white trash beautiful

The Domino Effect

2010-09-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

I used to love playing with dominos as a kid. Not the game itself, but the set them up, standing an inch apart, creating a swirl of designs, trails, spirals, branches from her to there. And after an hour of prep, I’d flick that first one, and down they all go. As they were fated to fall. At least that’s the hope.

Every morning I marvel at the domino effects all around me. I see it all the time. The guy that holds the subway door for his buddy, thus preventing the train from leaving for 10 more seconds. But that mere 10 seconds then affects everyone on that train. How many people is that? 100? 200? More? And then they all go out about their day. Each 10 seconds later due to that subway ride. One man could be late for an important interview, and is hit by a car upon leaving. Another could miss his connecting subway, and miss his flight, but meets his next wife.

It’s all magical and insane if you try to think about it too hard. I used to try and peer into the complexities of just such a fate engine. Every time I tried to book a flight, I’d become racked with anxiety, trying to decide on an 8:30 or a 9:30, weighing in traffic as well as the kind of people who would choose the later flight and possibly want to hook up with me in the airplane bathroom. I would become racked with indecision, wondering if by choosing a later flight I could avoid a death sentence that would be guaranteed if I took the earlier flight. This made travel for nearly impossible for me for a few months, until I just sucked it up and started looking for clues in the numbers. Yes, I may be a little insane. I’m a writer though, so give me a break.

This morning, I had a particularly pleasant run-in. I got to the intersection of 54^th and 8^th Avenue, and across the street was an insanely handsome chap. Roughly six foot, dark hair, groomed beard, sunglasses, adorable smile. He was wearing a light blue Keystone Light t-shirt and khaki shorts. He smiled at me from across the traffic and for a second I was wondering if he smiling at me. He was. Once the light turned, we walked toward one another, exchanging big smiles, and then passing. I stopped across the street and looked back. After a few extra feet, he gave me a look back, smiled, and kept walking.

You’re going to say, this kind of stuff happens all the time. And you’re right. But this wasn’t a regular morning for me.

Firstly, the sun woke me up, overheating my face, three minutes before my alarm went off. I got up, went about my morning routine, but ended up watching a full episode of an hour-long DVR’ed show (rather than half, as I usually do in the mornings). I showered, dressed, and rather than go to 125^th street for the express train, I stopped at the dry cleaners to get a new pair of pants hemmed. I took the local from 116^th, and got out at Columbus Circle. It was a particularly nice day and I had to drop off a sample at a clinic (intestinal problems again, yay!). Afterward, I finally resumed my usual walk to work, but paused at Dunkin Donuts. This is a maybe 4 times a year type occasion for me, where I just decide, “Hey, I deserve something disgustingly delicious.” So I got a glazed, walked out, and met my prince.

That’s a lot of dominos that have to fall JUST RIGHT in order for he and I to cross paths. Think about it. An extra ten seconds somewhere here or there, and we wouldn’t have exchanged smiles. Had I taken a left instead of a right, or skipped my donut, no look-back. All those dominos had to be standing just right, pointing in just the right direction, needing just that perfect amount of force. And then click click click click click click they all start falling into place.

Is it fate? Predestination? Magical randomness? Who knows. Think about it too hard and you’ll either drive yourself neurotic or get a headache.

But I just got to work, sat down, ate my donut, and put up a MISSED CONNECTION on Craigslist. Maybe he’ll answer, maybe he won’t. But who knows, this guy could be my future husband. Or best friend. Or worst enemy. His position in my life, if any, has yet to be revealed—at least to me. But I enjoy thinking about all the steps that had to fall into place for me to be rewarded with a kind smile from a handsome gent.

Good morning. -r

A PLAGUE OF STORIES

2010-04-23T06:17:00.001-07:00

I live in America. The great U.S. of A. A land of great wealth and benefits. A land of excess. A land that has forgotten what moderation means. And why moderate our intake of anything when we can have it all?

Or at least that’s the idea.

I went home to Texas last month, and I went into a grocery store. It was daunting to see aisle after aisle of dozens of choices of soy sauce. To see an entire aisle devoted to the simple choice of breakfast cereal. It made me immediately miss Manhattan and its tiny bodegas. And it got me thinking. America has forgotten what its like to struggle to have just a little of something. Instead we have a lot of everything. And we all work our asses off to buy into the philosophy of MORE IS MORE.

That’s why we anyone who can afford a basic cable package has a couple of hundred channels, each overwhelming stacked with TV show after TV show. Program after program of stories. And if you have the movie channels? If you have HD channels? If you have satellite channels form around the world? Shit. You could watch TV every hour of every day of every year for the rest of your life and never bump into the same episode twice. Or maybe you could. But you wouldn’t notice. You’d be brain dead.

I read an article some years ago that said your mind was less active while it watched TV then while it slept. Not surprising really. TV is an escape from life. It’s an escape from your story, as you get to step into the fictionalized story of someone else. Unless you’re watching reality TV, in which case you’re watching something “real.” I add the quotation marks because it isn’t real. You aren’t feeling or smelling or tasting or truly experiencing what the other person is (though give it time, and I’m sure we’ll have telepathic satellites beaming reality contestants every emotion into our brains). What we’re getting is flashes of a story. We’re being spoon-fed the story of a struggle, be it one of survival on an island, or a race around the world, or simple trying to be a good mom, or a battle against the mental disability which causes people to hoard everything they buy. Whatever it is, it is simply a story. A story of life. A story of trying to overcome. Quite simply, it’s something we can all relate to.

But we forget—it’s just a story. And it isn’t ours.

We are surrounded by stories in America. TV. Movies. Books. Magazines. Comics. Hell, even music. Each tells a story, be it on the radio morning show, or be it on prime time TV. We have our weeklies and our monthlies and our dailies. Story after story after story. A bombardment of fiction and nonfiction and fictionalized reality—all of it a kind of controlled retelling of a story. We get facets and inches and pieces and parts, but we never really get the whole story. We are told stories about bad guys and good guys about husbands who cheated on their wives who we’ve all come to love in her movies, but what happens is we end up marginalizing the people. We put them in a box and we slap a label on it. But no person is ever one single thing.

