Life...

I look back on the pain in my life. I look back at the 9 years I've been working in film professionally (to some degree or another, hey writing is work fuckers). And even with the heartaches that life throws at me. Even with the missed opportunities that I wish I would have taken up on. With all the bad, and the sporadic good.

I don't think I could have wanted my life to turn out any different. It's made me into the person I am today. Sure, I am up alone at night writing on my blog. But I feel all right with that. Cause I know where I want to go, and I can see the road ahead. Sure, I can't see what's around the corner, or if I'm going to get killed along the way. But I'm sure as hell gonna try.

My parents have these little refrigerator magnets on their... Well, fridge. The ones where they are words and you arrange them to say cute things. I spent like 20 minutes a year ago on one that they still have up on the fridge, it says, "99 percent of people never finish the race. All they have is the road, and they are much better for it."

I was pretty smart that day.

Enjoy it kids, take stock, and if it's shitty at the moment, I can guarantee you, there'll be better days ahead.

Remember, Remember the 7th of December...

Not really, there's nothing particularly special about this day that I know of. I've eaten, I've written, I've organized (go figure), I've worked, and I've drawn breath from time to time. I haven't made money today, I haven't saved a life, I haven't taken a life, I haven't touched ocean water, nor have I seen my beautiful little nephew today. With 6 and a half hours left in the day, I can assume that I won't do much that will make the difference in my life or in others today. If I turned off the screen, and turned off the lights, as the sun goes down and if I listen to the Earth spin. I can imagine the world go on without me. Today, someone will die, someone will save someone else, someone will make a discovery, change a life, take a life, be born into life, smile, puke, have sex, make love, beat on a loved one, and try to take over the world.

But it won't be me, not today. Or so I think...

In truth, we all make are marks, every day, not chisels mind you, or deep scores in the marble of life. But a nick here and there. Seems like you can't go through life without doing so, even if you try. These nicks will build, they will cause the marble to break away from the statue that you're searching for. It will knock the tree down eventually. For now, that slab of stone, that towering oak may seem too large to take on. But believe me, that splinter or sliver of stone that you take off today, will accumulate.

So fuck what I said.

Remember, remember the 7th of December, For whatever reasons you know naught. For that reason, though not pleasing, may be the change that you may wrought.

I'm Somebody's Bitch... I mean Uncle!!!

Lucian Alvarenga. Welcome to our world Nephew. You'll grow to know nothing but love from us kid. Your Dad and Mom are very happy. And are incredibly lucky to have you little man.

Life will be interesting, hard, fun, amazing, strange, sad, happy, and weird. But you won't have to deal with it alone child. We will always be there for you.

Love you kid. You're a heart breaker.

You know it's hard out here for a Gamer...

In the next couple of months. Gears of War, Killzone, Wii, Legend of Zelda, Smackdown VS Raw 2007, Guitar Hero II, Superman Returns, and a slew of other games come out.

Kinda hard on the wallet. But man, it's gonna be exciting as hell.

It seems that games and watching flicks are my only real chances to relax and enjoy myself lately. And of course sex. There's always that.

Either way, good times are gonna be had pretty soon.

Octoberfest, Oktoberfest, 8berfest...

You know I've come close to posting this past month like 5 times. And each time, I've just given deleted what I was going to talk about. It's not that I haven't been able to find anything interesting to talk about, but that I've been in the grind of writing lately that I don't have any real updates. I spent two hours the other day picking out names for the characters in the Sci-fi script I'm working on. I'm up in the air right now as for the short film I was going to film this end of year. It was going to be the Western, but I may do another that I was inspired to come up with. I'm gonna fuck around with that a little more. I'm sussing out the timeline for the comic script I wanna do. I'm trying to figure out which script to do after the Sci-fi one is done. I have about 4 ideas up in the air. One's a kid movie. The other's a comedy. The other's a romantic comedy. And the other is Legend of Fucking Zelda. Though the last one I would love to do, the thing is, everyone and their momma's got a LoZ script. And I really don't think Nintendo's going to allow that movie to happen any time soon.

I'm getting over being sick right now, the flu tried to hit, but only got in about half way. Some weird bug going around. My brother and his wife are due pretty soon with a bundle of joy. I can't wait to see my brother watch his wife go through the birthing process. That'll be fun.

But other than that, it feels like this past month was just a grind. Next month for some reason I'm stoked for. Not just for the shit load of games that come out, along with the Wii system. But I'll have made some great progress with the scripts I'm working on.

So now that I got off my chest, that I don't have anything interesting to say for last month. I've got some interesting shit to talk about in the post above this one, so if you're reading this one, forgive the boredom you now feel. And if it's up, take a look at the story above this one, that shit's gonna be cool. In the meantime, I leave you with this random image that I decided to put up for the hell of it.

My Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades...

Writing...

What does it consist of?

What, in its nits and grits, does it boil down to?

I guess every writer has his/her definitions. So let's talk about me for a change in this blog. What does it boil down to for myself.

Well, I guess it comes down to my ideal. I write how I ideally think the world should be, or rather how I believe the world will work in certain circumstances. It sounds nice, but it gets strange when I delve into that theory.

It means that when I write about a woman who allows herself to be purposely raped. I put myself in that situation, and make it as uncomfortable as possible for myself, because ideally, that's what I'm looking for in this scenario.

It means when I kill one of my characters out of pure and utter hatred. I murder them in the best way that fits for that situation.

But, along with the negative, I write the positive. And I've come to a realization. I live in my writing world. At least in my mind.

This world is gorgeous, but oft times, people can make it down right ugly. I write about a world that we want it to be, but more to the fact, I live in my pretty world with all of its nastiness.

Ideals are sometimes confused with the lie. I don't write lies. Lies are things that aren't true. Ideals can be true, and on rare occasions, are true.

We strive for the ideal. And I write about it, but also reside in it. I think this throws a lot of people off when I talk to them about my life and my view of the world.

I understand the realities and accept them. But I'll never stop living in a better world. It's nicer (and sometimes scarier) here.

Thirty Something...

How many 30 year olds do you know? Well, now I know one more, me. This weekend was my birthday. Thirty years old... What can I say? What have I learned? What tidbits of knowledge can I pass down to the younger generation?


Nothing...

Go learn it yourself, you're going to do what you're going to do anyway.

Toothpaste & Lube...

That is what I went to go pick up today at Walgreens. The look on the face of the woman behind the counter lasted for a split second as she held a bottle of lube in her hand, realizing what she had. I wonder if she thought both items were in correlation of each other? I wonder if she wondered if I knew something she didn't? Tonight, I may have envoked a Walgreens check out girl to buy a bottle of lube and toothpaste. Tomorrow's headlines may be interesting folks. Stay tuned to the world.

Some people call me, Space Cowboy...

They really don't, but I'm going to start asking some people to begin to do so. You know, working on this new Sci-Fi script has been intriguing as all hell.

My days are spent for the most part in research mode and notes; and my nights are taken up by actual writing on the script.

