a sheep 100 times, but you can only skin it once” – BD