We are all of us a massive creature of dichotomy and ambiguity and confusion. We are chemically destined to be irrational and insane creatures. We try so hard to not be animals, but by definition we are just that. Animals. But our society and our community are turning us into animals addicted to stories.

You’re wondering if this is a bad thing? Hmmm. I don’t know. I don’t want to pass a moral judgment here, but for me personally, yeah, I think any kind of addiction is a bad thing.

Yeah, I love stories. For fuck’s sake, I’m a writer. I like to create stories day in and day out. My day job is as a comic book editor. So by day and by night, by my salaried position and my freelance gigs, I am in the business of creating stories. It isn’t stories I have the problem with, but the immediate excess of them.

One hundred years ago, there were no TV’s. People read novels, and I’m guessing here, but those were hard to come by. You lived your own life, your own story. And you were exposed to the stories of those around you. But the ego had less to pray on. There was envy and upset, there was love and sadness, and there was happiness. But mostly, life was a struggle to live as best you could. This is something that hasn’t changed in hundreds if not thousands of years. Then fifty years ago, people had radio. And some, but certainly not all, began getting TV’s. but even then, it was limited programming. But now? Now… well, I’ve already been over what it’s like now.

So why is this bad? Because people are forgetting to live their lives. They are living for stories. And because of so much of our life being focused on stories, we begin to create stories all around us. We tell ourselves we aren’t rich enough or cool enough or in shape enough. We become so involved with the images that are portrayed in these stories that we lose the substance that life is meant to be made of.

Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is what we’re supposed to do. I don’t know. It just seems a little too much sometimes. For me personally, I think I need a good break from stories. I don’t mind creating my own, but I think a little less stories for a while could do me some good. And not just the stories on my TV or on the big screen, but the stories in my head. That I’m not good enough or rich enough or cool enough. Because those? Those are just stories in my head that aren’t real. It’s an illusion. No more real than MTV’s Real World. They’re just ideas. It’s just the ego playing tricks on me.

You have to go by what you feel. Not what that voice in your head tells you, but that thought behind the voice. Your instinct. Your gut. Your spirit.

Sometimes we forget there’s that whole other layer within us, just beneath the surface. Because of all these stories, we forget that there’s more to this world than we can see on the TV or in a set of abs.

Man, am I preachy in the mornings. I should go back to bed. Xoxo, r

Rough

2009-09-29T06:56:00.000-07:00

Last night, Stephen and I fought. (Again.) And then we talked. (Again.) And then we cried. (Again.) We are trying to figure out the apartment situation, as living together just doesn’t feel like a viable option any longer.

Ugh. This shit isn’t easy.

My side—my story—is based on my perspective. And perspective—by its very definition—is a limited view. It cannot be the whole truth because it is only a smaller part of the big picture. I’m still too close to it, but when I have those rare moments in between, when time seems to vanish, just for a moment, I can see that everything is going to move forward. This is the end of no one’s world. It is simply the close of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

I suppose that perhaps, the timing was all wrong for Stephen and myself. We both have a lot of growing to do. And neither of us is a monster for that. He did things. I did things. We both we’re not always pleasant. We both we’re not always loving. But I think we both tried our hardest. And in the end, isn’t that all anyone can really manage to do?

I wish I had this calm perspective more of the time. When it comes to Stephen, I am like this massive storm. There is no reason or logic, only emotional fury and passion. I am reduced to the five-year-old Rex who is desperately clinging to something he finds comfort in. He hasn’t yet learned the lesson that no one plays for keeps in this lifetime. Nothing stays forever. The rest is my ego screaming to win the competition. But there is no competition. There can be no winners here. And no losers either. We both had, and have, lessons to learn, and I think we’re still learning them. And then there's me, now, this calm rational buddhist, that is just smiling because he knows something the rest of my personalities have yet to grasp.

I miss him. Not just as a partner, but as a friend. And given time, I think we can be friends again. Easy task? Not right now. But with time, comes perspective. Time is the great expanse that one can either choose to learn from, or not. And some people stick to their guns, and think that they’ve learned all they need to know by kindergarten. But there’s a whole world out there. A whole stretch of knowledge and ideas and perspectives and art and landscapes and scents and tastes and senses. There’s a quote out there, and apologies if I butcher it, but it goes something like this:

There are angels out there whose only job is to keep people from falling asleep and missing their life.

And that’s what this big break-up was for me. A big wake-up. I was falling asleep at the wheel. And though it hurts at times, and I miss the “us” at times, I have to say—it’s good to be awake again. Even if it hurts sometimes. So I just have to remind myself to pull back, open my eyes, and remember that the sun never sets. On earth it may seem as though it does, but from space, the sun is always shining.

REVERSE

2009-09-09T07:18:00.001-07:00

As I walked to work this morning, I was considering perception. Our perception of reality governs the way we see the world. But what if we were seeing it all wrong?

What if we were seeing things in reverse?

Or more, what if the way we see things—in the chronology we believe to be adamant—is only temporary? Or superfluous? Take a step out of your consciousness, and just consider…

Billions of years ago, in a single flash, the universe exploded. The Big Bang. And the universe has been exploding outward ever since. What if one day, the universe could expand no more, and—like a balloon that can get no larger, and the air now being let out—it seeks to return to its original form. And everything starts going back to the way it was.

Those who had died, would return to living and age backward. Oxygen would and sun rays would not damage the body, as the energy would flow out and return to its source. We would take waste back into our bodies and our body would reinvigorate the animals parts and the plant pieces, and we would unchew it, and spit the food back onto our plates where it would be returned to the farm and the animals would be put back together and they would live again, and like us, be born of death and age in backwards until they rejoin their mother’s womb and shrink until they divide into an egg and their father’s seed.