What's so much fun is the research, or rather what I've been learning about the Universe. It's easy to see how people can just as easily confuse the wonders of the natural world around them, with religion. The difference of course is that, unlike religion, the natural world doesn't just stop being amazing around them. I mean, when was the last time you followed a burning bush that wasn't someone smoking weed, or a hooker with a venereal disease?
For example, this image.

This is the Lenticular Galaxy, in the constellation Draco. It's 44 million light-years away(for those unfamiliar with light years. A light year is the speed of traveling for one year, at the speed of light, and the speed of light is 186,000 miles/second, so times that by 44 million, and that's how far you have to travel). This image is a composite of many separate exposures made in February 11, 2006 by the ACS instrument on the Hubble Space Telescope using several different filters. It was a 2.5 hour exposure.

All the tech shit aside, this thing is absolutely beautiful. No burning bush, no parting of the Red Sea, no killing the first born, no doctrine, no manifesto. Just nature in all of it's glory. I can see why people can get the two confused. Here's how you can tell. One is fiction, a book written by people so scared when they are confronted by an image like the one you see here, all they can do is drop to their knees and pray to it. The other, is fact. That this galaxy, in all of its beauty, is a massive twirling mass of gas and matter. Does it make it any less spectacular?

fortune favors the living

People are confused about a new email in their inboxes announcing, among other things, that Mars will be closer than ever in recorded history in August 2006. But, although it contains a grain of truth, this email is a hoax.

Mars is too close to the sun for safe viewing by amateur astronomers this month. Mars is visible with difficulty after sunset for the first two weeks of the month before becoming lost in the glare of the sun by month's end.

Back in 2003, Mars was the closest to Earth than it was going to be in our life times. I was fortunate enough to be aware of this knowledge, and had the joy of staring into the night sky and looking at this huge red dot.

It's strange when you think about the things that you have been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to witness in your lifetime. I was alive to see the Berlin wall fall. I was alive to see the Space Shuttle disaster (both), I was alive to see us reach Mars (with an unmanned probe), I was alive to see a comet strike a planet, I was alive to see Tupac, B.I.G., Jam Master Jay, Eazy-E, die untimely deaths and utterly change rap music in their demise (it hasn't been the same since), I've been alive to witness two official wars (and several unofficial ones), and was alive to see one of the greatest natural and unnatural disasters in human history.


You'd think that with all the interesting shit that happens in this world, we'd find better things to write about than a Lady in The Water, or what You, Me, and Dupree are up to, or the dealings of a Little Man. These movies are mind-numbingly... Well, mind-numbing. But I guess they appeal to the cannon foddered masses.

Personally I'm excited about the end of this month. My girlfriend is gonna stay with me before she heads off to school. It's cool to show someone something for the first time that you have been used to all your life. You get to see it through their eyes. I love you Sara, I'm fortunate enough to have you in my life.

My Brother's Best Friend...

Has been put to sleep today. Snoop was in his later years, and fell sick last night. Today my brother held his little guy in his arms as they injected him. He felt his heart beat fade to stillness. One moment here, the next, gone. For almost ten years my brother had Snoop, took him from a family, from what I understand, mistreated Snoop. That dog was loved by all of us, but for my brother, Snoop was; Is; his best friend.

We like to think of ourselves as an intelligent species, the only form of life that can show emotion. We're fools for thinking that. Snoop loved my brother. Missed him when he was away, looked for him when he was at home. Was with him when he met his future wife. Probably was in the room while he consummated his future child. Okay, I'm kidding on that one (at least I hope so). Snoop was one of the sweetest animals (human or otherwise), that I have ever met. And I'm overwhelmed with joy, to have the memories I have with that little dog. And I'm going to tell you the best one I have.

My brother and I were sitting in the living room at my folks house. My little cousin was 7 or 8 months old, just barely able to walk. Snoop sauntered over to us as he usually does, trying to sneak in a seat on the couch, cause he wasn't allowed. My little cousin was holding himself up next to the coffee table. He had his little shirt on, and diapers, just hanging out with us. When lo and behold, Snoop walks over to my cousin, awkwardly knocks him down on his hands and knees, and begins to hump away at my cousin. At first I thought the little guy fell. But when I saw Snoop attempt to hump my cousin (the kid was wearing diapers, and Snoops a little dog, so he really couldn't get on him), I couldn't for the life of me, move him off. I was to damn busy laughing so fucking hard. The look on my little cousin's face of, 'What?' My brother also laughing his ass off. And Snoop, looking forward, and I could swear I heard him say, "You don't love me, you just love my 'Doggy-Style'."

Thank you Snoop, for bringing us such joy in our lives. Rest easy little guy.

You Like Me, You Really Like Me...

Found out this weekend that people actually read my blog. Go figure. Now I almost feel obligated to actually put something on here meriting a good read.

Almost...

I get a partially decent idea, and I opt instead to ramble on about how I just watched Superman.

By the way, I just watched Superman. Holy Fucking Christ, it rocked.

Loved the film with every last fiber of my fanboy heart. I got choked up a couple of times, because I once again believed, a man can fly.

Do yourselves a favor, and watch a great flick.

Speaking of flicks. I've been completely over my cold for the last couple of days (fucking a week sick, what the fuck is that about?), so I'm back at the grind. I'm awaiting a phone call, a letter, a text message, a pager message (the old school numeric kind), hell a smoke signal from the people who are dishing out the grants. They'll let me know either way, but Daddy gotta make a movie this end of Summer. And that's coming up soon. In the meantime, still gonna be working on the Sci-fi flick, and looking for that lucky agent who's gonna represent me.

For those who've read this, keep on reading (and post a response if you want). I'll start talking about nudity. And not my own.

Down and desperately wanting to be out.

I got a cold this past Monday, and the fever is finally breaking. Needless to say, I've been out of commission these last several days. Who'd have thought writing for a couple weeks straight with about a couple hours of sleep a day would eventually catch up with you?

Oh well, c'est la vie.

Done???

They call me Hadoken...cause I'm Down, Right, Fierce!
I had to post that, cause, well I'm a fucking geek.

Speaking of, now that the script's done. Here comes selling it.

And damn, if that ain't more work than writing the thing. I hate interacting with people, a curse of all writers I guess. But I feel weird calling up people and peddling myself to them.

But then I think about the money that's gonna come from this bad boy...

It's a good thing I've got a sexy voice, that's all I gotta say ;)

Done...

Two years in the making. But a script that was near and dear to my heart is finally done. Technically it was done last year. But there were parts of the script that were just flat out killing me. One scene in particular, for the life of me, I couldn't get right. Take note kids, don't write about something so excruciatingly painful, that every time you go to it, your body goes through upheavals.

So when do I get to read it you ask?

You've got to wait. It's going to the Writer's Guild of America as we speak. As soon as this bad boy is registered it is off to be sold. That's right, I'm selling this bad boy. Consider it, compensation for time served.

With luck, it'll be picked up and made into one of those 'moving picture' dealies.

Here's to Shatters, you've come a long way baby.

I Am All That Is Man!

