Dysfunctionality of an Almost Human Mind

"Forgive me, I'm still learning", I said as the words stumbled out of my mouth like a newborn deer on ice while trying to communicate in a different language. A different language... seems like everything in life is "a different language". But that's ok, because we are all still learning. No one pops into this world knowing all there is to know, claiming the hold all the knowledge. Yet we stumble and apologize for trying, when we should be proud for it. Trying is the very opposite of stagnation. Stagnation is not the root of all failures, trying is, because failure isn't a bad thing, it is an opportunity to learn, a chance at growth. Stagnation is just a choice to allow the quicksand slowly swallow us whole, swallow our hopes and dreams, our chances along with all the other possible choices. I'm not sad I tried, even if you didn't. I'm not mad, I keep trying. And the results have been great, even if just failed attempts keep piling up and cov...

so, you want to be my friend... yeah, i have many of those in different parts of the world in many shapes, colors and sizes so take a sit if you wish i love my friends and they love me sometimes they're there for me most times they are not and i am left to do things on my own to walk on my own to struggle on my own to fight on my own to live on my own to cry on my own to die on my own but you want to be my friend you know what i want? do you care? not my problem if you do i want someone to be there i want someone to walk with me to talk to me about their day to ask me about mine to judge me with my best interest in mind not just to judge and walk away i want someone to hold my hand i want someone to hold ME to hold me while i sleep and whisper... "it'll be ok" and believe it because every night i hold myself every night i tell myself... "it'll be ok" but i don't believe it and i wake up the next day and do it all over again the walking alone the stru...

I’m back. Back in these halls and rooms. Back within these walls that were meant to keep us safe, warm, loved. I had a dream that you waited for me. That you realized the truth and took it upon yourself to show it. I had a dream but woke up to a nightmare. But that’s ok. I’m friend’s with my demons and they care for me too. The garden is growing flowers you would have loved. Winter is gone and the green of spring surrounds and shows me the beauty of a new day. Soon i will plow the ground to plant hope and someday harvest the joy that was meant for us. I clean the floors thinking of the steps we took together, remembering the smiles we shared. The memory can’t be avoided, just as much as the thought of what could have been. But the truth remains unquestionable, and it is on me to continue, barefoot, longing for the moment to heal, which is now. Yes, I miss you, I won’t deny it. And though I claim to be proud for standing up for myself, the idea that maybe I was wrong continues to hunt m...

While the light dims, the fire cools and the sound mutes, I walk. The path ahead waits for no one, but my steps are heavy and my tracks keep fading, leaving no legacy behind, no trace of what made me strong, and now I'm weak and tired. It is important to remember where one comes from, but it becomes impossible when the fog is so thick you can't even see your shadow. The puddle under my feet is so muddied, there is no way I could see my reflection in it. But if I did, would I like what I'd see? Would that face be smiling or grinning back at me? I keep making the same mistake just for the sake of warmth. I keep stumbling on the same stone in my way, as if it followed me. I can't seem to let go of this stupid idea. The thought of needing to be held. The error of holding on to the thorns and killing my thirst with the blood that drips from my grip. I wish to focus on growth, but I can't even escape the damage, and at this point it feels self inflicted. I trusted too muc...

Life is crazy. Institutionalized and medicated, making everyday worth the time wasted through thick and thin, as if momentum tended towards infinity. Dealing with the treacherous ways of Everything in Between, seeking for air to breath while submerged in the waters that never broke. Left to decay, as the fish take bites of the skin that peels. Oh, the fish... determined to feed with no satisfaction in sight. Once they were beautiful moments, memories uncanny. But they were given the time necessary to become the trauma inducing situations that It carries. Yeah, Life is crazy. Because it's nowhere far from lunacy to consider the helping hand as equivalent to the snack in the way. Yeah, keep biting the hand that feeds and you'll be left waiting for the results. Life isn't responsible for enacting dramas or enforcing consequences. It just walks, and walks, and continues to become whatever it may, and promptly forgets the path already walked. It's not the first time after al...

Benzene and hydrogen cyanide The kiss that never stops As I bathe in iodine May this be the one who mocks The sound of the crash course Unlimited unknowns Taken by the bloddy resource Through the path of broken bones Nothing has ever healed If the sticks don't quit the poke Perhaps the way to yeild Is to hold the weight and fold Words that never cared How heavy was the load Carrying dead bodies ahead In silence, they mourn Let the strings play my tune Dry the skin the devils harvest Open up that fucked up wound And may it rot in darkness This prejudice is real It reminds me what is what The little things I fear Are my demons staring back.