All life would age backwards, in reverse, and return to the one source from which we all came.

There is a kind of beauty in it that makes me wish this were the way in which we lived. In reverse.

In that, rather than all of us aging towards death and the eventual fleeing of the spirit (or the energy that creates that spirit) from the body, we would return to our mothers who would in turn return to hers and so on, until we all became part of something greater than ourselves. Instead, we move “forward” towards being alone.

Or perhaps not.

This world is bigger than any of us can quite understand. And I suspect we know less about the true dynamics and physics of our universe than we suspect. We are but the most infantile children in the scope of knowledge of this place… Makes ya feel small, don’t it? Hehe.

-Wednesday, September 9, 2009

the perfect shower

2009-09-01T08:20:00.000-07:00

Today might be the most beautiful morning I can remember here in New York in some time. Nothing has happened out of the ordinary, as I woke, showered, and came to work. But the weather outside—it is crisp and cool. The air soft. No, it isn’t the weather itself, but the way it touches on my memory.

This morning, as I showered, the bathroom door open, and all the house windows wide, the cool air from outside wafted in, moving the mist of the shower in settle random ways that only nature can achieve. As the hot water beat down on me, and the cool air dances across my naked flesh, memories stirred of San Francisco.

What was it? Eight years back I think. Staying at Brett’s house just off of Castro. His shower was hot, and there was a small window, cracked, where the cool air from outside came in, mingling with the hot water pouring down from overhead. What is it about the mixing of the elements that tantalizes? The air cool, the water warm, the porcelain beneath your feet solid. It’s perfect. Grounded and airy. My mind drifts.

San Fran isn’t the only time those elements have met and washed over me. I know of other memories, but they hesitate to come forward, instead letting me just relish in it. I know it might seem silly to write a journal entry about a good shower, but I can’t help but think it’s this kind of small stuff I haven’t been appreciating in my life.

That, and when memories stretch you backward across time, I can’t help but feel they do so for a reason. Eight years ago, I was such a different person, with such different perspectives, and still naïve in more ways that I can count. It was a lifetime ago. But one thing that hasn’t changed is that I’m a survivor. The pangs I suffer now can draw a parallel with the pains I suffered then, and be reminded, that I will get through this. These little trials are what life is made up of. They are part and parcel.

Last night, dinner with my best bud Victor at The Elephant in the East Village, Feist was playing overhead. And something in the song and in the air and in the meal hit me like a subtle wave of the lightest bricks. It was just one of those moments when you can’t wait to meet that new person who will make you believe in love again, even if only for a second. To go on that first date and reach out and touch fingertips or rub knees under the table. To get those texts and phone calls that you just can’t wait to answer. To be in bed with that person for the first time and be nervous be you actually care what’s going to happen and how nice it will be to wake up next to them in the morning. To have all that—HOPE. And it’s just amazing, the way it made me feel. So alive and scared (but not in the anxious way) and happy and giddy and horny and ready to just explode into a million little stars in the night sky.

And yeah, even though other stuff sucks right now, and things are confusing, and I worry that I’ll be alone when I’m eighty, it’s nice to have a reminder from the past that all this stuff is so transitory in the first place anyways. The only thing we can trust in is change and movement. Time doesn’t wait for us to make up our minds. So it’s better just to swim along with the current then try to stop and figure it out. And right now, I shouldn’t stop and try to sort it all out. I should just pick up my feet and let the river carry me where it will. And if something good comes along, I’ll plant my feet for a minute and just take it all in, and remember how great it is to have a nice hot shower in the cooling fall weather. The only thing that matters is now: this present moment.

-r

Breaking up is hard to do...

2009-06-17T10:50:00.001-07:00

So it's been two months since my relationship ended.

At first i was angry. REAL angry. 98% of my friends have never seen me in that place. and i hope none of you do. it's not pretty. have a shady, abusive, Texas trailer trash upbringing, and then you may understand. (throw in the fact that i've got 25% latino in me, and watch out.)

Then i just got sad. i fell apart. i crumbled. i cried. i lost almost 20 pounds from being unable to eat. i couldn't even sleep most nights. and when i did i woke up feeling as though i were being stabbed in the mornings... just pangs of anxiety in my digestive system. not fun.

Then i got okay with it. ...i mean, as okay as you can be when the man you love more than anything no longer feels the same.

For those wondering what happened... refer to life. life offers us no guarantees and no promises. i know that when i met Stephen, i had no faith in love. i didn't believe any two people could really make it work, as i have never met a couple with the staying power to make it work. i was okay with the idea that i'd stay single my whole life, and just have great friends, a great career, and lots of sex with strangers. and i was okay with that. but then i learned another way. and for that i am grateful... even though i am NOT grateful for the acute and new misery i have discovered in the last two months.

Yes, it was pretty bad. worse than i let anyone know. but it turns out i was stronger than i thought. i think most people are, given the opportunity to find out. it isn't pleasant, but life can't always be so. and let's face it... after you're homeless for 3 months at age 18 after being disowned by your family for being gay... THAT is bad. losing the man i planned to spend the rest of my life with? that was just horribly uncomfortable.

So today, I've been dragging a bit. Not depressed, just a down...

Last night I signed on to BMB and there he was, signed up as well... And stupidly I clicked on his profile (I have managed to stay away from his facebook profile for almost 2 weeks, which i consider a massive accomplishment) and looked at his pics, which made me smile (what can i say, i've never been attracted to anyone the way i was to him...), and then i began to tear up. Which of course then prompted me to dream of him. it's funny how intense the little things become...

This morning i woke up, and before even clearing my bed, I had a hard time breathing. i just missed the way things were before everything went downhill. I wasn't mad, or angry, or even jealous of his new guy, I was just... Clear. My mind has been dancing around ideas all morning while working, but eventually I walked to get lunch and there it was. A stream of thoughts about this kind of stuff...