I saw this over at IGN, and I thought it deserved it's own little place here. Some of you still haven't played online, and soon, you won't have a choice, so when someone tells you, "Pwned!" Now you'll know why. Here's a little dictionary of gaming terms.

"Pwned" - A corruption of the word "Owned." This originated in an online game called Warcraft, where a map designer misspelled "owned." When the computer beat a player, it was supposed to say, so-and-so "has been owned." Instead, it said, so-and-so "has been pwned." May also be used to your friends when they lose their keys, drop a cell phone or spill coffee on their new pants.

"W00t" - "w00t" was originally a truncated expression common among players of Dungeons and Dragons tabletop role-playing game for "Wow, loot!" Thus the term passed into the net-culture where it thrived in videogame communities and lost its original meaning and is used simply as a term of excitement and extreme nerdiness.

"I defeated the dark sorcerer! Woot!"

"Teabagged" - A traditional saying in shooters, after you get killed or owned, the enemy begins to crouch up and down on your dead body, whether over your head or other preferred area of the corpse. Makes great kill-cam footage.

"You got served!" - Another way of saying "You just got owned" or "Pwned!" or "You suck at breakdancing!"

"ZOMG HAXX" - Two separate words, 'zomg' is derived from 'omg' meaning oh my god. 'zomg' puts an extra ZO in it, so it sounds like ZOH-MAI-GOHDUH. 'Hax' is commonly used on the Xbox Live world as a defense mechanism for people with low self-esteem who need to justify getting beat by accusing the opposing player for cheating. In conclusion, 'ZOMG HAX' means to be incredibly excited/confused/depressed about losing a game or your pathetic life, in general.

"N00b" - An insult term referring to someone who is new to a game - but is more widely used as a general insult. Usually gets spouted by an elitist, or bad players that can't accept losing (and calls everyone else 'noobs' for beating him). The videogame world's version of a rookie.

"Kekeke" - It's what some Koreans say in online games, usually signifies joy, or sometimes it's like a war-cry. You'll see this from an enemy if he is killing you, he is Korean, or both.

ATTACK THE BASE! KEKEKE!!!"

"Suxxor" - Modified version of the verb "to suck", and the meaning is roughly the same. There are two main uses, as a verb ("Dude, that suxxorz!") and as a noun ("You are teh suxxor."). They appear independently. The verb version is antonymous to roxxor ("to rock"), and a noun could be considered as a counterpart to "haxor" ("hacker"). The pronunciation is "suck-zor". Contrary to some claims, EverQuest's spell "Succor" has nothing to do with that word (actually pronounced "Soo-kore"). This is one of the early uses of the -zor word-ending. Don't say this to your girlfriend.

"Base raping" - When a team has captured all of the bases but one. Members of that team surround the last remaining spawn point and decimate the team with additional kills, insults. Note: Being base-raped sux.

"Ridicapwned" - When someone pwns someone....but it's ridiculous.

"Janitor" - Someone who avoids the main battle and cleans up on wounded survivors to finish them off.

"Muhahahaha" - Evil laugh.

"The Rocks" - Rocket launcher in Halo2.

"Bring a baggie fo ya teef - You just got assassinated.

"Boomstick" - Shotgun.

"Blue Screen Bitches" - Quitters.

"No-scoped" - A single shot sniper kill without the use of sights or a scope.

The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck... Episode II

Another installment of...


"The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck - Dumb Fuck Gets A Costume"

A congealed, almost porous substance, pounded flat against hard wood. Sounds of wet flesh smacked against hard glass. He tosses a white powder against it. The sounds are no longer wet. A red, richly thick liquid, runs all over... It seeps in slightly. It spreads to the very edges, like lava flow, then stops. Cheese is tossed on it, along with slices of linguica, pineapple, and finally jalapenos. Dumb Fuck always makes a pizza for himself near the end of his shift. The boss doesn't mind, and most people don't come in this late at night. He slides it into the oven and pulls the steel doors shut. He strains a bit as he recoils. He lifts his shirt to see if his bandages are ripped, he pulls back his bulletproof vest and reveals bruises from his three cracked ribs. It's been two weeks since Dumb Fuck learned he was a super hero. And it's been four days since he last tried to figure out how exactly he is a super hero. So far he's got cracked ribs from jumping off a chair to see if he can fly, a nice little cut on his forearm from a stab wound he gave himself to see if he was impervious, and a black eye from his coworker that he asked to be slapped by, just to make sure that the knife cut wasn't a fluke from his super human strength (which, he knows now that he doesn't have). Dumb Fuck hasn't given up, but he will try to use a little more tact in his next experiments. His coworker comes in from the back room as he tucks his shirt back in, his bandages are fine.

