Thursday, December 27, 2012

Celebrate

This week has been full of reasons to celebrate.
 
This past weekend was cool. I went to two white elephant parties... gifts were cool... but I enjoyed being out of my house well, I enjoyed being around people - I like being at my house. Church was cool as well. I spent Christmas Eve with my family. My nephew had a pellet gun and I made a target made out of a Little Caesar's cardboard box so we could have something to shoot at. Tony didn't hit the target, but he made holes on the pizza box. Glenda kept hitting things that made the pellets come back at our direction. Paulina was spot on. I was a little rusty. I hit every target we shot at but not as precise as Paulina. All those afternoons we spent with family friend, Don Andres growing up, paid off for Paulina and I.
 
Don Andres would spend about an hour in the afternoons at my house or his son's, who lived on the lot behind our house. When we would get off the school bus we would look to see if his 80's blue Ford F-150 was there so we could go over and ask him for a dollar. Well, Glenda and Paulina asked him, I would go to accept the buck but never asked for it. While he fed his chickens, the three of us would make human pyramids out of each other to grab mora's off the blackberry tree. With our mora stained hands, Don Andres would give us his gun and direct us. The targets then were pesty birds that would come near to eat the chicken's food.
 
During the day, my mom made us stuff our tamales because she was going to make basic ones only. That was christmas eve for us. Oh, and some karaoke which was a total fail. I had a singoff with my brotherinlaw - Puddle of Mudd. Song = slayed. Machine messed up the speakers... a microphone broke... it didn't last very long.
 
Christmas.
 
When school finished... I tried to get on the ball... spiritually... trying to impress God, or something... trying to memorize scripture and all the dumb stuff most christians do... but I came to the conclusion that head knowledge isn't worth much if it isn't heartfelt.
 
Wait... not that memorizing scripture is dumb... I should rephrase that sentence because that's not what I'm trying to say... memorizing scripture is great - we need to memorize scripture but that's another subject... Head knowledge is head knowledge... if we don't have humility - we're useless.
 
While reading all these books and what not - I listened to a worship song... that was simple. It thanked Jesus for carrying our cross. "Jesus, I thank You for, all that You've done for me. Worthy is the lamb who was slain. Worthy is the King who conquered the grave." I've heard the verse in so many songs... but it never impacted me like it did.
 
I took a step back from everything because man, its so beautiful and powerful! God gave us His son... He knew His will... Jesus Christ's life all for us.
 
I'm in awe of so many basic "fundamentals" of Christianity and I want to remain in awe forever.
 
I hate cliche's but words can't do some things justice... God giving us his son is something I never fully grasped... or can explain... I don't understand it fully - till this day... but I know I'm in awe of it and I know that being in awe of God's grace, his son, his gift is all I felt on Christmas day.
 
I didn't get a materialistic gift all day or the day before and I didn't care because God gave me Jesus. At about 11 pm on Tuesday, Glenda walked in to my cave and gave me 20 $ for Barnes and Noble. She's so nice - she gives me so much all year long... I thought it was super random cause I know she loves me... and I don't need any gift to solidify that love... I know some people feel like they have to... cause it's a legit way of expressing yourself, so i'll take it. :)
 
Wednesday was Wednesday. It was a blur. (FULL OF SLEEP.) ::ashamed::
 
Thursday. Today. My mom's birthday! weeeeee.  I love my momma. I think I inherited a lot of things from her... one of those things is having good judgement or discernment.
 
 
My nephews were here. When the sun was shinin'  charly and I played dodgeball against tony (only we used footballs) Paulina then got me right on the side of my face that made my ear super red and my mom laugh. v____v


Saturday, December 22, 2012

Historians are like deaf people who go on answering questions that no one has asked them.
- Leo Tolstoy
 
A sudden story is "Jesus wept" in long form.
-I can't remember.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

needs.

I don't need you.
I need to cook.
I need to read.
I need to write.
I need to edit.
I need to breathe.
I need to sleep.
I need to exercise.
I need to smile.
I need to hug.
I need to give.
I need to protect.
I need to obey.
I need to listen.
I need to make time.
I need to forgive.
I need to sacrifice.
I don't need a tablet.
I don't need a new laptop.
I don't need an HDTV.

 

 
Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.
 
Colossians 3.2
______________________________________________
 
I will
Pray. Run.
Cook. Pray. Eat. 
Pray. Read. Listen. Write.

Purpose

 
He destined us in love to be his sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace which he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace which he lavished upon us. For he has made known to us in all wisdom and insight the mystery of his will, according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fulness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In him, according to the purpose of Him who accomplishes all things according to the counsel of his will, we who first hoped in Christ have been destined and appointed to live for the praise of his glory.
 