I realized that when people split up, it is natural to get angry and sad and upset and so on. But that anger? They aren't mad at the other person, not really. How can you hate someone who you love that much? They aren't mad, they're simply scared of being alone.

A relationship let's people believe they will never be alone again, that whatever else happens, they will always have someone... through sickness and health, through layoffs and promotions, through deaths and births...you want to believe that this one person can be a CONSTANT in a world where there is no such thing. and when that illusion is crushed or taken away, we look to blame someone. And our former partners become easy targets...

I don't know. I may be completely wrong or just rambling from my own thoughts and feelings... i mean every person is unique, and all our body and brain chemistries are so different... but i think this is a universal. this isn't my head talking, this is my heart speaking.

Sure, I still have days where i am beyond pissed. or envious. or crushed. but i dont want him back. not after he hurt me like this. so why am i still mad?

I feel like my anger isn't solid... It's just a reaction. but the reaction isn't about him, or us, it's about me. Being scared. Being terrified of being alone. Of dying alone. that fear came before him. it's only fair then that it outlasted him. That fear is my companion.

I have been abandoned and rejected by my parents, by lovers, by friends. i have seen enough death in my life to last a dozen other lifetimes. but so it goes. it sucks. but life does not offer its condolences. it says, "okay, you have fallen. time to get up and get moving again. you can rest when you're dead."

Anyways, while I'm having this moment of clarity, I wanted to share. maybe it'll help someone else. maybe not. either way, if you're going through this, know you aren't alone. millions of people go through break ups every year, and the surprising news? no one dies from it. we don't. it hurts, but it won't kill us.

For me? I realize..i'm not mad. I'm just scared.

That's all I got. Peace to all of you. -r

30 Things About Rex You May or May Not Know

2009-02-18T09:07:00.001-08:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone else is doing "25 things about me", but I'm doing 30 cuz i'm 30. So there.

1.) i was born in Texas and yes, i lived in a trailer. as they say, you can take the boy out of the texas trailer park, but you can't take the Texas trailer park out of the boy.

2.) i have wanted to be a writer as long as i can remember. novels, comic books, movies, whatever. it's the whole reason i moved to New York City. and i finally got published this year. more to come...

3.) life has never really been easy for me. but since i moved to New York, i have found a kind of happiness i never expected to know.

4.) i was homeless once. homeless, as in living out of my truck, one time sleeping on the street, and often showering at the YMCA in New Orleans. it was only for 3 months, but it sucked. my dad had kicked me out for being gay, and i had no other family at the time. for that reason, i will never let a friend go without a warm meal or a place to sleep.

5.) i like comics books, bad sci-fi movies, good sci-fi movies, art history, and furry boys in jock straps. yum.

6.) did i mention i like furry boys in jock straps?

7.) i am 30. it's weird. with the things that came early in life, i never expected to make it past 18. then i never expected to make it past 25. now i'm 30. every day is a little surreal when i think about. life is good.

8.) my friends are my world. more than my gene donors (read: family), my friends are the thick and thin of it. they matter to me so much i can be a bit of a monster when i think one of them is mistreated. it drives my bf nuts.

9.) i drive my bf nuts rather often. sometimes in the cutesy "my bf is a monkey and makes me laugh" way, sometimes in the annoying "my bf is a jealous moody latino" way. but he puts up with me. and for that i am grateful.

10.) i have a bf (you may have heard of him: Stephen James Xanthos, he's well-bearded and apparently quite popular with bears between the ages of 18 and 104). i love him like i've never loved anyone else. i love him in a way i didn't think i was capable of. and i love him deeply and truly and passionately, and sometimes angrily. but i love him, and am still very much IN love with him. love is a weird creature, i've come to learn. it brings out the best and worst in me, but i have found myself striving to be a better person for stephen AND for myself. it's kind of a great feeling.

11.) because of stephen and a beautiful black pug named The Smoo, i have come to love dogs so much that i have exchanged my want for children for a want of dogs. and i want them now. I WANT PUPPIES.

12.) i love music. the way it makes me feel. the feelings and emotions they can invoke and instill in the breath of a single chorus. what's weird? i never pay attention to band names, song titles, or even lyrics. i literally ONLY let the music move me without giving it any more than surface thought. i often have fave songs for years before i sit down and read the lyrics and say, "ew. that's what that song is about??"

13.) i like tv more than i should, but i am proud to say i have cut way back. tv watching is the closest thing i've ever had to addiction...

14.) ...tv watching is the closest thing i've ever had to addiction. FACT. i tried smoking, but didn't like the way it made my clothes and fingers smell. and i've never been one for drugs, and i'm still not a champion drinker like my bf. i used to claim i was a sex addict, but the truth was (and is) i just enjoy sex... but there are times when i can't be bothered...thus, NOT an addict.

15.) i have renewed my love of video games. i have an xbox360, and there's nothing more fun than having friends come over and watch me play. ur, i mean, come and play WITH me.

16.) i don't like watching other people play video games. or sports. or anything of that genre. i am not for watching, i am for doing. except when it comes to some things, and then my anxiety takes hold and says, "I don't think so."

17.) i made it to the final round of Real World 10: Back to New York. I was cut last minute for the guy, also from austin, who had cancer. they said, and i quote, "You seem to have dealt with a lot of your problems, and become a more balanced person. You have told us about so much tragedy, but you haven't cried. Not once. Do you think you could try and cry for the camera?" my answer was no. but i'm in new york any way. :)

18.) i love to read. especially novels. i just rediscovered my love of 300 pages of story. all i did as a kid was read. when i moved to NYC i slowed down for lack of time in trying to get my writing career off the ground. but i'm back to reading. i wish every one had an 8th day in the week just to read. my faves go from All Souls Rising (about the Haitian rebellion) to Belle de Jour's Secret Diary of a Call Girl to Alice in Wonderland. ugh, give me a good book any day of the week.