"D. F.?" She says walking in with a barrel of sauce, "Is you're face still hurting?" Dumb Fuck looks at her. A beautiful young girl in her mid-twenties. Her vibrantly red hair tied up in a bun, so as not to get any 'pizza guts' as she says, in it. Her eyes, a light shade of brown, like the bottom of a soft flowing stream, when the sun hits it just right. The fibers of her eyes are so tightly woven that you could stare for hours, and never make them out. Dumb Fuck can never get enough of them.
"I'm fine Sheby. Just getting my pizza ready."
"You know, I would have never hit you, but I couldn't pass that up."
"It's cool Sheby."
"I mean a Britney Spears' DVD!"
"Yeah, it was my pleasure."
"It even had the one when she performed in that Elvis suit..."
"Sheby!" He interrupts. "I really didn't want it."
"By the way?" She says obliviously, "I've been meaning to ask you, why do you call me that?"
"What? Sheby?"
"Yeah, it's not like it bothers me or anything, I think it's cute, but everyone else calls me Shibana. You're the only one who's ever given me a nickname."
"Well, you call me D.F.?"
"Can't call you Dumb Fuck in front of the customers, right? At least not without an explanation, or an apology."
"I don't know why I call you that, but if it bothers you..."
"No not at all, I like it, just curious is all." Just then, the door bursts open. They topple off their hinges from the force. Four men walk in, stepping on the doors as they enter. The last one jumps over the doors.
"God Damn Jerry! You fucked up those doors!" He says.
"Don't give me no shit Larry!", says Jerry, "I'm not in the mood." Larry, Jerry, Gary, and Harry. Once Lawrence, Jeremiah, Garibald, and Harold. These four middle aged men, have all quit their jobs as sales representatives at their respective "Dot Com" companies, to pursue a dream of reckless abandonment. They all cashed in their 401K's to buy each of them a Harley Davidson Motorcycle, a bowie knife each (compliments of Harry who watches "The Knives Collectors Show" on the Home Shopping Network), and cool zippo lighters (even though Larry doesn't smoke).
They all have on leather in some way. Larry has on leather pants, a little tight for him and they make a lot of noise when he walks. He also has on a leather hat, the kind that Indiana Jones wears, except all black. Gary has on a leather vest, he saw it once in a movie, he thought it was cool. Harry has on leather forearm guards, he saw them in a movie as well. And finally, Jerry has a leather trench coat, he doesn't wear it when he rides, however. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he folds it up, carefully, and tucks it away in his bike compartment, he only takes it out when he is going inside somewhere, but this time he has forgotten it. They haven't really committed any serious crimes, mostly misdemeanors. Jerry is the only one who actually carries a gun. They haven't really used it yet, they pointed at a young Asian man once and told him to 'Go back to China you fucking gook!" The young man was going to tell them that he's Filipino, not Chinese. Also, that gook is a ethnic slur for Vietnamese people, but they rode off on their motorcycles before he got a chance to say anything.
Dumb Fuck comes running in from around the counter, followed closely by Shibana. Jerry sees them.
"Damn boy." Jerry says to Dumb Fuck, "Fucking doors must be old as hell, nearly got us killed." A feeling comes over Dumb Fuck, something familiar and normal.
"That's okay sir," Dumb Fuck says apologetically, "We'll get that fixed."
"In the meantime," continues Jerry, "Why don't you fix us up with two pitchers of beer before we order our pizza."
"No problem sir." Dumb Fuck turns away as the four men sit at the table. He takes Sheby by the arm. "Take their order and be really cool about it, no long talks, they're not the nicest of people." Sheby looks at them, and then to Dumb Fuck.
"Okay, no problem." Dumb Fuck walks back as Sheby goes to take their order. "Hi, how are you?" No answer from any of them. "You guys came right on time, we were just about to close."
"Well you're a cute one ain't ya?" Larry leans back looking at the "too young for him, so it feels oh so right" young lady. Sheby smiles graciously.
"What would you like?"
"What do you recommend?" Says Harry, the only one actually looking at the menu.
"We'll have a ultimate meat meat pizza, which has every single meat that we have..."
"No, I'm trying to cut back on eating too much meat." Interrupts Larry.
"God Damn it Larry!" Harry puts down the menu. "Every fucking place we go to you got to watch your fucking meat intake."
"What? I've been trying to lose weight, that's all?"
"You have been a fucking but-plug about that shit, Larry." Says Gary. Larry leans towards Gary.
"I can't fit into these pants anymore, Gary. They're getting tight, plus every time I sweat, they seem to shrink." Harry's eyes light up.
"Hey did you ever see that episode of Friends when Ross bought leather pants and he couldn't get into them?"
"That was Alley McBeal." Says Gary assuredly.
"No I think he's right," says Larry, "It was Friends."
"Are you sure?" Gary says. Jerry, all of a sudden, slams his hand on the table.
"Are you fucking femmes done?" The other three fall silent. "Look, Red." He says to Sheby, "We'll have an extra large pizza, with linguica, jalapenos, and pineapples." Larry looks at Jerry worriedly.
"But..."
"You can pick it off Larry." Jerry leans back in his chair. Sheby jots down the order, already bored with the conversation.
"Will that be all?"
"I guess so." Says Larry disappointingly.
"Okay, It'll be a couple minutes." As Sheby starts to walk off, Jerry stops her.
"Hey, that boy ain't going to make the pizza, is he?"
"Who, D.F." Sheby says curiously, "No he just handles the register, I make the pizzas at night." Jerry turns to the other three.
"Good, didn't want that nigger touching my food." Jerry laughs loudly. The other three turn their heads a bit, faking their chuckles. Sheby, a little surprised, tries to lighten, the all of a sudden sullen mood.
"Well," she says, "He's half white actually."
"Hey!" Jerry says sternly, "A nigger is a nigger is a nigger. And that's that. No matter how white you try to make him, he still looks like shit to me." Jerry laughs again, this time alone. The other three look at each other. Memories of sitting at a cubicle discussing their online stock options with their brokers, while sending forwards of the latest Osama Bin Laden getting fucked in the ass by a goat in the Tora Bora caves pic; all of a sudden become very fond.
"Well. alrighty then." Harry says trying to break the tension.
"I'll get your order sir." Sheby, with no more to say, walks to the back. She walks to Dumb Fuck as he fills the last pitcher of beer. She lays down the order next to him as she reaches for the dough in silence. "Well, I could have done without the Jim Carrey reference, among other things."
"Hey!" Dumb Fuck says amusingly as he looks at the order. "They ordered the same thing I like."
"Yeah they did." Sheby says softly.
"They got good taste." Dumb Fuck says nodding his head. Sheby looks at him.
"D.F., they called you the "N" word." Dumb Fuck looks puzzled.
"What's the "N" word?"
"Oh come on, you couldn't have forgotten that?"
"Noodle Dick?" Sheby looks at him shockingly.
"No!"
"Well good, cause I could have whipped it out for them if they really wanted to..."
"They called you nigger!"
"Oh, that "N" word." Dumb Fuck stops the spout as the pitcher fills. "Well, there's no accounting for taste." He grabs the other pitcher and motions to go out.
"You're not planning on going out there are you?"
"Look Sheby, it's hard enough for me to remember why the "N" word is so bad, and even harder to remember why I should take offense off of someone I don't know. I'm not going to do anything but give them their beer and get them on their way." He grabs the pitchers and walks out toward the table.
Gary and Larry are playing with their lighters as Dumb Fuck turns the corner. Larry is trying to show Gary a really cool way to flick the lighter on, something he saw on "Reservoir Dogs". Jerry keeps his eye trained on Dumb Fuck as he sets down the pitchers.
"Here you go guys," Dumb Fuck taps Jerry lightly on the back. "Your pizza is coming right up." Jerry grabs Dumb Fuck's hand tightly.
