Bright Eyes

The bright eyed child
Looking around
Tempted by knowledge
And what was to be found.
He opened his books
Sniffed the accident words
Returning to that world
One in which he could be heard.
So life went on, this place had its appeals
But all the while he remembered
That this place
Its not real.
Written words
Swirling around in his head
Telling him keep trying
Keep swimming
It's cold
But your not dead.

(c)HeyJude
(C)ArielPerez

Some words can start fires

Ive been getting back into writing short stories and even some poetry lately, so i thought id share this. Here are a few of my favorite quotes from books, writers/authors. Words from others are always inspiring, so here are some that that have always given me a spark of inspiration. Read on.


“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about – things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool — that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’” -The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

"I’ve heard writers talk about ‘discovering a voice’, but for me that wasn’t a problem. There were so many voices that I didn’t know where to start." -Sam Shepard

"Eternity bores me. I never wanted it." -Sylvia Plath, Ariel

"I often carry things with me so I will not have to look at the people" -Charles Bukowski

"I loves her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be" -Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

"we accept the love we think we deserve" -The Perks of Being A Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky

"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity" -E.A. Poe

"the slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull" -Sylvia Plath, Ariel

"I think without writing I would feel completely useless." -Sam Shepard

Lay beside me

I wake to this space
This space beside me
Feeling the nothingness
That's lying next to me
Wishing and wanting
The warmth weeks ago
Hoping that soon
This space will go.
Then in the dark we'll sleep
Together we'll dream
And never will this nothingness
Lay beside me

(c)HeyJude
(c)ArielPerez


For Nic

Working gal

So the new job has been pretty great, I can honestly say its better then all the other jobs I've had. Probably cause they all have had to do with food. Not so great. This job though, love it. And I'm really getting the hang if it too, I've already made some sales and it's only day 2
So I found a pair if RayBans at work that I'm keeping my eye on because now that I'm wearing glasses again, I need sunglasses with a prescription too. So I found a pair I love, and I'm thinking they are the ones :) base I can not keep driving with he sun burning my face and eyes off.
Plus found a pair to buy for Nic too :)
So even though I'm working I'm still having trouble sleeping. I never just fall asleep, its always led with the process of tossing and turning. Moving the pillows endlessly around. Kicking at the hot bed sheets. I need to buy more sleepy time tea soon. I thought I'd be a bit more tired. After work and all.
I've been falling back into writing poetry again :) I love just writing and having the words flow out like molasses :)

I'm going back to tossing and turning now.

Walk through hell

Mouth closed
Sewn shut
Eyes turned,
Trying to avoid the bright light that is reality
You lurk in the back of my mind
A rotting memory hanging onto life in the hallow of my skull
And I can't run
I'm chained to the dirt you've dragged through my mind
The dirt that creates the sickness that is you
All that you live for is what people like me die from
The secret scenes in a child's heart, they are like movie reels put away
Dusty. Moldy.
Forgotten for the moment.
But alas, they do exist
Open your eyes, and face the demon
Walk into the hell fire and come out the end
Burned, scorched, blackened and bloody
But alive.
I'm alive.
I exist.
And my eyes are now open.

(c)HeyJude
(c)ArielPerez

Date A Girl Who Reads

 
by Rosemarie Urquico
(In response to Charles Warnke’s You Should Date an Illiterate Girl)

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Junk

Everything is lost, jumbled
scrambled in my mind
i try to speak and the words fall
their forgotten in time.
i shake and i twitch
so many stories, so many lines
so many words that come out in a spurt
they silently slither, they cross and it hurts
which is which, what is what
six windows open when one door shuts
again and again, the stories pile on
my mind races, but there is no finish line
i trip and i fall.
everything drops, words scatter into letters
my minds blank and i feel clear
i feel better.