19.) i find i never have enough time. to write. to read. to hit the gym. to hang with friends. to hang with stephen. to play with puppies. to breath. to relax. to sleep. it can be overwhelming at time. life seems to be going by way too fast. but i can't dwell on that...

20.) i can't dwell on the fast pace of life, because there is only one thing that terrifies me: death. it isn't the dying part (that part i'm rather curious about). it's what comes after. be there an afterlife or be there nothing, when i try to wrap my head around it, i shut down. i go into a dark place. i get depressed. and for a long time it was a kind of obsession for me. thus my useless degree in religion. but yeah, i am terrified of dying. the first part of my life was not fun. it was abuse and abandonment and people dying on me. my life now is nothing like that... but i dont want to lose any more friends. i want us all to be together forever and happy. not possible, but a boy can dream right?

21.) i have a tendency to get dark when i'm being honest with myself. i hope #20 didn't bring you down. apologies. i'll think of something brighter for #22.

22.) did i mention i like furry boys in jock straps? :)

23.) i love the sun. so much in fact i think i might be solar-powered. i'm serious.

24.) i have 4 tattoos but plan on getting more ASAP. i want my back done, and a sleeve.

25.) i have a niece and nephew who i think are the most amazing two people in the world. one day i hope to adopt them. or at the very least, move them to NYC when they're ready for college. i'd like to think i'd be a good dad.

26.) shit, now what i'm passed 25, my mind has stopped... but i started this so i have to finish it... which is another thing about me. i'm kinda OCD in that anything i am going to do, i am going to give it 105%, and i'm going to finish it. the only things this doesn't apply to is bad movies, dusting, and people who take too long to finish off.

27.) i am pumped about our new president, and have high hopes that humanity will turn the world around before we destroy it.

28.) i HATE people who litter. seriously, if i had a gun with free reign, it would be bad.

29.) i'd like to be god for a day. i have a lot of ideas on how to make the world a better place. (i think in a former life i was a dictator.)

30.) it's take me a long time, but i finally worked something out: LIFE IS GOOD. so take that in, put it in your pipe and smoke it, or just put it in your pocket for a rainy day. seriously, life is good and you should do your best to enjoy it. you only get this one, so take advantage.

thanks for reading. xoxo, gossip girl

Ashes to Ashes...

2008-11-21T07:49:00.000-08:00

Time is flying. It feels like time is being pulled out from underneath my feet. It is here, and then it is gone. It makes my anxiety and myself look like a fool… I worry over things that are here and then gone. My anxiety attacks me in the moment over the moments to come, and once they do, they are here so quickly, and then they are behind me.

S.W. was a man that Stephen met on the internet. They chatted many times. Stephen thought he was hot, and once I saw his pictures, and so did I. He came to New York maybe six months back. Maybe eight, I don’t know. Stephen ran into him out and about on a Friday night, and S.W. was apparently trying to get into Stephen’s pants to the point of being obnoxious. But who doesn’t after a few drinks? ☺ The following Sunday at the Eagle Beer Blast, S.W. came up to me. He behaved the same. I tried to speak with him, but he was very much focused on the one thing. I declined his advances for spending more time with my friends, but i thought good for him. After all life, is short, and he knew what he wanted and didn’t mind putting himself out there to get it. It's a lesson a lot of people could stand to learn. He was handsome, and you could tell there was a kindness in his eyes, but there was also hurt. He wanted desperately for someone to love him for who he was. I hope he found that.

Stephen got a call from his S.W.’s brother yesterday. S.W. passed away from spinal meningitis. When my boyfriend called me on the phone to tell me, all of my memories mentioned above came flooding back to me clear as day as if they were happening simultaneously. To think that this person, this stranger who I spoke with was here, and is now gone. Somehow it’s more bearable to deal with celebrities and rock stars and former president’s wives…but when it is a stranger that I spoke with…it is somehow more real. Those in the news media are like Greek gods to most people. I feel like I live in Olympus living here in Manhattan. I am not one of the gods, but I see them on the streets and in stores and in restaurants. But still, S.W. is someone who I actually spoke with, who I gave a hug to as I left. He was someone real to me, who I embraced, if only for a moment. And now his body is in the ground.

It seems like such a foreign concept. This morning I woke up and all I could think about was him. What was he like? Had he been a happy child? What things went through his mind as he was about to take his last breath?

It is a slippery slope for me to even think on it. I have never been good with death, having lost so many as a child and then later as a teenager. I have never feared rejection, for at least that person lives on. It is abandonment that devours my core at time. The fear of my friends and loved ones leaving me. And yet my greater fear is what comes next, for it is so uncertain. I don’t fear hell, because at least there would be an awareness. But what if there is no awareness. What if Rex is no longer Rex. Then Stephen and all that we had is gone. Carsin and Caleb, my niece and my nephew, their laughter is gone. My friends vanish. All of this, all of these beautiful and terrible things that we live through and cry over and squander and embrace and fight for … it is all gone.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

It is hard to even try and wrap your head around. So I won’t.. I will try to go about my day, breathing in the world around me, and trying to smile despite the tears that hide just behind my eyes.

I didn’t know you S.W. , and for that, I apologize. But I hope that your life was good.

Yesterday & Tomorrow, A Rant

2008-09-30T09:21:00.000-07:00

Remember myspace? Most of my peeps in NYC are long over it and have since moved on to the new, more user-friendly facebook, but most of my friends back home in Texas are still avid myspacers. So I just hopped on myspace, which I haven’t done in a few months. And lo and behold, a few people that have recently popped up along the periphery of my subconscious had either friend-requested me or sent me a message. Be it psychic or simply synchronistic, as I read the messages, old vibes washed over me. Thoughts of not what it, but what could have been. What if I had stayed in Austin, or moved to a small town? What if I had opted to travel the world and not concern myself with my next paycheck or taxes as I once had planned? What if I ended up with a married to a woman and had 3 kids? Hehe. That is doubtful, but with this life, there are no guarantees.

