“Beauty as we feel it is something indescribable; what it is or what it means can never be said.” ― George Santayana

“I’m assuming, Guillermo, that you prefer thin women,” she said. What an assumption, I think. She’s only met the last girlfriend. She doesn’t know the history of my relationships. How the “love of my lifes” have come in many shape and sizes, and it just so happens that this one is thinner, better looking, and wonderful. It’s situations like this, by the way, that make me wish I worked at home. And I can’t take too long to answer this statement because it will only confirm that I do like thin women, and I’m some “gentleman who prefers blondes.”

“I like people,” I muttered. Wait? I like people? Since when? Since when does the greatest misanthrope I know like people? I worded that wrong. Before I can correct myself, the conversation’s moved on.

I’m going to think for a moment. Have I ever liked someone for physical reasons alone? Sure, there have been celebrities who caught my eye. And the occasional porn star in my youth, but these are abstract people. People without personalities. That’s not saying Neve Campbell, Zooey Deschanel, or Jenna Jameson don’t have personalities – well, maybe just the first two – I’m stating that I don’t know them, or the personalities personally. But these people have just been idols of affection, not the actual affection.

There are physical attributes I do find attractive. I’m partial to green eyes. A flock of red locks will turn my head. A potential significant other’s hands must be neater than mine, but not been deprived of actual work. That doesn’t mean I’ll find a woman attractive if she has all these attributes but lacks the ability to form a cognitive thought. That is, no bimbos allowed.

I’ve only been attracted to two girls that met all three attributes, and only dated one. The first girl was in the sixth grade and she dragged me through the mud by using my affection against me. The second was my ex-girlfriend, whose ego matched mine and, for those who don’t know this, that can cause a relationship to implode. This, of course, has led me to think my “preferences” are misguided – at least when combined with redheads.

Whenever I was unfortunate enough to “hang” with the guys, I happened a lot on the typical eye-fucking of random objects of desires. They always commented on that girl’s tits, or that MILF‘s ass, or that one woman’s legs and how their “dick sucking lips” can be seen from space. Most men salivate over big tits like a hungry newborn. I prefer smaller breasts, playfully calling them boobs when I want to act like a child with the woman I love. Mind, I don’t shun busting bosoms should they be attached to something more meaningful, I just don’t “prefer” them. If I had to boil down my animalistic lusts – I am human, after all, and flawed like all men – my eyes will perk up when a sculpted backside waltzes by. Thankfully, my  lusts are usually at bay and I never boast about this perversion of my senses.

Too much time has passed, of course. I couldn’t even bring it up if I wanted to. Someone should write a book. An Introvert’s Guide to Working in the Workplace. And it should contain chapters dealing with those awkward personal conversations that we are all doomed to be a part of. Millions will sell. Instant bestseller. You’re welcome.






So I say this a lot, but I am going to do my best to keep my promise this time. When I started this blog, I meant it as a place to write about writing, writers, my personal life, and my – next to nonexistent at the moment – writing life. Politics were not to come into play, but they did. Religion happens to be my favorite subject, but my least favorite thing in the world. So from now on out, thus blog will contain more posts about:

1. Writing
2. Creative writing
3. Books, non-reviews
4. Philosophy, personal
5. Shaun
6. Writers, friends and influences

It will then contain less posts dealing with:

1. Politicians I don’t agree with
2. Attacks on so-called writers and poets
3. Murderous chicken puppets.

A new mission statement will be posted soon.


Dead Puppet Society


I have this idea for a story. Actually, I have several ideas for several stories. It’s just that this particular idea is the latest.

I read a short piece on why we die, and how medical science is working on doubling our lifespan. I also read articles on where Samsung wants to take its technology in the near future. It seems the future I could only imagine of has finally dawned. A future of foldable tablets, pocket-sized personal computers (currently known as smartphones),  and seemingly everlasting youth. What could possibly go wrong?

I suppose anyone’s guess is good enough. I’ll write more on the subject later.


The Child(ren) of Ennui


You know, it’s a strange feeling fatherhood. It’s nearing six months, and I’m still adjusting. His smile. Every time I look into his eyes. The reflection of me. He has my expressions. My emotions. My irritation when he can’t do something. Every moment I’m with him, I’m a different person. The world doesn’t matter.

I once told Jyg that as long as I had her around, I wouldn’t miss the world. Now that’s changed. As long as I have them, every one else can drop off the face of the world, and I would not shed a tear.