Ephesians 1:5-12 
______________________________________________________
 
The end of the world or not
I should live with the same urgency to
 
TELL
PEOPLE ABOUT
 
JESUS
CHRIST.
 
 
In a loud voice they sang: "Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!"
 
Revelation 5.12
____________________________________________________
 
Thursday.
 
My nieces are sick.
My outdoor cats are being killed by blood suckers.
I returned my tablet for a refund to get them some poison.
 
 
 
 
 
__________________________________________________________
 
 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Servin' Soldiers

Who is He that makes me happy? Who is He that gives me peace?
Who is He that brings me comfort, turns the bitter into sweet?
 
All of life is far more boring than words could ever say. Our eyes and our ears are never satisfied with what we see and hear.
 
Ecclesiastes 1 : 8
 
 
 What do we gain by all of our hard work?  I have seen what difficult things God demands of us. God makes everything happen at the right time. Yet none of us can ever fully understand all he has done, and he puts questions in our minds about the past and the future. I know the best thing we can do is to always enjoy life, because God’s gift to us is the happiness we get from our food and drink and from the work we do.  Everything God has done will last forever; nothing he does can ever be changed. God has done all this, so that we will worship him.
 
Ecclesiastes 3 : 9 - 14
 
____________________________________________
 
Tuesday Morning
 
When I hung out with my friend John yesterday, he told me about a food drive that was going on today and he wanted to volunteer. So this morning, I woke up at 7:30 a.m. to eat my mom's tacos de papa a la Mejicana... they was so good. I took a bath because Shiloh jumped off my bed when my mom was yelling, "SE TE VAN A ENFRIAR!"
 
 

I drove in.
 

Got a name tag, time sheet and watched a 10 minute video.

 
Packed boxes with about five others and a classroom full of Middle School kids. We clocked out at 12:00. We went to Subway then went to the Salvation Army. My favorite part of the day.

We entered the old Fashion Bug store that had black plastic bags on the windows. Inside were tables with a few Salvation Army reps and a few volunteers, behind them were loads of gifts and the RGV Vipers basketball team. So, they were extra loaded.

"250"

"TWO-FIVE-OH, TWO-FIVE-OH,"

When we grabbed the black plastic bags, one of amazonian dudes had their Hulk hands waiting for them. I wandered off and asked a lady named Sandra if she needed help with anything. She said, "yes, some bags are missing clothing... check them and mark them off." So John and I left the 200 aisle and started packing bags with extra gifts. Let me tell you, if I filled up your bag, I made sure every kid didn't feel less than... especially if one of their brothers got a bike.

"I'm going shopping for Alexandria." - Sandra

 
The white sheets had the names of the kids, their sex/age, a Gift section and a Need section. Hope 5 year old Alberto enjoys running in his Nikes.

After checking the bags, we started helping out with checkout. At first, I felt like the parents looked a bit unhappy... a bit entitled to the gifts. Their faces had no emotions.

"They've been waiting in line for a while." - John

When we helped the parents with the bicycles, I asked them how they were going to hide their bicycles. They would smile, look at me with sun squinted eyes and say, "si! aver donde! si no las ponchan antes de navidad!" I laughed and would say, "que dios los bendiga" I tried to do that with everyone.

Serving felt good. The soreness will be worth the smiles of those kids.


Tuesday Night : Pan Dulce with coffee and Lost on Netflix.
 

 
Jacob reading Flannery!
 
Wednesday : God day.
 

Monday, December 17, 2012

freshhh

Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.
 
John 16 : 20 - 22
 
____________________________________
 
Monday Morning.
 
 
I felt like an adult. It was the first time I entered a courthouse with out one of my parents. It wasn't over truancy... or fighting. I looked presentable. I fell asleep and ultimately got up and told the judge, that sang the national anthem, I was a student. He signed my badge.
 
 
 
Tiny kids were at this book sale. They looked unsafe. I wanted to be their body guard. I didn't want to look like a creeper. So I immediately jumped over their tiny feet that were on their Houston Rockets posters. I reminisced about elementary at Cano Gonzalez (which was right across the street from this warehouse) and the book fairs with Ms. Ruiz, the librarian, who didn't like the sexual Shaggy song I sang outloud. I remember the David Robinson poster my dad got me. I remember being the only student in the whole school to order from scholastics one time - it was a Harry-Potter potion kit. I remeber not completing the fifteen dollar minimum for Scholastics to deliver.  I waited one long month and all I got was an envelope with my money.
 
 
Denny's!
 
 
Barnes & Noble
 
I really liked these books. I started reading Heaven by Alcorn. I want it.
 