As a kid I dreamed of a shiny jetpack future. Spaceships traveling to resorts on the moon, hover skateboards, personal flying rocket backpacks, tiny credit-card sized computers that guided you through everything you need… (okay, so iPhones are close on that last one). I could give you a total rundown of my expectations but neither of us have the time to write or read that much. Let’s suffice it to say, that this is not what I had envisioned. This is more of what I had hoped for, but then again i grew up on Star Wars. Sure, there are huge TV screens in Time Square, but where are the eco-friendly hover-cabs? I don’t know. I honestly expected us to be further along. In technology, in taking care of our planet, in taking care of ourselves. I mean, we don’t even have cures for cancer or AIDS.

I feel like the process got retarded along the way. The wrong people were put in power by people who rather fuel cars with gas and oil than help the earth. The people who control the world of medicine rather treat the symptoms than cure the illness… otherwise they wouldn’t stay rich. We don’t have hover-shit because we’re too busy fighting amongst ourselves down here. It’s sad. We could have done so much, but instead our petty squabbles and greeds have destroyed the hopes we had as a kid. It makes me worry for the future.

No, not all this comes at looking at myspace pictures of friends I haven’t seen in the better part of a decade. But it is good to see their faces. Whether they’ve gained weight or cut their hair, or popped out a few kids, their eyes still have the same glint of life. Some are sadder, some are happier, some are simply more wise, but their eyes still echo familiar with me. Flipping from album to album and pic to pic, I think of all the decisions it took for me to get here instead of there. It’s a bit of a mind-fuck really. Everything starts to feel like a dream, reality fades its light, and your mind wanders to other possibilities of what you could have had.

The funny part? When I come back to this life, I’m glad I made the choices I made. The reality I built for myself is a good one. It’s no doubt easier for me to say it because I have this great life with a great boyfriend and a great home and a rad job and rad friends, etc. etc. etc. I’m sure if I was miserable, I’d be less pleased, but for now? I couldn’t be happier. Well… maybe if someone gave me some money…

Anxiety, Ideas, & Home Sweet Home

2008-09-15T07:25:00.000-07:00

I don’t get it. I’ve been working each day to calm my mind, to quiet my thoughts, to fight the voices in my head that try to keep me in fear. So why is it that come Friday night, I have a kind of small terror grow over me in the face of a relaxing weekend? What is it about next month’s cruise that instills in me a panic, not just for the flight, but for the following week?

As I walked to work today, under a beautiful blue and open sky, and a cool breeze stirring the leaves around me, I tried to sort it out. It isn’t the trip itself. It isn’t even the flight. It’s simply the idea of being caged by the circumstances surrounding my vacation.

The idea of being powerless taunts me. The idea of being out of my safety zone, and far from home, scratches at my mind like a terrible itch. It isn’t getting on the plane that offends me, it is the metaphor the plane has become: a symbol of something taking me away from what is only an idea of safety. Home.

Home. It is likely the most comforting word in the English language. It is where a person can be him or herself. Where one can drop all pretenses, and quit playing the games that we all play in the day-to-day rat race of our lives. It is where we feel safest. It is where we are surrounded by our belongings and those keepsakes of times before. We can be happy there. Or sad. Or angry. Whatever the case, we can do whatever and be whoever we want to be. There is no pressure.

But it is all an illusion. As with anything in life, anything can disappear in a moment. A home can be lit on fire, or washed away in a flood. A gale wind can drop from the sky, pick up your home, and toss it like a rag-doll. And these are just natural instances. My point being, no matter where you feel safe, an event can take away your idea. An idea is just that, it is a concept. An idea can be a thought, a conception, a notion. It can be an impression, an opinion, a plan of action, an intention, or even a groundless supposition or a fantasy. But it is a thing that exists solely within the mind. It is a result of mental understanding. But a mental understanding can be wrong. An idea can just as easily be false as it can be true.

The world at large once had an idea that the world was flat. And that was inaccurate. That was false, in the realm of facts. As children, many have an idea that Santa Claus brings them presents on Christmas. That is also false in the realm of facts. And let’s face it, we all have ideas floating around in our heads that we defend righteously…only to late discover that we were wrong. So why do we cling so vehemently to these things called ideas?

Perhaps it is simply ego. Perhaps it is an environmental trait we picked up as stubborn children attempting to match the stubborn nature of the adult world. Or perhaps it is a survival instinct we needed tens of thousands of years ago to survive in a harsher world. Maybe our predecessors needed to embrace that which they knew and believed. I don’t know that a single answer can be written. I do know that I struggle with anxiety. With fear. I have most of my life. But when I was younger, it seemed much easier to overcome. But now? Now it seems almost worse, despite my knowing how much I have survived.

Haha, listen to me talk. You would think I am having fear about going off to war. I am literally having fear about going on vacation! It is ridiculous.

And I know it is ridiculous. There are people without the money to go on vacation. There are people with too many responsibilities to pick up and adventure for eight days. But here I am, scared of my own shadow. Yes, right now, in this moment, I know I am a fool. What am I trying to hold on to? What is it that puts knots in my stomach in the middle of the night? It is like I am only half the keeper of my mind, and the other half is controlled by another. I hate it. Why can I not simply let go of these fears and move past them without a second thought?

…

I don’t know. But I’m working on it. Dispelling the illusion of safety is something I have done before. But apparently it is a lesson I need to relearn. I have fought my fears in the past, but they have an insistency to return. Now I am armed with the knowledge that I am a prisoner of my own ideas. You would think that would help me in some small way. But I am a creative, which cannot help matters. As I can build entire worlds of fiction for my characters and my novels, I can do the same with my own fears and anxieties, armoring them against my own defenses. If I were outside my own head, I would likely marvel at the complexities of my own mind. Instead, I’m just annoyed.