(c)HeyJude
(c)ArielPerez

Out Of Time

The howling wind kept my small body shivering, the snow was piling on this small rooftop like a coating of cupcake icing and there was still no sign of him. It was five till nine and time was slowing down all around me. I looked around the empty lot and imagined him running through that door, ready and willing. But there was just the door and the sound of the city breathing. I love this place, you could see the whole of Chicago from here, covered in a thick layer of winter but beautiful none the less. All the shining lights kept me hypnotized, lost in my thoughts of what would happen now? Would he swoop down and save me, take me away like he unwittingly promises? Or will I be left to endure this frigid winter alone? Wounded. It was always push and pull with us. We were always an almost but never a yes, never a for sure, never a forever. I waited my whole life for him, and I feel like nothing but his back up plan, just his plan B. Nine on the dot. I guess plan A must have worked out. I stepped up onto the ledge, and I stared down at the city that was my entire life. My face was hot, the cold couldn't bother me now. Standing over the city felt calming, numbing even. He wasn't coming and I was done with this game that I've been losing. I wanted to keep this image of my beautiful city in my mind, a winter wonderland that never let me down. I took a deep breathe. I slowly turned my back to all the sounds of life and flickering lights. I closed my eyes and thought of all the times I felt like I was the only plan he ever wanted. Times that seemed like I was the only thing that could light up his world. The scent of his coat as he hugged me, that smile that said I love you and only you. Its now or never, this is it. It's the beginning, or the end. I let myself fall back into the cruel city, it was all slow motion but I could hear the wind rushing as gravity pulled me down. And there it was, that awaited sound that always drowned out the cries of the city. A loud call, but somehow soft as he said it, "..Hannah?"
It was him. He was late.

©HeyJude
©ArielPerez

The written word

Know what I found myself reminiscing about? The poetry club I was in back in high school. Only things I loved then were choir, English class, and of course poetry club. I use to get really nervous about public speaking (still am) but that club got me a bit out of my shell. Posting my stories and poetry on here is one thing, but being in front of a group, all eyes on you, nerve wrecking. I remember one night I recited a 2ish page poem, and it actually made people cry, I was proud. Who wouldn't be? The club started to fall through, people get busy, the teacher too, the cafe closed, life happens. It was always my favourite thing to do. I think i consider myself to be an avoident type of person. I don't like social settings too much, I tend to feel awkward at parties. If I meet new people I genuinely seem like I'm not interested, but it's just that I like to watch people and figure them out. I won't have anything worth saying till after I do figure them out. Now, with all the jobs I've had, I can force myself to be social and friendly when I have to, but that's not totally me.i think I'd benefit from poetry club again, writings is who I am so it's an easier social setting to be in for me. Plus I like hearing other writers work. And when they recite it them selves, your hearing it the way it's meant to be heard. You hear the pain, happiness, remorse or lack of conscience. It's pretty great. I wonder if my college has any thing like that, I honestly haven't checked. I'll have to check.

I really need to start writing more.

OOTD: plus I got a job!

So I've never done an outfit of the day post before so I thought I'd go ahead and do one :) I love fall/winter and the layering of the clothes style :) now, I really don't consider myself fashionable, I don't get too dressy most of the time. This is why I like fall, relaxed outfits, layers, easy fashion in my eyes. I love fall and I love winter.
Today I had an interview for a sunglasses shop and I got the job on the spot! I'm so happy! I think I'll actually enjoy this job. And it's close to home so no problems driving to work.
Another great thing that happened today is that I got my tax transcript in the mail for my financial aid! So I'm going to my college tomorrow to bring it in :) I love school, can't wait to be back in class. So far I'm planning on taking philosophy and a English creative writing class. I'll probably choose two more. :)
And! Nic got me a book!!!!!!! I've been wanting to read it for a very good while now and he got it for me :) he is always buying me books I have on my to read list :) love my hubby. And so for I'm loving this book too!

December baby

DECEMBER BABY
This straight-up means you are the most good-looking person possible… Better than all of these other months! Loyal and generous. Patriotic. Competitive in everything. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Easy to talk to, though hard to understand. Thinks far with vision, yet complicated to know. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having lots of ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Has that someone always on his/her mind. Talkative. Daydreamer.Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Abiding. Able to show character. One guy/girl kind of person. Loveable. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves music. Pretty/handsome. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Sensitive.

Hello life

So my grandpa Chevo hasn't been doing so well this past week. He has Alzheimer's and it's progressing pretty quick it seems. He forgets where he is, or sometimes who people are. Other things as well. Losing weight, and he just looks so frail. It's so hard to see this, because all my life he has been a tough strong real life cowboy type. Worked with his hands all his life. And now, he can hardly walk. We might be making a trip to see him soon. I really don't want to watch this happen all over again. My grandfather on my dads side passed away a couple years ago. I don't want to lose anymore people :/ I think it's making me become, or feel like I'm becoming, a reclusive kind of person. /sigh.

