STUDY

Don't explain, Don't complain, Don't expect.

SO MANY THINGS

Find out what it means to me and I shan't tell you about it

to break the rules you have given me and simply quit

my frustration so rich and my passion a growing pain

to sit in a diner alone and satisfied to just stare

by god they are such empty days

and yet I recognize my fate 

to look out the window reminded by humanity's hate

im happy to be unhappy, I understand that now
smoking an addiction with it's sweet taste and melodramatic sound
motives, always questioning motives
on the chance that i'll find purpose to live
homesick homeless foes
once such great friends but we are enemies now
I give my back to yesterday nights and silence for breakfast

It is over

STUDY

"It was as if we all felt sad at the same time and we can all agree."

HAPPY COLD HEARTS

I bite my tongue for the sake of conversation

unspoken ugly

wacky, wacky days

my suite cases of full of nothings

didn't I say I was just so alone

I gotta prove myself, I must testify

oh yes, indeed

for you..

YA

CLICHES

we were all so lonely, simple man and woman

today was a long time ago, the sun has come and has yet to go

or could it be we have passed it a thousand times

our eyes to the sky, yet to be blind

the desire to unseeing has kept us awake

to young to be this lost, we are on a break

we run the opposite ways and get caught looking back

tightly bound by the fists of awkward and the hurt of once upon a time

the predictable lies we tell one another as we speak at once

as we fumble our sorry and sweat our shame

witnesses to the crime done and societies many knifes

we are forever to live in our memories and strangers in life

YA

Psychedelic Art

These are some Psychedelic pictures and paintings I've been admiring and using in some of my own paintings  as well. At least with the colors. And also experimenting with making art like that.   

Ignore the quote on this one

The Internet

"Don't let your struggle become your identity"



One of those quotes you see posted by a friend on Facebook (In my case at least) and you either pass on, try to understand it and just deem it too hard it and click down. Or you are simply dumb founded because most of the time that's what we do isn't it? I personally have let an experience change my view in life. Doesn't over coming your struggle really show how much you have grown or learned? But the point of the quote is that "Don't let your struggle become our identity." A bitter humor comes to mind when I think about it,because it is very simple yet not easily done. Sometimes even impossible. Being hurt in some way makes you put up a wall and a defense, at the very core of it, it's to your benefit. I think we should learn from our struggles, but don't let the pain become who we really are. Not letting it take control of your life and dictating your decisions. But learning from experiences and moving from it makes you strong. You can protect yourself better and try to never lose yourself. Because at the end of the day, (without trying to blame but to really tell the truth) The world is F*@*%# up! What does it mean to you?

STUDY

There is nothing in this world that is simply just there to exist. Each and everything that is done has a purpose behind it. Being aware of that is how you become an observant, a great mind.

Awkward and sex

These are my new favorites of photography this week. Hope you like them and please pay attention to each image, each has something that is trying to tell. The title is a good place to start if you are lost or want a point of view.

Sober

Sitting in my room, I feel awake for the first time but in a way always trapped. I've realized it is something that I have been feeling since at young age; a simple dark paradise. I was never alarmed by it because I had always considered it to be the norm. The second half of the year has been one of the darkest times of my life. I feel absolutely dead inside, numb to everything. I have done drastic things and put myself in situations that I know are stupid, so I can somehow wake myself inside. Happiness was luxury that I did not have and easily fleeting. I partied and did drugs as a way not to feel. I now understand that some things that I have done were mistakes that were beautiful addictions. Mistakes that I knew were the end of me, but emptily did not care. A simple and silent existence. A way of shutting down when the heart tells the mind “I am sorry, this time No.”

STUDY

I wanna say fuck you and move on.