So I guess I just have to try and break down the barriers of ideas. Find a way to dispel the solidarity of the things I think I know, and instead uphold the truth: that ideas are just that. Ideas. There are facts in the physical world, but the anxieties I have are simply fears with no concrete standing. My anxieties are wisps of air in the reaches of my mind. But amazingly, they still manage to cause me pain and discomfort.

“When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive: to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.”
- Marcus Aurelius

dream a little dream...

2008-06-11T05:01:00.000-07:00

A warning... my dreamed are FUCKED UP. they always have been. but the great thing? I'm a writer, so they always inspire me. so enjoy...

All my dreams last night were all very tied together in a small texas town. I don’t know that it had a name, but I know it was small and in texas, and it was supposed to be located somewhere between Austin and San Marcos, both places of where i had lived, both plkaces only a few hours from the desolate regions where shit like the Texas Chainsaw massacre is supposed to take place. Anyway, this is a dream town that at some point I had supposedly lived…

It was a nice summer night and i was having a party in my front yard as were many of my neighbors. It was a block party and there was bbq and beer and good conversation. Parts of the crowd were going across the street to my new neighbor’s house. They had done up there whole house Halloween-style and wanted people to come over and take a Halloween "Scary tour". I realized I had never met my neighbors, as they had only just moved in a few days previous, but still had no interest. I didnt like Halloween and i didnt like being scared. All my coworkers were going but still I hesitated.

As we had all stayed out drinking and partying on my front lawn, dusk became night and night was becoming dawn. The partying was thinning and i didnt remember anyone saying good-bye, but so it goes. With the sun coming up I felt safe to go into my neighbors house. It was day, nothing went wrong in the light of day, i thought.

One girl and a guy who worked with me agreed to go with me. We knocked on the door and a little girl answered, and said come in, take the tour, then ran off into the back.

"What about the parents?" I asked. "Don’t you think its odd no one has seen them? I feel uncomfortable going into a house with just kids and no parents?" My coworkers were like, "Rex come on, don't be a pussy. The parents are probably downstairs working the tour."

We went through the living room which seemed already very lived in, which was weird considering they had only lived here for 2 or so days. The walls were dirty, the room unkempt, the tv on. There were old halloween decorations hanging about but they all seemed covered in dust and tattered and torn. Nothing was new. The room reminded me of a 70’s home that had been left to grow old over time.

We turned around the corner, there was a single bedroom with a single bed that was untouched. There was a bathroom. And then there was a long stairwell down into the basement. The stairwell seemed rather longer than it should be, and the whole house felt wrong. It felt dark. The little girl, in her white dress and her dark eyes, and her two front missing teeth, laughed, and said, come on! And disappeared into the darkness.

"I changed my mind," I said. "I’m gonna go wait on the couch."

So I did. I sat down on the couch, which threw dust into the air when I sat. I watched an old 50’s or 60’s sci-fi film. The tv was as old as the movie. Huge box with fake wood paneling and dials and no remote. The picture was hazy, as if color were a new concept. The movie was only just entertaining. It was the kind with ships flying around, but you could see the strings holding them. There was a ship lost in space and melded with another ship and then almost crashed into another ship, and then a space robot came to attack this ship that held the last people from earth. If they died, humanity died.

And I fell asleep on the couch.

When I woke I looked outside and realized it was still night. How was that possible, we came in at day? I hadn’t slept for 14 hours, had i? I looked at the windows and they seemed almost reverse tinted. Something was wrong. Where were my coworkers?

I looked outside the window and there was no one outside. I went to the front door, except there wasn’t one. The front door had vanished. "fuck fuck fuck fuck."

I walked to the deep stairwell. And looked down into the darkness. I heard talking and laughter. I started to walk down the stairwell. I took two steps and stopped. The laughter was behind me. I walked back and found the room with the single bed, except the whole room had changed. The bed was much larger, and the two girls sat beside the bed talking to my two coworkers who were in the bed with the sheets and blankets pulled up to their necks. I looked at the little girls, both with white dresses, and they were laughing. They had chocolate smeared all over the bottom half of their faces and they both had forks in their hands. And they laughed and giggled together at me.

"We have to go, something is wrong," I screamed at my coworkers, but they just laughed. I pulled the sheets back, and there it was.

There bodies were open like boxes. Their innards were gone. They were hollow, as the girls had been eating their insides. My coworkers laughed. "This is the best Halloween tour we've ever been to!" And the girls laughed, and I realized that it wasn’t chocolate smeared across their faces. The girls ran back over to my coworkers and resumed cutting with butter knifes and forks at the insides of my friends.

I suddenly realized I had to escape, that the parents would be home any minute. And if the children were this ghastly, how bad would the parents be?

Then the alarm went off and I woke up.

2008-06-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

In case you don't know: my boyfriend.

2008-06-02T08:19:00.000-07:00

Trailer Park to New York

2008-05-13T10:30:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a trailer in Texas. A trailer, if you don’t already know, is a large tin box put up on cinder blocks and called a home. My neighbor had these huge faded-pink plastic flamingos in her yard that were so old they were rotting and caving in on themselves. She herself had a concave face with only two teeth in her mouth, both of which had assumed a kind of yellowish-brown color scheme that the flamingos were beginning to adopt. She and her plastic pets looked like something out of a horror movie.

My parents divorced soon after (not because of the old woman or her flamingos, mind you) and my mother and I moved into an apartment, and I took up reading comic books. They were a source of escape and fantasy. Every time I turned a page, I was the ultimate hero, or sometimes the sinister villain, and I could do anything. In my mind’s eye, I could move objects with my mind, or I could see the future. I even dreamt that one day I could escape my welfare upbringing that I was oh-so-ashamed of when I later attended one of the richest school districts in Texas. My peers were driving BMWs to school and my mom was a waitress at Ming Dynasty serving pu-pu platters.