The level of stupid I must be has to be detailed in some of those books that claim to help others, or at least in one of those that teach them white-coats how to help others. Maybe I should be put in a white coat... one of those with really long sleaves and several belt buckles. And something tells me it won't be the last time, because I'm just that stupid... Maybe I shouldn't be so explicit, but that would be to deny life its own existence, because life is explicit, limitless, raw and uncensored. So it is only fair to pay it forward with the same coin. But life is also not fair, it has never been, so what was the expectation if not just the road to dissapointment..? The blame falls in my hands for putting myself out there, again. Being tired of not caring led to trying to care for something that was literally careless. Showing up for something that left a long time ago and didn't even care to say goodbye. The irony is strong with this one, for it was totally called for...

Si los cayos hablasen no hubiese forma de callarlos. Los caminos andados han traido tantas experiencias que resulta casi imposible no pensarlas. Experiencias que no se comparten con todos, pero que todos los que llegaron a viejos en algún momento experimentaron. Las personas, los sueños, las ojotas, los compañeros del viaje han sido buenos. Tanto, que serán parte del viaje aun cuando ya no estén a tu lado. Quejas no caben, pero no todo ha sido color de rosa, pues hasta las rosas traen espinas que penetran y beben la hemoglobina como jugo fresco en verano. Van dejando cicatrices para la posteridad que sirven de mapa en la lucha constante. Esas rayas de tigre que nos hacen fuertes, son las mismas que nos recuerdan que alguna vez fuimos frágiles. Como los pétalos de esa rosa que tanto nos enseñó. Permitirse reconocer el pasado da energía para no temer al pernoctar en el camino. La seguridad de la experiencia es la armadura que protege al chiquillo interior, curioso e inmortal. El haberse ...

As I reach the cusp of this mountain called change, anxiety hits. I am however, not putting bad connotations on the concept of anxiety, for I understand that in balance everything can be great and anything can be helpful. So I wait anxiously for the moment of truth to come and show me what I’m really up against. I fear. But fear is just a way to keep us awake in the wake of new horizons. Again, no bad connotations, only the truth behind the concept. I let my ego guide me, for without it I would not know my worth, because ego is knowing when and how to love yourself. No bad connotations, only truths to concepts. If I were to fall, it would be ok. It would not be the first nor the last time my face meets the floor, which can only mean that I’ve stood up everytime. I don’t pity the empty husks, but I sure don’t envy them either. And that makes me happy because it made me who I am. And who I am is different to what I am, just like where I am is far beyond when I am. And these concepts can ...

it's 4:35 in the morning. i look at people talking on a screen, trying to justify their actions. the delay is long, as i try to understand, to be in their shoes, but i feel nothing. looking into the past, laughter and smiles, moments to remember, feelings to embrace? but i feel nothing... the experiences lived show the world has a lot to offer. these experiences blur with the truth, my truth. i try to find myself and i get lost in grief. i force myself to love, to share love, to call out for love, to express love... but it's all forced. i feel nothing. i think of shinta. she loved me. she didn't judge me. she didn't try to take advantage of me. she felt my pain and offered love in return. i wish she was still with me. i open myself to the opportunities and the responses i get... i don't trust them. i gave myself away for a decade, and was discarded like the trash i've always been. my hands tremble and my strength lingers far like a star i try to grab. the hollow...

The newest short novel to join my portfolio is now live on amazon. After almost 2 years of working with it, along side the other projects and the general lack of time to actually work on it. But it is finally out. When you question what's real, old things become new with every step. This psychological suspense story plays with that concept and puts you in the shoes of a reformed schizophrenic trying to readjust to society. The reader is taken through a joyride in the mind of this disturbed individual, all in a fresh presentation and approach. This could be seen as a love letter to the journey of self-discovery, and though these concepts may share some similarities, it would be unwise to assume it as such. The creation of this book paralleled my personal recovery from a massive injury. The idea of "getting back out there" was very much hammering my thoughts. Through this short story I was able to channel that energy and focus on my recovery to astonishing results. Certainl...

Tell me who you're with, I'll tell you who you are. A cliché in everyone's mind. Has anyone ever considered the implications? Doubtful, yet they can not be denied. Who are you with? Is that really who you are? Look around, take a gulp, start a war. Think about the implications And let's talk about them in a bar. What if there's no one with you? Who or What are you then? Become the consequence of one to the end. These are dangerous implications. There, laid to be the carcass of a man. Tell me you're alone, I'll tell you why you are. Has anyone survived that? That would leave no implications. Just the tone of the green flat one. You are the captain of your boat. They are the dead left behind. Void are the waters around and ahead. Create the required implications. Remorse and regret are for the dead. In the absence of others find your ground and face forward. Motivation you once held is now all gone. You are all the implications. Walk your path, never stop, and...

