Tuesday, November 2, 2010


Reminiscing I can't help but feel chilled to the bone, I remember it so well. When I lost my age and became a child. A child with nothing to lose and everything to gain in you.

Cold. It was so cold out I could barely stand to move, but you, always full of life and energy, the kind that I never have felt before- I was always told I have an old soul- you were running and bounding through the plush snowbanks. I wasn't sure if I should fake the energy and play a long, or just stare in wonder. The captivating site of you springing between the thickets who had now lost their leaves, and the trees that had shed their covering to reveal the dullest of gray bark. I watched as the chilling air split your bangs across your face, and I watched as your green eyes, not the deep dark emerald green, nor the dull green of algae washed ashore, but just....a unique shade, one that surely not many can have, peered up at me sporadically as you looked down to watch your step then back at me in a sheer childproof manner. The snapped tree trunks made for obstacles as you sprang between the trees an the shrubbery. I wandered how the trunks had gone from full fledged trees, to snapped and splintered remnants of what they once were. In my own way I felt like the shattered remains, I felt as though I had never been seen by anyone when I was in my prime and now I am nothing left but a fragment of a former self for people to leap over and beyond without notice. But you, you noticed these, you took time to peer down at each and ever ruin of what once was an standing example of life on it's own, left to grow as it pleased. You noticed them- you noticed me. Maybe that's what it was, you noticed me, and you understood what I was, and more than that, understood that i am more than I realize and I could be more than either of us will know. You didn't care how fractured or splinted my foundation was, you just noticed me, and smiled, and that is all I needed.

I could hear the gentle rustling of the pine tree branches, ten, twenty maybe even thirty feet above our heads, and as I looked up to find the source of the noise I became enthralled with the overcast sky. The almost seamless sea of gray clouds blanketed us from the view of all others, we were alone and we were ourselves. The darker gray lines, faint as the were outlined where the edges ended, or maybe where they began....who know, but they were infinite in nature and pleasing by default. I lowered my head to the horizon to find you running far ahead, and without warning or even a though of cause you would stop, letting yourself slide across the ice of a frozen pond. Maybe it's the old-timer in me, but my immediate thought was "you'll hurt yourself....what if the ice breaks? What then?" But the longer I watched you in your blissful glee, the more my old-timer self began to feel.....a spark, a spark of what I had let go of, what I had given up on as a hopeless dream of a young man lying awake in bed, unable to sleep. I felt something again, be it a new light, or a young burst of energy. I'm only 24, but if I were to view us from the outside I' see an old man watching a young girl run and play while the old me had the tale tale signs of remembrance of when he was able to perform such feats. You would laugh as you fell on the ice, i would smile. I couldn't help but be taken by you and how freely you acted. 'Obedience, proper appearance, don't be a nuisance, mind your manners', all the things instilled in me as a child meant nothing here, you were bringing me out of my shell......and I think you knew it. It was fun for you. Fun to watch a true introvert smile and take his first baby steps towards being extrovert and having fun without a mind for the consequences.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

inEpitome - The Beginning is Here

I had the privilege of watching inEpitome end peoples 'stigma' they have on local music with progressive genius and harmonious rhythms that can only be accomplished through the masterful combination of Jay Estrada(bass), Adrian Estrada(Vox & guitar) Donny Marling(drums) and Corey Adams(lead guitar). There are a few select words I would use to describe the intrusive(use the word in the best of contexts), attention demanding and show stealing sound of this well oiled machine, but for the sake of your attention I'll keep this brief. The sound of music that typically pours out of this area (Midland/Odessa) is generally the same genre with each band, hardcore, metal......tejano. However, the rules were broken with the forming of inEpitome. As stated before and excuse me for repeating myself, there is something to the driving progressive rock sound that puts to rest the former expectations of the local music scene. The melodic sound sound of the haunting guitar riffs dreamed up by Corey Adams will lure you into its snare, and just as you have found yourself content, the progression begins. Overdrive and flanger wrap it's distorted fingers around your ears and forces you to pay attention. The melodies are only amplified with the jazz-esque, chest rattling sound of Jay Estrada seemingly playing another song in side the one you are already trapped in. With Jay comes Donny Marling, the connection between musicians is pivotal in the creative process of a band, and I can tell you now as honest as I'll ever be...You will never see a more natural connection between two artistically driven musicians as there is with Jay and Donny, they match note for note and mesh their styles together perfectly to form a singular sound that will not soon be replicated. With all of this sound pulling you deeper into the strangle hold of inEpitome, you are confronted with the vocals of Adrian Estrada, whos lyrics will not only begin to resonate with who you are, but also give you a brief glimpse into the world of this man.

