if your thumb is hovering over that “send” button and you’re wondering whether or not you should press it….

yah you probably fuckin shouldn’t

especially if you’re drunk

or high

or tired

or it’s at some ungodly hour of the day

or your friend drafted it for you

or anything

And as he stood over his own lifeless body, this is what he repeated to himself.

“One last stand.”

He understood that this last-ditch effort was wholly unnecessary. His death had already occurred; no amount of battle would change that. But what he wanted was reprisal for his untimely and shameful murder. What kind of passing was that… A man, weakened by hunger and neglect, begging his executioner for a quick death? At the time, his impotence drove him to such desperate pleas, but post-hoc he shook his head in shame and regret.

“One last stand.”

The mantra empowered him, as he clutched his weapons ever so tightly and braced for this suicide mission. In his past life, his gatekeeper had convinced the mighty warrior to cast off all of his various armaments: “They will be unnecessary in the world you are about to enter.” But this moment of vulnerability was taken advantage of to shackle him to the four corners of his cell. The three daily meals promised to him dwindled day by day, until hunger so far racked his mind that he went mad beyond repair. The case for the young soldier was much like the anecdote of the boiling frog; days and weeks passed, until starvation and solitude weakened him to the point where he welcomed the impending hanging with quiet acceptance.

This bothered the ghost. How did he let it happen? Why did he let it happen? But all would be soon be well. With this one fell swoop, he would avenge his suffering and put his mind to rest. Plans were drawn, blades sharpened, and armor shined. This time, he alone would choose the circumstances of his demise. It would be honorable and glorious; legends would be whispered around bonfires for generations to come.

The day finally came, and the lone soldier walked into the desolate battlefield, back to the scene of his heinous murder. The prison compound was just as he remembered it, with the gallows, tall and straight, still looming over the land, and the gatekeeper’s cabin door slightly ajar as usual. Soft music played from inside, and quiet singing could be heard. He peeked in, only to see the gatekeeper busy over the stove. The perfect chance had arrived. Unsuspecting and preoccupied, the gatekeeper was in the ideal position to finally receive her just deserts.

He crept up from behind, moving to strike.

“I’m sorry.”

By the time she turned around, the spirit had already disappeared.

Jason nimbly evaded the swift sword of Damocles and into the safe haven known as the Land of Retirement. This modern-day Canaan, just as its antecedent was rumored to be full of milk and honey, inspired myths and legends about its free-for-use Segway sharing system, automated washer-to-dryer transfer apparatuses, and absence of any form of money (for the Land of Retirement based its unspoken currency on karma).

When he entered, Jason realized that none of the fanciful lore, passed down from generation to generation, had exaggerated the various amenities offered by the Land in any way. All of the stories were true.

And he lived happily ever after until he died of a heart attack. It was painless.

-The End-

Cuando el hombre se despertó de una pesadilla, era transformado al niño. Al principio, no notaba este cambio en el dormitorio oscuro hasta que se levantó de la cama y tropezó por sus pantalones demasiados largos. El hombre se arrastró al espejo grande en la esquina del dormitorio, y vio el reflejo de si mismo. La persona que le miró hacía atrás todavía fue el mismo hombre, pero casi cuarenta años más joven. Con pelo corto y negro, ojos marrones, y cuerpo delgado, el niño todavía tuvo algunos aspectos del hombre, pero perdió todas las caracteristicas le dio por cuarenta años del envejecimiento.

De repente, la puerta se abrió y una mujer entró por el dormitorio.

«¿Qué estás haciendo, Carlito? ¡Es tiempo para la escuela! ¡Está listo en cinco minutos!»

La puerta se cerró de golpe.

Carlito se levantó y abrió el armario. Cambió de ropa, encontró la bolsa en la esquina del cuarto, y abrió la puerta.

¡Fue su casa vieja de su niñez! Giró para ver otra vez el cuarto y descubrió de era su dormitorio viejo cuando iba a la escuela primera. Caminó por el vestíbulo, pasando la cocina y la sala familiares, y siguió por el camino usual para la escuela. Todas las acciones de Carlito sintieron tan natural, como nada fue diferente el día antes y no fue transportado cuarenta años al pasado.

Este ritual continuó por días y semanas, hasta la memoría de su pasado se hizo exactamente eso: el pasado. La capacidad de memoría de un estudiante en el primer grado no es muy fuerte, y por eso los cuarenta y seis años como Carlos (no Carlito) desaparecieron en la misma manera que nosotros olvidamos nuestra niñez.

Años pasaron, y pensó de su vida pasa menos a menos cada día, hasta olvidó completamente. Asistió a universidad, se casó con la mujer de sus sueños y tuvieron dos hijos.

Un día, Carlos, un hombre de cuarenta y seis años, estaba manejando a su oficina cuando ocurrió un accidente. Ya estaba muerto cuando llegaron las ambulancias.

Cuando el hombre se despertó de una pesadilla, era transformado al niño.

meeting new people is so exciting.. i’d been missing that whole “hi my name is jason; i’m a first year; what year are you?” while shaking hands interaction that was the norm during the first couple weeks of fall quarter…. and friday night’s KASA BP tournament against USC took me back to my first days at UCLA attending random ragers and rush events.

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just come over here

drink with me

succumb to my advances

kiss me

torture me

sleep with me

and then

not expect me to want more.

you can’t.

you just can’t.

or can you..?