INSIDE

You cannot live under my skin and be ruled by fear

Hiding under my flesh you have no one to blame

Letters in the fire and breathing in winter

Call out for help, only to hear back your name

It’s hard to wake in the morning and sleep without pain

Misunderstood youth, it is useless to cry in the rain

Pride held you in its arms and told you your okay

so lost, you even picked up a bible to pray

Remembering that time daddy beat you and mom was just there

Memories fogged up your eyes and tears choked life

You claw at me trying to release and hope to be found

Too foolish to see that darkness is real and happiness easily lost

Blind to see your loneliest smile is trying to set you free
please empty soul don't cower by the corner, and let revenge twist your face
let it pass, don't let it break your day

Kafein

Kaffine is the name of a tinny café that is tucked in the town of Evanston, surrounded by Italian restaurants and thrift stores that is frequented by students from all over Illinois. As you step in, you are welcomed with the smell of coffee mixed with the grunts of customers. The warm air and the yellow lights create a place that you only see in movies and customers that are indifferent. As you wait to finally find a place to sit, you are distracted with the art that are on the walls. Replicas of famous paintings of Michelangelo and De Vinci that you later notice are uniquely crafted to make the place even more imaginative and different. Mona Lisa is perfectly drawn holding a small cup that reads, “Kafein” in her hands that you would not have noticed if you have not looked closely to appreciate the place.  

After sitting and looking around you are immediately distracted by the hunched shoulders and fingers rising over and over to push back glasses that are sliding over noses. You are confronted with the ambitions and tournaments of unachieved dreams. Searching eyes and lonely faces, which are looking for answers but miserably failing. On Mondays you see the same faces performing and their poetries, looking slightly insane driven by passion. Hipsters that are angry with the world, that don’t want to be told what to do, smile to welcome you as you awkwardly meet their eyes.

The menu is written sarcastically and could be offensive to some customers but offers everything from “everything except the kitchen sink” to “pot brownies”. Lattés are served in huge cups, that reminds you of the cups used in the TV show “friends” and teas are served in beer mugs and could be ordered “tea on tab”. The servers chat you up and almost never fail to convince you to buy something you promised yourself you wouldn’t. For a café that is almost always crowded, it is very privet and never lets you leave without some type of idea or inspiration.

For those who are interested  this spot is located at
1621 Chicago Ave 
Evanston, IL 60201

STUDY

Don't ever portray or look at yourself as a victim, you are almost always the one to blame. If you do not understand that, you have not fully grasped the pain or have healed yet. 

fun times on the CTA

one of the greatest thing about living in Chicago is that you are almost always entertained...no matter what. And the most fun is on the CTA subway lines or even the buses. as dangerous as some of them could be, I can't help but share these pics (these are actual people on the train btw no BS).

oh you know, just chilln

bert didn't wanna be friends anymore..?

"mom, mom, mom...I need a ride from the train staionnn"

ummm

"can I get you number..can I get it? Can I get it?" lol

"what are you?"

who said asians have small dicks?

she ratchettttt

"what nigga gotta do for some good head around here?"

"whatchu talkn about weave? this shit is natural!"

I mean..sheeit 

"I'm on the blue line, get at me bruh.."

Big Sur quotes

“I feel guilty for being a member of the human race.” 

“She talks with a broken heart - Her voice lutes brokenly like a heart lost, musically too, like in a lost grove, it's almost too much to bear sometimes like some fantastic futuristic Jerry Southern singer in a nightclub who steps up to the mike in the spotlight in Las Vegas but doesn't even have to sing, just talk, to make men sigh and women wonder I guess...” 

“cliches are truisms and all truisms are true” 

“And in the flush of the first few days of joy I confidently tell myself (not expecting what I'll do in three weeks only) 'no more dissipation, it's time for me to quietly watch the world and even enjoy it, first in woods like these, then just calmly walk and talk among people of the world, no booze, no drugs, no binges, no bouts with beatniks and drunks and junkies and everybody, no more I ask myself the question O why is God torturing me, that's it, be a loner, travel, talk to waiters, walk around, no more self-imposed agony...it's time to think and watch and keep concentrated on the fact that after all this whole surface of the world as we know it now will be covered with the silt of a billion years in time...Yay, for this, more aloneness”

“You were my last chance' she's said but don't all women say that? - But can it be by 'last chance' she doesn't mean mere marriage but some profoundly sad realization of something in me she really needs to go on living, at least that impression coming across anyway on the force of all the gloom we've shared -” 

“Nothing ever happened - Not even this ” 

I'm focusing in quotes only from Big Sur this time because, there is finally some sense in Hollywood because they are making good movies lately. the trailer for the movie based on the book is now out and I'm so happy to share it.