If you are a progressive rock fan or just someone looking for something new to freshen your ears with I would suggest you take note of this band and buy their album and keep a steady eye on them. This isn't going to be a one trick pony band and certainly not a pony that will be hitched to Midland forever.

www.inEpitome.com also available via iTunes.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010


My distorted view of life, people and the world as a whole isn't as cynical or narrow minded as you might think

Monday, June 28, 2010

Well alright...

The blog is up to date. Lets take a break.


The Land Between

The air is still, yet the hairs of my body move in the tiniest, sporadic motions. I suppose it's the sway. Suspending in time, yet still in motion, the thought process begins.

I begin to traverse the corridors and various rooms in the over grown, constantly- until now, expanding warehouse. This isn't how I thought it'd be. Walking from room to room, rummaging through the various boxes both old and new, some of them barely holding together and the contents of which are deteriorating. No matter, i still of the ability to piece most of the fragments back together and have a vague understanding of what it once was. As I come across the more recent, pristine boxes, I can barely stand to crack the seal of the container without falling apart myself..... I know there was a reason I refused to open it. Every room contains different boxes of various nature but still correlating to the purpose of the room.

Some I don't mind so much, such as spending countless hours with my closest friends both pre and post marriage or perhaps the many times
I would stay up late watching my favorite movies with the company of the fore-mentioned individuals, or be relentlessly tickled by my uncle, the times i spent in Delaware with my oldest brother or when my sister was ready and willing to fight for me at any given time and even the times just sitting and drinking far more than I should have with my middle brother.

Those are some of the older cases. There are also the ones that I refuse to open but
what is the point now? It's not as if I will get another opportunity to view such unique relics, even if I wished they weren't so. The shattered pieces of a mirror, with faces of a million same, the ones whom I'd never be able to look on again. It isn't something I'd like to see right now. More and more boxes and cases and containers.

One I swore never to open again. His face along with their faces, the words that were spoken and long forgotten are now etched into the frame.
I wish more than anything to burn this entire room to a mere pile of ashes and stand in the middle of the flames with a smile of accomplishment as the room falls apart. But things just never go the way you want them to do they?

The minuscule breeze created only by the movement of the sway is dwindling as I become truly suspended, motionless and and content. It's hard to put into words something like this. Most would probably frown upon what I have done and tell me I was wrong in doing so and that I am doing more harm than good.... but they aren't in my shoes and nor have they lived a single solitary moment of my life. If I could make a deal with God to trade our places, you might understand.

I take a sat in the main corridor of the warehouse, thinking back on the rooms I had just visited. The ghosts and apparitions begin to cloud my vision, walking back and forth paying no mind to me, their creator, sitting in the middle of the dirty, dimly lit hall. It's almost amusing watching them go about their business as if they have a future.

One by one in slow succession the rooms are liquidated and emptied and the lights of each is switched off. I won't try to hide it. I'm smiling. I am also hurting, hurting
because there is an empty room, just ahead of me, the last door on the right.

The light of which has never been turned on in my life, nor has anything ever been moved into it.
It's virginity was never removed. It ever fulfilled its intended purpose or filled with what I wanted to store of all. I smile as I watch the apparitions slowly fade and reveal an empty space as if they never existed but with but with each glance at the empty room my heart grows numb and laden with hurt that there were never and will never be a ghost to haunt its space.

The breeze has a faded now. The sway has ceased and the bright light of the halogen bulb is twinkling in my eye......it's not that bright anymore, if anything it seems to be fading in relationship to the little bit of me that is slowly slipping away. It's okay, I'm okay. This is what I want, this is all i have. I am content.

still sitting in the expanse of the walkway, the final room is emptied and its ghost fades. The light in the door way has gone off and one by one with an elctro-mechanical thud of a sound, rows of industrial lights hanging over head go out.