"That little bitch told you didn't she?" The others stop what they're doing and look at Jerry. A wave of terror runs up their spine. They mistake it for adrenaline.
"Told me what, sir?" Dumb Fuck is surprisingly calm.
"Red, get your ass out here!" Jerry looks at Dumb Fuck. "We're going to have us a little chat."
"Sir I assure you that she hasn't told me..."
"No!" Jerry reaches into his crotch and pulls the gun out, not realizing that he had the gun stuffed into his underwear. All the squirming and moving around that he's been doing has unfortunately pinched a few of his pubic hairs between the moving parts. Later, the police Forensics Department will spend about four thousand dollars of man power and resources trying to figure it out. But for now, Jerry had to hide the pain as he slams the gun on the counter. "Get that little bitch out here!" Dumb Fuck didn't here a word Jerry said. The moment he saw the gun, his mind was ablaze. Jerry's hand twitched. Dumb Fuck, reacts, slides his hand around Jerry's side. He turned in a blink of an eye and Dumb Fuck slammed his hand down hard on top of Jerry's. Jerry only saw a flash of light. He looks down at his hand, his mouth gaping as Dumb Fuck pulls his hand away. In Dumb Fuck's hand was Jerry's Four-forty, stainless steel, African Safari bowie knife.
Larry, Gary, and Harry, stare in amazement. Curiously, Jerry pulls his hand away. More curiously as he discovers, his forefinger remains. There, at the trigger guard, next to a pubic hair, lies Jerry's finger and the trigger, both beautifully severed by a thin piece of metal, from their respective owner's. For a moment, Jerry's mind slips into a thought on how he is going to recover from his internet stock crash, "the market has been sucky lately." He thinks to himself.
At that moment, Sheby comes around the corner to the tables. She sees the men standing around a now-curling, bloody finger.
"Dumb Fuck, what did you do?" Harry, being the one sitting at the end of the table turns to look at Sheby, then to Dumb Fuck.
"Your name's Dumb Fuck?" Dumb Fuck looks at Harry for a moment, then quickly looks at Jerry. Jerry has begun to reach for the knife. His wits coming back to him. Dumb Fuck dives for the knife. The other three push back. Harry does so, very hard and knocks down Sheby. She slams the back of her head against the opposite table and is knocked out cold. Dumb Fuck pulls the knife out of the table. He sees the men getting up and takes that as an attack. Larry is the closest to Dumb Fuck. Dumb Fuck takes the knife and buries it into Larry's throat. Larry stumbles back and his leather pants slip down and trip him up. As Larry falls, Dumb Fuck pulls the knife out of his throat. A slight gurgling sound is heard.
Dumb Fuck balances himself on Larry's head as he spins towards Harry, his hand catches Larry's hat before he goes down. With a flick of his wrist, the knife slides out of Dumb Fuck's hand and plants itself in Harry's chin. Harry instinctively grabs for his chin, but before he could get his hands to his face, Dumb Fuck grabs him by the forearms. Dumb Fuck leans back and kicks the knife into Harry's chin deeper. The blade disappears completely into Harry head as he falls back. His leather forearm guards slide off into Dumb Fuck's hands.
Gary has chosen this particular moment (for obvious reasons) to run. Dumb Fuck is on him in no time. He grabs Gary by his vest, Gary is pulled back but he slides out of it. Dumb Fuck drops the vest and steps on the back of Gary shin. Gary falls to his knees as Dumb Fuck takes another step, on Gary's neck. He bears his weight on it, it snaps on impact. Dumb Fuck steps off of Gary, his boot imprinted on the back of his neck. He checks Sheby if she's ok. He takes the vest off of the floor and puts it under her head. Dumb Fuck walks around the table, picking up the forearm guards and the hat as he walks around. Jerry sits in the same chair, unable to move from what he has just seen. He sees Dumb Fuck's eyes fixed upon him, burning into him as he gets closer. Jerry is able to make a soft noise in the back of his throat, his mouth completely dried.
"What was that?" Dumb Fuck asks. Jerry gulps.
"Don't kill me, please."
"Oh, I'm not." Dumb Fuck says calmly. Jerry snaps out of his daze.
"Huh?"
"Look..."
"Jerry."
"Jerry." Dumb Fuck continues. "Look Jerry you have one chance to live."
"Anything."
"You take the wrap for this." He looks at Dumb Fuck confused.
"For what?"
"For all this." Dumb Fuck points at Larry, "For that." He points at Harry, "And that." And turns to Gary, "And of course that. You take the fall for this shit, since this is all your fault." You get up and leave, and you will be that bad ass that you pretend to be." A smile comes across Jerry's face as he pictures himself in Dumb Fuck's shoes as he "Jackie Chan'd" everyone's ass just now. He looks up at Dumb Fuck and the smile wipes away. He gets up slowly and keeps his eye trained on Dumb Fuck.
"You want me to leave now?"
"Yeah Jerry, that would be a good thing, I got to call the cops pretty damn soon."
"The cops?"
"Yeah Jerry, you just killed three people."
"For what?"
"I don't know Jerry, you think I have the insight to your madness? The fact is you killed them and you fled. I didn't get a good look at your face, just a build, neither did Sheby here when she gets up. But remember Jerry, if the cops do catch you, you fall, and you fall big time, you know that right?"
"Yeah I'm getting that." Jerry begins to get excited to leave. To live his, however awkward, dream. He pushes the chair in. He turns to Dumb Fuck. "Thanks." He starts to leave. Dumb Fuck stops him.
"Jerry."
"Yeah?"
"Leave your keys, you fought with them and stole one of their motorcycle cause you don't have one anymore." Jerry reaches into his pocket. And puts the keys on the table.
"Okay. Whose bike?"
"Jerry I don't care, pick one." Jerry reaches down to Larry's side, without looking at him he took his keys and his wallet.
"Can I take his wallet?"
"Go ahead, but leave your finger." Dumb Fuck goes to the back and picks up the phone. Jerry stands for a moment realizing now that his finger is still bleeding, badly. He grabs a napkin and wraps it up. As he does so, he hears Dumb Fuck say, "Hello police, there's been a murder." Jerry runs out of the door.
As the night lingers on, two rumbling noises are heard at opposite ends of town. One races away desperately heading for the border. Not because he wants to, but because he figures everyone else does. Everyone in the movies that he's seen. Jerry has been given his dream. Forced into his fantasy, he doesn't know whether to cry or smile. So he does both. No more cubicles for Jerry. No phone conferences, no stupid funny email forwards. And no finger.
At the other end of town, after the questions and explanations to both Sheby and the police, Dumb Fuck pulls up to his apartment for the first time that he can remember, on his own vehicle, sort of. He opens the door to his apartment. On the chair in the kitchen he hangs up the trench coat that he found in Jerry's bike. He sets the forearm guards, the hat, and the leather vest neatly on the table. Things he conveniently kept from the cops. He goes over to his bed, as he removes his clothes he picks up the book that he has next to his night stand. He smoothes out the corner of the sticker on the cover that says, "computer geek inside." A joke still lost to him. As he flips to the last page he checks his bandages one more time. They're fine. There on the last page is written, "You're a super hero." Right underneath is written, "How?" And a list of words crossed out, such as invulnerable, flying, healing factor, etc. Dumb Fuck looks up at the kitchen chair. The trench coat hanging on it, the hat settled on the table. Dumb Fuck smiles.
As he gets into bed, he continues to smile. There on the nightstand, a little black book is left open to a certain page. A line, "You're a super hero." scrawled onto the page. Several words crossed out, such as invulnerable, flying, healing factor, etc. As well as the word "How?" Next to it, an arrow is drawn across to the next page. There in a new page. is written, "You are a super hero, you fucking kick much ass. And your costume is hanging on the chair in the kitchen.