Since When Do I Give A Fuck?


Seriously, answer the question. There was a time when I couldn’t give two shits about other people. Suddenly, I care about what two people say about me. Truth is, I only care about one of the. The other guy was someone I kept around for good sport. That is, when you learn the ugly truth about someone – especially when it would have others questioning his credibility – the best thing to do is keep that person close enough so you can watch him crash and burn. Only thing that keeps me from blabbing is a promise I made to a friend.

And this is part of the reason why I dropped out of the poet scene. The circle-jerk of comrades catering to each other, while ignoring the ones who stand on the outside. I am not the only person who feels this way, either.

So what’s changed? I don’t know. I probably won’t ever know.

Photo via: Tumblr.


Trigger Warning


“Borderlining schizo and guaranteed to cause a fuss” Placebo

Let me tell you something about bullies. They’re scum of the earth. They pick on the weak to feel superior. And I found that I am one.

It started as a joke on Facebook that exploded into something more. This is the joke, in its original, unaltered form:

So I feel shunned from a reading because I write prose, not poetry. Funny thing is, it’s an anti-bullying event. Go figure. This is fucking high school all over again. I’ll just sit here alone weeping.

Now, you’re asking what the hell am I talking about. I’ll explain. Earlier this week, I was invited to a poetry reading (to attend, not to partake). I agreed to it. I send out a mass invitation to all my local friends. I even went as far to offer assistance in the aid of streaming it. Last night, however, it was posted on the wall that it was poetry only. “No prose. Bring it!” I chuckled because a lesser mind would see as that a shunning of us prose writers. Sort of like the let down of not being invited to the cool kids’ table in high school. Hence, my joke.

I followed my joke status with a joke comment:

I’ll just host my own event. You’ll see. It’ll be way more awesome. I’m gonna gather all prose writers that were left out and we’ll show you that prose writers last longer and party harder. There’ll be music, art, films, a dj and a….a cow! Yeah. That’ll show you poet elitist hipsters!

This is where shit got ugly because it was taken as something factual. Anyone who knows me, knows that I’m way too lazy to organize an event (which is why I piggy back on other people’s shows). I’m gonna have to ignore that fact that I even stated I was having a cow at my pseudo event.

So what happened? A couple of friends made jokes about the post. The day went fine until I noticed that the event page was filled with hints toward my status update. Weird, right? Then I get a message from the chump who invited me. I told him it was a joke that seemed to have gotten carried away (this, by the way, is one of those people who believe that a anti-Islamic film is no reason for all those Islam extremists to get their panties up in a bunch). He didn’t care much for my explanation. He lectured me about bullying, going as far as calling me one.

A little history about me. I was never the cool kid. I made friends with certain people in high school for protection. I was punched. I was pushed around. Shoved against lockers. Choked. Beaten up. Made fun of. My money was stolen from me. I was kicked. I was tripped. I was thrown around like a goddamn rag down. My entire adolescence was spent looking over my shoulder because I knew people just didn’t like me. And it wasn’t just guys. Girls also had their share in personal attacks against me.

In short, I know a thing or two about bullying. And what did I do with all that torturous experience? I molded it into my craft. I’ve learned to laugh in the face of my tormentors. Beat them to the punch, and they have no fuel.

But apparently, my post pissed off a few people. I told my so-called friend (he’s since “unfriended” me) to calm down. His rebuttal? “Asshole, don’t tell me to calm down.” That’s not even a joke.

There are several forms of bullying (political, religious, and cultural are included in this). Attacking a religion based on their extremists is bullying. Calling Liberals idiots is bullying. Putting down other cultures is bullying. Bullying isn’t exclusive to kids. “Man up,” might be the obvious rebuttal, but that’s not the answer. Let’s not forget stating that loving someone of the same sex and wanting to get married is wrong, well, that’s just wrong.

I apologize (sorta) in another post, asking anyone who had beef with what I had to say to take it up with me. No one’s taken me up on that. These make believe text messages (because that’s what I’m taking it as) were just fictional. An attack on me because I never wanted to partake in his group (because I have alliances else where).

I’m not going to cater or censor myself for others benefit. Making me feel bad for something that didn’t happen (I checked the board, there’s nothing there), is a nice way to bully someone. Because what’s a bully exactly? Someone who forces you to feel lesser. Someone who makes you do something you don’t want to do. Someone who pretends to be a friend and uses you until you have no value. Someone who steals others ideas and pretend they’re his originally.