Saturday afternoon

so this was the ranting I told you about..

It's Saturday and it's 12:42, i'm sitting in my room with my door wide open, usually not very common but the apartment was empty. I have just cleaned my room, doing my laundry listening to Sia on pandora. I keep going to check facebook every now and then. it has become an addiction when ever i'm bored or when i'm trying to avoid doing something. and then there comes that post you avoid from a certain friend? that you no longer talk with. I mean he has a right to do what ever he wants on there but never the less it stings to see any type of contact or to see them enjoy a conversation with other people. anywhoo I shake it of and continue to do other unnecessary things on the internet until I sum up the will to get up and do more chores. grrrr school is starting soon :/ I need like 2 more weeks! New year was Amazing, I had a great time seeing good friends from High school and close friends in general. Had one of my bestest friend visit me from Iceland (Minnesota) which was amazing. I have a few things planed for myself for the upcoming year. I wouldn't really call them resolutions tho because I think that's BS. just another day in the year but it's still feels like a new start for all of us. All I wanna say is though Florence Italy, your looking mighty appealing!

Facciamo in modo che accada ayeee....?

Plus I always wanted to try that spaghetti my dad has always told me about.

Technical difficulty

I'm guessing a lot of people are having trouble viewing some of my posts the way they are supposed to be seen as. I have tried to fix it the best I could but for now all I can do is just wait and hope google fixes the problems. thanks :)

Personal Narative Essay

As predictable as this may sound I did my English paper on Jack Kerouac and how he changed my life. Since I didn't really give a really good insight into what i'm about, I thought sharing this might be a good peek into my restless mind. (PLEASE DO NOT COPY)

The first time I feel in love with books was the summer of my freshman year. I read everything from the typical teen drama and vampires, to the more complex and obscure historical fictions. After a few months of that, I became completely perplexed with history. I came out from the library carrying books in bags and sometimes in boxes, tripping, furious, and a crying in pain from my arms. I was fascinated with the scandals of Henry VIII and cougars like Diane de Poitiers.  I wondered if the women had “cat fight” and if the men ever cared to be faithful. I imagined myself in Anne Boleyn’s execution and before the “Mad king”. I read over 150 books that summer.

My passion for books was eating away whatever life I had and I was struck with the realization that I had found my calling. I had always believed that the “greats” only existed because they took risks with their lives and many have confused risk taking with luck. A dream that is so vivid and one you would not forget about in the morning. The one that fills your heart with complete excitement and a dream that drives you insane. The dream you fear the most and feel guilty when you abandon it. Afraid but slowly I was changing my views and what I had believed in all my life. This all happened when I became completely in love with Jack Kerouac and he’s book “On The Road.”

The door to my bedroom flies open and I am confronted with a very angry mother, eyes red, and vanes popping in every possible place on her face, shaking and raging with anger. She turns and walks from one end of the room to the other fuming away whatever self-preservation I had and completely downing me in fear. While I await my death I pray for the 2^nd time that week for my deliverance and she walks away with death in her eyes.  My room was a complete mess and I had not stepped out of that room for a month. Books by the “beats” covered every part of my little shelter and it was ready to burst.

Kerouac portrayed America as a place of constant restlessness and unhappiness because it is a place where one loses their sense of belonging. How does one belong, when individuals would forget to ask themselves what they want from this mad world, and go to sleep aching for the next day to end?  Perhaps the feeling of confusion in our conquest was what life was about, not settling in for the truth we create and believe for ourselves. He’s work had a certain immediacy and intimacy that captured the deepest of emotions. And soon after “On The Road” became my bible. It will be lullaby before I go to sleep and my meditation after a broken heart. It goes with me everywhere and peaks at me whenever I am afraid. I was starting to view life as an adventure.

