Hello lovely people of WordPress. My apologies for not posting anything interesting, not saying this is, but I’ve been moving for the past few weeks. I’m not completely done, but I managed to finish my room, with the exception of some art I need to do on a few blank spots on my wall.

I’m back home to the south side of San Jose, and it’s beautiful—it’s home. I live right across the street from the drive ins I used to roll into with a trunk full of booze and women. A place where I drank, smoke, fucked, passed out while watching movies from 7pm to 2am for $6.50, jumping from screen to screen, sometimes watching four movies in one night. A place where I passed out with a girl on a Saturday night, woke up Sunday morning to the flea market, that’s held there every weekend, being set up around my car, with a dead battery that I was able to take out and replace with a new one I bought from a nice Mexican man with an automotive stand, and replace it within an hour. A place where I saw a double feature of the first Austin Powers and Shaq’s Kazaam. A place with shitty nachos but is right across the street from a Stromboli place that I could order from, hop the fence, pick  up, hop back and feast with a smile on my face as the other patrons got food poisoning from drive in food. A place where I got drunk and high enough to damn near attempt to hop on a semi slow moving freight train as it passed by right behind the drive ins. A place where I busted my first heaven tag on the back of one of the screens. A place that I hold close to my heart. One of my favorite places in the world.

I’m exhausted, so I’ll leave this post with that, and the pics of my room below. I’m happy to  be home, and it shows in my recent mood…mood, singular. Life is good, never question a smile. Cheers.




Oy Vey

I started another story…fudge. Without looking, I think I have thirteen started. I really need to learn how to finish things and not be an erratic mess of a wannabe writer.

My attention span and tendency to despise everything I work on is a real bitch that I’m having a hard time putting in check.

I know writing shouldn’t be easy—at least good writing—but should it really be this hard? Am I doing something wrong? I don’t know. It’s probably just me.

I think my unpublished drafts contain some of my best writing, but I can’t publish them; likely because it’s too me, too raw, too revealing, which is kind of interesting since many of the people who read my posts say that they like me because I’m raw. Imagine, my current posts are raw, what can be in my drafts? Maybe you’ll find out.

Anyways, the new story is about a failed artist, who previously did anti-war, anti-conservative, generally progressive art, who jumps on the new right/alt-right wave and becomes famous, but feels fake(they are) and dirty for going against their morals for fame and money. I’m not a very good synopsis writer, but you get the gist. Maybe I’ll post the first few paragraphs today.