The End

The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck... Episode I

So a while back, I wanted to write a character that I would never make into a film, or utilize in a story. The character would just be my creative outlet to write when I felt the need to write, but didn't want to do any work. So I created Dumb Fuck. I've only done a couple episodes, over the last couple years, but I figure this is a nice place to share them with you.

Enjoy

"The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck - Dumb Fuck Becomes a Super Hero"

It's not his fault of course, he thought it was the only real thing he got from his father. Think back as far as you can remember. Do you remember your first dream? Do you remember the first time you ever ate strained peas? Dumb Fuck doesn't. But he does have a vague, broken recollection of his father. Basically a man that looks like he does now. A muddled memory of his father grabbing him by his four year old neck. He would've done it by the hair but his father kept him shaved.
"Have no fucking time to deal with your head and the goddamn shampoo!" He used to say. Once he had a good grip, the kind that left bruises and shallow imprints, he slammed him head first against the aluminum screen door of the church. "Get your silly ass in their Dumb Fuck!" His dad wasn't that creative, he's seen enough movies to figure out that he could leave his kid at a church, but didn't realize that a Monday night, when the church is closed, usually isn't the best time. When the kid came to his senses he sat down at the steps, bleeding from his forehead. The priest saw him the next morning, shivering.
"Are you okay son? What's your name?" He stares up at him squinting through the dried blood on his head.
"My name's Dumb Fuck."
Dumb Fuck was later told why his father might have called him that. Dumb Fuck has a severe memory problem. A form of amnesia that he can't quite remember the name of. It comes to him spontaneously, sometimes he'd go a month without his memory being virtually wiped clean, sometimes only a day. He'd never forget everything. He still knew how to tie his shoe, wipe his ass, fuck (though he doesn't know how often), etc. And he always remembered his name, at least the one his father gave him. The doctors; the ones the halfway house that he grew up in could afford anyway, said that he was functional enough to not be hospitalized. It didn't matter to Dumb Fuck, he just wanted to keep his name. They begged and pleaded with Dumb Fuck, but eventually they gave in. Dumb Fuck has a social security card, a driver's license, several years ago Publisher's Clearing House wrote saying that "Dumb Fuck might be the proud winner of one million dollars." It didn't pan out.
Dumb Fuck has a book. A little black book that he keeps next to his bed table. A sticker on the front reads, "Computer Geek Inside". A joke that he has long forgotten. In the first page an inscription saying, "Write what's important in here so you won't forget who you are. And leave the book at home so you don't lose it. Best Wishes, Father Alvarenga." The several pages following are of basic things. The fact that he's half black, a reminder that he receives time and time again when he tries to get a cab. His memory loss, where he lives, a small apartment furnished sparsely with every single IKEA necessity that he could barely afford. His name, with "no joke" written underneath it. Several job references with reminders of when he was fired and when he was hired... The last entry of his jobs, working at Shakey's Pizza. Some of the pages in his book are worn, some oddly colored with a clear rusty stain. These pages are the odd ones. There isn't a lot written on them, but what is written is disturbing to him, or at least they would be if he could remember why they're there. On one of these oddly red pages is written in sporadic script, "You have a gun. Either on you or under the pillow." Several pages further he wrote, "You have a bullet proof vest, wear it." It usually hangs on the bed post, with three, half inch deep dents. One on the lower back, and the other two on the chest. Dumb Fuck assumes that he acquired the vest and gun when he was working security at a mall. Why it has a silencer, he never bothered to ask. Why he wears the vest and the gun still, he figures that working at Shakey's at night can be hazardous.
Dumb Fuck sits in front of the Radio Shack in his neighborhood. They leave the T.V.'s on with sound at night, and since he doesn't have one at his place, it's cheaper than going to the movies. Plus a bench has been conveniently erected there in memory of some old lady who happened to die right on that very spot. People say that she was watching a Britney Spears video when she died. She apparently was an old lesbian woman, that found the young teen pop star so hot, she had an orgasm so intense that she had a stroke and died. That's why the manager of the Radio Shack has kept it on the news since then.
Dumb Fuck fingers his nearly finished mocha latte as he watches his third commercial break, for coming up next on the news, "Why Coffee drinks are good for you." Dumb Fuck's ears are perked when he hears the fast paced thumping of little feet on the pavement. A young boy runs up to Dumb Fuck. He sits right next to him looking down at the street. The young boy, no more than thirteen years old, looks up at Dumb Fuck out of breath.
"Hey." He struggles to say. Dumb Fuck, paying little attention to the young boy, answers back.
"Hey." All of a sudden a quickly paced thudding sound, heavier than the first comes quickly up to the bench. The young boy gets up standing to the side of Dumb Fuck, as Dumb Fuck looks up to his left where the young boy came from, and sees a man out of breath, coming at them.
"Thought you could out run me you little shit!" He stammers, as he comes to a halt. He picks up his pants, though they were well below his waist to begin with, running had made them drop to his knees. "You better give me my fucking money!" He continues, "Or they're going to have to put another bench right next to that old, gay, white bitch's!" The young boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of money that could not add up to more than seventy-five dollars.
"This is my momma's money fool." The young boy puts it back into his pocket.
"That slutty ass ho wasn't worth the fuck." The man snickers. "She didn't even go down on a nigga!"
"Fuck You" The boy moves towards the man. The man reaches into his half fallen pants.
"Nah little man! Fuck you!" He pulls out a gun and points it at the young boy.
"Can you guys keep it down." Dumb Fuck looks up at the both of them.
"Who the fuck is this, your daddy?"
"Nah bitch!" The little boy replies, "That's your momma's pimp."
"I don't care who the fuck you are nigga, but this between me and this little shit." By this time Dumb Fuck has already missed the coffee segment. He puts his finished mocha down and stands up in front of the young boy.
"Put the gun down.", says Dumb Fuck.
"Shit, was going to shoot you anyway." The man shoots Dumb Fuck twice in the chest. He lowers his gun and smiles. His smile quickly fades as Dumb Fuck didn't fall. The man lifts the gun once again, but before he could take aim, Dumb Fuck reaches into his jacket, pulls out his gun, and shoots the man at the trigger guard. His finger explodes into fragments metal and flesh. The man, in shock of his recently lost finger stares into the gaping hole where his index used to be. He has little time to look at his assailant when Dumb Fuck pulls the trigger again. The bullet, so hot from the massive speed, barely reaches the man's eye as the intense heat and sonic blast ruptures it. The bullet quickly passes through the liquefied eye ball bag, and easily slides into the socket. A spray of clear liquid mixed with blood and brain matter rupture through the man's head. Small pieces of bone embed on the bullet as it hits and halts on a stop sign about 15 feet away. The man falls to his knees and then to his face breaking his knee caps and then his cheek bone in the process. Dumb Fuck puts his gun away and turns to the young boy. The young boy's mouth gaped open at the incident he just witnessed. Boyz in the Hood was never this graphic, he thought to himself. He quickly looks up at Dumb Fuck, expecting to see blood, but he sees nothing. His instincts get the better of him, and running away seems like a good option.
"Thanks man." The young boy says as he collects himself.
"No problem." Says Dumb Fuck.
"No I mean it, thanks." The young boy pats him on the back as he starts to run off. At that moment, Dumb Fuck's head swims. His memory lost. Dumb Fuck sees the young boy running off, the young boy turns one more time to Dumb Fuck.
"You're a fucking Super Hero!" The young boy runs out of sight. Dumb Fuck looks at the young boy fading off. And to his amazement, he sees the body for the first time (sort of) laying at his feet. Dumb Fuck, quite dazed begins to walk off. Habit; and later finding his wallet in his pocket, get him to his place several hours later. Dumb Fuck takes off his jacket, pays no attention to the thud that it makes on the table. Takes his shirt off and his bullet proof vest, now with five dents, and goes to sit at the bed. Dumb Fuck sees his book, and begins to read... After several hours he picks up a pen. He opens to the next page with an open line and begins to write.
"You're a Super Hero."