From that realization, I asked everyone if they knew what they were meant to do, but they would shush me away. They would quote me “I follow my dreams rah rah…” and burst into laughter. I had felt alone, perhaps even foolish and was starting to give up. Until I had started to witness the loss of excitement to live, to really live from the people around me.

I only saw her by accident. She was falling over and over but she got up each and every time. She stands on her toes and turns again and again, her arms raised angelically until she trips. She was celebrated as the best. She does not cry, she smiles when it is necessary, she is polite and if she has to unkind, she does it in silence.  At last she sits down and weeps quietly as she unties her shoes and examines her bleeding feet. Even though the nails are cut very short they are peeling, the skin underneath is raw and hard but bleeds continuously. It slowly trickles down and stains the floor as a small puddle of blood gathers under her stare. Her illusion of happiness masked by her supposed perfection. No matter how she keeps herself shut out from the rest of the world, everyone knew that she was miserable. I was confronted with the anguished face of my sister and her broken dreams.

You can taste the bitter sweet taste of sweat and desperation. The smell of cheap liquor and upside down bottles accompanied by endless cigarettes, decorate every table. The annoyed side way glances, almost unwelcoming, are dished out by everyone that is sitting, to late comers. There is a young man sitting in the middle of the stage roaring poetry, gripping he’s sides from uncontrolled emotions and worry. He screams “Oh, smell the people! yelled Cassidy with his face out the window, sniffing. Ah, God! Life!” A line from “On The Road” read so vividly, as only a “beatnik” would do it. The constant shifts of tattooed arms and legs easily mixing with the slow background of Jazz. Philosophical youngsters that think too much, all in one room in too much pain to look at one another.  Sitting at underground café of hipster mania and awful coffee, with a tight grip on the bible of life, “On The Road” is preached.

I was mad to live and wanted be in the company of crazy. I wanted to be excited and go on adventures, on the road to my mother’s disapproval. As Kerouac described it, “the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.” I wanted to be with people that have so much passion they cannot control it. I did not want to say “no” to anything and live for all the people that have not.

Sitting across from one another at dinner, my friend and I slowly but surely walking on dangerous grounds and contemplate ideas that would be regretted tomorrow. After dinner we hold hands and run from tattoo place to another, judging the places not by price but from the looks of it from the outside. After deciding on the tattoo place reality struck and though I was second guessing our decisions, I laid on a chair ready to shed my skin away. Looking sideways by accident, I was reassured with a peak of a book from my bag. “hold my hands” I yelled at my friend, he awkwardly extended he’s arm and only held the tip of my fingers. I shut my eyes and hoped the long needle that was aimed at my eyes would just disappear. After noticing my friends supposed support did not do much for me, I quickly let go and grasped tight to the sides of the chair. My skin made a “crunch” sound as the needle worked it’s way not in one but two layers of skin. Next challenge was with the ring going in, the cold metal feel to it was so apparent I could feel the chills inside my skin. After all was over, I was proud to have done something I had always wanted. My eyebrows were pierced and one more line was crossed from my bucket list. For the next hours that were to come we were utterly convinced by happiness and all we could was just grin, for youth has not betrayed us just yet.

What if there are no more Jack Kerouac’s or Allen Ginsberg’s to set us free, to show us rebellion and not to be common. Not to go in circles of life, from sad childhood, to school, good college and settle in and have a happy family. What ever happened to FREEDOM? Passion has left us; it has drifted by while we were seeking temporary satisfactions. It is cold and unbroken demand, it’s uncomfortable and itchy, perhaps even sad.  We have become too afraid, too needy to go after the world. We are unhappy and ask for more when we are not done with appreciating what we have in our hands. We are selfish and therefore what we want does not want us back.

“On The Road”  would alter the way to a newfound view of life, that had urgency and had influences from around the world. It had changed everything in my life, my past my present and the untold future. It had made me unafraid to be alone and live without questioning my decisions. It destroyed the barrier of doubt and self-piety. Only as he would say it best “the only time we waste, is the time we waste thinking we are alone.”