Great. I passed. One more semester.
 
 
 
 
 
Tomorrow shall be fun. Joining the Army. The Salvation Army! Woot.




Originality

Jacking my style isn't flattering. It’s annoying.

Grief.

Then Peter came and said to Him, ‘Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven’
 
Matthew 18:21,22
 
 
Surely then you will count my steps but not keep track of my sin.
 
Job 14:16
 
Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back.
 
Isaiah 38:17
 
I was thinking about myself all weekend. Life of a writer, I guess. Well, no, life of a sinner. I was thinking about how I still go around counting the times I've been screwed over... or been let down. How many times have I let God down? It's always the same. There's probably about ten other blogs just like this one.
 
I
will
stop.
_____________________________________________________ 

Sunday Morning.
 

It's so easy to turn off the T.V.
To shut everything off...
Avoid everyone and cowardly blindfold myself from a world that’s hurting.
I didn't want to feel anything this weekend.

I wanted everything about the Connecticut tragedy to go away. I didn’t want to be sad. I did not look up anything other than click on the "prayfornewtown" hashtag on twitter. Friday night I was on my way to a bible study when the dude on 96.9 reported, “The gunman in Newtown, Connecticut killed twenty children and six adults before taking his own life – bringing the death count to twenty-seven.”

I drove up to my friend’s house to give her a ride and that’s all that was on her mind.

I expected to talk about it at bible study but we didn’t. We were in OUR world.

Sunday morning I entered church. My pastor said, “We need to mourn with the families in Newtown. We need to have a heart for people that are hurting. We need stop being legalistic and just listen and grieve with those in Connecticut – I wouldn’t know what to tell them. I wouldn’t tell them to rejoice. I wouldn’t say anything... just listen.” He painted a picture of the kids – the kids that I was so easily annoyed by last year when I tried to serve in children’s ministry – being taken away. Kids being dropped off at school, being hugged and kissed on the forehead before they went to school – kids grabbing their little lunch bags before getting on the American yellow bus in Connecticut – and not coming back. Imagine. Dang. Just imagine. I thought about my nephews.
“Pick me up after tutoring, tio.” -Tony, 7
“Me levantas… llevame con Grandma.” -Emily, 6
No way.
A lot of things need to change. Not just American law.
Internally. I didn't want to feel for anyone other than myself all week. I hate that I am so selfish and demanding with prayer. I want to have an honest grieving heart for people. I want to consider others before myself. I want to get out of my house and just listen. I am ashamed.

 
Repent.
 
Don't be selfish; don't try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves.
 Philippians 2:3
 
 
 
Sunday Night : Pitch Perfect
 
 
 
 
Jury duty tomorrow. Oh, snaps. 


Tuesday, December 11, 2012

lingering issues

21.
 
 
Come into my darkness where I hide
Pull me into Your arms, Your arms of peace
Reach in past my hiding, reach out to my running
Oh Lord, come fill my soul with Your love
 
 
I tried to stop writing. I started to run away but God grabbed me by the scruff! Thanks for the speed bump I ran into, God. You're pretty funny sometimes. 
 
Guide me.
 
I was running so fast last week, away from everyone who has brought light into my life when suddenly there was a barricade that made me come to a stop. Well, it was a phone call, "can you share a little bit of your story tonight"
 
Hold up, tonight? You ask me on the night I planned to stay home to talk at a meeting? Seriously, dude?
 
I hesitated and said, "ah, I don't know..."
 
"I'm just trying to push you out of your comf..."
 
"yeh... yeah, I'll do it," I said.
 
I came home and took a couple of notes down. I revisited some of my posts about being alone... and I laughed that I was about to revisit an issue I thought was in my past.
 
I'm not done telling people about anything.
 
I'm meant to share.
 
I can't wait to get personal during the holidays.
 

Monday, December 10, 2012

wallpaper

every scab is healed.
songs, flashes of them . on.

it ended. all ended. fucking ended.
venomous wax drizzled on every emotion.

fitting in. never.
alone. phased and alone.
torn crinkled foil. mistreated.

life, come.
end it all.

scabs. open.
dissonance.


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

a blog about not blogging

I was reading an interview today. It made me stop and think. An answer said something about "being a writer before being a blogger." I guess it can mean several things.

I came on here (blogger) because I was serious about writing.

I wanted to publish my writing on here and that is it. Things changed. I was influenced. I've tried to blog but I don't even like reading people's blogs, so why write them? They're personal and are kind of invading. They're an extension of a Facebook status.