The many nights wasted p retending conversations, r esulted in strength built to deal with the shitstorm your soul brings. Wasted time like our story. The light was bright and the tunnel was short, but behind were the questions being dragged like the dead bodies I could have been. Maybe I should have been. The demon is near, I can smell its stench in the halls of the traitors… those who enable the rapist of this broken soul. Why talk to empty walls? The singularity within sucks all motivation from the source of chi, leaving a hollow carcass in a fallen throne for a wretched kingdom. And I need to be understanding? The gault is melting below my feet. Sinking in it are the wishes that died, the memories built on lies, the future to never be, the hope for any remorse and the pride of resolution. It means nothing if nothing was learnt. It’s worthless if the vision remains clouded. It will never change if the heart is already rotten. May the end be a slow dance of terror and may it find you...

The seemingly infinite pressure is enough to change the course of the most sturdy vessel. Today is a new day, now is a new time, and these drops are a new kind of sweat, because in order to move forward from stagnation, from the immovable position, from death, a rebirth is necessary. The new path is undeniable, so ride away, cowboy.

When all is lost, how does one find the way? When it all comes crashing down, how does one pick up after? What was left after the romans fell? Now the witness to the death of an empire, truths' unspeakable persona. As if a fallacy, yet here it is, as red as fresh blood, the truth that was never meant to be. It has reached undeniable status. Once a beautiful gazelle, now roadkill. The dead can't be brought back to life, no matter how much we try, fight or deny... The conclusion, reminiscent of the trapped body inside the filling water tank. It has reached its peak and there is no more space left for air... The soot leaves a mark. From the burning of the castles to the ashes of the fallen. It fills the lungs of the breathless and suffocates the remains of the light that once shone bright. The level of betrayal is worst than anything before. The cowards ran for their lives after setting the world ablaze. You, The Witness, will sit and let it burn. There is nothing left to fight fo...

The sailor avoids the waters... he knows what lures beneath the deep blue, and fear takes over. The harrowing idea that one fish can destroy it all in mere seconds. He dreads the idea of letting go of land, but his place is in the sea. The hunter avoids the forest... he knows what crawls in the dark woods, and fear takes over. The narrow path between the trees won't hide the beast for longer. He dreads the idea of leaving the cabin, but his place is in the forest. The performer avoids the stage... he knows what fanatics are capable of in the arenas, and fear takes over. The lonesome halls will bring the murderers to light. He dreads the idea of leaving this backstage, but his place is on stage. The writer avoids all pen and paper... he knows what hides behind the words and thoughts, and fear takes over. The last attempt to recover life was unsuccessful and the ink became pray to anger and hate. He dreads the idea of leaving his mind, but his place is the paper. The lover avoids the...

I believed this to be a silent place. I believed this to be the single space where nothing could reach me. But the cries are deafening and the punches are coming from all over. It's an obscure path, this one before me. The sight of the sniper is set for my temple. Is it doubt? The red dot pivots, but remains close, like a fly on trash. It was never meant to be a public ride, but with all the noise around, no one will ever listen. The shot will be muffled by the thick and palpable tension in the room. No one will be seated for the next show.

There was a summoning, in a moment of weakness. The summoning led to the demon's awakening. The demon is now hungry. Spouted verbs and adjectives between subjects. Heavy rain. One says jump, the other bows. A missed translation that brought apathy and disdain. Suddenly screaming for help is violence, the new fact. Drowning in the burning flames is the hottest new dance move. A dance akin to mosh-pitting against paper walls. There, where the contract was written and signed, splattered by the crimson blight of disbelief. I lack the words to mend the cracks. Always responsible for their appearance and insistence, never for the defusing of their existence. Most of this is incidental, some of it is accidental, but everything is fucking mental. The times are not for misuse, but there is no gray matter left to think about it. The gray now repaints the walls of illusion. Those that bare no thoughts, just scars. It was always meant to be hard. There is no surprise for the prepared. Still th...

The pen is a dangerous gun. The retired assassin wakes from hibernation and creeps like the hunting demon that it is. To think words were once a place for comfort and how the self destructive was bottled away, crazy. But to drink from that bottle like an aged wine, insane? retarded? abnormal? submental? No... Alcoholism incarnate. And I'll drink that ink with the hopes it will end my misery, by any means necessary. #nonewdemons...

killing all sense of time scrolling my life away... reminiscent idea of friendship conversations to never return wasted and deceased on a dime walking flesh bag on automatic lost all hope and drive all that's left is bruises and bills a cynical savory of all we were the demanding disregard i'm gifted with wishing for wishes, wishes of balance with the muzzle flash the news are given theories become facts with a single thump, the sound is clear it has fallen and now swims in itself a crimson sea of the self inflicted solitude no one left to talk to? well, nothing left to say then...