us theory

The sky was inconsequential, clouds hung in the night, absolute in their anonymity. The wind paraded across body and skins, unnoticed. It would begin suddenly and instantaneously, the moments it would last would linger past their continuance and drip away slowly towards memory. In retrospect, it would be described as a slow moving blur: green eyes, brown hair, and lips moving towards a postmodern romantic ideal. Modernist would be more definite in their description, the clouds hung by their desires to lay witness to a roof that housed our multiple, yet fleeting kisses.

"Liberty or death"

I used to have this uncanny ability to express myself, very poignantly and uniquely. It’s been a while since I recognized it wither away. It just moved past me, and I don’t recall watching it go, but it feels as if I did. Like a father watching his only son go to college never again to return. If I were to remember it, I would have watched it slither past me, in a liquid state, off of my brain and lips, through my chest, out of my heart. Made a dumb-mute out of me. Left me with the words in my tongue, and the rhetoric in my thoughts. People now see me in the streets, and whispered to each other; “see him up yonder? He had the wit of a fox and words laced with syrup...Look at him now.”

you are more than a pretty face, a 3.9gpa, big breasts, muscles, a big brain...etcetera

The notion of the re-invented self is very much alive in livejournals, xangas, facebooks, myspaces, blogs and what not. Who are we trying to be by writing in these things, pressing enter and throwing it to the wolves, I mean the world? I remember why I started this, but I am not sure if it still remains that. If I read this, and I wasn’t me, I would have a set opinion on who I would be, AI the author, the narrator. Truth is, I am not this blog, the blog is me, but I am not this blog. I worry [feel sorry more like it] for the person that looks at these entries and says ‘this is how -insert my name- is.’

I just took off on a tangent:

If I read this, and I wasn’t me, many things would happen. If I was a guy, I would say, this person is a loser. If I was a girl, I would say, this guy is a wimp I would never date him in a million years. [Rationalizing this into gender oversimplifies this to my purpose]. I worry [feel sorry more like it] for the person that looks at these entries and says ‘this is how -insert my name- is, wow he is –insert overgeneralization-‘

We are so much more you and I.

We are so much.

I am not this blog.

I am many things.

...

I am rooting for you.

yes you.

Ya know...

Si estuviéramos en los tiempos de la revolución, con Pancho Villa y Zapata etc, te hubiera raptado... cabalgando hacia tu ventana... te chiflaría, te cantaría una canción romántica and before you knew it, te llevaría galopeando hacia el horizonte como Pedro Infante en las películas del siglo de oro.