I don't want this to be that.
I don't want my site to be a "whoring" device for self-gain. I honestly don't. I am eager to find other writers. I want to give to the writing community as much as I want criticism.
I do not want to waste your time with my stupid published "to-do" lists. I'm no one important. Why do you care?
I do not want to tell people how to live their lives.
I do not want to tell people how many Jesus points I have tallied in the past month with my great and awesome deeds. I feel like I unintentionally did this several times and I am sorry. It is ugly even when I did it with honest intentions.

I do not want to be an overtly Christian blogger. If I stopped relating with non-Christians I am completely useless. We all are.

I will never shy away from sharing my faith. I will proudly talk about my God at all times. What I mean is: how do you think we sound when we go around telling people to read our "JESUS IS AWESOME, HE IS JUST SO MARVELOUS" blog posts? No one wants to read that. No one. I don't, and I feel exactly the way you do about God. How do you think someone who doesn't have the same beliefs think? We're supposed to put just the right amount of salt, Christian, not the whole fucking Island. Who are you writing to? Who is your audience? Is it God? Why must it be public then? Are you writing to one-up your little bible study friends? Or is it to impress your pastor?

This is my final "blog" post.
 
Everything I publish on here will be purely creative fiction.
 
I want to start finding other fiction writers and create a community.
 
This is going to be fun.
 
*I am not trying to stop you from blogging. I have to admit, some of you are pretty damn good at it. I am just making this decision for my site. I want you to be a badass and not care actually. Write what you want. Whatever makes you happy, I guess.*
 
 

Saturday, November 17, 2012

move along

I deactivated that thing about 50 times this year and about 10 times this week because I got a new laptop that automatically signed on to the messenger app.

I changed the password to adafdfadfa or adfadfdasfda not sure which one.

I don't know the password to my email so it's lost forever.

People addicted to it make me depressed.
For a while, I felt bad for students on it on campus.I don't know why people have to have the 411 on everything about everyone. Why are we so interested?

I think I used to appreaciate the updates but damn, just stop. I don't want to know all your shit. I don't. I don't. I don't.

Stop being so damn metiche.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Book Review

Alicia Gaspar De Alba : Desert Blood

Linda Hucheons in A Poetics of Postmodernism, describes the term metafiction as the”process of re-writing history through a work of fiction in a way that has not been previously recorded.” Alicia Gaspar De Alba uses the metafiction technique for many reasons which create a different effect than a simple and boring historic document. One way De Alba uses the metafiction technique is by using a third person limited omniscient narration, which gives the reader insight to some thoughts of the people in Desert Blood and completely raw scenes of murders, torment, torture and rape in the book, both (thoughts and scenes) are unique to the real-life murders in Ciudad Juarez. At the start of chapter forty, the reader gets exclusive insight to Irene’s thoughts,  “Irene could not remember how she’d gotten back to the red room. At some point, she must have fainted. She could still hear the howling and didn’t know if it was coyotes or the girl. Her stomach cramped, and she rolled sideways to vomit. There was already a pool of it on the floor, the smell and color of rust. She realized she was on top of the cot, not under it. She was naked.” The effects of this narration does to the reader are spectacular, it really is an art all in itself. First, you become attached to the characters by knowing their personality, their fears, their human flaws. Everything that occurs throughout the book is strategically put in place by De Alba. Writing this type of narration is probably the toughest. I’m glad a lot of students in the class appreciated it. The overwhelming affects of this narration however can sometimes be a bit too much for the reader because people don’t go around their daily lives knowing the thoughts of every single person they encounter. Desert Blood is considered to be written in limited omniscient narration because the reader does not know every character’s thoughts, but if De Alba limited us even more, perhaps it would be easier to swallow. Another reason why the book might have been overwhelming was because it was loaded with themes and controversial issues like: sexuality, adultery, racism, feminism, death, family etc. it is very similar to what Anzaldua does in Borderlands. It’s loaded which is good for some but too much for others. There are a few chapters in Desert Blood that could be cut off and be used on their own like chapter seventeen could be a really successful short story because of its depth, it covers a lot less themes… again, easier to swallow.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

One

I'm gonna make this real short.

You know how a lot of us need time to digest things? I like my own time. I do some pretty stupid things and nothing would make me happier than some time away from myself but I deal with myself because I have to.

Maybe it's not so good to run away from things. I mean, if you want to get married someday. We have to learnat some point how to become one and sort things out.

Not like I'm going to listen to myself... I'm only writing this because I think it makes sense and it's the first time I thought about it.

Philippians 2.1-2 Christ encourages you, and his love comforts you. God’s Spirit unites you, and you are concerned for others. Now make me completely happy! Live in harmony by showing love for each other. Be united in what you think, as if you were only one person. 