I am alone, in the dark.

I am alone under the flickering light.

So as I stand to walk through what was once my own personal storage space I realize it is nothing more than a vast expanse of emptiness and a void abyss.It's funny how
"why" you tried to escape is what you become after the cross-over. Empty, void and blackened....alone to wander until something new comes around.

I've stopped moving and I see the last flicker of the halogen lamp fade to black as I exhale and relax and become one with what I am to be. One with what you will never know until you to have stepped beyond the void and crossed the barrier between your life and it's after.


To Swim (subjective)

Outwardly expressing and inwardly regretting.
I can tell where this is going, I can tell where I will be again once it is all said in done.

There are only so many evenings left in me that I can manage to perfectly (in my mind) express my feelings towards a current situation in such an articulated manner that whoever reads this will feel exactly as I do now, or how I will shortly into the future.
Please, don't get the wrong impression here. I am not assuming all will fail and I will be left in the situation I was in shortly before.
I've swam in a deeper ocean and inhaled greater amount of the salty ocean in times past, but the salt is corroding my throat and I can hardly breathe on the shore these days.
The idea of plunging my self into the tide and letting the undertow take its toll on my body again is hardly a thought I can bear to be content with. the powerful pull of the tide is drawing close, with more force and and intensity than it has had in the many times I've stood on this very stretch of sand. This may be my very last attempt. the last time my body can with stand such an asphyxiation, a wiling suffocation. I won't return from this endeavor the same- not that I ever did, but after this last.

It's always the same now that I think about it. The song of the siren is luring me, showing me what could be- what I've always wanted and longed for and so I run blindly into the dark waters that seem to have no end, and the harder I swim towards her, the further out in the growing waves she seems to become and after too long my arms grow weary, legs take on fatigue and my lungs slowly fill with the salt, cold, choking water of a dream of what i want but will never be able to attain. My own drive for the ideal future is exactly what is continuously putting myself into an unconscious state near death. It's impossible for you, the reader to understand and so I try in futility to paint an image into words so that you will someday understand what it is I struggle with, but I am not sure my writing will ever be more than a vain attempt at project emotions to another. That's what it's all about right? Cause one to feel? Spar a thought process? Maybe I should broaden my attempts and just create an interest in you to read, to divert your attention to something other than the mundane and the ordinary. with all the years I've considered myself just a notch below ordinary, I may not be able to achieve this. I have gone far off course now.

I will swim, and will pursue....but I will take a breath of sodium and mire. An inhalation of the dark, muddy water just as I always have. If i do not reach the shores of the siren I will surely perish and float lifeless in an almost serene body of water, a slow decent into what will be my final resting place, a pillow of sea weed and a blanket of muddy ocean floor. I will be happy there.....because anything is better than suffocating and finding myself on the same shore over and over.


Here in this windowless room—not sure if it was the pale blue florescent lights—but I swore there were four of you. Anyway, we had a conversation, me standing and you—ever the lazy one—lying on the floor. I spoke and I spoke, and you listened and listened. I cried out to you and told you my story. You’ve always listened, you've always been there. However, you never respond. That's okay. I'm not much of a conversationalist anyway. You've seen me at my absolute worst, you’ve known all of my secrets, and still managed to stay and grow with me. Just when I think I'm hard on my luck and everyone’s gone, you’re still here, watching me, listening to me ramble, lying beside me and my vomit after a night of self-loathing and binge drinking. You just watched, like a never ending evaluation, drawing a conclusion one day of what a skeletal wreck I've made of myself and on another day, how much I've accomplished. I suppose, once my bones are old and weary and this heart of mine finally beats its last little tick, you'll stand up from beside my death bed, lean over and whisper, "You did alright in this life." And as the mist of my final breath passes through my old, cracked lips, you’ll leave me. Until then, you'll always be your lazy, examining, listening self, while I spin out of control or have the time of my life.

You my friend, are the most useless thing in the world—but ironically, the one who knows me