So I read comics. And I came up with my own worlds and realms and colorful cast. I wrote and drew (though not well) and fantasized that one day people would read my work. But it was a fantasy, and under it all I knew that. I didn’t think myself hopeless, just realistic.

I never could have guessed that a mere decade later I’d be living in New York City working in the comic industry I was obsessed with growing up.

It takes a certain kind of human animal to thrive in this city. It’s not just that you have to be hard-working and diligent, you have to be willing to tolerate the smell of piss on the subways some mornings. You have to have a kind of ambition underlying your sense of self, something in you that is not willing to wait for the next lifetime. You have to know that you have to do something.

So here I am, planning comic book conventions for a living. I answer to Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the Justice League. (I’d love to work with the X-Men and the Avengers as well, but they work for the other company at the moment.) I read comics, attend comic-cons, and meet the big guns behind the books I loved as a kid—and I get paid for it.

The comic books that used to be for fanboys and nerds are now plastered all over the big movie screens—and they’re making millions. The transformation from indie comics to Hollywood hard-hitters and from 1930’s pulp to the new century of CGI, comics are the LA agent’s new best friends. We’re all familiar with the Spiderman, Superman, and X-Men franchises. And for those of us in the know, we were happy as pigs-in-sh*t for movies like V for Vendetta, Hellboy, and the upcoming Watchmen. And of course this summer, we’re all wetting ourselves over Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, and Batman’s Dark Knight.

What’s this have to do with me? I’m writing comics, meeting illustrators, networking editors, and all the while still dreaming big. Whether I’m on the precipice of getting published and making a name for myself, or if I’m just destined to hang in the background, I don’t know. What I do know is life is good.

My fellow nerds have done great things. From comic book to movie screen, people’s dreams are being realized every day. Why not mine? Why not yours? I came from a tin can house on bricks and now I live in one of the greatest cities on earth in an office surrounded by my fellow geeks.

Have a dream, follow it, and see what happens. The worst thing that could happen is you end up happy.

Read Buffy

2007-12-05T08:30:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were a kid, and you couldn't wait for Wednesday to run to the comic book store and pick up that next issue of the Uncanny X-Men Muir Island Saga? Excitement itched under your skin as you waited to find out what was up with Rogue and Magneto's kiss, or if the X-men were gonna make it back from Shiar space. The way ya got a boner when Colossus put on a suit to escort Xavier to Wahsington DC...

Yup, those were good times. Now I'm ready Buffy Season 8 in comic format, and this shit is genius. Joss and BKV and let us not forget the artist (shit, i can't remember his name)... man, this stuff is like crack. If you haven't read it, pick it up, especially if you were a fan of the series.

Of course, if you liked Angel (which I did), avoid Angel Season 6. I picked up the first issue...and it was NOT good. icky.

Kissing Dreams

2007-11-14T10:22:00.001-08:00

I have a really good memory. Like insanely good. Though, it only works when it wants to. Either I recall something with perfect accuracy, or I recall nothing at all. And apparently, so does my subconscious.

Last night as I slumbered, I dreamt of having dinner. It was me, a buddy of mine, his chubby girlfriend who he planned to dump, and strangely enough my dad and two kids (The only person from my waking life being my dad, the rest are new). As we’re talking, the chubby girlfriend says, I can’t believe I’ve known you so long. I say HUH? She’s says, "you slept with my brother in Alabama 10 years ago." And WOOSH. The fictional dream gives way to memories of truth and reality.

I can’t remember his name with 100% assurance (no surprise there, I can never remember people’s names, just everything else about them), though in the dream she called him Jeffy. I'm pretty sure his name is Will. Will was a man I met in a bar called "The Plex" back in Montgomery, Alabama when I was tinkering to come out to myself. I was 18. He was late 20’s, maybe early 30’s. He was ruggedly handsome, shaved head, tall, muscular (though not too), and blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean from my childhood in Guam.

I went home with him the night I met him, from the bar to his place following his truck in my truck, and pulling up to nice 2-bedroom in central Montgomery. I followed him in and he asked if I wanted to watch South Park, which I’d never heard of at the time (this was back in 97-98, South Park was still in its first season). We laid down on the bed and watched and laughed our asses off, kissing during the commercial breaks. He had perfect lips and large hands. He was passionate, embracing, enthralling. (Haha, wow, I’m such a drama queen when I write.)

I think all my lovers since owe Will much, because I think I learned how to kiss from him. Yes, I could kiss before, but I was a novice until I met him. He taught me to take the other person, and at the same time give in to them. It was the first time I had kissed a man, not a boy.

It was a completely different experience. And a beautiful one at that. I don’t remember if we got naked that first night (though I’m sure we did), as all I can recall is the kissing. At some point the next morning, his arms wrapped around me against the winter chill that entered the house, the door sounded and his sister came in. She wasn’t the chubby frumpy girl in last night's dream, but quite beautiful. They exchanged some soft words, he hugged her, she left. Later when we woke up he explained this was actually her house and that he was only in town for her wedding. We spent the next few nights together, exchanging kisses and deep stares and just exploring each other’s bodies. He never ruined the softness of the exploration by suggesting we fuck, he just went with the flow. The experience had a fluidity that NYC homos seem to lack. Though we were strangers, I think we knew each other on some level that others would rarely get a glimpse of. He may have been the man who actually taught me intimacy, though I would not again be able to touch upon it for another decade.

...and with that, i promise my next post will be less sauve, and more gross. like about that video of the two girls pooping in a glass and eating it. then vomiting it up and eating that. and making out. yeah, my next post will be like that.

I popped my cherry

2007-11-14T10:09:00.000-08:00

I'm a writer. and everyone's all, why don't you have a blog. and i'm all, your mother. and they're like, no seriously. and i'm like, suck it.

then i calmed down, took a deep breath, and here i am, popping my cherry to the whole world wide web. my legs are spread and i'm ready for the plunge. a virgin no more. now let's see if anyone even reads the crap that spews forth from my mouth.

peace.