 

Friday, November 9, 2012

chingada

I don't want anyone to take this blog post lightly.

I am having a midlife crisis. :(

I don't think I want to be a writer anymore. I hate deadlines. I hate being forced to write.
HATE HATE HATE HATE

I'm done with school.
No MFA program.

4 Philosophy classes in the spring and then its over.

FOREVER.

I will enjoy writing / literature on my time.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Aperture


It had been a long time since I agreed with Jesus. It was Big Joe's throw up we had to clean after tryouts. We were all pissed at Joe because he was the reason why we were all sore and had dark purple toes. Coach had been making us guard him all week, which meant trying to stay standing when he ran at us yelling “JUGGERNAUT!” as we watched his lame layups from the sticky dark yellow hardwood floor.

“What’d you say?” Sanchez looked down at Jesus. “Get up.”

Jesus tightened his jaw, jumped up and looked right at Coach. “Why’d you call him first?”

We all looked at each other waiting to see how Coach would react. “No one’s ever done that,” Mark whispered.

Coach kept a straight face “Two monster laps. Go.” Jesus made his way to the gymnasium’s red doors. The gym was quieter than the old haunted Saint Mary’s church when he punched the door open.  

“Old guys, come on up. Eduardo, Miguel and Ryan, you all made it. Join your teammate.”
Ryan was smiling, Joe looked angry, and Eduardo kept looking at the floor. My hands were sweating.
“Five new guys. Hope you guys are ready to battle.” They took off sprinting, behind Jesus.

Two weeks later.

It was seven in the morning and Yolanda was already mopping spilled chocolate milk on the cafeteria floor.

“Are you gonna eat that?”

Ryan glanced at Joe and slid his aluminum-foiled taco to him and got up.

“Hell yeah, third taco!”

Eduardo and I followed Ryan and took our white foam trays over to the trashcan.

“WAIT FOR ME!” Joe said.

We exited the cafeteria and straight to the locker rooms. The rest of team was there. Jesus was there too.

“Guys, come over here,” Mark said. He was already wearing his knee pads. None of us wore them for eight a.m. shoot-around because Sanchez didn’t want them to go missing.

We walked into the coach’s lobby, the room with all of Sanchez’s “Coach of the Year” trophies. The brown cloth sofas were cut open and misplaced. The walls were tagged; the brown African cat the art teacher painted during the summer was now roaring at black spray-painted dicks.

“You know who did that?” Mark said. “Just in case you don’t know, Ryan, it was the Lions. Lucky for you, it is the freshmen’s job to get even. The rest of us have to wait for game day to have our fun.”

“Only the freshmen?” I said.

 “Do you not understand, Miguelito? Nomas freshmen. That means you. You know what, only you four. Jesus probably does this on his spare time anyway.”

“Way to go, bro,” Ryan said.  

            “How did… What?”

            “I hope you know how to pick locks and pick them fast, dude, cause when my dad coached there a while back and he took a long ass time locking up,” Eduardo said. 

            “Chingao. My brother was a master at that shit. Too bad he’s locked up in Reynosa.” I said.

            While the four of us talked about breaking in and planned what we were going to do to the Lions, Sanchez walked in with his Whataburger coffee in his hands.

“I see y’all have seen my lobby.” He took a sip from his coffee, and glared at us. “Either that or ya’ll have been too busy playing with each other to change into your shorts.”

Joe, Eduardo and I hesitantly walked away to our lockers.

“Are you just going to stand there, G.T.?”

“Uh, no, no, no, Sir,” Ryan said.

Coach started to make his way to the gym. “One minute or monster laps.”

            When we went into the gym Coach and his assistants had the team seated on the floor along with the Junior Varsity team.

            “This is Rivalry week. The thug tagging that happened over the weekend is a part of it when you’re dealing with a classless school like the Lions. Let me warn every one of you who is thinking about retaliating. You don’t know what you’re in for. Not only with them but that is not Caracal basketball. We are going to wait and get even on our home floor this Friday night.”

            I was pumped when Coach said that. I was ready for a physical game on Friday but when we were exiting the locker-room to go to second period, Mark held us back and said, “Get even.”

 

In eighth period Big Joe, Ryan and I were in Widow Eloise’s photography class trying to exchange ideas about destroying their locker-room.

“Back in Michigan, we had some sort of rivalry with a school and they put a dead cat in the vents! That’ll take care of breaking in and it might even look like an accident,” Ryan said.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like an accident.” I said.

“Right, but I do like the idea of shoving several tacuaches in their vents and I know how to whip up a damn good stink bomb. They fucked with Coach’s shit and disrespected us at our house. Do you know anyone who knows how to break locks?”