Do I Scare You? Sleepless writing.

*i couldn't sleep the other day and I ended up writing this little number. Horror/fiction as usual, it's what I like. Nothing intricate, just some creative juicyness*


Do I scare you? I should. I know your type. Big bad and obviously the pack leader. A frat rat, loud mouth want to be, your nothin but a date rape waiting to happen. You hunt and consider yourself the top predator. Walking around like everything is yours and any one here is yours for the taking. You think yourself mighty, but the truth is, you're the weak. And I am the strong.
You need to realise that you've brought this upon yourself. Constantly bragging. Always in my way trying to catch a number or word that I would never throw to someone like you. But you, well you just don't take to kindly to rejection. So you taunt. Harass. But you've made a terrible mistake, you see, I am the top predator. Camouflaged, masked and hiding in the shadows. Readily waiting to rip out your throat and let you float away slowly.
I waited around the area you hunted. A dank coffee shop, filled with flowers waiting to be ripped apart by you. And there you were, like a little bee jumping from flower to flower buzzing with over confidence. Sickening. You walked out. But there I was, waiting in the shadows, ready to pull you into the deep darkness you have so well earned. You struggled a bit, but I like a little fight, I like to play with my food. I took out my knife, oh the warm stories it could tell, and I dragged it over your throat. It felt like cutting up a roast with one slice, but a bit more fulfilling. You let out this sweet pathetic wet gasp. You tried to breathe as if you really had a chance. I couldn't help but smile at your last sad act to hang onto your little life. Clawing away at something you couldn't grasp. You looked right into my eyes. And I knew at that moment you finally under stood.
You, are the weak. And I, am the strong.
I leaned over you, and I softly asked with a smile,
"Do I scare you now?..I should"
And then your light was gone.

(c)ArielPerez
(c)HeyJude

Dads birthday!

My dads birthday was on the 25th
Here are a few pics from the dinner
Papasitos :)
He kept telling people he was 98 lol

Art and Madness?

Van Gogh cut off his ear.
Sylvia Plath committed suicide.

Numerous entertainers have overdosed on drugs–accidentally or otherwise.

Shakespeare wrote of madness in Macbeth, and hinted about it elsewhere.

Edgar Allen Poe was questionably depressed or bipolar.


Some scientists believe the connection is clear–where there is creativity, there is the potential for madness. One European study linked the same genetic mutation that insights creativity to schizophrenia.

http://io9.com/5316544/has-science-proven-that-all-artists-are-crazy

It certainly seems that the creators of beautiful musical masterpieces like Mozart or Beethoven or breathtaking art like Picasso or Monet have a special vision or a different type of connection to another world. Some say it is because God is always speaking, and they are taking the time or have the ability to listen.

And of course there is the drug connection too. Do true creatives try and self-medicate with alcohol, heroin, or cocaine? Does their propensity toward drugs stem from wanting to expand their already wider ability to see the world in a different way–or a need to quiet the “voices” telling them what to write, paint, or sing.


Or do artists simply remove more of the social restraints that we and society have put in place from a very young age. We are a civilized nation, each of us fitting neatly into our roles and polite mores that have been dictated since our births.

Freud used “talking therapy” to get to what he considered to be the root of people’s problems. He asked that the filters be removed, even if it was momentarily, and to free associate, and say the first things that pop into our heads–even if they seemed crazy or frightening. Wild things were said! New discoveries were made about deep and mysterious problems. We would never say these things in normal everyday conversation–people would think we are….

What if we all tried to keep the filters down a bit. I’m not talking about the ones that keep us out of jail, but the ones that keep us from being embarrassed, or saying what we really feel, or doing what we honest-to-God want to do without the worry of hurting someone, disappointing someone, or being afraid and doing it anyway. Maybe that is the only difference from the creative geniuses and everyone else.


Is creativity merely the ability to keep these filters down? Maybe those who can control them are lucky. They can write or draw or make music–or in some cases, all these things, and put the filters back in place when they need to function in a social or familial situation. Are the poor souls who are locked away and forever confused between reality and another world simply lacking the filters at all?

At this point the jury is still out. Not all schizophrenics are artistic or creative, in fact some are simply and sadly paralyzed by what they experience. Not all madness is schizophrenia, and certainly not all artists are mad.

Some days I wonder if we are not all mad, but not properly categorized yet.

VIA Dea Lenihan
Indiechickscafe.com