…

i wouldn’t know

i’m scared of girls.

no joke LOL.

.

i’m afraid of getting hurt.

soooo instead of being able to get close with that girl, i hide behind my wall of clowning around and joking. to love is to lift that gate and let you into my head ..and that honestly scares the shit out of me. i shudder at the thoughts of various kinds of terrible havoc can you wreak on my heart armed with my own brain matter.

with attachment also come hopes. which somehow inexplicably, overnight, turn directly into expectations. and when reality doesn’t follow through….. meh.

risks………are kind of overrated when you know you’re going to be disappointed anyways. maybe not immediately, but eventually.

which is why i made up my mind back in late ‘10 that i wouldn’t be silly and get attached to anyone (:

..

um so yah. on a more general note, if i confide in you about whatevs, it means we’ve passed that far-off point where i feel like i’m comfortable with opening myself up to you. it means i trust you. which is honestly really rare. and it makes me feel extremely vulnerable with you knowing so much about me.

my trust comes at a premium. please don’t violate it ): . please don’t sell me out or throw me under the bus. please respect my faith in you.

………and for the rest of ya’ll: i wouldn’t trust any of you ignant ass niggas with my left shoe. 

..

this is what happens when you’ve had too many moments that didn’t last forever..

-still waiting for godot-

i lie in this desolation called the dark,

eyes closed

staring holes through my eyelids

through the ceiling

the roof

moon

.

it’s times like these at night:

when all I hear are far off sirens, passing cars

and words I should have said,

insomnia burrowing into my skull,

that I’m overcome with loneliness.

.

i wonder:

.

is there anyone else

lying on cotton sheets

feeling lonesome,

staring at this same moon?

there are 3 types of people in the world:

1. those who have enough to be self satisfied while sharing that energy with others. these people are natural givers. jesus? mother teresa? that one guy in your circle of friends who’s always helping others and giving back?
2. those who have just enough to be self satisfied. these people are not natural givers, but they have enough potential in them to be happy with themselves just the way they are. this is most of us. …andd finally:
3. those who leech off of the first two types of people. they are insecure, needy, and aren’t able to be happy without taking away energy from other people. common quotes include: “can you spot me a couple bucks for lunch today? i promise i’ll pay you back.”; “you can smoke me out this time, right..”; and of course.. ”hey let me see the homework that’s due next period.” those in this category are unable to support themselves. obviously everyone relies and depends on their friends and fam and teachers and mentors for support, but parasites in this group abuse the sanctity of these relationships by constantly asking for more. and more and more, without any intention of giving back.

weak individuals in the first two categories are easy victims for the leeches. to someone who’s insecure, a leech can be very attractive: the person seems capable of providing friendship, someone to talk to, quick popularity, an invitation to an event… it could be anything. but this imbalance of giving and taking can’t last. it’s unsustainable.

.

an easy solution would be to cut ties with these parasites, but we can’t bear the thought of losing “friends” who have been with us for so long. at some point, in a vicious cycle, our growing insecurities cause us to seek out more leeches. we try to please everybody, in hopes that they’ll give back in some way. but more and more, as the burden of these soul suckers increase, we can’t seem to meet our own demands. are you keeping up your grades? your family life? have you been jogging twice a week like you promised yourself? why don’t you go to church anymore?

it all hits us, all at once, all together: what the fuck are you doing to yourself. you’re spiraling out of control.

.

with this realization, we start focusing on our own lives again. we go back to studying. we start communicating with our parents and lil brothers and sisters again. no more giving attitude at work. we lace up our running shoes and resume our exercise regimens. sunday mornings aren’t spent sleeping in anymore.

.

but what about those leeches, huh? something’s gotta give. they sense that there’s something not quite right about us…. ..they’re not being taken care of. they’re being ignored. one by one, they drop off of us. suckers disengaged, they look for another host to mooch off of.

..

now here’s the important part: the “friends” that are gone now? for some of us, the mere thought of being alone is terrifying. we scramble to have them back. come baack to me. take my life blood away again. i need you. i need more dead weight. you’re needy, willing to give. they like that. they can’t get enough of it. they return. and….. the whole process begins all over again.

but for the smart ones, we realize that we can stop living for other people. we can live for ourselves. they could call us greedy, selfish, antisocial, boring. and they would be right. but there’s nothing wrong with that. we’re fine just the way we are. we can be alone, and it won’t matter, because we’re getting our shit done (: .

and the funny thing is, our real friends? just like our other “friends” who left, they notice something different about us, too. we hold our heads higher. our backs are straighter. our voices are calmer, steadier. our eyes look into theirs during conversation. we walk with purposeful strides. guess we got our swagga back. and dayummm is confidence sexy or what… <3.

.

homework? check. studied for next week’s test? check. went to the gym today? check. attending worship this sunday? check.

life on track? check.

….

….

“You can please some of the people all of the time, and you can please all of the people some of the time.. but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.” - Mr. Kim

everything and everyone else is in super slow motion, except for me.

it’s dusk, in some kind of european - i wanna say italian? - plaza.

marble floor.

there’s a fountain, and kiosks, and open-air cafes.

people are moving about and i’m walking through the crowd,

and this asian girl sitting on a stool, slow motion like, turns to look at me.

she raises her hand..

points at me..

and stutters:

“i..i s..see thththirt.. thirteen of..f y..you..”