The End

Me Doing Work, Actually Gets Things Done.

Who would've thunk it. But shit, I've been writing my ass of as of late, and I've gotten so much shit done. Guess deadlines have a way of motivating you.

That and I think my Muse has been drunk and in Quantanamo Bay, Cuba as a detainee. They must have confused her for being a terrorist. Only thing she's responsible for is fucking my brains, and not in the good way (okay sometimes in a good way).

But she's back, and man, has she got a dirty mind. I have finally finished the sex scene in one of my scripts, this scene has pretty much held back the completion of the screenplay. But I don't think it could have come out any better, I'm really happy with how it ties in to the story, and how it's just not an excuse to show tits on screen. Really, it's not an excuse at all, it's tasteful.

Being back on track feels really good. Come June 23rd, I'll have one of the nearest and dearest scripts I have ever written completed. Check it out in theaters (hopefully next year).

$1500 For 8 gigs???

You gotta be shitting me, for 8 freaking gigs? WTF is a gig nowadays, it's nothing. A gig couldn't hold the information contained in my jock. I give away gigs to homeless people on the streets, hey they need something to store the information in their websites to, right?

So why does Panasonic find it necessary to charge 1500 bucks for a 8 gig card?

That's the price of the P2 card that I will be utilizing for the camera that I'm buying this Summer. You see, recording in HD on aP2 card at 1080i translates to about a gig a minute. You heard me, a gig a minute. So at the most on one P2 card I can record up to 8 minutes at 1080i. It is significantly less if I record at 720p or lower, but who wants to do that? I'm hoping this price will lower, as the 4 gig card only costs $500. Either way, this does not factor into the drive that I will need to translate the info (about 2 grand), nor the storage unit, that seems like I will absolutely need to dump info into, and then onto a comp.

The next gen may be here, but it sure as hell costs a lot.

I am the stone that the builder refused...

I was recently asked how I feel about starting a new film, since the last one didn't propel me into the ether that is Hollywood.

I first respond to that question, "Does it make you feel superior to point out the shortcomings of others?" Then I do a swift karate chop to their carotic artery, and they go down faster than a Filipino hooker on a military base.

Then I gather myself, and respond thusly...

So? Who the fuck cares? Godplex had several audiences, and of those people who watched them in the theaters, not one of them hated the film. And that meant more to me than any job, paycheck, or Hollywood status could ever mean. I love movies, I love the fact that I can tell a story, and that I have the ability to envision that story and bring to fruition on the screen. And on the off chance that people would go see the story I made, and enjoy it. Well, there ain't no greater joy for me (other than sex, and possibly having children as people tend to say, whom I have to take their word for at the moment).

Every film festival that Godplex was submitted to pretty much responded the same, with a resounding, "We received a lot of entries this year... yada, yada, yada, you suck." Does this deter me? No. Do I learn from it? Yes.

And so, I sally forth. With a new project in hand. I'm excited, and I'm taking you all with me.

boondocks theme

i am the stone that the builder refused
i am the visual
the inspiration
that made lady sings the blues

i'm the spark that makes your idea bright
the same spark
that lights the dark
so that you can know your left from your right

i am the ballot in your box
the bullet in your gun
that inner glow
that lets you know
to call your brothers son

the story that just begun
the promise of what's to come
and imma remain a soldier
til' the war is won

A little poem I wrote...

I'm being lazy today, cause it's too damn hot, so I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote.

Where is my love?

By:
Americo Alvarenga

Where is my love? Blind, I cannot see,
The walls are dark and eyes are new to me.
First breath harsh, do hear me weep,
For you, I came, and thought I’d keep?

Right here my love. Where you left me,
In this plane I am, for you’re older than me.
Give me time, and I shall be yours,
For all my love, stay true your course.

Where is my love? Long years have passed,
A young face before mine, a beautiful lass.
Is this you who smiles at me with glee?
If so, why go, I came for thee?

Not there my love, though here I am.
The beauty before you, sees what I can.
The heart and soul that you have to share,
Ne'er you worry of her, I’m the one who cares.

Where is my love? I fear you are here.
Hurt I am, is my heart still sincere?
These walls I’ve built, of hurt and pain,
I feel are too strong and will not wane.

Come here my love. Your pain is undone,
You have found me at last, we are now one.
From here on out, we face the world as a pair,
And we shall show them all, that there are still two that care.

Where is my love? Have I lost you at last?
Cared for you more each day, is that all in the past?
I see thine eyes are loving, yet your smile fades,
Have you had your fill, and now you away?

Forgotten my love, of who I really am?
I have fought for your love, did you think it a sham?
Eons will pass, the skies will one day fall,
But my love for you, will outlast them all.

Where is my love? Blind, I cannot see,
The walls are crumbled of age as old as me.
Last breaths harsh, do hear me sadly weep,
For you, I came, I stayed, I had, and thought I’d keep?
Now thy mortal coil, you have shuffled aside,
And I alone and heartbroken, cannot this life abide.
For I had you a lifetime, and for that grateful I will be,
But off to find my love, for that is where I must be.

Right here my love. Where you left me,
In this plane where we began, here in this eternity.
We had our time, and I was always yours,
For all my love, you stayed true your course.
Now passed am I, and so you shall be too,
For to experience life, death, a friend in kind, is due.
But fret not dear heart, for now you know we are the very few of,
Those among those, who need never ask, Where is my true love.

It's Either All Funny, Or It's Not...

I'm not one for drama, and there's been plenty floating around the orbit that I call my fat ass lately. You could almost cry for all the Shakespearean 'doings' a transpiring. Yet, I've decided to take a moment to smile.

I'm on the mindset that you can laugh at everything, or nothing at all. There's nothing that's too sacred to make fun of. Now being cruel is one thing, being an ass to someone who's just lost their folks in a fire by going to the scene of the smoking wreckage with an apron on that says, "We don't need no water, let this motherfucker burn!", may be a bit much. But that doesn't mean you cannot make a house on fire joke ever again for the rest of your life.

One of my nearest and dearest has been acting like an ass lately. And it all culminated the other night by him being a dick. It's sad to say the least, and I've been racking my brains out trying to figure out how to feel about this. My boy's gotta come around, there's no if, ands, or buts about it. And that'll take time. But right now, I was just thinking about the time when it'll be all squashed, and we can make fun of this. Hope it won't take long.

The Stripper Experience

So I couldn't post all week what I've been doing, because my brother reads my blog, and it was pretty much all focused on him. My brother is getting married, and I've spent the last month organizing his bachelor party. And today was our culmination unbeknownst to him. His was thrown aback by what I was able to pull out of my ass, thanks to friends and family. During the day we had a barbecue, and at night, we got into a limo (my first limo experience mind you) and headed to two strip clubs. Now I've never been, but I was sure as hell acting like I was an old pro. The first place we went to was The Hustler Club. The one thing I found interesting was that no matter what cliche is depicted on film, it is well deserved. Every single character that I have ever seen on film in a strip club was there in full force. But mind you, that's not what we were there for.