“Nope,” said Ryan.

“Jesus has been breaking into places since elementary. Him and my brother did that shit all the time.”

            “Can you ask him?”

            “No, dude, how about you ask him?” I said

            “Because he says “fucking lard” every time we’re at practice,” Joe said. We both looked at Ryan.

            “No way that asshole calls me gringo all the time.”

            “Ryan, what is aperture?” the teacher asked.

            “The aperture on the camera? It’s the meter that marks how worn out the camera is.”

 

 

            Afterschool we met up with Eduardo. “Are we going?” he said. 

            “Man, I don’t know. What time should we go?” I said.

            “Probably after ten,” Ryan said.

            “Dude, janitors are there till three a.m.”

            “Let’s go at five a.m. I’ll ask my sister for her car,” Ryan said.

            “Five sounds good,” Joe said.

 

            I was walking towards the dumpster lots at school when I saw Yolanda walking with the rolling trashcans. Jesus was throwing bags into the garbage.

            “Punishment isn’t over?” I said.

            “Nombre wey, I’m just helping Yoli before ma’ picks me up.”

            “That’s cool,” I said.

            “Hey, mijo, you forgot about me already, huh?”

“Sorry Yolanda. I’ve had a lot of homework,” I said. I had volunteered the first couple of weeks of school but, man, the soreness from basketball doesn’t even compare to the soreness from those weeks.

“I’m only kidding. I just miss seeing your smile at the end of the days,” she said.

“Yoli, don’t worry I’ll be here,” Jesus said.

“I’m sorry, Yolanda,” I said.

“It’s ok, mijo. You take care.”

“Take it easy Yolanda.”  

“Homework? No way Sanchez will allow anyone to fail us.”

“Well, about Sanchez,” I said. “I know he forbid us to go to the Lions before game day but Mark said we have to get even.”

“Mark? Vato, that wey has been here for like six years. He’s on his way out, why listen to him?”

“I have to. I’m a freshman. That’s our job.”

“I’m a freshman, I’m not going.” He said as he turned on the manguera to wash out the milk on the lot. 

“Forget it man. I’ll catch you later.”

            “What were you thinking of doing?”

            “We need help breaking in. When we break in, we’re planning on throwing in some stink bombs Joe’s been making.”

            “Orale. Good luck.”

            “We’ll be there at five a.m. just in case you want to join us.”

           

            It was four thirty when Ryan and Eduardo drove in to my house in a white Taurus. I got on and drove to H-E-B to pick Joe up.

            “Que uvo,” I said.

            “What?” Joe said when we stopped.

            “Fuck that smells like shit,” Ryan said.

            Joe got on and carried the mud bombs on top of the car.

            “Where are we putting my babies?” Joe said.

            “I brought my mom’s gardening knives,” Eduardo said. “They’ll cut through anything.”

           

“The gate isn’t locked!” Eduardo said.

He jumped onto the car and Ryan sped to the gymnasium.

“Give me my backpack, I made us some masks,” Ryan said.

“Shut up, wey,” I said.

We were running towards the back of the gym, when someone comes out through the side doors, running with a plastic bag full of rattling bottles.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

It was Jesus.

 
 
 

I need help with flow.

 

Too many characters? How do I cut them out?

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Bible Study



The Art of Conversational Evangelism
1.     Everyone is on a spiritual Journey.
2.     Successful witnessing is taking the power of the Holy Spirit.

4 Roles of Journeying with others: Be a role player! We’re a team, guys; we each have a role! Know your role.

Unattractive evangelism: when each member is so eager to take over. Let one member take charge/lead.
Balance, don’t be a fly on the wall either.
Oh, be genuinely joyful, but don’t be a creep.

1.     Explorer: The explorer asks questions, figures out where everyone’s at. Questions to ask are those like “Are you moving towards or away from God?”
2.     Guide: Making sure the conversation is kept appropriate. Constantly praying.
3.     Builder: Logic vs spiritual, be a good listener.
4.     Mentor: Understands the basics of Christianity: How to pray, How to read Bible,

The art of this type of evangelism is finding where their storyyour story and God’s story intersect! J

·       Know your story: How did you hear about God? How has your life changed since? Know your spiritual journey. Be honest, there is absolutely no shame here: know that you are worthy to be a part of this team. Did you accept God yesterday? Today? Last year? When you were 10 years old? We are all useful. You’ve been personally handpicked by God to join this mission. Knowing your story is an essential part of evangelism because this is usually when the unbeliever identifies with your story, when he/she opens up.
·       Know God’s story: The Gospel. God created man. Fall. Man’s constant failure. Jesus sent. Jesus persecuted. Jesus Resurrected! Only get to the father through the son.
·       Get to know their story:
o   Ask genuine questions
o   Actually listen! Don’t argue. Don’t be offended.
·       Know your team and their story: This is important because this is when we know who is going to take charge.

2nd Corinthians 4:1 God has been kind enough to trust us with this work. That’s why we never give up.
·       God trusts us with Destino! With this mission! Lets look at how Jesus evangelized. How He, perfect and blameless, came to serve people that he knew were going to betray, deny him. Awesome LOVE.

Now what?
·       Organize Evangelizing time! 3 on 3 tourney, the star speaker Brent talked about on Monday. We got opportunities; don’t let them go to waste.

Colossians 4:2-6: Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful. And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Unreliable narrators in stories


            These are my thoughts of a story I read for class (Emergency by Dennis Johnson) it had an unreliable narrator... 
            Whether his name is Jesus or not, I’m referring to the narrator of the story. Maybe I should call him “the clerk.”
            Jesus the Clerk and narrator of “Emergency” is a pretty untrustworthy source for the reader. This dude is high… stoned… on pills. I don’t know how to distinguish reality versus him being on the pills. What I think is a part of reality is Jesus the clerk working with Georgie, the nurse and I think Terrence, the patient, is real too… but I’m not sure. Anyway…
            I think the decision Dennis Johnson made here was cool because you can easily find multiple ambiguities in the scenes that are occurring throughout the story. Example, Jesus the clerk thinks he was in a military graveyard on page 81 and sees angels descending… then on page 87 his friend, Hardee, is there… the dude is bald because he was drafted (military.) Was he one of the angels in the military graveyard?  
            I found many parts of the story intolerable. It’s kind of like when you start reading a story only to find out it’s a dream… it pisses you off. I was pissed reading this. I don’t think I was mad at the narrator but at the author. “I’d never before come across this cemetery. On the farther side of the field, just beyond the curtains of snow, the sky was torn away and the angels were descending out of a brilliant blue summer, their huge faces streaked with light and full of pity…” Here, we are being told what Jesus the clerk is seeing/experiencing but then Georgie influences what he is thinking when he tells him, “It’s the drive-in man!” ““I see. I thought it was something else,” I said.” This is an example of what I’m talking about when I say that you get the same effect of “And I woke up screaming full of heavy sweat” in a story. It’s irritating!
            Maybe drunks and stoners will appreciate this craft more than I do. 

Sunday, October 21, 2012

ugly week

I was out all last week with a 103+ fever, chills, nausea, head and body aches.

Turns out my liver is jacked up.

I missed a couple of assignments last week.

I didn't get to enjoy my week of "relaxation" for my comic class.

I have an exam at 9:45 am over Anne Bradstreet, William Bradford, Edward Taylor and Jonathan Edwards. (I'm pretty sure Wigglesworth and some other Puritan hick is also in the exam)

I have an essay due 9:10 am on Tuesday over super boring books I don't want to read.

I'm ready to graduate.

Monday, October 8, 2012

frustration

What the heck is going on? It's almost as if I have forgotten how to write! I'm getting really angry.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Burnout?

I doubt it's burnout... but I've had trouble writing...

I think I've been overthinking everything because I was reading everything I wrote in the past and it is in desperate need of attention.

Also, I've been trying to write for a class assignment... which has a word/page count and that is also throwing me off. I had a couple of stories in mind (that I wanted to write) but they can't have a limit.

  • One is "Eastern Caracals" which is a basketball drama-based novel about high school life in the RG Valley.
  • Another is about a racist jerk that lives in the valley. (Will probably work for a flash fiction - under 750 words)
  • Another is a novel about an ex convict, Julio Chapa, that goes on an christian expedition. While on the expedition, several people go missing and eyes start to turn to Julio Chapa.
The assignment requires me to write over 1,500 words... to 2,500, I think. So my three ideas just wont work. However, I came back home feeling defeated today and I layed in bed reading David Rice's, "Heart Shaped Cookies." That dude is awesome. His characters are believable.

Anyway, I am going to write about the "Twin Towers." Which are two really tall, athletic girls who intimidate Samuel to do things for them.

Let's get it done!

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The Lazies

I need that hunger for school.
I don't ever feel like studying anymore.
I only want to read what I want to read.
I hate two of my classes now because there is so much history that is involved.

I just want to graduate.
Get a job.
Write and forget about my undergraduate years.


On a possitive note, God has been moving people's hearts through UTPA Destino.Its been so cool to see. Fall Retreat was a blast. God really showed me who was in control... He made me depend on several people this weekend whether it was money, shoes, toothpaste or a pillow.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

chooseday

I was finally awarded for this fall semester.