The girls were beautiful. And nimble. But I've noticed one thing, you've seen one tit, you've more than likely seen the other, and them all. It truly did nothing for me, but my brother enjoyed the hell out of it, both places we went to. I ended up spending $300 in 4 hours. And would have been a lot more, but I got the hook up with some of the things.

Bits of advice for you from this experience.

Get drunk before you go, cause being sober makes for lower enjoyment of grindage.

Drinks cost an arm and a leg, if you're gonna order, order one and nurse it.

Strippers are not gonna fall in love with you, no matter what the look in their eyes say.

That thing that she does to your crotch, she's done that to like 50 guys tonight.


Now it's bed time, must sleep.

Ah to be 8 again...

My little cousin had his 8 year old birthday party. We went to a miniature golf course. We had cardboard pizza, played overly priced games to earn cheap tickets to get crap. We played miniature golf, we hung out, and when he opened his presents, he got $200. WTF? Times change, I barely get $200 on street corners. And I go down.

I asked him what he's going to spend his money on. He said, "Toys!" What a boy.

The toys may change, but man, the sentiments still stay the same.

I plan on buying a new camera for the film I plan to shoot the end of this Summer. My nipples get hard every time I think about it. Of course, it costs $5,000. But it truly is an investment. Though, it's still really hard not to get excited about my new toy.

Ah, to be 29 for another year.

Human observations, a continuing fascination

Everyone's got a story. Not one person can say they don't. Some are sad, some are happy. Some scare you, some make you feel great. Some are unfair, and some, justice gets served. And I write them down.

What people tend not to take notice, is that, when being friends with a writer, you have an unwritten contract with this person. You've just let yourself become molded and recreated in any world he deems fit. Nothing that we don't do on a normal basis, the only difference is, we write it down.

I study the human condition, my biggest past time is observing people. How they interact with each other, how millions of years of evolution have kept them killing (for the most part) each other and basically putting up with one another, and on rare occasions enjoying and missing each other's company. Now, this may not be any great thing for anyone. Everyone might do this. But what makes it weird for me, is when I partake in my own study.

I am after all human. I have the same needs and wants as everyone else (at times more so). So what happens when my involvement in my studies tend to muddle up the crystal clear pristine viewpoint that I usually have? Let's just say it's interesting.

If I fall in love, as with most, my perspective is nonexistant. I have plunged myself into the deep end of the pool. On rare occasions pulling my head above water to get my bearings, but for the most part, delved into, for lack of a better phrase, the sea of love.

I have, as of late, come out of the most loving relationship I have ever been in. I loved her more than any word here could ever merit. Six months have passed, and there wasn't a day that has went by that I don't wish I was there in her arms again. But I was able to take stock, I pulled myself out of that ocean, and when I turned around, it froze over. A thin layer of ice, just thick enough to keep me out. So I went to sit here on the beach again, like I've done so many times before, and watched. It's a lonely observation, one that God would have if I believed in such a thing. But there is serenity, a strange, lonely kind, but one nonetheless. It's hard to figure if I think I'm better or luckier than those I see, or if I'm just jealous. Might be both. I know it might sound condesending, but what can I say, I'm watching you.

Now love, is a strange thing. No one word will ever truly define it. I started to care about someone again, and she me. Talk about a match made in heaven, you would think we were twins, if not for the fact that she looked like a goddess, and I am a Mexican Hobbit. I felt my toes starting to get wet, didn't notice I was creeping into the ocean again. However, I saw the ice in the horizon, and I didn't plunge in this time. I thought to myself, if the tide takes me, let it. But I won't dive in again, not until I know. We both stood at the edge, and I can say, I was more in the water than she was. But I got out, knowing that she wasn't going in. I turned my back on the ocean again. Not forever mind you, just for now. You can never turn your back on the ocean for too long, or the waves will get you.

So here I sit on the beach, in my favorite spot, watching all of you, as some of you do as well. I know the people in the ocean aren't alone, and I know some may drown. I know I'm not the only one on the beach, but I write it down.

And once in a while, I look up from writing, and smile. Cause that ocean calls to me, as it does all of you. And my pen writes underwater.

Comic Books, the new Mythology

I picked up some comics today (yeah I read comic books, I also play video games, and watch cartoons, though it's usually on Adult Swim) and Infinite Crisis #7 was among them. Most of you won't know what that is, but it's a defining issue in the DC Universe. Not to give you the ends and outs of what happened in the book, but it has truly brought back Super Heroes.

Where have they gone you may ask? I thought those geek conventions were out in full force all the time?

Well it's true, the characters have always been there, but it's been ages since they've been Super.

See, comics tend to change with the times, as kids get older, the tight spandex tend to turn into black leather, for a cooler look. We get Wolverine looking more savage than before. We get Spider-Man in an incredibly gay looking costume (though for a limited time only), just to boost the sales of the books. But we've seen little of a team or an individual in a comic standing boldly again, looking out into the ether of the evil out there. Clenching his fist, or taking to the air, or running headlong into it and saying "Not today, not on my watch evil doers."

Comics are our Mythology. They are the Gods on Mount Olympus for our generation. We relate to them, for if they can take on so much, then we few, should be able to stand the ground as well. They are the benchmark for how we see the best in ourselves. Any kid could relate to Batman when it comes to loss. Any kid can feel as isolated as Superman, being the only Kryptonian left. Any kid can feel the freedom of putting a costume on and swing free like Spider-Man, just to get away from the real problems of his normal life.

Super Heroes remind us that the world is not the way it's supposed to be. True, Lex Luthor will always be rich, and he will always get away with the crime. True, The Joker commits the crime with a smile on his face, and not care about who he hurts on the way. So why fight?

Cause they can. More importantly, they want to, and they must. Just like we can, and we must. The greedy will always get to the top faster, and it may seem that you have to be an asshole in this world to make it. But if you can stand up, with honor and righteousness as your badges. That means something. People will notice. And though you may die poor, or the niche that you dig for yourself is small. Remember, those rich assholes die too, but people will remember you, and you are worth more than any of those pricks.

Super Heroes stand again in the DC Universe. It is a great time to be a comic book fan.

- Americo

First Post, make it a good one.

As a guy who refuses to create a MySpace account, I always shied away from blogging. However, thanks to one of my favorite actors (Drew), he's inspired me to create a blog. That and the fact that my Webmaster is taking his sweet time in creating my website, but I figure it'd be easier on him if I did all updates here.

So here it is ladies and gents, my first blog. I guess I must make it memorable and prevalent...

Ever shit so hard it sprays on your balls?

Okay, with that out of the way. I guess I should relate some info of myself. I'm turning 30 this year, sometimes I make movies, on rare occasions they come out. I am currently in the midst of working on 3 projects, one of which I am filming at the end of summer. I love films, I would spend the rest of my life happy making movies.

And that is all I have to say for now. Not that you asked, but I shared anyway. I'll see how often I come back to post.

To quote Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, "Be Excellent, to each other."

- Americo