My tuition is paid in full. 

I have a job interview Wednesday.

Even if I can't go to Fall Retreat... and my gas light has been on since Saturday night, I am relieved because there's hope in every direction. Stop being blinded. 

Please pray for my interview, y'all. Please pray for my Bible study today. 

Monday, September 24, 2012

Ausilio!

I owe money to the university...

I'm not even broke anymore.... I'm just in debt.

I hate money. I don't understand people's love for it. I hate it more than I hate the hopping fleas in my bed.

As much as I say I don't worry about being so broke... I do.

I skipped Reed's class for the third time because I was talking to the financial aid people. Hopefully he doesn't drop me.

I have tons of homework.

I need to work shop 2 autobiographies by 5:00 pm today.

I need to workshop 2 creative writing assignments by tomorrow.

I need to Read Jovita Gonzalez.

I need to Read Journalism and workshop "Shots."

Friday, September 21, 2012

wOptions

8U=ns



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Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Border Life

 
While my mom struggled to smother large pieces of aguacate into corn tortillas in the passenger seat of the truck, my dad ate the last duraznos he had taken from Abuela’s tree back at her ranch and my sister and I practiced our upcoming interrogation speech in the line at the Hidalgo International Bridge. Ever so often, a vehicle would abruptly shove itself right before us and my mom would say, “tiene prisa, tendra que ir a el bano.” Which translates in English, he’s in a hurry perhaps he needs to go to the restroom. We would laugh when the line of cars he was in would begin to move faster than items on the speedy checkout line at H-E-B. Dad would join that line and leave the poor dude behind – where the youngsters from Tamaulipas sold chicles and bags of chopped nopales and the older sun-toasted folk sold Crucifixes of a battered and bleeding Jesus who had ribs that resembled the mouth of a Saber-toothed cat’s fossil .

“American Citizen, Sir?” The Border Patrol Officer asked while my dad practically had his resident card plastered on the officer’s face. His head would then move to the passenger and not say a word to the woman on the seat who had her resident card in hand.

“Pare donte van?”

My dad would tell him that we were only visiting some family members in a small town in Tamaulipas and that we were headed to Edinburg.

The officer would peek-a-boo to the back window and ask us, “Where were you born?”

“Yes, churr,” I would reply in the ugliest accent called shame.

“He was born in McAllen, TX. Sir,” my sister would eloquently put it. “I was born in San Juan.”    

                Out of the two possible questions: “Where were you born” and “Are you an American Citizen” I wouldn’t ever answer them right because even though my parents would tell my sister Daniela to quiz me, I didn’t understand the foreign language my sister spoke. I didn’t know what it meant to be born in America. I didn’t know that the answer “McAllen” was relevant because it was on this side of the border. I didn’t understand why we always had to visit my Grandma, my tios and my cousins, why I couldn’t bring them to my house. Why couldn’t we all spend Christmas together? Why couldn’t Marina, Alberto and Adela come visit our grandma with us? Every time we visited grandma Cira, she would send her favorite granddaughter, Marina, flour tortillas. She and my tias would say, “dales un abrazo y un beso a los muchachos.”

My dad was a carpenter and plumber Monday through Friday. On the weekends, all of us went with him to the yardas. We mowed rich people’s lawns, vacuumed their driveways, fished out drowned cats from their pools and buried decaying tacuaches that lived in their attics. That’s how my family bonded. It was our only quality time with Dad. When we were home my parents still couldn’t educate us because they just didn’t have the resources to achieve that.
 
 



While my mom and sisters sharpened their look for church, I helped my madrina’s son, Luis, convince my madrina to let him come with us.

                “Pero no es de nuestra religion,” she said. He’s a Christian.

                I didn’t know what was up, if my Jesus was cooler than her Jesus or if her Jesus was angry at my Jesus or if she didn’t believe in Jesus at all. I just knew that I wanted my good pal to be as miserable as I was at my church because being with someone in a shitty place makes the place memorable and fun. Just like the summers I spent working in the fields with Apa. I hated it unless my sisters or my neighborhood friend Chino came along.

                “No, Luis Miguel,” she said in a stern voice. “No vas a ir!” 
                 Luis stomped the ground of the living room and marched to his room.

                When I went home, I remember asking my dad why Catholics hated Christians. He said that he was a Catholic and he was married to Christian woman and he didn’t hate her. He said that I was probably half Catholic because I was baptized when I was only two, he said, that is why my madrina was my madrina. He added that people are just scared of people who don’t believe the same things they believe and often shelter their kids.